tagFetishAdrian

Adrian

byAaronAardvark©

If, as you read the following story, you begin to wonder if something came before it, they have, 'Christine. A tale of lust,' and 'Angela. Teased and pleased'. For North American readers these stories are written in British English so the vocabulary used may be a little different, as are lots of the spellings; we specialise in colour photographs fixed with thiosulphates. So no tushes, garter belts are suspenders, bathrooms are commonly loos or toilets especially when they don't actually contain a bath, johns are bogs, we the British often wee, pee or even 'spend a penny' and fanny refers to the female genitalia; external, internal, or both, dependent upon context. If you think anything else could be usefully included in this brief Anglo -- North American Dictionary let me know.

Adrian.

Thursday afternoon brought good news and bad news, Angela finally phoned me. The good news was that Christine had almost recovered and would be fine by Saturday: the bad news was that, on the Friday night before, Christine had to baby-sit for a friend, so I would not be able to wriggle into her, because she could not wriggle out of her previous commitments. But on Saturday she had a romantic candle lit dinner all planned out and could I bring one of my cheesecake. Saturday crawled by, I am usually totally absorbed by careful cooking but even making the cheesecake (Good Housekeeping, 'Cooking for Today', orange cheesecake; heart attack, laid over a base of obesity and decorated with a stroke: an oral extravaganza that expands the mind and waist simultaneously) was only a minor distraction. Still, I could wrap the box containing my delicate confection in a pink towel, so the towel might not look too suspicious. Now if Christine found the four pink ties I had stashed in my pockets, they might take some explaining.

I arrived promptly at seven o'clock, the smell was wonderful. "I'm really busy right now but I've run you a bath so you'll be all fresh and sexy for later; you've even brought your own towel". She dashed into the kitchen, I followed. "Now up you go right away, or your bath will get cold, I've just finished running it. No. No arguments! I'll join you in a few minutes, just as soon as I have sorted out a couple of other little details, and don't go in the bedroom Mr. Clumsy, I just know you, you'll knock a candle over and set the house on fire, or some such, you can undress in Timmy's room; fold your stuff up neatly, too.

'Ho ho,' thought I, at least she'll be all clean when I tie her up and then lick her to the very edge of reason itself. I trotted upstairs, undressed, hid the pink ties in my bundle of clothes and clambered into the bubble covered, rose scented, bathwater: no accident that, Christine has an odd sense of humour. It was about twenty minutes later when Christine joined me, she was wearing an apron; nothing else, just an apron: it was black and trimmed with white lace; it hid her breasts and only gave me glimpses of her bush but left her round cream derrière on full display: she is so sexy that it almost oozes off of her. She handed me a glass of fizzy wine, well actually dry perry, but it did well enough in those bygone, unsophisticated, days. She soaped my back, massaged my shoulders, then soaped my front, concentration on using her slippery hands to tease my already straining rod. I was not allowed to touch her, lest I messed up her hair. Eventually, she towelled me off with her, very own, huge pink fluffy towel and next assisted me to climb into an outsized blue towelling dressing gown. Except that it wasn't a dressing gown, the sleeves turned out to be dead ends and somehow, in no time whatsoever, she had my hands secured behind my back -- later I discovered that she had sown cords onto the ends of the sleeves to construct a form of straight jacket -- whilst I was recovering from this surprise she knelt and hobbled my ankles and knees -- she had also sown cords low down inside the dressing gown -- so now I could only shuffle along. I was gotted, the biter was bitted. Still you can only take a man so far and then he spurts his stuff regardless, thought I: the first in a series of bad judgments.

The next surprise was the door of the pink bedroom opening, apparently by itself. "Angela's going to be the one to tease you, I'm just here to assist her." With the two of them working in concert resistance was going to be almost ineffectual and, anyway, my range of movement was already highly restricted. They jostled me into the bedroom and crashed me over onto the bed: but they still had to get that un-dressing gown off me. Except, of course, they didn't have to at all. They fastened the sleeves of the gown to the corners of the bed head and then used cords to fasten my wrists inside the sleeves so that each of my hands was, effectively, encased in a thumb-less mitten. They bound cords around my ankles, before they undid the hobbles, and then Christine and Angela each used a bed post as a lever to force my legs wide apart. After this, they untied the gown and spread it out across the bed so I even had a towel under me. "He's all yours Angela, but I'll give you some tips and perhaps add a lick and tickle, here and there."

Angela flicked my rigid cock and gave it a couple of cursory, languid, strokes. I groaned. "He's pretty randy already, you know, I'll bet I could make him come in under a minute."

'Absolutely right,' I thought 'only too true. Disregard ready or steady, just go.'

"But I'm not; well not just yet," she raked my balls with her long nails. "Now big boy what did you do to me? You made me really steamed up and then teased me for,... now just how long was it? Oh yes, thirty minutes; do you think that you can stand thirty minutes of teasing? It doesn't matter does it, here comes the gag, big boy," I quickly discovered that gags are repulsive if you are the one who has to wear one, but for really intense sexual stimulation they are an unfortunate essential. "Now just say no if you want me to stop... Numph, big boy, is not no; I expect that 'numph' means 'yes please'. She sucked the head of my cock, my balls contracted and I moaned. Now we don't want you to get cramp so cooperate. They had already run a cord under the bed and now tied the ends around each of my knees. Once my knees were secured they unfastened one foot and tied its big toe nearer to the middle of the foot of the bed. This operation was then repeated with the other foot. Only after my feet had been re-secured did they spread my knees as far apart as they would easily go, so in the end, my thighs were still spread wide apart but with my knees always bent. Next they both undid just one arm, slid it out of its sleeve and tied the wrist nearer to the centre of the bed, they were taking no chances. Only after one arm was secure did they repeated the process with the other. In the end I was completely helpless, with both of both my elbows and my knees bent, stripped naked and totally vulnerable.

"So 'big boy' dinner will be delayed, and after dinner 'big boy' you're going to have to eat a lot of pussy, so leave plenty of room. It really turns Christine on to watch you making me come and you know what? I expect it will really turn me on to watch you eating Christine out. So, as soon as you have finished satisfying one of us, I expect that the other of us will be really randy again. Oh, look Christine, its poor cock is twitching all by itself. If I tickle its balls I'm willing to bet that its cock twitches even more." She did: it did and I was forced to take deep breaths. When you're all bent like that you can't even tense your muscles to help relieve some of the strain. "What's next; oh yes the, cushion." Christine produced a floor cushion covered with pink towelling.

"You didn't think I'd have blue in my nice pink bedroom, did you?" And by pinching my bottom, pretty viciously, they made me arch my back so that they could slide the dressing gown from under me and replace it with the cushion. Once my bum was forced up in the air by the cushion they adjusted the cords to leave me almost unable to move at all: they were, however, considerate enough to ensure that the whole of my back was well supported by the huge cushion.

"Now to get undressed," husked Angela. Angela wasn't gorgeous but she was still a very attractive woman, especially when your tool feels the size of a telegraph pole. She knelt across my chest, straddling me. "Let's get rid of this blouse, shall we?" and she unbuttoned her blouse very slowly and peeled it off. "Is it still twitching Chrissy?"

"It's still twitching away all by its little self," Christine replied, my penis was indeed engaged in a series of spasmodic jerks that had nothing to do with me, except to remind my brain that it was already past the time to have come.

"Well give its balls a little tickle just in case," I exhaled nosily: "oh it has problems breathing properly when you do that, you'd better stop, at least for the moment. Now keep quite 'big boy' and do only as you are instructed," Angela removed my gag. "Now if I unclasp my bra, like so; then give a little shrug, like this," her bouncing breasts tumbled free. "If I shuffle backwards and lean forwards slightly, look, I can dangle my tits in your face 'big boy'." Angela's breasts are very ample and to ensure that I could appreciate their extent to the full she dragged them slowly back and forth across my face, she paused, left teat above my mouth, " Now suck on that ... Now the right nipple, just a little harder... ooh that feels so good. So good that you will have to do the left one, all over again. Chrissy be a dear and give its cock a single stroke, just to ensure that I have its full attention." Christine peeled back my foreskin really slowly, just as far as it would go, making me sigh with anticipation then flipped it back up, suddenly, inducing a nervous jolt that made me cry out with frustration. "Hum; whatever you just did, keep doing that each time I ask, I think it finds those rather stimulating." She pressed a nipple to my lips.

When she eventually tiered of me sucking her nipples Angela sat back, gave her large orbs a little jiggle, slid her skirt up her thigh and undid a suspender, then she leant forwards to peel off the appropriate stocking. "Give it a twitch." This was mean because Angela now had her full weight on my chest and I could hardly breath as it was. Off came the other stocking, both preceded and followed by another of those evil twitches that Christine was executing with increasing deftness, i.e. that excruciatingly sharp flip at the end, the one that I could feel loosening the seed in my balls, the one that left me aching to come so very badly, was getting ever more intense with each successive stroke. Angela shucked her skirt off.

"Please not another twitch," I begged.

"Why? What are you going to do to stop me 'big boy'; tell you what? Since it's you, as a special favour, don't do another twich, Chrissy love; give it two instead, thirty seconds apart." Hell, that was mean, they were reducing to me a wreck before they had even begun. And, before I could recover from the second of those two slow strokes, Angela leant forward and pushed her crotch against my nose and mouth, "sniff that 'big boy'": she was really wet and she stank of sex: it had, until then, not occurred to me that she might be enjoying this too. "Give it its twitch, then come around and let it sniff your crotch, Crissy."

Angela shuffled back, as I almost screamed with frustration. Then Christine came around and straddled my face, she must have slipped some panties on at some point. In fact she was wearing thick cotton knickers, not the sexiest of things, but they really retained her moisture, absorbing copious amounts of Christine's natural, rich, perfume; did she smell sexy, lusty dribbling vagina cut with just a hint of sweat. "Slip 'em down dear and let it taste just how wet you really are." Christine complied, spreading the lips of her sex wide, as she pressed her fanny against my face and then using my nose to stroke her little love button. She herself was sighing softly now, so I gave her some gentle encouragement with my tongue: what a mistake. I hit that sensitive little strip, just under her honey-pot, the one that's so useful for teasing her.

She leapt up. "Don't you dare attempt to tease me," she scolded. "You know I don't have the time to come right now." She slid off the bed, pulled her pants over my head, crotch to my nose, disappeared from sight, then returned. She tugged the pants off, re-placed the gag and then slid the pants back into place: I soon needed that horrible gag. The first of her teasing strokes was merely unbearable, but the subsequent ones built one upon another, a crescendo of frustration: she timed them with such exquisite subtlety that I felt their full, sperm churning, force without the slightest danger of her triggering an orgasm. After five I was really fighting my restraints, nothing could ever be as bad as this. This was my second really serious miscalculation. Angela who until then had been a passive spectator, hit upon the idea of tickling my nipples, with those long nails of hers, between each stroke. I went insane, except that I could hardly move; if I could have I would have offered anything for them to stop, absolutely anything. I desperately wondered when my half hour would be up, it could not be too long now. Christine doled out five more strokes and then, finally, allowed me a little rest.

Angela was now the one to straddle my face, panties gone. She removed Christine's pants and that horrible gag, held the lips of her sex apart and spread her fanny across my nose and mouth, "you can lick me, big boy, all you like." She too was soaking and smelt of dark and dirty sex. As I pressed my tongue into her she pulled away, leant forwards, resting one hand on the wall and began to finger herself with the other, she brought herself to one... two... three.. climaxes just a foot from my face and each time she came, you guessed it, Christine delivered a stroke to my now aching sex, my cock and balls felt like they needed to explode, why I did not come was a mystery to me: as I well understood it's all a matter of timing. At the end Angela slid two fingers deep into her slopping slot, rotated them and pushed them into my mouth so that I was forced to first taste and then lick at her juices. "I haven't forgotten that big boy."

"Gosh it looks randy," said Angela after she had climbed off both me and the bed, "look how it twitches if I tickle its base"; I was no longer sure if she meant me or my cock, we both spasmed, reflexly, in response. It finally looks ready for its tease.

"What!" I roared.

"Oh yes big boy, that was just your warm up, now I'm going to tease you properly. Unlike Chrissy here, I don't usually read much, but someone passed a copy of 'the Joy of Sex' to me: some of it was really enlightening. For example, have you ever read the section entitled 'slow masturbation'? It says most men can only stand about ten minutes of this, but you owe me half an hour, just think: it suggests that you first have to secure your partner (see bondage), next play them an overture of eroticism which excites all of their senses, sight, sound, touch, smell, taste. Now for the first act, the curtain rises on twenty sudden sharp strokes timed at about one a second or, probably in your case, a little slower since you really are all fired up." Every stroke wrung a rasping breath from my chest. "Then you play ten really fast beats." I cried out in what sounded, even to me, like agony. "Which, it appears, makes the villain very frustrated. After that the score is very repetitive: but for our villain, you big boy, the next twenty slow strokes feel even more intense than the first twenty. And the next ten fast ones." I convulsed, well -- bound as I was -- I attempted to. "Just twenty nine minutes left to go big boy."

Slow masturbation is hell, all you can think about is coming, and the different types of stroke make you ache in different ways so you can never recover. I found myself begging, "Please, oh please Angela, make me come, just make me come. Oh please let me come..." and so on and so forth: until I hit ad nauseam.

"Just five minutes in and we have to gag him." On and on the ecstasy and the agony continued, Angela maintaining a remorseless, repetitive rhythm: you'd expect it to be more excruciating if she varied the routine, but that's wrong, part of the horror for the recipient is the anticipation of counting down to the change of stroke, eighteen and nineteen are the worst.

"Half time, big boy. Hey Chrissy how about upping the pressure on it." Third mistake, I convinced myself that the intensity of sensations had reached a peak. "I'll keep right on going but now you lick its nipples, different number of licks each time and try not to let it know which nipple you'll go for next." Out came the blind fold and yes it could get more intense. I was, now constantly on the verge of coming. Christine timed each burst to coincide with the end of the slow strokes, yes already dreaded strokes eighteen and nineteen, so now I had three different types of sensation to cope with, each unbearable its own unique way and each re-enforcing the intensity of the other two. So now, strokes fifteen to nineteen left me in dread of what was to follow, strokes one to eight, or nine, simply delivered a sensation of overwhelming intensity and the ten quick strokes set my balls contacting and my seed rising, yet again. At any point in those fifteen minutes I would have promised to do absolutely anything for those two in exchange for an orgasm, followed by a long lusty screw. I was not, however, offered any such opportunity.

It stopped. It all stopped, I could get my breath. "I expect it'll want to watch." My blindfold came off and someone gave my balls a gently scratch, "got to keep your interest big boy. How shall we fuck it?"

"Just hold on for one little minute" said Christine as she removed that, by now, utterly detested gag. "I have a question, what were these for: big boy?" She dangled the four pink ties over my head. Angela gave me ten quick strokes and then started on twenty of the sudden but leisurely ones.

"Ties," I groaned.

Christine scratched a nipple, "I asked what were they for, I know what they are."

"Angela for God's, sakes, I have to come, please."

"Confess, big boy," was Angela's reply as she delivered a second burst of ten rapid strokes."

"For you Christine, for: God, just stop for a sec. Angie, let me, Oh God!" She was back on the slow strokes. "Fo..., r..., you..., tie..., you..., tea..., se..., you..., Please stop, God don't."

Christine gagged me again. "Five minutes a tie, do you think that's fair Angie?" Clearly a rhetorical question. They went for it, nipples and all, until I began to cry, not sob or anything, tears just welled up and dribble down my cheeks; tears of sheer frustration. "Interesting," remarked Christine who was otherwise amusing herself by nibbling my nipples. "In a moment 'big boy' I'm going to loosen your gag, but first you're getting a list of demands, if you instantly reply 'yes ma'am' we will stop and lick you slowly to orgasm. First, after you have come, you have kiss each of us, in turn, using really creative tongue work, we want every crack and crevice explored. Secondly, -- trust Christine to speak grammatically -- you suck, lick, finger and screw out our very wet and very, very, hungry pussies until we are both completely and utterly satisfied. Thirdly, after Angela has returned home, maybe in the morning if we can't get you stiff enough tonight, you fuck me in the arse.

"Fourthly," Angela chimed in, "until I do go you are my dedicated and completely obedient slave and after that, until Christine permits you to leave, you will undertake to attend to even the merest whim that Christine may allude to.'

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