Some of my old stories II MERCEDES M/FF

[Dustysmate]

The long, low Mercedes lurched as it scrabbled for grip in the muddy pebbles strewn at the roadside. Stephanie unhurriedly fed the polished wooden wheel from hand to elegant hand; the soft black kid of her gloves enhancing her poised control as the tail kicked out then swung obediently back into line on the drying road. A cool, lively breeze chased the remnants of the morning's rain across the looming mountains promising a bright, fresh spring day. Slowing as she passed horses grazing close to the tarmac, Stephanie waited until she was clear before again planting the accelerator and watching the tacho spin as the car hurled itself anew at the twisting hill road.

Through the windrush and the thick silk of her expensive headscarf, she gradually became aware of a deeper noise, almost a booming. Glancing up into the rear-view mirror, she caught a glimpse of a pair of narrow headlights, closely spaced. The red motorcycle was gaining on her at an almost unbelievable rate, when she first saw it, at the beginning of the long straight, it must have been half a mile behind, now it was about 150 yards and closing.

OH NO! Stephanie dragged her eyes back to the road and, panicking, over braked for the sweeping right hander she had forgotten while transfixed by the speeding bike. The biker was already backing off as her brake-lights illuminated the wildly swinging rear end, Stephanie smoothly coming off the brakes just in time to catch the tailslide of the heavy open-topped car. She accelerated into the next straight, her heart pounding as the adrenaline surged into her system. The bike, a blurred splash of brilliant scarlet moved effortlessly up alongside, pausing alongside the driver's door.

Against her will, Stephanie felt her eyes drawn to the rider. His darkly mirrored visor revealed nothing of his face, but Stephanie was sure he was deriding her for her mistake under pressure and blushed as crimson as the bike. With a laconic nod and a flick of his throttle hand the motorcyclist unleashed the engine and catapulted his machine at the next bend. Stephanie desperately tried to stay with him, but the rider smoothly, inexorably pulled away until she
rounded a corner to find he was out of sight.

She backed off, disappointed, her breathing, like her driving, becoming somewhat ragged. Strangely excited by the encounter, she fidgeted uncomfortably, her long leather skirt creaking against the leather seat. Easing off still further, she tried to tell herself it was just the cool wind crinkling her nipples until she had to give in and reach a hand up to her white silk blouse, pinching urgently at the bulge in the shiny material. Sighing, she returned her hand to the wheel, storing the memory for later recall in the warmth and privacy of her own home.

As she climbed a particularly steep gradient the winding road twisted back on itself, the low spring sun momentarily dazzled her, obliging her to draw her sunglasses down from where they rested on the silk of her headscarf. When her eyes returned to the road, she saw a sheet of water, like a small lake, flooding its entire surface. There, near the far shore, was the biker, crouching
beside his motionless, silent machine as water lapped at his feet and steam billowed from the stilled engine.

Stephanie braked but was already in the water. The Merc slewed as she started to aquaplane and she realised there was no option but to steer through without trying to slow down. Releasing the brake, she gently corrected the steering, the automatic operation of the wipers feebly fighting
the deluge of water as a huge bow wave frothed up in front of, and onto the long car bonnet. A surge rolled over the screen breaking, like surf, at the top and cascading into the car, soaking Stephanie's scarf and thin silk blouse. Shivering with the icy shock, she brought the heavy car to a juddering halt the brakes squealing in protest at the unceremonious dousing. Concerned, she
looked back to where the biker had been standing only to hear an outraged roar and see him bearing down on her in drenched black leathers. Panic-struck, Stephanie hammered down the throttle and the car once more leapt forward, throwing a shower of pebbles against the angry rider's visor.

Her heart pumping once again, Stephanie was still unsettles as she pulled into the drive of The Olde Blue Boar, four miles up the road, the low profile tyres crunching gravel as she slid to a stop. She'd slipped the sodden scarf from her brow, and now it was tied to her headrest, drying like a bright, silk banner in the early afternoon sun. The heater on full blast had failed to render
her flimsy blouse any less transparent, and the outline of her brassiere was clearly visible through the damp, clinging material. She primped her hair in the mirror and reapplied her scarlet lipstick.

"Yes, yes you're beautiful. Now come and buy me a drink before I die of thirst," a voice laughed beside her door. Stephanie jumped, turning to see her friend Marta's smiling face."Well I know transparent's in this year, but that's a little blatant." She continued, appraising Stephanie's blouse and erect nipples.

"I think I've had enough to drink." She retorted with a wry smile. "I must have swallowed a stream back there…" The two women tumbled into the warm pub and she related her encounter as they worked their way through a pitcher of marghueritas.

"Anyway," Marta finally butted in, "Are you going to take us back to the Grange before you're too pissed to drive or what? We've got to get you unpacked and spruced up for dinner tonight."
"What's wrong with your car?" Demanded Stephanie, "Or did you walk down here for the good of your health?" "Bloody thing's U.S., hors de combat." The older woman replied, swallowing
the last dribble and talking around the ice-cube she was holding in her mouth, "Have to get Tom to look at it when he gets here.""Ah, the mysterious Tom!" Stephanie grinned roguishly, "So we finally get to meet this man of yours, eh?""Oh he'll be here tonight," Marta smiled back, "And you can keep your sweaty little mitts off." She stood, smoothing down the blue silk of her summer dress. "I hope that old jalopy of yours doesn't ruin my hair."Stephanie reached into her bag and shook out an expansive silk square, "Here, wear this." She said, handing it to her friend, "Mine should be dry by now." Marta wrapped her lustrous red hair in the thick cream and gold silk, knotting the scarf at the nape of her neck and followed her tall friend's elegant stride to
the car. Strapping herself in she watched curiously as Steph searched fruitlessly about the floor of the car."I left a scarf here." Stephanie said, by way of explanation, "A Jaeger scarf, tied, here, to the headrest, it must have blown off." Stephanie sighed in resignation, this weekend was not starting at all well.

Gravel spat up from her spinning tyres as she angrily stamped on the throttle, pulling back onto the country road. Marta smiled, weary and not a little tipsy, settling back into the leather seat and saying nothing as the slipstream plucked at her headscarf. Neither woman noticed as a large, red Ducati pulled out behind them, its headlights doused.

The journey to the Grange was short and uneventful, Stephanie's simmering anger preventing her from noticing the powerful motorcycle discreetly shadowing the two women. At the entrance, Stephanie paused to allow Marta to operate the electronic gates, before gunning the sleek black car up the long drive. They were already unloading Stephanie's bags when the helmeted
figure walked cautiously up to the gate and looked round the solid stone gatepost.

Still a little damp from her dousing, Stephanie went straight to her room to bath and change, while Marta set about preparing the evening meal from the dishes cooked earlier by her housekeeper. She was surprised, therefore, to hear the doorbell ringing after they had been in the house for only about ten minutes. "Damn that bloody entry system," She cursed, slamming the dish down onto the work surface, "Shouldn't let anyone in unless I buzz them." She was still
muttering as she approached the door, wondering who it could be; Tom wasn't due to phone from the station for another hour or so.

Abruptly she swung the old oak door open, without pausing to check the spyhole as she normally did and was immediately rewarded with a faceful of Stephanie's Jaeger headscarf. Above the wad of thick, damp silk clamped across her lips, Marta could see a helmeted figure, his face disguised by a mirrored visor. Frightened, she opened her mouth to scream, but the muffling
silk was tight over it. The man was large, fast and strong, effortlessly pushing her back and kicking the heavy door to behind him. In panic Marta tried to turn and run, but a powerful arm encircled her, pinioning her arms at her side and pulling her roughly to him. Her feet were now kicking futilely as he raised her off the ground, her small fist beating on his broad back against the thick hide of his leathers. She tried desperately to warn Stephanie, but her words of alarm were beaten back into her throat, by the gagging wad of silk that he was slowly working between her bruised lips.Bundling her onto the floor, he whipped her onto her stomach, pulling her arms behind her and momentarily releasing the wadding half jammed between her red lips. She felt something cold tighten about her thumbs, pinning them, one to another, before she was again turned onto her back. Frantically she tried to spit the wad from between her painfully spread jaws, but it wouldn't budge. She writhed as an invasive hand reached up under the flimsy blue silk of her summer dress, closing on the satin of her French knickers and drawing them down her long, slim legs and off over her blue satin pumps. The biker took her gag-scarf between finger and thumb and drew it, sodden, from Marta's mouth.

"What, who, how dare you…mmmpphh" She gasped, as he replaced it with the crumpled white satin of her panties. Holding this humiliating gag in place with one hand, he rolled Stephanie's sodden scarf into a band with the other before tying a large knot in the middle. He then reached down and seized the hair at the nape of Marta's slim neck and tugged back. Her jaws widened in a rictus of discomfort and he stuffed the knot between them, effectively reinforcing the already potent panty gag. Working quickly, he knotted the scarf at the base of her neck, catching some of the lush red hair in the process. Her squeal of protest was muffled to a murmuring hum.

Dragged upright, Marta worked feverishly to free her thumbs, twisting her hands around to see what had fastened them so comprehensively. She could see two metal bands joined by a solid cross piece; it looked just like a tiny pair of handcuffs, but rendered her as helpless as if a full sized pair was encasing her wrists. Marta looked up into the obsidian face plate of her muscular
captor, begging for mercy and freedom, but her pleading words were just a muffled mewing, and totally incomprehensible as he bundled her into the lounge, seating her on the old, leather sofa. A large, strong hand grasped her kicking ankles, immobilising them as he again reached under her dress, this time to unfasten her stocking tops from their suspenders. Rapidly unrolling the
stockings, he slipped her blue stilettos from her feet before using the stockings to bind her at thigh and ankle, finishing off by fastening her to the leg of the ancient sofa.

Marta looked beseechingly at her new master as her stood regarding her from behind his mirrored visage, his very anonymity rendering him more impassive and infinitely more terrifying. Her thumbs ached from their short constriction and she reached her hands around and up to him in whimpered supplication, understanding she could not ask for release, but craving an act of kindness. He grunted in understanding and disappeared into the hall to reappear a few
seconds later with a leather dog lead. Marta didn't dare struggle as the thumbcuffs were released, even crossing her wrists in submission to allow herself to be bound with the rough leather; anything was better than the tiny chromium monsters that had so pinched her thumbs, rendering them insensate.

Grateful for the small act of gentle kindness, she looked up into the impenetrable mask and mumbled stifled words of thanks. The armoured figure reached down, softly stroking her cheek where it bulged above the taut silk of her gagging headscarf. Marta shut her eyes and rubbed against the hand, like a cat, a sudden tension overwhelming her natural fear. The hand strayed
lower, the backs of her finger caressing two erect nipples that strove for release from their blue silk restraint. Marta groaned her excitement, and the mysterious figure abruptly stood, turning and striding away from her to the door. Frustrated, she fell back against the cracked leather of the old chair, her arms twisted uncomfortably behind her back.

Meanwhile Stephanie had finished unpacking her two cases, and was preparing for the bath; now half full of scalding water, thick steam whisping from the en-suite bathroom to spill the odours of exotic oils into the bedroom. She had already stripped off the damp white blouse and was now examining her figure in the full-length mirror which filled one side of the bedroom wall. Cupping her gloved hands beneath her firm breasts, she offered them up for her own perusal, turning left and right to admire her flat hard belly, and the sibilant way the soft leather skirt swished about her long, lithe legs. Catching herself with a self-conscious cough, she laid out her heavy blouse in rich copper satin for the evening meal and slipped out of the skirt, revealing calf
length boots and green silken panties. She slipped out of these also, dropping them into her open case before venturing into the mysteriously, steam-filled recesses of the humid bathroom.

Having soaked for more than half an hour in the company of Vogue and a large glass of Pimms, Stephanie was in an advanced state of relaxation when she padded from the bathroom and across the warm room to the hall door. "Marta?" She called down the darkened stairs, "How long do I have before dinner?"

Beneath her, in the lounge, her friend writhed desperately as she tried to get her fingers to the thick silk scarf that crammed her sodden knickers between her teeth.

Surprised by the silence that greeted her call, Stephanie contemplated descending to find Marta, but was dissuaded by the chill draught blowing up from below. "Must've nipped out and left a door open," she thought, retreating into the warmth of the room and pushing the door to behind her.

She stood again before the huge mirror, roughly towelling her long, glossy mane of hair before transferring her attentions to the rest of her body which she treated with the same coarse vigour, revelling in the tingling glow it raised in her skin. As she dried off, she allowed her mind to drift back to a time in college when she and Marta were neighbours in the women's accommodation. She'd just stepped out of a shower then too…

She and Marta had become closer and closer over the months of giggled revelations and there was a frisson beyond mere friendship that had started to buzz between them. She'd just started dressing-only had on stockings and a bra, when Marta had walked in, obviously already prepared to go out, her long trenchcoat belted tightly at her waist and a scarf about her shoulders. Marta
was a mature student, her style of dress and confidence belying the usual stereotypes about poor, impoverished scholars. She'd walked straight up to Stephanie and bestowed on her a kiss, not just the usual peck on the cheek, but a soft brush on the lips. Steph blushed, her nipples perking up beneath the black lace of her bra, her legs a little shaky at the unexpected greeting. She could smell an unaccustomed tang of alcohol on Marta's glossy lips which might account for her apparent relaxation.

Marta didn't move away after the kiss but stayed close, looking into Stephanie's eyes. The younger woman blushed deeper, and stuttered, "Where, where do you want to go tonight."

Marta sat heavily into the one chair in the small room, crossing her long legs and laughed, a deep, dirty chuckle, "Wherever you want to take me." The trenchcoat fell back off her legs to reveal stocking tops. Stephanie couldn't see her skirt.

Steph looked up, confused; it was always Marta who decided where to go and who to see. She turned her back, bending to pull up her matching panties. Suddenly she was aware of Marta standing behind her. She turned again to find Marta no longer wearing her coat and gasped. "What, what are you…"

Beneath the heavy trenchcoat Marta had worn just a corset with stockings. Her pudenda was shaved of the soft red hair that usually dusted it and her breasts were uncovered, forced up and forward by the yellow and black satin of the corset. The expensive cream and gold silk of her scarf fell between her breasts. She pulled Stephanie to her and kissed her again, firmly, her tongue dancing across the younger woman's lips. Stephanie was paralysed, her mind
whirling in confusion as a hand caressed the small of her back. Marta pulled the scarf from around her shoulders, and forced Stephanie face down on her bed, working quickly to bind her wrists behind her. Her younger friend was squeaking uncertainly in protest, undecided how to react to this unexpected turn of events.

Turned onto her back, her plaintive, half-hearted protests were silenced by a breathtakingly long kiss, Marta's hands exploring her unprotected body as her mouth crushed Stephanie's. Wriggling up her captive's body, Marta had taken her right breast in her hand and pushed it forcibly between Stephanie's lips, burying her long fingers in Steph's hair and pulling the girl's head closer onto her bosom. Stephanie 's eyes widened still further at the texture of her friend's
hard nipple between her lips. She tried to protest, but the warm flesh muffled her anguish, and her tongue brushed the little pebble. Marta stiffened and groaned, "Go on, please." Her voice was hoarse with excitement. "Suck it, oh please Steph, suck it"

Her captive hesitated, then tentatively her tongue flickered across the nipple, to be rewarded by a moan from Marta. The grip of her friend's hand softened, her fingers scritching at the back of her neck as she set to with relish, nibbling and sucking at the reddening nipple. Independently she moved across to the other breast, licking at the beads of perspiration on Marta's skin, gradually
circling the orb before closing on the central nub. Her friend was in paroxysms, tantalised by her slow approach until the merest tiny touch with her tongue pushed her over the edge into a noisy orgasm.

At this Stephanie was brought back to earth, her half-naked friend laying, breathing raggedly beside her. She started to struggle to try to free her bound hands and, in doing so, brought Marta's attention to her.

"Oh no you don't, we've got a way to go yet, " she grinned, her fingers unbuttoning Stephanie's brassiere, and freeing the firm ripe breasts. Steph squirmed as her fingers closed upon her helpless nipples, which responded instantly, swelling and hardening till she felt they were almost painfully excited. The fingers then started to wander down her belly until they were nudging at the edge of her see through panties. She shook her head and whispered, "No, Marta, please."

Her friend made no reply, but knelt up, her knees either side of Stephanie's head. One hand again gripped the nape of her neck pulling her head up, while the other slid into her panties. Her mouth was pulled up against Marta's warm damp mound, as Marta's fingers started to explore her own. The scent was soft and fragrant, not at all as she'd imagined and there was a wonderful roiling in the depths of her belly as her friend's slim fingers slowly massaged her sopping cunt. Her tongue darted out once more, the warm saltiness dribbling onto her chin, as she navigated her way about the folds of moist flesh. Gauging her movements by Marta's reactions she started a slow grinding with her tongue that caused a reciprocal rhythmic squeezing in Marta's thighs. Her friend's breathing and the touch of her fingers was becoming less ordered as she grew hotter and more excited til finally she gripped herself tightly to Stephanie and ground her cunt frenetically against her face.

This time they lay for about five long minutes while Marta regained her composure and Stephanie tried to analyse the emotions that coursed through her. Finally she whispered, "OK you can untie me now. "

Marta's eyes focussed and she turned to look at Stephanie. "No way, honey, it's your turn now."

"Marta, let me go, I'm not a dyke, untie mmmnnn" Stephanie's rising voice was cut off as her friend closed her lips with the palm of her hand.

"Neither of us are DYKES, darling, but it's a little fun, and now it's your turn for a little fun." And she'd reached out to the dresser beside the bed where Stephanie's new silk scarf had lain. A present from her parents on her eighteenth birthday, the Christian Dior square was the first real scarf she'd owned, and now Marta was rolling it one handed and tying a large knot in the
centre. She shook her head in protest, then her mouth was freed"No, not that one its mymmmmmm…" The knot was tight in the small hairs at the back of her head and, though she shook her head vehemently, she could not dislodge the stifling gag. In response, she locked her legs together, but was dismayed to find Marta binding stockings about each and her ankles
spread before being bound to the top and bottom of the bed. Her legendary flexibility in gym now rendered her easily spread-eagled, her tiny panties pulled tight into her cunt.

Without preamble Marta bent to her task. Stephanie stared down as her classmate lowered her lips to her prisoner's exposed nipples, groaning into the muffling silk as her warm tongue circled the trembling flesh. A fingernail was drawn across the taut nylon of her panties, her hips twitching uncontrollably as it flicked at the erect button of her clitoris. Stephanie shut her eyes, abandoning herself to the delicious abrogation of responsibility. Her inhibitions were worthless now, she had no say in what was happening and felt strangely liberated.

The muscles in her taut stomach tensed and she arched as Marta pulled the knickers to one side and ran her hot tongue down Steph's belly, lapping languidly at her liquid core. The stockings held her tightly in place as she squirmed under her mistress' tongue, her struggles now more to achieve orgasm than release. Slowly Marta built the tension, licking softly at the tip of her clitoris before stroking her thighs until Stephanie's pleas for final release became urgent and demanding, notwithstanding the effective gag. Burying her head between her friend's thighs, and seizing her fulsome arse in her fingers, she lasciviously devoured the helplessly displayed cunt, pitching Stephanie over the edge and beyond, stopping only when the muffled cries threatened to have the college porters banging on the door.

The next morning Marta had said nothing, obviously hung-over she had crept out of bed and the subject had never been brought up since, though now, 15 years later, Stephanie still used vignettes from that night to tip her over the edge if her current boyfriend was particularly inept. Still, it was never likely to happen again, particularly now Marta had a serious man in her life…
Stephanie sighed and continued preparing for dinner.

The flimsy silk of her bustier and briefs matched the warm copper of her blouse, as did the suspender belt to which she clipped her iridescent, charcoal seamed stockings. A short, black, stretch-satin skirt highlighted her long legs, which were further enhanced by the calf-length, patent leather boots that she had removed earlier. Adding autumnal eye shadow and a strong brown lip-gloss, she finished by brushing out her long, chestnut hair until it glowed.
Pausing once more to look at her reflection, she thrust her fine breasts upward then, overwhelmed by the carnal memory of basic desire from the mornings encounter, seized a nipple between the thumb and forefinger of each hand, twisting them till they perked, erect and proud, through the fluid gloss of her satin blouse. Temporarily distracted, she sat heavily on the bed,
her legs trembling, and watched herself in the mirror as she pinched and mauled her own breasts, conjuring up images of the brief encounter with the mysterious motorcyclist. One elegantly manicured hand frenetically fumbled beneath the stretchy skirt, pulling it up and rubbing frantically at the silk concealing her soft pudenda. Her crisis was rapid and violently dramatic, a
traumatic shudder racking her body as she bit painfully on her bottom lip to stifle her ecstatic groan of release.

She sat slumped, elbows on her knees, both hands together as if in supplication. Her eyes gradually refocused to find herself staring into her open suitcase. Her head snapped up and a puzzled expression replaced that of ennui; she would have sworn that she'd put her washing into the case, but both blouse and panties were no longer there. Confused, her mind dulled by the alcohol, she stood and cast about, if Marta had tidied up while she was in the bath then surely she would have cleared up the cases as well? Still, maybe Marta had come in and put some stuff away…. Stephanie checked in the drawers, before her gaze fell upon the bedside cabinet. "Ah!" she thought, and reached down to the small wooden door.

At first she didn't comprehend the nature of what she saw, nestled in the small space beside her bed. Then she recognised the black helmet and darkened visor she had seen earlier; the implications became frighteningly clear. Gasping, she stood, backing away, her eyes transfixed by the empty gaze of the mirrored visor staring back at her, only to come up against a solid object that hadn't been there seconds before.

The leather-clad figure had stepped from within the mirrored dressing room from where he had been watching Stephanie's every move and now blocked her retreat from the room. She spun round to face him and, as she did so, found her slim wrists pinioned in the small of her back by one massive hand. Knowing herself to be tall, especially in her 5" heels, she was struck by the
effort involved in looking up into his grey eyes, a wry smile playing across his face. Stephanie whimpered, her arms twisting as she tested the implacable grip about her wrists, his voice was soft and deep; "Ah, we meet again."

His captive twisted against him, her full breasts squirming across the reinforced leather and zips that armoured his broad chest."Please, I didn't mean to do that, it was a mistake, a stupid mistake."He smiled gently down, "Oh, it was that alright, as you're about to find out. Now if you'd be so good as to open wide…"Stephanie started to protest as his hand came up to her mouth, "No, no please, don't gagmmmmmnn."

Her mouth was gently but firmly filled with the green silk of her panties, and her turned her, forcing her to kneel beside the bed, her upper body thrust face down upon the coverlet. Kneeling astride her arms, he kept them tightly pinioned with his strong thighs while he wrapped her thin silk blouse about her lower face, jamming the shaming gag deeper and deeper into her open
mouth. On her tongue she could taste a foreign flavour, the satin of the briefs becoming damper by the second. In horror, she realised it was her own treacherous excitement, her reaction to the earlier meeting with this man who was now rendering her humiliatingly helpless. This horror was rapidly replaced with the realisation that, if he were to use the panties that she was
wearing now, the taste would have multiplied a hundredfold. Stephanie's cheeks burned crimson a t the thought of that humiliation, and how intensely exciting it was.

Still face down, her wrists were fastened securely with the heavy Hermes scarf she had leant Marta and a pair of stockings wrapped about ankles and thighs. As a final touch something was wound about her upper arms, pulling her elbows together and forcing her impressive breasts to strain against the golden copper of her satin blouse. Stephanie was reduced to a helpless
bundle of femininity, to all intents silent, only the most stifled of whimpering moans reaching beyond the multiple layered silk gag. The man stood her upright, teetering on her skyscraper heels, her ankles bound too tightly for her to have any semblance of control over her balance. She protested, her cries merely audible beneath the huge packing that filled her aching mouth. He hoisted her easily upon his shoulder and started off down the landing. In a spasm of indecisive panic, Steph writhed helplessly, her bound ankles thrashing aimlessly in the air as her captor carried her down the stairs to her fate…

At the lounge door, the biker paused, reaching an arm out to click the light out before hiking her higher and entering the room. The early evening dusk was such that Marta's eyes had not adjusted to the lack of artificial light, and she was surprised to find a warm presence beside her, gently untying the humiliating gag and pulling the sodden briefs from between her lips. "Thank God," she muttered as she swallowed hard. Her relief was short lived as the damp scarf was drawn tightly about her eyes. The knickers that had gagged her were knotted into a single stocking prior to being tied tightly between her teeth, much against the pleading cries issuing from her dry lips. To no avail, once again she was gagged and her voice muted.


The two women now sat, helplessly bundled before him. Moaning into their knicker-gags, they both recognised the hopelessness of their situations as they tugged ineffectually upon their intransigent bonds.

Silence surrounded the two women as the biker padded surreptitiously upstairs. Marta's room, in her enforced absence, lay open to his scrutiny and he took full advantage, returning after 15 minutes. She was surprised to suddenly feel a heavy hand on her breast, his approach having been in cat-like silence. In the darkness, Stephanie's only warning of his return was her
friend's low, muffled moan, more of excitement than fear. Steph tensed at her unseen friend's protest, her wrists bound tight behind her back, twisting in their restraints. Suddenly the electric light illuminated the scene, and Stephanie recoiled, blinking in its harshness, at the sight of Marta, similarly bound but with the addition of an effective blindfold. The motorcyclist towered
over her, seemingly unconcerned about her seeing his face. He knelt as she cowered on the couch beside her bound friend, softly a hand reached out and soothed her brow, brushing her tangled hair back from her frightened eyes, somehow she understood that violence was not on the agenda. Their eyes fell at the same time, coming to rest on her breasts that were so obviously thrust forward, irrevocably his hand followed their eyes and fell upon the firm breasts before him.. Instantly her disloyal nipples rose to greet his rough fingers, Stephanie's cheeks reddening at the telltale evidence of her treacherous body, yet at the same time melting beneath the touch of her master.

Standing her upright, unsteady upon tightly bound feet, her silent captor leant her back against his broad chest, sliding both hands up her hard belly to cup her pert breasts within their glossy copper layers. The blouse bound about her mouth was becoming uncomfortably sodden; a fact which had not escaped her attentive swain as he gently unknotted the wet, white silk. Once released from the outer binding, Stephanie tried to spit the soggy wad that was her emerald green panties from her mouth, but the man's hand closed firmly over it, crushing her soft lips beneath a callused palm. His other hand slid down her belly, tugging up the hem of her stretch satin skirt, to reveal first her stocking tops and then the damp copper satin of her tight briefs. Stephanie writhed to avoid the invasive touch that bore down upon the mound of her pudenda. With her ankles and thighs so tightly fastened, she was able to avoid any intrusion, but the merest pressure between her thighs reduced her resistance and her struggles as any strength seemed to drain from her to be replaced with a wanton, grinding desire. With her skirt hitched up about her waist, the
mysterious man slid his fingers into the waistband of her panties and slowly drew them down her stocking clad thighs until they rested above the stocking which held her thighs together. Stephanie's wrists twisted frantically under the soft constraint of the Hermes scarf that bound them as she desperately tried to reach the briefs to prevent their removal. One handed he unbound her thighs, then, forcing her to kneel, her ankles, pulling the panties down over the
glossy, patent leather of her boots. She watched, mortified as he raised the wisp of silk to his nose, inhaling like a wine connoisseur and grinned at her, a lupine, predatory grin. Releasing her mouth he leant her against the couch, upon which Marta lay in supine disarray.

Stephanie watched as he balled up the silken wad, anticipating her next humiliation at his hands. She clamped her teeth together. At first he did not approach, turning instead to one of the other chairs, upon which, for the first time, Stephanie noticed a pile of multicoloured silk and satin. Studying it, she recognised the contents of Marta's lingerie drawer, not to mention her entire
collection of silk headscarves. Once more he approached; this time he held, not only the scrap of copper silk that had so recently graced her damp mons, but also a handful of colourful panties and three expensive silk headsquares
.

In the manner of a conjuror about to perform a long awaited trick, he held up the thick silk squares for Stephanie's perusal. In the centre of the first he tied a large, heavy knot, the second he rolled into a long band and the third he folded diagonally in half, creating a large triangle. Then he edged closer and held a pair of sky blue knickers to Stephanie's lips. She clamped her mouth
still tighter; astonished that he might think he so easy to regag that he should simply offer the gag to her. The realisation took a few seconds to seep in, her eyes widening in sudden understanding, her head shaking in denial of his intentions; the panties hadn't come from Marta's drawer, but from her laundry basket. She tried to beg him, the panties that already gagged her rendering
her voice distorted and muffled. He grinned broadly, satisfied with her reaction to the gag he intended for her.

The lissom captive was squirming so violently that the black garbed man sat astride her, pinning her against the sofa, her incoherent pleas creating a vicarious reaction in her blindfolded hostess, who, blindfolded, could only surmise that some terrible act was being perpetrated against her guest. Gripping a hank of her thick chestnut hair at the nape of her neck, he rolled the two pairs of briefs together before leaning down to Stephanie's ear; "Open wide or I'll have to make you." he whispered gently. Furiously Stephanie shook her head, tears springing to her eyes as she
squeezed them shut in anticipation of the pain to come when he pulled her hair. Slowly she realised that the pain hadn't come and opened her eyes. The hard face of her captor looked down, lined with concern, his grey eyes searching hers. Suddenly the hand which had gripped her hair dropped and a probing finger found her ribs. A gasp of laughter caused her mouth to gape
and, in a flash, he crammed the knickers behind her teeth the tight wad immediately springing open to fill her mouth. The knot of the first scarf was rapidly wedged taut between her spread crimson lips, stuffing the degrading packing still tighter. Fighting the suffocating silk, she twisted her head, a last attempt at a plea for mercy or a cry for help stifled within her throat. Now he was knotting the second square atop the first, thickening the gag and reinforcing the band that held it in place. Finally he took the third large square and tied it over her head, knotting it tightly under her chin, forcing her to bite with renewed vigour upon the huge mouth packing.

She sat, helpless in enforced silence as the man unbound Marta's ankles, before retying them to either end of the sofa, only the flimsy silk of her summer dress draping over her lap to retain some modicum of dignity. Soon this too was removed as he pulled it up about her waist, revealing the fine wisps of soft red hair about her pussy. But for the gag, Steph would have
gaped at her friend's state of obvious arousal, her cunt lips swollen and red, a glistening moisture varnishing the tender skin. The biker was gently stroked her inner thighs, his fingers describing complex patterns as they danced about her pudenda, taunting and tantalising, but never crudely touching the centre of Marta's sexuality. Stephanie couldn't look away, like a rabbit transfixed by a stoat, she was hypnotised, fascinated by Marta's exquisite torment and very aware that her friend's slow, languid struggles, and throaty, muffled moans were not for release in its conventional context.

She stared, wide-eyed as he approached her and slowly undid the buttons on her blouse, her limbs almost painfully heavy, an erotic torpor or paralysis rendering her immobile. His knowing fingers scooped her breasts from the bustier, thumbs brushing the tips of her swollen nipples. He guided her to stand before Marta, unbinding the cruel gag that had stifled her for so long,
and sitting her forward, until her face touched Stephanie's breasts. She jumped,"Steph, is that you?" she whispered, her breath sibilant on her friend's firm mounds. Stephanie groaned in assertion, twisting slightly to place a nipple between her hostess' trembling lips. Marta took it gently, suckling like a new- born calf, as the biker unbuttoned her dress, revealing her own bra-less breasts, and leaving her all but naked. He then moved round to stand behind Stephanie and, hiking her skirt about her waist, guide Marta's probing tongue down between her thighs, while he roughly handled her full breasts.

It was too much, she screamed into the gag, her face flushing and her limbs jerking uncontrollably, only his strong frame supporting her as she submitted to the huge orgasm that exploded over her.

He lowered her gently to the floor and she was surprised to feel him unpicking the knots that held her wrists and elbows tight behind her back. She sat, not daring to remove the headscarf and multiple gag as he drew her blouse about her shoulders, then silently unbound Marta's eyes. She blinked, screwing up her eyes in the bright, artificial light as she tried to focus for the first time on the face of their captor. "Tom! Oh my God, you bastard!" She gasped, relieved excitement evident on her smiling face, "Oh you dirty, horny bastard." Her eyes fell on Stephanie whose mind was whirling in realisation of what had occurred."What have you done to Steph?" The subject of her concern shook her head, pulling the headscarf back off her hair and yanking the layers of gagging silk from her mouth."No problems Marta, no problem at all. I've just had the biggest orgasm since you raped me in college, I'll live with it. 'Spose I deserved it for drowning him."He was unbinding his girlfriend's ankles, and grinned laconically, "Nah, did it for the hell of it. Course, it's nice to have an excuse."

Marta hopped up, barely able to conceal her multifold excitement."And you've got a bike at last, can I get some leathers?"Stephanie smiled at Tom,"Talk about change the subject, I think someone needs a treat herself…" He grinned back in agreement, picking up the sodden mass of knickers Stephanie had suffered for so long, advancing on Marta, who retreated, giggling.
"Yes, your turn I think, my love…."