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An attractive female executive’s company vacation turns into a nightmare as she pays the price for her indiscretions. Guided by the e-mails of her computer, she’s forced into the realm of BDSM activities or be exposed and humiliated, to lose everything.
CHAPTER ONE
It’s the final night wrapping up her long anticipated vacation awarded to her by her company for her outstanding accomplishments, her announced upcoming promotion to vice-president in charge of the entire eastern seaboard. Stepping on, climbing over fellow employees, even friends, she’s well on track to becoming president, even one day CEO of the entire corporation, even if becoming ruthlessly cut-throat cost her every friend and relationship she’s ever had.
Tonight she finds herself with an attractive local she’d become friendlier then she should have with, a guide used for a couple of side excursions during the ten day vacation involving more then a little flirtation on both sides, even a not so discreet few moments of an alcoholic induced moonlight fling that could have devastating consequences for her back at home if found out. Separating from her company acquaintances also along on their awarded trips, letting them finish up their prearranged package tour’s wrap-up party without her, she’s already packed up, ready to leave the hotel the next evening after deciding to dance, party away the final night at a private club he’s bragged about to her, a club well off the beaten path that’s mostly frequented by a select few of the well to do locals.
In the back of her mind she hopes that during their final fun filled night on the island she can let him know the serious ramifications she faces if their earlier questionable conduct was miscued by any of the squeaky clean board members of her company. Self assured, even cocky, she’s sure she can handle the manner with her charm, her female sensuality with the guide; after all, he’s only an islander.
Deep into the evening, in the rear of the club’s private courtyard, the limbo’s in full swing as the couple dozen patrons still partying join in. Having explained her situation to the escort earlier, assured everything’s quite okay with no hard feelings, appreciative she relaxes, feels almost obligated to enjoy their friendship for the final evening on the island. In the swing of the festivities she awaits her turn, steps between the obviously native islanders on either side of the posts. Leaning not so lithely forward on her knees below the limbo stick as the music blares, the repercussions exuberating to the local crowd quickly surrounding the slightly raised platform to watch the carefree American, she finds herself flowing, bending back to the beat of the bongos.
Tanned, her firm breasts sway almost freely beneath the semi-transparent material of her fashionable but skimpy island halter top, low cut French bra. Carefree from a hefty amount of the laced alcoholic concoctions her new friend’s been regularly feeding her from the bar, uninhibitedly raising her arms, back arching as the round stick brushes across her stomach she finds her wrists, arms gently but firmly gripped from either side as she stumbles back. Feeling her swaying hair gripped and twisted back, facing upwards and mostly being led by the hands manipulating her, she finds herself continuing to sway, to move to the music with the rest of the circling crowd closing in.
Feeling almost sublime, uninhibited, she continues gyrating, her glistening body flush, hot in the heat of the tropical night as the equally perspiring flesh, scent of the limbo men surrounding her melds with hers, their body’s swaying even closer together to the beat. The music seeming to pick up, the beat bolder, harsher, her heated shimmering body’s forced to move quicker between theirs, twisting, almost lifted as hands, more hands seem to guide her, push and twist her around as her shoulders arch back as she feels her hands almost restrictively bowed behind her back. Head tilted back, her hair still tightly twisted by a guiding fist; her eyes are barely able to focus as she feels herself rotated around on her knees. Back arching, her torso thrusting upward with her full firm breasts straining, a nipple peeks outward from the stretching bra under the Caribbean colored halter loosely tied just below her sternum as the small of her back’s forced to rest across the unforgiving limbo stick bowing a couple feet up across its upright bars.
Almost in a daze, the on looking crowd to her now just a blur of dark, upside down islander’s faces tightly surrounding her, she feels her wrists gripped together, her arms tugged back beneath the flexing stick as her body bows outward forming a semicircle above her spreading knees, arched hips. The hands griping her wrists, elbows from beneath forcefully tugs at her as she feels her shoulders thrusting back with her escort leaning down closer, whispering in her ear.
“You won’t be needing these anymore… You big tittied American!” Reaching up, unsnapping the clips holding the triple snap strap between the fronts of the bra cups, unslipping the knot of the colorful cloth top, he lets the ends unfurl, slip down across the curves of her global breasts, the sides of her ribcage as the appreciative crowd rousingly cheers him on, appreciating her substantial melons being put on display.
Feeling her breasts exposed, jaunting outward, the rounded globes spreading across her arched torso as the thick, brown nipples jiggle, glisten under the strings of lights crisscrossing the yard she finds her hands, arms gripped even tighter, twisted firmly back. Stunned, hearing the response of the surrounding group, feeling his hands gliding over her sweating, glistening breasts, she feels her nipples pinched, stretched upward, outwardly rotated in painful circles as the beat of the chants and music continue to pound in her ears.
Arching upward, her body being manipulated, she senses the men swaying enthusiastically to the music as they’re surrounding her, touching her, feeling her, now tugging at her shorts, baring her hips, stripping her naked as she weakly struggles to resist. Her thoughts cloudy, barely realizing in a daze, a stupor of what’s happening she still finds herself struggling to free herself. Attempting to twist, to slip away, her reflexives, her muscles seem to becoming dull, almost uncontrollable. Barely able to open her mouth as a cup’s full content’s poured across her parting lips, the harsh bitter taste of the island’s favorite beverage almost forced down her throat, the stinging liquid splashes across her face, up her flailing nostrils as she fruitlessly shakes her head back and forth.
The crowd chanting as she gags and coughs, the liquid splashing across her bare breasts, another cup of the brew’s drenched across her parting lips while fingers squeeze at the sides of her cheeks, forcing her to gulp, ingest the thick fluid. Another cough, another gag while she struggles to swallow the remnants of the cup as the beat of the music escalates, the appreciative crowd continuing to cram closer around, ogle the naked American.
“Good… Big tits!” Her escort’s voice echoes in her ear as his lips brush across her dampened neck, the empty cup in his hand. “Now to stir it!”
Her hair harshly tugged further back, she feels a man’s bare legs stretch across her arched shoulders as his feet slip to either side of the insides of the upright posts. Hazily starring upward between his naked thighs, her heart pounds in her chest as she feels her bare breasts flattening, her nipples chaffing against his knees. As her head’s firmly pressed upward by the nap of her neck she can’t believe what she’s forced to stare toward. Cheeks pressed together forcing her lips apart, wide eyed, she blurredly glares at the thick, swaying cock just above her chin, the glistening dark head oozing a streaming strand of glistening fluid from the dark eyelet drooling across her face.
The sound of the excited encircled crowd momentarily drowns out the music in the background as the nearly foot long cock smacks across her face, the engorged head slipping across her partially open mouth. Arching, twisting, her grunts are muffled by the sticky, oozing head slipping between her spreading lips as she grits her teeth trying to will her naked body to respond. Feeling her breasts squeezed, her nipples pinched as her wrists are tugged further back, her dazed mind barley functions as the drinks, the added chemicals have quickly done their job on her body as it’s forced to arch even further upward.
“Let it in… Big tits!” The escort’s voice hoarsely orders in her ear as her nipples are threateningly gripped, the pulsing head of the dark brown cock scraped across her teeth. “Suck it good or he’ll split your asshole wide open with it too!”
Squinting her eyes as her head jerks back and forth; her mind’s barely able to assimilate what’s happening to her, to even offer any real resistance. Feeling the sudden pain of her nipples pinched, twisted, she reflexively lets her lips part, feels the thick shaft slip inward, flattening across her tongue as the hot, throbbing meat engulfs her mouth. Hearing the arousal, the approving chant of the crowd echoing in her head, the music blaring even louder as the thick rod begins a rhythmic assault, each thrust a little deeper in her throat, she struggles for breath, tastes the salty, bitter fluid mixing with her own saliva as her lips tautly stretch around the pulsing shaft being scrapped by her impossibly spread teeth.
The haze becoming a blur, the music mixes with the sounds of the crowd melding into a constant roar as the thick shaft seems to force its way completely down her throat, held firm, then drawn back out, slowly. Another excited response from the onlookers rings in her ears as she gasps for breath before another thrust deep down into her throat of the swelling, pulsing shaft. In and out, pounding, driving as her lips stretch, her throat stretches with each cheered on thrust, she senses her entire body violated, her legs spread, even her vagina, rectum prodded, manipulated by the strangers to the beat of the island music.
Unable to breathe, her own slurping sounds reverberating in her ears as he rams in and out, her reflexive gags are blocked by the pounding shaft until she feels his twitching cock pulse, feels, tastes the thick gooey spunk in her throat as his shaft rips outward. The same gushing cum splashing across her lips drench her nose, her eyes as it squirts with each pulsing twitch. Gagging, choking, unable to catch her breath, heart pounding, her vision blurring as her stomach churns, somehow it all becomes quiet, dark. Unconsciousness.
Head pounding, the light glaring in from the open curtains drawn apart, exposing the view of the ocean from the open doors to the balcony, she rolls on her side, covers her head with a pillow. Barely able to think, to realize where she’s at, she feels the heartbeat pulsing through her ear jammed up against the stiff pillow. Body aching, joints burning, the hair on her head sore to the touch, her hangover’s crippling. A single bed, a private suite, she realizes she’s alone, somehow back in her suite while she glances around the room as she sits up, slowly as even her butt hurts. Still dressed, short sorts and halter top, she notices she even has her slippers still on. Struggling for the bathroom, anything for a hangover in the medicine cabinet, she glances in the mirror, her marred makeup.
The thoughts of the past evening flashing through her head, the limbo, the drinks, the forced oral penetration as she was stripped and displayed in front of the razzing crowd, she quickly unties the Caribbean halter top exposing her disheveled bra barely covering her breasts, her left nipple partially exposed. Staring toward the mirror as she gulps down a couple pills with a half cup of luke-warm water, she frantically glances down toward her nearly naked body, jerks her shorts down toward her ankles, spreads her vagina exposing the nub of her clit. Again glancing into the mirror as she turns, unsnaps the bra and drops it to the floor, she glances at the reflection of her unmarred breasts, her smooth, almost flat areolas and nipples, a final closer glance at her face, she realizes she’s none the worse for wear, no visible sign of any kind of struggle or abuse.
Her head continuing to pound, her thoughts sketchy, shaking her head slowly as even that movement sends daggers between her swollen eyes; she struggles painfully back to the bed, lies across the still covering bedspread, wondering what’s reality, what’s a drunken fantasy, or nightmare. Lying on her side, sliding a hand across her hips, around a butt cheek, pressing a finger against the rim of her rectum, sliding the tip of the finger inward between the moist folds of her labia, she wonders, tries to recall the previous night. Stuffing a pillow across her face, blocking the light, she slowly falls into an uneasy, frightening sleep. Tossing, turning, she feels herself repeatedly stretched, orally penetrated as her mind subconsciously replays the past evening over and over.
Hours pass, squinting, opening her eyes; she catches the image of the sun lowering across the horizon above the ocean. The day practically gone, her head still aching but bearable, she again sits up, glances around at the clock. Still a couple hours before it’s time to get ready for the flight home, she sits across the edge of the bed. Naked, still on the unused bedspread, she stretches, walks to the bathroom. Another couple pills with a cup of water, another quick scan of her naked body and she steps back to the bed, checks her rumpled clothes, smelling, staring. Nothing out of the ordinary, tossing them into her suitcase of soiled clothes, she’s prepared for the evening flight home, back to work. Trying to call the escort, his phone unresponsive, she sits on the balcony watching the waves, the beach, worries about the repercussions of what happened, if anything happened.
Almost in a stupor from her restless sleep, hearing the phone, she answers on the forth ring. A message from the desk, the shuttle to the airport’s leaving in ten minutes. Quietly collecting her luggage, leaving the room behind her, she begins her trip home, still disturbed, what to do about the past evening. Meeting the rest of the company’s employees, keeping to herself, the trip to the airport, the flight home becomes a blur.
Back at home, a few days back at work, just over a week before the announced promotion, her nights are aggravating with the blurring visions of being assaulted, humiliated on the island replaying in her mind. Scanning her e-mails for the past couple days before going to work, she flips through a quick couple pages, spam and such. Flipping through almost casually, she abruptly stops. “Big tittied American.”
Seeing the cursor, initially not amused at smut on her site, but an almost instantly somehow sickening feeling of the familiarity of the words starring at her from the screen, clicking, sliding the mouse, she anxiously loads a short, two to three second video from the e-mail. Grainy, poorly lit, she watches the video, and watches the video, and watches the video. Leaning closer to the screen, backing up, freeze framing again and again, she clicks the mouse, enlarges the screen as her heart pounds harder with each viewing. The blurry, snowy vision of a bare breasted woman arched backwards being orally penetrated by a dark skinned man squatting above her blurry face fills the monitor before going blank. Stomach churning, hands shaking as her fingers pound the key-board to save the e-mail, she looses it.
Trying to retrieve the video, to find where it came from she pounds the keys, searches her settings. Finally realizing she’ll be late for work, frustratingly flipping the computer off, she reluctantly leaves for work. Minutes seeming more like hours, the day drags by as her thoughts focus on the video on her computer, the ramifications of the video on her personal life, her career if it was in fact of her, surely it wasn’t. Replaying it over and over in her mind, watching the clock, she barely makes it through lunch. Head pounding with tension, taking a half day off, rushing home, she turns on the computer. Stomach queasy, clicking through the e-mails, flicking through the trash-bin, flicking back and forth, checking each individual e-mail, it’s gone. Struggling with the computer, going through the history, the bin, again through the e-mails, she frustratingly clicks the computer off, goes to bed wondering, worrying about the grainy video.
The restless night passes, but only after the fresh, repeated images of being orally raped, the thick, dark cock stretching her mouth, gagging her throat as her breasts are pinched, twisted. Awake more then asleep, she hears the alarm, clumsily prepares for work. Checking the computer first thing, flicking through the e-mails, she scans for the video, finds nothing. Another day at work, another day spent wondering about the e-mail, straight to home, to the computer, to the e-mail. Days pass, then a week, a couple weeks, the same routine gives the same results as the worries drift into the back of her mind.
Another morning, again just a semblance of a normal night of sleep and she prepares for work. Flicking on the computer, hitting the e-mail, the third message down stands out like a neon sign. “Big tittied American.”
Again her heart pounding, again her hands trembling she opens the message. Another video, the words scroll the screen like credits. “One minute after initiation and the video will erase itself… Watch carefully.”
White block numbers counting backwards from five reach zero before the video finally begins. A close up of a thick dark cock clearly pounding into a woman’s yawning mouth flashes across the computer screen. The camera slowly backing away, her bare breasts are shown arching upwards, swaying between his thighs as he squats above her bowed back body. Stroke after stroke ramming into her mouth is followed by a gush of cum spewing across her face as the impossibly long, thick shaft finally pulls out. White gobs gush with each pulsing throb of his twitching shaft, covering her nose, her eyes, her lips as a zoomed in close up of her upturned face stares back, at herself, from the computer’s crystal clear high definition monitor.
Fading to dark, again words scroll the screen. “e-mail to BTA to follow again today… Follow instructions to the letter within ten minutes or full video will be aired on U-Tube.”
Hitting save, trying to stop the video before it ends, she frustratingly watches the screen go blank as the e-mail disappears from the screen. Pounding the keys, searching the areas it possibly could have been routed to, she frustratingly smacks the screen, turns the computer off. Picking up the phone, calling work, she half-heartedly fakes a cough as she calls in sick. Sitting at the computer, staring at the computer, thinking of U-Tube as she turns it back on and watches the screen, she waits for the e-mail, the thoughts of her ruined life racing through her anguished mind.
Hours pass as the morning slips by. Lunch time, she remains at the computer desk. One, two o’clock, she watches the screen, her eyes burning, a lump in her throat each time an e-mail signal flashes across the screen. Quarter till three, the e-mail flashes. “BTA.”
Hitting the keys as she lunges forward, she frantically opens the message. A short instant video humiliatingly plays across the screen as her heart sinks. A close up of her naked body arching between those same limbo sticks is being raped in all three orifices by dark skinned islanders. Her face appears almost receptive, the laced drinks obviously during their job. The camera quickly circling the platform, all three swollen, dark cocks pounding away at her lurching body’s being filmed as a background of onlooker’s party around them. Fading to a dark screen, white letters begin to scroll.
“Obtain a camera for your computer… Hook it up before next message tonight after six pm… Be prepared or U-Tube receives the full video… Making you a porn star.”
Stomach churning, watching the screen go blank, she struggles with what to do. Realizing she doesn’t have time to waste she finds herself at a local national brand store purchasing a new camera for her computer. Returning home, opening the box, the computer camera enclosed, the exact camera for her computer, she reads the brief instructions. The factory directions rather simple, a quick hookup and the camera’s operative. She can only imagine its purpose as she sits blurry-eyed at the computer desk. Rocking back and forth, glaring at the computer, the minutes turn to hours as she frustratingly waits.
Again the time drags until finally “BTA” stares her in the face from her e-mail. Quickly hitting the board keys, the message opens.
The screen flashing, the white letters scroll. “Turn on camera… Point it directly toward you and the chair… Adjust for full body exposure… Thirty seconds…. Or U-Tube.”
Heart pounding, half conscious, she struggles to force herself to continue. Seeing the countdown lower to fifteen, to twelve, stomach churning with each flickering countdown she hastily flicks on the camera, reaches for it and aligns it on herself. Barely beating the countdown, she sits back in her chair as she watches the screen flashing the next instructions. “Strip naked… Fifteen seconds.”
Dumbfounded, unable to really think, to reason, feeling ready to vomit, her heart thumping in her chest, she watches the countdown beginning again at thirty. Frustrated, she all but knows if she complies, she can’t turn back, yet if she doesn’t, she’s ruined. Infuriated, terrified, she watches as it counts down to twenty… fourteen… thirteen before she angrily gives in, reflexively rips at her clothes. Blouse and bra first is quickly followed by her skirt down past her knees as the time expires. Ripping her panties, throwing her clothes across the floor, she slumps back in the chair, stark naked as she stares toward the computer through her teary eyes while covering her breasts with crisscrossing arms.
Again the flashing screen, almost talking to her, taunting her. “Stand up… Hands behind neck… Breasts thrust outward… Legs spread… Remain stationary for one minute.” The backwards countdown beginning at only five, she reflexively jerks up out of the chair, tears streaming off her cheeks she raises her arms above her head at the count of three while spreading her legs apart. Watching the screen, the countdown readjusting to sixty seconds, arching, spreading, the minute seems to take a week as she remains motionless, her breasts barely swaying above her hollowed stomach as she feels her legs trembling. Starring at the computer as times expires, she watches the letters scrolling. “Retrieve next e-mail at lunch tomorrow with instructions for next shopping trip. The screen fading, the e-mail vanishes.
Lowering her hands across her breasts, feeling the pounding in her chest, she stares at the computer screen, the camera above it. The realization of what she just submitted herself too literally rips at her stomach as it churns, twists in knots. Running to the bathroom, barely reaching the toilet, the vomit spews across the back of the seat, the toilet’s rim. Spending the next half hour cleaning the bath, a quick shower and she makes ready for bed, only to lay awake for hours.
Sunlight shining through the open curtains, again sleepless, checking the computer for e-mails almost by habit before leaving for work, the first half day of work passes as she frantically anticipates the noon time e-mail, the quick round trip it’s going to take back and forth from home to work not to be late. Brushing off friends, other co-workers for lunch, heading directly home at noon she sits in front of the computer screen, waits. Barely a couple minutes pass before the screen flashes a new e-mail. Pounding the keys, she opens the dreaded ‘BTA’ message.
“Turn on camera… Bare tits… Ten seconds.”
Pounding her fist on the table next to the keyboard, jerking back in the chair, she watches the reverse countdown flashing on the screen. Almost motionless until the ‘five’ before she quickly slips off her blouse, frantically rips off her bra as the ‘zero’ appears on the screen with a new message.
“Cross hands behind the small of your back… Lay tits on keyboard… Three seconds.”
Again she waits just a split second of hesitation before angrily arching forward while slipping her arms behind her back while watching the quick countdown. Feeling the keyboard jerk, twist under her naked globes as her breasts spread out in front of her, her nipples pointing apart below her chin, she faces the screen’s next command.
“Arch back to lift tits above keyboard… Sway tits back and forth until further instructions.”
No countdown, the command remains on the screen as she again hesitates, finally arches, feels her swaying globes thrust out in front of her just a couple inches above the keys. Glancing down at her bare breasts, toward the computer, she slowly twists back and forth, waits for the next instructions as she feels the heat across her reddening face. The last command remaining on the screen, again a couple moments, the screen flashes, the command blinking once, twice a third time.
Twisting, arching her shoulders slowly back and forth, she feels her breasts swaying, the symmetrical globes sliding back and forth across her bare chest as her eyes remain glued to the single line of instructions. Back and forth, back and forth she lets her breasts rotate in front of the screen, beneath the camera as her nipples jiggle; her firm tit flesh stretching as she bites her lower lip, feels her manicured fingernails digging into the soft flesh of her forearms behind her back.
Back and forth, back and forth her breasts sway as the screen remains static. Glancing down toward the keyboard, watching her breasts swaying back and forth, it seems almost surreal as her naked breasts continue to glide above the keys. Finally seeing the screen’s message added to from the corner of her eyes, she glances at the added message.
“Continue swaying tits in opposite directions back and forth in sequence with each countdown…. Four minutes fifty-nine seconds… Four minutes fifty-eight seconds…”
Angered, ashamed, frightened, staring at the countdown, she begins jerking back and forth, trying to get in a humiliating rhythm with the screen as her breasts spring across her chest, the nipples stretching, the rounded curves of her firm globes slapping against the fronts of her shoulders as she arches forward, twists back and forth in front of the computer, almost in an impossible ark in the time span allotted under the focused camera. Arching, twisting to the countdown, breasts slapping angrily back and forth, their rounded bottoms glancing off the keyboard, the chair jerking beneath her, the countdown continues to tick, to agonizingly seem to take forever as the minutes barely alter. Three minutes…. Two, as she continues to twist, jerk in the chair… Less than one minute finally flashes on the screen with larger numbers of the countdown of seconds as she actually finds herself panting for breath, her contorting breasts glistening, perspiration dripping off her naked flesh as she grunts, moans from the soreness of her reddened stretching globes slapping back and forth, the bottoms of the melons occasionally scrapping the keyboard as the chair continues to squeak, slip beneath her twisting butt cheeks.
“Three… Two… One… Zero… Next e-mail with tonight’s shopping directions at six pm… Be naked with clothespins clipped straight out, firmly to the nubs of both nipples and hands behind neck when retrieving message.” Flashing, blinking off, the screen goes blank.
Lowering her head, her matting hair spreading across her forehead, her body slumping forward, she momentarily hesitates before releasing her gripping fingers from her arms behind her back. Slowly shaking her head back and forth she catches her breath, glancing down toward her bare breasts as she leans forward while sliding her trembling hands up beneath her aching globes. Rubbing, twisting her nipples, she thinks of the message, clamping clothespins on her nipples. Watching the beads of perspiration built up across her heaving tit flesh, a glistening streak accumulating, dripping off her breast onto the keyboard, her flattened stomach ripples with each exhausted breath.
Glancing at the clock, hurrying to the bathroom to clean off, she quickly dresses, rushes back to work. A couple minutes late, noticing the curious, even somewhat concerned glances from her co-workers, she enters the privacy of her office, closes the door behind her. Angry, humiliated, nervous, almost every emotion flashes through her mind as she attempts to calm down. The island video replaying through her mind, now this exhibition she just performed in front of the computer, the clothespin message almost unbelievable, she frustratingly looks through the stack of envelopes on her desk. Shuffling, glancing through the files she can’t even try to concentrate as the computer, its messages, the camera she stripped in front of all continues to distract her thoughts.
Paging her secretary, advising her not to allow anyone to disturb her for the rest of the day, she leaves the stack of folders on her desk, twists her chair. Tears blurring her eyes, she stares out the office window down onto the view of the metropolitan area. Reflexively rubbing, caressing her nipples through her blouse, bra, she frustratingly pinches down with her fingernails into the tips of the bra, the pain’s almost a prerequisite of what’s forthcoming, but again in front of that camera. Waiting for the day to end, to get her message as soon as she gets home, she can’t take her mind off the clothespins, the camera. Watching the traffic, the clouds, the early sunset, the time finally passes. Leaving the offices, the building and heading straight for home she virtually runs through the door, notices the time’s 5:57pm on the kitchen digital wall clock as she heads for the utility room.
Finding the bag of wooden clothespins, hurrying to and sitting in front of the computer and turning on the camera as she strips her blouse, bra and slacks, she exasperatingly slips a couple pins from the plastic bag. Dragging her panties down across her hips, annoyingly kicking them under the table with the heel of her left foot, she grunts as she centers a pin across her left nipple, lets it clip shut across the nub. Glancing at the clock, 5:59pm, she quickly clips another pin across her right nipple, biting her lip as she flicks on the computer. Within a couple seconds the e-mail flashes. “BTA” as she stares at the screen. Retrieving the message she quickly lifts her hands behind her head, interlocks her fingers as she thrusts her bare breasts outward.
Nipples pulsing, the pins deep and tight on both, she angrily reads down the white lettered scrolling. “Hello BTA… Shake your nipples back and forth for one minute…. Fifty nine…Fifty eight.”
A frustrated moment’s hesitation before obeying, jerking her torso back and forth she feels the clothespins jerking, swaying off the tips of her thickened nipples. Watching the screen, moaning with each twist, feeling the wooden ends of the clothespin’s handles smacking across the outer globes of her breasts she watches the screen countdown. “Fifteen… Fourteen.” The seconds tick off as the pins tear at her searing nipples. “Two… One.” The screen momentarily goes blank.
Stopping, the pins now hanging, twitching downward off her aching nipples, she watches the screen begin to scroll. “Tonight you will purchase a prearranged box of merchandise at a small BDSM store in the city… You are expected in one hour… You will wear only a trench coat and heels and will shave vagina before leaving home... You will immediately remove the trench coat when instructed to be measured with hands behind your neck and legs spread.… Return home with package and sit naked in front of computer with camera on until next e-mail… Hands behind neck, legs spread across chair… Clothespins on nipples… Also clit.” The screen momentarily flashing, the address of the store scrolls downward, once, twice, a third time before remaining stationary.
Painfully unclipping the clothespins from her aching nipples, dropping them next to the keyboard, glancing at the clock, noting the address, jotting, copying it on a torn piece of paper, the thought of the pin on her clit resonating in her mind, she calls for a cab on her cell phone as she heads for the bathroom. A quick hot shower, the razor glided back and forth across her bikini cut under the hot soaking stream of water and she barely wipes dry as she finds her tan trench coat, high heels. Grabbing her purse, taking her credit card, cell phone and cash from it, slipping them into her coat pocket, she hears the horn blowing from the cab. Almost frantically looking around the apartment before stepping out onto the stoop in front of the sidewalk she takes a deep breath, shakes her head. An uneventful half hour drive to a seamier side of town, she’s left to herself outside the unkempt storefront, alone.
Bell above the door jiggling as it opens, closes, she hesitantly steps down the cluttered isle toward the door marked ‘office’ near the back of the store. Glancing around, no one in sight, she taps on the office door. Hearing voices behind the peeling wood, seeing the rustic knob turning, the door squeaking open, she’s met by a balding, gruff looking fiftyish man with a cigarette in his hand.
“Yea?” His voice matching his gruffness almost echoes in the store as the stagnant smoke swirls across the top of the doorframe.
“You… You’re expecting me?” She stutters, her fingers gripping at the collar of her coat.
“Don’t know… Come on in.” He gruffly answers, stepping aside. “Guess we’ll know in a minute, girly.”
Hesitating, stepping into the room, noticing a couple others mingling about, a guy and a girl, both just as shady, kind of gothic appearing, again hesitating she stares back at the balding man, obviously awaiting and answer.
“Well… If you’re the one we’re expecting… What’s next?” He asks, lewdly glancing her up and down as he takes a draw on the cheap cigarette, glances toward her coat. “Come on girly!”
“I’m… I’m here to pickup a package… Buy a package.” She stammers. “I also… Also…”
“Also what?” The somewhat attractive, yet dykish girl butts in with a smirk, obviously glaring at the coat, the outline of her bare breasts beneath it. “What else bitch?”
“And… And I need measured.”She blurts out, her face crimson as she continues to stare at the dirty floor while listening to the giggles.
Reaching out, cupping her left breast through her coat with his hand still holding the stub of his smoking cigarette between his fingers, he glances toward the other couple. “Tits big and firm… Guess she is the one we’re expecting, huh?... Okay hang your coat on that hook over there and spread for us.” He nods toward the row of bent hooks on the wall beside the doorframe.
Face reddening, unwrapping the strap around her midriff, she slips the coat open, drops it from her shoulders and turns to hang it on the hook.
“I get to measure her big ass tits!” The girl speaks up as she steps closer. “I’ll work on those nipples too!”
“I’ll do her hips.” The younger guy also stepping closer snickers as his eyes focus on her shaven vagina as she turns back toward the balding man.
“I’ll get the package.” The bald man chimes in. “I’ll be needing your credit card girly… that’s unless you have cash in that coat.” Reaching into the coat, pulling out both card and cash he grins. “Got both huh?” Putting the cash back in the pocket, turning, leaving her to the pair, he leaves the office for the storefront. “Be right back… Stretch for ‘em girly!”
Slipping her hands behind her head, interlocking her fingers behind her neck she poses almost rigid, her naked body trembling. Watching, feeling the hands of both groping, pinching her bare flesh, especially her nipples, her vagina, she continues to stare straight ahead. Feeling her heart pounding in her breast, she clinches her fingers behind her neck as they amuse themselves at her expense.
“Big tits… Good and tan too!... And tight pussy… Huh bitch?” The amused dyke antagonizes as she tugs down on her own tank top, exposing her ringed right nipple before slipping her breast back in. “Those nipples never been pierced before huh?” She nods as she pinches the left nipple in front of her, the right before glancing down toward the shaven pubic mound. “I know damn good and well that pussy’s never been pierced!”
Tugging on the folds of her labia, spreading the soft flesh apart, the guy grins, his tattoos prominent on both arms as he pinches at the nub of her clit, twists it out from between her twitching thighs. “It will be when all’s said and done I bet!”
Holding back tears, wishing she’d never went on that vacation, her mind tries to block out the coming moments, the pain, the humiliation that she’s facing by these miscreants. Just the foul touches, the closeness of their bodies to her is sickening. Realizing the depths she’s spiraling into, holding onto just a strand of a chance she can somehow conceal her predicament from everyone, she wills herself to survive this ongoing nightmare.
Stepping back into the room, the older man sets the box on the desk, gives it a couple taps. Brown cardboard, clear wrapping tape, it’s the size of a small suitcase. “Lots of goodies in here, girly… Hope you can handle ‘em.” He smiles as he gets a closer look at her naked body. “Now, let’s start measuring.” Handing the girl an old yellowish tape measure roll, he nods toward their naked customer. “Measure Brooke’s tits right across those nipples.” Catching a surprised look on her face, he mutters. “Your name’s on the credit card, girly.”
Grabbing the tape, unrolling it in her hands, the girl stretches it across the bare breasts standing out in front of her as she grins, begins to measure. “Brooke huh?... Well Brooke, you sure have big tits…. For being so slim that is… Thirty four.” Stretching the tape up over the taut nipples, allowing for her spreading breasts she adds. “And a half.”
“How ‘bout those nipples?... The areolas from edge to edge?” He asks, while jotting down the measurements with a stub of a pencil on a scratch of paper.
Smiling, slipping the thin metal edge across Brooke’s areola, letting the tape flatten across the nub of the nipple, she presses inward, flattening the tit flesh as she measures across. “Let’s see… One… One and a half… Call it two inches, right across the nub.” Letting the tape slide down, giving the nipple a tweak, she smiles toward Brooke. “Seriously… Really nice jugs!”
“What size cup you wear girl?” The man asks as he finishes jotting on the paper. “Well?”
The warmth flushing across her face, letting the strangers manipulate her naked body, she’s trying to block out the entire experience. Hearing his question, glancing toward their stares, she mutters. “A… I wear a ‘D’ cup.”
“D huh?” A big tittied D cup for the little girl.” He smirks as he jots it down.
Handed the tape, the younger guy quickly flicks it around her waist, slips it down across her hips while pinching the metal edge against a fold of her labia. Tugging, straightening the tape while kneeling, he measures. “Right at thirty-four... Thirty four and a quarter to be exact.”
“Waist?” The older man asks, still jotting down the measurement.
Feeling the tape sliding around the small of her back, across her navel, she reflexively sucks in as his fingers pinch around her bar flesh. Staring toward the back wall, she hears him muttering.
“Twenty… Twenty-two… Twenty-three… Twenty-three right across her belly button.”
“Okay.” The older man figures out loud. Thirty-four and a half… Twenty-three... Thirty-four…. D cup.” Glancing toward their naked customer, nodding toward the girl, he asks. “How many fingers?”
Watching the girl stepping in front of her with a grin as she kneels, Brooke feels the girl’s hand sliding up between her spread thighs. Feeling the fingertips probing, sliding between he freshly shaven vulva, she reflexively squirms, tiptoes.
“Hold still.” The girl scolds. “This will only take a minute.”
Feeling the girl’s other fingers pinching, spreading the soft tissue around her sensitive orifice, feeling the other fingers gliding up inside her; she can feel the heat on her face as she muffles a grunt, a groan as her vagina’s manipulated.
“Three… Four… Four if she’ll hold still and I cup my fingers.” The girl almost giggles, sliding her fingers in a little deeper, cupping, twisting them from side to side up past her second knuckles. “Actually a nice, tight little pussy on this girl too!” She adds as she withdraws her hand, glances at her glistening fingers. “And guess what!... She gets a little wet too!”
“Shame on you!” The older man mimic’s as he shakes his head. “All we’re doing is measuring you and you act like you want to fuck us all!”
Blushing, more from anger now then embarrassment, she bites, chews on her lower lip as she forces herself to accept the humiliation. Staring toward the balding man, she can’t help blurting. “Done… You all done with me now?” Tears trickling down her cheeks, she almost begs. “Can I fucking go now?”
“Wow… Settle down girly.” The older man scoffs. “Yea… Yea we’re done… For now. Glancing at the other two, he adds. “But you should be nice to us… You’ll be back again… Soon… For your outfit we just measured you for.” Reaching for her coat, handing it to her he opens the door. “Nice doing business with you.” Waiting for her to slip the coat on, he hands the merchandise in the cardboard box to her.
Stepping to the front of the store, dialing for a cab on her cell phone, she steps outside into the darkness, waits for the cab as the cold draft swirls across her naked flesh under her coat. The lights on the storefront going dark, glancing around the nearly vacant decaying neighborhood, she stands under the tattered canvas awning, torn and flapping in the breeze while watching the occasional car drive by, the box held by both hands in front of her. Feeling like a street walker, she can’t help noticing the glances, the looks from the car’s occupants driving by, some even slowing.
A few anguished minutes, thinking now of the clothespins, even having to clamp one on her clit when she gets home, her thoughts practically overwhelm her as she waits until a cab finally pulls up to the curb, stops. Jumping in the back seat, giving her address, she’s relieved this ordeals about over, then begins thinking of the box, its contents, the next e-mail, the fucking clothespins. Remaining quiet, holding the box, wondering about the contents, not even remembering to ask the price, she watches out the window as the cab returns her to her neighborhood, slows to a stop in front of her residence. Cab paid, entering the house, she finds herself in front of the computer, box on the floor beside her. Grabbing the clothespins from off the computer table, another from the plastic bag and she feels the self-inflicted pain across her nipples first, then clit as she squirms on the seat, clicks on the camera and computer screen.
Watching the e-mails, waiting for the next agonizing message, she feels the pulsing of her pinched flesh between the pressing wooden tips of the clothespins. Agonizingly wanting to remove them, knowing the camera focused on her may already be transmitting her image, she sits almost motionless, tries to block the pain as she wonders about the box, its contents, her thoughts leading back to what’s next in this endless nightmare.
The dreaded ‘BTA’ flashing on the monitor, she reflexively clicks the keys, watches the e-mail open. Reading the scroll, she reluctantly cups the base of her left breast, lifting it upwards as she cranes her neck and grips the clothespin between her teeth. Releasing her hand from her breast, tugging it, stretching it with her mouth, she yanks, twists, finally jerks until the pin flicks off her nipple, falls across her lap. The impression of the wooden pin’s tips still flattening the sides of her nipple, she cups her right breast. A tear trickling down off her cheek, she follows the screen’s instructions and grips that pin between her teeth, dropping her hand, a couple harsh, painful jerks lets it fall, bounce off the chair onto the floor.
Shaking her head slowly back and forth, double checking the scrolling instructions, taking a deep breath she slowly raises her feet up from the floor. Spreading her knees, gripping the chair’s handles on both sides she slides forward straining, leaning over as she struggles to force her toes from each foot up against the clothespin jaunting out off her clit. Squirming, twisting, feeling the pin flick against her feet, she finally jerks, kicks her feet outward jarring the pin loose from her stretching clit as the wooden missile slaps across the keyboard, glances off the computer screen.
Her nipples and clit bruised, aching, still following the screen’s instructions she assumes the position of her hands behind her neck, her thighs spread, her breasts thrust outward. Tears tracing off both cheeks, dripping across her swaying breasts, she watches the next message scrolling across the screen. Hands shaking, she reaches down, picks up the box. Tearing at the tape, flipping the boxes folded corners open; her moans are audible, her eyes wide as she shakes her head back and forth, almost unbelievingly while she again glares through her tears toward the monitor’s message as she reaches in the container.
End Part 1
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