The long, low Mercedes lurched as it scrabbled for grip in the muddy pebbles
strewn at the roadside. Stephanie unhurriedly fed the polished wooden wheel
from hand to elegant hand; the soft black kid of her gloves enhancing her
poised control as the tail kicked out then swung obediently back into line on
the drying road. A cool, lively breeze chased the remnants of the morning's
rain across the looming mountains promising a bright, fresh spring day.
Slowing as she passed horses grazing close to the tarmac, Stephanie waited
until she was clear before again planting the accelerator and watching the
tacho spin as the car hurled itself anew at the twisting hill road.
Through the windrush and the thick silk of her expensive headscarf, she
gradually became aware of a deeper noise, almost a booming. Glancing up
into the rear-view mirror, she caught a glimpse of a pair of narrow headlights,
closely spaced. The red motorcycle was gaining on her at an almost
unbelievable rate, when she first saw it, at the beginning of the long straight, it
must have been half a mile behind, now it was about 150 yards and closing.
OH NO! Stephanie dragged her eyes back to the road and, panicking, over
braked for the sweeping right hander she had forgotten while transfixed by the
speeding bike. The biker was already backing off as her brake-lights
illuminated the wildly swinging rear end, Stephanie smoothly coming off the
brakes just in time to catch the tailslide of the heavy open-topped car. She
accelerated into the next straight, her heart pounding as the adrenaline
surged into her system. The bike, a blurred splash of brilliant scarlet moved
effortlessly up alongside, pausing alongside the driver's door.
Against her will, Stephanie felt her eyes drawn to the rider. His darkly mirrored
visor revealed nothing of his face, but Stephanie was sure he was deriding
her for her mistake under pressure and blushed as crimson as the bike. With
a laconic nod and a flick of his throttle hand the motorcyclist unleashed the
engine and catapulted his machine at the next bend. Stephanie desperately
tried to stay with him, but the rider smoothly, inexorably pulled away until she
rounded a corner to find he was out of sight.
She backed off, disappointed, her breathing, like her driving, becoming
somewhat ragged. Strangely excited by the encounter, she fidgeted
uncomfortably, her long leather skirt creaking against the leather seat. Easing
off still further, she tried to tell herself it was just the cool wind crinkling her
nipples until she had to give in and reach a hand up to her white silk blouse,
pinching urgently at the bulge in the shiny material. Sighing, she returned her
hand to the wheel, storing the memory for later recall in the warmth and
privacy of her own home.
As she climbed a particularly steep gradient the winding road twisted back on
itself, the low spring sun momentarily dazzled her, obliging her to draw her
sunglasses down from where they rested on the silk of her headscarf. When
her eyes returned to the road, she saw a sheet of water, like a small lake,
flooding its entire surface. There, near the far shore, was the biker, crouching
beside his motionless, silent machine as water lapped at his feet and steam
billowed from the stilled engine.
Stephanie braked but was already in the water. The Merc slewed as she
started to aquaplane and she realised there was no option but to steer
through without trying to slow down. Releasing the brake, she gently
corrected the steering, the automatic operation of the wipers feebly fighting
the deluge of water as a huge bow wave frothed up in front of, and onto the
long car bonnet. A surge rolled over the screen breaking, like surf, at the top
and cascading into the car, soaking Stephanie's scarf and thin silk blouse.
Shivering with the icy shock, she brought the heavy car to a juddering halt the
brakes squealing in protest at the unceremonious dousing. Concerned, she
looked back to where the biker had been standing only to hear an outraged
roar and see him bearing down on her in drenched black leathers. Panic-
struck, Stephanie hammered down the throttle and the car once more leapt
forward, throwing a shower of pebbles against the angry rider's visor.
Her heart pumping once again, Stephanie was still unsettles as she pulled
into the drive of The Olde Blue Boar, four miles up the road, the low profile
tyres crunching gravel as she slid to a stop. She'd slipped the sodden scarf
from her brow, and now it was tied to her headrest, drying like a bright, silk
banner in the early afternoon sun. The heater on full blast had failed to render
her flimsy blouse any less transparent, and the outline of her brassiere was
clearly visible through the damp, clinging material. She primped her hair in the
mirror and reapplied her scarlet lipstick.
"Yes, yes you're beautiful. Now come and buy me a drink before I die of
thirst," a voice laughed beside her door.
Stephanie jumped, turning to see her friend Marta's smiling face.
"Well I know transparent's in this year, but that's a little blatant." She
continued, appraising Stephanie's blouse and erect nipples.
"I think I've had enough to drink." She retorted with a wry smile. "I must have
swallowed a stream back there…" The two women tumbled into the warm pub
and she related her encounter as they worked their way through a pitcher of
marghueritas.
"Anyway," Marta finally butted in, "Are you going to take us back to the
Grange before you're too pissed to drive or what? We've got to get you
unpacked and spruced up for dinner tonight."
"What's wrong with your car?" Demanded Stephanie, "Or did you walk down
here for the good of your health?"
"Bloody thing's U.S., hors de combat." The older woman replied, swallowing
the last dribble and talking around the ice-cube she was holding in her mouth,
"Have to get Tom to look at it when he gets here."
"Ah, the mysterious Tom!" Stephanie grinned roguishly, "So we finally get to
meet this man of yours, eh?"
"Oh he'll be here tonight," Marta smiled back, "And you can keep your sweaty
little mitts off." She stood, smoothing down the blue silk of her summer dress.
"I hope that old jalopy of yours doesn't ruin my hair."
Stephanie reached into her bag and shook out an expansive silk square,
"Here, wear this." She said, handing it to her friend, "Mine should be dry by
now."
Marta wrapped her lustrous red hair in the thick cream and gold silk, knotting
the scarf at the nape of her neck and followed her tall friend's elegant stride to
the car. Strapping herself in she watched curiously as Steph searched
fruitlessly about the floor of the car.
"I left a scarf here." Stephanie said, by way of explanation, "A Jaeger scarf,
tied, here, to the headrest, it must have blown off." Stephanie sighed in
resignation, this weekend was not starting at all well.
Gravel spat up from her spinning tyres as she angrily stamped on the throttle,
pulling back onto the country road. Marta smiled, weary and not a little tipsy,
settling back into the leather seat and saying nothing as the slipstream
plucked at her headscarf. Neither woman noticed as a large, red Ducati pulled
out behind them, its headlights doused.
The journey to the Grange was short and uneventful, Stephanie's simmering
anger preventing her from noticing the powerful motorcycle discreetly
shadowing the two women. At the entrance, Stephanie paused to allow Marta
to operate the electronic gates, before gunning the sleek black car up the long
drive. They were already unloading Stephanie's bags when the helmeted
figure walked cautiously up to the gate and looked round the solid stone
gatepost.
Still a little damp from her dousing, Stephanie went straight to her room to
bath and change, while Marta set about preparing the evening meal from the
dishes cooked earlier by her housekeeper. She was surprised, therefore, to
hear the doorbell ringing after they had been in the house for only about ten
minutes.
"Damn that bloody entry system," She cursed, slamming the dish down onto
the work surface, "Shouldn't let anyone in unless I buzz them." She was still
muttering as she approached the door, wondering who it could be; Tom
wasn't due to phone from the station for another hour or so.
Abruptly she swung the old oak door open, without pausing to check the
spyhole as she normally did and was immediately rewarded with a faceful of
Stephanie's Jaeger headscarf. Above the wad of thick, damp silk clamped
across her lips, Marta could see a helmeted figure, his face disguised by a
mirrored visor. Frightened, she opened her mouth to scream, but the muffling
silk was tight over it. The man was large, fast and strong, effortlessly pushing
her back and kicking the heavy door to behind him. In panic Marta tried to turn
and run, but a powerful arm encircled her, pinioning her arms at her side and
pulling her roughly to him. Her feet were now kicking futilely as he raised her
off the ground, her small fist beating on his broad back against the thick hide
of his leathers. She tried desperately to warn Stephanie, but her words of
alarm were beaten back into her throat, by the gagging wad of silk that he was
slowly working between her bruised lips.
Bundling her onto the floor, he whipped her onto her stomach, pulling her
arms behind her and momentarily releasing the wadding half jammed
between her red lips. She felt something cold tighten about her thumbs,
pinning them, one to another, before she was again turned onto her back.
Frantically she tried to spit the wad from between her painfully spread jaws,
but it wouldn't budge. She writhed as an invasive hand reached up under the
flimsy blue silk of her summer dress, closing on the satin of her French
knickers and drawing them down her long, slim legs and off over her blue
satin pumps. The biker took her gag-scarf between finger and thumb and
drew it, sodden, from Marta's mouth.
"What, who, how dare you…mmmpphh" She gasped, as he replaced it with
the crumpled white satin of her panties. Holding this humiliating gag in place
with one hand, he rolled Stephanie's sodden scarf into a band with the other
before tying a large knot in the middle. He then reached down and seized the
hair at the nape of Marta's slim neck and tugged back. Her jaws widened in a
rictus of discomfort and he stuffed the knot between them, effectively
reinforcing the already potent panty gag. Working quickly, he knotted the scarf
at the base of her neck, catching some of the lush red hair in the process. Her
squeal of protest was muffled to a murmuring hum.
Dragged upright, Marta worked feverishly to free her thumbs, twisting her
hands around to see what had fastened them so comprehensively. She could
see two metal bands joined by a solid cross piece; it looked just like a tiny pair
of handcuffs, but rendered her as helpless as if a full sized pair was encasing
her wrists. Marta looked up into the obsidian face plate of her muscular
captor, begging for mercy and freedom, but her pleading words were just a
muffled mewing, and totally incomprehensible as he bundled her into the
lounge, seating her on the old, leather sofa. A large, strong hand grasped her
kicking ankles, immobilising them as he again reached under her dress, this
time to unfasten her stocking tops from their suspenders. Rapidly unrolling the
stockings, he slipped her blue stilettos from her feet before using the
stockings to bind her at thigh and ankle, finishing off by fastening her to the
leg of the ancient sofa.
Marta looked beseechingly at her new master as her stood regarding her from
behind his mirrored visage, his very anonymity rendering him more impassive
and infinitely more terrifying. Her thumbs ached from their short constriction
and she reached her hands around and up to him in whimpered supplication,
understanding she could not ask for release, but craving an act of kindness.
He grunted in understanding and disappeared into the hall to reappear a few
seconds later with a leather dog lead. Marta didn't dare struggle as the
thumbcuffs were released, even crossing her wrists in submission to allow
herself to be bound with the rough leather; anything was better than the tiny
chromium monsters that had so pinched her thumbs, rendering them
insensate.
Grateful for the small act of gentle kindness, she looked up into the
impenetrable mask and mumbled stifled words of thanks. The armoured figure
reached down, softly stroking her cheek where it bulged above the taut silk of
her gagging headscarf. Marta shut her eyes and rubbed against the hand, like
a cat, a sudden tension overwhelming her natural fear. The hand strayed
lower, the backs of her finger caressing two erect nipples that strove for
release from their blue silk restraint. Marta groaned her excitement, and the
mysterious figure abruptly stood, turning and striding away from her to the
door. Frustrated, she fell back against the cracked leather of the old chair, her
arms twisted uncomfortably behind her back.
Meanwhile Stephanie had finished unpacking her two cases, and was
preparing for the bath; now half full of scalding water, thick steam whisping
from the en-suite bathroom to spill the odours of exotic oils into the bedroom.
She had already stripped off the damp white blouse and was now examining
her figure in the full-length mirror which filled one side of the bedroom wall.
Cupping her gloved hands beneath her firm breasts, she offered them up for
her own perusal, turning left and right to admire her flat hard belly, and the
sibilant way the soft leather skirt swished about her long, lithe legs. Catching
herself with a self-conscious cough, she laid out her heavy blouse in rich
copper satin for the evening meal and slipped out of the skirt, revealing calf
length boots and green silken panties. She slipped out of these also, dropping
them into her open case before venturing into the mysteriously, steam-filled
recesses of the humid bathroom.
Having soaked for more than half an hour in the company of Vogue and a
large glass of Pimms, Stephanie was in an advanced state of relaxation when
she padded from the bathroom and across the warm room to the hall door.
"Marta?" She called down the darkened stairs, "How long do I have before
dinner?"
Beneath her, in the lounge, her friend writhed desperately as she tried to get
her fingers to the thick silk scarf that crammed her sodden knickers between
her teeth.
Surprised by the silence that greeted her call, Stephanie contemplated
descending to find Marta, but was dissuaded by the chill draught blowing up
from below.
"Must've nipped out and left a door open," she thought, retreating into the
warmth of the room and pushing the door to behind her.
She stood again before the huge mirror, roughly towelling her long, glossy
mane of hair before transferring her attentions to the rest of her body which
she treated with the same coarse vigour, revelling in the tingling glow it raised
in her skin. As she dried off, she allowed her mind to drift back to a time in
college when she and Marta were neighbours in the women's
accommodation. She'd just stepped out of a shower then too…
She and Marta had become closer and closer over the months of giggled
revelations and there was a frisson beyond mere friendship that had started to
buzz between them. She'd just started dressing-only had on stockings and a
bra, when Marta had walked in, obviously already prepared to go out, her long
trenchcoat belted tightly at her waist and a scarf about her shoulders. Marta
was a mature student, her style of dress and confidence belying the usual
stereotypes about poor, impoverished scholars. She'd walked straight up to
Stephanie and bestowed on her a kiss, not just the usual peck on the cheek,
but a soft brush on the lips. Steph blushed, her nipples perking up beneath
the black lace of her bra, her legs a little shaky at the unexpected greeting.
She could smell an unaccustomed tang of alcohol on Marta's glossy lips
which might account for her apparent relaxation.
Marta didn't move away after the kiss but stayed close, looking into
Stephanie's eyes. The younger woman blushed deeper, and stuttered,
"Where, where do you want to go tonight."
Marta sat heavily into the one chair in the small room, crossing her long legs
and laughed, a deep, dirty chuckle, "Wherever you want to take me." The
trenchcoat fell back off her legs to reveal stocking tops. Stephanie couldn't
see her skirt.
Steph looked up, confused; it was always Marta who decided where to go and
who to see. She turned her back, bending to pull up her matching panties.
Suddenly she was aware of Marta standing behind her. She turned again to
find Marta no longer wearing her coat and gasped. "What, what are you…"
Beneath the heavy trenchcoat Marta had worn just a corset with stockings.
Her pudenda was shaved of the soft red hair that usually dusted it and her
breasts were uncovered, forced up and forward by the yellow and black satin
of the corset. The expensive cream and gold silk of her scarf fell between her
breasts. She pulled Stephanie to her and kissed her again, firmly, her tongue
dancing across the younger woman's lips. Stephanie was paralysed, her mind
whirling in confusion as a hand caressed the small of her back. Marta pulled
the scarf from around her shoulders, and forced Stephanie face down on her
bed, working quickly to bind her wrists behind her. Her younger friend was
squeaking uncertainly in protest, undecided how to react to this unexpected
turn of events.
Turned onto her back, her plaintive, half-hearted protests were silenced by a
breathtakingly long kiss, Marta's hands exploring her unprotected body as her
mouth crushed Stephanie's. Wriggling up her captive's body, Marta had taken
her right breast in her hand and pushed it forcibly between Stephanie's lips,
burying her long fingers in Steph's hair and pulling the girl's head closer onto
her bosom. Stephanie 's eyes widened still further at the texture of her friend's
hard nipple between her lips. She tried to protest, but the warm flesh muffled
her anguish, and her tongue brushed the little pebble. Marta stiffened and
groaned, "Go on, please." Her voice was hoarse with excitement. "Suck it, oh
please Steph, suck it"
Her captive hesitated, then tentatively her tongue flickered across the nipple,
to be rewarded by a moan from Marta. The grip of her friend's hand softened,
her fingers scritching at the back of her neck as she set to with relish, nibbling
and sucking at the reddening nipple. Independently she moved across to the
other breast, licking at the beads of perspiration on Marta's skin, gradually
circling the orb before closing on the central nub. Her friend was in
paroxysms, tantalised by her slow approach until the merest tiny touch with
her tongue pushed her over the edge into a noisy orgasm.
At this Stephanie was brought back to earth, her half-naked friend laying,
breathing raggedly beside her. She started to struggle to try to free her bound
hands and, in doing so, brought Marta's attention to her.
"Oh no you don't, we've got a way to go yet, " she grinned, her fingers
unbuttoning Stephanie's brassiere, and freeing the firm ripe breasts. Steph
squirmed as her fingers closed upon her helpless nipples, which responded
instantly, swelling and hardening till she felt they were almost painfully
excited. The fingers then started to wander down her belly until they were
nudging at the edge of her see through panties. She shook her head and
whispered, "No, Marta, please."
Her friend made no reply, but knelt up, her knees either side of Stephanie's
head. One hand again gripped the nape of her neck pulling her head up, while
the other slid into her panties. Her mouth was pulled up against Marta's warm
damp mound, as Marta's fingers started to explore her own. The scent was
soft and fragrant, not at all as she'd imagined and there was a wonderful
roiling in the depths of her belly as her friend's slim fingers slowly massaged
her sopping cunt. Her tongue darted out once more, the warm saltiness
dribbling onto her chin, as she navigated her way about the folds of moist
flesh. Gauging her movements by Marta's reactions she started a slow
grinding with her tongue that caused a reciprocal rhythmic squeezing in
Marta's thighs. Her friend's breathing and the touch of her fingers was
becoming less ordered as she grew hotter and more excited til finally she
gripped herself tightly to Stephanie and ground her cunt frenetically against
her face.
This time they lay for about five long minutes while Marta regained her
composure and Stephanie tried to analyse the emotions that coursed through
her. Finally she whispered, "OK you can untie me now. "
Marta's eyes focussed and she turned to look at Stephanie. "No way, honey,
it's your turn now."
"Marta, let me go, I'm not a dyke, untie mmmnnn" Stephanie's rising voice
was cut off as her friend closed her lips with the palm of her hand.
"Neither of us are DYKES, darling, but it's a little fun, and now it's your turn for
a little fun." And she'd reached out to the dresser beside the bed where
Stephanie's new silk scarf had lain. A present from her parents on her
eighteenth birthday, the Christian Dior square was the first real scarf she'd
owned, and now Marta was rolling it one handed and tying a large knot in the
centre. She shook her head in protest, then her mouth was freed
"No, not that one its mymmmmmm…" The knot was tight in the small hairs at
the back of her head and, though she shook her head vehemently, she could
not dislodge the stifling gag. In response, she locked her legs together, but
was dismayed to find Marta binding stockings about each and her ankles
spread before being bound to the top and bottom of the bed. Her legendary
flexibility in gym now rendered her easily spread-eagled, her tiny panties
pulled tight into her cunt.
Without preamble Marta bent to her task. Stephanie stared down as her
classmate lowered her lips to her prisoner's exposed nipples, groaning into
the muffling silk as her warm tongue circled the trembling flesh. A fingernail
was drawn across the taut nylon of her panties, her hips twitching
uncontrollably as it flicked at the erect button of her clitoris. Stephanie shut
her eyes, abandoning herself to the delicious abrogation of responsibility. Her
inhibitions were worthless now, she had no say in what was happening and
felt strangely liberated.
The muscles in her taut stomach tensed and she arched as Marta pulled the
knickers to one side and ran her hot tongue down Steph's belly, lapping
languidly at her liquid core. The stockings held her tightly in place as she
squirmed under her mistress' tongue, her struggles now more to achieve
orgasm than release. Slowly Marta built the tension, licking softly at the tip of
her clitoris before stroking her thighs until Stephanie's pleas for final release
became urgent and demanding, notwithstanding the effective gag. Burying
her head between her friend's thighs, and seizing her fulsome arse in her
fingers, she lasciviously devoured the helplessly displayed cunt, pitching
Stephanie over the edge and beyond, stopping only when the muffled cries
threatened to have the college porters banging on the door.
The next morning Marta had said nothing, obviously hung-over she had crept
out of bed and the subject had never been brought up since, though now, 15
years later, Stephanie still used vignettes from that night to tip her over the
edge if her current boyfriend was particularly inept. Still, it was never likely to
happen again, particularly now Marta had a serious man in her life…
Stephanie sighed and continued preparing for dinner.
The flimsy silk of her bustier and briefs matched the warm copper of her
blouse, as did the suspender belt to which she clipped her iridescent, charcoal
seamed stockings. A short, black, stretch-satin skirt highlighted her long legs,
which were further enhanced by the calf-length, patent leather boots that she
had removed earlier. Adding autumnal eye shadow and a strong brown lip-
gloss, she finished by brushing out her long, chestnut hair until it glowed.
Pausing once more to look at her reflection, she thrust her fine breasts
upward then, overwhelmed by the carnal memory of basic desire from the
mornings encounter, seized a nipple between the thumb and forefinger of
each hand, twisting them till they perked, erect and proud, through the fluid
gloss of her satin blouse. Temporarily distracted, she sat heavily on the bed,
her legs trembling, and watched herself in the mirror as she pinched and
mauled her own breasts, conjuring up images of the brief encounter with the
mysterious motorcyclist. One elegantly manicured hand frenetically fumbled
beneath the stretchy skirt, pulling it up and rubbing frantically at the silk
concealing her soft pudenda. Her crisis was rapid and violently dramatic, a
traumatic shudder racking her body as she bit painfully on her bottom lip to
stifle her ecstatic groan of release.
She sat slumped, elbows on her knees, both hands together as if in
supplication. Her eyes gradually refocused to find herself staring into her open
suitcase. Her head snapped up and a puzzled expression replaced that of
ennui; she would have sworn that she'd put her washing into the case, but
both blouse and panties were no longer there. Confused, her mind dulled by
the alcohol, she stood and cast about, if Marta had tidied up while she was in
the bath then surely she would have cleared up the cases as well? Still,
maybe Marta had come in and put some stuff away…. Stephanie checked in
the drawers, before her gaze fell upon the bedside cabinet. "Ah!" she thought,
and reached down to the small wooden door.
At first she didn't comprehend the nature of what she saw, nestled in the small
space beside her bed. Then she recognised the black helmet and darkened
visor she had seen earlier; the implications became frighteningly clear.
Gasping, she stood, backing away, her eyes transfixed by the empty gaze of
the mirrored visor staring back at her, only to come up against a solid object
that hadn't been there seconds before.
The leather-clad figure had stepped from within the mirrored dressing room
from where he had been watching Stephanie's every move and now blocked
her retreat from the room. She spun round to face him and, as she did so,
found her slim wrists pinioned in the small of her back by one massive hand.
Knowing herself to be tall, especially in her 5" heels, she was struck by the
effort involved in looking up into his grey eyes, a wry smile playing across his
face. Stephanie whimpered, her arms twisting as she tested the implacable
grip about her wrists, his voice was soft and deep; "Ah, we meet again."
His captive twisted against him, her full breasts squirming across the
reinforced leather and zips that armoured his broad chest.
"Please, I didn't mean to do that, it was a mistake, a stupid mistake."
He smiled gently down, "Oh, it was that alright, as you're about to find out.
Now if you'd be so good as to open wide…"
Stephanie started to protest as his hand came up to her mouth, "No, no
please, don't gagmmmmmnn."
Her mouth was gently but firmly filled with the green silk of her panties, and
her turned her, forcing her to kneel beside the bed, her upper body thrust face
down upon the coverlet. Kneeling astride her arms, he kept them tightly
pinioned with his strong thighs while he wrapped her thin silk blouse about her
lower face, jamming the shaming gag deeper and deeper into her open
mouth. On her tongue she could taste a foreign flavour, the satin of the briefs
becoming damper by the second. In horror, she realised it was her own
treacherous excitement, her reaction to the earlier meeting with this man who
was now rendering her humiliatingly helpless. This horror was rapidly
replaced with the realisation that, if he were to use the panties that she was
wearing now, the taste would have multiplied a hundredfold. Stephanie's
cheeks burned crimson a t the thought of that humiliation, and how intensely
exciting it was.
Still face down, her wrists were fastened securely with the heavy Hermes
scarf she had leant Marta and a pair of stockings wrapped about ankles and
thighs. As a final touch something was wound about her upper arms, pulling
her elbows together and forcing her impressive breasts to strain against the
golden copper of her satin blouse. Stephanie was reduced to a helpless
bundle of femininity, to all intents silent, only the most stifled of whimpering
moans reaching beyond the multiple layered silk gag. The man stood her
upright, teetering on her skyscraper heels, her ankles bound too tightly for her
to have any semblance of control over her balance. She protested, her cries
merely audible beneath the huge packing that filled her aching mouth. He
hoisted her easily upon his shoulder and started off down the landing. In a
spasm of indecisive panic, Steph writhed helplessly, her bound ankles
thrashing aimlessly in the air as her captor carried her down the stairs to her
fate…
At the lounge door, the biker paused, reaching an arm out to click the light out
before hiking her higher and entering the room. The early evening dusk was
such that Marta's eyes had not adjusted to the lack of artificial light, and she
was surprised to find a warm presence beside her, gently untying the
humiliating gag and pulling the sodden briefs from between her lips.
"Thank God," she muttered as she swallowed hard. Her relief was short lived
as the damp scarf was drawn tightly about her eyes. The knickers that had
gagged her were knotted into a single stocking prior to being tied tightly
between her teeth, much against the pleading cries issuing from her dry lips.
To no avail, once again she was gagged and her voice muted.
The two women now sat, helplessly bundled before him. Moaning into their
knicker-gags, they both recognised the hopelessness of their situations as
they tugged ineffectually upon their intransigent bonds.
Silence surrounded the two women as the biker padded surreptitiously
upstairs. Marta's room, in her enforced absence, lay open to his scrutiny and
he took full advantage, returning after 15 minutes. She was surprised to
suddenly feel a heavy hand on her breast, his approach having been in cat-
like silence. In the darkness, Stephanie's only warning of his return was her
friend's low, muffled moan, more of excitement than fear. Steph tensed at her
unseen friend's protest, her wrists bound tight behind her back, twisting in
their restraints. Suddenly the electric light illuminated the scene, and
Stephanie recoiled, blinking in its harshness, at the sight of Marta, similarly
bound but with the addition of an effective blindfold. The motorcyclist towered
over her, seemingly unconcerned about her seeing his face. He knelt as she
cowered on the couch beside her bound friend, softly a hand reached out and
soothed her brow, brushing her tangled hair back from her frightened eyes,
somehow she understood that violence was not on the agenda. Their eyes fell
at the same time, coming to rest on her breasts that were so obviously thrust
forward, irrevocably his hand followed their eyes and fell upon the firm breasts
before him.. Instantly her disloyal nipples rose to greet his rough fingers,
Stephanie's cheeks reddening at the telltale evidence of her treacherous
body, yet at the same time melting beneath the touch of her master.
Standing her upright, unsteady upon tightly bound feet, her silent captor leant
her back against his broad chest, sliding both hands up her hard belly to cup
her pert breasts within their glossy copper layers. The blouse bound about her
mouth was becoming uncomfortably sodden; a fact which had not escaped
her attentive swain as he gently unknotted the wet, white silk. Once released
from the outer binding, Stephanie tried to spit the soggy wad that was her
emerald green panties from her mouth, but the man's hand closed firmly over
it, crushing her soft lips beneath a callused palm. His other hand slid down her
belly, tugging up the hem of her stretch satin skirt, to reveal first her stocking
tops and then the damp copper satin of her tight briefs. Stephanie writhed to
avoid the invasive touch that bore down upon the mound of her pudenda.
With her ankles and thighs so tightly fastened, she was able to avoid any
intrusion, but the merest pressure between her thighs reduced her resistance
and her struggles as any strength seemed to drain from her to be replaced
with a wanton, grinding desire. With her skirt hitched up about her waist, the
mysterious man slid his fingers into the waistband of her panties and slowly
drew them down her stocking clad thighs until they rested above the stocking
which held her thighs together. Stephanie's wrists twisted frantically under the
soft constraint of the Hermes scarf that bound them as she desperately tried
to reach the briefs to prevent their removal. One handed he unbound her
thighs, then, forcing her to kneel, her ankles, pulling the panties down over the
glossy, patent leather of her boots. She watched, mortified as he raised the
wisp of silk to his nose, inhaling like a wine connoisseur and grinned at her, a
lupine, predatory grin. Releasing her mouth he leant her against the couch,
upon which Marta lay in supine disarray.
Stephanie watched as he balled up the silken wad, anticipating her next
humiliation at his hands. She clamped her teeth together. At first he did not
approach, turning instead to one of the other chairs, upon which, for the first
time, Stephanie noticed a pile of multicoloured silk and satin. Studying it, she
recognised the contents of Marta's lingerie drawer, not to mention her entire
collection of silk headscarves. Once more he approached; this time he held,
not only the scrap of copper silk that had so recently graced her damp mons,
but also a handful of colourful panties and three expensive silk headsquares
.
In the manner of a conjuror about to perform a long awaited trick, he held up
the thick silk squares for Stephanie's perusal. In the centre of the first he tied
a large, heavy knot, the second he rolled into a long band and the third he
folded diagonally in half, creating a large triangle. Then he edged closer and
held a pair of sky blue knickers to Stephanie's lips. She clamped her mouth
still tighter; astonished that he might think he so easy to regag that he should
simply offer the gag to her. The realisation took a few seconds to seep in, her
eyes widening in sudden understanding, her head shaking in denial of his
intentions; the panties hadn't come from Marta's drawer, but from her laundry
basket. She tried to beg him, the panties that already gagged her rendering
her voice distorted and muffled. He grinned broadly, satisfied with her reaction
to the gag he intended for her.
The lissom captive was squirming so violently that the black garbed man sat
astride her, pinning her against the sofa, her incoherent pleas creating a
vicarious reaction in her blindfolded hostess, who, blindfolded, could only
surmise that some terrible act was being perpetrated against her guest.
Gripping a hank of her thick chestnut hair at the nape of her neck, he rolled
the two pairs of briefs together before leaning down to Stephanie's ear; "Open
wide or I'll have to make you." he whispered gently.
Furiously Stephanie shook her head, tears springing to her eyes as she
squeezed them shut in anticipation of the pain to come when he pulled her
hair. Slowly she realised that the pain hadn't come and opened her eyes. The
hard face of her captor looked down, lined with concern, his grey eyes
searching hers. Suddenly the hand which had gripped her hair dropped and a
probing finger found her ribs. A gasp of laughter caused her mouth to gape
and, in a flash, he crammed the knickers behind her teeth the tight wad
immediately springing open to fill her mouth. The knot of the first scarf was
rapidly wedged taut between her spread crimson lips, stuffing the degrading
packing still tighter. Fighting the suffocating silk, she twisted her head, a last
attempt at a plea for mercy or a cry for help stifled within her throat. Now he
was knotting the second square atop the first, thickening the gag and
reinforcing the band that held it in place. Finally he took the third large square
and tied it over her head, knotting it tightly under her chin, forcing her to bite
with renewed vigour upon the huge mouth packing.
She sat, helpless in enforced silence as the man unbound Marta's ankles,
before retying them to either end of the sofa, only the flimsy silk of her
summer dress draping over her lap to retain some modicum of dignity. Soon
this too was removed as he pulled it up about her waist, revealing the fine
wisps of soft red hair about her pussy. But for the gag, Steph would have
gaped at her friend's state of obvious arousal, her cunt lips swollen and red, a
glistening moisture varnishing the tender skin. The biker was gently stroked
her inner thighs, his fingers describing complex patterns as they danced about
her pudenda, taunting and tantalising, but never crudely touching the centre of
Marta's sexuality. Stephanie couldn't look away, like a rabbit transfixed by a
stoat, she was hypnotised, fascinated by Marta's exquisite torment and very
aware that her friend's slow, languid struggles, and throaty, muffled moans
were not for release in its conventional context.
She stared, wide-eyed as he approached her and slowly undid the buttons on
her blouse, her limbs almost painfully heavy, an erotic torpor or paralysis
rendering her immobile. His knowing fingers scooped her breasts from the
bustier, thumbs brushing the tips of her swollen nipples. He guided her to
stand before Marta, unbinding the cruel gag that had stifled her for so long,
and sitting her forward, until her face touched Stephanie's breasts. She
jumped,
"Steph, is that you?" she whispered, her breath sibilant on her friend's firm
mounds. Stephanie groaned in assertion, twisting slightly to place a nipple
between her hostess' trembling lips. Marta took it gently, suckling like a new-
born calf, as the biker unbuttoned her dress, revealing her own bra-less
breasts, and leaving her all but naked. He then moved round to stand behind
Stephanie and, hiking her skirt about her waist, guide Marta's probing tongue
down between her thighs, while he roughly handled her full breasts.
It was too much, she screamed into the gag, her face flushing and her limbs
jerking uncontrollably, only his strong frame supporting her as she submitted
to the huge orgasm that exploded over her.
He lowered her gently to the floor and she was surprised to feel him unpicking
the knots that held her wrists and elbows tight behind her back. She sat, not
daring to remove the headscarf and multiple gag as he drew her blouse about
her shoulders, then silently unbound Marta's eyes. She blinked, screwing up
her eyes in the bright, artificial light as she tried to focus for the first time on
the face of their captor.
"Tom! Oh my God, you bastard!" She gasped, relieved excitement evident on
her smiling face, "Oh you dirty, horny bastard."
Her eyes fell on Stephanie whose mind was whirling in realisation of what had
occurred.
"What have you done to Steph?"
The subject of her concern shook her head, pulling the headscarf back off her
hair and yanking the layers of gagging silk from her mouth.
"No problems Marta, no problem at all. I've just had the biggest orgasm since
you raped me in college, I'll live with it. 'Spose I deserved it for drowning him."
He was unbinding his girlfriend's ankles, and grinned laconically,
"Nah, did it for the hell of it. Course, it's nice to have an excuse."
Marta hopped up, barely able to conceal her multifold excitement.
"And you've got a bike at last, can I get some leathers?"
Stephanie smiled at Tom,
"Talk about change the subject, I think someone needs a treat herself…"
He grinned back in agreement, picking up the sodden mass of knickers
Stephanie had suffered for so long, advancing on Marta, who retreated,
giggling.
"Yes, your turn I think, my love…."