Place for It Ep. 12

Episode XII

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The chain tightened, pulling her wrists toward the platform. She was forced to follow, walking on her knees as fast as she could, to avoid being dragged across the stage by the chain.

As her hands reached the edge of the platform the tugging stopped. Doralea stood slowly, unsteadily, and looked at the chain, which disappeared into the darkness of the well that had once been her pedestal.

Her hands rested easily on the rim and she stood, the audience on her right side. Another platform had risen center stage and she watched as Big John caressed the Pixie. Molly stood before him as he sat on the edge of the well padded bed, which was raked so that the audience could see everything.

Doralea watched fascinated as the pale skin was gently caressed by the huge dark hands. The blue eyes stared straight up; the platinum bob swayed slowly as she responded to his caresses. Molly set a small hand on each of his broad shoulders and locked him with her piercing eyes.

Her hips gyrated in tightening eights as she slowly lowered herself.

Her pussy, still shining with Doralea's saliva, bumped the head of his upstanding dick. She pressed it into his belly. She pulled away to let it sway freely toward her.

She locked it in the clamp of her cunt and toyed with it as she slowly danced herself over, forcing his massive cock into her welcoming pussy.

Doralea watched, mesmerized by her slow swallowing of his massive shaft.

Through all this, Molly drilled her stare into John's eyes, as if unaware of the audience. When she had fully engulfed him, she pressed hard against his pelvis and he slowly lowered himself onto the bed.

She very slowly raised herself again, his huge veined cock exposed between her pale legs. As she reached the very top of his pillar, she stepped over him, turning her back on him, pivoting on his cock to face the audience in the darkened house.

She smiled and, tossing her blonde head, raised her right hand to cup her left tit. Her other hand reached down to stroke her wondrously stretched pussy lips. Her eyes danced delightedly as she slowly corkscrewed down his huge cock.

She performed to maximize her own pleasure under the attentive eyes of her audience.

Doralea watched, eventually pressing her own cunt against the edge of the well and rubbing her clit in an attempt to bring herself off. Her head was swimming as she watched Molly work herself along John's dick.

Eventually, Molly lost the cold control she had exhibited and began wildly bouncing on his massive shaft.

It glistened with her juices and she screamed as she came to a shattering climax.

John stood up, lifting her with him, and thrust three more times, she bounced, loose-limbed. He slumped back onto the bed, carrying her with him. As the spotlight narrowed on her sweating, heaving breast, the platform lowered into the stage, disappearing in a pit of darkness.

Doralea gripped the edge of the platform, which still held her chained, and stared into the black rectangular opening in the stage. Two men stepped up to her, one on each side.

One lifted her wrists and the other used a massive bolt cutter to cut the chain, which fell clattering into the well.

A few links hung from the chain which still bound her wrists, and the chain between her throat and her wrists still swagged to bounce against the mound between her thighs, but she WAS free from the platform.

The two men held her by the elbows and guided her across the apron and down the steps, off the stage and to a divan. They lay her gently on her left side, her head resting on the ample, linen-covered bosom of the dark-haired woman from the steam-room who had led her to the closet and the stage.

The reclining woman lay a gentle arm across Doralea's ribs and fingered the chain. She lifted a few links and then let them fall, bouncing heavily against the inside of Doralea's lower breast. She patted the quivering flesh and allowed her hand to rest there, one finger gently tapping time against the pebble-hard nipple.

On the stage three screens were flown in, forming a widely splayed box.

All the lights went down and in full darkness Doralea listened to the throbbing of her heart in her ears.

Three shafts of light pierced the soft darkness and their flickering resolved into three 50's-style black and white erotic movies. Nestling into the soft breast, Doralea watched lazily.

> On stage left a plain-faced buxom co-ed in a loose, filmy negligee decorated a Christmas tree. She bent over from the hips, straight-kneed, ass jutting, to lift ornaments from the box, and stretched high, huge tits and belly brushing against the sharp needles, to hang the ornaments on the tree. <

> In the center a tall, torpedo-breasted blonde sat at a large, ornate vanity brushing her full hair. Her sheer robe, fringed with a thick roll of feathers, fell open to the outside of her tits, revealing her empire-waist shift, also sheer, her nipples jutting darkly through the loosely gathered camisole. <

> On stage right a housewife in a corduroy housecoat Hoovered a thick shag rug, running the vacuum back and forth over the same spot. She stopped abruptly and looked toward the door - she must have heard the door bell. <

"Oh, good, so I haven't missed the Dragon?" Shannon whispered as she lifted Doralea's legs and pressed into the couch.

"No," said the woman whose ample breasts pillowed Doralea's head. She patted Doralea's soft tit, making slow waves ripple through the flesh. "No, but you did miss this one. She put on quite a show for us."

"Yes, she is a fine addition. What did she do?"

"She was set in the box, and well-used from the hall -- and on this side by Blue."

"I wish I'd been here for that."

"Yes, she was a delight. Then Molly and John spiked her to the column and she danced. Again, delightful."

Shannon gathered Doralea's right leg onto her lap and patted her tightly stretched butt cheek.

"This one is a treasure."

Then she slid over so that the side of her left thigh pressed against the back of Doralea's. She rested an elbow on Doralea's rib cage, and began playing with her tightly coiled cunt hair, pressing occasionally into the softness beneath.

> The buxom co-ed's tits jounced wildly with each blow of the hammer as she nailed a single, large red stocking to the mantle. The camera zoomed in tightly on her bouncing chest, her nipples tracing wild figures through the filmy material. <

> The woman in front of the vanity began to stroke the round styling brush over her torpedoes and dissolved into a cloud-framed reverie in which she, naked, rode a powerful white stallion bareback along a white beach stretching flat into the distance. Huge hoofs pounded through the surf. Her tits bounced to the galloping rhythm and her soft, smooth, naked butt slammed against the broad, powerful, stiff-haired back. <

> A salesman in a tight shiny black suit and a black, pencil-thin moustache demonstrated his vacuum cleaner to the house-wife. She sat on the couch, knees pressed together, hands clutching her robe closed as she watched him move the nozzle over the drapes, along the top of a framed lurid print of a Rubens nude, then across the desk, sucking a pile of papers onto the end. He pulled the papers off and as he re-set them on the desk, tucked the wand under his arm. The nozzle 'inadvertently' sucked the housecoat off the housewife, and it disappeared up the hose, exposing a thin chemise which was designed to reveal more than it hid. <

The woman nestling Doralea's head bent down and kissed her on the temple. Doralea raised her chin to proffer her mouth to the woman's lips. Shannon slid off the couch, slowly and deliberately dragging her hip and waist against Doralea's wet mound. She turned to sandwich her small high tits between Doralea's thighs, arching to scrape her nipples along Doralea's hot puffy lips. Doralea spread her thighs wider and lifted her hips to offer her loins to the trim black-haired woman. Shannon circled the volcanic gash with her chin, nudging in sternly several times before setting to nibbling, sucking and licking in earnest.

The woman exploring Doralea's mouth lifted away from her task and watched Shannon working her cunt. Both her hands moved to Doralea's tits and began to massage them deeply and eagerly. Doralea's head lolled slowly down to rest, once again pillowed on the soft, yielding, linen-covered pillows.

> The vacuum salesman wrestled clumsily with the housewife on the couch until one of her breasts flopped loose from her chemise. They both stopped and she struck a pose: "Oh, whatever shall I do?" Then they both suddenly looked at the door. Another knock. As she coerced her tit back into her bodice, he quickly fumbled to gather the vacuum and cram into the closet she was shoving him into. She opened the door and there stood a brush salesman, sample case open, displaying his wares. His eyes popped from their sockets as he ogled the curves exposed before him. <

> A gang of men in grossly fake gorilla costumes encircled the torpedo-breasted blonde, deep in a studio jungle decorated with potted palms and large-leaved elephant-ear plants. With wildly rolling eyes they closed on her and began to grab the soft flesh of her ass, her tits, her belly. They grabbed her hair and her legs and arms. They threw her to the ground and four of them splayed her arms and legs wide as three others attacked her torso, one chewing obscenely on her sky-seeking missiles, one waving a Kong-sized dong in her face, smacking her chin, nose and lips. The third stood between her wide-veed legs, fingering her twat with his long hairy fingers, then, taking his long conical cock in one hand and guiding it toward her cunt, he began to thrust mightily as the misty gauze spread, then dissipated, revealing her, seated before the vanity, clawing at her cunt with the stiff bristles of the brush, scouring her own tender flesh. <

> The co-ed was sleeping fitfully on the large brass bed in the room, now fully decorated for Xmas. Each roll, each flop, exposed her more. As expected, Santa came down the chimney and, as he surveyed the room from behind his chintzy beard, spotted the massive curves displayed on the bed. With exaggerated stealth he crept up to his prey. As he approached the bed with a leer, he noticed the cookies and milk on the night table. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed and began to devour the snack sloppily. The co-ed awoke and sat up, clutching the coverlet to her throat and pouting. Santa, crumbs in his beard and his moustache damp with milk, turned to her, his leer returning. He reached out and tried to pull the covers from her. She resisted. He bent to reach into his bag and retrieve a wrapped present. When she reached for it he tossed it over his shoulder and pulled away the coverlet, then jerked the loose neckline of her nightie off both her shoulders. Her mouth formed the perfect 0 of surprise, her eyes were wide, her eyebrows arched high. Santa pulled the nightie lower, pinning her elbows to her waist while her newly freed tits jounced freely. He leaned down to capture the nearest nipple in his teeth and reached up to maul the far tit as he toppled her backwards onto the bed.

The woman from the steamroom gently cradled Doralea's shoulders and she spread her legs, exposing them along with her belly as the linen shift fell open to her sides. She rolled Doralea, guiding her hands, still chained at the wrists, to the divan cushions. The woman shifted her weight to press her soft, fat cunt-mound against the metal-bound wrists. She lifted her head to kiss Doralea, then fell back against the bolster and began to slowly grind her cunt against Doralea's manacled forearms.

Shannon rearranged her slender body, sitting on the floor and arching back, tits up, to lap at the now kneeling Doralea's underside, her belly, cunt and tits.

Occasionally Shannon's head bounced against the chain, looping between Doralea's throat and her supporting wrists planted between the older woman's grinding thighs.

Doralea surrendered to the waves of pleasure, eyes nearly closed, head thrown back, feeling the fleshy envelope of the ass, cunt and inner thighs on her hands, wrists and forearms, and the hot, breathy attention Shannon lavished on her hanging tits, tight belly and soaking twat.

She felt strong hands on her ass and turned back to see Shannon's Toy aiming his rigid cock toward her raised loins.

She dropped her head to watch between her tits as Shannon helped guide the shaft into her cunt. The heat of the cock startled and excited Doralea, as he slid easily in to the balls in one slow, smooth stroke. Shannon pressed his nuts against Doralea's pubic bone, rolling them over her steaming lips like leather ben-wa balls.

Doralea moaned loudly and deeply as she felt Shannon attempt to press the Toy's nuts into her cunt along with his shaft.

She was unsuccessful, but she moved her head in to mouth the twin orbs and regulate the rhythm as he slowly slid out of Doralea's sheath.

Shannon's tight little tits grazed Doralea's belly as she pulled him back to resheath so slowly that Doralea began to arch and thrust.

Feeling that, he thrust quickly, his balls popping out of Shannon's mouth with a wet slurp. As they matched their rhythm, the chain still hanging from Doralea's throat swung freely between her tits, slapping her sternum, and occasionally straying over to smack one of her swaying tits.

They increased their speed and Shannon struggled to stay involved, her open mouth and searching tongue pressed to Doralea's belly.

Finally, Shannon withdrew to watch excitedly, sitting on her heels, cupping her own pussy with one trembling hand, while stroking Doralea's lunging ass and back with the other.

She watched as the chain's wild arcs thumped Doralea and, with increasing force hit the linen covered breast of the woman wildly grinding her cunt against Doralea's pinioned arms. The woman began to grab her own tits through the linen and knead them with increasing abandon. The bodice tore under her mad exertion and she grabbed the chain battering her massive tits and pulled Doralea in for a smothering kiss.

Doralea's body pinned the wildly flopping woman to the divan, and both of them came in powerful cascades while the Toy continued drilling Doralea's deep well. As the whole tangle of quivering flesh collapsed under the final powerful thrusts from the well-muscled cocksman, Doralea's tear-clouded eyes were drawn again to the flickering screens. <

> Santa's pants had disappeared, revealing black socks held by black garters at his knees. He was pumping the plump co-ed from behind as she rested her elbows on the mattress, cradling her jiggling tits. He held her hips, occasionally landing a mild slap on her soft ass, setting it jiggling as well. As she wagged her head back and forth in time to his thrusts, her hair rolled off one shoulder to fall against her dancing jugs, then flipped up and rolled off the other. <

> Shrouded in deep mist, a patch-eyed pirate porked his captive princess, who lay lashed face-up along his cannon. His twin sabers lay crossed between her torpedo tits, cold sharp steel biting the warm and tender flesh. The tough hemp held her helpless to the cradled gun. Her arms hung helpless at her sides, bound to the splintery caisson. Her legs, too, were lashed wide to the wooden axle. A thick hawser served as a harsh barrel-gag, biting into her wide-stretched lips and preventing her from screaming out for rescue. As the pirate thrust again and again into her helpless body, her useless struggles took on a more and more accepting, even cooperative tone. The mists clouded, then parted to show the woman supine on the vanity bench, her ankles locked on the Empire legs, her robe clenched between her teeth. One hand spread a long hair-clipping scissors between her upshot breasts, the points denting the firm, dancing flesh. Her other hand pumped the brush handle in her flowing pussy, cunt-juice glistening in the light. The camera moved to the reflection in the vanity, then to the reflection of the tit-flesh assaulted by the shining steel. <

> The housewife lay naked on the living-room floor, the brush salesman stroking her languid body with two palm brushes, missing no spot as she slowly writhed under his exquisite torture. Another knock on the door sent him scurrying to shove his trap and himself under the couch. The housewife moved slowly, held her chemise to her heaving breast and answered the door. A tall, dark-haired woman stood there in a tailored suit-jacket and skirt, the Avon lady. She stepped in and closed the door and set her case on the floor beside the couch. She cradled the housewife's head in both hands and pulled her up for a long, deep kiss. The housewife dropped the irrelevant piece of cloth and allowed herself to be forced back to the couch. She was laid, completely naked, along the back of the couch and the makeup-and-perfume lady lay on top of her, fully clothed. She began kissing her and deliberately blazed a trail from her lips, down her throat, over her panting breasts, along the central furrow of her belly, into her navel and finally the Avon Lady was lapping her honey pot. The housewife lay still along the couch back, tits relaxed to each side of her ribcage, as she was mouthed into oblivion. <

> Santa had rearranged his tryst-mate so that she lay, tits up, her head hanging off the end of the bed. He fed his skinny dick into her full lips, thrusting as he held the brass frame for support and leverage. She dug deeply into her own cunt, displaying her handiwork to his devouring eyes. <

>> The camera in each scene moved the point of view until a striking horizontal line filled the screens.

The Avon Lady gummahauched just off-screen as the belly of the housewife rippled slowly. An arm reached across the screen to drive the brush-handle deep into the belly of the dreamer. The throat of the co-ed pulsed to accommodate the weakening thrusts of Father Christmas.

Each horizontal came to align with the others and, finally, merge into a single line, a distant horizon, just as the sun began to rise. Color came with the dawn. <<

Several people moved onto the stage in the flickering light. Some were dressed in white, some were dressed in black and some were naked.

>> The colors of a vision of an early sunrise over an island paradise, filmed in the garish, over-separated colors of the Sixties, played across the stage and over the players. The image was projected of a gaggle of long-legged, big-breasted centerfold-types sprinting towards us along the beach, sporting Rudi Gernreich-style swim wear. <<

Doralea lay on her back, her head on the soft belly of the woman who had led her to the closet. She could feel the moist heat rising through the thick brown cunt-fleece pressed into the back of her neck. The woman gently smoothed Doralea's sweat-pasted hair from her forehead. Shannon had led the Toy away and Doralea drifted as the woman idly caressed her breasts.

Doralea snapped into focus when she heard Magya's voice, "Here she is." She looked up into the large almond eyes. Her attention was totally absorbed by the lashes framing the beautiful green-tea iris.

"Here she is. Didn't I tell you?"

The eyes turned to the left and Doralea's gaze followed, meeting nearly identical eyes. This startled her to pull her focus back and she saw a tall man, with the same high, flat cheekbones and almond eyes. His red hair was cut short front and top, but the sides and back fell to his shoulders. His face broadened even more as it broke into a wide smile, shaded by a thick moustache.

Magya continued enthusiastically, "Isn't she beautiful?"

The woman whose crotch pressed into Doralea's neck grabbed the chain and held it tightly, saying, "She's with me."