by Peter Loaf
My Master is one tricky pervert. I mean, here I am, sound asleep one second, pinned down and tightly gagged the next. I try to struggle, or pretend to… but it is soon too late. He has me pinned face down to my moonlit bed, his hot, naked ass on the small of my back, his knees squeezing my elbows against my rib cage.
Once my mouth is stuffed with what smells and tastes like three pairs of my own dirty panties, he slides back a little so he can go to work on my wrists. As I struggle I thrill to the feel of his hot, hard cock boring in between my ass cheeks. Again, I pretend to struggle, just enough to be convincing but not so much as to risk waking my father, in the next room. When he is done my arms are crossed and bound at the small of my back.
When he binds my legs he does them separately, each one tightly folded and bound to itself.
Once I am hogtied, I am his to command. He rolls me over on my side and begins teasing my naked, undefended body. Sitting there beside me, his fingers are caressing all my sensitive bits, twiddling this, massaging that, and quietly spanking those others. His purpose is plain, to deliver me into subspace as quickly as humanly possible. It is a trip I want to take. Who wouldn’t?
Part of the thrill is where we are. We are in my childhood bedroom, one thin wall separating us from my disciplinarian father’s gentle snoring. My Master is supposed to be downstairs, sleeping alone on the parlor’s hide-a-bed. My daddy thinks I’m still a virgin and I don’t want to hurt him by telling him the truth.
But I’m glad I’ve been gagged, I tend to scream.
Once my Master has warmed me up a bit, he brings out his little bag of tricks. From its depths he pulls a ball of thin waxy cord and a bag of clothespins. Soon my big boobies are bound up into twin purpling cheeses, my nipples sporting twin clothespins that wiggle and jump with my every silent struggle.
A third pin takes and holds my clit, starting a fire down there that is soon roaring out of control.
On the other side of the wall Daddy snorts, farts, rolls over and stops snoring.
We hold deathly still, listening for the squeak of his springs that will mean he is getting up. He has been known to look in on me, especially when I bring home men to spend the night in the downstairs den.
But soon he rolls over again and begins to snore.
My Master twiddles the three clothespins in order, spiking my pain and relighting my passion fires.
He whispers into my burning ear, “Quiet now little one, we don’t want to wake up daddy,” as he rolls on a ribbed and spiked condom.
I roll over onto my back and lift my hips to him, offering myself to my Master.
He takes position between my spread knees and smiles down at me in the moonlight. I spread my knees to the limits of my bondage and watch as my rising pussy scent dilates his pupils. I squeak in quiet protest as he removes the clitty clamp and massages the pain into my hind brain, then bends forward over me and presses his spike covered hardness into my cunt, driving thought from my head and muffled screams from my nose.
After a while he withdraws his still hard cock from my gaping pussy and bends to kiss me down there. Again I rise to the pleasure, pressing my open sex against his suckling lips, his nibbling teeth, his deeply probing tongue.
Suddenly the lights switch on, revealing Daddy in the doorway, his old 10-gage double in his hands. “Oh, don’t get up, you pervert, I want you to stay right where you are.”
My Master freezes, his tongue withdrawing from me his only move. “Oops,” he whispers against my swollen clit.
I can say nothing, cover nothing, do nothing. My eyes lock with my father’s, linking like lasers. I see the rage he feels toward this man who has defiled his youngest daughter. I see his robe sticking out at groin height, tented by his hard organ. I wonder how long he has been watching us.
Daddy strides into the room, all the while keeping the gun pointed at my Master. I know what a gun like that can do, as does my poor Master. Reaching into my Master’s bag of tricks, daddy pulls out a pair of police issue handcuffs. “Put these on, behind your back, pervert.” he orders, tossing them on the bed beside us.
My Master obeys, what choice does he have?
“Now these.” Daddy says, tossing a pair of ankle shanks onto the bed.
With his hands cuffed together behind his back it is difficult for my Master to comply. But after a couple of minutes his feet are as useless as his hands.
Daddy lays aside the gun, rolls my Master over to a sitting position then reaches down and yanks upward on the ankle chain while pressing down on his prisoner’s head. Hooking it over the back of my poor Master’s neck, it takes but a moment to tie a rope between the two pairs of shackles behind my Master’s back, rendering him a helpless naked ball of man flesh.
Then smiling a terrible smile, Daddy puts the shotgun into my Master’s mouth and pulls both triggers. In that horrible instant I realize how much I love my Master, how empty will be my life if I lose him.
Instead of the double explosion, we hear the two-pound click of firing pins hitting on empty chambers.
Daddy is grinning, his big uncircumcised cock in his fist. He says, “I see you can dish it out cowboy, but how are you at taking it?” as he rolls his prisoner over onto his back to expose his rectum.
I hum a protest that daddy simply ignores. I am left in bondage, the clips still on my nipples with a ringside seat for the show.
Before Daddy is done, my Master is a screamer too.
As he is shooting his jizzum into daddy’s mouth he looks over at me and winks. All is well. Fantastic.