The Whistleblower Pt 08 Epilogue

I'm more composed by the time Jess loosens the pantyhose leash which had become tight around my neck. Signifying things are drawing to a close, she stands and steps out of the dildo and its straps, removes her vibrator, then undoes the clasps firstly on my wrists, followed by my ankles. I'm mindful to allow the blood to return fully before I attempt to shake it out a little, without getting up off the bench.

On Jess returning to my front, she puts her hands through my hair. More caresses follow as I wrap my arms around her behind. The latex dress remains hitched over her hips, my cheek encased in her crotch, moist with sweat and her own juices.

The thought of her being available now to allow me to worship her fills my head, exciting me again so soon after our previous passions; a passion fulfilled in the sense of my being completely dominated, but not reaching an orgasm as such. But do I even need an orgasm? All I want is to worship Jess. I'll always need to worship Jess. How long can this go on for though, before she realises my lie.

Maybe intuitively sensing my want, Jess budges a fraction closer, her vagina now almost in kissing distance. Maybe if I'm just presumptuous enough to pull her in even closer?

A vibration and a ringtone from within the kitbag distracts Jess. Whatever it is important enough to leave me unattended.

A stiffening from Jess, and a look towards me - green eyes changing hue; a fire and rage fill them. Throwing the phone down and striding behind me, deftly grabbing the cane off the floor as she does, I curl into a ball instinctively even before I attempt to slide off the bench. I'm not quick enough to escape though, despite being free of bonds; my limbs heavy and weary.

The sharp, painful, striking blows rain down on me from Jess. Not even wasting time on pulling back and aiming, her rage results in a repeated forehand swing immediately followed by backhand, then back to forehand again, subconsciously not wasting anytime to inflict as much damage as possible. All I can do is maintain a curled position on my side, precariously balanced on the bench, protecting the sensitive areas as the cane bounces indiscriminately off both my ass, legs and back.

I can only afford to be half aware of someone else entering the room, the sharp clip of thin pointed heels, quickly moving in. Instead of assessing the danger from them, I use the opportunity to turn my face and take a look at Jess between the blows. Her eyes now red and watery, she wears her own 'How could you?' look.

I'm crushed at her disappointment in me, my eyes pleading for forgiveness as the new assailant reaches me, pulling the pantyhose off my neck.

"I'm sor" - I cry to her, pleading, the "ry" becoming muffled as the nylon hose is stretched over my head again.

"Oghhhh!" I can't breathe! Incapacitated! Hard full blow to my ribs. Falling, maybe off the bench. Collision on hard floor. The liver punch ... they've got me ... down on the canvas. Only gasping for life. Struggling to breathe now. Nothing else. Playing with me.

Quick breaths, but then regulating as I'm left to feel the pain. Slow. Must return them to normal. Manhandling now. Arms holding me down on my back on the floor. Its Jess! I can see her vague outline sitting astride my chest, pinning my arms down. Can't move. As weak as a kitten.

The other figure stands above my head, even in my pain and fearful state I'm in awe. The assailant is a strong woman, menacing in an unforgiving latex mask, latex leotard, and aggressive, long leather boots. Yes, more femdom.

But I can suffer this. I can suffer it with pleasure. But I need to tell Jess I'm sorry.

My mouth! Something hard forcing its way in, stretching my jaw. Tears form from the smarting pain of lips pressed against the object. Tightening around the back of my neck. Maybe some kind of strap? My mouth now unable to move! A mouth gap? A gag leaving my mouth gaping open.

I need to tell Jess. "Eggg!" I cry out. "Ige orry!!" - the apology impeded from thick pantyhose pushed into my mouth by the dental gag.

Gently spoken words float back to me from Jess' sillouetee straddling my chest. "No Patrick. I'm sorry."

"Aw, very noyce!" says the unknown female assailant, standing above me, the words and accent sparking a feeling of deja vu.

"My turn now," - continues the figure above me. "Nobody ever takes the piss and tells pork pies to me when I piss in their mouth."

Thigh-high booted ankles of strong legs grip my head hard, but not so hard that my brain can't switch on. The accent! The pissing threat!

Katie!

As Katie starts to descend into a squatting position over my nylon covered, open mouth, the last thing I hear, other than a zipper on her crotch being undone, is her now American accent, saying, "Or should I say, nobody bullshits me when I'm doing my special version of a well known technique for getting captives to talk: A golden shower through pantyhose!"

THE END