The Chastity Sack

The girl convulsed. "Aaaahhhh!!!" she gasped, trying to restrain her volume. Violent little tremors shot down her legs and vibrated against my cheeks. Her hands pulled desperately on my hair nearly ripping it from its roots. When she finished pushing through her spasm, she collapsed onto her side, allowing me to inhale a large resuscitating breath. The girl curled into a fetal position and shivered with the periodic tremors that continued to course through her body.

After a few minutes of quivering, the girl came back to life in a long, pleasurable, cat-like stretch. She turned her face to me and gave me a "boy that was something" grin of satisfaction. Then, she reached a hand over to my head and combed her fingers lovingly through my hair.

But after all that, my penis was still exposed. I couldn't risk having her leave without helping me out, and so I whispered to her, "Please tuck me in," and nodded my head down as an indicator. She looked in the direction of my concern and then back at me, warmly nodding her head in agreement. Then she gave me a long languid kiss on the lips and snaked down my body to my semi-rigid cock. That's it; just tuck it in, grab the nighties and say good night.

She laid her body sideways across my stomach, blocking my view. And then ... oh, no ... And then, it suddenly felt warm and wet again. ... Don't do that! ... I watched her head begin bobbing up and down, which confirmed my suspicion. I tried to jostle myself out of position, but the weight of her body on my centre of gravity prevented me moving out of the way. My cock slid all too effortlessly in and out of her mouth and quickly re-adopted its rigid state.

In and out – the sides of my cock tingled with the sliding. In and out – a quiver moved up and down the inside of my shaft. In and out – my balls began to burble. In and out – a twinge developed deep inside my groin. In and out – a signal shot through my body from my gut. "Hey!" I warned, "Hey, you better ... You ... Oh gawd! ... Ohnnnn!" I exploded.

It was more sudden and more violent than I had expected. A large stream of cum coursed through my penis and shot into her mouth. Her head went back a bit, but by reflex, my next shot caused me to thrust up and counter any chance she had at avoiding another mouthful. She tried to raise her body, but her hand slipped and she fell back onto my third and final load. Finally, she rose onto her hands and glared back at me in shock, her lips clamped shut and her cheeks distended.

She jumped off the bed and dashed to the basin, spewing my offending seed into the wash water and giggling between spits. "Scheusal," I heard her say in a mockingly accusatory tone at the basin. After wiping her mouth on a towel, she returned to the bed. She reached down with one hand, pinched my cheeks together somewhat painfully and shook my head back and forth in mild retribution. "Scheusal," she repeated, but there was something of a glow about her.

She grabbed the basin and left the room, returning momentarily with fresh water. Using a moistened cloth, she gently washed my sticky penis. Luckily, the water was cold, because even though I was quite spent, her cleaning technique felt potentially arousing. However, she was a good girl; she dried off my little hose and poked it back inside the bag – finally!! Then she reached down and gathered up the nightgowns.

Before she left, she sat on the side of the bed, stared into my eyes softly and combed her fingers through my hair again. After a minute, she exhaled and whispered, "Danke." Then she leaned down and gave me a long, sensual kiss ... followed by another ... and then another ... Finally, she pulled away, blew out the lamp and left.

I was in heaven. I had experienced bliss and gotten away with it. Nothing bad could happen now ... nothing ...

*** Getting Out ***

When everything had finally settled down, I realized how truly peaceful it was there. Pale moonlight was leaking through the closed curtains of my window, lightening the darkness of the room. As I glanced toward the dim light source, I noticed for the first time that my window must have been open behind the curtains. Outside, I heard the sound of rain lightly drizzling against the window, the grass and the side of the house, and I felt better about being snugly confined in my dry sack. A gust of wind occasionally grabbed the boughs of a nearby tree and whooshed them heavily through the air, making the leaves chatter against each other plaintively. At times, it sounded like water rushing over shallow rapids. My heavy eyelids fluttered, fluttered and then closed.

My dreams, or at least what I remembered of them, were pleasurable and highly erotic, as evidenced by early morning hard-on. However, my last dream took on a more menacing tone. In it, the old man was standing beside my bed preaching to me about chastity and cultural norms, while the older daughter was giving me a hand-job through the hole in the sheet and the mother was sitting on the bed with a pair of scissors ... readying them. The plausibility of the dream was heightened by the sound of the father's actual voice uttering sonorously down the hallway and seeping into my sub-conscious.

"Ye must be made safe," declared the old man in my dream, as the older girl held my pole tall and hard in her hand and the mother snicked her scissors in the air a few times for practice. ... "Ye vill take care of him," rumbled the real old man to his wife ominously in the hall, "I vill attend to dee machine, and then ve vill ... get rid of him." The scissors snicked again ... in my dream ... no, in my room. I opened my eyes quickly and was confronted with the shiny reflection of the shears in front of my face. I reacted immediately, "Aaaaaahhhh!!"

"Ney, ney, ney ... shh, shh, shh," comforted the wife, who withdrew the scissors quickly and patted a hand on my cheek, "Der, der, der ... still, still." My heart was racing, but I tried to reassure myself in the absence of any immediate pain and blood that I was not in any real danger. Although, being bound while someone sits beside you with a sharp, metal instrument is never the basis of a nonchalant situation.

As I looked around the room, I saw that it was still fairly dark outside and that the ambient light in the room was coming from the glow of the relit lamp. Klara was sitting on the edge of the bed in a nightgown, still as beautiful as she had appeared the night before. She was patting me comfortingly on my chest. My heart began to settle down.

She looked down and greeted me with a warm smile, "Goede morgen." Then she scanned down my body. When she caught sight of my morning bulge, she murmurred appreciatively and let her hand skim innocently over its rise. Then she stood up and moved to the bottom of the bed. "I vill make thee free now," she said.

She methodically snipped and tore at the stitching at the end of the sack, and I noticed that her breathing had become laboured. It didn't seem to be result of any unusual effort she was making; it seemed more to resemble nervous anticipation. It was so audible that I worried she might be having an asthma attack.

At the end of the bottom seam, she started working up the side, snipping and pulling at the confining thread. But when my feet were uncovered, she stopped. She brushed a hand lightly over their skin, exploring them with a feathery touch. Her breathing increased in volume.

I jerked in reflex when she ran her fingers over a particularly sensitive spot on my sole, but the constraints of my bag kept me in place. She looked up at me apologetically and then ... no, no, no, she mustn't ... then impishly. Her hand found the ticklish spot again, and again I jerked my legs uselessly. "Hey!" I whispered to her sternly, but she just grinned in response, biting her bottom lip in renewed determination.

Her two hands gripped strongly onto my feet, and her fingers dug into my soles, prodding and tickling. It felt like two electric currents were running up my legs and into the base of my spine. I writhed helplessly. My arms pushed outward but were held tight by the bag. I tried bouncing my body to move it out of the way, but her firm grip held me in place. "No! Stop, stop, STOP!!" I pleaded.

Finally, she did. She was breathing heavily now, almost panting. She let go of my feet and moved a hand onto her own groin. Through her nightgown, she gripped onto her vagina as if it were vibrating out of control. Her face winced, and she uttered a straining moan, "Unghhh ..."

When she opened her eyes, she looked a little surprised and embarrassed. She quickly picked up the scissors and went to work on the side seam. She attack it maniacally, ripping and pulling as if she were in a race. Her breathing took on the sound of a long-distance runner on pace. The sheet separated more and more, and I felt relieved at my increasing freedom, but I found Klara's sudden concerted effort somewhat puzzling.

The ripping reached my hips. My outside hand broke free and became exposed to the air, although, with my arms still held tightly against my sides, it remained pretty much as immobile as before. Then she stopped ripping the seam. Her breathing was at full pant. Her hand returned to her groin and began rubbing again. She threw back the top of the sheet, exposing my stiff member, and moaned. Then she reached out and caressed my cock and balls, and moaned again.

Without stopping her self-massage, she got up on the bed and awkwardly straddled my legs, kneeling unintentionally on her nightgown. Her eyes were glancing down at my cock but seemed unfocused. She moved in a rushed series of jerks and was lost inwardly to her growing sense of pleasure. She pulled roughly on her gown until it came free of her knees. She reach under her nightie to continue her rubbing. She sidled up to my waist and groped around underneath for my cock. When she grasped it, she held it vertically and then shifted her hips around to get the proper orientation.

The first time the head of my penis touched her vaginal lips, she inhaled sharply. I could feel wetness drip all over my shaft from just that one brief contact. With some wiggling, she adjusted my head to different soft compression points until it slipped smoothly between her lips, at which point she sat down on me decisively. I glided slickly into her vagina. Her swollen interior hugged tightly onto my pole.

As she sat down, she bugged out her eyes and moaned loudly, "Ohhhh!!" Her hips rose slowly and then pushed back down. Her interior walls pulled wetly along my shaft. "Ohhhh!!" she repeated.

Her moans brought a figure to the door. It was the older daughter. She looked in at us tentatively and then left, but soon, there were two spectators at the door.

The mother's hips bucked up and down roughly. With each down-stroke, she adjusted her angle of attack a little, seeking an optimal alignment ... and then she found it. My shaft slipped in and out of her so smoothly that we seemed machined for that exact movement ... and then the machine went into high gear. Up and down, up and down, her hips became a frenzied piston. Her bottom slapped on my upper thighs, and her pubic bone thumped into my abdomen. The bed shook with her pounding, and its legs squeaked as they shuddered on the wooden floor.

The younger daughter huddled up to her sister, who put her arm over the young one's shoulder. They both stared at us in wide-eyed awe.

Klara dropped her head to my ear and whimpered helplessly in time with her frenzied bouncing. I felt an intense thrill building in my balls. Her bucking sped up. I was on the verge ... Then a door slammed elsewhere in the house.

Klara continued unabated. She groaned into my ear, "Oh, oh, ohhh ...," overtop of the sound of her slapping. "Klara?" called a voice from the front hall. "Cripes!!" I thought to myself, "He's back already."

The daughters looked nervously over their shoulders down the hallway. The mother was lost in pleasure. She sat up, still bouncing, and dug her fingers into my shoulders. A grimace developed on her face. The thought of the old man being in the house sent a shiver down my spine.

"Vas ist dis?!" came a bellow down the hall. That was it; the shock of hearing his voice clenched my balls, and I came in a series of gripping thrusts. Klara reacted immediately. With her face stretching up into the air and her mouth opening wide, she screamed, "AHHHH!!!" tensed and then crumpled on top of me.

*** Getting Away ***

The old man's face appeared in the doorway, glaring, and the girls scattered. "Auslander!!!" he yelled in shock and anger. "I vill deal mit thee!" he declared sharply and then disappeared.

I tried to spur Klara into action, "Get up! Get up! Get this bag off me!" but blissfully ignoring the situation, she just stretched in satisfaction and gave me a grateful kiss on the mouth.

I bolted from under her and off the bed. Comically, I stood in the middle of the room with the upper half of the sheet still tightly bound around my upper body and the lower portion lightly draped over my nakedness. I wasn't able to move my arms, but I did have one hand free ... barely.

Panic was starting to set in. I twirled about, scanning the room quickly, and caught sight of my clothes folded on the washstand. I reached up, was just able to snag the corner of a pant hem, and pulled the pile onto the floor. Then, I heard the front door slam.

I couldn't figure out how to put my pants on with one hand and limited mobility, so I pleaded with Klara, "Hey! Pull this damn bag off me!" But she continued to laze serenely on the bed. "Mmmmm ...," she cooed and rolled onto her back.

"Aaahhh!!!" the old man let loose a rallying cry as he hustled back down the hall. I had no time. I awkwardly bent down and fished my keys out of my pants. Suddenly, a reflected glint flashed at the door. It was a hand scythe ... Shit! The old guy was serious!

I grabbed my keys and stood up, but lost my balance and fell against the wall. Klara screamed – finally back to reality – and the girls swarmed the old man, pleading, "Ney, Papa, ney!"

That was my chance. I used their block to slip out the door and charge down the hall. My cock flopped and flailed between my hustling legs. Without my arms, I had to exaggerate the twisting and turning of my torso to maintain balance. I looked like a sack of potatoes with legs spastically sprinting down the corridor.

At the front door, the latch was just a bit too high to reach, and so I had to hop up to get at it. I hopped once and bumped it, but it didn't unfasten. I hopped again and got it. The old man lurched into the hall from the bedroom, yelling, "I vill seek to wreck thee!!" What the heck did that mean?

Awkwardly, I pulled open the door and stumbled out onto the porch. Thank heavens the car was in the yard. I stumbled across the soggy lawn and fell against the car door. Cripes! How was I going to drive with this bag on? I twisted my body to position my hand at the door handle, but it was too high. Across the lawn, the old man charged in all his fury, brandishing the scythe out in front. I hopped and felt the metal of the handle pass through my grasp. Suddenly, the old man's gnarly fingers took a firm hold of the back of my neck, and my body was thrown against the car. Shiiiittttt!!

The old man turned me around to face him and brought the scythe up in front of my face. "I vill cut dee sin from thee," he explained to me breathily in a coolly controlled and maniacal way. I tried to bolt, but his free hand took hold of my throat and held me in place.

He inched the scythe over to the top of the bag's seam near my ear and hooked it inside. He pulled outward along my shoulder, and in a single movement, the curved blade sliced through the material and stitching as quickly as hope had deserted me that morning. Cripes, that blade was sharp! He then made short work of the side seam, and the bag fell onto the ground.

He gritted his teeth and looked at me menacingly. I shut my eyes to avoid his stare and to pray that I would awaken from the nightmare. Suddenly, the sting of cold metal shocked the skin at the base of my ball-sack and the dangerous feeling of the tool's sharp edge pulled up slowly to support the weight of my testicles. I opened my eyes immediately and looked into his dispassionate face.

"Auslander," he growled at me, "I live by peace. ... Ye have tested my faith." And with that, he jerked up his shoulder ... but it was just a feint. I clenched my eyes shut to await the coming pain, but the blade only nudged my balls and then withdrew. When I finally opened my eyes, the scythe was back between our faces. "Never return!" he warned, "My faith has limits." He then released his grip on me, and I slid to the ground.

He turned about and trudged back to the house. On the porch, the two older women waved farewell to me, while the youngest one clapped her hands in happy relief. The old man yelled at them, "Get innen dee haus! I vill deal mit thee now!"

I needed no further prompting. Jumping into the car, I raced the engine and tore up dirt as I backed out of the yard and onto the lane. I sped back to the main road, oddly indifferent to my naked situation. I didn't know where I was headed or what I was going to do ... I just drove. However, as the wonderfully fresh breeze of a new day blew coolly through my open window against my haggard face and spent body, I began to wonder what my report to the boss was going to say on my scouting trip to Tannerite country.