Gromet's PlazaSelf Bondage Stories

A Tale of Possession

by Sean Malone

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© Copyright 2001 - Sean Malone - Used by permission

Storycodes: Sbf; outdoors; beach; cuffs; gag; nylonline; piercings; quicksand; M/f; bdsm; cons; X

The girl drove fast along the empty blacktop road that stretched before her across the desert plain. It had been a hot afternoon, but already the sun was easing West. This was not a working day, but still she watched warily for signs of life in this secluded spot. It would not do to attract interest, not at all; but she had taken further precautions. Her shapely figure was unobtrusive under her loose cotton coverall, her hair coiled beneath a wide-brimmed cowboy hat to further disguise her sex to the casual observer.

Without the coverall there would be no doubt about her youthful femininity, none whatsoever. She was proud of her classical shape, her height in perfect proportion to her figure. Her breasts were round and well proportioned, her hips trim and her pert bottom provocatively full. She loved to walk seductively and feel those heads turning. She enjoyed that feeling of innocent power.

She enjoyed the feel of the hard wearing cotton against her bare skin. Her breasts brushed the material as she moved. Her nipple rings jiggled with each vibration and bump of the desert road, and had rubbed her stiffened nipple tips against the thick patches of her breast pockets until they had become sensitive to the slightest contact. There was no possibility of relief from the insistent tugging of the rings. They were locked securely, and impossible to remove. Her Master had kept the cunning sliver of steel that opened those tiny locks. Their presence was a curious paradox of possession, and at times a source of fierce excitement - but not the only source.

The other source of distracting female sensations was predictably between her legs. The larger golden ring was inserted through its piercing, deep in the fleshy ridge between her upper labia. It teased her with every vibration of the seat, until her clitoris peeped hesitantly from its sheath like a snail from a shell. The ring was firm, comfortable but impossible to ignore. It too bore a tiny lock, secure from her inquisitive tampering. She had pulled the coverall up into her crotch until it lifted and supported her ring. The thin strong seam had cut up between her soft bare lips, like the wire of a cheese-cutter. She had kept her legs held tightly together as she drove, but it was awkward to negotiate the craters and ruts scattered along the desert road. Each time she shifted her legs the capricious ring moved a little. She tried to grip it. As she tightened her muscles the ring squeezed out from her slit, and lifted. It pressed hard against her tightened lips, and she felt a sweet but insistent pull on the swollen shaft of her clitoris, a delicate reminder of her sensitivity. She parted her legs, and pulled the coverall loose until the ring was free to move. Walking was a special pleasure, she reflected. Earlier the short walk to the car had been, well, interesting!

John had needed little encouragement to plan one of his bird watching trips. Curiously their independent adventures were bringing a new-found excitement to their relationship. That morning he had stowed his photographic equipment in the back of his station wagon, strapping the boxes down and then tightening the straps. She had licked her lips as she watched him fasten the straps with a familiar strength and firmness.

Once he had gone she had collected her own bits and pieces from their hiding place, and loaded them into the front of their larger four wheel drive wagon. It was still too early to leave; she needed the quietness of the late part of the day. But the time passed quickly, and now she was on her way.

The road snaked around the foot of the dunes which followed the line of the sandy shore. Soon she found the place to turn. An old, hardly used track wound its way through the low hills towards the beach. Off the track she drove over a dune, bumping over the clumps of wiry grass to stop in a hollow where the car could not easily be seen. It was time to get ready.

Quickly she stripped, donning the short skirt and halter which left her so free to enjoy the soft caress of the warm desert air. Her coveralls, keys and shoes went into the small pack which she had collected from the passenger foot well. Barefoot, her figure more revealed than protected by the short skirt and halter, she felt free and incredibly alive to the feel of wind and sun. For a moment she absorbed the peaceful scene, hearing only the soft muffled crash of the waves on the beach behind the dunes. Now she felt the comfortable heat of the sun on her tanned arms, legs and midriff, while beneath her skirt she felt her moist flesh burning with the heat radiating upwards from the hot dry sand.

She hitched her pack and set off over the dunes, heading East. There was one heavy item in the pack, and she bent forward as she climbed. With each step her feet sank easily into the soft sand. She felt the light breeze lift her skirt over her bare bottom, revealing her beautifully tanned cheeks and the golden ring which hung innocently from her curly bush. The sun was already low in the sky and she felt her inner heat grow as her ring warmed in the sun.

She paused at the top of the dune, taking in the long sweep of the deserted beach and the gentle ripple of waves running in across the shallow sand. There was no sign or sound of man's presence to disturb the peaceful scene, only the call of the sea-birds wheeling and diving beyond the shore. There was time to enjoy it for a moment, before she descended onto the beach.

This was not a steep shore, where the sea expends its energy in a crash of surf, but a broad expanse where the tide advances and retreats, seeming to bare and then clothe the sand, now dry, now a myriad of scattered pools while at times the slow rippling wavelets lap at the base of the grass-tufted dunes, its quiet beauty masking its treachery. A shiver of excitement ran through her. She felt that peculiar prickling sensation as her sex lips thickened. Instinctively she parted her legs as she felt the heavy ring jerk, then rise steadily upwards until it thrust firmly out from her tingling bush. She was ready. The descent was awkward, but soon she was crossing the wide beach. Her path continued along the shore, avoiding the pools scattered along its glistening length. She skirted the treacherous soft sand exposed by the retreating tide. The sand yielded softly to her feet, the deep impressions filling quickly with water, her bare footprints alone betraying the path she had taken.

He had known that she would come again to that solitary place, and he waited expectantly, carefully hidden in the dunes along the beach. He wondered what would follow the curiously erotic preparations he had observed so secretly on other occasions. He shifted his position carefully, adjusting his focus on the approaching girl. His brow was beaded with perspiration, and he mopped his forehead before returning eagerly to the scope. She was approaching with jaunty strides, careless of the way her short skirt lifted from time to time in the gentle breeze. There were exciting glimpses of the business-like ring that thrust out so invitingly from the dark crevice of her sex, bobbing up and down as she walked. Her breasts thrust proud, filling her halter. He could scarcely contain his excitement. This was not how she had approached the beach before. As she drew closer he turned his camera to capture the lovely tanned curves of her bare bottom. She was just ... incredible.

She felt carefree, exhilarated. The feel of the sun on her bare flesh was wonderful, and she could scarcely ignore the projecting ring that tugged gently at her clitoris with every step. A trickle of sweat ran down her back, damping the canvas of her small but heavy haversack. The hot air enveloped her firm rounded cheeks and her moistening sex lips so vulnerably exposed. Her ringed nipples pressed hard, rubbing against the thin covering of her halter.

The sand became gradually softer as the beach widened, and she neared a gathering of pools close to the lapping waves. She stopped and looked around. This was the place. Only the natural sounds of the shore disturbed the tranquillity of the scene, the tiny wave crests like foam against the deep blue of the sea. For a moment she stood motionless. Then, satisfied that she was alone, she unhitched the heavy pack and dumped it on the patch of firm sand behind her back. She lay its contents out carefully on the sand; stout leather and steel, and a number of other curious items.

She looked back along the shore where her foot marks softly merged with the sand, enjoying the gentle pressure of the hot breeze against her body. For long she had practised and planned for this moment. Deliberately she reached behind, loosening her halter which fell to her feet. In a moment her skirt joined the halter beside her pack and she was totally bare, free from the confinement of her clothing. Now her golden-tanned breasts jutted free and proud.

The heat pressed against her burnished skin, enveloping her lithe body. She stood erect, stretching her limbs, already feeling at one with the sea, the sky and the sand. But with every moment she delayed she knew there was the danger of discovery. Quickly she stuffed her clothes into the sack and scooped water and sand into it. Lifting it by a strap, she swung it with both hands as high as she could. It curved down and disappeared into the water beyond the shore.

The sun heated the slender golden rings which possessed her pretty nipples, and she stiffened as a breath of hot air burned and caressed her skin. She stood and stretched. Her flesh tingled. The wind riffled the sun-bleached downy hairs which showed light against her tan. Her pubic curls were like tender springs unfolding, gently vibrating in the hot breath of the wind. She stood still and quiet. The heat grew within her flesh, and she parted her legs to let her lower ring swing freely, its weight gently tugging at her clit until the familiar warm sweet sensations began to spread from its intimate anchorage.

With her back to the dunes, she bent to the equipment so carefully laid out on the sand. First she inserted long, hollow steel rods into each end of the leather tube fitted into the back of the heavy leather belt, pushing them in until they clicked firmly into place. She fitted the belt around her waist, buckling it tightly. The hollow ends of the steel rod extended a foot on either side of her waist behind her back. Stout but comfortable leather cuffs clipped tightly around her wrists, but only with an effort of hands and teeth. These were not made to unfasten easily. Thick, shaped iron pins with grooved tips protruded beneath each of her thumbs. She tested her bonds. They possessed her waist and her wrists with a strength and a firmness she could not budge.

She began to run her hands smoothly up her body to her breasts, pulling at each golden ring until her nipples were stretched excitingly taut. She caressed each tender tip gently with the palm of one hand, while dropping the other to the softness of her mound. Her fingers took the ring and pulled gently, testing its firmness, its possession. The movement tugged at her clitoris, awakening the sweet hidden core of her pleasure until it grew and peeped out, tingling. She squirmed, gasping at the titillation.

The ring was a familiar friend, a reminder of the sweetness of submission. She remembered the times when a tether or leash had been casually clipped to that convenient ring by her master, and she had been helpless to resist his control. He would bind her crossed wrists behind her back and then approach her slowly while her arousal grew with the excitement of anticipation. Helplessly aware of her vulnerability, she would feel the ring tugging deep as her lips thickened. Steadily it would rise until it projected conveniently forward ready for his clip. He would oblige, with a smile, and she would be a captive. She loved that feeling of complete submission. She had wanted the rings to be locked, each one a constant reminder of that secret call of her dreams. She picked up the gag and stuffed the wad of leather into her mouth, then tightened the leather band and fastened its straps over her head, constricting the gag, forcing it to expand into her mouth, compressing her tongue. She buckled the straps securely, ignoring the discomfort and the sour taste of the leather. Experimentally she yelled, but the muffled sound was lost in the natural sound of the waves on the shore.

The line was fifty metres long and deceptively light, but she knew it was strong enough to fish for shark. It would do! She shivered at the thought of its purpose, trembling as she prepared it to run out freely. One end was fastened to the middle of a thick, heavy iron bar, while the other was fixed to a small but very businesslike marine shackle. She checked the knots. Each was a fisherman's blood knot, properly tied.

There was a light feeling in her stomach. She struggled to open the shackle, while her other hand gripped the ring between her legs and held it ready. He watched while the cameras ran silently, fascinated and very much aroused. She clipped the shackle to her ring, then carefully released the catch and let it go. Her clit throbbed at the gentle pull of its weight hanging, swinging gently. The new but pleasant sensations were impossible to evade or ignore. She shivered to see the line snaking over the sand to the heavy iron bar, but there was no real sense of danger yet. Her heat grew with the gentle tension as she stood astride and gripped the rods behind her back, savouring the moment, her heart pounding with excitement.

She bent forward again, her lovely thighs parted to reveal every splendid detail of her sex, her pink entrance deep and glistening between her plump parted lips. The line dangled, brushing her legs lightly as she moved. He felt a powerful urge to grip her thighs and thrust his organ deep into her moist, inviting entrance, and enjoy the delicious warm sweetness of her sex. She was a very tempting sight, but surely there were more erotic surprises in store. She picked up the heavy iron bar. The sensations were titillating and it felt so exciting, yet so innocent a thing to do in the peaceful solitude of the beach. For a moment she weighed it in her hand, moving close to that gathering of pools where the treacherous sand glistened soft and wet, deliciously aware that where it went the line would follow, the line which she felt so harmlessly tickling her inner thighs. She swung the bar once, twice and again, and finally managed to toss it far into the wet centre of the soft patch of quicksand. It plopped in, for a moment half submerged, and then slowly disappeared. She felt soft and incredibly vulnerable, conscious of the shackle that hung between her thighs, but she was strangely calm as the line began to slither slowly, quietly across the sand.

This shore was notorious. Many an unwary man or beast had disappeared forever in the patches of wet quicksand that followed its course. The heavy iron would sink steadily, the sand filling in over the bar, anchoring it gradually deeper and deeper. She watched the line moving slowly, steadily across the sand and her heart pounded with excitement. No previous experience of submission had aroused her like this. Her bare buttocks tightened, and she felt the hot wetness spreading, liquefying her tingling, expanding lips. She turned again and took the last item, the black leather blindfold and covered her eyes, buckling it tightly to the harness that held her gag in place. Suddenly the sounds seemed more intense. She felt disoriented, unbalanced. Her situation seemed unreal, the sequence of events so planned and practised that one innocent act would just follow another, no single one seeming as inexorable as in fact they were complete. There was no feeling of real danger yet, it was too early for that. But time was slithering away. Already the line was shortening, stealing her freedom. She felt the shackle still hanging innocently, a presence far from commanding. She could see nothing, but she could feel the exciting constriction of the belt and cuffs. Her mouth was stretched wide by the gag, but her hands were still free to roam.

Sensually she ran her fingers over the smooth cheeks of her bare bottom cheeks, around her flanks to her mound. Delicately her fingers caressed the slippery wet softness within her cleft. The shackle felt incongruously hard as she pressed it up against her tender entrance. She tugged gently to try the firmness of its anchorage within her soft flesh. She moaned at the discovery of her sensitivity, feeling the warm but painful sensation growing into an intense sweetness. But its possession was firm. She let it go. It swung gently and the slight movement brought a tingling reminder of its possession, while the loose coils of nylon line brushed lightly against her inner thighs.

She wanted to find the limit of her freedom, to enjoy the tension of the line and test its control. She moved up the beach, away from the soft sand and the sea, gripping the bars fixed behind her belt. The shackle swung gently from her ring as she walked carefully towards the dunes, her clit throbbing with excitement. Her bronzed skin reflected the soft redness of the setting sun as she drew closer to the hidden camera, but its soft whirr was imperceptible to her above the rush of the waves. Now and then the fishing line would snag. The warm shackle would press up into her moist vulva and with each gentle tug, her clitoris would tingle with pleasure. She felt her way cautiously forward.

Mmmmmmmm! She yelled, biting soundlessly into her gag as the line stretched unexpectedly taut and she felt its powerful traction. The pain was as revealing as it was unexpected, a reminder of her vulnerability. This was more than just a game. The shackle pulled up hard against her throbbing lips and instinctively she gripped it to ease the tension. She stepped back awkwardly, but the elastic line remained taut. The nylon vibrated in the wind, like a gentle drill at her tingling clit. She twisted, wriggling her bottom defiantly, sensuously, but she could not evade the tension. She could only shuffle sideways in a giant circle, but she felt the line tighten as she moved, tugging her steadily backwards, and she knew there would be no relief from that indomitable, intimate force.

As she yielded, the steady tension became more stimulating than painful. Carefully she parted her legs and released the shackle. Now she felt the raw tugs of the line, and she learned quickly to give ground as it demanded her compliance. It was exhilarating to imagine that she was a hooked fish, circling a masterful angler as he reeled her steadily in. Something greater than herself was in control, and she could no more escape its power than her own excitement.

Nnnnnnng! She released a muffled scream as the line yanked her unexpectedly backwards, stumbling painfully. Her tender flesh stretched taut, but the ring held firm. Where it went she would surely go. She felt the strength of the line as the heavy bar sank unsteadily, unpredictably. Awkwardly she turned, lifting her leg over the line and now she could take the slippery shackle in both hands for a moment to relieve the insistent tension. She pulled on the shackle, stepping back. The line stretched taut, but it would not give. The iron bar was anchored now as firmly in the bottomless quicksand, as the securely locked ring in her tender flesh. She tried digging in her heels, but the tension increased until she was dragged slithering forward again. She thrilled at its power.

Could she escape by running forward until the line was slack, or would the disappearing line tighten before she could unfasten the shackle, leaving her still a captive but stealing those precious few metres? It had been hard enough to attach the shackle to her ring when it was slack. Now the line was taut, and the shackle slippery with her juices. The bar was anchored deep, and its capricious tugs and vibrations would be an exquisite and dangerous distraction if she wanted to release the strong spring of the catch.

Her aching arms soon tired of resisting the powerful pull of the line, and she knew that her resistance was not gaining her any time. The line was growing steadily shorter just the same, and she stepped forward to ease the tension a little. It took several cautious steps before she could release the shackle, and then her tender flesh was again subject to the capricious mastery of the line. She felt the familiar, exquisite pleasure grow and then flare as she stepped awkwardly forward, obedient to its message. Her hands felt incongruously free as she submitted to that fierce sensation. Her thoughts turned to the long steel bar which extended from her belt behind her, with its innocent looking magnetic sockets ready to lock her cuffed wrists securely out of reach of the shackle. Her cuff pins would slide smoothly, easily a little way into the sockets and there would be no sensation of danger. A millimetre further, and they would be trapped. Once the pins were in the grip of that powerful magnetic field, they would be drawn in faster and faster until the locks clicked into place. She felt a powerful urge to insert the pins just a little way into those sockets, but she knew she would want to insert them a little more, and then a little more, until she felt that exquisite jerk and she would be irrevocably caught. She shivered with excitement.

She was being drawn forward steadily, inexorably and there was little time for hesitation. She was obedient to the firm traction of the line, but it was hard to anticipate. Those unpredictable sharp tugs brought a painful reminder of her vulnerability unless she reacted quickly. The line allowed her no rest, and she could afford no distraction from its insistent control. One simple action, and her submission would be complete. She felt her heart beat fast as she contemplated what she intended to do. She reached back to the long steel rod, then felt along both sides until she reached its widely separated hollow ends. She positioned her wrists ready with the cuff pins pointed inwards, then brought them closer, closer until the iron pins touched the ends of those uncompromising magnetic sockets. The impulse to insert them was intoxicating, compelling. An electric thrill ran through her. Only a small pressure, a seemingly innocuous movement and those locks would take control.

She trembled with excitement, and slid the cuff pins carefully just a little way into those slippery sockets. The pins moved easily, perhaps too easily. She felt no resistance. There was nothing to reveal the latent power of those locks. Her heart thudded with excitement, while she squirmed at the insistent but steady tension of the line. She was a fisherman's quarry, his hook embedded in her tenderest flesh and now she was daring him to strike, knowing that there would be no escape from the secure grip of the cuffs. She was conscious of the danger, but incredibly excited at the delicacy of her position. She quivered as the line tugged again at her clitoris, bringing a hot thrill of pleasure.

But the temptation grew, and with exquisite care she slid the pins in a little further. Now they were well within the hollow ends of the rod. She knew she was close, but still there was no sensation of the magnetic power of those powerful locks. The stout line tightened again at her ring and she stepped meekly forward, careful of her balance. Her outstretched arms trembled with tension as she held them tautly positioned at the ends of the rods. Time expanded in a moment of calm. She could feel every tiny vibration of the taut line at her clit, the pleasure gently spreading through her like a sweet shivery hotness. She trembled as the indescribable feeling grew into the certainty of an imminent climax.

Nnnnnnnng! She yelled as the line yanked her awkwardly forward; instinctively she tensed her outstretched arms to keep her balance; too late she felt the magnetic pull as it quickly grew stronger and drew the pins at lightning speed into the locks. Click, Click! Instantly she spasmed, struggling in a wild cataclysm of sweet sensations, fighting against the strong, yet comfortable imprisonment of the steel and leather cuffs, the tension of her arms electric as she resisted their confinement. The sensation of captivity was deliciously exciting. She was quite secure now. The pleasure expanded and then burst from her hot core of sensation, coursing through her beautifully naked, wriggling body. She struggled with a wild desperation, but no amount of twisting brought her hands an inch closer to the sweetly throbbing wetness between her thighs, and the shackle which controlled her fate. There was no escape. She fought in a wild moment of panic as she realised what she had done.

She had seen the bait, recognised it, but still taken it. Inevitably the angler had struck and she was caught, a blind wriggling fish on a hook, the fisherman winching her in. The line could tame the struggles of a shark. She had tried the firmness of her ring. She knew she was securely caught. Her puny wriggling would get nowhere. Her cries were silenced. She had no teeth to bite through the line, nowhere to snag it on the bare soft sand. Like a captive fish she could circle her Master's rod while he brought her steadily closer, but there would be no escape as the exquisite traction brought her steadily closer to his net and gaff. A rising sensation possessed her wriggling body, and she screamed soundlessly as the spasms of pleasure grew and burst into a fresh climax. She clenched her thighs in a vain attempt to ease the tension, but the slippery shackle was pulled out taut from her soft flesh and the merciless titillation continued.

The naked watcher was enthralled by the ritual of her submission, and the moment of her capture. No choreographer could have improved on the spontaneous eroticism of that vivid moment. Now her struggles were an exciting dance of pleasure. He focused the cameras closer as the incredible spectacle continued.

She was pregnable, aroused. Her sex lips were swollen and slippery with her juices. She ached for a man to conquer her and assuage her deepest hunger. She was blind and silenced, and helpless to evade the advances of any unknown stranger who might come along the beach. Even the prospect of being captured by passing slavers had not eluded her imagination. But she knew that she was alone. Nobody would take advantage of her nakedness in this isolated spot. Curiously she was glad that there was no one to see her futile struggles, no one to interfere and no one to release her from her bonds.

There was no sound but the breeze and the gentle lap, lap of the sea on the nearby shore. She felt curiously at peace, with the line pulling gently at her ring, her arms helplessly imprisoned behind. She advanced step by slippery step. The warm air still caressed her body as she responded to the smallest twitch of the line, each tug an intolerably exquisite flash of pleasure. She gasped, squirming helplessly in response. Now and again the line fell slack as the sinking bar slowed, but there was little respite before it tightened unexpectedly again, hauling her mercilessly forward. Her sinuous movements, her awkward steps were a strange primeval dance. Each time that fiery sensation came she weakened, meekly submitting, trembling at its power over her.

She was enraptured at the thought of a real angler mercilessly reeling her in, waiting with net and gaff and sensation flooded, expanded then burst into a fresh climax. She clenched her thighs in a vain attempt to ease the tension for a moment as she was tugged forward yet again, her moans silenced as the insistent titillation continued, all rational thought submerged in the physical sensations which overwhelmed her body, oblivious to his soundless approach.

He came nearer to the unsuspecting girl, silently enjoying every inch of her wriggling bound beauty as he made his preparations, carefully managing to avoid detection, enjoying the exciting closeness of her wriggling body, examining the line that still tugged at its erotic anchorage in her lovely cleft.

The bar sank steadily deeper, always deeper. Her feet sank further as the sand gradually softened. She had not sensed the naked man so close to her own bare body, feeling only the insistent stimulation of the line. Her slippery lips tingled constantly as she moved steadily forward, each tug bringing a thrill of ecstasy that radiated through her body from the fiery source of her pleasure. Wildly, uselessly she fought the imprisonment of her cuffs. She heard the lap, lap of the sea close now, lifting her trembling knees in the softening sand, balancing awkwardly with her arms behind, her mouth stretched by the wet leather gag, blindly responding to the insistent traction. She knew there was not much time now.

Aaaaaah! A strong, painful heave, panic and then a thrill of excitement as her bare feet slid smoothly forward, her futile protests silenced by the gag as the line hauled her legs relentlessly forward and down into the liquid sand. She kicked and wriggled wildly, wrenching again and again at her cuffs in a last desperate, intoxicating but futile struggle.

Unknown to the girl, he was prepared. Yanking at a cord, he severed the stout nylon, slowing her progress. Then he hauled the surprised and still struggling girl back by the unobtrusive cord he had quietly clipped to her belt behind, lifted her and threw her quickly into the sea. She moaned and mumbled into the gag, but he had no immediate intention of loosening her bonds. After he dumped her into the water kicking and wriggling, he lifted her by the waist from behind and proceeded to wash the sand from between her thighs.

Then he carried her up the beach towards his shelter where a large wooden board lay ready, with strong rings and other fastenings set into the corners, and a stout ring just below a raised pad near its centre. He laid her over the pad face down. She wriggled like a fish on a slab. Quickly he roped her ankles wide apart, and used her shackle to clip her own ring to the one below the pad. Now she was secure, and beautifully ready for him. Running his knowing fingers lightly down her spine, down over her buttocks and between her thighs, he soon had her quivering with delight. Her bare bottom was raised by the pad, her cheeks prettily exposed to the mercies of his cane. She knew what to expect. Such dangerous behaviour deserved more than a little punishment. A few firm strokes across her naked cheeks and she was moaning into her gag, but he could see that she was already juicing again nicely between her legs. He ran his fingers over her soft, smooth cheeks, now hot with the sting of the cane, then between her lips, parting her entrance. He slid his thick hard cock deep into her velvety warm cunt, stroking steadily. The sensation was delicious. 

After a while he knelt up, lifting her as far as the shackle would allow, and caned her bottom again sharply with his cock deep in her cunt. He felt her squeeze his cock deliciously with each stroke of the cane, and she squirmed uncontrollably until they both convulsed in the most beautiful orgasm. Much later, released from her bonds, she lay naked in his arms and spoke quietly to him. 

"It was so real and exciting and I thought nobody knew and I was all alone, John."

"You wanted it to be real, Julie," he answered. "You were just too beautiful to lose."

A Tale of Possession - © Sean Malone, March 1992


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