Stacey's Pigs

Fapter 2 -- Messages and Moans

We stood facing each other. The chalk end of her stick pointed menacingly at my restrained cock. Fear and excitement ran through my bones. "Hey what're you --"

"Shh. Pigs don't talk." She lowered the tip slightly, then pushed most of its length horizontally between my thighs. My balls has dried by this point, and the wood slid cool and smooth across them.

"Feet together now, Piggy." She tapped my naked ankle with the side of her boot.

"Ow!"

"Shut it." I closed my mouth and moved my feet together, my thighs now pressing inward to keep the stick in place. The wider, condom covered end was now projecting out in front of me all on its own, pressing up against my aching crotch. It protruded about a foot and a half or so. It looked like the glorious dick I would never have. My cage was a Christmas ornament on top. When I grasped the metaphor, I nearly died.

She grinned and got on her knees in front of me in an act of mock submission. Gripping my false phallus with one hand, she licked the little bulbous air pocket at the tip. It jiggled comically, a cream-colored nipple against her red tongue. Then, as she batted her long eyelashes at me, the entire length of the condom slowly disappeared into her mouth. I had not known until that moment that it was possible to suck dick (or in this case, stick) sarcastically. I could not look away. I don't know how many minutes passed. Her style gradually got raunchier and sloppier, until she was deepthroating it like a porn star.

My cock was trying to swell. I realized I was clenching my butt cheeks.

I started making weak little thrusts, gathering what sensation I could from the wood's subtle movements against my swollen sack. She pulled her mouth off the latex with a popping sound, spit on it, jacked it off hard and fast with her hand for a hot second, then dove back down again. The stick wiggling gently against my nuts had been touched by hundreds, probably thousands of hands, but I tried not to think about that. I kept my thighs squeezed tight, equal parts mortified and hypnotized.

My cock longed to be in her mouth more than anything it had ever ached for; I had at this point reached a dizzying height of desire I had never before tasted. She teased and mocked me mercilessly in this way for some time, clearly enjoying whatever uncontrollable facial expressions were playing out across my ugly mug. I was somehow simultaneously sedate and on fire, heavy and light.

Looking down from my bird's eye view I could see my flesh bulging out through the small openings in the cage. Was it possible I could maybe bust out of it? What would she do if I broke it? As time slid on, though, I realized that no matter how hard my little friend tried, there was no escaping. She made fun of my tiny wiener. It strained against the cage with all its might, to no avail. The tip had started to leak precum, and my wrists were beginning to smart behind my back where the zip tie was slowing circulation.

She grabbed the stick with both hands next, one so close to my repressed package that I could feel her body heat emannating from it. "Legs wide again, you filthy Pig." I spread 'em. She held the full weight of the stick now, and tap tap tapped it up sharply against my poor balls. I gasped. Instinct told my hands to fly toward my crotch protectively; they jerked but couldn't move. Clearly, the zip tie was stronger than me. She smirked, lowered the stick, and wiped a thin line of drool off her chin with the edge of my shirt. I saw her glance down at my bauble. "Awww, your dicklet is crying." She made a pouty face. My nuts felt like they had been dipped in hot sauce. I blushed.

She bent down slightly, and then something flashed silver in her hand. When she came at me with the small butterfly knife, I nearly pissed myself. I had no idea what kind of freaky shit she was into! She must have had it concealed in her boot. Where else could it have possibly come from? "What the fuck Stacey --" I stepped back and bumped into a chair.

"Relax, you freak. Jesus." She cut the zip tie, unbothered. My hands were now free, thank God. "Thank you," I said. The urgency of my bladder was suddenly overwhelming.

"I, um-"

"You what.

"Fuck. I-"

"Spit it out, Pig. You're allowed to talk."

"I-I really...have to... pee." She cackled. My legs were shaking subtly.

"Sure, go ahead. I'll be here." I looked at her dumbly.

"Uh, can you take this off so I can pee?"

"Absolutely not."

"So I'm just s'posed to pee while I'm wearing it!??" I whined desperately.

"Now you're catching on. There's no way I'm letting you out. What if you masturbate in there?"

"Oh my God I swear I won't!" The aching of my dick, the screaming of my balls, and the swelling of my bladder was just too much all at once. She sighed.

"Fine. I'll give you a choice. Either I watch you pee, or you pee through your cage." I considered for a moment, but I didn't think I would be able to do it with her watching me.

"Fine!" I blurted, turning on my heel toward the restroom.

"Ah-ah," she warned, shaking a finger after me. "Your line is, 'yes my Queen.'"

"YesmyQueen!" I yelled over my shoulder, throwing up my hands as I jogged in the direction of at least some form of relief.

I burst barefoot into the men's bathroom (never a sentence I thought I would say), flung myself at the closest urinal, thrust my pelvis as far forward over the grimy porcelain as I could and let loose, very awkwardly, through my cage. I am sorry to report it did not go well. While I had played around a little with locking myself in chastity for short periods of time (always solo), I had never peed with one on before. I got piss everywhere, adding a personal touch to the preexisting aroma of the bar bathroom.

While I attempted to clean myself up, cursing under my breath, I mulled over how asking for permission to pee had made me feel like I was in elementary school again. Even worse, promising not to masturbate was bringing up old church memories that I hadn't even known were there. At least my bladder didn't feel like it was about to explode anymore.

As I was carrying on with the process of bird-bathing and paper toweling my lower half as best I could, something caught my eye. I peered closer to the mirror and saw that some drunk douchebag had scribbled 'Stacey's mom has got it goin' on' across a corner of the glass. My frazzled brain had no idea what to make of that. Was it simply a song lyric, or had other victims like me been here before?

I emerged from the bathroom like a NSFW Pooh bear, the wet hem of my shirt (a clinging reminder of my recent baptism) plastered to my skin. My moist soles picked up carpet bits as I walked. The sight that greeted me was nothing short of breathtaking.

There she was, in all her thonged glory, lounging back on the green felt of the pool table, prophylactized cue in one hand like some kind of sexual scepter. "This is completely against the rules, Piggy," she admitted coyly, "but I know you won't tell." I wouldn't. I was a good piggy. A somewhat damp, but good Piggy.

"Come over here and stand at the edge of the table." I approached and stood. "Closer." My metal cage bumped up against the edge. I wasn't sure what to do. The cool water in the bathroom had quieted my raging penis somewhat, but it was still sensitive to every thought, tiny motion, small breeze. I felt shy, and something far deeper than embarrassed. Some distant voice in my head guessed it must be at least 4 in the morning by now, but in truth I had no clue. I glanced around. There were no clocks on the walls. I felt disconnected from both space and time.

"You may look at me." With her permission, my eyes drank deep, taking in every fold, every curve of her. Stacey was impossibly attractive, and she knew it. I watched, hypnotized as she hooked a finger through her thong, drawing it aside to reveal a full view of her glorious pussy. It was dusky pink. She had a thin strip of short, soft-looking hair above her clit, but was otherwise completely smooth. It looked so inviting. My cock twitched in its cage, suddenly right back to being as swollen as it could possibly be.

Did she want me to go down on her? In a moment of bravery which I would very soon learn was stupidity, I reached out to touch her leg. She kicked me swift and hard.

"I said you could look, you filth, not touch! Put your fat sausage fingers on the table where I can see them!" I looked at her petulantly. My arm stung from the impact of her boot, but I gingerly placed my hands on the table as commanded. This brought me into a slightly forward position over the edge of the table. My nose was now even closer to her than it had been before. I bit my lip nervously.

"Now, thank me for kicking you."

"...What? Y'know, that actually kinda hurt."

"You heard me, you dumb Pig," she hissed. "Say it." I took a deep breath.

"Thank you. For kicking me." The words felt haltingly delicious in my mouth. She smirked.

"Thank you for kicking me, my Queen."

I spoke the magic words, then followed them up with a nervous laugh that turned into a shallow moan.

She relaxed back onto the table, resting on her elbows. "Ah, that's much better, Piggy." She was smiling at me like she was going to eat me. I could smell her animal wetness. I felt primal. I felt crazy. She poked my belly tauntingly with the tip of her cue, leaving a bright blue dot on my T-shirt. I didn't mind so much about the chalk (it washes out) but to my horror, I flinched uncontrollably and emitted a squeaky giggle like the Pillsbury dough boy had just huffed helium. It was a huge effort to keep my palms on the felt.

"Yess! Squeal for me, my fat little porker!" She jabbed my chubby belly again, harder. I jerked away. "HANDS ON THE TABLE!"

I replaced my hands on the table, feeling like I might start to cry. "Good Pig. Stay." She sucked the condom end of her stick once again, staring directly at me, then moved it down to begin rubbing her other lips with it. Groaning seductively, she closed her eyes, clearly enjoying the sensation. My package was an ocean of desire in the space of a raindrop. I whimpered a little as she traced tight little circles on her pink vulva. She opened her eyes like a cat and purred, "Stand up on your tippy toes for me, my whiny little smooth-brained slut."

No one had ever called me a slut before, but I knew better than to try and question her at this point. As I rose onto the balls of my feet, both my ankles cracked audibly. Next thing I knew, the chalk end of the stick was sliding neatly between my balls again, engendering a cascade of sensation that was more unpleasant than pleasant. Her aim was as true now as it had been while she was wiping the floor with me at pool.

Because my end of the stick could go no lower than the edge of the table I was pressed up against, I found that I was suddenly forced to remain hovering on my toes, or else experience the agony of increased pressure against my sack. Even up on my toes like that, the pressure was almost more than I could bear. I wondered how long it would be until my feet started cramping. It was hard to breathe.

She distracted me from my misery, and blew my mind, by slipping the condom end inside her tight hole. Starting slow and gradually ramping up the speed, each insertion and withdrawal sent torturous ripples of agitation through my engorged balls and straining phallus. She was a mistress of multitasking and I literally had the short end of the stick.

"You like that, Peanut? Yeah? You like watching me fuck myself the way you never could?" She laughed.

"Yes... my Queen."

"Oh fuck. You'd never be able to please any woman with that teeny excuse for a cock."

"No... my Queen. I would not."

"Mmmmph, oh my fucking god that feels so fucking good."

I endured being simultaneously teased out of my gourd and tortured as best I could. It required more fortitude than I knew was in me. She sucked the middle finger of her free hand, flipped me off with it, then used it to massage her clit in quick little flicking motions while continuing to rail herself with the stick. The vicious tugging pulls were becoming legitimately painful for me. I wanted so badly to relax my feet back onto the floor, but it simply wasn't an option. The thought of increased pain kept me elevated and wholly at her mercy.

My whole body ached for her. Something in my lower back spasmed menacingly. My cock felt like an inflamed zit that desperately needed to be popped. I was so uncomfortable in so many ways at once!

"Fuck, I'm going to cum." Her speed and breathing increased. I was hardly even a person anymore, just one big ache, captured and enraptured.

I moaned right along with her when she came on the stick, her whole body contracting and shuddering in a long ripple of intense pleasure. Though it was a mix, the sounds coming out of me were far more expressions of pain than enjoyment. I thought I might actually hyperventilate, but goddammit, I kept my fucking hands on the table. I was a good piggy!

I didn't know whether I would eventually receive some kind of reward (and not knowing was a torture in and of itself), but I had it set in what was left of my mind that if there was even the slightest chance of such an outcome, I wanted to do everything within my power to earn it.

"Ohhh damn, was that as good for you as it was for me? Don't answer that, you twat." I didn't. "Aw, would you like me to remove the stick from between your widdle balls? Hmmm?"

"Ohmygodyes," I whispered. My left foot had begun to succumb to an awful charley horse, and my knees were shaking badly. I shifted my weight onto my right toes to try and relieve the pressure on my left. She pulled the creamy stick out of herself, lowering her end, which raised mine excruciatingly.

"What was that?"

"Yyyes!" I whined. "Please! My Queeeen, pleeease."

"Good Piggy. You may remove your hands from the table."

The rough little edge of the tip felt like a cheese grater as it scraped over my raw skin. Once released, my knees buckled and I collapsed onto the floor. My descent was instant and uncontrollable the moment the evil stick was withdrawn. I reached up and gripped the edge of the table with one hand, trying to get a hold of myself. I massaged my left arch with my thumb to try and make the foot cramp go away. It didn't really help.

"Get on all fours, bitch," she said from the pool table. "Do it now."

I groaned frustratedly, but I obeyed. She popped lightly off the table and stood before me, still holding her damned stick. I looked up at her, in all her glory. I could smell the leather of her boots, among other terribly wonderful, wonderfully terrible things. "Good. Now open your whore mouth nice and wide for me."