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From: i_m_NightShade@hotmail.com (NightShade)
Reply-To: i_m_NightShade@hotmail.com
Subject: {ASSM} [RP] A Deer in the Headlights (MF/Fcar) [2/3] - deer02.txt (1/1)
Date: Wed, 17 Jul 2002 10:10:03 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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THE USUAL WARNINGS:  

This is a work of fiction by a twisted mind.  If you 
are offended by graphic descriptions of natural and/or 
unnatural sexual acts, if you are underage, or if this 
type of material is illegal where you are, don't read 
any further.

This is a fantasy.  You will have to loosen your clench 
on reality a little when you read it. This is a tale in 
which physical acts and human responses are not limited 
to, nor necessarily based in, reality.  Some acts and 
responses in this story may be physically impossible 
and/or physiologically improbable.  

Also, as is the case with most of the stories in this 
newsgroup, all the women in this story are beautiful - 
gorgeous, even.  Gravity has not caused breasts to 
droop nor have wrinkles creased unblemished faces.  The 
men (the leading men, at least) are hung like bulls.  
They can get it up and keep it up often and at will.  
In this special little fantasyland, there are no STDs, 
morals, or unwanted pregnancies.  Guilt is a four-
letter word.  Most important of all, neither strength 
of character, courage of convictions, nor moral belief 
stand a chance against any erotic stimulus.  This can 
be as benign as an accidental glimpse of a bared ankle 
or as stimulating as a whipping on the genitals.  

For those of you who didn't understand the preceding 
statements, GO AWAY!

This story is intended for the salacious entertainment 
of consenting adults.  Do not try to do any of the 
things described in this story.  You could injure 
yourself or your partner, be arrested, or shot by her 
father....

If you are under 18 years of age, GO AWAY!  This story 
will burn your eyeballs and fry your brain. 

If material of a strong sexual nature is prohibited 
where you are, GO AWAY!

By continuing, the reader accepts all responsibility 
for any disgust, revulsion, jail sentences, or pleasure 
that results from reading this story.  If you don't, GO 
AWAY!

You have been warned!

If you enjoy this story and feel the urge to post it on 
a <free> site, at least give me (NightShade) credit for 
it. 

So, stick your tongue firmly in your cheek and enjoy 
the story!....:) 

NightShade






















A Deer in the Headlights

Chapter 2

By Nightshade



It was not lost on me that on that particular day my 
car had gotten royally fucked by the little minx and 
all I had gotten was a peck on the cheek and set of 
seriously aching blue balls.  I had learned to shrug 
off most of life's little injustices, but somehow this 
one really galled me.  Yeah, it had been by my own 
choice, I know.  But still, it rankled.

I spent most the rest of that day and far into the 
night burning the whole series of jpegs onto a writable 
CD-ROM.  I had taken a lot of pictures of her 
performance, but even then it took longer than it 
should have as I had to keep cleaning off the keyboard 
and the monitor screen.  Yeah, I jerked off, but, well, 
you would have, too.  She was one fine looking lady.

Needless to say, the photos were sensational.  Even as 
biased as I was, having taken them, I could tell these 
were golden, hot.  The whole story was there, from the 
first ass-giggling movements when she started by 
bending over the hood and ending with her gut-wrenching 
orgasm on the hood ornament.  I was blurry-eyed when 
the last photo was cropped and enhanced, but the 
slideshow I produced was first class.  It was hot 
enough to melt the computer chips that would run it.

Damned if Janet didn't ring that fucking doorbell at 
7:30 sharp.  I staggered to the door, forgetting to put 
on my robe.  Her grin nearly blinded me when she saw me 
in my shorts, my tired and sore pecker sticking out at 
half-mast with a morning woody.

"Grab a shower and come on over, sir.  I've just put 
the coffee on.  I, uh, saw your lights on late and 
figured you wouldn't be ready quite this early."  With 
that she turned and bounced back over to her own house.

I showered, shaved, and dressed - complete with my 
Dockers and sandals, this time.  I also grabbed a small 
bag I had prepared the night before - just in case...

Her back door was open and there were more aromas than 
coffee spilling out into the dew-laden morning air.  I 
identified bacon immediately, that being one of the 
many forbidden foods at my house.  I also recognized 
the smell of fresh baked croissants.  I'm afraid I 
stood in the door and just salivated for a minute or 
two.  If the way to a man's heart was through his 
stomach, Janet had prepared for open-heart surgery.  

As I stood there, the investigator in me automatically 
cataloged the details of her home, or what I could see 
of it.  It struck me that the room reflected her 
personality perfectly.  Feminine, but with the wit and 
humor of a strong intelligence.  The colors were 
blended perfectly, giving an impression of warmth, but 
having an undercurrent of strong sensuality.  And she 
could cook, too!

Janet had to take me by the hand and pull me over to 
one of the places she had set at the table.  A sudden 
attack of shyness overcame me as I stood there.  I 
suddenly wondered what the Hell I was doing there, and 
if it had all been a glorious dream yesterday.  I knew 
that if I followed through today with what I had 
planned last night in the heat of those pictures, it 
could be a huge mistake.  But the food smelled so good.  
Maybe just a few bites, then I would leave.  I let her 
force me to the table.  Yup, she did it.  It was all 
her fault.  Hey, if Adam can blame the woman, so can I.

The croissants melted in my mouth, and there were more 
of them than I could eat.  She must have baked 3 or 4 
dozen of them.  She watched me eat each bite with an 
innocent joy, seemingly fascinated by my huge appetite.  
Piping hot eggs, creamy grits, crispy bacon and chicory 
coffee.  I half expected to see biscuits and gravy 
appear on my plate next, but apparently she wanted to 
eat light that morning.  

Sated and stuffed, I sat back, thoughtfully caressing 
the thick mug of hot coffee between my two hands.  I 
looked up to see Janet watching me.

"Outstanding, Janet.  Simply the best breakfast I have 
ever had.  Honest."

She blushed at the praise.  "Thank you."  She 
hesitated a moment.  "And thank you for yesterday, 
too."

Oh, Damn!  There it was, lying right there on the table 
among the detritus of an excellent breakfast.  Damn!  
Damn! Damn!  The topic I was dreading and hoping for 
all at the same time.  Ball's in your court, mister.

"Yes.  Well, uh, you know..."  I tapered off.  A great 
start, no?

She sensed my embarrassment.  Hell, a dead man could 
have sensed my embarrassment.

"I never did anything like that before..."  We both 
spoke at the same time and stopped at the same place.  
And burst out laughing at the same time.

The ice broken, we began to talk, openly and honestly.  
She told me of her short, loveless marriage to my 
neighbor.  It was, in some ways, worse than my own.  
The guy was a mortician and thought it was an exciting 
job.  He came home smelling like death and was then 
even more lifeless in bed than his clients.  She was 
not a virgin any longer, having waited for marriage, 
but she might as well have been for all the fucking she 
didn't get.  

When she told me she was as celibate as I was, I looked 
at her in disbelief.  She must have seen the look on my 
face as she asked me if I thought she should have gone 
out and picked up something from a bar or a street 
corner.  I stammered that it was hard to believe 
someone as beautiful as she was would be forced into 
abstinence.  She shot back that she couldn't understand 
how someone as handsome as I was should be in the exact 
same situation, and I had a job where I could get out 
of the house and therefore had more opportunities than 
she did, locked in her suburban prison.  

Touché.  Point to the lady.

Despite the compliment she paid me, I had never 
considered myself handsome.  Rugged, maybe, but not 
gigolo handsome.  I kept myself in shape, and for my 
age, my doctor said I was doing fine.  I still wish he 
hadn't used that fucking qualifier, though.  I was well 
aware of the effects of my age.  Remember the glasses?

I asked her straight out how she had ended up with my 
neighbor.  I had never even known he had gotten 
married, and we had lived next to each other for close 
to fifteen years.  She said she had developed an 
unfounded deep-seated fear of dominant men growing up, 
probably helped along by too much `women's' propaganda 
and all the white-male bashing, testosterone hating 
feminists in the public school systems.  She had fallen 
for her husband because of his passiveness, which she 
has misinterpreted as gentleness.  She had had no idea 
how lonely you could get living with someone else.

I asked where he went every weekend.

"Oh, he goes to Momma's."

A sudden surge of panic flashed through me when I heard 
that name and I bolted upright, suddenly alert for 
danger.  I damn near tipped over the chair.  I 
envisioned that this whole thing had all been an 
elaborate setup, just to get my wife her excuse for a 
divorce.  The panic began to well up within my throat, 
spoiling the excellent breakfast.  Then sanity kicked 
back in and I took a deep breath.  Janet's eyes were 
huge as she watched this silent drama play out on my 
face.  I smiled sheepishly.

"Let me guess," I ventured weakly, after I could 
finally talk again.  "`Momma' is a short, beady-eyed, 
sharp-nosed woman with a voice like fingernails on a 
blackboard and a face that makes her voice sound 
soothing.  Her kids hate her, but dote on her every 
whim.  She makes frequent demands on their time, which 
they can only fulfill by giving up all their time with 
their own spouses.  She has money, which she never 
spends, and she holds the possibility of that 
inheritance over their heads, clubbing them with her 
`Will' at every opportunity.  You and I both know all 
the money will go to the fucking cats, but her stupid 
kids, blinded by greed, haven't figured that out yet.  
Besides, she will probably outlive them all, anyway.

"Only one opinion counts, and that's hers.  If your 
opinion turns out to be right, it was hers all along 
and you stole it from her.  She picked you out for her 
son, but you have never been good enough.  She berates 
you in front of him at Christmas for your shortcomings, 
and berates him all the rest of the year for his.  She 
has never contributed anything to society, but acts as 
if the rest of the world should be thankful she is 
alive.  Oh yeah, she has six trophy heads mounted on 
the study wall.  That about right?"

She had been laughing so hard she had to hold her sides 
as I described `Momma' to her.  She queried me about 
the trophy heads.

"Ex-husbands," I explained.

This brought such a violent fit of laughter, I thought 
she would choke on her tongue.  Getting back a bit of 
control she simply held up four fingers.  I took that 
to indicate that her husband's Momma had been a 
slacker, and said as much.

She looked around with a horrified look on her face to 
see if anyone had heard my derogatory comments, but 
then remembered it was just the two of us.  Still, the 
sudden spontaneous flash of fear in her eyes at that 
moment touched a kindred feeling in my own soul.  We 
were perhaps more alike than we had realized.

It was after noon before we knew it.  By then, we had 
gone over both my situation and hers in agonizing 
detail.  I found I liked her, and that she felt the 
same way about me, in spite of our ages.  I was old 
enough to be her father, as she was barely into her 
twenties.

The silences lingered as we listened to the big 
grandfather clock strike the hour.  It continued to 
linger until it became obvious and awkward between us.

"About yesterday..."  What the fuck.  Might as well 
just jump in, right?

"Yes?"  She was suddenly serious and alert.  Intense.  
Her willingness and readiness to talk about it cared 
the shit out of me. 

I looked her right in the eyes.  "Did you, uh, enjoy 
what happened?"

She blushed.  "You couldn't tell?"

It was my turn to blush.  My hand still smelled of her 
juices, as I had held it outside the shower door when I 
washed up that morning.  "Well, I thought you did, but 
I just wanted to make sure."

"Yes, I did."  She said it simply, as if she too had 
wrestled with the question all night, as well.  She 
probably had, but didn't show it.  Ah, the resiliency 
of youth.

Now the killer question.  "Would you like to do 
more?"

"Yes," no hesitation, no doubts, "I want to do it 
all."  Damn!  She had thought about this.

"Now?"   My voice was quivering, in both hope and 
fear.

"Yes."  Her voice was a bare whisper.  I looked up 
from my intense study of the tabletop and saw her eyes 
were closed.  Tears were leaking from them but, as she 
was smiling, I didn't think she was sad.

"Just one thing."

I jerked back to attention as she continued.  

"Yes.  What?"

"You have to wear just your boxers, like you did 
yesterday."  She was grinning so impishly, I half 
expected to see half-eaten feathers, paws and whiskers.

I thought about that, then grinned.  "I can live with 
that.  Any other restrictions?"

"No, sir.... but it would be nice to know your name."

I nearly crawled under the table from shame.  I hadn't 
even noticed.  Shit, damn, hell and fuck, what a dunce!  
According to one of the manuals I had downloaded from 
the `Net last night, "Domination for Dummies" I 
think, or "SDBM for Dyslexics" maybe, it had said to 
never allow the submissive get the upper hand.  I was 
supposed to turn any smart-ass banter to my advantage.

Of course, as I had browsed through the manual, I 
realized I had pretty much broken every rule in it 
already, and I had only been a Dom for less than 24 
hours at that point.  So I figured I'd wing it.  It had 
seemed to work for me so far.  I mentally crawled out 
from under the table.  I thought back to the emotions I 
was feeling yesterday.  The anger, the heat, the 
passion.  I tapped into the memories.

I scowled at her, eyes blazing, "`Sir' will do nicely, 
but if you do need to address me in public, you may 
call me `John'."  I pitched my voice just short of a 
shout.

The effect was amazing.  She paled and seemed to shrink 
in front of my face.  I could see her lip trembling.  
She really thought she had screwed up.  She looked like 
she was going to cry.  I guess I'm just a big softie, 
and I couldn't help myself.  I couldn't stand to see 
her afraid.  I wanted - and she wanted - domination, 
not terror.  I winked at her.

She blinked as she suddenly realized I was just acting.  
As she began to relax, I stood suddenly, this time 
sending my chair crashing to the floor behind me.  I 
moved to stand behind her chair.  I towered over her.  
She was forced to tip her head all the way back to keep 
me in view.  I fixed her gaze with my own, continuing 
to glare at her angrily.  Her bottom lip trembled so 
daintily, I almost melted into the chair with her.  But 
not yet.

"Stand up!"  I snapped the command, leaving no room 
for questions.  There were none.

"Are you wearing panties?"  

She nodded.  I simply held out my hand and waited.  The 
silky undergarments soon rustled to the floor and then 
settled into my palm.  They were damp.  I stifled a 
grin as I felt the dampness cool on my skin.  I raised 
them to my nose and inhaled in an overly obvious 
manner.  This caused her to blush a deeper red, as it 
was obvious even without holding them to my nose that 
she was secreting her juices.  When I stuffed them into 
the pocket of my shorts it looked like she was about to 
protest.  They were a delicate and expensive pair.  She 
had been hoping I might see them, I think, just not in 
this manner.  Tough shit.

I took stock of what she was wearing.  It would not 
suit what I intended to do for the rest of the day.  
They were too nice.  I needed something I could rip up 
or cut off if I needed to.

"Bring me the clothes you were wearing yesterday."

She didn't move immediately, so I leaned forward and 
swatted her ass sharply.

"NOW!"

She squealed in mock fear as she scampered out of the 
kitchen.  I heard her thumping footsteps on the floor 
directly above, which told me where the master bedroom 
was.  Soon she was standing in front of me, panting 
from the exertion of running up and down stairs.  She 
held the soiled T-shirt and shorts in her hands.

"Where are the panties?"

Her eyes widened as she realized her mistake.  A second 
swat caught her behind as she rushed back up to get the 
dirty undergarment.  She seemed to enjoy the swats so 
much, I almost wondered if she had forgotten the 
panties intentionally.  I wouldn't have put it past 
her.  She was sharp and good at getting what she 
wanted.  Well, today I intended for her to get all she 
wanted and more.

Flushed and with a fine sheen of perspiration touching 
her forehead, she handed the missing panties to me.  I 
sniffed this pair as well, and stuck them in my pocket 
with the others.  This pair was mine.  Plain cotton, 
dime a dozen, but God, what a fragrance!

She had lost her shoes in her hurry.  They were high-
heeled sandals, totally inappropriate for around the 
house.  So was her tight black leather mini-skirt and 
peach-colored silk blouse.  She definitely knew how to 
dress to bring out her colors.  She looked as if she 
could have stepped straight out of a fashion photo-
shoot.  

I stared at her bare feet until she realized what I 
wanted.  I got to spank her a third time as she bolted 
to the bottom of the stairs, where she had kicked them 
off.  I held out my hand out for them as well.  She 
placed them in my hand.

I folded the shirt neatly, then the shorts, then placed 
the high heels on top of the neat stack of dirty 
clothes.  I handed the neat stack to her and pointed to 
a small room off the kitchen I had already determined 
was the pantry.

"Go put these on.  Just those, nothing else.  
Understand?"

She nodded silently.

"Bring me the clothes you are wearing."

Two minutes later she was again standing before me, 
dressed as she had been the day before, with the 
addition of the shoes.  They were a nice addition.

I took her expensive silk blouse and retrieved a hanger 
from the hall closet.  I hung it neatly on the hanger 
and hung the short skirt below it.  Her eyes widened as 
she saw the care I took with her expensive clothing.  I 
think if she had had any doubts about what we were 
about to do, the care I took not to ruin the things she 
cared about eased them completely.  The dainty bra I 
placed over the hanger then took the matching pair of 
panties from my pocket and placed them with the bra.  

Next, I dropped my shorts, having only my boxers on 
underneath.  She couldn't keep the grin off her face as 
she saw the head of my prick peeking out at her.  She 
licked her lips as she looked at it and I nearly raped 
her then and there.  But I had a plan.  Stick to the 
plan, damnit!  I whipped off my shirt and sandals with 
a flourish, and stood posing in front of her in just my 
boxers.  God, I loved to hear her laughter.  It was 
like water to a man in the desert.

When I finished posing for her - or ex-posing, more 
correctly, I turned to glare at her again.

"Is there a computer in the house?"  I knew there 
was.  I had seen the boxes they came in being tossed in 
the trash.

She nodded, taken a little aback by this question.  
Good.  At least I could surprise her. 

"Well?  Take me to it!"  I got to spank her perky 
little ass again.  I was beginning to like this dom 
shit.

She led me to a locked door on the first floor of the 
house and then hesitated again.  It was obviously her 
husband's office.  This time I didn't push her.  She 
was afraid of something, and I didn't want to make her 
do anything that might get her into real trouble with 
him.  Sure, as if what I had planned was any less 
despicable than breaking into a locked office.

Taking a deep breath, she seemed to come to a 
resolution of the conflict in her mind.  She reached 
down and lifted a loosened edge of the carpet.  Hidden 
under the loose flap was the key to the door.  She 
unlocked the door and eased it open.  She replaced the 
key and the carpet carefully, and then stepped inside 
the darkened room.  She stepped so lightly I thought 
the room was wired with an alarm, so I waited outside 
the door for her to disarm it.

She turned and looked at me.

"Is it safe?" I asked.

"What?"

"You were being so careful.  I thought maybe there was 
an alarm or something."

"Oh, no!  It's just, well, Darrin doesn't like me in 
here even when he's here.  He'd shit if he knew I knew 
where he hid the key."

"Oh.  We don't have to - ..."  I was stopped by a 
derisive snort.  Very ladylike, that.

"Fuck him," she interrupted me.  She pointed.  
"There's the computer."

I was still outside the room and as I looked in, I 
noticed something odd.  The monitor's screen was not 
visible from either the door where I was standing or 
from the window.  Not that that was odd in itself, it's 
just that it would have been a whole lot better use of 
the available space if he had arranged the furniture 
differently.  The investigator in me was piqued and I 
filed that question away to be researched later.  Right 
now I had a hot willing woman to defile, and I was 
looking forward to it.

I walked over to the desk and looked at his office 
chair.  It was perfect for what I had in mind.  I 
motioned her over to sit in the chair.  I studied the 
PC briefly, then turned it on.  As it was booting, I 
walked around the room, opening the curtains wide and 
adjusting the lamps in the room to cast their light on 
the quiet figure in the desk chair.  When I was done, 
the light was adequate for my needs.

The PC beeped at me, asking for a password.  Figures 
the old fart would try to keep everyone out.  That just 
raised my curiosity another notch.  What was this guy 
trying to hide?  A double set of books, perhaps?  Nah, 
not from a mortuary.  Maybe he had a double life?  
Maybe he was a hit man for the Mob!  Wouldn't that just 
be a fine twist?

I took a special disk out of my small bag and re-booted 
the machine using the floppy drive.  Poof!  The 
password was no longer needed!  The computer guys in my 
home office would deny providing us with that disk, but 
most times folks didn't realize how incriminating a 
home computer could be in a fraud investigation.  They 
would leave all kinds of stupid incriminating shit on 
them.

I slipped in the CD I had made the night before into 
the D:> drive and started the program I had put on it.  
Suddenly, Janet saw herself in brilliant color on the 
21" screen.  I watched her eyes widen as she realized 
who and what she was watching.  She glanced up briefly 
at me, blushed a delightful pink, smiled and then glued 
her gaze on the screen.  The slide show started at the 
beginning with her bent over the hood of the car.  I 
had set the timer for about 5 seconds between shifts, 
with some shots getting a longer duration.

She gasped as the pictures progressed.  She literally 
oozed sex on the screen, and I was glad to see it was 
affecting her.  I moved to stand behind her chair, then 
got down on my knees so that our heads were at the same 
level.  Her eyes were riveted to the screen, as her 
suggestive poses became more and more erotic.  I saw 
her moisten her lips and her breathing became 
shallower.

I leaned forward and began to whisper suggestive, dirty 
ideas into her ear.  "Look at that slut.  Look how hot 
she is.  See how she teases the men.  She deserves to 
be spanked for acting like that.  She deserves to be 
punished.  Spanked hard."  Things like that.  On and 
on, whatever came to mind.

As I whispered these things and others to her, she 
tipped her head back against the headrest, her cheek 
next to mine, moving her ear closer to my mouth.  She 
kept her eyes on the screen.  When she began to squirm, 
I felt she was ready.

I reached forward with one hand and slid it under her 
knee.  Gently I urged her to lift her leg up over the 
arm of the chair.  I whispered to her to do her other 
leg the same way and she did, as if in a dream.  

"Touch yourself, Janet."  It was my first direct 
command to her to do something like that, and I 
wondered if she would surrender something as intimate 
as that for me.  I waited, holding my breath.

Groaning from deep within herself, she moved her hands 
downward towards her splayed crotch.  Her hands moved 
so slowly, it seemed as if she were fighting an inner 
conflict.  But first one hand, then the other slipped 
under the band of her tight shorts.  I could see by the 
movement of the cloth over her cunt that both hands 
were active.  I let her get going good, then dropped 
the bomb.

"Don't cum, Janet, until I tell you to.  If you do, 
I'll have to punish you."

As I spoke to her I reached around the chair and gently 
fondled her unfettered breasts through the T-shirt.  It 
was my first grope of them, and they were everything 
they promised to be.  Firm and spongy, they molded 
readily to my hands as she moved her chest to force 
them harder into my palms.  She was already worked up 
from the picture show, so I focused on her rock-hard 
nipples.  As I tweaked them, I admonished her to keep 
her fingers busy but not to cum.  I used the word 
`punish' a lot as I continued to whisper to her.  It 
seemed to incite her lust.  I could sense her orgasm 
building in her, and I pinched her twin peaks 
particularly hard, rolling them as I did so.

"AAAaaahhhhh sshshhshshit.  You bastard!" she hissed 
as she came on her fingers.  She wasn't mad at me, I 
don't think, just sorry it had happened so fast.  But 
she wasn't done.  Not by a long shot.

"Keep those fingers working, Janet.  That's just the 
first one."

"Oh God, you're a tyrant.  Oh, don't stop what you're 
doing."  I had moved my hand down over hers and was 
pressing them down into her cunt.  I smiled.

"You know I'm going to have to punish you now."

She nodded, meekly.  But I noticed a tremor pass 
through her as she sat there.

I removed my hands from her crotch, and then stood 
after telling her to keep watching the show and to keep 
her hands busy.  I also nuzzled her hair before I stood 
up.  She smelled so good.  She noticed me smelling her 
hair and I saw her grin in happiness.  She was a 
picture of contrasts, the wanton waif, the innocent 
slut.  A Beauty.

The first thing I did was to shift the desk chair out a 
bit from the desk and position it at an angle.  She 
could still see the slideshow of her lewd car wash, but 
I could also see her clearly as she sat legs akimbo in 
the chair.  She didn't even notice when I pulled out 
the small camera and took several shots of her 
masturbating.  When I began to give her directions, she 
looked up, grinned and went back to her own pleasure, 
following my obscene directions but ignoring the 
camera.  It looked like an innocent girl caught 
unawares in a very private moment.  

She licked her fingers clean of her own juices at my 
suggestion, held a bared tit up towards her mouth and 
touched the tip of her tongue to her nipple.  That shot 
was a particularly hot one.  Don't know why, really.  I 
guess guys are just jealous that girls have tits and 
tongues that can touch.  Whatever.  I got hot just 
thinking about that shot.  But others were just as 
good.  Like the ones where she pressed her fingertip 
against her ass-hole from the outside of her shorts.  
The look of bewilderment at the pleasurable sensations 
she gave herself when she touched herself back there 
made me swear to myself to introduce her to anal sex at 
the first opportunity.

After a while I put the camera down.  She had 
`disobeyed' me several times by now, and I felt it was 
time to let her know a little of her punishment.  Her 
sandals were dangling from her toes, sexily swaying 
with her spasms.  I lifted each slightly, keeping them 
on her feet.  I hooked the long heels onto the edge of 
the seat.  This tipped her foot and forced her toes to 
point straight down and widened her knees as wide as 
possible.  It made her lift her ass off the chair 
slightly, too.  I slid her ass to the edge of the seat, 
making her slouch in the chair even more.  Not 
uncomfortable, but not a natural position either.

She whimpered just a little when I pulled the soft 
thick cords from my small bag.  Her fingers were a blur 
inside her shorts as I looped the rope around first one 
ankle, then the other.  It was as if we were in a race, 
as her finger actions became almost frantic.  Just 
those two ties were enough to bring her to four major 
climaxes and she was chasing the fifth hard as I looped 
a third rope around her chest.  This rope passed under 
her breasts and arms, leaving her arms free.  I tied 
this one off tightly to the back of the chair.  She was 
now pretty well locked into the position I wanted her 
to be in.  As she tried to move and realized her 
helplessness, her hands moved even faster.  Her eyes 
never left the 21" screen.  The slide show was having 
more of an effect on her than I had even hoped.  She 
was really turned on.  

I moved back and took more photos.  Since she couldn't 
move much and was preoccupied anyway, I moved around 
and shot her from every angle I could think of.  The 
one I liked best was from down low in front of her, 
looking up between her thighs.  I had her look down and 
give me a `sexy' look.  The look she gave me nearly 
sent me diving for her pussy in a fit of lust.  Then 
the camera started beeping, and whirring.  For a 
moment, I thought it was having an orgasm of its own, 
but it was merely a low battery notice.  I plugged in 
the adapter and continued taking pictures.

The next tie went around her tits.  First, pulled her 
shirt back down over those lovely mounds.  It was hard 
to do, but I didn't want them marred in any way.  I fit 
a sturdy rubber band around the base of each pliant 
orb.  I pushed the tough elastic bands as close to her 
chest wall as I could before releasing them.  The 
elastic compressed the firm flesh, eventually making it 
bulge out away from her chest like it was being 
squeezed off.  But it wasn't that tight.  Each band had 
a small metal ring attached to it that I positioned in 
the lower medial quadrant of each breast.  

Then I used a thin cord and made several loops around 
each bulging tit.  The loops started at the nipples and 
spiraled inward towards her chest.  I pulled the cords 
taut, but not too tight.  The cloth of her thin T-shirt 
protected the soft skin from the digging twine, and it 
also allowed the twine to slide without making a 
friction burn on the skin.  I ran the long ends through 
the metal rings and left the ends of the thin cords 
hanging down her stomach.  I committed that tie to 
digital memory as well, zooming in on the visible 
nipples pressing hard against the thin fabric.  The 
site of her deformed tied tits was disturbingly 
mesmerizing, and even though the tie didn't cause her 
much pain, their misshapen forms sent a sinister quiver 
pulsing through my iron hard cock.

Her eyes were blurred pools of lust as I eased her 
hands out of her shorts.  Her protests were half-
hearted as she stared at the screen.  The rear fenders 
were making acquaintance with her cunt lips, and her 
arousal on screen seemed enough to drive her toward 
another climax, even without the fingers.  The heavy 
stainless steel handcuffs clicked in the silence as the 
ratchets tightened on her slender wrists.  It wasn't 
until she tried to slyly slip her hands back down to 
her twat that the pain from her tits knifed through the 
haze of lust and cleared her eyes.

The surprise, the wonder, the sudden flash of fury as 
she realized that I was preventing her from finishing 
herself off this last time.  Then, as she looked at the 
final tie, the realization sank in that I was not 
stopping her at all, just making the price of her 
ultimate pleasure higher, so to speak.  The long 
strands from the cords that spiraled around her swollen 
tits had been tied to the center links of the 
handcuffs, then pulled taut and tied off.  Because the 
cords ran through the metal rings, if she pulled her 
hands towards her cunt, the cords would tighten on her 
breasts.  Tit for twat, if you don't mind a bad pun.

The slideshow was building to a climax as she 
masturbated her way down the hood of my car.  We both 
knew the grand finale was next, with her fucking 
herself with the hood ornament.  The breath hissed out 
of her as she forced her hands a fraction lower.  My 
camera never stopped clicking as she squeezed and 
tortured those soft globes so that they bulged out 
between the cutting strands of twine.  She screamed 
when the tip of one fingernail grazed her clit.  I 
thought she would tip the chair over backwards with the 
shaking and shuddering she was doing.

"God damn you, sir.  This is torture.  Oh, God,  I'm 
cummmmmmmmmming....  Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.  Oh,  
oh!"

My, my.  Such naughty words!  I remembered the idea of 
stuffing that pretty little mouth with something to 
keep it quiet.  I reached into my little bag once more.  
Her eyes widened as she saw my makeshift ball-gag.  I 
had threaded a thick rope through a tennis ball.  It 
was a bit large going in, but as the ball was 
punctured, it collapsed easily.  Of course, it wanted 
to expand back to its original size once it was behind 
her teeth, but that's what the rope was for.  To keep 
the expansion of the ball pressing down on her tongue.  

God, she looked beautiful.  Now all she had to 
communicate with were her eyes.  Those big brown puppy-
dog eyes.  

After commemorating this new addition to her bondage 
with another couple dozen pictures, I moved to the 
front of her and got down on my knees.  Fortunately 
Darrin, her husband, kept his chair seat low to the 
ground, because I didn't have to spin her down.  She 
was at just the right height.  I walked on my knees 
until my aching balls rested against her ass cheeks.  
Then I rested my forearms on the arms of the chair and 
leaned forward into her.  She finally realized what I 
was doing when her fingertips grazed the tip of my 
throbbing cock.  I thought she would tear off her tits 
as she lunged to grab on to me.  She didn't seem to 
mind the pain at all.

When she had lunged, I had shifted back just slightly 
so that she couldn't get a good grip.  She could only 
use her fingertips.  As she got the idea, she resigned 
herself to only having that much contact with my cock, 
even though she craved more.  She kept trying to stuff 
it into her cunt right through her shorts.  Ouch!

The glaring look in her eyes told me I just might have 
pushed her too far with this bit of teasing.  But I 
didn't give in to her.  I did let her stroke me until I 
coated her chin, tits and chest with a deluge of my 
thick cream.  Still throbbing, I just had to get some 
shots of her mussed up like that.

As that last effort by her had really strained the 
limits on the amount of torture her tits could bear, I 
quickly loosened her from the bonds.  She remained 
seated until all the ropes were off and put away.  I 
looked up at her as I knelt to zip up my bag.

"Well, are you just going to sit there smelling like a 
whore?  Or would you like to go get cleaned up, and 
dressed up again like you were this morning?"  I 
grinned as she squealed happily and ran up the stairs 
to the shower.  I gave serious thought to joining her, 
but I had something to do first.

Darrin had a few too many secrets that didn't set 
right.  I know, we all have our little private stashes 
that we really don't want anybody else to know about, 
but to my profession sense, this felt like it was 
something different.  I sat at his desk and browsed the 
computer for a while.  I didn't notice anything 
peculiar until I searched his desk.  Neatly, of course!  
Lock picking was a skill that they taught at the 
insurance investigator's training course, although you 
won't find it in the syllabus.  It was just another one 
of those handy little things.  And desk locks.  Ha!  
Might as well leave a florescent note on whatever it is 
you're hiding behind it saying, `Look at me! I'm in 
here.'.

Inside a locked drawer, neatly filed away, Darrin had a 
whole collection of photos of guys having sex with dead 
people and dead animals.  Necrophilia.  Fuck!  As if he 
didn't get enough of that at work.  Suddenly, it struck 
me.  I looked back up at the family picture of a man 
and an old woman on his desk - obviously he and Momma.  
I recognized with a start that he was in some of the 
pictures.  A lot of them.  Having sex in coffins.  

Knowing what to look for now, I found a whole trail of 
photos and letters in a log file for a chat room.  As 
the water shut off in the shower upstairs, a germ of an 
idea was planted in the back of my fertile brain.  

Janet interrupted my growing germs by walking back into 
the den.  She had retrieved her clothes and two stemmed 
glasses and a bottle of champagne, apparently to seduce 
me with.  Her tits bounced nicely behind the silk 
blouse.  I made a bet that the panties were still on 
the hanger with her bra.  I won.

She came up to me and held up her lips for a kiss.  I 
knew I could have had her then and there.  She knew it, 
too.  But something told me to wait.  Call it caution, 
call it chicken shit, but I had heard that tiny voice 
too many times to ignore it.  I kissed her lips gently, 
not allowing her to pull me into a passionate kiss.

"Go get my belt, Janet."

Her look was priceless.  Here she was, ready, willing 
and available, and I wanted my belt.

"Now!"

It was amazing how beautifully she responded to firm 
commands.  The belt was in my hands within minutes and 
I had the added benefit of seeing her tits bouncing 
crazily as she scurried back into the den with it.  She 
blushed as she noticed me watching her tits.

"Thank you.  Now turn around."

She did so and I bound her hands behind her as I had 
the day before.  It was more symbolic than secure.  
Taking her by her shoulders I turned her around to face 
me, then gradually increased the downward pressure.  
Her eyes widened as she realized what I was doing.  I 
sensed a momentary panic.

"Please, Sir.  I've never..."

My finger on her lips silenced her.  I lowered myself 
down with her so that we were both on our knees, facing 
one another.  

"Janet?  I thought you wanted to do it all?  You WILL 
do this.  I'll go slow and explain everything.  But I 
want no more protests.  Is that clear?"

She nodded slightly, a tear sliding down her cheek.  I 
kissed the tear away and kissed her lips.  Then I stood 
up.

My engorged manhood presented itself to her lips.  It 
stuck through the slit of my boxers and bounced a 
little, in time with my racing pulse.  I let her stare 
at it for a while.

"Stick out your tongue....That's right....Now, just touch 
it to the tip, right there where the hole is....Oh, 
that's good!"  She had made contact with it and had 
not died or vomited.  For the next twenty minutes I 
walked her through the basics of cock-sucking.  She 
actually swallowed it all when I came in her mouth.  I 
was proud of her and told her so.

"It, it tasted, well, funny, Sir.  I thought it would 
taste bad.  I...," she blushed "I liked it."

Not being ready to leave her yet, I lifted her up and 
set her ass on the edge of the desk.  Immediately she 
spread her legs and lifted her heels up on the desk, 
spreading herself wide open.  I surprised her again 
when, instead of burying my cock in her juicy cunt, I 
fell to my knees and instead buried my tongue in it.  

Later she admitted that had been the first time she had 
ever been eaten out.  She had never even imagined it 
before.  I gathered as much from her reaction, which 
just about gave me whiplash as she bucked up and down 
on the desk.  I wanted her to remember this as a 
pleasant experience and did the best I could to bring 
her off as many times as possible.  

After 30 minutes or so my knees were getting tired but 
she wasn't, so I pulled her off the desk and lay down 
on the floor on my back.  I had her straddle my head 
with her knees so that she was facing my feet.  She 
thought I was brilliant for knowing about the '69' 
position and she caught on real quick that this could 
be a mutually beneficial experience.  The rest of 
evening was spent in an oral Olympics.  

Janet responded to every touch, every probe like it was 
the first time she had ever been touched down there.  
It most likely was.  Her enthusiasm for cock-sucking 
kept me hard most of the evening, but it didn't seem to 
matter to her if I was hard, soft or in between.  She 
loved to suck on it. 

Not that I minded sucking on her sweet little cunt, 
either.  It had been a long, long time since I had had 
that particular pleasure.  I intended to sample this 
twat again.

I finally brought her to a last screaming climax, using 
tongue and fingers in both bottom holes at around 9:00 
that night.  She came for what must have been three or 
four minutes, thrashing and spasming on top of me.  
When she finally lay still, I discovered she had fallen 
into a deep sleep.

With great difficulty, I lifted her off me and carried 
her upstairs.  I untied her arms, stripped her of her 
clothes, retied her arms loosely behind her back and 
tucked her into the master bed.  I hung her clothes up 
on a hanger and left her house. 

I slept soundly that night, better than I had in years.  
It was only as I was drifting off that I realized I 
hadn't fucked her.  Oh, well.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

End of Chapter

I hope you enjoyed it.    :)

All my published works are archived and can be read or 
downloaded free.  The archive is located at: 

     http://www.asstr-mirror.org  

     Then open "authors", then "NightShade"

Comments to:  i_m_nightshade@hotmail.com

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