J Bradley - Wife in bondage

Oh, Gram would be spinning in her grave right now! There was a cock bucking and churning up her foaming cunt and a stiff finger swirling around in her sucking, twisting ass, and she was loving it all! Loving it and hating it at the same time. Beating against his flabby chest with her shaking head and yet rolling her hips around like a common slut…

"Ohhhhh, don't make me… don't fuck me so… ohhhhhh, God, I'm going to come! You're making me come! Ahhhhhhgh!"

Her body whipped and churned. Her pussy sucked and pulled at the thick, nasty cock rammed into her all the way to her vaginal depths. The prick spewed and hosed and bucked inside her body, filling her perverted pussy until the sodden tissues squished.

She sobbed. Harsh, wracking hiccups tore at her chest with the demoralizing agony of what she'd done again.

She heard Stan's low, evil chuckle behind her. He stood and looked down at the way her spread-checked ass quivered and shook, the way her tight, spasming anal ring pulsed around the broad finger.

He looked at the way her pussy tips were mashed against her inner thighs by the broad, jamming stump of thick cock that stuffed her tiny cunt hole.

The ripe, red flesh quaked and shuddered. It glistened with juice and squished with sperm sputtering out around the fat cock and the stretched vaginal mouth.

She moaned again, shame filling her, knowing he was watching and yet unable to stop the way her body shook and heaved as she came and came.

"That was perfect timing, baby," he crowed. "Ol' Burkie heard it all."

It took a moment to figure out where she was and what was happening to her. She could hear birds chirping, but it was still dark. Her bladder ached. Her muscles were cramped.

Ellen tried to move, to roll over, but she found that her arms were tied out to the sides. Then she remembered it all. It was dark because of the blindfold. Yet, it must be daylight, or the birds wouldn't be singing.

She rolled her eyes, trying to see through the thin spot. She couldn't find it. The blindfold must have been repositioned sometime during the terrible night.

She lifted up as far as she could and determined that they'd untied her hands from behind her back and had spread-eagled her on the bed.

A cool wisp of air fanned over her body and let her know that she was still totally naked. The thought modified her. She felt her pussy lips try to close together.

The movement made the pressure in her belly more intense. She didn't know what to do. She didn't want to call them in and be led to the bathroom.

They were leaving her alone. That was what mattered most. But she couldn't continue to hold it much longer. And if she just flooded the bed, they'd probably make her lie in it. There was no choice but to call one of them in.

She listened for a sound. Only country noises came to her. Were they all gone? Had they left her alone?

Desperately, she pulled and yanked at the ropes restraining her feet and hands. As before, she couldn't budge them. She whimpered softly from the effort and the frictional burns she was giving herself. She was reminded of stories she'd heard about how animals caught in steel-jawed traps would chew their foot off to free themselves. She understood the desperation now.

She heard a thud from the other room, then a chair scraping back along the floor. Footsteps – a heavy tread.

Not Cy! She cried inwardly. Please don't let it be Cy!

She heard the low chuckle and didn't know whether to feel relieved or not. "Give it up, bitch," he grated, laughing at her. "You can't get free. Even if you did, where you gonna run to, huh? Gonna thumb a ride?" He laughed again. "You'd get as far as the first bank of bushes and then just get the shit fucked out of you again. But then we both know that'd suit you just fine, don't we, Mrs. Chidsey."

Ellen turned her head to the side with mounting shame. She wanted to scream at him that he was wrong, wrong, wrong! But how could she convince anyone of that – even herself after the wanton, shuddering string of orgasms last night.

"Would you send Velma in, please," Ellen said finally.

"What for?"

"I-I need to see her for a moment."

"What for?"

"It's personal!"

"Personal!" he mocked. "Fancy that. You thinking maybe you can work on Velma a little and get her to set you free?" He laughed cruelly. "No way, baby. Velma's my girl. My own adoring cunt! She does everything I tell her to, because she knows what's good for her. Besides, she can't live without my big cock sticking her full of tingles and pleasure."

"Please, Stan?" she pleaded, feeling her belly ripple and her cunt lips quiver with the strain of holding back the flood.

"She ain't here. Anything you want, you tell me."

"Oh, God," she moaned softly, flushing all over.

Then it happened. She couldn't stop it. The pressure became too great. She felt her twat open up and spurt a quick, short stream between her thighs. It wasn't even a cupful, but it felt like a mortifying flood.

He cackled thickly. "Personal, huh?" he mimicked again. "Only a sophisticated phony would think having to piss was something personal. The whole world pisses, baby. What's so Goddamn personal about having to take a piss?"

"Oh, please!" she cried. "Let me up! Let me go to the bathroom!"

"Bathroom! What the fuck you think this is, the Holiday Inn?"

"Hurry!" she cried.

"You piss in the bushes like everybody else. At least, you would, if you weren't such a special, high-class guest. For you, we got a bucket."

"Oh, God," she moaned, beginning to pump her hips up and down and jitter all over. "Then bring it, quick!"

He laughed again. She heard him stoop at the foot of the bed and drag something metallic from under it. He worked at the ropes holding her feet. When they were free, she snapped her legs together and crossed them tightly, feeling her crotch getting wetter and wetter.

He undid the hand at the far side of the bed and then roughly swung her legs around so that they hung over the edge of the bed. She sat up, her fingers clutching the spread.

He yanked her legs apart and shoved the cold, hard bucket between her thighs. She visualized the big circle, the way her twat was spread wide, centered over it.

Her legs stiffened until her feet touched the floor. Her buttocks rested right on the edge of the bed, her twat free of it and thrusting forward.

She leaned back on stiff arms, her tits thrusting, her whole body nearly straight, making a forty-five degree angle with the bed. She'd never felt so lewd and shamelessly exposed in her life.

"Ohhhhh, I can't… I'm going to… oh, God!"

She jumped. She felt his fingers at the top of her cleft, spreading her pussy lips wide, making her urethral orifice totally exposed. His middle finger clicked her clit at the same time, sending shivers of sensation through her already stimulated pussy.

"Tickle, tickle," he said huskily, staring right at her open twat. "Come on, Mrs. Chidsey, and make your water, and I'll tickle your little pussy some more."

"Ohhhhh, you bastard! You demoralizing, rotten bastard!" she moaned harshly.

His finger flicked and flicked over the tented fold, making sensation blaze through her. There was no way she could keep from doing it, no matter how vulgar and deeply ashamed she felt.

Her belly rippled. She felt the muscles stretch and open. She felt the hot rush, the steaming stream.

"Ahhhhh!" she cried, tipping her head back, feeling her tits thrust hotly from her chest. It was nearly like having an orgasm. It felt that good to let it go.

The metallic sound of her gushing stream was devastating. It sprayed away the last bit of pride she had left.

"God, look at it," Stan grated huskily beside her.