Lust

by Violet Blue

Lydia did, thankfully. She was right about feeling safe with Brains: he had a heart. The pleasant scent of his deodorant lulled her. Yeah, Brains was okay. The fact that he hadn’t jerked off on her meant a lot too.

  Her reprieve, though, was temporary. Once Lydia had regained her land legs, the men set to work about her. Cackle dragged a chair over, its legs complaining against the wood floor, and set it near her. Brains guided her to the chair and issued a curt “Sit.” A length of rope settled around her neck. Sensing danger, Lydia hollered an instinctive “No!” and tried to bolt from the chair, but Brains pushed her back into place. “Don’t worry,” he explained calmly. “It’s not a hangman’s noose. We just want you in a certain position. It’s safe; you’ll see.”

  Driver began to direct Lydia. “Raise your legs up. Yeah, that’s it. Now slip your arm under your legs to keep them up.”

  As Lydia complied, she felt a pair of handcuffs catch and capture her wrists. Cold, metal handcuffs. She winced as they touched her skin. They’ll warm up, she told herself. They always do.

  “Don’t panic, we’re just attaching the rope to the cuffs,” Brains added as Driver tied her down. While he worked the rope onto the cuffs, Lydia felt lengths of rope encircle her ankles, tying her to the legs of the chair. Secured, she assessed the position she found herself in. The rope around her neck drew her head downward, placing stress at the back of her neck, but, at the same time, it eased the stress of keeping her hands in place. It was an odd and uncomfortable position, not truly painful but certainly inflexible. What can they do to me while I’m like this, she wondered? It’s not like my ass is sticking out. The thought brought images of spankings, floggings, and fucking to mind—the kind of gangbang every pervy girl dreamed of, yet feared.

  “Let’s have a look,” Driver said. Lydia instantly figured she was about to find out what they could do to her, but a crinkle of paper and the men agreeing “She’s posed as outlined,” told her all she was going to know for the moment. They didn’t touch her; they didn’t taunt her. In fact, she got the distinct impression from their idleness that their time with her might very well be up.

  “What are you going to do with me now?” she blurted.

  Cackle was the first to laugh and say, “Nothing!” Brains added, “Consider yourself on display.” Then, they retreated, leaving her there, alone.

  Alone, for the first time in this entire drama. Alone, with no clue to decipher and determine what might come next, with no contact from her captors, with no rapport to sustain. Rapport. Lydia startled at that realization. She had established a rapport with her captors, just like a real kidnap victim. She had stopped bratting around and had submitted to their demands on cue. In her solitude, she missed them, even the creepy Cackle, and she realized that being alone with no clue about what would happen next or when was more than she wanted to bear.

  Her solitude ended when the sound of footsteps neared—a woman’s well-heeled footsteps. The strong scent of perfume approached as well and settled around Lydia. Other faint footsteps followed, further behind. They sounded soft, as if slippered, and Lydia couldn’t tell how many people formed the pitter-patter of those little feet.

  “Well, let’s see how well my boys did,” the woman said. Her voice was sharp, dripping with contempt, and smacked of finishing school culture. Lydia imagined Audrey Hepburn’s grace in Cruella De Vil’s body. Medusa, she surmised.

  Again, a paper rattled. Again, the woman spoke. “Hood, handcuffs, rope, position.”

  “Check.” A man’s voice, soft, almost effeminate.

  “Heels, stockings, panties, bra,” Medusa continued.

  “Check,” the man indicated.

  “As instructed, ma’am,” a third voice—another woman—confirmed.

  “Nice, very nice,” Medusa sneered.

  Medusa used Cackle’s trademark words but emphatically and without any hint of sliminess. Lydia imagined a wicked, sly grin on the woman’s face, then realized that, just like Cackle, the woman wanted to get off. Suddenly, she remembered the reference: a Hitchcock movie, one of his last, where a sadistic murderer pawed his female victims’ breasts and drooled the words over them. Right before he killed them. Lydia shivered, thankful she hadn’t recognized the reference in Cackle’s presence.

  Medusa interrupted her realization. “Let’s toy with our little captive, what do you say?” Soft, cruel laughter came from her attendants.

  Another chair was dragged into place, not far from Lydia. Medusa sat down. At least that’s what the swish of fabric told Lydia.

  “Jake, come crawl over here and find your way up my skirts. I want your tongue to amuse me while Rebecca goes after our little prisoner here.”

  A breathy, enthusiastic “Yes, ma’am,” accompanied the sounds of the man falling to his knees and maneuvering under what sounded like layers of petticoats. The crinkling of stiff fabric punctuated his every move up her legs. She knew he had hit the right spot when Medusa let escape a lusty moan of “Oh yeah.”

  “Go to it, girl,” Medusa commanded. “Let’s see you eat muff for lunch today.”

  Lydia froze, seized by the fact that a woman was going to go down on her. A woman. A woman had never touched her. Something cool slid between her panties and pussy. A dental dam?

  Then Rebecca’s touch, her mouth. Lydia would know her only by her mouth. It latched itself to Lydia’s crotch, chewing on her panties until they were soaked with saliva. It tugged them aside and made way for its tongue, which explored Lydia’s folds, her creases, and the rocky hardness of her clit as best it could through the dam. The tongue circled and pressed; it darted in, finding depth. The plastic dam had some give to it and traveled up Lydia’s cunt. The woman assaulted every avenue she could find, lapping her length from front to back, even attempting to reach for Lydia’s puckered anus. Lydia felt her nipples go hard, aching in arousal. She felt her clit beg for more tongue, her lips swell at the touch of Rebecca’s lips, her cunt grow tight and demanding. She was so close.

  “Make her come,” Medusa commanded, her ever-strong voice still stern but hinting at her own nearing climax. “I want to see her come.”

  Lydia felt two fingers slip into her and coax her. Rebecca’s tongue plowed up her slit to her ready clit, and when tongue reached clit, when it applied a forceful strumming, Lydia could stand no more. She came, bucking in her bondage, as a long cry of ecstasy erupted from her.

  And, as her own voice faded, she heard Medusa grunting and grinding in a quieter version of the same delight. Lydia felt fingers leave her slit and peel away the plastic dam. Her hood rolled upward, exposing her mouth and nose. Suddenly, the dam was plastered there, blocking her breathing. She gasped in desperate fear as Rebecca coerced, “You want to breathe? Lick this clean, slut.”

  Lydia applied a dutiful tongue to the task. Her juices had smeared the dam, juices she now lapped up as the overwhelming scent of sex sent her spinning in objectification. Rebecca pulled the dam away abruptly, leaving Lydia panting and relieved. “Not bad for a cunt,” Rebecca observed as she fussed the hood back into place. Lydia flushed with a strange combination of humiliation and quiet pride.

  Medusa stood, straightened her clothing, and ordered her people to “dispense with this one.” Her attendants removed the ropes and helped Lydia stand. They let her stretch, then led her to another room, this one carpeted and warmer. But they didn’t remove the handcuffs, laughing when she asked. Instead, they placed her on a mattress and tied her cuffs to another length of rope. One of them checked her hood, saying, “She can’t get at it.” Rebecca, it was Rebecca speaking. “You’ll be claimed soon. Just lie down and rest.”

  Lydia heard them move away, presumably for the door, but, just before they left, Rebecca added, “Oh, by the way, you’re a tasty cunt. For a straight girl.” Lydia blushed fiercely at the dyke’s parting shot.

  Time passed. How much, Lydia wasn’t certain but it was enough to nap by. She woke now and then, vaguely becoming aware before drifting back to sleep.

/>   But she startled awake when a body pressed against her and pushed her flat onto her belly. An arm across her upper back forced her down, the other went between her legs and pried them apart. And, like Rebecca’s mouth, it wrested her panties aside. She felt a cock there, at her cleft, ready to take her.

  “No! No penetration! Stop!”

  “Shut up. It’s just me.”

  It was her boyfriend, and he had his own ideas about what “release the prisoner” meant. He pushed his hard, eager meat up into Lydia. At first she was dry, but she slicked up perfectly. “You feel good,” he told her. “The way you do when I make you come a lot before I fuck you.” Lydia swooned, too timid to tell him just how right he had it. He was more focused on his cock anyway, noticing her cunt only for what it did for him.

  Lydia didn’t complain. For all her brattiness, she liked being used and it didn’t get much better than being forced awake by the feeling of her man’s dick pumping her for all it was worth. Her boyfriend began grunting with every stroke and he reached under her, searching out her breasts to clutch. He found her bra, squeezed its contents, and held on as his movements grew faster and more frenzied. His breath was against her ear, loud and animalistic. Orgasm was imminent, and abruptly he slammed deep and held himself there. Lydia could feel his cock pulsing, spurting, filling her with the fruits of its labor. Finally, he collapsed on top of her.

  Minutes later, he pulled his withering prick from her and hauled himself up off of Lydia. He helped Lydia sit up, then freed her from the bondage—the cuffs, the hood. Her sight was blinded by the return of light but even through the blur, she could see his limp cock in her face. “Lick it clean,” he ordered her.

  Lydia did, tasting the mélange of his come and her juices, licking its length, top and bottom, taking the time to slather his pubic hair and balls for good measure.

  “You look good,” her boyfriend commented as he watched her clean. “We’re going to have to do this again sometime.”

  As he spoke, Lydia remembered the feel of Brains, his grip, his cupping her “B-cup” breasts, his torturing touch as he stroked her into coming. She remembered creepy Cackle with his pinching and his humping and his coming all over her. A familiar heat ignited between her legs and she knew her boyfriend was right. She envisioned whips and paddles, cocks and circle jerks. She envisioned Rebecca, this time bringing friends and passing her around among them.

  The answer was simple and, smiling, Lydia agreed. Yes, we’ll have to do this again. Soon. Real soon.

  SATISFACTION GUARANTEED

  Kristina Wright

  The store was called Heart’s Desire and I had never been inside, even though I passed it every day on my walk to work. Monday through Friday, I studied the store window from under lowered lashes. I always hurried past, as if something—perhaps that large double-headed dildo in the window—would reach out and grab me.

  I don’t know what made me slow down one Friday afternoon after work. I don’t know why I took a deep breath and stopped. Maybe I was ready to find out what I’d been missing. Maybe I was just psychotically hormonal. Whatever the reason, I finally opened the door and went inside.

  I expected porno soundtrack music and shag carpet. Instead, there was a soft classical piece playing and hardwood floors. The displays in the store were as garish as the window displays, but somehow they didn’t seem nearly so salacious now that I had ventured inside.

  The store appeared to be empty, but there was a doorway behind the counter and I assumed someone was back there, sticker-pricing dildos. I giggled.

  “If you’re this happy already, you may be in the wrong place,” a masculine voice said from behind me.

  I jumped, nearly taking out a display of furry handcuffs and restraints. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

  I glanced at this weirdo who would work in a sex shop. Surprisingly, he didn’t look so weird. Six two, at least, with brown hair that was long enough to brush his shoulders and a nose that looked as if it had been broken. I resisted the urge to run my finger over the bump.

  “I was wondering when you would get up the nerve to actually come in.”

  “You were watching me?”

  He nodded. “Every day for the past couple of months. You always look over here as if you’re going to cross yourself and say a Hail Mary for whatever dirty thoughts you’re thinking.”

  It wasn’t far from the truth, but it still annoyed me. “Maybe this was a mistake.”

  He grinned. “Easy, sweetheart. I’m just teasing. Have a look around.”

  He disappeared through the door behind the counter and I was blissfully alone, surrounded by sex toys of every size, shape and color. I wandered the aisles, my hands tucked in my jean pockets, not having the nerve to touch anything.

  Some of it was lurid. Some of it was a little scary. But some of it, I hated to admit, was arousing. Edible creams, nipple clamps, butt plugs, vibrators for every occasion—I’d been missing a lot. The closest I’d ever gotten to a sex toy was a brief experiment with a rather well-endowed cucumber while I was drunk on cheap wine.

  “See anything you like?” It was him again, sneaking up behind me.

  I wanted to be mad, but I almost laughed. “Do you try to intimidate all your customers?”

  “Am I intimidating you?”

  He looked so boyish and innocent I did laugh this time. “Nope, not at all.” As if to prove my point, I picked up a massive purple dildo and hefted it in my hand. “Does this come in a larger size?”

  “How big do you want it?”

  My grin wavered. I wasn’t sure if we were still teasing or if he was making a pass. While I wanted to be indignant about him making suggestive comments, I couldn’t work up the necessary anger. I was in a sex shop and he was cute; it seemed reasonable to flirt a little.

  I could feel myself blushing. “I was just kidding. Which one is most popular?”

  He tucked a feather duster in the back pocket of his jeans and scanned the row of dildos. “Try this one,” he said, taking a pearly pink dildo from the bottom shelf. “It’s our best seller, even if it’s not the most impressive.”

  I studied the modest dildo dubiously. “It’s not very big.”

  He laughed. “Bigger isn’t necessarily better.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” I followed him to the register and he rang me up.

  “Pretty name, Kylie McCullough,” he said.

  “Thanks.” I wondered if anyone would be able to guess what was in the plain white bag.

  “I’m Jeff.” He leaned across the counter. “In case you need anything else. Anything at all.”

  His tone was so serious, I did a double take. I’d led a tame life, with just a couple of serious boyfriends and a fair number of orgasms—many of them self-induced. My sex life had been pretty steady since college, but nothing to write home about. Here was a guy who sold sex toys for a living and knew which dildos would give the best results.

  “Do you think you could show me how to use this thing?” Clearly, I was possessed by a sex goddess, but once the words were out, I had no desire to take them back.

  His eyes went wide for a fraction of a second. I waited for him to say no. Instead, he nodded. “Sure, sweetheart.”

  He walked to the door, flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED and turned the lock. “I’m yours for an hour.”

  I was practically trembling as he led me to the back room. Shelves lined three walls; a desk was crammed in the corner. The shelves were packed with boxes and opened cartons, sex toys and other assorted sundries spilling out.

  Jeff didn’t waste any time. He spun me around until my ass was against the desk. His grin was as wicked as my thoughts. “You sure about this?”

  I nodded. “Show me.”

  I shimmied out of my skirt and panties and hopped up on the desk. Truth be told, I wasn’t thinking about the dildo, I was thinking about the sizable lump in his pants. But I wasn’t that kind of girl. Not yet, anyway.

  He nudged my knees open a
bit farther with his hip. He held the dildo up for my inspection. “This one has little ridges. They’ll rub your clit when it slides in and out of you.”

  I spread my legs a bit wider without him telling me to. He produced a bottle of lubricant and squirted a dollop on the toy’s tip. The first contact of the jellied rubber dildo and chilled lube against my warm cunt made me jump. “It’s cold!”

  “Relax. It’ll warm up.”

  Slowly, carefully, he slid the head of the dildo inside me. I could see the rest of it quivering in his hand as I wiggled.

  “How does that feel?”

  “Not deep enough,” I mumbled, sliding my ass forward on the desk. “I need more.”

  He laughed. “The lady wants to get fucked, she’ll get fucked.”

  He braced one hand on my hip and I leaned back on my hands and closed my eyes as he started to fuck me with my new pink toy. I could feel his fingers bump against my clit on every downstroke and the combination of cool dildo and warm skin made me whimper.

  “The great thing about these rubber dildos,” he said, “is how flexible they are. They can really rub your G-spot if you angle them correctly.” He demonstrated and I moaned.

  “Like I said, the bumps are great for clitoral stimulation.” He angled the dildo down into me and I could feel every bump on the way down.

  “Shut up and fuck me,” I gasped.

  He did. Alternating strokes, he drove the dildo into me again and again until I almost forgot it wasn’t a real cock. It warmed to my body temperature and seemed to swell inside me, though I knew it was really my cunt becoming engorged as I approached orgasm.

  I opened my eyes and the sight of Jeff standing between my spread legs, my juices glistening on his fingers as he fucked me, his cock still hard in his pants, pushed me over the edge. I held on to his wrist with a death grip as I moaned and came, while he kept fucking me hard.

  “Enough, enough,” I finally whimpered.

  My cunt made a wet sucking sound as he pulled the dildo out. “Well?”