Tales of The Bedrock Mob
by Dray Driver

Chapter 8: The game

They’d done it again.

Our caring and considerate boys did it to us again.

When I’d met Angie for lunch on that Friday she was excited and bubbly, surprisingly so since I thought we had to decide about you know what from our dancing class.

“Hey, guess whose Dad’s throwing a weber?”

“What’s a weber? Wasn’t he a psychologist or something?”

“No it’s barbie, you morons call ‘em  cook-outs. Anyway Lewis told me this morning that we’re coming over and that Roger’s putting on the leg… Oh Oh… It’s a bloody showdown tonight.”

“A what?”

“I’m sorry Annie, I keep forgetting that you only speak English.  It’s a footy match between the mighty Power and the Crows. It’s a Showdown so we’ll get to sit through two hours of bloody football and the inevitable repeats of little boys kicking a little ball between bloody big sticks. The only plus for us are the hunks and their cute butts and their tight little shorts.”

By the time Angie had explained about football and the short shorts we never even got close to discussing our dancing class problem.

There were delicious cooking aromas wafting from the patio as I walked into the house and into Roger’s arms.

“Go take a shower Luv; dinner’s taken care of.”

“Angie said they were coming over.”

“Shower, sweetchops.”

Wrapped in a luxurious bath sheet I was drying my hair when Roger dropped a small package on my lap. He nuzzled my nape and whispered, “You’ll look good in this. Wear it tonight.” And then he walked out of the room.

“Bells too,” from the passage.

I did, and I did.

The remote pealed and I heard Roger greeting them and then heard him laugh and say,“Can I take your coat Angie?”

I’d quickly padded to the foyer to respectfully greet our guests. Angie and I smiled broadly as we appreciated our new uniforms. They had us in white leather skirts. Well, white leather skirts and silver bells actually. They were in a very short ‘wrap-round’ style, with splits to the waistband on either side that allowed them to just ‘hang on our hips’.

It’s funny, it doesn’t worry me when I’m in harness, or just bound some way when Lewis is around because I know that I can’t do anything about it, but I didn’t feel comfortable while we were at table.

We were told, “Get your butts out to the games room P.D.Q. after this mess is cleared up.”

When we scooted through the door we saw our tails draped over a chair and two open boxes by it.

“Bend over, flick your skirt up and grab your ankles,” he said. With his left hand gently resting on my shoulder Roger worked the well-lubricated butt plug into my anus and my lovely tail swished against my sensitive bare legs.

Thank God we’d both gone to the little girl’s room after we’d done the dishes. I was thankful that I had a firm grip on my ankles when his hand soundly wacked my rump. I jerked and pealed. I felt like I’d been branded with a handprint.

‘Too tempting,” he said.

“Arms behind back and make fists,” and he slid a white leather thing up between my arms and back. ‘What’s the rush,’ I thought and then just winked at him. He beamed back at me and tugged the sleeve up. It fitted like a mitten over my fists and then my wrists were held firmly together by a strap that was buckled outside the sleeve. My arms were pulled closely and he laced the sleeve tightly. Roger slipped his arm over my right shoulder and palmed my left nipple. His other hand slid over and palmed my right nipple and he pushed my head against his upper arm as he nipped and nibbled and laved and sucked at the sensitive skin below my ear.

Heat pooled between my thighs and my hands went looking for him. Bastard. A girl can’t do much more than moan with frustration when her fists are constrained in tight soft leather. Standing so closely behind me that his hardening weight was pressing against my very sensitive and probably reddened rump his hands slid down from my shoulders to my swollen and aching breasts He caressed them tenderly, circling them and dragging my nipple rings with his calloused palms then he carefully quartered them with his fingertips as I slumped back against his strength.

“No lumps,” he said as his hands slid below my armpits and came back with straps that buckled to the sleeve. He grunted with the effort and I moaned as first one, then the other was tightened and locked with a small padlock. He showed me another buckled white leather strap in the shape of a figure eight.

I must have looked puzzled because he said, “It’s a hobble, it’ll just slow you down.” He then bent to put it on me.

“Right,” I said. “I’ll just hop to it then,” and grinned.

Next came a new white leather harness gag that had blinkers with soft brown velour on the inside and my name in rhinestones on the headband. It was beautiful.

“Please can I wear it, please,” and eagerly opened wide to accept the silver tongue depressor and the rubber bit. Roger pulled my ponytail through its ring then buckled and locked the harness on.

Angie was standing directly in front of me as Lewis was harnessing her. He was slow and fumbling with her hobbles; but then he didn’t get as much practice as Roger did I guessed. Above his head Angie, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat, mouthed, “You look terrific,” and then stared in amazement at the open door.

“Sit Asta,” Roger ordered. “Do you like her new collar Angie?”

Bounce, bounce. Jingle, jingle.

The last items that I could see in the box turned out to be a wide white waist belt fitted with three rings and a high white posture collar both lined with brown velour. Now that Angie had her head harness on I could see that hers was lined in black velour.

“Come over here where I can see you properly,” Roger said as he steadied me as I hopped around to the side of the plasma screen. Hop, drag on nipples, ouch, jingle.

Bells still going up, I’m going down, nipples lifted up, ouch, jingle, jingle. Bells heading down but I’m going up, drag on nipples, bloody ouch, jingle. Traveling in hobbles really focuses your attention. My lower belly heavy with coiled heat and aching  need.  Nipples were flushed and turgid. My labia rings and bells pressed into my inner thighs. My sex was hot and slick and my lovely bells jingled with my quick shallow catches of vital air.

And he was getting something else out of the box.  It was a plume, a beautiful erect crimson plume, which he slotted into the headstrap of my harness.

“Still could do with some trimmings,” Roger said as he drew a soft drawstring bag from his pocket. I saw thin silver chains and the glitter of rhinestones. Laid out they had each had rhinestone fringes. The shorter chain had necklace clips at each end and was about nine inches long with triangular fringe about three inches long in its centre. Roger attached it to my nipple rings. The other chain had a little hook on one end and a fringe about seven inches along its other end. The fringe tapered from about an inch at the edges to a depth of about four inches at its apex.

Roger admired his ponygirl with her ‘modesty’ beads hanging loosely on her hips and her ornate nipple chain. Roger just said, “Bloody Beaut Mate, eh,” and Lewis clapped for me.

Turning to Angie, he produced another set that he hung on her. I was miffed.

They totally ignored me and then Asta sat in front of me.

Miffed, Bloody pissed was nearer to the mark. Royally and thoroughly PISSED OFF.

That smug bitch, that arrogant little bitch that totally ignores me when Roger is around, that 27 kilo mobile rock that fawns over every male that comes into the house, had a new collar: a collar made out of silver chain and it had a bloody rhinestone fringe hanging down her chest just like ours.

Jingle, jingle, jingle, jingle and Angie, ‘assisted’ hopped to the other side of the screen, gazing bovinely over at me.

Now he had a matched set of TV ends, except that Angie’s hair and tail were black and Lewis had tuned into the Power versus Crows game and turned off the sound. Roger’ed tuned into 891 and brought two homebrews back to the futon and cracked them.

“Good looking cheer squad we’ve got this year Lewis.”

“Not too vocal though so we’ll hear the call alright and they can really ring in all the scoring shots.

Bounce, jingle, Bounce, jingle as we shook our tits in unison.

“Chocko’s a bloody good coach mate, but you’re the fucking Trainer,” Lewis acknowledged. “I reckon the girls ought to call you that.”

“Right on cobber,” as they clinked the stubbies before lolling on opposite ends of the futon.

Turned out there were 18 goals and 17 behinds, but because we couldn’t tell which were replays we bounced every time we thought the Power scored.  Played in four quarters, they played for four half hour terms and about half an hour of breaks where talking heads talked up the game so we got to bounce through those as well.

He’d have been on a winner when I saw my mini, I wanted to hump him stupid while I was being harnessed and we’d had hours of manipulating our nipples and pussies jingling our bells. I was so hot to trot that I was a candidate for spontaneous combustion and he’d been sitting there sipping on a brew arguing about bloody football and critiquing the visually impaired and mentally incompetent umpires.

I could feel my juices seeping from me. I could hardly stand and he blithely announced that he’d decided to watch the Collywobbles get thrashed by the Lions. Lewis agreed and suggested that Brisbane’s scoring shots be rung in also.

Bounce jingle, Bounce jingle as we shook our tits in unison for another 12 goals and 17 behinds and all the replays. Roger barracked for the Power, then the Crows, then anyone playing a Victorian team and then anyone playing Collingwood. I didn’t think he liked Collingwood very much because he kept giving the umpires a peal whenever they gave the Lions a free.

It was after midnight when they finally lost interest in arguing with or about the umpire’s calls and noticed that we were rather distracted.

Roger told me that we’d started to peal adverts before he had really lost interest in the footy…