I lift you, still blindfolded, your elbows still tied behind you and lay you face-up on the kitchen table. I, as always, worry about laying you on your arms, thinking it would hurt, but you've never made any complaint, so I figure you liked it.
I feather the ends of the green Saran Wrap and weave the bands between your toes, then start wrapping your feet. I wrap your left ball, arch, heel, ankle, calf, knee, and thigh, pulling the plastic tight as I move up, compressing your softness against your firm muscle and rigid bones.
At the juncture of your leg and your crotch, your asscheek is well-defined, plump above the tightness of your wrapped thigh. I cut the sheet on the toothed strip and lay the end across your abs.
I repeat the same action on your right toes, ball, arch, heel, ankle, calf, knee and thigh, to much the same effect. The two ends of green plastic film lay on your powerful abs.
I leave you there and walk to the bedroom to retrieve the hoe-handle from where I'd laid it beside the bed. I return and stand in the doorway, admiring your beauty - your feet and legs completely and tightly wrapped in nearly opaque green, your belly arched up by your arms tied beneath you, your tits rolling over your heaving chest, your mouth open, gasping heavily. I have also retrieved our hamper of toys and tools from the bedroom and I roll it beside the table.
Knowing how you like to have your jaw stretched and your breath and voice restricted, I roll a handball over your lips and you eagerly open, drawing it in. Of course, I tie it in with one of your red bandanas, shoving and holding the accommodating ball to the back of your mouth. I buckle the red half-inch dog collar snugly around your neck, pulling it tight enough to snuggle into the skin of your neck, but not so tight as to choke you. At least not unnecessarily.
I dip into the hamper for the steel meter stick. I tell you to spread your green-wrapped limbs. And, of course, you do.
I press one end of the yard to the table, bending the other end up to about a foot-and-a-half above your groin. You quietly wait, anticipating, unsure what to expect. I release the steel rule and it slams wetly into your cunt, you scream in pain and I bend the yard up again, releasing it to slam again, flattening your lips.
You make that delightfully intriguing sound when you scream through the ball-gag that is forcing your jaw to its limit. Or maybe just a little further than its limit. It is an unaspirated glottal fricative with tone and volume the only things you can control.
I love that sound you make when you lose control.
My use of the steel rule has served it's purpose after only about half-a-dozen metallic slaps. Your mound is reddened underneath your hair - and a bit swollen.
As intended.
I had cut the hoe handle at the precise length it had to be to enter your cunt as deep as my cock when you were standing with the rubber-tipped end firmly set on the floor. And now, it was time to use it again.
I pick it up from the chair where I'd laid it and, standing at your feet, trace the end along your swollen slit and...
ahhh, yes, that's the sound
... slowly, steadily, in one drive to the inside, I press the work-worn end of the handle into you.
Sometimes it seems you writhe in pain, sometimes in pleasure, sometimes as a reflexive action devoid of meaning. But you writhe. You writhe on the end of the stick.
I love to watch you writhe. Love to feel you writhe through the wooden rod that I, smoothly insistent, press millimeter by millimeter, agonizingly slowly (well, you look agonized - off and on. Me, I find it fascinating. And stiffening in the most delightful way)...
Sorry, I drifted off there, mesmerized by the vision of the progress of my insertion.
And now, we're almost there. I can feel the tugging on the handle by the muscles clutching it, rippling, attempting to draw it in. I enjoy feeling that and, in the months since I'd made the handle, I've come to discover that I enjoy watching it while controlling it. You are astonishing.
OK, that looks about right, the rubber just there by your feet.
I go back to using Saran wrap, but this time I'm using the blue sheets. I wrap several turns around the handle at your ankles, then began to roll it around both your legs, warping them together, moving up your legs. At your knee, I slide the roll between your thighs, take a couple wraps around the handle, snug everything and continue up to your hips. This second wrap increases the tightness and pressure on your athletic legs, and by the time they are wrapped to the groin, you can't bend your knees - you are wedded to the handle.
As intended.
I come now to a decision I've been putting off until now.
I guess UNTIL this moment, because now it must be made.
I'm going to leave your ass unwrapped, at least for now, I expect I'll be wanting to be inside you later.
In any case, now is the time to take the next step - and it's a big one. To continue my wrapping, I need to get you off the table. I pull you by the ankles until your ass is at the edge of the table and then grab your elbows and pull you to me, which tips you over the edge and I lower you to stand between me and the table. And I watch your face, dancing among expressions of the variety of emotions calling the tune.
You flinch as your puffy enhanced ass catches on the edge of the table and is well-stretched before your butt snaps to as it slips over the edge of the table.
I hear the rubber tip hit the floor just before I feel your feet brushing the insides of mine, the drop of about an inch suddenly drives the handle that much deeper.
Surprise.
Yeah, that sound.
I resume the wrapping, around your hips, folding the loose ends of green wrap to be laid secure underneath the blue wrapping, tying the whole thing together. I have to lean you back against the table, as you have no way to balance yourself on the handle. As I wrap around the top of your thighs, then around your hips, covering your pussy mound - but wrapping so as not to cover your glorious muscular ass, swollen and stretched, I have to pull you away from the table to wrap the couple wraps around your hips and from your reaction, that rocks the handle.
You start gyrating and I'm not sure if you're losing your balance or humping the handle.
Likely both.
I continue up, wrapping hard into your tummy, cute and delightful as it is when free, I have made it very narrow, cinching it tight with the blue wrap. I roll you a half turn along the table edge until you're facing it. I press you forward, folding you over.
Damn, I like the way your ass looks, puffing out from the tight strictures above and below.
I untie your elbows and turn you once again, a half roll along the table edge. Now, with you propped back against the wood, I cast a bowline around your left wrist and pass the cord behind you, tugging your wrist up and in until your left hand rests on your right tit. I pull your right wrist to rest on your left breast and cast a bowline around that wrist. You stand, arms crossed in front of you, hands resting on your breasts, palms to nipples.
Resuming your wrapping, I give a half turn behind your back with each pass around your ribs. I wrap around your arms, tightening the plastic wrap, pinning your arms to your torso.The blue sheet is about to run out.
I twist the last several feet into a Saran rope. I circle the base of each of your tits in turn with this 'rope'. I pull...
Ahhhhh, YES! That sound stiffens me more.
I wrap this 'rope' around your tits in a tight figure-eight. The 'rope' stretches your skin and lifts your marvelous udders - and they begin to swell a little, balling up on your chest.
You are rocking back and forth along the edge of the table. I smile, knowing you are working the hoe handle in your cunt.
I cross to the cabinet for another roll - this time, I use the red.
I start again at your waist, pulling each wrap tight. I shape your narrowing wasp-waist with great pleasure. Now, you cannot use your diaphragm to breathe, so your chest heaves and your balled-up tits rock and sway.
Delightful.
I am inspired to a side-track.
