nothing that I can recollect that is in any way
connected to where I am now.
Then
my friends Maria and Kerry came round to my flat to get ready to go out. We’d
started drinking then, at about 6pm, so it was obvious that it was going to be
a messy night. Even at the meal we managed to put away at least a bottle of
wine each, and all my other friends who joined us in town were more than happy
to ply me with alcohol. I must have drunk at least ten shots, and that’s just
the ones I can remember. Getting myself in that kind of inebriated state is
sadly all too regular an occurrence in my life, but I’m usually sensible enough
to get myself to a taxi and drunkenly mumble my address to the driver. But last
night there must have been something different. At what point did it go from a
night’s celebratory drinking, to me being tied up in a warehouse?
Then
I hear the familiar clunking and grinding, the metal door creaks open again,
and those workboots clump towards me again, much more purposefully this time.
Now my head’s cleared a little, I’m fully aware now that I am completely naked,
with not a shred of cloth to provide me with a bit of modesty. He stops right
next to me and I can hear his breathing, now slightly faster than before. He
touches my side with a finger and I flinch.
“What
are you doing? Let me down from here you fucker! Don’t fucking touch me!”
He
doesn’t listen, and instead runs his finger gently up and down my side. This is
horrible. It makes my skin crawl, thinking about this disgusting weirdo who’s
obviously kidnapped me for purely sadistic reasons. He continues running his
finger down my side, then over my left arsecheek, and down my left leg, all the
way to my ankle, all the time standing there silently. Then the clomp clomp of
his boots takes him over towards my feet and before I know it he’s standing in
between my legs, which are being forced slightly apart by whatever contraption
this is that I’m being suspended from. As far as I can gather, in the darkness
of my blindfold, I’m hovering about five feet or more above the ground, and I
feel his breath on my legs. I’m dreading what’s to follow. Now he adds his
other hand into the mix and traces a line up both of my legs with his fingers,
very very slowly, heading towards my pussy. I start to freak out.
“Stop
it! Get your fucking hands off me!”
He
doesn’t respond at all, instead he continues moving painfully slowly towards my
pussy. As both his fingers reach the very top of the insides of my legs I brace
myself. But rather than put his fingers in me as I expect, instead he stops for
a second then I feel him very gently lick my clitoris, just once. It sends a
shiver of dread through me, but before I get the chance to react he licks it
again, and again. His face is pressed so hard against my pussy, I don’t know
how he can breathe. He laps away at me, and while I’m disgusted at the idea of
this monster touching me, I also can’t help but feel the tingles of pleasure
from his actions. I want him to stop but I want him to carry on.
He
doesn’t get me all the way off; he stops just seconds before I come and it’s
extremely frustrating. Then he turns and stomps away again, closing the metal
door behind him.
I
feel sick from being turned on by this animal, and frustrated from not quite
experiencing an orgasm. I just want to go home. I’ve got a selection of sex
toys at home and I could quite easily finish myself off there, and not have to
worry about being tied up and hung from someone’s ceiling.
Chapter Three
The Machine
I
just need to piece together last night’s events and this might all make a bit
more sense. Surely none of my friends would have left me alone in town without
making sure I got home okay. My conversation with Maria and Kerry at the start
of the night had revolved around me being single and how it’d been a while
since I last got laid. To be honest the
connected to where I am now.
Then
my friends Maria and Kerry came round to my flat to get ready to go out. We’d
started drinking then, at about 6pm, so it was obvious that it was going to be
a messy night. Even at the meal we managed to put away at least a bottle of
wine each, and all my other friends who joined us in town were more than happy
to ply me with alcohol. I must have drunk at least ten shots, and that’s just
the ones I can remember. Getting myself in that kind of inebriated state is
sadly all too regular an occurrence in my life, but I’m usually sensible enough
to get myself to a taxi and drunkenly mumble my address to the driver. But last
night there must have been something different. At what point did it go from a
night’s celebratory drinking, to me being tied up in a warehouse?
Then
I hear the familiar clunking and grinding, the metal door creaks open again,
and those workboots clump towards me again, much more purposefully this time.
Now my head’s cleared a little, I’m fully aware now that I am completely naked,
with not a shred of cloth to provide me with a bit of modesty. He stops right
next to me and I can hear his breathing, now slightly faster than before. He
touches my side with a finger and I flinch.
“What
are you doing? Let me down from here you fucker! Don’t fucking touch me!”
He
doesn’t listen, and instead runs his finger gently up and down my side. This is
horrible. It makes my skin crawl, thinking about this disgusting weirdo who’s
obviously kidnapped me for purely sadistic reasons. He continues running his
finger down my side, then over my left arsecheek, and down my left leg, all the
way to my ankle, all the time standing there silently. Then the clomp clomp of
his boots takes him over towards my feet and before I know it he’s standing in
between my legs, which are being forced slightly apart by whatever contraption
this is that I’m being suspended from. As far as I can gather, in the darkness
of my blindfold, I’m hovering about five feet or more above the ground, and I
feel his breath on my legs. I’m dreading what’s to follow. Now he adds his
other hand into the mix and traces a line up both of my legs with his fingers,
very very slowly, heading towards my pussy. I start to freak out.
“Stop
it! Get your fucking hands off me!”
He
doesn’t respond at all, instead he continues moving painfully slowly towards my
pussy. As both his fingers reach the very top of the insides of my legs I brace
myself. But rather than put his fingers in me as I expect, instead he stops for
a second then I feel him very gently lick my clitoris, just once. It sends a
shiver of dread through me, but before I get the chance to react he licks it
again, and again. His face is pressed so hard against my pussy, I don’t know
how he can breathe. He laps away at me, and while I’m disgusted at the idea of
this monster touching me, I also can’t help but feel the tingles of pleasure
from his actions. I want him to stop but I want him to carry on.
He
doesn’t get me all the way off; he stops just seconds before I come and it’s
extremely frustrating. Then he turns and stomps away again, closing the metal
door behind him.
I
feel sick from being turned on by this animal, and frustrated from not quite
experiencing an orgasm. I just want to go home. I’ve got a selection of sex
toys at home and I could quite easily finish myself off there, and not have to
worry about being tied up and hung from someone’s ceiling.
Chapter Three
The Machine
I
just need to piece together last night’s events and this might all make a bit
more sense. Surely none of my friends would have left me alone in town without
making sure I got home okay. My conversation with Maria and Kerry at the start
of the night had revolved around me being single and how it’d been a while
since I last got laid. To be honest the
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