Green Door, The · Part 1 (1/2)
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A green door. The silent man led her to it. He held her gaze as he produced the key that apparently fit the substantial lock. "This room isn't for everyone. Do you understand that?" She nodded transfixed by his eyes and the firm grip on her arm. He put the key in the lock, an obviously familiar action for him. The tumblers clicked, he paused with his hand on the knob.
"Upon entering here you will be required to relinquish a part of yourself. But in doing so you will gain much more in return. Do you understand?"
She nodded, though she would have agreed with anything he said at that moment. He produced a pair of shiny steel handcuffs, holding them to intersect her gaze. He released her arm, "Turn around." She noticed her feet complying with his command. Her pulse racing, slightly muffling the sound of the cuffs ratcheting closed around her wrists. Now she understood! Yet her apprehension was stifled by the intensity of her excitement, "This can't be happening!" she thought. Her attempts to separate her wrists convinced her that it was indeed happening.
The man was adept. He had rotated her wrists so that her palms faced outward. Her fingers found only empty air, the cuffs prevented her from moving her hands to any useful position. His hand was on the knob again, his eyes on hers. "Do you still wish to enter?" She nodded. The door opened to reveal a dull amber light, a sourceless glow of a hundred candles. The carpet was thick and warm. The green door closed, and the world that she knew disappeared at the same moment.
A single chair afforded the only furnishing for the room. He left her standing near the door and seated himself facing her. "You will speak only when asked to speak. You will follow all orders without hesitation." He pointed to a spot two feet in front of the chair. "Come here and kneel."
She complied quickly, not wanting to experience the result of disobedience, at least not yet. He gazed down at her approvingly. From behind the chair he produced a black leather strap about two inches wide. He grinned as he placed it on her. The purpose of the strap revealed itself as he threaded it behind her neck and under her arms, buckling it firmly against her upper back. Her shoulders automatically moved several inches closer together. But he wasn't through yet. A second strap attached to the first behind her neck. He watched her face as he used the second thinner strap to hoist her wrists upward via the short chain connecting the handcuffs. He stopped just short of pain, judging expertly by the expression on her face. He sat back in the chair now looking rather contented as he watched her attempt to adjust to her new arrangement.
"Your breasts look lovely that way." She stared back at him, feeling her breath coming quicker. "I have a task for you my dear. A simple one, I don't want to be unfair. Your task is to undo my pants for me." She looked at his pants now for the first time. A comfortably worn pair of 501 jeans. "My god, how am I going to undo a pair of button fly jean without my hands?" The question burst to her mind. His grin faded, as she spoke, "I can't!" He leaned forward, very close to her, "You can, and you will. And if you speak again you'll be punished." He sat back again waiting. She edged closer to him, still kneeling. The only means freely left to her were her teeth.
Carefully she grasped the flap that extended beyond the first button hole. A slight tug produced the desired effect. She was elated! She ventured a glance upward: He sat still grinning like the damned Cheshire cat. She renewed her grip and the remainder of the buttons released easily.
"You learn quickly. That's good. I don't deal well with stupidity. Now complete your task." Returning her gaze to the project before her it became apparent why the buttons released so easily. A full eight inch erection greeted her, separating the fly of it's own force and diameter. Inching still closer she took his cock slowly into her mouth… He took advantage of her thick head of auburn hair by grabbing a substantial amount of it in a tight fist near the back of her head. As the tip of his cock touched her soft palate he leveraged her head back so that he could look her in the eyes, "If I feel so much as one of your teeth touch me…
Well let's just say it won't be pleasant for you." He smiled at the look of apprehension on her face and using his hold on her hair guided her head downward. She fought valiantly to overcome the inevitable gag reflex, but found herself using all her strength to pull her head back. She didn't succeed until he let her, but he didn't let her back far enough to remove his still enlarging shaft from her mouth. He smiled down at her, "not too experienced at this are you?"
She tried to communicate with her eyes alone, being fearful of moving her head and touching him with her teeth. Her jaw ached as he controlled the movements of her head, sensing when he had forced her head down a bit too far. After what seem a very long time she heard him making the ecstatic sounds of an orgasm. She had never felt hot cum explode into her throat before. She liked it very much and swallowed all of it gladly. He released her head now and she sat back thankfully on her heels feeling triumphant. In her excitement she spoke before thinking, "I do learn fast, don't I?" His eyes opened slowly, and she was frightened at the cold glare that came from under his perfect brow.
"Some things perhaps, but not others." He rose from the chair and retrieved a thick leather strap from his seemingly endless supply behind the chair. He stood behind her now looking down at her imploring face.
"I'm sorry… please…"
"Too late. Open your mouth." He had bent down now, grasping the slim strap holding her cuffed wrists in one hand and a threatening looking contraption in the other. The strap was nearly 5" thick at it's widest point and was fashioned from very sturdy leather. A leather pear shaped protrusion attached at the center was poised before her full lips. He was speaking again, "Open your fucking mouth!"
"That won't fit in my…." A sharp pain in both shoulders interrupted her. He was pulling her wrists up toward her shoulder blades by means of that damned strap. She opened her mouth to both comply and release a sharp squeal of pain. The leather pear did indeed fit in her mouth, but barely. She had no idea her jaws could stretch that far. He carefully pulled up her long flowing hair to buckle the gag snugly at the back of her neck. She could make absolutely no sound. The pear forced her tongue to the bottom of her mouth, and the 5" strap sealed her lips and trapped them against her teeth. "That should remind you not to speak without permission. How are your shoulders doing?" It was a rhetorical question of course. He tightened the wrist strap two notches and stood back. "On your feet, now!"
She struggled to comply and maintain her balance at the same time. He assisted her by placing his right hand in her crotch from behind. His long strong finger slipped easily into her moist pussy. She stood at attention now, her eyes wide with the new sensation. he placed his face alongside hers, working his middle finger farther into her most private place, while his index finger searched out her clitoris.
"You feel so fucking good!" She pressed her face against his and managed a muffled groan by way of her nasal passages. She longed to feel his gorgeous cock deep inside her. She was roused from this reverie by his thumb. It was pressing now against her anus, gently teasing the sphincter muscle into contraction. She ventured a look at him, that Cheshire grin even wider now, then she went weak in the knees. She could feel her juices literally gushing! This had never happened to her before. What did it mean? Somehow she managed to stay on her feet.
"You haven't seen the rest of the place, have you my dear? Allow me to show you around." He coaxed her forward with the hand that now felt as though it was a part of her. He lead her toward the back of the room. Another door faced them. She was afraid to imagine what lay behind it…
The door opened silently and her nostrils were filled with the delicious odor of patchouli incense. He closed the door and locked it, all the while adeptly controlling her motion with his hand buried in her crotch. Her shoulders ached and the steel cuffs pressed annoyingly on her wrists. To this came the sudden realization that she was going to have to swallow without the use of her tongue. By tipping her head back slightly and exercising great effort she was able to empty her mouth of most of the surplus saliva. He has moving her down the hallway now, toward still another door as his middle finger absently messaged her cervix. The third door opened into a very large room.
Not quite a bedroom though it had the largest bed she'd ever seen, it seemed more like a recreation room. There were large cabinets along one wall. Another wall was bare except for eyebolts placed at various intervals and heights. The bed was closest to the third wall, opposite the wall filled with eyebolts. This was the wall that shocked her senses. It was one continuous mirror. But that wasn't the shocking part. It was the woman staring back at her. The leather gag held her jaw to it's maximum extension, frozen in the pose of a silent scream.
Her shoulders were arched back like the proverbial soldier at maximum attention, while her forearms disappeared upward and behind her back at an impossible angle. This woman looked beautiful! Could it be her? He let her stand there for some moments knowing full well what was going through her mind. She was coming along beautifully. But Tara would be her real test.
They were both pulled from their reflections as the door burst open. Tara made her entrance. Tara always made an entrance. She was completely incapable of simply walking into a room. She was dressed for the occasion: Five inch stiletto heels, all leather made in Italy, black leather mini-skirt with zippers on each side, also from Italy, and a custom made glove leather bodice held in place with gold plated buckles. A riding crop, made in England, completed the outfit.
"Oh, she's darling Robert. Quite darling. What's her name?"
"Haven't the slightest."
"Well take that nasty gag off and we'll find out."
Robert removed the gag. Tara stepped close to her and tucking her crop under one arm gently massaged the girl's aching jaw muscles.
"That's better now isn't it?"
She nodded. She was learning.
"Now what might your name be?"
She spoke only after a nod from Robert, "Betsy. Betsy Loveforce."
"Why that's a lovely name, isn't it Robert?"
"I prefer Elizabeth."
"You're so contrary Robert. You'll find, Betsy, that Robert is really quite contrary." Betsy fought the urge to reply and won.
"I don't suppose Robert offered you any refreshments."
"She just ate, Tara." He almost laughed.
"Would you like something to drink dear?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Well you just have a seat there on the bed and I'll get you something."
Betsy eased herself down at the foot of the bed. Tara returned with a tall glass of cranberry juice, of all things. There was apparently a refrigerator concealed in one of those cabinets. Tara held it for Betsy to sip from. It tasted fantastic.
"Is that better?"
"Yes thank you. But my shoulders sure ache."
Tara looked for the first time at the cuffs and harness, "I'm not surprised. Robert really is quite the bastard isn't he? But my you are lovely Betsy, you really are. I wish my hair was your color."
Betsy had been struck by Tara's long raven black hair and had had the same thought about it.
"And your breasts are so perfectly shaped. Robert isn't a breast man, are you Robert? I happen to like them."
Tara's hand lightly traced the outline of Betsy's breasts, as she let each thumb linger on the nipple of each.
"Do you like breasts, Betsy?"
The implication of the question dawned on her slowly. She looked to Robert, still perched quietly at the other side of the bed, the ever present grin still in place. Tara used her crop to turn Betsy's face back to face hers.
"Didn't you hear me?"
"I'm not gay."
"That's not what I asked you now is it?"
"Oh my God! This woman is a lesbian." The thought bolted now to Betsy's mind.
"I…. I don't know."
"I see." Tara smiled, a cold meaningful smile. "You have lovely feet as well. In fact I think I have a pair of shoes that might fit you." Tara rose and crossed to one of the cabinets.
She returned with a pair of the highest heels Betsy had ever seen. She had something else in her hand, two long white strips about a half inch wide. Tara helped Betsy into the shoes. Despite their height, she judged them to be at least six inches, they were nice. All leather in a classic pump design.
"These will take a little getting used to dear. Do they fit?"
"They're a bit snug."
"Good." Tara has kneeling before Betsy admiring the graceful arch the shoes gave to Betsy's foot. Now she took one of the long white strips in her hand. "These will keep them on for you."
The white strips were cable-wraps used by electricians to bundle wires. They worked similarly to the cuffs on Betsy's wrists, being held in place by a ratchet closure. Tara brought one around from behind Betsy's ankle, crossed it at the front and brought one end around and under the shoe where the top inner part of the heel attached to the bottom. She then threaded the free end through the ratcheted closure and cinched it tightly. The other foot was done identically to the first, with the excess length snipped off with a wire cutter. Betsy inspected Tara's handiwork: She was right, the shoes were on to stay. It has now impossible for her to withdraw her heel from either shoe. But they did look lovely.
"Now stand up."
Betsy complied immediately. Tara was right again. They would take some getting used to.
"Nothing more feminine that high heels is there?"
"No, I guess not."
Tara took Betsy's face gently in both hands and kissed her on her full pink lips. This time Betsy didn't try to consider what her reaction should be. She pulled back and turned her head away.
"No please, don't!"
Tara turned Betsy's face to her. "Now Betsy, now you've really pissed me off. Kneel!"
Betsy lowered herself quickly to the floor and stared a a spot in the thick carpet just in front of Tara's feet. Tara stood very still for a moment, then spoke to Robert.
"I'm going to need a pole, Robert."
Robert rose and opened yet another of the many cabinets. Betsy ventured a look as Robert removed a three foot chrome plated pole. It had threads on one end. He walked near to the wall with the eyebolts and screwed it into a plate counter-sunk into the floor. Meanwhile Tara had made a trip to the supply side of the room herself. Stood behind Betsy now and went about her task. The first implement was as the others, leather. A four inch wide collar was buckled around Betsy's neck. It was designed to keep the head erect, and the slightly wider parts on the left and right sides made turning her head nearly impossible. With great relief Betsy felt Tara remove the strap holding her arms in their now painful position.
"Go over to the pole." Betsy began to rise in obedience but Tara's hand on her head prevented her. "On your knees!"
Robert guided her to the desired position. Her back was placed firmly against the pole. A second pair of handcuffs were placed around her ankles. A padlock secured the pair on her wrists to the pair on her ankles. Tara stood before Betsy now with a second padlock. Gently now Tara reached behind Betsy's head to secure a grip on the 'D' ring at the back of the collar. She smiled brightly in to Betsy's face as she forced her head back and down to meet with the eyebolt welded to the top of the pole. The padlock clicked into place.
Tara stood back and inspected the girl. "I love that position. Take a look, dear."
With some effort, Betsy inched her head around to see herself in the mirrored wall. She could see why Tara liked her this way: her arms were taut by virtue of being attached by the wrist to her ankle cuffs. She was forced to bow her back considerably to afford her neck being attached to the pole with no leeway. Her firm breasts jutted up toward the ceiling and her beautifully proportioned pelvis was now the forward most part of her body. She looked back at Tara now with a little trepidation. "She's goin to beat me! My God, I can't take that! This has to stop…"
Tara stands before her now, freezing her thoughts. She clinches her eyes shut waiting for the first blow. Nothing. She ventures a breath, two, three, four. Nothing. Silence. Now a scent. Now a bit stronger. Her eyes open to a wall of leather one inch from her nose. Tara's skirt. Tara's grin looks A lot like Robert's from Betsy's perspective. Now Betsy realizes what Tara plans! Without a word Tara unzips first the right zipper then the left. Another step places her over Betsy's upturned face. "Now my dear, you're going to make me cum."
Betsy knew that struggling was useless, but she struggled anyway. The scent of leather was replaced now by the faintly musky odor of Tara's womanhood. Betsy opened her eyes and was confronted with a perfectly trimmed pubic mount of jet black hair. Tara's thighs, firm and strong closed on each side of Betsy's head preventing even the modicum of movement allowed by the collar. She felt something firm, thin and cool rub her inner thigh and Tara's voice. "I realize you haven't done this before Betsy, so I'll coach you a bit. When you're doing well you'll feel my crop where it is now. When you're not doing well.."
Betsy's inner left thigh felt the end of Tara's sentence. A sharp rap, just enough to sting on her inner left thigh. Tara moved forward again and in straddling Betsy's shoulders lowered herself onto Betsy's mouth. Betsy felt Tara's outer lips separate along her chin and the warm juices now lubricate her mouth, which was still tightly closed. Another sharp sting on her inner thigh convinced Betsy to begin her task. Cautiously she opened her mouth just enough to allow her tongue egress to Tara's inner lips. To her utter shock she didn't find the taste unpleasant.
Her ex-fiance Bill, had always made such a fuss about "eating" her she had assumed the taste of a woman to be far less than pleasant. She could feel Tara respond, and again o her surprise she was pleased at the effect she was creating. Betsy opened her mouth wider now, and put her tongue farther into Tara. Tara responded by sliding a bit backward to allow Betsy access to her clitoris. Betsy's instincts carried her forward. Tara moved forward as well. She began moaning and actually dropped her crop as she reached forward with both hands to take hold of Betsy's hair. "Sweet Jesus… Yes…. Oh God…. Yes, yes…."
The stiffening of Tara's body and her scream of passion pleased Betsy very much. She greedily licked and sucked as Tara released the flow of her orgasm onto Betsy's face. Tara nearly fell backward, but Robert was there to keep her up. He picked Tara up easily and laid her on the bed. As he stood before Betsy she could see by the lump in his jeans that he had enjoyed the performance a lot. "You prove my excellent judgement, Elizabeth. You learn quickly indeed."
He to steps to her and with his skilled right hand anoints his palm with the result of Betsy's excitement. He holds his hand to her face. "You're a fucking natural, Elizabeth."
"I just didn't want to be beaten."
She nearly convinced herself, but Robert seemed nonplussed. "You're lying."
"I'm not!"
"You're a natural slave and you like eating pussy, admit it."
"Fuck you!"
It had happened to her only a few times in her life, but always with these dire consequences. The realization that her mouth was far ahead of her brain always came too late to do her any good. The last time it happened was with Bill, and he had left her for it. Robert had remained silent and motionless since Betsy's insult. he squatted there studying her, now he nods. "I guess I'm going to have to make a very strong impression on you Elizabeth. A very strong impression…"
Tara had regained her composure now and was sitting propped up against the pillows observing the exchange. "You're in some deep shit now Betsy, his temper is far worse than mine."
Betsy managed to rotate her head far enough to see Tara's mocking smile. She glared at both of them, but managed to remain silent. Robert had made his way back to the cabinets. He produced yet another pole, but this one was different than the one that Betsy was locked to now. It was about four feet long and had a knurled cylinder about a foot from the end. A narrower section protruded from with the first. It reminded Betsy of a microphone stand. Robert placed the threaded end into a second plate about two feet in front of where Betsy kneeled now. Robert observed Betsy studying the new implement. "Any questions?"
Another trip to the cabinet produced something Robert placed in his back pocket, and a set of keys. He released Betsy from the three foot pole, and freed her wrists from their attachement to her ankle cuffs. That was all. He forced her to her feet and let her stand teetering on her six inch heels. "What do you think Tara, can she take it?"
"Like you said Robert, a very strong impression is in order."
"Tell us about Bill, Elizabeth."
Betsy was taken aback. Robert waited. "Do it today!"
"There isn't much to tell."
"You dumped him didn't you?"
"No, he left me."
"Why?", this question came from Tara. "Because…. I don't really know."
Robert laughs,"I think you do. Wasn't it because you didn't think him a strong enough, shall we say, personality?"
"I don't think you understand the question well enough yet. But you will. Yes indeed, you will."
The cabinet yielded a third pole. Like the first it was three feet long, but its major feature was handcuff welded to each end. The chain links had been removed from the swivel that extends from the case and a thick ring had been inserted, the opposite end of which was welded to the pole. Robert lifted Betsy and stood her very near the "mic stand", as she thought of it now. He quickly removed her ankle cuffs and replaced them with the third pole. This made Betsy's balance even more precarious as the height of her shoes, combined with their snug binding to her feet left her little room to compensate on the thick carpet.
She reached back with one cuffed wrist to balance herself on the mic-stand. Robert rotated her ninety degrees so that she faced the mirrored wall. She was again shocked to see the pseudo stranger staring back at her. She able to observe fully now the effect the collar had on her features. It elongated the line of her neck, and gave her a regal stature. Robert read her thoughts and pulled her thick auburn hair into a ponytail for her to see the collar better. They stood side by side admiring the display. Betsy spoke in a nearly confidential tone to Robert. "What do I have to understand?"
"I can't explain it to you. When you realize it you'll know. Until then keep your fucking mouth shut unless your spoken too."
Robert's grip tightened, Betsy winced as he formed a fist with her hair as its center. Tara looked on silently. Betsy's eyes were closed when Robert gave her the most arousing kiss of her life. Her eyes were still closed when he inched her over the top of the pole. The end she was gripping for balance had moved. Robert secured something to the top of the narrow tube. Betsy's hand explored its surface. It was a cylinder, about two inches in diameter, but not metal. A dense plastic perhaps. It tapered very slightly toward the top only to widen into a egg shaped tip. She couldn't shift her position to see it in the mirror, but the implications both frightened and fascinated her. Now Robert was behind her, bending to his task. The knurled cylinder is loosened, lowered, now she can see the device occupying the end of the tube! "For the love of God, you're not serious?!"
Robert was at her hair again. This time a rubber ball with a strap running laterally through it was forced behind her teeth and buckled at the nape of her neck. Their eyes met in the mirror. "You must be a fan of Poe, Elizabeth. That was Fortunado's line in A Cask of Amontillado. And how did Montresor reply? I believe he said, 'Yes Fortunado, for the love of God.'."
With that Robert raised the pole until the dildo was at the entrance to her vulva. I don't think we'll need the KY Jelly, do you Elizabeth?"
Not too much to her surprise the dildo entered with little difficulty. Two, three, five inches. Her fingers reflexively curled, then groped uselessly for the pole. Six, Robert was transfixed by her expression, seven inches. Betsy began to moan, a little saliva works its way around her gag. Just short of eight inches of penetration Robert secured the pole into place. With his index finger he collected the drop of saliva from her chin and watching her in the mirror licked it from his finger. "My, but you are lovely, Elizabeth."
As unbelievable as it seemed to her Betsy had never felt lovelier. The dildo filled her maddenly! The combination of the sight and the sensation nearly drove her mad with desire. Her clitoris throbbed, time seemed to slow. Sights, sounds and sensation had no separation. She heard Robert's voice. Tara was kneeling before her. "Here's your chance, Tara. Show Elizabeth how pussy should be eaten."
"You can push a point, can't you, Robert? Feeling a bit threatened?"
Robert stood behind Tara, facing Betsy as Tara did though kneeling. His knee made contact with the back of Tara's neck, forcing her into contact with Betsy's pubic bone. "Go on Tara, give Betsy something she's never had before. I'm trying to be generous here. Think about the question, Elizabeth, and quit dribbling."
He wiped the saliva from her chin with the palm of his hand. Betsy took the opportunity to rub her cheek across the back of his hand. She wanted contact with him very much, but he seemed the master of aloofness among other things. They locked eyes, and for an instant his sardonic grin seemed to soften. A smile crossed his lips. It transformed his features considerably. He was even more attractive. She tried to remember the question, and tried to imagine wha
Green Door, The · Part 1 (1/2)
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