Blissfully happy and terrified is not a usual combination, except possibly on a roller coaster, but that is how I feel right now. Blissfully happy that I am now owned. Terrified of what my new owners are expecting of me. They tempted me into their fold gradually but have now locked the gate behind me and, for me most unexpectedly, I am content to become their little pet. Originally the twins, Lizbeth and Mary, were visitors on a tour I had organised where, following the sickness of a co-worker, I was also forced to act as guide to the proceedings. The participants were elderly married couples in the main but with a smattering of senior single ladies. These people can be very demanding and more than a little petty, especially if they discover the tour leader is a fraction of their age, which with me in my early thirties was most definitely the case. I played my usual trick and dressed as young as I dared, the men want you to become Daddy's girl and the women tend to mother you.
It was, I think, my costume that first attracted the attention of that fateful pair of elderly sirens. In the main I wore a black pinafore dress with a cream or ivory silk blouse under it, white over knee stockings and simple, soft black pumps. The rest of my outfit, for the lecherous among you, was a pair of beige cotton panties; chosen, provocatively, so that if you did sneak a peak you could not be sure if I had any panties on at all. Combining that with just a trace of makeup, my short, slight, almost bust-less figure and my light brown almost blond hair, styled in something akin to a pageboy haircut but with a slight centre parting; I appear to be far younger than I really am. Dressed like that I would look really cute except that I am dreadfully plain. I am not ugly, don't misunderstand, just plain; when they were giving out faces they had just that second run out of every kind of adornment and frill but still had a full stock of simple, basic, serviceable parts: eyes, ears, noses, mouths, chins and everything else required. So my lips are too thin, where my nose should lilt it is rounded, where my cheekbones should be high and prominent my cheeks are round but white, utterly devoid of the rosy glow they should exhibit. The twins so me and lusted for that innocent little girl.
My seduction, if that's what it were, was gradual and subtle but I no longer believe anything those twins did was an accident. Right from asking me if I would join them at dinner, I now believe that they had planned how they hoped that events would unfold. Dinner, the first of a series I shared with them on the trip, was excellent; they were such wonderful conversationalists, such careful listeners, so intelligent and inventive, such splendid company; who could resist being charmed by them. That fateful pair, they were sweet as sugar, innocent as daisies and unaffected as fawns and I had a duty of care to them, I was in a position of trust. We had some very pleasant evenings full of witty banter and entertaining anecdotes but that was all. And, had Lizbeth not been an artist, we would have parted to become fading memories, snap shots in albums or pages on Facebook.
Lizbeth, however, was going to hold her first exhibition; well Lizbeth and another nine colleagues from the art course she had joined as a, very, mature student. How could I refuse to attend her opening night, an evening that she promised would be full of glitter and champagne and some great new works of art, well LED's, good plonk and some reasonable pictures at the least. So I met the twins once more but now as a free agent and Lizbeth began her entrapment in earnest. She was far to clever to use flattery, she used my very plainness to hook me. Would I do her a very great favour and pose for her? She admitted that my face had no distinguishing features but also that it was wholly free of defect either. For her it would be such a challenge to capture my likeness without making me either attractive or ugly and, delighted with her candour and secretly faltered by her attentions, I agreed. There was the genesis of the predicament I now find myself in.
Where am I right now? I am servicing that pair of elderly and obscenely creative kinky twins in every way their warped and twisted minds can dream up. A consequence of the portraitures I promised that Lizbeth could make of me and my sessions in her studio. These had started innocently enough but their level of sensuousness had escalated gradually until they eventually descended into sheer carnality. The last time I had visited the twins had exposed me to a feast of my flesh. They had had me so aroused and sensing so many disconnected stimuli simultaneously that I could not recall exactly what happened towards the end; except that I was experiencing wave after wave of body convulsing delight as orgasm after orgasm surged through every part of me overwhelming all other perceptions. Indeed my memory has retained only one snap shot of those event. An image whose complexity explains why the rest was simply too overloading to recall.
I remember being light headed, my breathing uneven and erratic, and utterly beyond my control. I was thinking how that butt-plug was stretching me; any more and the delightful ceaseless distension would have turned to discomfort. The dildo that was buried in my pulsing pussy was equally over extending and I was running like a tap as if trying to flush the outsized invader away. It might have been vibrating too, certainly something else was going on deep inside of me, building upon my already unbearable desire.
Each of my nipples, with their long erect teats fully distended, were being stroked, rolled, pinched, pulled, sucked, licked, bitten; each in a different, wholly unpredictable, pattern that followed a distinctly different rhythm; it were these ministrations that were preventing me from descending into a state where I could cease to climax. My clitoris, oh, my aching, burning, throbbing clitoris: an obscenely powerful vibrator was pressed hard against this delicate and, by then, acutely sensitive little organ yielding neither pleasure nor pain but something in between that extracted orgasm after orgasm from me in a seemingly unstoppable train. Finally, there were fingers everywhere, light tickly fingers. Fingers in places I expected, wriggling and jiggling plugs and dildos, touching nipples, tickling feet. Fingers in places I didn't expect, crammed into my mouth rubbing against my tongue, tweaking the tip of my nose, tickling inside my ears, rubbing the palms of my hands, slapping my breasts, tummy and thighs. A delirious, kaleidoscopic, ever changing, never repeating, progression of sexually exciting sensations.
I have no direct recollection of my reaction to all of this but, of course, the pair videoed my performance and took great delight in my obvious mortification when they played it back to me. Naturally I gasped and grunted and sighed and moaned and panted and rasped and wheezed, any girl in my position at that the time would have done all of those and more; she would not have been able to contain herself. It was the crying and howling and screaming and yelling and, in moments of relative calm, hysterical begging and pleading for my orgasmic torture to cease that I found to be so very degrading and so highly embarrassing. Then they had made me make that dread promise. I felt nothing but humiliation and shame at the depth of the depravities I had agreed to allow them to subject me to as they explained their ingenious schemes. Schemes that tonight are. For me, being transformed into reality.
Where to begin? That is a good question. Who are the twins and what are they like? How did I find myself embroiled in their perverse machinations? How could they tease me so? What am I doing as I relate my fate to you?
