Robert Vickers - His daughter_s keeper

Swinging her to and from pulled her on and off his prick like some sort of plastic dummy. She couldn't control anything in the fucking. Moving around was almost impossible for her. She was tightly fastened to the chains overhead and the way he held her prevented her from kicking out. He could fuck her from behind all day long and she wouldn't be able to do a damned thing to either fight him off or to respond.

Never had she felt quite so helpless. The man was capable of making her come. He could grant her the ultimate in human pleasure with the lightest of strokes from a feather or his prick. But that seemed to be something he seldom considered. He seemed to get more of a kick out of her helplessness than anything else.

She tensed her pussy as he pulled her backwards. A groan from the man's lips was all the reward she got. He allowed her to swing freely forward off his cock. She let the bulbous head of his prick leave her pussy lips. She thought he might be ending the fucking. The teenager found out how wrong she was.

The instant his prick felt the cool air of the room, he jumped up and stuffed his prick back into her cunt with all the force he could summon. The cock shot up into her twat at a new and deliciously different angle. This entry made the skin around her clit taut. The tiny little pillar of clit poked up to see what was happening and received a healthy stroking from the moving skin all around her snatch.

The tiny fingers of desire crept into her belly and began to squeeze down. She fought to restrain the beginnings of another come in her loins. She didn't want the man to feel he was totally in control of her. Trying hard to maintain one tiny portion of her self-esteem, she lost the battle. She came again as his prick plunged deeply into her well-greased channel of lust.

"Very good. You are responding favorably," he said in a voice that was as level as when he'd walked into the room. She wondered wildly if he felt a damned thing from the fucking. Was he made of stone? Was that really a flesh and blood prick be was jamming into her pussy or had he replaced his cock with a clever plastic prosthetic? From the way he sounded, he was getting no charge at all from the fucking.

Carole hardly believed the man to be human when she realized that.

He swung her, to and from, then from side to side. Her body began to spiral and twist around his cock. She literally screwed herself on his throbbing, straining prick. When he began rising and lowering his body – perhaps lifting himself up on his own toes – she felt as if a sledgehammer was pounding her body.

Every nerve sang a song of joy. She couldn't believe the agony of being dangled from her wrists like this could blossom and spring out into such delight. The soft feel of the sexy silk against her legs helped, as did the corset supporting the undersides of her ample tits. She could feel excited blood pounding wildly in her temples, droning out just about everything in the room. It sounded to her as if drums were beating.

She came again. Her cunt squeezed down powerfully on the man's hidden prick, and she managed to get a tiny little twitch that it that hadn't been there before. She began squeezing down on his prick as hard as she could. With her almost-virgin twat, she could compress any man's prick to an impossibly small diameter.

"Very good," he congratulated her. She couldn't see his face. Was he sweating like she was from the fucking? Was he responding? Did he have problems now controlling his come? Was her eager massage of his prick using her cunt muscles doing a number on the man?

She didn't know. As long as he stood behind her, he was a sinister figure, maybe not quite human, aloof and unknown. But she could try. She used her every wile to make the man come. She knew only two others – her father and Clive. But she remembered those fuckings vividly. Both were etched in her mind for totally different reasons.

The girl still couldn't believe her father had raped her as he had. But every time he had thrust into her virgin cunt, she had remembered what it was like. That had been the time her cherry had been popped. And Clive! His fucking had lifted her out of the depths of a depression and shown her that fucking could be fun. She wished that he'd been the one to pop her cherry. With him it would have been exciting.

Those were the only two men she'd known up her cunt. Mr. Strong was the third and she lacked the experience to tell if she was exciting him or not. She used her every trick to make sure she was. Tensing and relaxing her cunt walls seemed to drive Clive wild with desire. She tried that. Mr. Strong grunted once but his rhythm of fucking didn't increase or change much.

When he swung her around so that he could drive that hot spike of cock flesh into her steamy cunt from a different angle, she changed her tactics again. She relaxed as he drove in and tightened her cunt as much as possible as he withdrew.

For a moment, she thought she had trapped him. His prick actually stopped for a split second. Then her own body betrayed her. The thick lubricating oils from her pussy made his cock too slippery to grip. He slid on out of her twat.

But soon, she thought she detected another change in his style. His prick actually seemed to grow inside her. She redoubled her efforts to hang on as her body swung back and forth on his piston of cock. When she was certain his cock had almost doubled in size, she guessed he was going to come.

The man's actions began to take on a ragged, erratic pattern. He jammed forward spastically as if losing control. She gave his cock the most erotic massage possible and found herself empty. His prick was no longer fucking her cunt. He had pulled out and left her achingly hollow inside.

"What? What's wrong?" she cried out piteously. Her own desires were building again. The feel of a cock powerfully stroking into her was necessary to get off. She needed that sexual release. Nothing else would free her cunt from the tight feelings.

But Mr. Strong was gone. She heard the door slam. Carole hung from the chains and sobbed loudly. Had she displeased him? Was something the matter with her that he despised her, that he toyed with her, then discarded her? She fell asleep hanging from the ceiling.

Carole awoke to the throbbing of her shoulder muscles. Never had she experienced such agony. This went past mere pain and all the way into something just one step removed from death itself. Her shoulder muscles were knotted and quivering and her elbows felt as if they had been pulled loose from her arms entirely.

Most of all was the pain that lanced up from each of her toes. Trying to stand on tiptoe to relieve some of the pressure on her arms became unbearable. She wished she didn't have to put up with this. But thinking about her predicament only increased the pain. Sharp needles danced along her trim calves and stabbed hard into her thighs and ass. She tensed and relaxed the muscles the beet she could, but that didn't accomplish very much.

"Why me?" she moaned aloud, hoping someone would hear and take mercy on her. No one seemed to be in the room. Swinging around, she managed to look at herself in the full length mirror. Much to her surprise, she didn't look all that bad.

While her hair was a wild red disarray and there were dark circles under her eyes, she looked little different from when Mr. Strong had strung her up on the chains. The padded cuffs prevented much bruising and he hadn't really tortured her. Just a little tickling with the feather…

She shivered at the thought of the pain and pleasure he had given her with that one little motion. It seemed as if sensation was stirring again in her cunt from where he had lightly drawn the feather across her pussy lips. She was actually getting hot thinking about what he had done to her.