Bounced

The clicking starts as the mechanism engages. The blindfold prevents you from seeing it, but you know it's coming. You're still panting hard through your ring gag from the last cycle.

You're not sure how long you've been here, you tried to count the cycles in the beginning, but it wasn't long before your mind was too frazzled to keep track. You have no idea how much longer it's going to continue.

Your enforced strappado arch is accentuated by the cable connecting the harness around your head to the smooth hook lodged in your ass.

The belt slides upwards between drenched thighs. You don't exactly know what it is, but you know

intimately

how it feels. Some sort of rubber, firm but just slightly elastic. It's covered in soft, flexible little rubbery spines, and slathered in lube.

You totter from side to side a little on your ballet heels, making the long metal tassels clamped to your sore nipples tinkle gently. But you know there's no avoiding it. The belt presses upwards against you. The pressure forces it to flex as it insinuates itself once more between your lips, and the slick soft spikes are bent and crushed against your swollen inner labia. The pressure builds, and builds, making you grunt, and eventually It takes your weight and lifts you bodily off the ground.

You yelp, as have every cycle, at the too-intense sensations. You do your best to go limp, and hold your dangling legs still, knowing that the slightest movement will be transferred directly to your most sensitive area.

You are gradually lifted by the crotch upwards and backwards, til your torso is nearly horizontal. A padded strap around your waist keeps you centred above the belt. The strain is taken off your arms, and are able to rest your cuffed wrists against your lower back, but you're too preoccupied with the sensations between your legs to really appreciate it. The shifting of the distribution of your body weight causes your pussy to slide forward over the taut rubber belt. Sparks to go off behind your eyes as the insidious spines graze through your most intimate area, constantly flicking over your clit. You're unable to stop your hips from jerking, and your dangling feet wiggle ineffectually, which sets you to swaying gently from side to side, exacerbating the sensations. The tiny chains hanging from your nipples describe complex sparkling patterns beneath your dangling breasts.

Your weight settles and the wait begins.

A speaker comes on. You can hear in the distance women keening, squealing, wailing, grunting, incoherent begging. There are dozens of them, reverberating around the closed space, fading in and out. They're all you. They must have microphones in here, and they're playing back the audio from past cycles, mocking you. You do your best to block it out, but it's getting to you. You sound so helpless, so desperate, so passionate. Animalistic. So fucking hot.

They're definitely varying the wait time, making sure you can't predict when it will start, you can never relax. Never more than a couple minutes. Just long enough to keep you on tenterhooks -

The tension beneath you gives way completely, and you plummet... maybe 6 inches, before your momentum is abruptly arrested by the belt rocketing up to meet you again. The speakers simultaneously cut off, the better to capture your -

"AEEEIII - UH".

The initial impact is a wet, stinging slap, but your weight immediately forces it violently itself back between your lips. The momentum makes your rigid clit slide forwards forwards an inch or so through the forest of lubricated cilia. The white hot sensation makes your eyes roll back. Simultaneously, your head jerks, tugging up on the anal hook and causing the smooth, lubricated sphere inside to fuck up into you.

The belt has just enough flex and upward velocity to send you bouncing back upwards, though not quite as high as you started. Gravity quickly takes over, and you fall back down towards the belt, which has positioned itself slightly lower, and the process repeats.

The repeated bounces sink slightly lower each time, guiding your torso back towards it's original vertical orientation. Every jolt, pulse in your ass, and flash of slick prickly friction between your legs wrenches a guttural grunt or a squeal from you.

Every part of you is wobbling. Your legs kick frantically, your tits and ass wobble, your hair bounces wildly around your shoulders. The dangling nipple tassels jingle and tug painfully. It's frankly incomprehensible how they're even staying on.

You must look ridiculous. It's utterly humiliating, the sensations are overwhelming, and there's absolutely nothing you can do to escape.

You cum on the 4th bounce, wailing, whole body quivering. You have been forced to climax at least once on each cycle, but which particular bounce it occurs on varies. The bouncing continues, drawing out the orgasm, each jerk triggering additional aftershocks. It continues even as your orgasm ends, paying no heed to your incoherent tearful entreaties, remorselessly slapping against your overstimulated clit again and again, the sensations making you absolutely frantic.

After several dozen more bounces, once your torso is back to its original vertical orientation, it mercifully comes to an end. The belt slowly descends. Your outstretched toes graze, then contact the floor, but your legs are jelly, completely unable to support you. You remain perched with your full weight remaining on the belt, hunched over, shoulders heaving, trying to recover, jerking each time you move a millimetre and a rubber spine slides against your pussy. Rivulets of fluid tickle their way down your inner thighs.

Shortly the belt begins lowering again, tugging free from your inflamed, sore, thoroughly sensitised pussy. Strings of mixed lube and arousal stretch between them as it retreats.

You groan as the upwards pull on your wrists begins to put pressure back on your shoulders. You struggle to get wobbling colt-legs back under you and laboriously manage to lock your knees, standing back up.

Waiting for the next cycle.

You come to, head throbbing, something hard pressing uncomfortably against your side and cheek. You're lying on your front porch, wearing nothing but a set of matching red satin bra and panties, concealed from the street by the hedge on the railing. You scramble up into a crouch, and groan. Every part of you is sore, every beat of your heart makes your mistreated sensitive parts throb painfully. Your pussy is still burning and tingling. Your sphincter feels stretched.

You scurry inside. The front door is unlocked. You briefly consider the implications.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the hall mirror. Your makeup has been done, eyes tastefully lined and shadowed, lips a blazing red pout. Your skin is clean, and your hair has been curled, shining and voluminous. You shake your head. You can't deal with this right now. You just need to lie down.

A large red gift box sits in the hallway. You pick it up with shaking hands, and carry it to your bedroom, collapsing under your covers.

It takes a good 15 minutes before you can summon the wherewithal to pull the ribbon and take off the lid. Inside, there are several objects. There are two bottles, one white and one clear. Something that looks like a rectangular wooden scrubbing brush, only with incredibly soft, fine, dense bristles. A black strip of rubber rolled up tightly into a cylinder. A mass of tiny silver chains. A rigid loop covered in red velvet. On top is a white A4 card with a note on it, in neat handwriting with hearts dotting the 'i's.

I hope you enjoyed yourself! I certainly enjoyed watching you! What a performance!

The cream is for the soreness. Apply it with the with brush - I promise you'll thank me! The clamps, belt, and lube are a memento, for you to play with when you inevitably start fantasising about the memories. We also sent a link to the 4k video of your experience to your email.

The collar is for you to wear in public if you want us to kidnap you again. I hope you do! We'll go easier on you next time! Maybe. Or maybe not! Only one way to find out!

Love,

Your secret admirer.

P.S: Turn me over

The other side is a glossy landscape photo of you on the belt. It's the epitome of an action shot. Your smooth legs are captured mid-kick, hair flying wildly. You're bent forward at the waist, arms bound high behind your back, red lips in an enforced 'O', back in an enforced arch. Blindfolded, covered in straps and deviant equipment. The belt is flexed beneath you, shoved deeply into your cleft. Your breasts are captured in the act of flying off in opposite directions, and the sparkling chains of the clamps curl off in flailing spirals. Every muscle is clenched in desperation. Your cheeks and breasts are blazing pink, your skin and hair is damp with sweat, and a delicate white foam is plastered around your crotch.

It's a portrait of passion, the most erotic thing you've ever seen. It's impossible to look at the woman in the photo, and not feel a pang of jealousy.

You carefully put the photo back in the box, put the lid back on, and then hurl it across the room. It bounces off the wall and lies still.

You lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling.

After a few minutes you stand back up and walk over to the box, picking it up and bringing it back to the bed. You delicately pull down the red satin panties, which have developed a blatant dark spot, and take off the bra. You open the box and pull out the white bottle and the brush, squeezing on a generous amount. You lie back and slide the brush over your left nipple once. The brush is luxuriously soft. After a few seconds a you feel a wet, tingling, cooling sensation. It's a delicious antidote to the soreness. You can feel the slightest air current against your nipple, and it stands up like an antenna. You do the other one, then apply more cream, and slide the brush between your legs.

The first ticklish swipe of bristles against your vulva makes you gasp, and the second makes you spasm. Before long, the cooling tingle starts up, soothing the burning, and you emit a contented sigh.

You pause, and look at the box. You reach in, pulling out the red velvet collar. You study it for a moment, locate the clasping mechanism, and before you can think about it further, you click it closed around your neck. You look up at yourself in the bedroom mirror, and a wave of lust flows over you.

You turn over on your belly, grasping the brush firmly and positioning it between your legs, and begin to hump against it. You start slowly, leisurely, firmly grinding your hips, but the combination of the cool tingling cream and soft tickling bristles are too tempting, and your movements quickly become urgent and jerky.

Your first orgasm arrives quickly.

Thanks for reading! I have no idea how physically realistic this crazy scenario is, but my libido liked it and that's good enough for me! Let me know if you enjoyed it!

This is an erotic fantasy! In real life, I do not endorse kidnapping, sexual assault, or nonconsensual bondage predicaments.