Harriet the Hostage

"Wow, I love your pubes!" Max said, pulling his dick out with the view of his new friend's flared hips, panties and hirsute pelvic region inside the hose below. She had returned to being 'Hairy Harriet', her nickname in middle school gym before her mother granted permission to shave her bikini area. The young woman hadn't bothered to tame the fuzz on her inner thighs since a trip to Coney Island senior year.

The view added to Max's excitement as Harriet's toes acquired his semi-hard shaft. He moaned from under the ski mask as his brown-haired hostage began roughly massaging his penis.

The hostage had seen a few videos of footjobs on the internet, so had the general idea, but the distraction of a possible pending arrest had softened his cock to the point her toes could grab webs of skin, yank and tug. It was her first time seeing a real cock that didn't belong to her mother's naked, passed out boyfriend years before, and first time touching one, albeit with her feet.

She mashed it back up against his fly, held it there by the head with the edge of one foot and stroked it rapidly with the other. After rolling it around like a cigar, it began to harden into a shapely missile. It displayed the requisite trails of veins and possessed sufficient dimensions, maybe overly sufficient, to 'feed her puss-puss', another term of her mother's.

Reminded of her childhood ballet classes, the hostage was nearly doing an upside-down grand plié as her soles made a cock sandwich of Max's erection. He leaned into her pumping motion, gasping and groaning, alternately looking at the ceiling or the brown-haired woman beneath him, jerking him off with her pantyhose-covered feet.

Somehow, Harriet knew she would probably let the first cute guy who showed any interest in her have his way, unlike the frustratingly indecisive, tentative women in the romance novels, some of whom she would advise aloud to 'drop their overalls' in the barn, or 'unzip and blow the guy already'. She took her own advice this late morning, going ahead and giving the masked bank robber his footjob. Harriet surprised herself at the sudden joy she felt, acting like a filthy slut, doing this kinky act she was only aware existed due to the internet, and at work no less as her coworkers were terrorized above.

After only a few minutes of her frog-legged pumping, Max's breath became erratic and he grasped her feet firmly by the ankles. The masked man then used her opposing insteps to rapidly stroke his shaft, then began to stutter step in place, grunting sharply. Glistening fluid began to drip from his hole.

Harriet braced herself for a shower of sperm, to be her first encounter with the mysterious fluid. She found herself excited about it and didn't care if he sprayed it all over her clothes; anywhere but her uterus.

Max released her ankles but grabbed the toes of both feet with a single hand, aligning them together, side by side, soles flat and facing the ceiling. He grabbed his shaft and frantically jerked on it.

Harriet enjoyed the change in leg position, thighs together with a deeper knee bend as she watched her gasping, grunting captor's cock spew spurt after spurt of gooey sperm onto the bottoms of her feet. The liquid tickled her soles and dripped down her heels and ankles. A string hung from a pinky toe. She felt a few drops rain onto the back of her raised thighs as he shook the last of the fluid out.

The foreign liquid cooled quickly as Max caught his breath, his chest heaving beneath the black uniform shirt. "Thank you, beautiful."

"You don't have to thank me, silly bank robber, I had fun too. This was my first time," Harriet confessed, unsure what to do. Her feet were still raised and together, panties and hairy inner thighs still exposed to her captor. The cooling sperm from her insteps seemed to be raining down on her at a faster rate. Max began stuffing his still-swollen dick into his pants. Harriet didn't want to see it go.

"Wanna do it again?" She looked up at him, wiggling her toes. It seemed a shame to waste all the strange-smelling goo on her feet.

"Um, sure. You were awesome for a first footjob," he said, reversing the direction of his dick and then smearing the head around in the semen that remained on her soles. "Can I spit?"

"On me?" she asked, thinking he had yet another kink, one that would seem more relevant if she was naked. For a brief flash she imagined her bare skin peppered with saliva. Maybe someday, she thought, but got a clarification before she could voice a reply.

"On my dick...and kind of on your feet, I guess..."

"Okay," she replied with a shrug, kneading his swelling dick against his pants, strings of sperm hanging from her toes and heels.

6

Several minutes later, lying on the itchy carpet, the bound hostage was working up a sweat, her raised legs and feet working hard, pumping Max's spitty cock, completely freed when he dropped his pants and briefs to his upper thigh. The sperm that had been on her feet had been worked into a white foam and was long gone. Drying trails of it remained on her subtly jiggling thighs, enmeshed in the black hose and joined by splatters of fresh saliva flung off his cock or even directly from his lips as he missed his target. Harriet was surprised how much she enjoyed watching it eject from his mouth, possibly a euphemistic attraction to her visual internet enjoyment of far flung ejaculations. Point his cock left, point it right, push up against his pubes, shove it down toward his jumping, hairy nuts, bounce the shaft on the top of her foot like a soccer ball, grind a heel into it, Max seemed to enjoy it all, his hips leaning into her motions. After several minutes the winded young man spoke.

"Harriet, after this is over, can I um...?"

"What?" she asked, expecting a request for her phone number.

"Can I have your...uh, panties?"

"I don't think they'll fit you." The young woman pondered the non-sequitur, another kink, for a moment, and then imagined herself on the train home sans underwear. "You can have them now....use your knife."

The perspiring brown-haired woman ceased her foot strokes as her captor produced his small knife from its belt holster. Each intruder had one, hopefully only to cut the duct tape off the roll as they restrained her and her coworkers. She took advantage of the break to torque her sore arms, hips and legs around. He leaned down, shiny, stiff cock roving, and grabbed the waistband of the black pantyhose.

"No! Cut the panties at the hips." She could see his smile inside the mask, as it was a double treat. He would get the damp, fragrant, souvenir white cotton underwear, and for at least the rest of the footjob, and would be given his preferred, enshrouded view of her pussy, at least what wasn't blocked by the palm-sized, utilitarian white panel. "Call me before your next heist, I'll wear a nicer pair," she advised.

Max snorted a laugh and hooked a finger under a side and his captive felt the leg band dig into her flesh until the shiny steel knife snapped the elastic, stinging her hip. She jumped from reflex but found the act of being stripped at knifepoint, more or less, by a masked man with an exposed hard dick exciting. More vignettes for her future novel. He began to gently saw through the other side.

"Just yank it Max!"

Their eyes met. "You said my name." The two young people's glances at each other had gotten longer and more frequent during their encounter. The elastic snapped.

The captor began to pull her altered panties up the front of the hose, but met resistance, stretching a trench into them between her labia. The bound girl was holding them with her hands at the rear waistband, and gasped as they sunk deeply between her plump lips, bordered by prolific hair. Max realized what was happening and lessened the tension, then pulled again, receiving a moan from his hostage. After a few repetitions, Harriet's breath quickened, her chest heaving, nipples more obvious. Max knelt next to her, his protruding cock wagging enticingly. He reached under her back to take the rear waistband out of her control. To her surprise, he began slowly dragging the panties back and forth, and soon they gathered nearly into a rope, randomly battering her swollen clit.

Looking into her captor's eyes, Harriet reveled in the sweet torture of the overly harsh, uneven assault on her labia and clitoris. Wincing in pain one moment and euphoric the next, she hated to end his thoughtful attempt to make her orgasm. Maybe this was his way of ensuring she was wet enough for his cock. What the hell, why not have her first intercourse during a bank robbery? A story for the grandkids. She was about to speak the words every man wants to hear. Permission to maneuver between her legs, slice open the black pantyhose and slam that dick into her until it was hidden from daylight. He would pull it out most of the way and shove it in again and again and again. She would enjoy it more than the vegetables she routinely masturbated with. Then she wouldn't care if he sprayed his semen all over her clothes. In heat, Harriet asked for the stiff dick that swayed from in between his black shirttails. Widened thighs and three breathless words, "Fuck me Max!"

He triumphantly gave the rolled up panties, rife with his hostage's juices a final yank, leaving Harriet's ass crack and anal rim with rope burn. She arched her back to ease his task when his hand slid up under her sweater to the back of her bra. Those 'knockers' were 'all she had going for her' according to her jealous mother.

Harriet felt the cooler air on her stomach as the sweater was lifted and her breasts freed themselves by pushing the loosened pink cups upward as they relaxed their bulk, overhanging the sides of her ribcage. Her tits retained most of their haltered, uplifted shape, since the brown-haired hostage's shoulders were at a lower level than her midsection as a result of the wrist restraints.

Max knelt between her raised knees.

"Slice them open!" She instructed her first lover in reference to the black hose. The proximity of the knife to her genitals excited her. He sliced at them like a swordsman, quickly pulling the offensive white panel into the air an removing its last attached web before tossing it behind him. He ran his dirty fingers all through the public hair on her inner thighs and pubic mound, then between her full, puffy labia.

He then reached down to move the hostage's bra the last couple inches that were needed to see the full view of her quivering tits. Her pale globes, now being seen by a man for the first time, were blatantly oversized for her small frame, plump and beautiful. Their distinct, brown areolas were no larger than the dial of the fake Rolex he stole from one of the male employees upstairs, but the center of each possessed a mini-marshmallow stump of flesh that immediately awakened Max's infantile oral instincts.

With the untended muff explored and obstacles to his cock dashed aside, Max dove into her flesh like a crazed primate. Her hands still below her back altered the angle of her pelvis in his favor, and his ardent defloration of tight, soaked puss-puss was enjoyed by both as if there weren't three precincts of police and two dozen FBI agents outside.

Minutes later, Harriet was quietly climaxing, joyfully convulsing on the floor between file cabinets. She had her legs wrapped around one of the men, still masked, that had held a machine gun on her and her coworkers and robbed them of their valuables. His hands on her torso, groping and pinching where needed, plunging cock and the cadence of his weight striking her felt as good as she always had fantasized. Her fully extended, solid nipples were glazed with the masked man's saliva, if not a touch of burn from the mask. It was her first experience with wet, warm suction on them, at least where it was not her own mouth.

Unfortunately her feet got more cock this day than her vagina, and Max withdrew, thoughtfully after his hostage's spasms subsided. He arose from his short but very satisfying incursion and was now near orgasm himself, on his knees and stroking over his newest and actually best conquest ever, a cute girl with nice big titties that didn't laugh at his fetishes or call him stupid.

"Do you swallow?" he asked, tension in his voice from the impending deluge.

"No, this is my first time," she said, unsure if she was ready for a mouthful of sperm. Suddenly she remembered his earlier joy. She kicked a leg in the air then to the side and rolled onto her stomach, then bent her leg to raise her foot to give him access.

"Suck on my toes, bank robber!" she demanded. "Stick your dick under the hose and use them to cum on my ass!"

This woman seemed to understand him like no other. Thoughts of some kind of future with her crept into his mind.

Harriet winced at the itchy carpet on her still-sensitized nipples as she felt Max's warm lips surround the toes of her raised foot. His cock slipped beneath the waistband of the pantyhose. The finale of the brown-haired woman's first sexual experience was a wet one, due to spit on her toes as she felt his throaty grunts and as an ass cheek was flooded with squirts of his warm fluid, flowing into her crack and down to her anus, labia and in the other direction down her hip.

Max broke the relative silence as they both caught their breath, winded between the tall file cabinets. He was still on his knees, pants down, his satisfied dick drooping but glistening and still swollen, swaying to Harriet's enjoyment. His hostage had rolled onto her side, breasts still exposed, stacked one atop the other in beautiful, pale elliptical domes. Her skirt was still bunched around her waist, a knee raised to cool down happy, hairy, dripping puss-puss, finally, properly fed.

"I wish I met you yesterday, before all this shit upstairs..." He pulled his knife out, sighed and and flipped it open. Her eyes left his jiggling dick and followed the steel blade's movement toward her.

Harriet panicked. Now that he had gotten his rocks off twice and had no more use for her, would the police find her 'partially nude' dead body in a pool of blood later today? She knew his first name and his local accent and could report those facts. Despite his sweet demeanor, was he about to slit her throat to cover his crime? Just as bad, would he sadistically stab her exposed stomach and tits multiple times to torture her until she bled or was choked to death? Her heart rate elevated once more, she pondered the last pages of the novel about her life and its very brief sex scene at the end, before her murder, his swinging cock one of the last thing she sees. She decided to bargain for her life.

"Wait!" she wailed

"I'm sure it's okay to untie your wrists now."

The knife bypassed her body altogether and traveled around to her lower back as he freed her arms.

"You're going to tell them about the inhaler, and that I didn't hurt you, right?" He gathered the sliced panties off the floor and held them to his face, loudly taking in the scent of the cotton panel before he stuffed them into his pocket. Next he pulled up his pants, tucking away Harriet's first dick, she thought as it disappeared into his briefs. She almost waved bye-bye with a newly-freed hand.

After they stood and stretched, Harriet wrestled her breasts back into her bra and had Max clumsily re-hook it. Before even pulling her sweater back down over her bra and cleavage, she turned back around and yanked his ski mask off. Standing before her was a young man with olive skin, sparkling blue eyes, boy band-chiseled looks and a scruffy short beard. His too long, sweaty hair was matted and black. She knew him. The brown-haired girl had previously drooled over this young man as she got a take-out dinner the prior week. Had she known it was him, she would have skipped the footjobs and had him fuck her he whole time. It was now even more important that her plan work.

"I know you! You work at that taco joint on Fulton!" The place was a dirty dive in a converted gas station about ten blocks from her house, but the food wasn't bad for the price.

"Um, not any more, I guess. I thought you looked familiar. Will you come visit me in prison?" he asked, with resignation to his fate.

"Better. I think I can get you out of here," she said, pressing her still-exposed bra against Max, the force backing him into a cabinet. She looked up at him, her gentle brown eyes reflecting the fading overhead light. His cooled sperm was still creeping down her leg. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," he said, then bent down to share a long first kiss, their languishing tongues a mix of coffee and energy drink. .

8

A few minutes later Harriet was replacing the filter and hinged metal grate to the knee-level HVAC return in the back of the file room. "Don't make a sound," Harriet said to her captor through the paper filter. He had become the captive, since she now had his fate in her hands. All she had to do was alert someone to his presence in the duct, and it meant prison for him. She had watched the maintenance man replace the filter a few weeks before, and knew the duct was large enough to conceal one cute bank robber.

Harriet went back to her desk, removed her contacts and put on her coke bottle glasses. She slid off her scarf, and brushed her hair around her face to mask any deception her expressions might reveal. She grabbed a paperback, using the light from her laptop screen to read as the battery-powered lights in the room dimmed. Before the power to the TV died, she saw that the standoff was over, the robbery foiled and the hostages walking out. She noticed that someone had loaned half-dressed VP Sherri Ikana a bank t-shrt to cover her sheer lace bra and the big, peaked dark nipples that had shown through it.

Harriet's plan at this point depended on exactly who opened the vault door. If it was anyone who had realized she was the 'asthma girl', her plan 'A' would falter and she would have to improvise.

Several minutes later, the door unlatched, and the gray-haired Corporate Director of Security from the Williamsburg headquarters stepped into the dim room. He wore a blue blazer with a gold badge displayed near the left lapel. He used a large metal trash can to prop the door open. At a desk, he saw a full-figured but nerdy young woman, perspiring, apparently from the lack of air conditioning, who stood and began yelling. Unlike the other employees, she was still in possession of her security badges, he noticed, as they dangled from the overhang of her nice, chunky melons, jolting as she gestured. Her purse sat next to her computer screen.

"What the hell happened? Where was the guard? I've been buzzing to get out for two hours! I missed a meeting! I know the power's out, but if it's that bad you coulda at least let me go home! There's supposed to be a guard stationed there all..."

"Hey! Calm down lady! You don't know?" the director yelled to cut her off.

"Know what?"

"The bank was robbed by several armed men at 8:45 this morning. You're tellin' me you didn't know?"

"Huh?" Harriet plopped back into her chair. "Ah, stop bullshitting me." She smiled. "It's just a blackout isn't it?"

"Miss, I'm serious. They cut the power before they entered."

"No! Oh God. oh God oh God," she muttered, closing her arms around her chest. "Was anyone hurt?"

"A couple guys banged up is all. You'll see it on the news. Our instructions are to clear the building." The director said, looking into the small break room and adjacent lockers. A raincoat, woman's cardigan, a spare guard's uniform, nothing out of the ordinary. Then he was waving a flashlight down each aisle of the file room, especially the ceiling. "So you didn't hear anything unusual this morning?"

'Other than a man's grunts as he squirted sperm on me twice, no,' she thought. "Nothing. It's like a morgue down here," she said aloud, shrugging.