Interlude 21-77

Twenty One

Uuhhhhh ...

Another loud moan/gasp escapes from deep within her as he bottoms out once again.

Ohhhhhh ...

The air is forced from her as she is once again impaled by his cock.

"How did I get myself into this?" The thought floats across her mind.

A drop of drool falls from her lips, which are forced apart by the ball gag that wedges her teeth apart. The leather strap that holds it in her mouth circles around her head tightly. It is so tight that she cannot force the intruding mass out of her mouth. It doesn't stop her from breathing, and doesn't stop the animalistic sounds that result from his rhythmic pounding. It is, however, humiliating.

She watches the drop fall onto the material of the sofa's seat cushion, joining several others that have already made the trip.

He bottoms out again, jarring her entire body. She is bent over the sofa's arm, which is (fortunately) heavily padded. Her legs are dangling. Sometimes the heels she has on contact the floor, but most of the time they are in mid-air, legs bent at the knees. Her lower belly is draped across the sofa arm, supporting her weight as his efforts continue.

She looks downward, watching her tits bounce up and down her chest in time with each of his strokes. It is mesmerizing, both of her girls swinging separately, but in perfect sync. A part of her mind is amazed that the clamps he had put on her nipples were still in place. As much as the masses of her lady bumps were flying around, the fact that they were still attached was testament that they were indeed clamped tightly. She remembers the delicious pain that coursed through the tips when he had put them on, pain that had caused involuntary yelps as each fulcrum closed around the sensitive flesh. They were going to hurt like hell when he finally decided to remove them.

The chrome chain connecting the clamps swings even more than her tits, slapping her belly with each swing. Occasionally, the metal links will get thrown hard enough to strike her chin, though its force is just enough to let her know it is there and not actually hurt. The heavy links pull on the clamps, stretching her nipples painfully.

The garments he required her to wear for this little encounter bite into her skin. The top edge of the cupless leather corset digs into her chest just under her breasts. The stiff stays in the garment keep her torso from bending. It is uncomfortable, and the body heat building underneath of it is causing her to sweat ... a lot.

The bottom edge of the corset rides just above the crack of her ass. Both of his hands are locked onto it, and he is using his grip to help gain leverage as he slams into her. Designed with bondage in mind, there are metal hoops sewn into the waist area. The bands clamped around her wrists have matching slide hooks. He had secured her wrists to the hoops at her hips, holding them in place next to her body. Her hands and arms are useless in their current position, pinned against her sides.

No garters or stockings this time, which had surprised her at first. When she had opened the box that contained the brand new soft leather boots, it was more understandable. Five inch heels on the bottom. Fortunately, they were equipped with zippers on the inside of the legs, running from her thighs down to the ankles. Otherwise, it would have been very difficult to slide their entire length onto her legs. She had never worn boots that were so high before, their tops coming almost halfway up her thighs. The spike heels were difficult to walk in, but she soon figured out that he didn't have walking in mind when he picked them out for her.

He had finished her dressing with a pair of real silk panties, black to match the other pieces of her ensemble. They had not been in the picture for long. As soon as he bent her over the sofa, he had jerked them down across her ass, exposing her cheeks. The last time she had felt their presence, they were resting on her upper thighs. Sometime during his efforts, they had undoubtedly fallen. She couldn't feel them anymore, they could be on the floor, or wrapped around her knees.

Just after forcing her to bend over the sofa's arm, she had felt a large amount of warm lube drop down onto the top of her ass. Most of it ran down between her cheeks, but some of it dripped down over the milky whiteness of her haunches. His hand had followed the lube, sliding down her crack. He tickled her asshole, forcing some of the lube inside. Then, more lube, and he continued forcing more and more of it inside. She was eagerly anticipating his movement a bit lower, to give her pussy the attention it desperately needed.

With a start, she had realized he was ignoring her womanhood. It became clear that he was going to use her ass. His cock found its way between her cheeks. It slid up and down between her fleshy pillows, getting thoroughly coated with the lube. Then, he had positioned the head right on top of the puckered flower, and began to push against it. He had gone slowly, easing the hard shaft in as her muscle relaxed. Short strokes, in and out, a little deeper each time. Finally, he had all of his length buried inside of her. His hips had gyrated a little, moving her impaled butt around with him.

That had been several minutes earlier. He had been pounding her ever since, his cock meat repeatedly sliding in and out of her butt hole. Surely, she thought, he must be getting close to letting go.

Everything he was doing was what she had asked for. To be captive, to be used, to be a sex slave – it all sounded great, and until now had been a lot of fun. However, this was too much. She had approached and reached her limit. Maybe it was time to get back to some normal style fucking.

She feels him start to speed up, to buck against her ass a little more forcefully. He's getting ready to shoot, surely. She wonders if he will get her off afterwards, or if he'll leave her frustrated. Through her sphincter, she senses his cock pulse. He's going to ...

Her eyes open. For a moment she is lost, confused. Then, the realization that it was another dream. Damn that book, anyway.

"39 hues of green, my ass", she thinks. She and her lover had been playing with control, spurred on by her addiction to the book series. It had been a lot of fun, enjoyable for both of them. However, given the plethora of dreams she was having that seemed to be getting more and more intense, maybe it was time to make a course correction in their sexcapades. Each time they explored the wilder side, it required an even more wild encounter to top it. Surely some more 'normal style' fucking would be just as satisfying, wouldn't it?

Another half hour until the alarm is due to go off. Eyes closed, she relaxes back onto the pillow. The dream had been disturbing, but it had left her in a high state of arousal. Her left index finger finds the nipple of her right breast through the soft, thin fabric of her nightie. Slowly swirling around it brings it to full attention in no time. Her right hand slips down across her belly, sliding under the elastic waistband of her panties. Her middle finger slides down, and finds the wetness ...

She ponders the issue off and on through the work day, which makes it difficult to concentrate on a couple of asshole clients. Finally, the day ends, and she can do some serious contemplation of the situation (fueled by a bottle of her favorite highly fermented berry juice).

While unwinding from the work day, the newscast on the tube droning in the background catches her attention. One of our carriers is deploying to the Middle East again. Wonder what asshole is making trouble now, she wonders.

She had spent some time in the Navy years ago, a single hitch to help her straighten out some youthful issues. It had worked, and she had always looked on those days as important to what made her successful. Certainly, her time in uniform had matured her.

Her previous involvement with him pre-dated her service time, and they had not been in contact while she did her tour. He had recently seen a photo of her in uniform, and had been impressed, both by how young she looked and how attractive the dark navy blue had looked on her.

The wine triggers an idea. He had been so enamored by the sight of her in the uniform, maybe she could send them both back in time a bit for some fun.

Over the weekend, she scours some local Army/Navy stores looking for just the right pieces. Her old uniform had long since gone away. In addition, she wasn't the same exact size she was back in those days.

Her 'girls', in particular, had filled out in the intervening years, growing from modest bumps topped with red ripe strawberries into full fledged cantaloupe sized masses of soft, deliciously pliable flesh. They had certainly served her and her lovers (including her current one) very well since they had 'grown up'. Although the term was pretty crude, 'fun bags' was an apt description of the joy they had provided. She was quite happy with their size, and the sexual pleasure they gave her.

It took some looking, but she finally found the right pieces in the right sizes to make up her new uniform.

Returning home, she goes on line for a little more research. After finding the particulars, she makes the reservations, orders the tickets, and thinks more about the little details of the plan. Penning a letter to him (how quaint and old fashioned, she mused), she gives him his instructions:

"You will find a ticket enclosed, please be on it. Once you get there, take a cab from the airport to the JW downtown – you know the one. I get in a little later than you do, so go to the front desk and get your key. Room 1977, top floor. We will already be checked in, so it should be waiting for you.

DO NOT stop off at any titty bars on the way for a quick peek job. DO NOT be late. If you are not there when I get there, I might just pack up my pussy and go home! If an emergency happens, you've got my number.

I'll see you in 11 days, lover.

Oh, and one more thing. Don't whack that little monster off for a few days prior to seeing me. I want a large and proper load built up as my tribute!"

The bellboy opens the door for her, Room 1979. Checking her watch, she sees that there is about an hour and a half until he arrives next door. The small roller suitcase is deposited on top of the bed. Opening it, she pulls the makeup case out and takes it into the bathroom. She had done most of her primping before getting on the plane. A mandatory visit to the Vietnamese ladies for a mani and pedi, followed by a hand and lower leg massage. Damn, those bitches were good, she had a footgasm pretty much every time she visited them. Following that was a trip to the wax salon, where she had opted for the full Brazilian. Usually she opted for a landing strip, or some other cute trim job to entertain him. This time however, she was going full commando. She was anxious to see how he reacted when he saw her naked mound and lips.

Stripping out of her everyday clothes and underwear, she leaves them where they fall. She wasn't going to worry about cleaning this room up until the morning. She takes a quick shower, rinsing away a little bit of travel grime. She had performed a more thorough cleaning and grooming just before going to the airport hours ago, so this was just a touchup.

Looking in the mirror, she takes stock of her makeup for signs of needed repair. A fresh coat of hooker red lipstick, to match her nails. A little darkening of the eye shadow, which is very dark and upswept, giving her a slightly evil appearance. Sophisticated slut, her friend Sara would call this look.

Returning to the bed, she pulls out her uniform pieces and hangs them to let any lasting wrinkles fall out. Her underwear selections, definitely not GI issue, are laid out on the bed. Checking the clock again, she realizes there are a few minutes to relax. Without a stitch of clothing on, she goes to the window wall and pulls the curtains wide open. The sun has dropped below the mountains to the west, twilight is rapidly overtaking the city. Looking down the avenue that leads from the hotel down to the bay, she sees what she is looking for. Two huge lit numbers seem to float above the water. Moored at the Navy pier is one of the carriers, in port for Fleet Week festivities. Her presence here, at this time, is not an accident. This is the ship she had been on for her sea tour.

She turns the overstuffed side chair around to face the window, and pours herself a tall glass of her berry wine. Sitting down, she stares down at the huge numbers and loses herself in memories of times past. Times spent on that ship, times that had changed her life forever. Faces flood her mind, some good, a few not so much. Wild things she did in the Navy, things in and out of uniform that she still didn't talk about. Yes, the service had done a world of good to straighten her out, but that didn't mean she had been an angel while in (or out of) uniform.

She is startled by the sound of the door to the next room, 1977, as it opens and closes. He's here, she realizes. The reminiscing could have gone on for hours, but its time to get dressed and go have some seriously carnal fun.

The package containing the new stockings is opened. High dollar, ultra smooth, dark coffee colored, they have Cuban heels and the requisite back seam.

Fingers bunch up one of the delicate leggings. Raising her right foot up onto the bed, she eases the stocking over her toes. Carefully, slowly, she pulls it up her foot, up around her ankle, and then up her calf. A few inches at a time, then adjusting, then a few more inches. Up over her knee, a couple of tugs to get the seam aligned properly. All the way up her thigh, and a couple of more wiggles to seat the band in its customary spot. She runs her hands up and down the length of her now covered leg, smoothing out any errant wrinkles. She is still amazed at how smooth the fabric is with this specific brand. After buying so many pairs of stockings for her bed dressing, she knows exactly what size to purchase. The length has to be just right, to get the top of the band a perfect three inches below her lady parts.

The right leg finds the floor again, followed by the left one up on the bed. The left leg's stocking glides up in the same fashion, matching its partner on the right.

The panties are next. Black satin, they are a high leg cut hipster design with a thong back and lace trim around the waist and leg openings. . She slides them up her legs, the soft fabric gliding deliciously across the stockings. A few back and forth adjustments get the underwear to seat correctly. At first glance, the front is kind of plain. Black satin with some lacy fringe, and a row of small bows leading from just below her belly button straight downward. What is not evident at that first glance is that they are crotchless. The bows hold the two halves together. She was going to let him find that out for himself. Perhaps he'd undo those bows with his teeth just prior to glimpsing her gloriously naked womanhood?

A gartered waist cincher follows. It takes a lot of wiggling back and forth to get it up over her thighs and hips. By its very nature, it is a snug garment. Once in place, it rides just above the waistline of the panties, up to her ribcage. It is not a very long one. She had chosen it because of its matchup with how the other garments in her ensemble rode on her. Selecting matched pieces from the Lesmith Collection at Agent Voyeur guaranteed her that they would go well together, patterns, materials and overall appeal assured. Careful attention to detail ensured there was no overlap, no bunching, no double layers of cloth standing in his way. Six wide garter straps hang from its lower edge, the chrome metal of the clasps contrasting with the black color of the rest of the garment. Indeed, everything she is putting on at this stage is completely black, except for the stockings themselves.

Starting on her right side, the front and side garters are easy to attach to the stocking's band. As usual, the back one is the bitch. Although she has to do it by feel alone, her practiced hands quickly get it secured. Repeating the process on her left side, she quickly has all six clasps firmly in place. A quick turn in front of the mirror verifies that the back garters are perfectly placed in line with the back seams of the hose.

While some women view putting these garments on as a chore (and some absolutely hate to do it), she looks forward to this part of the sexual experience. She loves the feel of silk, satin, and nylon sliding across her skin. Rubbing her stocking clad legs together is a wonderfully sensual experience. She loves the way she looks in these undergarments, loves the sexy aura that surrounds her when she is dressed for bed. Not to mention the sexual tension that builds up while she puts these on for him. Anticipation, baby ...

Next comes the bra. Choosing the easier, but decidedly un-sexy approach, she fastens the hooks in front of her, and then spins it around to put the cups under her breasts. Slipping her arms through the straps, she pulls the cups up and over her mounds. Again catching a look in the mirror, she nods her agreement. At first glance, the bra seems to be a bit 'tame' for the coming encounter. The cups give her full frontal coverage. No cleavage showing, no low cut tease from this one. The cup material is a see through lace. The pale whiteness of her breasts and pink nipples are visible through the cups, semi hidden as if behind a veil. Perfect. He will be a bit perplexed when he first sees it, she believes.

Looks are deceiving, certainly. He loves to suck her tits. That is a fact. It is also fact that she loves it when he sucks them. One day while out with a friend on a shopping trip, she got an idea. The friend had recently had a baby. In the mall's food court, the friend had opened up her shirt, dropped the maternity bra's cup on one of her breasts, and the child immediately locked on for a drink. Instead of being put off by this public show of intimacy, an idea formed in her fertile mind.

An internet search had produced what she was looking for – a sexy nursing bra. When it arrived, she was disappointed. The picture of it indicated it was the see through lace she wanted, but in reality it was a lace covering over a nude colored padded cup. Rather than admit defeat, she had very carefully cut out the pad, leaving only the lace and the structure of the bra itself. The results were beautiful ... at least in her opinion. He would either love it or hate it. Such things were difficult to predict when the brain in the smaller of his two heads was in charge.

A quick 360 in front of the mirror confirms that everything so far is in its proper place. She congratulates herself on her choices, quite a stunning sight. Even without her heels on, her figure was beautiful. She certainly wasn't some bone thin supermodel, nor did she want to be. However, her womanly curves made for a striking pose, and seemed to please all of her partners ... him especially.

Back into the bathroom, she puts her hair up in the proper GI style. A tight bun, then topped off with the white and navy uniform cap. A couple of bobbie pins to hold it in place, a small sideways adjustment, and it's done.

Back to the bed, and the white long sleeve shirt is next. It buttons all the way up to her throat. Following is the tie (which, even after all these years, is still a bitch to get on correctly).

Stepping into the dark skirt, she pulls it up and over her undies. Pulling up the side mounted zipper, it settles into place. Sitting in the chair by the window, she dons her shoes. Decidedly not government style, they are black, open toed five inch pumps. Straps find their way around her ankles, where she buckles them tightly into place. Long ago she had learned that if she was wearing heels to bed, they had to have straps or some other means of making sure they didn't come off by accident, clobbering her partner (or worse, stabbing him with the sharp metal spikes at the tip of the heel). These would not be fun to walk around in, but she wasn't planning on doing much walking in the coming hours.