Strictly Susan
The Fifth Collection
by Susan Strict
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2006 Susan Strict
Published by Strict Publishing International
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Cover artwork by Brendan M Baker
Ritual
Silently the four women turned and left the hut. He tested the twisted strips of bark that bound his wrists and ankles, but he already knew that he would not be able to break them or to undo the knots.
He had no idea why they were keeping him here like this. He knew they must have picked him up and looked after him after he fell from the tree deep in the jungle where he had been doing his research, but all he could remember was waking up in a hut surrounded by these strange tall women.
At first he had been very weak and completely unable to remember who he was or anything that had happened in the preceding weeks. He was unsure even now whether his memory of those days was of actual events or whether much of it was no more than a series of dreams and hallucinations. Perhaps it had been real. Perhaps one of them after another had come to him and made love to him as he lay there scarcely able to move. Perhaps the drink with the strange taste had given him the strength he needed, for he could not remember eating or drinking anything else. And yet it seemed impossible even had he been completely fit and healthy that he could have managed to have satisfied so many women with such a short interval between each of them.
It was only the last few days that he could remember clearly and without any doubt about whether he was fully conscious. He knew without any possibility he was hallucinating that the moment he was able to move around unaided and to leave his bed they prevented him doing just that. At first there were two of them constantly with him, ready to push him back onto the bed and to hold his arms gently but firmly until he stopped trying to resists them. They were tall, muscular and strong, and yet always incredibly gentle. Never once had any of them hurt him, although equally he was never in any doubt that they could overpower him without the slightest difficulty.
In the last few days there had always been four of them in his room. They never said a word. Again and again he asked them why they did not let him leave, and again and again he asked them where they had put his clothes or at least to give him something to cover himself. They stared at him, impassive and silent. Perhaps they did not understand. Perhaps they did not speak English. He never heard them speak at all, not even to each other, and no sound of any conversation ever came from outside.
What was outside? He had no idea. He knew exactly where he was when he fell from the tree, of course. It was only a few hundred yards from there to the flat, clear area where the helicopter had been due to land and collect him late that afternoon, and even for that short distance he had been armed with a compass, a map, and a GPS device. But now he had no idea. They could have taken him miles while he was unconscious, or he might still be within a short distance of where he had started.
Surely, he thought, they must have taken him miles away. If not, then why had he not heard the helicopter or the search parties that must have looked for him when he did not return?
Now they bound him. He would have fought them as they twisted the rope-like fibres around his wrists and ankles, knotting them tightly and fastening them securely to the bamboo stakes driven deep into the hard ground that formed the floor inside the hut. He knew it would have been pointless and that they would prove to be far too strong for him, just as he knew that he could neither break the fibres nor undo the knots.
Three of them returned, as naked as he was. Not since those first days had he seen them naked, and now he was certain that the events of those days were neither dreams nor hallucinations. He did not understand why, since then, none of them as so much as touched him sexually when he had been the object of their almost constant sexual attention for as long as he was unable to understand nor respond properly. It made no sense, but little had made sense since that fateful day he had slipped and fallen from the tree.
He felt himself respond to their nakedness. They watched his instinctive salute to them, gazing impassively as his hardness rose and throbbed. They made no move towards him, nor stepped away. Apparently emotionless they did nothing but watch, standing one on either side of him and one at his feet, legs slightly apart and hands on hips. They waited.
It may have been hours. It certainly felt as though it was hours. His frustration mounted, until he moaned softly and strained against his bonds. Still they remained motionless.
It was evening before she arrived in the hut. He had seen her before. He remembered that she had brought him the drink with the strange taste that helped him to both recover and to maintain his arousal when otherwise it would have been impossible.
She was not young, yet she was not old. This was, as far as he could remember, the first time he had seen her naked, and there was something about her nakedness that was more, far more, than nakedness alone. The others were merely unclothed; desirable, erotic, unclothed women. She was nude, bare, exposed and magnificent in her total exposure to his eyes. He felt that he should look away, as if seeing her like this was an immoral crime for which there could be no justification or excuse.
She stood astride him, astride his face. He could not look away even if he had wanted to. Without touching him, without saying a word or making the slightest movement, she held his eyes fixed on her magnificence.
He felt it flow through him, although still she had not moved or touched him. It rose in him, and at the same time he saw it rising in her. It was as if he was watching her as she made love to him, and experiencing the same physical sensations as if she was doing it at that moment instead of standing above him without touching him.
It was impossible, and yet it was happening. It was not in his mind, the sensations were too real. She started to squirm and writhe from side to side. He saw her scream. He saw her body scream in climax for no sound came from her, and as she shuddered so he too came to his climax, violent and muscle wrenching that would have thrown him from the bed in spasm after spasm if he had not been tied securely.
Panting and perspiring she stepped away from him, swinging one leg in a wide circle over him to clear his body without touching him. The three women came forward. They had not left the room, nor averted their gaze. Now they looked questioningly at the panting woman, awaiting orders. She nodded.
They cleaned him. Everything was ready and waiting. The water felt cool against his sweating body, and their hands were soft and soothing. They dried him with soft animal skins and caressed him, caringly not sensually.
Tenderly, they wrapped his genitals in a little sack of cured animal hide criss-crossed with thin filaments of the same fibrous bark that bound his wrists and ankles. The filaments were long, coming together into a twisted cord that hung down loosely and was wound around a long stick on the floor placed between two spoked wheels. They left him, and once again he was alone in the hut.
Another woman entered. Naked, as the others had been, she wasted no time in standing and staring. Strong and powerful, as were all the women he could remember seeing since he had been here, she gripped his face between her thighs and thrust herself onto him. He felt himself crushed, smothered, almost suffocated as she rocked herself and pressed down onto him in a frenzy of physical pleasure. Her climax took her within seconds, shaking her in a shuddering explosion of convulsive muscle spasms and wet, sweaty, screaming self-satisfaction.
For a long time, much longer than she had taken to reach that peak of pleasure, she sat and recovered herself. This was worse, for now he could not breathe at all and as his body screamed at him to find air and he strained helplessly against his bonds he came close to losing consciousness before she did move and leave him.
She bent down as she left. She reached for the long stick on the floor attached to the filaments leading to the little sack around his genitals. She freed it from the spokes of the two wheels and twisted it a little, just enough so that it fitted between the next gap in the spokes on each wheel.
He felt the movement, slight but noticeable, in the sack that held him so comfortably and securely. It was a little less loose, a little less slack, a little less comfortable.
She left.
There was a commotion outside. It was the first time there had been any noise that he could remember from outside the hut since he had been here. He heard the sound of raised voices, arguing he was sure but he could not make out what they were saying. He did not think they were speaking English, but he could not be entirely certain even about that.
A woman burst into the hut, a white woman, fully clothed in a crisp military uniform.
“Stella! thank God you’re here.” He tried to sit up, forgetting for a moment the knotted ties on his wrists and ankles. “Untie me, quickly.”
“We thought you might be here.” Stella approached him slowly.
“Well get me out of here. If you knew I was here why didn’t you come sooner? You have no idea...”
“I have,” she interrupted him. “You know I’ve been studying these people for years. I know all about their customs and rituals. I know exactly what has been happening to you.”
“Untie me,” he said urgently, “Before they come back.”
She shook her head. “If I untied you,” she told him quietly, “Neither of us would get out of here alive, but there’s no rush. They won’t come in until I leave. I have managed to agree that much with them.”
“What is going on?” he demanded.
“You violated their taboo,” she tried to explain. “You climbed the Anhanga tree, and fell from it. That makes you an Anhanga, quite apart from entering the women’s tawa during the quarup festival.”
“I don’t understand. Just untie me.”
“The quarup festival happens once every five years,” she told him. “All the females of the tribe go away for three months. They build their own tawa, or village. No men are allowed anywhere near them. The rules are very strict. It is a fertility festival. They believe it ensures the continuity of the race.”
“So what’s this Anhanga?”
“Anhanga is the Devil. They present offerings to the Anhanga tree, the tree you happened to climb. It keeps the Devil away, but now you are the Devil. Have you seen the mirim shaman?”
“The what?”
“Their witch doctor. They believe she has mystical powers. She can command the Devil and make him obey her sexual will without even touching him. Have you seen her? “
“Yes, I think I’ve seen her. So what?”
“And what happened? Did she do anything to you?”
“I...” He was not at all sure how to explain it. “She sort of danced around above me. Wriggled about a bit. She never touched me.”
“And? What happened to you? Did anything odd happen?”
“Not anything odd. Not really. She was exciting to look at, that’s all.”
“Tell me. Did you orgasm? And was anyone else watching?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “There were three others in the room. I orgasmed. Not near her or anything. Not touching her. What’s wrong with that? All they did was watch. None of them were near me.”
Stella took two paces backwards, shaking her head.
“There’s nothing I can do for you,” she said unhappily.
“What do you mean ‘there’s nothing you can do for me’? Just get me out of here.”
“I can’t get you out of here. No one can get you out of here. Now that has happened they will take it as confirmation that you are the Devil, and they must follow the only path open to them to destroy your power and ensure the survival of their race.”
“What? What are they going to do?”
“They will start as soon as I leave,” Stella said unhappily. “I can stay for a while and delay them, but I can’t stop them. I’ll stay with you for as long as I can. I’m so sorry.”
“What are they going to do?” He twisted and strained, trying to free himself. “WHAT ARE THEY GOING TO DO?”
“They have to show power over you, over the Devil. They have to prove the power of woman’s sex over power of male sex. They have to orgasm on top of you, without you doing it. They have to orgasm on your face.”
“That’s not so bad,” he said, relieved. “One of them has already done it. It was all right.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand,” she said, “There are over five hundred of them here, all ages, sizes, weights. Any one of them might suffocate you, and if they don’t manage to orgasm then they’ll just keep on going until they do. Some of them are quite big and heavy enough to crush you, to break your bones. It doesn’t make any difference if you are injured or unconscious, they just keep going until every one of them has managed it, otherwise they won’t have lifted the curse you have brought down on them.”
He stared at her disbelievingly.
“That’s not all,” she went on. “You might as well know it all. I see they have put the crusher on you.” She indicated the little sack enclosing his genitals. “Each one of them will tighten it a little immediately after they orgasm. That’s part of it. That’s part of the process of lifting the curse. They each must have a part in destroying the potency of the Devil, the potency that usurps human potency. It will become tighter each time one of them turns the stick, until there is nothing left for it to tighten on. The pain alone may kill you long before one of them suffocates you or crushes you.”
“For God’s sake help me!” He was frantic.
“There’s nothing I can do,” she told him again. “If I try and free you, even if I only took off the crusher or loosened it they would kill me too. They are watching now. There may be twenty or more pairs of eyes on us through the holes in this hut. All I can do is to stay here with you for as long as I can, and I cannot even do that much longer unless...”
“Unless what?” he prompted her. “Unless what? You have to stay here until we think of something. You just have to.”
“Unless...” she hesitated. “Unless I can show them that I’m trying to exert my female power over you.”
“WHAT?”
She nodded. “The only way I can stay is if I’m trying to...” she gulped, “Trying to orgasm. On your face. Like I said.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“It’s the only way. Perhaps I had better go.”
“No! Just do it.”
Slowly she kicked off her shoes and removed her military skirt and her knickers. She unbuttoned her blouse, explaining that it would be expected that she was naked while she did it.
“I’m scared,” she said as she stood astride him and lowered herself onto his face. “I’m scared that I might...”
She looked down at him, concern in her face mingling with another emotion that he could not identify.
“I’m scared that I might orgasm,” she said finally, “And then I would have to go. I’ll try not to, of course. I’ll try to make it last as long as I can, but we have to make it look real.”
She pressed down onto him with a small moan. He looked up at her helplessly, but her eyes were closed and her head was back. She shifted her position, covering his mouth and nose completely. He opened his mouth to tell her he could not breathe, but no sound came out from under her firm flesh that now formed an airtight seal over him.
Slowly, ever so slowly, she started to rock herself backward and forward, trying to make it last, trying not to allow the pleasure of his face under her to arouse her too rapidly.
She did not see the terror in his eyes, nor see them glaze over and dim as he rapidly lost consciousness...
Her Bed Was Soft and Comfortable
Her bed was soft and comfortable. There was just the faintest smell of her in it, a pleasant, female smell that was both soothing and exciting.
It was good of her to let him use her room, good of her to go and sleep in the spare bed in her sister’s room. He felt a little awkward when she had offered to let him stay, to give up her room for him, but she had insisted that it really was no trouble.
He thought of Myra as he drifted off to sleep. He could picture her in his mind, her long, dark hair hanging loose around her shoulders, her slim body, her long legs...
She was so unlike her sister, whose short fair hair did nothing to improve her thick-set features and her size that was not far short of being positively obese. Michael had to admit that he did usually rather like well-rounded women, but Shelley’s enormous breasts, colossal rear and legs like tree trunks were more than any reasonable man could find attractive.
The night was warm. Michael pushed the soft duvet down to his waist, enjoying the cooler night air from the open window. If he had been at home he would have thrown it from him completely, but here in someone else’s house and someone else’s bed he felt the need to keep himself at least partially covered. There was always the possibility that one or other of the girls would come into the room to wake him in the morning if he overslept, and he was anxious to avoid any embarrassment.
He awoke suddenly. Something had disturbed him, although he had no idea what is was. The room was completely dark.
It made him jump when something touched him lightly on the shoulder.
“Shush,” Myra said. “Are you awake?”
“I am now.”
“Good. Keep quiet. I don’t want my sister to hear us.”
He felt her flimsy nightdress against him and her long hair brushing over him. Her lips found his.
Her hand was on his chest as they kissed. Slowly it moved downwards, easing under the duvet and finding his hardness. He felt her body stiffen with excitement as she closed her hand around him.
She squeezed, feeling him respond.
“I want to kiss you,” she said quietly.
He knew what she meant. He said nothing as she moved her head down and pressed her lips onto him before opening her mouth wide and lowering her head to take him deeply. Her tongue explored, licking and tasting. He flinched when he felt her teeth, but she did not bite. Instead she pressed ever so lightly and drew her head all the way back up the length of his hardness.
It hurt, but somehow it was the most pleasurable hurt he had ever experienced. He gasped and moaned.
“Was that good?” she asked. “I’ve never done that before.”
He nodded, knowing that she could not see him in the dark.
“So now,” she continued, “You can kiss me.”
He felt her kneel astride his chest and raise her nightdress high around her. She slid forward, raising herself high over his face. She let the nightdress fall around his head, then slowly descended until she pressed gently onto his mouth. He kissed, then pushed his tongue into her.
She gasped now, and immediately pushed hard down onto him. She completely covered his mouth and nose. He was unable to breathe. Instinctively he tried to turn his head and then pushed her from him.
He could feel her disappointment. She slid back to sit on his chest.
“I know,” she whispered. “I know just what we need.”
She leaned forward, her small, firm breasts brushing across his face as she felt underneath the pillows and took something from under there. He kissed her breasts, then took one nipple between his lips and sucked, oblivious to whatever she was doing with her hands at the head of the bed.
“Put your arms above your head,” she whispered in his ear, nibbling his earlobe and licking with the very tip of her tongue.
He did it without even asking why.
“Hey!” he complained as soon as he realised she was tying his wrists with the nightdress she had twisted into a cord and looped around the bed frame.
“Quiet, my darling,” she scolded him softly. “This will be perfect.”
When she descended onto him again he was unable to avoid her. Her thighs gripped the sides of his head and his face was pressed deeply between her legs. For many seconds he was completely without air as she pushed and rocked on top of him.
“Kiss,” she demanded. “Lick me. Suck me. Oh yes!”
She shuddered. The wetness dripped from her, rolled down the sides of his face and onto the pillow. Again and again her body quivered, gasping, moaning softly, her muscles squeezing first with her conscious effort to satisfy the deep need within her, and then in uncontrolled spasms of sheer ecstasy as climax after climax went through her.
He had no idea how long it continued. It might have been for hours. She seemed insatiable, but finally she stooped and fell, exhausted and panting, onto the bed by his side.
He waited until her breathing had settled to its normal rhythm. “Untie me,” he said. “I’m hot.”
“Can’t you really free your hands on your own?” she asked in surprise.
He tried. “No, I really can’t,” he told her.
She pulled the duvet from the bed and threw it on the floor. “You’ll cool down now,” she told him.
She switched the light on and stared down at him.
“Untie me for goodness sake!” he demanded, feeling uncomfortable and embarrassed.
“I like your body,” she commented as though she had not heard him. “I might do that again. I really enjoyed it.”
“OK, but untie me now,” he said.
She shook her head. “Don’t be silly,” she said firmly. “I can’t do anything like this unless my sister has a chance to do it too. She’s bound to want to when she wakes up in the morning, so you’ll just have to stay like that until she’s ready. I’ll see you later.”
With that, she switched off the light and left the room. He struggled frantically, but it was no good. It was impossible to free himself, and the harder he struggled the tighter the twisted material around his wrists became.
He would have to wait until either Myra or her sister came to free him...
Saran Wrap
“Come on,” said Paula. “It would be a bit of fun. I won’t let anyone see your face, I promise. We will check and edit the film very carefully. No one could possibly recognise you.”
“Do you do this sort of thing often?” he asked. “I would never have thought that you of all people...”
She nodded. “Of course. I told you I was a filmmaker now. There is a big market for some of the kinkier stuff, and you don’t need a million-dollar budget to make it. I’ve been doing this since not long after we split up, and I’m thoroughly enjoying it.”
“Obviously,” he agreed. “But the amount of money you offered me wasn’t exactly a fortune, was it?”
She smiled. “I have to make a living,” she told him. “It takes a long time for any money to come back after we start marketing a film of this sort, and right now I’m short of cash.”
“Well, I’m really not sure,” he said uncertainly. “It all sounds a bit odd.”
“Of course it’s odd. That’s why people are prepared to pay for it. It’s a niche market, with a few hundred thousand people world-wide who want films of this particular type at a reasonable price, and virtually no one making them.”
“Seriously? That many people?” He was surprised.
She assured him that it was true, but he was still having trouble believing it. Somehow, for him, it was difficult to understand why anyone would want to pay money to see a film of a dominant woman doing nothing more than wrapping a naked man in saran wrap.
“Look,” she said finally, “I’ll let you see the final film before it goes anywhere, and if you don’t like it then we’ll do it again. Is it a deal?”
He agreed, reluctantly. He too needed the money, and from what she had told him this was going to be the easiest cash he had ever earned.
“All right,” he said. “When do we start?”
“How about right now? Rita is outside, and I have everything we need right here.”
Rita was not at all what he had expected. Somehow he had expected someone tall, powerful-looking, wearing tight leather and boots with spiked heels. Rita was quite the opposite, rather short, slightly on the heavy side, and dressed in a flowery top and a long, loose skirt. Paula was more of the dominatrix type than Rita appeared to be. He could imagine Paula ordering some poor man about like a slave, making him grovel on the floor while she wielded a whip.
Paula led the way into her studio. The room was almost empty, except for lights on stands on two sides of the room and a narrow padded bench standing on its own in the very centre.
“Right,” said Paula. “You take your clothes off, all of them, and then we can start.”
“Er...” he hesitated, partly because he was a little reluctant to remove his clothes in front of a woman he did not know who was not even particularly attractive, and partly because he had no idea what he was expected to do.
“Come on,” Paula encouraged him. “We don’t have all day. I need to get on with this.”
“But... what do I do? Isn’t there a script or something? I’ve never done any acting.”
Paula and Rita both laughed. “You just take your clothes off and Rita will take care of everything else,” Paula told him. “It won’t be difficult, I promise you. Do you want Rita to help you undress?”
“I can manage,” he said, pushing away Rita’s eager hands.
Paula was busy preparing her camera while he took off his clothes. He dropped them in the corner and stood silently with his hands in front of him self-consciously.
“Ready?” asked Paula.
He nodded.
“Go and lie on the bench and then we’ll start,” she told him. “We’ll go straight into it. I don’t need anything to confuse the issue with this one. We’re aiming purely at the saran wrap fetish nothing else, so there’s no need for any other messing about.”
Rita was already holding the roll of saran warp, eager to start. He walked over to the bench and lay down on it, his hands still in front of him.
“Hands by your sides,” instructed Paula.
Reluctantly he obeyed. Paula stamped her foot in annoyance.
“That’s no good at all,” she said. “You need to look excited. Rita, get over there and do something.”
Rita stood next to the bench and bent over him. He stared up at her, almost fearfully.
“I don’t think it’s working,” Rita announced. “He’s not responding at all.”
“For goodness sake,” Paula complained, “Can’t you get it up? You never used to have a problem. What’s the matter with you?”
“Sorry,” he said vaguely. “Rita is very nice and all that, but she’s not...” he hesitated, trying to put it tactfully, “She doesn’t excite me.”
“Getting fussy in your old age?” asked Paula. “Never mind,” she continued without waiting for an answer. “We’ll worry about that later. Rita, if you start wrapping him and I’ll look after the camera angles.”
Rita did as she was told, starting with his ankles and winding the roll of saran wrap round and round, under the bench and over the top of his legs binding him tightly with it. She continued up his legs, leaving a gap over his groin and then starting over his stomach and his chest. His arms remained at his sides, and very soon he was unable to move at all. Rita continued, wrapping layer after layer of the strong, stretchy material up and down his body.
“It’s awfully tight,” he complained.
“That’s the idea,” Paula told him. “It’s supposed to be exciting, and it makes you completely helpless.”
“Finished,” said Rita. “What next?”
“Let me go if you’ve finished,” he suggested.
Paula laughed. “You really are completely helpless, aren’t you? We could do anything we like to you.”
“Very funny,” he said. “Just let me go.”
Paul put the camera onto a stand and walked towards him. She stood next to the bench and looked down at him.
“Ah,” she said. “I see that you still find me exciting.”
“Well of course I do,” he admitted. “You’re a very attractive woman.”
Paula reached down and touched the end of his hardness with one finger. “Is that nice?” she asked innocently.
“Come on,” he said, “Just let me go. We finished doing that sort of stuff years ago, didn’t we?”
“We certainly did,” she agreed. “I’m not going to make love to you, wrapped up or otherwise. I just wondered whether you had actually considered how risky it was to put yourself in this position? I mean, completely naked and helpless at the mercy of your ex-girlfriend who undoubtedly is still furious with you for leaving her?”
“That was years ago,” he said, suddenly worried. “We’ve been great friends since then. You can’t still be annoyed with me.”
“Maybe I am,” she said thoughtfully, “And maybe I’m not. It doesn’t really matter. It would make a great theme for a film, and it seems such a pity to waste the opportunity.”
“Hey!” he shouted. “I didn’t agree to anything like that. I only agreed to be wrapped up for your film, not anything else.”
She shrugged. “You don’t really have a choice. As I said, we can do anything we like to you, and I think that while we have you like this we might well take the opportunity to make few more short films that might appeal to some niche markets.”
He tried to struggle to free himself, but the saran wrap held him securely. It was impossible for him to move at all.
“I think,” went on Paula, “That we might start with some facesitting. Rita likes that. It’s one of her favourites, isn’t it Rita?”
Rita nodded happily. Without waiting for any further instruction she pulled up her skirt, swung one leg over him and stood astride him.
“No!” he squealed as she descended towards his face.
Rita took no notice. Paula ran to the camera, taking it from the stand and hurrying back for some close-ups.
Rita wore nothing under the skirt. As she touched his face she let the skirt fall around him, shutting him into a private, damp fleshy world between her legs and underneath her.
“I can’t see,” complained Paula. “I can’t film anything.”
“Just let the camera run,” grunted Rita. “There will be more than enough to see.”
As she settled down onto him he felt as though he would be crushed. Her thick thighs squeezed around his head, pressing together like firm pillows with a life of their own and a determination to swallow him up into them.
He tried to move his head, but it was impossible. Her thighs had a vice-like grip on him, and now she moved forward to press his face exactly where she wanted it. Her flesh invaded his mouth and nostrils, blocking his breathing.
“Lick,” commanded Rita.
He pressed his tongue into her, hoping she would relax enough for him to be able to breathe at least a little. Seconds passed and she did not move.
He tried to tell her that she was suffocating him, that he was rapidly going to lose consciousness underneath her. His words did not reach her, muffled and silenced below and into her.
His chest ached with the need for air, and his thoughts were becoming disjointed when finally she moved her position a little. There was a popping noise in his ears as her damp, sticky flesh released its grip on him, and he gasped at the fresh air that flooded onto him.
Still she did not release him fully. She remained pressed over his mouth and partially over his nose. Breathing was difficult, a real struggle to suck the air from the tiny gaps between her flesh and his face, but at least he could now breathe.
“Lick me properly,” she ordered. “Make the effort, or I’ll smother you again.”
“You are smothering me,” he muttered.
She must have heard him, although the sound was still muffled into her. She laughed wildly.
“Silly boy,” she said. “This isn’t smothering, this is smothering.”
As Rita spoke she lifted herself a little, moved forward and came down onto him with some force. She covered his face completely under her. As bad as it had been before, this was far worse. He felt as though his whole head had been taken into her, and that now her flesh was not only on top of him but on all sides and was sucking at him to absorb him totally into it.
Rita remained completely motionless for nearly a minute. Coming so shortly after being deprived of air just a few moments ago, it was more than he could take. He lost consciousness.
He had no idea how long he was out. When he regained consciousness he was still in total darkness and her weight was still on him, although not cutting off his breathing. He felt an acute pain in his groin.
“What’s going on?” he muttered.
“Oh good,” it was Paula’s voice. “I hoped you’d be back with us soon.”
“Let me go,” he moaned.
“Don’t be silly,” said Paula sharply. “We’ve only just started. Rita is going to stay right where she is, and I’m going to film a little CBT.”
“What’s CBT?” He thought he already knew.
“Cock and ball torture, of course. I could enjoy this. A bit of pain down there will be really good for you, and you thoroughly deserve it after the way you treated me,” she told him.
“But that was years ago,” he protested, “And you weren’t exactly an angel yourself.”
“Really?” she laughed. “Do you think this is quite the right time to be telling me it was all my fault? I don’t think you want to make me angry, now do you?”
He felt the pain in his groin intensify.
“Aagh. What are you doing?”
“A little device I invented,” she told him. “I’ve tightened it round your cock and balls so it can’t come off, and I’m just turning up the power a bit. As you can probably feel, it has lots of little rotating brushes, and the higher I turn the remote control, the faster they go. Good, isn’t it?”
“Take it off!” he squealed as she turned the controls higher.
“Don’t make too much noise,” she warned, “Or Rita will have to muffle it again. I can’t stand screaming men. Don’t worry. I’ll take it off before you start to bleed too much. I should think that will be in an hour or so if I don’t turn the power up too high.”
As the pain quickly became worse, he could no longer keep quiet. He yelled. Immediately Rita slid forward, covering his face completely under her. He noise was silenced, and once again he was unable to breathe.
She kept where she was for about half a minute, and then slowly lifted herself. He yelled again, and she descended onto him.
“Oh dear,” said Paula. “It looks as though he’s a slow learner. Never mind. We have all afternoon and evening if we need it. I ought to make the most of this. It’s not often we have such a suitable victim for the filming. I wonder what other niche markets we could explore while we’re here?”
She turned up the remote control a little more, checking through the viewfinder of her camera that she was getting a nice clear picture...
Explain It To Me
“No,” she said firmly, “You don’t understand.”
“Explain it to me then,” he insisted. “You can’t, because you’ve got it wrong.”