by Неизвестный
The Sasquatch came forward, hunched down in the cage, took hold of the bars and thrust his belly forward, jamming his straining erection out between them. He gave a grunt and pointed to his cock, a demand all too obvious: he wanted it attended to, maybe wanked off, maybe sucked. I backed away, damned sure that whatever I did I wasn’t sucking a Sasquatch off in front of twenty or so people. He gave another grunt, angrier, more demanding. My back nudged the door of the enclosure and I heard the latch click into place. I turned, intending to let myself out, scrabbling the key into the lock, only to feel a touch at my waist.
He had reached out, all the way from the cage, his massive arm just reaching me. His fingers curled into the waistband of my tracksuit and I was being pulled back, inexorably, by a strength far, far beyond anything I could resist. I tried to cling on to the door but my fingers slipped away. I called out but they just stared at me, watching as he drew me in. I kicked and wriggled and beat my fists against his arm, but to no avail whatever, and then my bum had bumped against the bars of the cage and his cock was nudged up against my back.
I was held like that, wriggling helpless with one massive arm pinning me around my waist and his erection rubbing against my back. I was panicking, kicking and writhing against him, but it only seemed to stimulate him more. I was calling out too, my own voice sounding pathetic in my ears, but not one person moved to help me. They just watched, watched as he jerked my tracksuit top up over my braless breasts, watched as they were fondled and tweaked in huge, leathery fingers, watched as my nipples went hard and my legs kicked against the cage. The keys dropped from my nerveless fingers and he snatched them from the air. I heard the grate of metal on metal as he tried one key after another, and a click as the lock sprang open. The cage door swung open, still with me clutched to it.
Then he had me, raped me maybe, I don’t know, because I couldn’t resist, not physically, not mentally. First I was stripped, my tracksuit trousers wrenched down, then off as he held me around the waist with one hand and worked on my clothes with the other. Next came my top, jerked off over my head. My panties came last, wrenched down and then torn away to leave me naked except for my trainers.
Next I was pushed down and made to suck, my head taken by the hair and pulled hard against his erection until I opened my mouth and let it in. He jammed it deep down my throat, making me gag as he fucked my head. I was really choking, with the thick meat of his cock blocking my airway and the taste and smell of it filling my head. Trying desperately to pull away I thrashed my head from side to side. He wouldn’t stop, but just kept on pumping, forcing his erection further down my windpipe with each push, until my throat was full of it and his huge balls were nudged up against my chin. My neck had been forced up, like a sword swallower’s, only it wasn’t steel in my throat but a hard, two-foot bar of Sasquatch cock, slowly pumping, fucking my head to a lazy rhythm. Lights began to explode around me and I thought I was suffocating, only to realise that the reporters in the crowd had at last recovered their senses and were taking pictures of my mouth being used by the Sasquatch.
My throat was squeezing over and over on his cock as I gagged, and I know what that does to a man’s cock. The Sasquatch was no different, grunting happily at the feel of my helpless contractions and then giving a deep groan and ejaculating down my throat. I felt the hot sperm flood my windpipe, masses of it, straining my gullet and filling my stomach, then bursting out of my nose and filling my cheeks as he mercifully pulled back. Then it was out, only for him to take his erection in hand and splash another massive wad of come full in my face. It went in my eyes and in my hair, down my neck and over my breasts, spurt after sticky, viscous spurt, but I didn’t care, I could breathe again, and that was all I could think of as I panted and puffed on the enclosure floor.
I sat back, still gasping for breath with Sasquatch sperm oozing from my mouth and running slowly down over my face. My stomach was a hard, round ball, bloated with his sperm, while the taste and smell of it was making me as dizzy as the lack of air. I thought he would stop, having come, and immediately felt a pang of regret, followed by a yet sharper pang of shame for thinking such a thing. I was wrong though, he hadn’t finished with me, not by a long way.
Vast, leathery hands took me by the shoulders and pushed me back, gently, but with a power far beyond my ability to resist. I let him do it, knowing what was coming and spreading my thighs because it would have been futile to try and keep them closed. His cock was still hard, and as it nudged my pussy I resigned myself to being fucked by an eight-foot Sasquatch.
RMBS must have been showing him American porno movies, because he wasn’t just content with fucking me on my back. I got the full treatment, put through my paces in position after position, with my vagina vacated each time only to be stuffed full once more. First it was missionary, with me on my back and him over me with his huge cock in my pussy as he humped me. I’ll say this for him, he took his weight on his elbows, like a gentleman, but I was still squashed helpless under his great round belly. My pussy was really bursting, with perhaps half his monstrous cock inside and the mouth stretched so wide I began to wonder if it felt similar to having a baby. Somehow it went though, and it didn’t even hurt, just filled me and stretched me until my whole body felt bloated with penis.
He fucked and fucked, no, we fucked, because my hips had begun to move to the rhythm of his pushes, and it wasn’t against my will any more. I began to squirm under him in sheer joy, laughing and rubbing my nipples in his long chest hair, revelling in the overwhelming sensations he was giving me despite myself. Shame burnt in the back of my mind, but it didn’t matter, I couldn’t stop anyway, but only submit to his use, over and over as his cock moved in me and his sperm ran down over my head and chest.
After missionary he rolled my legs up to my chest and fucked me like that, supported on the full length of his arms. Then it was doggie, with me rolled over and humped from the rear with his long hair tickling my bum and making me giggle in between gasps and pants. He made me suck him after that, then it was back in my pussy, with me pressed to the enclosure fence and one leg cocked high so the audience could get a prime view of his erection working in my hole. We stayed like that for ages, really playing to the crowd while they photographed me being used, well, no, not being used, thoroughly enjoying a really good fuck, a fuck far beyond anything any human male could achieve.
He had me on my side next, then on my back again with him kneeling up and watching his cock slide in and out of my open, gaping pussy. I had given in completely by then, and was playing with my tits, rubbing the thick, slimy sperm over them and tweaking my hard nipples over and over. After that he rolled over and stuck me on his cock, letting me control the fucking while I fondled my breasts and the rounded bulge of my sperm-swollen tummy. I began to masturbate then, rubbing my clitty and feeling the hard bulk of his cock through the front of my body.
I nearly came, only to be suddenly lifted off and put back on my knees, then once more filled with cock from the rear. Soon I was gasping and rubbing myself, determined to come with my bum in the air and my pussy straining around his lovely cock. They kept photographing me, but I didn’t mind, I wanted them to, to show everyone how I’d been fucked and how much I’d enjoyed my supposed rape. He let me, but not in the way I’d expected.
His finale was to bugger me, spreading my bum wide and forcing his penis into my sperm-slick anus. I was sure I couldn’t take it, that I would split, but in it went, my ring stretching to capacity as I gasped and sobbed on to the floor, struggling to accommodate his cock in my rectum and all at once ashamed and thankful that I’d been buggered often enough to loosen my muscle. Up it went, inch after inch of huge cock crammed into my backside until I was pop-eyed and gasping for breath, only for yet another section of arm-thick cock shaft to be jammed past my protesting ring. He put it right in, all two foot of monstrous Sasquatch cock, rammed to the hilt up my poor little bottom until his huge balls came to rest against my empty pussy.
&nbs
p; I was taken by the hips, his hands so big they held the full spread of a buttock under each thumb and the fingers still met around my tummy. He buggered me in earnest, squeezing me as he pushed in again and again, knocking the breath from my body over and over until I was fighting for air and clutching at my pussy in my desperation to get at my clitoris.
He made it first, his sperm erupting up my bottom, masses of it, until it was gurgling and bubbling in my gut and I felt fit to explode. Still it went on, more and more pumping into me with my anus a ring of fire and my clitty a hot nubbin of flesh under my fingers. The camera flashes were bursting in a sea of light as he came up my bottom and I squealed and yelled, begging for more, for deeper, harder penetration, to be buggered until I screamed, to be buggered until I passed out.
It wouldn’t work though. He was jerking me about like a doll as his spunk filled me and I was slippery with it anyway and could just get the purchase I needed on my clitty. The frustration was appalling and I had begun to scream to be let come when he suddenly stopped. I was still, and the monstrous cock was being pulled from my body, making me feel as if I was being pulled inside out as my poor, aching anus everted. I was still rubbing though, riding my ecstasy over the pain until the fat penis head popped from my bumhole and it closed with a long, sonorous fart.
With that I came, and as I came about a gallon of Sasquatch sperm burst from my anus, spraying him, the floor, the reporters, the police, the customs officers, the airport staff, the quarantine room, the whole airport, as my world dissolved in unbearable ecstasy and I woke up, screaming, drenched in sweat, twisted into my bedclothes and with one hand down the front of my panties.
Formica rufa
Term was over, Christmas approaching, the students gone, the labs and lecture theatres empty. I had stayed on, unable to abandon my research, tending the Banana Slugs and helping the few remaining staff with various scientific chores. Not that I had much to do, in terms of actually filling my time, yet my experiments had to be checked every six hours, without fail. That meant being in the lab late, often the only person in the huge building, which made me feel melancholy and introspective.
Sex is really the best way to break that sort of mood, and the first two nights I masturbated, sat naked in my chair with the door locked against accidental intrusion, my legs cocked wide over the arms and my mind running with dirty fantasies. The first night I came over a simple spanking fantasy, imagining myself turned over Dr South’s knee to have my bare bottom smacked in front of a class of students. The second it was my Sasquatch dream and the pain and humiliation of my imaginary ordeal. Both orgasms were good, but a little spoilt by being over unreal things, while I knew I would only upset myself if I fantasised over Amber or end up on a nostalgia trip if it was over something I’d really done.
On the third night I was feeling distinctly dissatisfied with myself. I was feeling rude and wanted to do it again, but I needed something more concrete than the products of my own imagination. I wanted feelings of helplessness and panic, much like those the dream had given me, so my first thought was to give myself an enema in my room, pull up my panties and try to make the loo. If I made it the sense of rudeness over what I’d done and relief at letting go would be enough to leave me in a frenzy of masturbation. If I failed I would fill my panties, which would be even better.
Unfortunately it was just too risky. Even with just two janitors responsible for the entire science block there was a chance one or the other might choose to wander into Genetics at the wrong moment. It was a nice thought anyway, and had me more excited than ever when the time came to take my six-hourly readings and adjust the apparatus. That distracted me for a while, but afterwards I was worse than ever.
I went to check on the animals, watching the Banana Slugs feed and remembering how it had felt to have the largest of them squirming in my panties. It was even tempting to do it again, disgustingly dirty but tempting. Fortunately watching their radulae scrape at the algae-encrusted glass put me off. They do, after all, eat meat as well. I had to do something though, and I knew that if I didn’t decide soon it would be the Banana Slugs.
If I hadn’t been so worked up I’d never have done it, but my pussy was aching and my head full of thoughts of sexual pain and filthy behaviour. Next to the Banana Slugs was an ant colony, used for first-year behaviour practicals. They weren’t Lasius either, but Formica rufa, wood ants, big, fox-red, biting wood ants. A silly thought came into my head, something the boys used to say to tease us, about a girl taking down her pants to let out the ants. It had always humiliated me, with my overactive imagination sending the blood to my cheeks as I imagined being tickled and bitten until I at last gave in and took my panties down in front of everyone.
I had to do it. It would hurt, but I didn’t care. Working with trembling fingers I went to a fume cupboard and took a disposable face mask from the drawer. Pulling it up under my skirt, I settled it in place, my panties holding it snug to my pussy, the elastic strap pulled tight around my hips. It was perfect, cupping my pussy to make a chamber over my vulva, a chamber for my own personal torture.
Even hurting an ant is against my principles, especially for my sexual thrills, so I was careful, opening their tank and allowing them to crawl into a beaker until I had enough. With my hands trembling hard I hitched up my skirt, revealing the soft bulge of the mask beneath my panties. I felt naughty and scared, foolish yet incredibly aroused as I opened the front of my panties, revealing my thick pubic hair. Taking up the beaker, I held it over the opening, hesitating, almost backing out, then tipping it suddenly, sliding the ants into my pussy chamber.
They were furious and bit immediately, the burn of methanoic acid making me gasp even as my skirt fell back into place. It hurt, really hurt, a furious stinging as they vented their anger on the flesh of my pussy, first my pubic mound, then lower, on my lips and in my vulva, leaving me with my head thrown back and my teeth gritted in pain. I could feel my flesh swelling and I wanted to scream, but I held on, wriggling my toes and dancing on my feet as my pussy became a ball of agonised fire.
I had meant to wait until I could stand no more, take the pussy chamber off and replace the ants, then come under my fingers. As it was I knew the sensation alone would make me come, if I could only hold on long enough. They were tickling as well as biting, making my flesh writhe and jump, not just my pussy but my bum cheeks too. I was shaking my head, whimpering and sobbing in my pain, but my pussy felt so hot, so swollen that I couldn’t bring myself to stop.
Then it happened. I swear I felt one clutch on to my clit, her legs clamping to my sensitive flesh, her mandibles closing on my tiny, excited bud, the acid squirting on to my helpless, tender skin. It hurt, hurt so much I screamed aloud, but I was coming too, arching my back, shrieking in agony but also ecstasy, my swollen, burning pussy the centre of everything, my head full of the extremity of what I’d done. My panties were full of ants, my cunt swollen and burning, fat with acid, tortured to orgasm …
Looking back, the climax was superb, one of the best, lasting for what seemed an age, my body totally out of control, pure bliss. At the time I was crying out in pain, lost to everything but the feel of my sex and the rudeness of what I’d done: filling my panties with biting ants to deliberately torture myself to orgasm.
It hurt dreadfully afterwards, as I pulled my panties down with desperate urgency and returned the ants one by one to the tank. My whole pubic mound was red and swollen, my flesh marked with dozens of bites. I found some antihistamine and rubbed it in to dull the pain, and ended up masturbating in it to a second climax. Still, it’s not a technique I’d recommend to anyone else. If you get ants in your pants, take them off, fast, and never mind who’s looking!
DOLLY DEAREST
Jennifer Jane Pope
Jennifer Jane Pope’s first Nexus novel, Slave Genesis,is a story of pony-girl training in a remote Scottish institution. However, genetically re-engineered and with a higher-than-normal threshold for pain, these are girls with a
difference. Her second, Slave Exodus, continues the events of the first, with new and imaginative twists, as do the third and fourth — Slave Revelations and Slave Acts.
Meanwhile, here is a delightfully strange new story from Jennifer …
I am making this tape in the hope that one day someone will find it and write down my story, something I would dearly like to be able to do myself and cannot, for reasons which will soon become only too awfully obvious to you.
Once upon a time I hoped that someone would find me and take me back into the real world, but that I now know is a hopeless dream. Even Maudie, the new ‘maid’ who has managed to get this tape machine to me and operate the controls, cannot now go beyond the boundary fence which girdles the estate outside the window of the nursery in which I sit, day and night, waiting the whims and pleasures of my owner’s daughter, the unspeakably horrid Dorothea.
I am therefore resigned to this so-called life, at least for the foreseeable future and, as time continues to pass – and largely to pass me by – I fear that if the opportunity ever did present itself, it might be too late, for I am steadily becoming what I can only describe as ‘institutionalised’ in this artificial environment and would, I have to admit to myself, be of little or no use outside of these four, confining walls.
Sadly, as the years advance, even that use and value will ultimately begin to devalue: age is a harsh mistress, harsher maybe even than the mistress who currently controls my fate and rules my existence with such stern and generally unsympathetic delight.
Making this tape is a risk in itself, for if she ever realises that I have recovered even the power to whisper again, then I think she would have my voice box removed completely, to ensure that I went back to being the dumb dolly into which I was originally made …