Kinky Conference Girls (M/F, F/FF, F/FFF, F/F) - The Dirty Girls (F/F) [Apr. 8, 2024]

[AlexUSA3]

A fresh start is needed on this four story series. This tale was inspired by my own recent experiences at a scientific conference. I realized, according to more than one person with whom I have had discussions, that nerds tend to be kinkier than the average person, and at a scientific conference I am in a room full of nerds. Surely some of them will be kinky, right? If there are kinky nerds, then why couldn't one of them have a rope stash back in their room just waiting to tie up the likely friends with whom they are rooming? Or maybe a husband who knows his wife will be waiting to de-stress after a long day on her feet?

Maybe the kinky games are planned. Maybe some girls have an agreed order of one girl dominating one night and the other dominating the next. It may be that a kidnapping game is in the works on the first night with the victims not realizing that their friend brought her TUG toys with her. They're sharing the room for a week, so there's plenty of time for stuff to happen. I had four such stories planned featuring different girls from the Cool Girls' Club, with each story narrated by one of the characters involved.

Which one do you want to read first?

(A) The Chemist (M/F)
Nichole is tired in multiple ways. She is physically exhausted by a day of meeting, mentally exhausted by all the information to which she's been exposed, and emotionally exhausted by the maternal yearnings that are foiled by miscarriages. On one night of the conference, Nichole dons a catsuit and plays the role of a kinky spy from whom her husband must extract information by any means possible, within Nichole's limits.

(B) The Engineers (F/FF)
Recently divorced Joyce is glad to share a room at a conference with her fellow engineers and dear friends, Jenny and Serafina. One of them gets to tie up the other two, who are willing recipients. The dominant girl has a mission: make the other two have fun in their favorite ways. Find how and why the top girl is on top and what she does to her friends on the bottom.

(C) The Meteorologists (F/FFF)
At the meteorology conference, four girls (Sisters Bridget and Erin, sister-in-law Joy, and mutual friend Samantha) to a room can only mean trouble. The first night, when everyone is tired, one girl sneakily kidnaps the other three. Find out which girl is the kidnapper and what she does to her captives. Each girl has very different kinks and limits concerning both the giving and receiving of punishments. There are lessons to be learned for some of them.

(D) The Dirty Girls (F/F)
Sisters Janie and Lauren are also engineers with degrees from the same alma mater. At the civil engineers conference, the sisters play a kinky card game in their hotel room. Which girl wins the game, and the right to torture the sister within the rules dictated by the cards? Nothing like a little sisterly love, right? Well, sometimes, sisters are the best ones to push you to your utmost limits.

[redlukas]

All of these sound quite interesting, but personally I am most intrigued for A and D.

[AlexUSA3]

Anyone reading The Bondage Model would possibly enjoy this one as well. Apologies to @charliesmith, @silvertejp590, @SquidIncMaster, @Switcher1313, @The G-Man, @Caesar73, @Lucky Lottie, @Phantomette, @0Kay, @Yewteed, @Solarbeast, @GreyLord, @Kinky_boi,@harveygasson, @hafnermg, and @johopp for the self-advertising.

Thanks for the vote, @redlukas!

[johopp]

C

[silvertejp590]

Interesting idea! I think I’d pick B.

[tiedinbluetights]

Always curious about what engineers are up to at their conferences... I'd go B as well.

[hafnermg]

I can't wait for all of them! To start I choose D!

[LunaDog]

All of these scenarios sound good. If i have to choose, then maybe 'B.'

[Xtc]

Hi @AlexUSA3

Gender-tag please, mate.

[AlexUSA3]

Hi @AlexUSA3

Gender-tag please, mate.

I'll put something in there, but each story within the set will have a different blend.

[AlexUSA3]

Story B it is then!

The Engineers (F/FF)

“May I tell you about Randaccio Fabrication?” asks the girl at the booth.
“Sure,” the engineer responds and adjusts her glasses.
“I’m curious as well,” another engineer walks up with a spring in her step.
“Very well,” the girl starts explaining things with a distinct Italian accent.
“Excellent. You're just who I need. Shall we discuss things over dinner?”
“May I join? My employers also can use your services.”

The girl’s in black jeans, a black polo shirt that said “Randaccio Fabrication” on the left breast, and a black kerchief bandana. Serafina Randaccio happily ends a terribly long day of standing on her feet and joins the engineers for supper. Of course she’d join the engineers. She fluffs out her dark brown curly locks as she walks. This girl is going to have her third baby this August and just found out.

Engineer #1 wears a calf-length black and pink plaid skirt with black leggings and a pink polo shirt. Joyce Verdi, the Ph.D. student, works with a variety of applications that the CNC shops of the Randaccio family specialize in. She is miserable since her divorce, being 5’3” and weighing 94 pounds, a loss of 57 pounds in 4 months, walks out of the big Dallas automotive engineering conference with her two friends.

Engineer #2 is starting the most hectic year of her life. Jenny Kristensen Randaccio is an engineer for Dallara, one of the world's biggest producers of race cars; she gets shuffled everywhere as a rare female racing engineer. She's 2 inches shorter than the first engineer yet weighs more than her. In a rarity, Jenny wears black jeans, a navy Dallara polo with yellow letters, and a yellow bandana headband since she can't resist. A slight glisten can be seen on her after a day on her feet. She hasn’t the braid that normally often holds her hair back; the blonde locks almost reach her butt.

I’m engineer #1.

There is an inside joke among us: we're sharing a hotel room with all three of us easily fitting in just one of the huge hotel room beds. It works since none of us moves in our sleep. To others, we look like we're on a business trip; in reality we are making plans for a night of bondage. My life is upside down; time with friends is what I need.

“Joyce, if the baby's a girl, may I name her Felicia to honor you?” Sera asks me.
“Since it's the closest Italian equivalent of my name?” I check her reasoning.
“Exactly.”
“Sera, you're so sweet!” Jenny interjects.
“On two conditions: (1) I'm the top girl tonight and (2) I’m the godmother.”
“Deal on both. Let's let the TUGs be a surprise, hmm?” Sera takes a bite of her food.
“Sounds more akin to a racing sponsorship to me,” Jenny deadpans.
“Fangool!” the pregnant girl snaps.

Jenny is excited now. She loves being tied up so much that I have more fun than normal when I play with her. I’ve known her for over 8 years; I still make a point to visit these two at some point each year. It's not easy since Jenny moved to Indy; Sera is still in New Jersey with her husband and children. Despite how different my life is from theirs, we are all mature adults; Jenny fancies herself as immature even though she is spiritually wise beyond her years.

Ok, Jenny still bounces like a child instead of a girl who had her 27th birthday and is on a business trip a week later. She still wears her beloved bandanas every chance she gets; talking to her is like asking advice from a grandma. She prays with the faith of a grandma, too; she transitioned to her husband's Roman Catholic faith with time while keeping her Protestant zeal. What a beautiful soul! Did I digress?

I’m angsty after my divorce. I loved him; he cheated on me because I cannot have children. It went down in the Church as an annulment. Tonight, I need to be the one on top. Topping isn't necessarily the best place to be; I get to exhaust a different set of emotions than those released when fighting against ropes and yelling into a ball gag.

“Oh, boy! What are you gonna do to us!” Jenny bounces as we enter the room.

I’m a quiet high strung girl; Jenny used to tire me when we were younger. She’s a quick trip to a diabetic sugar crash if I’m not careful; I love her exuberance anyway. At first, she was a bit tiring; once I got to know her as a person the energy came as a part of the package.

“Take your time and make it special,” Sera reminds me with a smile.
“I will,” I will, “You're both getting tied up for the entire night, I think.”

Sera is my stand-out friend, my go-to person when I want a calm answer from a like minded person. From freshman year we were classmates; it was late sophomore year that we became friends and junior year that she entered the Cool Girl’ Club. She and Jenny were at odds concerning my marriage before it happened, Jenny often begging me to dump him and Sera thiniking his faith was stronger than it was. Sera has been so apologetic in recent months. On the other hand, Sera encouraged me to stick it out with my choice of career while Jenny begged me to quit school and join Randaccio Fabrication. I’m glad I listened to Sera. Both stood by me regardless.

Well, now they willingly sat by me. They smiled so broadly too; these two loved to be tied up so much that they'd just sit there and take it. I had no chance of kidnapping them anyway; I was too weak against them even if I dropped them with a slew foot as I sometimes could do to people. Was I too weak? I figured we could try.

“Jen, Sera, can we do this kidnapper style? I want to know if I’ve still got it.”
“I love kidnappings!” Jenny eagerly agrees, “I’ll let you win if I get the edge.”
“Sugar is sweet, and so are you,” I watch Jenny jump to her feet.
“That's even more exciting,” Sera nervously moves her kerchief.
“Sera, if you touch your bandana one more time, I will gag you with it.”
“And your socks?” she bursts my bubble with her eagerness and her adorable accent.
“You know what? I'm just going off the cuff with you,” I burst hers back.

I only have cable ties, socks, and bandanas to use cause I was afraid to bring anything else with me. Sera brought no toys at all, but Jenny brought plenty. Of course she did so. Rope bunny. None of us is really prepared, but it doesn't matter cause I’m on a quest. I have Gangstas, one a short Princess and one an Italian Chick, to tie up.

My failure of an attempt to nab Jenny is a perfect example of her enormous heart. She doesn't fall in the right direction because she doesn't fall at all from me kicking her leg out from under her. She throws herself down anyway just to make me feel better. I jump on her and start a reverse prayer with a piece of rope. It's not real reverse prayer position; her hands are simply against the opposite shoulder.

“Heyyyyyyyy, don't do this,” she feigns disappointment with a squeak.
“Blah, blah, blah,” I sit on her and weave a prison.
“Stop it! No!” my butt cushion moves an awful lot.
“You stop it! Get off me!” her defiance is unending.
“You're the one on the bottom, not me,” I knot the rope.
“Don't do that!” she yells after I throw her shoes and purloin her socks, “Nooo!”

I reach over to grab a bandana; that's enough for her to run. Jenny takes off with her arms bound and heads into the bathroom, but I am right behind her. She fails to shut the door in time, wails when I enter the room, and flails because I grabbed the bag in my chase. She is now trapped like a little mischievous rat.

The dim lighting of the hotel room is the best scene for bondage. It's got dark green carpets and plasticy beige wallpaper. The giant air unit ranges between 10 degrees too cold and 10 degrees too warm. The beds are typical of hotels. I speak having eagerly consumed harmful amounts of bondage erotica and have done my own share of work in the industry. Quite sad, really, that it’s such a controversial topic without any outlet for girls like us who just want to search and discover new ideas! I’m digressing.

“Back off!” Jenny scrunches herself underneath the counter, “Don’t hurt me.”
“Come here, you naughty!” I seize her ankles and start fastening them together.
“Serafina, help me!” she squeals, squeaks, and squirms.
“Like she’ll do anything!” I cinch her ankles more roughly than necessary, but to her delight.
“Let me go, you evil engineer!” she fails to resist my superior rope skills.
“Yes, indeed, the evil engineer is going to abduct her enemy and steal her corporate secrets!”

I was a girl scout for 11 years; she is never escaping that. Lucky for her she has limits on certain tortures because I’d clamp her nipples for this otherwise. Scintillating eyes are one reason everyone loves tying up these two girls. She's liking what I am doing. I like it too.

Jenny wiggles her legs a bit and smiles. She wants me to stuff her socks in her mouth for the gag, but I am thinking about a rubber ball in case she sleeps with the gag. I am not like some folks who will do a “safe” gag and act like it's good enough; the only so called “safe” stuffed gag to me involves pulling a pillowcase over her head. Either I am psychic, or Jenny’s a rope bunny; she has pillowcases in her bag. Later, Jenny.

Jenny protests when I pull her out from under the counter and slide her across the cold white tile of the bathroom towards the bathtub. Off go her shoes; off go her socks. I push the dirty, sweaty, putrid socks into her mouth and pull a green bandana between her jaws with a secure knot behind her head.

I know how to make my friends happy. I push Jenny onto her stomach on the floor and tie a tight crotch rope first. I add knots and a blue rubber ball like we use for gags and position it right on her crotch. despite the jeans in the way, something I suspect is new to her. It's perfect though. A breast harness makes her bosom perkier than it is from her exercise routine.

There's more tying to be done; Jenny is incapacitated enough I can safely drag her to the bed though. I pull her along the cold tile; she squeals, squeaks, and squirms all the way across the tile and carpet to the bed. Gangsta Princess is bound and gagged. It's the Gangsta Chick’s turn next.

“If you want to go unharmed, kneel on the floor with your hands behind your back.”
“Yes, ma’am!” she all too eagerly does it.
“Thank you,” I take a rope and start pulling her arms into the same position.
“Mmmm!” Jenny squirms on the bed with determination.
“That's tight!” Sera protests with a gleam in her eyes.
“Mmm hmm!” Jenny agrees.

Once Sera’s arms are tied, I expose her right at this stage; no nipple clamps for Sera but other things will happen. She continues complaining when I push out her bosom with a harness. Off go her shoes; off go her socks; off go her shorts and panties too! What a smooth, strong, flat butt she has. What little fat she has, which is more than the slim Jenny or emaciated me have, is solely in her tummy and can be excused as being from having babies.

I haul Sera off the floor and shove her into the bathroom. The bathroom is cold and formal and emotionless; it's perfect for what I am going to do. Every hotel closet has stuff for ironing, including clothespins; clothespins for Serafina’s nipples! Screaming will not get her out of this; she sensibly keeps the volume down. I temporarily gag her with a blue rubber ball through which I have shoved a red bandana.

“Huh?!” she shrieks when I push her socks against her exposed crotch.
“Time to make these wet, my dear friend,” I announce and spank her.
“Guh! Mmmm!” less is more, harder is better.
“Aw, come on, Sera. Ball gag got your tongue?”
“Mmmmm!” she groans and drools on the counter when the socks rub her crotch.
“Ouch! NOOOOO!” I tweak each teat and get those beautiful daggers from her eyes.

Jenny likes being tied up more; Sera gets more happiness. How can I enjoy torturing Sera when she is almost floating with excitement? I can feel beads of sweat starting to form on her body. She has an enviable figure; I wish I were athletic like that. My ex sure left me for a girl with a figure like that. I hope she blue balls him.

That groan that comes out of Sera and what follows are it. She bends her knees a bit and lies her chest flat against the counter before stretching her legs out to full extent and lifting her butt in the air. Of course I spanked her. She has orgasmed, and I have slightly wet socks in my hand. They will do.

Sera is exhausted and audibly complains when I force her to eat the nasty socks; she wore those from 6AM until 8PM. Poor thing, enjoy. The same red bandana cleave gags her. My socks are for her bedtime gag. Sucks to suck, heh heh. Wait until I pull the pillowcase over your head; I hope you brought long sleeves to wear tomorrow. I’m digressing.

Let me talk about orgasms. Every girl is different. Some arch; some groan; some sigh; some are silent; some stretch; some squeal even. We’re all different. In the same way, different bodies do different things. No one gets vaginal spasms like Sera though; her husband is really lucky. I feel it because I might have pushed the wad up into her canal when I was trying to get her to orgasm. I am so good at getting girls off. Yes, when I do professional scenes, I am sometimes asked to do this to put a girl in her place.

Serafina has been drained by all this. It’s momentary; I strike. I drop her to the floor and frogtie her legs so that I have continued access to both her butt and her crotch. It’s a dirty tactic, but it’s a dirty game too. The goal of any game is to be victorious and have fun; such severity in tying up my friends puts the odds in the girl scout’s favor.

It’s time to reunite the friends. I drag Sera to the big king-sized bed and haul her up onto it. Just because I am small and emaciated (I still am not eating enough really) doesn’t mean I’m weak. I have two rope bunnies now on the bed. Both need some rope work for my safety. I never take chances. I have tied each girl’s arms in reverse prayer, but now it’s time to make sure the crotch ropes are legit, the harness are thrusting properly, and their legs are useless.

I turned Jenny and Sera into trussed and helpless damsels in distress of the most gorgeous kind, in my unhumble opinion. Both had the reverse prayer secured, and both were exposed. Jenny did not like breast torture; she got no clothespins. It was quite a process to get them both as they were. They fought me tooth and nail as if I were selling them into slavery. Spanking shut them right up!

Checklist:
Reverse prayer
Harnesses
Exposed boobs
Exposed crotches (Jenny kept her panties on)
Crotch ropes with rubber balls on their crotches
Frogtie (Sera)
Hogtie (Jenny)
Six leg ropes, 3 on each part (Jenny)
Big toes strung together
Yucky gags with cleave gags
Five layers of duct tape to muffle them

For Sera, there was a bonus! I pulled her panties over her head as a hoody before I wrapped her face in the tape. I hope she liked the smell because I sure didn’t, and she was quite the looker with no clothes on her lower body and only her rolled up shirt, sports bra, and bandana on her upper body.

“Mmmm!” Sera grunts as if it made a difference.
“Eeeee!” Jenny squeals in similarly useless fashion.
“Are you ladies ready?” my tone is sinister.
“No,” Sera is quite calm with her answer.
“Nnnn nn hmmm mmm! Nmm mmm MMM!” Jenny is excited and verbose.
“Too bad,” I spank each of them and laugh at the shrieks.

The blonde straight haired Scandinavian Gangsta Princess and the brown curly haired Italian Gangsta Chick look at each other. What a sight! They aren’t used to seeing each other quite like this. Even during their orgasm contests, usually they’re not exposed like this; heck, Jenny never wears blue jeans. The dim light of the hotel room makes quite the scene for them bound in such a nasty fashion. The floral comforter has been pulled back to reveal the plain white sheets under the pretty exterior.

Jenny’s blue jeans are crumbled up at the base of her butt, and both girls have their shirts shoved between their harness and their neck with their bras similarly uncomfortable. Their necks are flat on the bed; I know that they’re waiting for me to do something to them. The rubber balls are just the perfect place to start. I shamelessly push the balls deep into their respective crotches. Sera is less surprised and lurches a little; Jenny shrieks.

Let the Dallas automobile conference orgasm festival begin!

Jenny’s hair is so beautiful; I’m jealous. I’ve got glasses, diabetes, a barren womb, a poor figure, an eating disorder… And my friends here are both mothers. In fact, of my core group of friends from college I’m the only one who’s unwillingly childless. I start to feel a bit of anger at my life; I can't help that I was r-ped; it wasn't my fault. Envy is a terrible sin, though; it gets the better of me.

I jam the ball against Sera’s crotch and spank her on each butt cheek. I repeat this on Jenny. It's apparent I am venting on them. I sweat. My vision blurs. I get shaky. My thoughts lose focus. I dash to the fridge; Sierra Mist is my friend. Sugar crashes will always betray me. I have to breathe, relax, and regain my compassion. The light returns to my eyes although I still shake a little. Now, I am safe to resume the fun with a clear conscience.

I have them on the bed on either side of me, both on their side. Jenny’s to my dominant left-hand side; Sera’s on the right with her back to the sole light source. Gangstas are in trouble. I squeeze each girl’s bosom with my hands and get a squeal. I push the balls against their crotches and roll them back and forth. In perfect unison, they orgasm. Jenny struggles to stretch herself out; Sera pulls her knee into her chest. I feel the contractions from both; Sera’s shake me. I’d imagine she usually gets pushed to go first; those contractions will force her husband to finish in a blink! I do like to digress, don’t I?

Both girls strongly question the morality of this kind of play, but they entertain it still because it’s just what rope bunnies do. They can’t help that I’m forcing them to do this. They like it. I see it in their eyes, the squeals they make. Sera’s expression is a moderate groan that increases in pitch while decreasing in volume. Jenny’s is a high pitched squeal followed by a deep breath. Both of them stare at me with mixed curiosity, excitement, and wonder. Curious what’s next. Excited at the orgasm. Wonder at how good I am at this.

“I think it’s time to put you two to sleep,” I grab the roll of duct tape and my cell phone.
“EEEEEKKK!” Jenny squeals loudly as I set the timer for 45 seconds.
“You first, Sera,” I apply the strip and seal her nose.
“NNKK!” her groans become guttural.
“Noooo!” Jenny wails when I seal hers.
“Enjoy, my lovelies!” I start the timer with a grin.

I have a system. Sera first; Jenny second; start timer; timer off; Jenny first; Sera second. I know how to exercise extreme caution in breathplay; both damsels start rolling around like the sexually excited bondage gluttons that they are. They’re yelling, and their sweet pitiful groans perfectly match the atmosphere. Both rolled onto their bellies. I first jam the ball against Jenny’s crotch before spanking each butt cheek; I repeat the exercise on Serafina.

I’m the one who should be wearing the bandana, really; I’m perfect to be a dominant with a plaid skirt. I’m a naughty schoolgirl of sorts. I love giving torture when I know there’s such immense pleasure for the recipient. Jenny’s already going again; when the timer dings, I first free Jenny’s nose while Sera cums; I free Sera’s nose second. Both are wild-eyed and struggling like maniacs in an asylum. It’s a simple pulling of the tape so that their noses can easily get oxygen.

I pause a moment and walk over to the window and open the curtain and turn out the light. We only have the bright lights from the city of Dallas, the darkness of a waxing gibbous moon, and the faint glow of the stars for company. Shadows cast a grim darkness over the damsels. They are helpless now; the timer is set to 35 this time. So they suffer!

I force both to stay on their sides and simultaneously fondle their bosoms. Left breast 1. Right breast 2. Left breast 1. Right breast 2. Perfect sync. There goes Serafina getting excited, but I can see she will not cum during this cycle. Jenny is further from it. Jenny squeals and squirms and squeaks, especially after the tape comes off.

“Mmmmmmmm!” Sera groans loudly and stares at me in a pitiful way.
“Mmm mmm mmm mmm mmmmmmmmm!” Jenny rants again.
“Shut up,” I calmly order her before returning to the rubber balls again.
“Nooo! Mmmhmm mmm eeee! Mmm mmm uhhh!” the Gangsta Princess is indomitable.
“BAD!” I smother her alone and hit the timer.
“NGGGGHHHH!” she grunts.

I take over like never before. In those 35 seconds, Jenny gets her breasts squeezed, her butt spanked like I hadn’t yet, and the ball crushed against her body. She’s loving the breathlessness, and she really orgasms this time. What a shriek! Jenny is super excitable, and this is so much fun to pull out of her in such a dramatic way. Off with the tape.

“Your turn.”
“NGGGH!” Sera gets smothered in the darkness.
“Take this!” I spank her butt with a rough hand.
“GUG! NNNNN!” she’s squirming.
“That’s a nice show,” I jam the rubber ball deep against her.
“Mmmmmm!” I succeed in getting her off.

What ambiance! What a scene! I think they’ve had enough of the dark, and I turn the lights back on. Good, Lord! What a mess! Sera has cummed through the sheets. My captives are red faced, wide eyed, and excited. I ask if they're having fun; Jenny lets out a loud squeal of delight; Sera nods vigorously. No quit from them ever.

Jenny is so full of energy that she is still wriggling about like a caterpillar. Not even smothering takes the energy out of her. The pale blonde-haired blue-eyed girl is such a delight. She is as determined to escape as ever, but reverse prayer is too restrictive for her. I know how to put her in her place.

“30 seconds,” I smother both at once.
“Gnk! Mmmmm!” I get an insta-cum out of Jenny.
“Go for it Serafina! Jenny is outdoing you!” I spank both of her cheeks.
“Mmmmmm!” Jenny is so excitable.
“Ngfff!” Sera instead snaps her fingers 5 times SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! just as she's going.
“All right. Evacuation time!”

I undo the smother tape on both and immediately cut the tape gagging Serafina. I cut too eagerly and cut the bandana cleave gag as well without thinking. I unwrap Sera’s face and pull the cummy socks out of her mouth. Sera takes a deep breath and tries to stretch out and fails. She's smiling still.

“Had enough?”
“Of the intense stuff,” her accent is so cute, “Let me be. I need a break. I’m tired.”
“No problem. You want more, Jenny?”
“Mmm hmm!” the glutton nods with stars shining in her eyes.
“You get it. 25” I smooth the tape down.
“Gnk!” she is getting quieter.

When we were in college, we’d all have laughed if you said that one day Jenny, cute, little, innocent, adorable, energetic Jenny, would be a cum sl-t and an asphyxia addict of the highest kind. Oh, we’d have laughed if you said one day Jenny would even let people expose her nipples or even just occasionally force an orgasm. Then marriage hit, and she discovered that orgasming felt good.

As you have noticed in this tale, with time Jenny becomes faster in her orgasms. Cum is just pouring out no problem. From Gangsta Princess to this in 9 years. Now that is a progression. Speaking of orgasms, I am spanking Jenny and pushing that rubber ball deep into her again, and she cannot resist this. She is extremely excited and now is so easily set off. This time, the tape comes off for good.

“Joyce, baby, could you rub the ball against me some more?” Sera asks me sweetly.
“For a sugary girl like you, of course,” I turn to her and fulfill her request.
“Ohhhhh, that's so good,” she rolls her eyes in pleasure.
“Is it working?” I check with her to be sure.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” her legs draw in; she's orgasming.
“Success!” I even applaud, “This has been so much fun.”
“What about your socks?” Sera asks me.
“Pre-empted. You’ll see in a little bit.”

Jenny is in such a frenzy that her bandana has slipped off her head now. My goodness I am surprised she has never had problems with women pursuing her because I know I just simply envy everything about her except her hair color and her stature. No one I know feels my pain like Jenny; she was engaged and caught her fiancé sexting other women. She was so heartbroken then, and a better opportunity took its place.

Then Jenny snaps five times as well.

After one last orgasm, it is time to get the girls ready for bed. No more crotch ropes; regular waist ropes instead. Normal wrist and elbow ropes. Sera’s legs get tied like Jenny's. Sera's new gag is the cum soaked rubber ball with a handkerchief through the holes; Jenny gets a clean orange rubber ball with a pink bandana. I take both of their kerchiefs and use them to blindfold the respective girl. Also as part of things, just to be on equal terms, we're all naked. There's no reason except I get to fondle them and make them squeal with delight.

From heartache and jealousy to a night I will never forget.u

THE END

Which story would you like next?

[tiedinbluetights]

Great chemistry between the three protagonists. Perhaps the Chemist next?

[Windrunner]

Conferences with a very high nerd factor do indeed seem to correlate with kinkster activity I like this story so far! (but you always are a good writer)

[LunaDog]

You've 'engineered' a great tale here, Sir. Superb.

[AlexUSA3]

Great chemistry between the three protagonists. Perhaps the Chemist next?

Since only you asked, your wish is fulfilled!

Conferences with a very high nerd factor do indeed seem to correlate with kinkster activity I like this story so far! (but you always are a good writer)

Thanks

You've 'engineered' a great tale here, Sir. Superb.

And I hope the next story I 'concocted' is just as strong!

The Chemist (M/F)

Conferences suck because it’s an occasion where my beloved bandanas are completely unacceptable. If I want the comfort of wearing something to hold my hair back, it has to be elastic. It just feels so wrong for me, and I will never get used to them. Forever and ever, I am the Gangsta Queen, the girl with the wavy dark brown Portuguese hair and the Irish skin.

I’m a kinky chemist, a kinky Gangsta Queen, and a kinky wife, though. Maybe that is part of why I have thrown off my skirt and blouse and replaced them with a black kerchief bandana and a two piece catsuit. Yes, a catsuit. Not latex, though. I do not know yet if I want to be roped or if to be put into my straitjacket. Chemist! I wear a bandana and a lab coat all day at work, but I have to look like a secretary for this!

I like the feel of the suit clinging to my skin and the color of it. Mine doesn’t have that annoying shine the latex ones do. It’s all about the comfort and what it does to Chris. Oh, my husband is with me on this trip just for the trip, in the days before my pregnancy, and while he loves me as the Gangata Queen he gets an instant lump in his crotch when he sees me in this. If he asks me to put it on, then he’s horny; if I put it on without him asking, then I’m the one who’s horny. It's chemistry.

Ah, yes, I watch his eyes pop when I step out of the bathroom. Did I mention the instant lump? It’s there. I’ve even been building him up by refusing his advances for the past four weeks that lead up to this night. I am a Gangsta Queen even if one dressed to impress only one person right now. Now you understand why I got a two piece.

It’s easy to choose the white rope over the black. They’re the same rope in different colors, but I want the rope to be obvious as it hugs different parts of my body. I am not going to just lie down and get tied up though. I am wearing black boots as well; they’re basically snow boots with the heel extended. They’re far from your typical sexy boot and came from a regular shoe store.

With a flourish, I toss my laundry into the suitcase; it’s half empty for now, but it will be full by the end of the conference in two more days. By the end of the night, maybe? I don’t know. I am ready to go, though, and enjoy my husband seeing no more of my skin than my hands and head. It was the Gangsta Queen side of me that first attracted him to me, and it was the soft side of me with which he fell in love.

“Suppose you’re an Interpol officer, and you walked into your room and found the spy you have been stalking for 3 years in your hotel room. She is sitting at your computer,” I sit down at his laptop, “You can tie her up any way you wish so long as you don’t hurt her. Before you have sex with her, you remember she’s your wife and you’re neither an Interpol officer nor she a spy. Just be gentle with her because your bosses have a big price on her head.”

I stand holding a piece of rope in my hands, and I stride toward the little desk at which he works so hard writing a message to his mother in our family group chat. I hand him the rope and take the seat to begin doing an internet search to pick a restaurant for tomorrow’s lunch. I have left him holding the bag, literally, as he has taken hold of our rope bag.

“Suppose I had a gun,” he says “And I pointed it right at you,” he reaches into the clean suitcase and throws the straitjacket at me, “And I ordered you to take off your top and put this jacket on.”
“I’d stand up,” I push out the chair and stretch myself out to my full 5’4”, “And obey from fear.”
“I’m telling you to obey,” he grins as my bare breasts become exposed.
“I will obey,” I smile coyly and start slipping my arms into the sleeves, “But what if I were feisty?”
“I’d hand a little box to you and tell you to tie it to your ankle. It contains a time bomb.”
“Fine,” I stoop and strap the red ‘bomb’ onto my ankle.

I am already warm inside, and I haven’t even put the straitjacket on yet! But now I am a spy who has been captured and now has a bomb strapped to her ankle. I look up at the officer who caught me and see a confidence come over his face as I put my arms in the straitjacket. My fate is sealed by my decision to obey. I could have gotten roped by fighting, but instead I take the easy way to pleasure.

SNP, for Sarah Nichole Petersen, is embossed in bright white letters at the base of the back of the jacket, placed there by my loving friends when they purchased this for us. It was given with love and is used with love. Chris walks over and begins securing the straps around my body, making sure each one is tight. My arms are completely restrained, and he brings an orange rubber ball to my mouth.

It’s a big rubber ball that enters my mouth, probably a 2.5” based on how it jams between my jaws. It was primed with a black bandana as if I’d planted it on top of the bag sometime before now. It is perfect and big and shuts me right up! He knots the bandana and sends me right to the wonderful realm of gag talk. Chemistry is working now.

“Lie down on the bed. On your back. Now,” he calmly orders me.
“Mmmm,” I do what he says, and rope wraps around my ankle and my heel.
“You will not suffer what you would have had you fought me.”
“Unhie he!” I get a bit belligerent.
“You don't sound too happy,” he laughs at me.
“H-ck you!”

My ankles get tied together as well on top of them being roped to the same leg of the hotel bed. I am in big trouble. Which is more exciting: him stripping naked or having my pants and panties pulled down? I respond to his hardness by rolling over onto my stomach. He naturally spanks my bare bottom, and I shriek.

Straitjacket sex is the best. Just suit up, get yourself in one of these latex delights, and take off the crotch strap just long enough for your man to hammer you to happiness. If you're not a straight girl, I can't help you. I’m getting like a cat in heat at this point, and Chris doesn't play around. He rolls me back onto my back and takes the plunge.

“H-ck you! I hate you!” I say despite the gag jamming my jaws apart.
“Oh, really? I’m not too sure about that,” his junk pushes inside me. So damn good.
“Et e o! Unhie he! Ah anna o home!” I feel him exploring me.
“Hush, baby, it's just me,” he plants an erotic kiss on my cheek.
“Go ahay!” I stay in character despite the arousal; the game is to break me.

Chris’s body is between my spread legs. This is why only my ankles are tied at the moment. He wants easy access to me for the moment. That erect junk inside me feels so good, and he pushes on the right spot the first try without realizing it. I let out a groan from the G-spot push, but he’s already pushing on another spot.

Nothing is more empowering than giving up all of your power to someone you trust. TUGs come in various flavors ranging from innocent kid’s games to bedroom games to criminal acts. I give up everything to Chris and let him take my v-gina without any qualms. I trust Chris so much that sometimes, when he's stressed, I will give him the green light (permission) to kidnap me for oral. Reality is that I am in control, and he is doing my bidding,

Reality is that I want children. I don't know how many I want, and he wants as many as I want, but… I miscarry my children. At this point, I have lost three, and we don't force the issue and just keep trying in hopes it will work. The miscarriages bring me incredible heartache and depression, but this time feels special. In my heart, I know this time is going to be the winner.

Chris is so sweet. He is holding back his load so that I can orgasm first, and I forget for a second that I am supposed to be a sinister spy. We cannot play CNC games; it is too disgusting. Exaggerated roleplays like these, however, are so blatantly fake that it feels like standard consensual bondage sex. Even in a moment like this, it's all fun and games.

I let out a soft groan and start arching as I let out a deep sigh. I'm orgasming, and I am not loud at that. I remain in character with my fearful moans until the orgasm hits me, and then I am temporarily lost in the hormonal bliss. He resumes jamming my G-spot and begins pumping into my body. It's a chemical exchange of a special kind. A chill goes down my spine; my fervent prayers have been answered.

Chris pulls out of my body and secures the crotch strap on the straitjacket. Rope binds my thighs together. I squirm in imagination of what is to come. I am drooling now and in an aroused state. It's easy to keep pushing me now. Chris rolls me onto my belly, and the chemistry of love is at work. I wait for it; it's time for my crimes to be laid upon my ass.

SMACK! “Spy!” SMACK! “Seductress!” SMACK! “Threat to international security!” SMACK! “Catsuit lover!” SMACK! “Thief!” SMACK! “Wife!”
SMACK! “Gagsta!” (a joke about gags) SMACK! “Bestie!” SMACK! “Sexy thing!” SMACK! “Sister!”

I love the pain so much. I grew to be a different kind of dirty girl when it comes to TUGs. Some of my friends, amazingly, still do not play dirty TUGs even after getting married. God bless all of them because nothing compares to being spanked and taunted by my husband. I enjoy getting tortured by my friends and even getting sexually teased, but nothing at all tops it from him.

“Will you surrender?” he asks me with confidence.
“No! H-ck -ourthelf!” I snarl into the rubber ball.
“You’re the only one getting h-cked right now, it seems,” he taunts me.
“GRRRRRR!” I’m really into this and shoot daggers from my eyes despite my arousal.
“More spanking it is.”
“NOO!” if I keep it up, I am hoping he’ll take my mouth with his next load.

SMACK! “Vixen!”
SMACK! “Talk!”
SMACK! “You’re going to tell me why you came here!”
SMACK! “Rope lover!”
SMACK! “I’ll get the secrets out of you yet!”
SMACK! “Gangsta!”
SMACK! “Look at you enjoying this!”
SMACK! “You mock me by squealing with delight!”
SMACK! “You degenerate!”
SMACK! “Will you talk?!” he then forces me to sit up again.

I yell some more into my gag and sexily drool upon my breasts. His eyes betray his own arousal at my state. He draws his face near mine, and I respond with a gagged kiss on the cheek and by trying to push the gag out with my tongue. He knows what that means. It’s set.

SMACK! “OWWW!” I can’t resist crying out this time.
SMACK! “NGGH!” the hardest set, the final one, is the best.
SMACK! “MMMM!” I’m trying my best now.
SMACK! “UGH!” He’s going to fall short of the orgasm.
SMACK! “OWWWWWWW!” I screech as the gag allows.

I am seated up again, and the gag comes off. After a threat to do worse if I bite him, his penis, now hardening again, enters my mouth. This is the only part of such an intense game where I can stay in character start to finish without pausing to express any enjoyment. He pauses for a moment and thinks before pulling his penis out.

“Do it yourself, and I will let you put your clothes back on.”
“And what if I don’t, you f-cking maniac?!” I snarl at him in my excitement.
“Then I will tie you in an X on the bed and edge you to madness while you’re gagged with your own socks and panties and while I use your p-ssy to my heart’s content.”
“I guess sucking is my choice then,” I grimace and squirm, but I’m really excited.
“Get to it. I’m waiting, and don’t forget to swallow it.”
“Yes, sir,” I resume the fellatio.

I’m a truly naughty girl in sexual play. I joyfully suck him while I am groaning and complaining about it. After 5 years of marriage, I know him well already and have explored the limits and the things that make him harden faster and frustrate him. I work him to his peak before he goes and stop with a mischievous smile. I struggle a little in my straitjacket and revel in my predicament. I am still feeling the burn from not orgasming before.

“You’re a spy and a Gangsta Queen,” he pauses to pet my kerchief covered head.
“Thank you, sir. At least you recognize my beautiful,” I pull back and shake my curls about.
“You get five seconds to resume my blowjob, and then you will finish it and swallow it.”
“Must I?” I give him the most pitiful look.
“Or you can get that disgusting gag…”

I voluntarily continue the act and resume my impassioned groans of disdain and anger as I do the thing required of me. When he starts pumping into my mouth, I can do nothing but swallow all of the salty humiliating fluid from his body. I wait until he is done and lick the last bits off him.

“Have I earned that short lived freedom? Will let me work off this burn in my crotch?”
“You may work it off while you remain in the jacket. I will untie your legs and release the strap on your crotch and gag you again. You may use my body to please yourself while I lie on my back on the bed.”

I have no choice. I am gagged again, and he releases my legs. I step back though to work up a new hardness in him by seductively posing in my straitjacket. My pale skin and lack of muscle isn’t much to look at for most, but for him it’s the most beautiful body in the world, the one and only body he will study for more than a nanosecond. It’s the chemistry of love at work.

I am going to spare you these details, but I started by working him with the ball gag because I knew it would take a little bit for him to get hard again. The hard rubber jolts him a little, and I get aroused by the humiliation of playing with his junk with my gag. After a few minutes of shafting myself, I get my much needed release. The first phase of “Kinky Chemist in a Catsuit” is done.

Chris undoes the straps of the jacket. Now free, I get my catsuit back in order with it all in the right places. Freedom is brief, however, because Chris then begins tying my arms in a boxtie. I say nothing and let him work the tight harness and crotch rope. He ties my ankles, knees, lower thighs, and upper thighs while I grunt and squirm. I am still gagged with thr rubber ball, but he takes off my boots and my black socks. After he wads up the socks, he jams them against my crotch.

Nothing is like having Chris silently sit me on his lap so he can grope me to his heart’s content. I can only groan, issue gag talk protests, and squirm. He pushes me toward another orgasm, and the kisses he plants on my cheek are a good way to do that since the most chemically stimulating place to kiss a lady is on the face. I melt a little in his arms and forget that I am an evil spy and start kissing him back. Chris removes the gag so we can kiss better.

“This is an effective way of making you talk,” he says before our lips meet.
“Forget about spies for a moment and just love me,” I ask him.
“Ok,” his breast fondling is electrifying, and his crotch groping is liquifying.
“Mmmmm,” I squirm in the ropes despite knowing that such is a waste of my time.
“You're so beautiful,” again we meet, and with a crush of my breasts.
“Mmm mmmmmmm,” I let out a deeper sigh and arch a little.
“Excellent,” I hardly notice him reaching into my pants for my orgasmed socks.
“I love you so mummmphhhh!” the socks enter my mouth, “Ewwwww!”

I try thrashing to push the socks out of my mouth, but wide black electrical tape wraps around my mouth as three layers of cleave gag and eight of a typical wrap gag. There is nothing to gain from struggling anymore. I yell “Mmmmmmm!” into my orgasmed dirty laundry and confirm my helplessness. A white bandana blindfolds me. Nothing can stop him from loosening my crotch rope, working my pants and panties down a little, and plunging in from behind for some doggy style bondage sex with me on my knees on the bed and him behind me.

He continues talking softly to me. I am between a spy and his wife now. He seeks my comfort in this way because of my feelings about true CNC play. You know what's more amazing than having a guy pump into you or you self-lubricating his penis? When you self-lubricate, and the resulting motions of your muscles push him over the edge to do his thing. That gets a louder squeal with the sigh because it makes me so much more happy. We have such good chemistry.

I’m not detailing another round of spanking, but another 20 good spanks puts me over the moon and excites me. I know that I am getting set up for another plunge in my V slot, and that was my favorite anyway. This was nothing. One night during a roleplay Chris just kept taking me from 8:30 until after midnight, and neither of us ever tired of it. When you're married, sometimes just the togetherness makes it special.

Orgasm gags are the thing of legend. There are Cool Girls who take a dirty sock gag no problem. Few, though, truly enjoy a dirty sock gag soaked in their own orgasm. It is the ultimate in kink, in my opinion, without being a genuine health risk. Tonight is a special night, and my V gets taken for the third time. This time, I ham it up like the spy in the catsuit should while lying on my back with my legs in the air.

“Mmm mmm mmmm mmmmmmm!” I groan a bit.
“Having too much fun?” he gently caresses my face.
“Mmmmmmm!” I suck on my socks in my attempts to talk.
“No worries, hot stuff,” he pumps me up for the final time.
“Mmph!” I fake a little anger since I cannot see his face,
“Since you like gross flavors, how about gross smells?”

Remember that suitcase of dirty, stinky laundry? Chris jams me into it after all and zips it shut with me wailing and crying. It smells awful in there, and now I’m trapped in there with dirty shirts, skirts, pants, and underwear. Oh, what fun though! Being so tightly squished into something, whether a suitcase or a bin, is such a thrill! My knees are in my chest, and I can barely move at all. He taunts the spy about taking her home to his employers where she will be specially processed and kept as his personal toy.

Soon, though, I am on top of Chris, still wearing my catsuit, but free from all bonds; I am pleasing him with my mouth one last time so I can get one last blast of flavor. It is the perfect end to a busy day, and it's only the Tuesday of a weeklong conference… I suspect my catsuit will be making another appearance but for a lighter game focused on just making sure I have fun.

EPILOGUE

My psychological suffering had ended. Almost nine months to the day of this night, I finally gave birth to my first child, a daughter whom Chris and I named Emily Danielle. Yes, we love being parents as much if not more than we expected.

Thanks for reading.

THE END

Who's next?

The Dirty Girls?
Or the Meteorologists?

[tiedinbluetights]

Wow! As I've mentioned on other M/F stories, it is not my usual cup of tea, but I've really enjoyed reading this one. The chemistry was really high between the main character and her hubby. The TUG was like a perfect tango, and the happy epilogue the cherry on the cake. Thanks!

Let's let someone else ask for what the next chapter should be.

[LunaDog]

I agree, normally i prefer F/M stories, but occasionally i enjoy a good M/F story. This is one of those.

[AlexUSA3]

Wow! As I've mentioned on other M/F stories, it is not my usual cup of tea, but I've really enjoyed reading this one. The chemistry was really high between the main character and her hubby. The TUG was like a perfect tango, and the happy epilogue the cherry on the cake. Thanks!

This means the story was a success! Thank you for your kind words.

I agree, normally i prefer F/M stories, but occasionally i enjoy a good M/F story. This is one of those.

Thanks. The remaining stories will focus on F/F dynamics, but they will highlight different kinds of relationships. We've seen best friends and now a married couple. Next we'll examine in-laws.

I hope this next one is dynamic enough for everyone.

The Meteorologists (F/FFF)

Houaton, Texas, January, 2022. Four girls strut down a hallway after a long day of attending talks, giving demonstrations, and learning. It's the biggest week of the year for meteorologists, the conference of the society to which they all belong. Two of us girls even gave talks about our own work in front of a large audience as part of a session today! It was so exciting!

Erin, Bridget, and Joy (Fredericks) Sjaastad are accompanied by Sammy Räänta. Sammy is one of my younger sister’s best friends. They are both TV meteorologists thanks to Bridget, who is and has been Sammy’s idol for many years. Thanks to Bridge, Sammy is happy and comfortable and back in her hometown..

Four of us share a room, two to a bed. Joy and Sammy are in one, and Bridget and I (Erin) are in the other. This way we sisters are together; Joy and Sammy aren’t icky. We’re here for the next four nights, which means evenings back in the hotel room.

Joy is the one who stands out like a sore thumb with her pink floral bandana, a kerchief. Joy, as much as she is a dirty dominatrix, is really quite a calm and controlled girl. The bandana is more than just a symbol of being the “Cool Girl” nicknamed “Gangsta Chick.” It’s her daily reminder to stop and pray at times, and it works wonders for her as a person. I admire her enough that I do it too, but I use a plain brown headband to be subtle while Joy wears her heart on her sleeve.

Joy calls herself a dumpling but isn’t. She’s a little shorter than Bridget, who’s 5’4”, and weighs about the same although Bridget works out once or twice a week. Far from unhealthy if you ask me. Besides the kerchief, she has a brown long-sleeve t-shirt and a pink denim skirt that swishes along the tops of her purple sneakers. In her blue eyes is the experience of a thousand mistakes from which she gleaned all the positives, left all the negatives behind, and now teaches others in a kindly, motherly manner. I might be 31 to her 26, but I consider her my best friend beyond just being my sister in law.

“Girls, I have a couple of pizzas on their way,” Joy smiles in that maternal manner.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Bridget responds, “I’m the one with the big bucks job.”
“But I wanted to do it,” Joy insists and takes a seat at the table in our suite.
“Oh, let her be,” I rebuke Bridget; Joy’s being affectionate in her own way.
“Might mean a cookie fell into the order too,” our sister-in-law smiles.
“You try to be so thoughtful,” Sammy begins massaging Joy’s shoulders, “You rocked it today.”

I agree. Joy rocked it. The biggest of us all, Sammy, was my sister’s rowing teammate in both high school and college, overlapping by a year in each. She’s a strange one, set in her Old World ways when it comes to so much. Her shiny blonde hair, which is darker than my platinum locks but lighter than Joy’s darker blonde, is wrapped up in a beautiful braid that has perfect precision from years of having her hair that way. Even while wearing a coral turtleneck long-sleeve t-shirt, her muscles are apparent and draw your eyes. She has so much raw strength in her, and it shows that she works out daily. With the coral is a tiffany blue knee skirt, pantyhose, and white heels.

Sammy isn’t one to heap a girl with praises, so that’s the most Joy will get out of her. My sister is flopped on the bed on her back in a big X; is she asking for us to just grab her? A smile is on her face; she’s proud of me for how I did on my own talk. I’m not a weather girl by training like the other three; Joy simply helped me get a job working in her department based on my skills. I do it though with the help of my sister and sister-in-law. I don’t know what it is. Her inability to see the world in a more positive light makes me worry she’s a negative influence on Bridget and Joy, but Joy is as she is despite being a convert to Sammy’s brand of religion. She’s so down on herself and always seems shocked that anyone cares about her and figures that whatever she does will somehow corrupt the people around her. She’s trapped by the past mistakes she’s made and others made that affected her just as much as Joy is free from them.

Bridget is one who looks like a stereotypical stocky and slender Scandinavian girl, but she’s got the strength of an average rower 5 inches larger than her own 5’4”, but Sammy is an exception to that concept. Bridget is the one of us in pants; proper black slacks, a bright blue button-up shirt, black socks, and black heels. Unlike the rest of us, her hair has nothing holding it back. She is my pretty, successful sister.

Then there’s me. I’m 5’6”, but I’m a weakling. I’m wearing a soft earthy beige skirt and a sage green long sleeve t-shirt. I also wear the mentioned headband that shows my solidarity with my sister-in-law and friend, Joy. Brown leggings, similar socks, and beige flats keep me warm. I am a massive weakling who’s never been to the gym in her life and merely goes for walks after supper each night.

It’s good pizza, but after dinner and a cookie I need that walk. No one wants to follow me, and I step out all by myself. It’s a nice time to reflect on the strengths and weaknesses of my talk and get a little time alone to pray. I enter the suite to find a disaster zone. Sammy is tied up on the table!

“Mmmm!” she yells into a rubber ball.

Sammy’s groan tells me that this wasn’t consensual, and the puddle of drool on the table tells me she has been tied there for at least 10 minutes. She is quite rudely tied up in a bizarre matchup of pain and gain. Her shirt is on her, mostly on her, but her skirt is gone. Her arms are completely and frighteningly secured by a series of zips. It’s only not stomach churning because of her shirt; 9 of the quarter inch plastic strips I count up her arms. Her shirt is rolled up to her neck, and her orange sports bra has also been pushed up and over her womanhood. It's a bizarre sight because she wears glasses.

Wider plastic zips wrap her chest on both sides of her breasts, pinning her arms and pushing her womanhood out; there are even individual green zips wrapped around the base of them. It looks so painful. Attached to her nipples are red binder clips. From the binder clips are thinner ropes which run from the clips to the corners of the table. Her breasts are a dark red but do not appear to be darkening further; they’re just tender.

Her legs are also zipped into a frogtie position. Six are along each leg, crushing them together in a manner that makes me wince. The hose is still on her legs though, but they’re rolled down to her upper blue zips, for lack of a better description. Ropes run from her ankles to the legs of the table behind her and from her knees to the legs in front of her. She is facing towards the door, or away from the other two. She is positioned far enough back that her butt and feet just hang off the table. The chairs are positioned around the table and zipped to it so that it cannot be flipped.

The ropes from the clamp keep her from moving her torso backwards. The ropes from her knees and ankles hold her legs firmly in a kneeling ‘W’ position. From her braid emanates a rope that passes through her crotch and also to the binder clips. A ratchet runs from her neck up to the chandelier’s attachment above her head so that leaning forward strangles her. It’s all done to give her kidnapper access to her crotch, butt, breasts, head, and neck. To torture her as much as possible, a vibrator is strapped to her right thigh.

Joy and Bridget casually sit on the bed discussing the day’s events and act like Sammy isn’t there at all. Sammy seems to be sexually excited but not too concerned about it. She doesn’t pay any attention to the other two and seems focused on her situation. A second look tells me that there’s a good reason to not move much. All of her fingers are wrapped top to bottom in black electrical tape; her palms are wrapped in red; orange wraps her four tips together; green wraps her thumbs to her palms. Her big toes are zipped with a red zip.

Colorful!

“Which of you two did this?”
“One of us,” Bridget grins and looks at me before turning away.
“Oh, Sammy? Yeah, someone did it. I can’t say who though,” Joy smiles too.
“I need the potty. Be back soon,” Bridget walks away from the scene with a guilty look.
“Yeah, be back soon!” I wag a finger at her.
“Riiigggghhhhttttt,” she winks at me and shuts the door.

I stand and stare at the girl and cannot decide if I’m shocked, horrified, disgusted, or bemused by the sight. Sammy seems happy, but it seems wrong and dehumanizing. It’s one thing to brutally tie her up because she likes it, but the exposure, breast torture, crotch torture, and choke rope are nothing but p0rn to me. I am disgusted, but I can’t stop Joy, Bridget, and Sammy from enjoying things in their own way. I would have thought they’d be more considerate, though, and maybe not do it while we’re here or at least ask Bridget to take me somewhere else. Joy appears next to me. Odd groans come from Sammy every so often.

“Want to get away from this?” she asks me.
“Did you do this?” I ask her coldly, “I believe this is wrong, immoral, and un-Christian.”
“I can tie you, gag you, blindfold you, and even block your ears.”
“But you’ll still be doing it?” I ask as she gently, and fearfully, grabs my hand.
“We have different standards. Try to understand,” her voice breaks.
“Fine,” I turn to her kindly gaze, “Maybe we can experiment after.”

Joy starts gently leading me by the hand toward the bed, and I don't realize that she is kidnapping me until she grabs the tote. A smile is on her face, mixed with guilt. She feels bad for causing offense and wants to make amends. I can't win against her; there is a charm in her mannerisms. It's no wonder my brother fell in love with her.

Bridget, I suspect, is waiting until I am tied up to reappear. Joy calmly takes out rope and ties my elbows first; even in kidnapping people she can be motherly. Others call her a headmistress, but I am not so sure that it's an appropriate title. There is a distinct kindness in how she does it even when it's forced. She uses her rough rope to ensure my flexible body doesn't simply contort itself out of the bonds.

My shoes and socks are naturally removed from my feet and set aside. No, my socks are not needed now because I am receiving a different pair of socks. Joy meticulously checks everything before filling my mouth with her own socks. There's stinky cheese, there's Bridget cheese, and there's baby sister cheese. My own comes between stinky and Bridget, but Joy cheese is very close to baby sister, unanimously chosen by survey to be the worst of the Sjaastad sister cheeses. A red bandana rams the socks deep into my mouth so that I must work hard to spit them out.

Joy lays me on the bed with my legs toward the headboard and ties my ankles into a wide but comfortable spread. Only then does she tie a crotch rope under my skirt but over my panties. I have had these before, always from one of these three present, but I am a virgin and have never orgasmed. Joy attaches a rope to my wrists and runs it to the headboard of the bed. She wraps it carefully and brings it to my elbows. Again, she wraps it around once, and it gets tied around the crotch rope. My resting position is now such that my chest is inches off the bed. Bringing myself closer pulls on the crotch rope and lifts my pelvis into the air.

“Mmmmmm!” I groan and taste nasty toe cheese.

My knee socks are taken off my feet by Joy, and Bridget finally returns. Joy hears the door unlatching and gracefully dashes out of my sister's range of vision. Not one part of Joy shows any lack of confidence; she is calm as can be as she grabs a roll of duct tape from the bag. She carefully considers it. The flavor of poison is irrelevant when it's all poison.

“Having fun, Sam?” Bridget walks over and twists one of the binder clips.
“Unggg!” Sammy cries out, and I wince in pain with her.
“Oh, Erin, I see Joy got to you, hmm?” she turns to me and smiles, “How are you?”
“Ah’m eahin Oy’h hockh! Ewwww!” I respond and then laugh.
“Well, aren't you a darling sight?” my sister approaches me, “Just need the bandana.”
“Ook ou!” I warn her too late.

It's amazing to see the talented girl at work. She effortlessly kicks Bridget’s legs out from under her. Before Bridget hits the floor, Joy is already wrapping the orange tape around her captive's wrists. She knows just the right way to trip and grab Bridget so that she’s helpless.

“Joy! How dare you!”
“Don't resist me,” Joy authoritatively gave a resonant spank.
“Owwmmmph!” Bridget ate a sock
“There, there, my dear,” the master jammed it all the way into her mouth.
“Augh! Homph!”
“That's it,” the sound of tape peeling off the roll filled the suite.

Four layers of cleave gag and six of regular lip taping ensured Bridget couldn't push out my knee sock. There was a joyful, playful fire in her eyes while Joy unbuttoned her blouse while the legs flailed so much that her heels came off. The master said she needed those.

Once Bridget’s boobs were completely visible, Joy taped her arms down to her waist and squeezed them to her chest so that her breasts pushed out from her body. Bridget got bright green binder clips on each one, yowling and shrieking with each one. Then, to my shock, Joy pulled her pants and hose off to pull the hose over my sister’s head! Joy wrapped the legs around Bridget’s neck and knotted before tying my other sock over her damsel's nose.

Daggers fly from Bridget's eyes, and Joy wraps the entirety of Bridget's thighs in one strip of tape and her lower legs in a second. The masterclass continues with Joy not breaking the second strip until she has put Bridget’s heels back on her feet and also wrapped the tape around her feet. The heels have no purpose except to make Bridget have a harder time hopping should she try to break out of it. Clothespins finish off my little sister without causing too much stress.

“So… Sammy… having fun?” Joy struts over and clicks the ratchet twice.
“Guhhuh!” she groans as her airway gets smaller.
“Let’s spare you that,” Joy takes off the winch, “Turtleneck for you tomorrow.”
“Gmmm,” Sammy gets her face wrapped in microfoam tape 2 times.
“This is better,” Joy seals her nose shut with another strip; she's smothering Sammy!
“Gmmmmmm!” the victim thrashes and screams.

Joy continues strutting around Sammy amidst a sea of screams and groans. Joy seems to forget about our conversation and goes to town brutally spanking Sammy, cranking on the binder clips, squeezing her boobs, and rubbing her crotch. It's agonizing, and those same now familiar groans intersperse the time. Sammy’s lungs desperately are heaving, and she can barely move in resistance.

I close my eyes. I cannot watch it any longer. Why do this to Sammy? Why does she enjoy doing it? Is she truly some freak? I open my eyes to see Joy unpeeling the tape and tenderly rubbing Sammy's head to comfort her. Now, it clicks with me. They get a different reaction from it than I do. I’d be crying and begging for mercy if I were in Sammy’s position; Sammy is enjoying it though and enough of it.

Sammy likes receiving it as much as Joy likes giving it, but I cannot be a witness to this. I snap my fingers five times while concluding that those odd groans were the legendary orgasm, something I still have never experienced. I am as of this writing planning an elopement and haven't experienced orgasm at nearly 34 years of age.

“Erin, I ruined it all for you, didn't I?” Joy asks me once I am free and ungagged.
“No, Joy, but… I need time alone to think about this. Have fun while I take a nice hot bath; I’ll use my earbuds so you can be as loud as you’d like.”
“You think Sammy and I are sickos, don't you?”
“No,” I am candid, “Bridget likes getting screwed while tied up. It's just not for me.”
“Sammy and I debate about it a lot, too,” she blushes, looks away, and touches her kerchief, “Erin, you know it's an outlet for us.”
“I know. It's just not the way I want to play,” I reach out and give Joy a hug.
“Awww,” she cuddled up with me like with her own sister, “I’ll have my phone. Text me when you're done, OK?”
“You better pray from the head covering than I do,” Joy is brutally honest,
“No comparing yourself to others. Bridget has told me of how transformational it has been for you.”

I headed into the bathroom, turned on the exhaust, and put my earbuds into my ears to listen to some Mozart while I relaxed with my coloring app and enjoyed a hot bath infused with essential oils and such. It had been an interesting and eye-opening day, and I could say that witnessing helped me to finally accept and appreciate that there are people who just like to play TUGs in a rougher way than I do.

Will I ever play anything that rough? No. The next night, though, I asked Joy to put clothespins on my boobs. If Bridget was OK with that and not much more, I knew I could handle it. Maybe sometime I will tell the tale of the night of the Sjaastad sister boob torture as it truly is the only dirty thing any Sjaastad girl will entertain outside the bedroom.

Thank you, Joy, for opening my eyes to see that there are good people out there who enjoy heavier bondage.

THE END

[LunaDog]

The great standard continues. Another superb episode.

However, for your next planned story, i could be wrong, but wouldn't having a story involving two sisters be breaking the site rules? Would it be safer in this respect to have them as cousins, or just good friends? As i say though, i could be wrong about this.

[AlexUSA3]

The great standard continues. Another superb episode.

However, for your next planned story, i could be wrong, but wouldn't having a story involving two sisters be breaking the site rules? Would it be safer in this respect to have them as cousins, or just good friends? As i say though, i could be wrong about this.

They're not having sex; they're just playing a dirty game.

Thank you again for yet another kind compliment.

[LunaDog]

They're not having sex; they're just playing a dirty game.

That makes sense. I can only ask you to believe me when i say my intentions here were good, i wasn't trying to cause trouble here.

And if it's up to the standard of the previous parts, it'll be well worth waiting for.

[AlexUSA3]

They're not having sex; they're just playing a dirty game.

That makes sense. I can only ask you to believe me when i say my intentions here were good, i wasn't trying to cause trouble here.

And if it's up to the standard of the previous parts, it'll be well worth waiting for.

If you go through the story linked in my signature, you will find many more stories involving these same characters and more figures associated with them.

The Dirty Girls (F/F)

Janie and Lauren Patterson, now Rondell and Krzyczynski, respectively, were quite the duo. The two were thrilled when the chance came to travel and attend the big civil engineering conference in Anaheim, CA in October 2022. It was a rare chance where neither was pregnant. Hah! That is us for sure! Competing to have the most children!

“How shall we settle this, hmm?” I asked Janie as we sat down in the hotel room after a long day.
“Well, what about a game?” Janie started playing with her bandana.
“You couldn’t stop being a Gangsta Jock long enough for a day at a conference?”
“No!” my sister responds quite proudly, “I’m a Gangsta!”
“Good grief,” I laugh as I sit down, “I’ll play. What’s your thought?”
“I was thinking of an Uno card flip.”

Janie’s hair is long and beautifully wrapped in a braid that reaches to her butt. I’m one to talk; I have my hair in a similar braid, but my braid stops half a foot above my own tuchis. Her purple bandana is going through her hands as it does every time she is nervous. She has no reason to be nervous that I know.

She has a solid magenta pink ruffle skirt that comes to her calves. That it reaches so far on a girl who is 6’1” is amazing, and with that she has a solid purple button-up shirt with three quarter sleeves. Pink sneakers and purple socks are on her feet and have been for 14 hours straight. Gorgeous.

I’m dressed a little bit more formally. I have a solid black skirt of similar length, but I am 5’11” instead. I have black pantyhose and black high heels, and my shirt is a bright blue and black long-sleeve flannel shirt. It’s warm here in southern California, but the conference center and the restaurants are chill chests. Janie reaches into a nearby bag and hands me a bright blue bandana.

“What’s eating you?” I say and take the fabric square with deep concern in my voice.
“A couple of things. One is being away from [her son] Joey. The other is that my depression is acting up from being away from [her husband] Ken.”
“I’m sorry, Janie; I pressured you,” I say while folding the bandana to wear as a headband.
“No, separation is necessary at times, like whenever I have my next baby.”
“Just don’t rush yourself,” I tie the headband in perfect fashion, “Why am I wearing this now?!”
“So that we’re Gangsta Sistas playing a card game of doom,” Janie smiles brightly.

A little separation anxiety won’t kill her. There are no worries. She just needs a distraction for a brief moment until the thought passes. I take off my heels and kneel on the floor beside the bed we share for the next couple of nights. Janie kneels on the floor opposite me. She carefully shuffles the cards. My job is to make sure she stays happy. My baby sister.

“Call it,” I flip a coin.
“Heads,” Janie declares with a smile.
“Dammit. You win,” I shake my head at my luck.
“I should turn on the light. It's so dark I can't see anything but your headband.”
“As you wish,” I quote the line from The Princess Bride while cutting the cards.
“I love you, too, Lauren,” Janie smiles as she turns the knob.

My sister really is a princess in so many ways. I don't just mean that she loves all the classic princess movies that predate her life if not mine as well. I joke she's a genuine princess because our paternal grandmother is half Florida Spanish and half Seminole. We have no known ancestry to real princesses, but Janie is one in my eyes. My source of fulfillment in my life comes from my husband, my children, and this lovable giant.

The game is simple. You declare what the card you are flipping represents and flip it over. There are some general rules to ensure no one gets hurt. To keep it straight, all you need is something to write upon, like Janie’s iPad. She declares the first card to be how many ropes will tie her legs, picks up the card, and giggles more like a 12 year old than a 23 year old mother.

Reverse card. That means I am the one drawing for my own fate now instead. This is not a bad thing since we don't care which of us gets tied up. I take over and draw the next card. It's a 6… 6 ropes, cinches, zips, or whatever Janie wants to use on me. It's a start.

“Maybe that’ll be the worst. Next one is for my arms,” I say and draw a +2, “Sh¡t!”
“Oops,” Janie laughs a little, “You meant 8 legs bonds.”
“Yeah, right,” I say and laugh while turning over an 0, “I better draw a reverse soon!”
“Someone's going to have fun! How about the next one is for orgasms!”
“Fine!” I flip a +2 and then a 7, “Oh, for crying out loud! This one is for my gag.”
“Can we handle 28 orgasms?” Janie’s eyes grow wide when I flip a Wild+4 card.
“I am sure of it.”

The darkness of a hotel room, even when the lights are on, is such a perfect setting for a bondage game. I’m smiling, and Janie is too. It's much more fun when you share a similar taste in adventure and will enjoy the game as much regardless of what happens to you. Janie prefers being tied up, but she likes being on top more with me than with anyone else.

Besides our heights, we are also both quite muscular from regular exercise that stems from playing softball from middle school until finishing our bachelor's degrees. I kept most of it, but babies have given me a bit of extra fat and skin I am proud to have and will never lose. As we flip the cards, I can tell by our tone that we are getting excited, and Janie’s eyes sparkle. Happiness.

“Hey, a reverse!” I say on the card that was to decide the heaviness of my gag,
“My turn! Ooh, a 3. That can make a nice gag,” she laughs, “Next is for spanking times 5.”
“Well, that's a nice beating,” I watch her flip a 5.
“How about levels of crotch torture?” she asks and flips a 6, “Oof.”
“That'll hurt for sure. How about orgasms into the other girl’s footwear before having to eat it?”
“How about a 4?” Janie is having so much fun, “And this one for tickling minutes.”
“A 9? Pfft!”
“Yeah, and this one is nipple cripples,” she flips a wild, “Or 18 tickle minutes.”
“Or four of them,” I grimace, “But a 4 or under gets a blindfold.”
“I can draw another Wild+4 and make it 16 nipple cripples.”
“The blindfold, Janie, and then we're done,” I’m in belly laughter now.
“How about a reverse?” she holds up the card.
“Sh¡t!” I picked a card and drew a 3 to seal my fate.

• 8 leg bonds
• 12 arm bonds
• 28 orgasms
• 3 layers of gag
• 25 spanks
• 6 kinds of crotch stimulation
• 18 minutes of tickling
• 16 nipple cripples
• a blindfold
• 4 separate orgasms into Janie’s socks before they were the stuffing of my gag

We laughed so much though during the flipping of the cards. Janie had free reign to do anything she wanted as long as those 10 rules were followed. What did she want to use, though? We had rope, tape, zips, and cinches on hand. A combo was allowed as well.

Cinches won. Janie grabs the 1.5 inch velcro straps, stands me up, and wrenches my arms behind my back with a tight binding of my wrists. Cinches typically work better when there is fabric to hold them in place. I chuckle a bit as Janie cinches my arms on either side of my elbows and then in between the elbows and the wrists.

Janie sits me down and then temporarily cinches my ankles. She unbuttons my shirt and opens it up to reveal a black sports bra holding my boobs. Next, she sits beside me and removes her socks. She pulls my pantyhose and panties down to expose my crotch and pushes her socks not only against my crotch but also into me just a little. I groan erotically, but no hubby here.

“Just temporary," she grabs a blue rubber ball with a red bandana.
“Nope,” I clamp my jaw shut.
“Nope,” she mocks me by artificially deepening her voice and yanks on my precious hair.
“Oww! Unkph!” I already feel arousal because of the socks
“I hear it in your voice,” Janie gives me a sisterly peck on the forehead while gripping my braid.
“Mmmmm,” I look into her eyes and see the bigger, stronger, younger girl feeling the power.

Those cinch straps can do wonders. Janie rolls my bra up to expose my boobs and uses my two longest cinch straps. Both wrap about my arms twice and then my torso twice and are pulled as tightly as I can bear, one above my breasts and one below. My breasts thrust out, show their true size, and just look great! The cinches are as secure as tape and 3 inches wide. She wraps a third around my arms and my torso above my hips and pulls it just as tight. My arms are trapped.

“Gmph!” I groan and attempt to move my arms, but I go nowhere with it.
“Someone’s in trouble,” Janie pushes me onto my back, “Sucks to suck like you will soon.”
“UKFF!” she jams her socks into my p-ssy with force while reaching into the bag.
“I know you like when things hurt,” Janie calmly puts a pair of binder clips on my teats.
“YOW!” I yell on the first; “H-CK!” on the second.
“Let’s do this, hmmm?” Janie’s smile is sweet.

Janie goes right to the nipple cripple! Ouch! I yell out from that one. Janie roughly rubs the socks against me, and I cannot help it. It's been a good 7 minutes since she started tying me up, and I am already set to orgasm. I feel a familiar pulse throughout my body and instinctively groan into my ball gag. She laughs at my groan; pot meets kettle! She orgasms the same way I do but with more time between each of them. Is a four minute mile or a two minute orgasm more impressive?

Speaking of orgasms… there are certain spasms throughout the body that vary by girl, and I am squeezing on Jenny's socks a little. Except for the first two nipple cripples, Janie uses nothing on the list to get me going. Fondling my breasts, pulling the crotch rope, and yanking on my braid are the main modes.

You know what occurs when you're nearly identical twins despite four years between you? Especially when the younger one is a prodigy that got into TUGs at 12 and had her master's degree at 20 while being considered one of the 50 best softball players in the world? What works on one works on the other just as well. Except for differences in experiences, we generally respond the same way to things. We perfectly push each other's buttons, and it makes things special. We love each other like no one else can!

Love, yes, love. I am getting vaginally assaulted by a pair of socks lovingly placed in my birth canal by my little sister. She is extremely intelligent and hardly ever realizes just how gifted she really is. Despite my arousal, my eyes focus on the adorable girl that her friends call “Gangsta Jock.” I practically raised her from when she was 8, and the result is a multi-faceted bond of sisterhood, motherhood, friendship (from being in college classes together), and teammates. I interrupt this story for a special message.

“Mmmmmmm! Ugghhh!” I do my third orgasm into the purple cotton phallus.
“I love the way your eyes widen and brighten during games.”
“Mmm hmfh guk hibw!” I comment on how she sometimes gets fearful.
“Lauren, let's not go there,” she shudders.
“Hih ih ho hoooh!” I laugh and change my tone to distract her.
“I'm glad. I hope you enjoy this little love letter I’m sending you.”

Short story: Janie had it much rougher than me. I am still her go-to person when she's in need of comfort of the kinds her husband cannot provide. I was always there when she needed someone as a kid, and now she returns the favors in adulthood. It’s really awesome to see her understand and reciprocate when she used to just take everything for granted. Sometimes she really did send love letters and packages and such.

Janie rolls me over and squeezes my ass and inner leg just right. Experiencing it from her own husband tells her to do it to me, and I react perfectly. I don't even get to react to the torque force of my boobs twisting around. A rough pull on my braid pushes me over the edge. As she grabs my legs, Janie compliments my “big catcher's thighs.”

Number 4. Janie pulls my dessert out of me and unknots the bandana holding the big rubber ball in my mouth. My drool has already soaked the rubber ball, and I clamp my mouth shut to keep the socks out. I was also a swimmer in high school and I can easily hold my breath for two minutes.

“Open up,” Janie kindly orders me.
“Nmm,” I smile at her and shake my head.
“Awwww, Lauren, please?” she whines like a tween again.
“Nmm mmm.”
“C-nt,” she growls like an adult, “Time to burn up a nipple cripple.”
“Yowch! Grmph!” I yell and eat my orgasm-flavored salty savory snack.

My husband's c-m tastes better, for sure, but I fancy myself as tasty too. Janie is such a strong girl, and the knot white handkerchief is just a second layer of gag. The third is still within the rules: 8 layers of pink duct tape. Few can crush a face like Janie can, and she crushed mine indeed. Now I cannot make any intelligible sounds.

Janie took my pantyhose; too bad because I felt so kinky with them. Cinches now go up my legs, 3 on my catcher's thighs and four on my legs. One little cinch ties my big toes together. Eight leg bonds finish me off. I am bound and gagged and completely helpless. My recently acquired bandana slides over my eyes; Janie redoes the knot so tightly that she can wrap the excess around my braid before knotting it.

• 28 orgasms
• 25 spanks
• 6 kinds of crotch stimulation
• 18 minutes of tickling
• 15 nipple cripples

What a list of pain ahead of me! I couldn't figure out where Janie would get 6 kinds of crotch torture. Socks were one; she could use her hands for another; a rubber ball like had gagged me before; what else? Ummm… Duh! Crotch rope. OK, I hope she cannot do better than I just did,

“Get up,” Janie hauls me off the bed, “Hop,”
“Mmm how m oo aaaa?”
“I’ll make sure you don't hit anything! Just go!”
“O-hay, o-hay, o ee hu e ho hahhy,” I take a leap of faith.
“That-a go girl,” her hand guides me.
“Hmph!”

The closet. There, Janie tied a crotch rope along which she put one of the rubber dog toy balls and made sure that it was pushing a bandana deep into my baby making hole. One rope went from the nipple clamps and around my knees and was pulled tight until my body was parallel to the floor. Rope number two knotted about my braid, went up to the shelf, and down to my crotch rope. What a world of hurt!

It's such good pain though. As long as my body has moisture, I will orgasm. Orgasm I do. It's so good; it's best when I’m tied up. I enjoy sex so much more when bound and gagged, and I know Janie does too.

“Awww, are you in trouble?” Janie starts tickling me.
“Hahahahahaaaa!” I start laughing and hop, jerking on the crotch rope and making me jerk off.
“Let's roll, cum sl-t,” Janie knows all my favorite insults.
“Hmm hmmmmmm!” I cannot respond.
“Boooooobbbbbbbbiiiiiieeeeesssss,” she fondled me while I hop.

Janie's hands naturally go for my ribs and belly as those are my most sensitive spots. I am not a thigh or armpit girl like so many; even my feet don't cause the reactions that my belly and ribs do. I enjoy every moment of it, too. Sis, I love you, and your tickle work is divine and causing me to jerk on my clamps.

My sister can be cruel, like deciding to do all 18 minutes of tickling in a single spurt of intense torment. I jerk around and off like no tomorrow while this is happening. I get off 4 times during the tickling, and my lungs get destroyed. My body is filled with the fumes from sucking on Janie's nasty socks. The cinches haven't budged during any of this. Where's my husband when I want him? My legs are sore from standing in such an awkward position, and my breasts are in agony from me pulling on those binder clips.

• 24 orgasms
• 25 spanks
• 15 nipple cripples

Goodness knows I will be in hog heaven if I orgasmed 24 more times, but Janie is not that kind of girl. She's into the actual physical action as am I, and that's why bondage sex itself is so much more arousing than regular sex. As long as it's fun and within the rules, all orgasms are good.

“So, Lauren, having a good time?” she starts the pain.
“Yowch! Mmmmm!”
“Aw, yep! My big sister Lauren! The girl I love more than any other!”
“Owwwww!” she makes those nipple cripples hurt!
“Poor girl, I’ll relieve the pain,” she starts spanking me!
“Mmmph!”

I groan and struggle as much as the cinch straps allow me. I am in absolute agony but loving every second of it. How can pain be so good? But it is! My sister’s spanking is enough to drive me to orgasm, the nipple cripples are good for two, and the rest of the spanking gets me another.

Where the hell are 20 orgasms coming?

Janie undoes the strappado though and leads me back to our bed. My crotch is very wet indeed, and I am sore from the intense torture. I wanted a good anal f-cking, but I sure wasn't getting that from Janie! Fondling my breasts and crotch are really the two major avenues left since we don't have a phallus or a strap-on on hand, and even if I had such things I especially would not allow my own sister to do it.

Two more orgasms squeeze out of me before Janie decides to put on some post-season baseball. It's more humiliating than I expected: I have to sleep like this. It's a fitting ending, though, on a night where Janie had all the cards. We had so much fun tonight, and it was going to be just as wild the rest of the week. I love you, kid.

My baby sister, the apple of my eye and the joy of my life.

THE END

[LunaDog]

Well done, another good tale. And you've shown here that there doesn't necessarily have to have sex involved for a good story.

And i have checked out and enjoyed 'The bondage Model.' It too is superb.

[AlexUSA3]

Well done, another good tale. And you've shown here that there doesn't necessarily have to have sex involved for a good story.

And i have checked out and enjoyed 'The bondage Model.' It too is superb.

If you click on the link where it says "CGC Short Stories" in my signature (viewtopic.php?f=8&t=20527), you will find even more there.

[hafnermg]

I love more Lauren and Jamie!!! I love games like the one they played too!