Double Pussy Torture Tied to Amanda

I am thinking of two stories. One about me, now, in another decadent sex game, which makes me wonder about my gravitas. The other about being in a women's prison in upstate New York.

Not me in prison. Nor even a close friend. Friend of a friend, here in the Hamptons, a woman in her early thirties never involved in crime who managed to screw up, compound her screw up, and during two months after she was sentenced alternated breakdown panic with resolute preparation to survive her term.

I met her a week before she reported for prison. I almost threw up with panic just hearing about her "research" on sexual abuse of women in prisons, putting myself in her place, and listened to her horrifyingly detailed description of her "plans" to survive. Anyone could see the girl's problem: tall and willowy, big breasts, show-girl legs, long chestnut hair, and amazingly alive and alluring eyes in a cute face. Victim.

And she knew it, too. She never went anywhere—the Recreation Center, the beach, a bar—without "crazed yellowed eyes of mad lust" following her every move. God, I feel sorry for her.

One part of this girl's plan was to keep a "prison diary"-letters to the woman who introduced us. To describe everything. I'm not sure that is a good idea. If things are tamer than she expects, is she going to light a candle to her patron saint? Or look for a little action?

Don't scoff. It happens. Psychology of justifying in retrospect those months of agonized projection of prison life.

When I kept on about my visceral empathy with this girl (I felt it in my vagina sometimes), my friend said she would share the letters. Said it was okay with her friend. Did she actually ask her friend? Dunno.

I've received copies of three letters, so far. I can't bear to read them, but can't ignore them. So far, they have gotten more and more upsetting. I don't think I'm ready to write about them.

Which leaves us with my latest scientific investigation of the outer limits of clitoral narcissism. I will tell it in the present tense, but you know I'm not writing it lying naked with my wrists bound behind me.

I am on a plush, whitish-green wall-to-wall carpet in an unfurnished room. The overhead lighting is bright enough for video. I am stark naked, arms behind, ankles loosely shackled. I am strapped into a very imaginative get-up for dominated women.

You can buy anything, you know. Even a sex slave. I am saving up for a houseboy from Rwanda-Burundi. I picked him out in the catalog. The spread includes a separate shot of his gorgeous ebony dick. A manicured white hand is reaching into the photograph to push back the flesh around the base of the dick in its bed of crispy black hair, the other hand is pulling the dick straight so the adorably big, shiny glans penis can be examined by the buyer.

Ellen, does this have anything at all to do with this story? Do you think anyone wants to hear your racist, imperialist, exploitative fantasies of a poor young man as your sex slave?

Ah, my point. Okay. Buy anything.

My pale, Vogue-skinny body, with long, elegant legs and perky modest-sized boobs with embarrassingly big nipples, is strapped into a store-bought black-patent-leather harness. Tight straps across my chest above and below my tits are squeezing them so the nipples swell and jut out.

Around my waist and both thighs are more straps, fiendishly designed to hold the head of a Hitachi vibrator jammed against my pussy, the vibrator held in place by straps clipped to my waist strap. You sort of get it. The vibrator is sticking straight out from my pussy like a third, short leg. When I move, all it does is wag slowly; the head never budges.

Enough? Nope. This is another adventure with my buddy, Amanda, last mentioned in my story about riding dildo bikes. I will not reinvent the language; Amanda has not changed. "Amanda is a big bossy girl, a Mighty White Gaia, but all in sexy proportions—long legs heavy but shapely, shoulders suitable for suspension of majestic mountains of breasts, a full face but with generous eyes, lips, cheeks in proportion—and cascades of hair." And, since I have seen it, I will mention her heroic cannoli of a clit running vertically down her slit, with a nubbin of flesh at its head of amazing size. Ms. Gulliver, naked, exposed, and so happy about it.

So, Amanda is next to me on the carpet. This is her idea. She saw it in some porno film. She is naked, on her back, in the same get-up, with a vibrator head buried in the hair of her monumental cunt. Her thick left thigh is roped to my lean right thigh, tightly, and our arms are dragged above our heads, wrists tied down and also tied together. And at our biceps, her left, my right, we also are roped together.

That is the scene: On our backs, naked, vibrators like huge dicks wagging between our legs, roped to each other as tight as Siamese twins.

Trust Amanda? Ah, that is ambiguous. Amanda always gives me a "safety word" to use if things in these situations become too much. The air of danger is that I don't trust Amanda when it comes to high-stakes stimulation. I don't trust her with the safe word and that adds to my excitement, but I do trust her not to slit me from my hairy zlach up to my gluph and leave me dead. That is another way of saying I am not insane.

Still, it bugs me that she recruited some guy to manage this. He looks barely 18, geeky, shy. Did we need a high-school techie to engineer two vibrators fastened to our pussies? Setting it up, he keeps staring at me, every inch, with a look of starvation on his face. Kind of cute, yes, even lanky. But couldn't some female have managed this bondage?

We lie waiting, two nude bodies, two snatches, one black, one light brown, two sets of tits, mine stiff and pointy, Amanda's huge pink smears on half-soccer ball boobs. Amanda rolls her face to mine with a huge grin. Okay. She helped me to avoid an evening of boredom. I grin back at her.

Amanda heaves up and over, just to kiss. Fine with me. She manages to reach my lips. I flick out my tongue. Not much give in these straps. Amanda heaves again, hot to kiss. She connects with my nose.

Then, the Geek walks in. We are mesmerized momentarily. He looks serious. Sees nothing whatsoever funny about this. He bends far over, a long lock of black hair falls, his bony fingers go to one vibrator button, then the other.

Yikes! Suddenly buzzing. Don't these things have low and high settings? Yes, they do. But we are starting on high, buzzing like a bee tree.

I am a gamer. Always have been. Try to beat or cheat the house odds. As Geek had strapped on the torture frame, I had been ready. I held my hips at maximum upward stretch—not moving as he strapped me in—so that when I stopped stretching and relaxed, the head of the vibrator shifted an inch upward just above my clit.

Why? I like control. Especially of my sex parts. Amanda had set this up as an orgasm contest. How many times could each of us come, then endure the agony of nonstop buzzing, get to orgasm again, and so on? I would rather watch Amanda do it.

Okay, lights, camera, action.

"Yow!" yells Amanda. She follows up with a squeal. Looking down, I see her massive hips heaving her light-brown pubic mound upward. She is laughing and squealing. She rolls her face toward me grinning...

What do I feel? A vibrator down there, yes, turned on high. Pressing my pubic bone above my clit. The vibes go all through my loins. Very sensitive area. It is not too difficult to gasp, cry out, lift my pubis, to fool Amanda.

With the vibrator on high, pressed tight to her most sensitive meat, Amanda ramps up to her orgasm. Her tits fascinate me as she becomes more aroused, her orange nipples crinkled and erect on her huge hillocks of breasts like high rise towers on a prairie.

She yelps, now, her gargantuan loins lifting her ginger-haired mound. "Ellen!" she yells. Then, her head rolls to the side, and she begs, jabbering, "Kiss me! Kiss me!"

I give my best heave against the straps and plant my lips squarely on hers. My tongue shoots in and out a few times, then I have to lapse back.

Just as I thought, merciless. Amanda's chest is heaving, her belly rippling as she gasps for air. For a second, her orgasm passes, she turns to smile at me.

Then, I jerk tight. "No!" she screams. It startles the shit out of me. "No!"

I mean, the orgasm had come, but the vibrator didn't know it. Same loud, insistent, maniacal buzzing in Amanda's juicy wetness.

Did she have a safe word? Her big girl's hips were jerking, the hairy pussy twisting side to side, trying to escape the vibrator to protect her big clit. Now, when she rolls her head to look at me, there is panic in her eyes.

I begin to feel guilty. She thinks I am sharing all this with her. I roll my eyes back in my head and jerk my hips.

What a relief when her orgasm kicks in. "Oh, yes!" she sobs. Now, she looks at me with a big shit-eating grin. I heave up to kiss her, nibbling at her full lips.

I am getting aroused, slowly, as though the vibrations are reaching my clit through my bones. Certainly, I am hot. But I have to do a lot of pretending, flipping my fluffy black flag around, yelling.

When Amanda's next orgasm ends, things become truly painful. After three cums, her whole cunt is super-sensitive. Primed to jerk away from the lightest touch. No such luck, Amanda dear. You planned it.

She shrieks "No!" so loudly that my whole body jumps. "Don't do this to meeeeeee!" she wails. Apparently that isn't the safe word—if there is one. No sign of the Geek. Where is he hiding, watching this? Has he gone out for coffee?

A frenzy of pussy twisting away from the vibrator. Her nipples like rifle cartridges standing upright on her boobs. Her mouth open, gasping, eyes wide.

"No! No! No!" and then, apparently, Amanda once again has paid the price. The ramp-up to the next climax has begun.

I panic. There are tears running down Amanda's big cheeks. Relief, I guess, as the run-up to the next cum begins. But she is now insanely sensitive. Parts of her body are twitching.

"Hey!" I hear. The Geek suddenly is leaning forward over me. Lock of black hair falling. Devouring eyes on me. "Hey! This isn't in the right place!"

"What?" I gasp. "The fucking thing is killing me!" I am doing my best.

"Really?" Geek's eyes on my soft nipples. "How about this, Ellen?"

He jams the vibrator hard against my cunt, squashing my pussy lips and clit, and straps it sadistically tight.

Geek watches me as I spasm. "Jesus!" I yell. "No! God, no!"

You explain to me why this becomes so religious. I have no idea.

Geek is still grinding the buzzing head of the vibrator against my exposed red meat as though the straps are not enough. I catch the orgasmic rhythm. Feel wonderful for some moments. I cannot spare a thought for what comes "after." I am pushing myself against the vibrator. Very short-term perspective.

I get reminded of that when I hear Amanda. "No, please, God, no, please!" She is babbling, weeping, and pleading. Oh, God! Poor Amanda! Her big fleshy body jerking in her straps. Now, her head in whipping her long, light-brown hair side to side in her agony. Her moaning is a monotonous and hopeless: "Stop! Stop! Stop!"

I become furious. "Stop this thing!" I snap at the Geek. "Now! Stop it!"

I mean, Amanda cannot be such an idiot.

Geek reaches over and with long, delicate fingers snaps off Amanda's vibrator.

She bursts into tears. Are we having fun, yet, sweetie?

No more games with Amanda. If I had not protected myself...

Geek is pressing, my orgasm is coming. I moan very softly and begin undulating my belly with its dark fluff. I say softly, so Geek can't hear, "Oh, God, yes!"

"She cheated!" Geek is speaking to Amanda, now regaining her composure. "She didn't let it connect! She was faking!"

Who is this asshole? I'm going to add his nuts to my collection.

No more Amanda games!

Too late, now. I am in spasm, pale white belly heaving. Geek staring at my dark pooch. It is dawning on me that now he will torture me. And Amanda will not do anything. I am panicking.

I try commanding: "Stop! Now!"

A miracle. He snaps off the vibrator.

Then, I hear him ask: "Can I fuck her? She cheated you, Amanda! She let you cream all by yourself!"

A sigh from Amanda, "Fuck her? Sure. Do whatever you want to her."

It is a moment of decision for a young woman of my breeding. What to do? Protest the inevitable? Deny that my partner, Amanda, has pronounced the verdict? Pretend that Geek isn't eighteen and kind of cute?

Already, he has shoved down his jeans and underwear to his ankles. Staring at me, at every morsel of me. So shit, relax. What is he going to do that I am not always trying to get, anyway?

He has a long skinny dick already arched in a perfect curve, like a scimitar. The foreskin has been pulled away from the fat red head, which yearns backward so stiffly it almost touches his belly.

Nice surprise. The skinny guy with a geeky face has a sweet hard-on just for me.

I wonder if he expects me to shout "Rape! Rape!" No way.

Naked and helpless, my legs spread, I look up at him without making a sound. Just look at him with my patented "large brown smoldering eyes."

He hesitates, as though expecting protests. He glances over at Amanda for reassurance.

From Amanda, "Do her, for Christ's sake! Fuck the shit out of her. She loves it!"

Thank you, Amanda, you bitch.

Geek literally falls forward on me, full length, knocks out my breath. Whomp!

Jeez! Okay. His face is inches from mine. Very vulpine. Fleshless, huge eyes, beak-like nose, soft lips.

I looked into his eyes and slowly pucker my lips. I wonder if he has been kissed. Because he goes mad with kissing me, devouring my lips, reaming me with his tongue.

Then, his mouth is down doing my tits, sucking like mad. Tugging my nipples with his teeth, elongating them.

Okay, Geek, when is the main act?

Now!

I arch like a bow for the arrow of truth

He shoves it into me without any preliminary. So glad my pussy is soaking wet. I could take a nightstick.

"Ouch! All the way in. He doesn't stop till he jabs his prick into the tip of my uterus. Total penetration! I can see his butt contracting violently as he starts remeaning me. Then, I am getting fucked like a mare. Close my eyes.

Despite the battering, I am coming, now. Gangbusters. It would be nice to have my hands free. Grab him and pull him against me. As it is, I heave up my tits so I can scrape my stiff nips across his chest hair. Divine tingling.

I hope he's fast. He thinks he driving the golden spike into a railroad tie. It's just a pussy, Geek! I am going to have bruised pussy lips for a week. A few more slams into my pussy and he is going crazy with coming.

Me too! My nerves are firing darts of pleasure through my pussy, my hips, my ass, my belly, my nipples.

So nice to cry just to cry.

Are we done? Geek?

Not quite.

He has slowly pulled it out is rising to his knees. It is long and arching over and dripping on my belly. Beautiful sight. Then, he is walking on his knees on either side of my skinny pale body. I see what is coming.

Don't mind a bit.

Suddenly, he says: "Why are you crying, Ellen?"

Who? Me?

He lets his dick down toward my lips and I open them. Gobble it all the way in and suck it clean...

I hear Amanda, off to my side, sweetly saying, "Make the bitch take it all..."

I've got it all.