Part 1 - Bad Call
I lay there, stuck, stretched out to the corners and tied naked by my own hand, listening to the phone dial my ex-boyfriend and lay utter devastation to my life.
The phone clicked as the number picked up. It would be the voicemail on Scott's cell phone. He had never answered an incoming call in all his life but he was very good about listening to a message as soon as it finished. I knew that, having dated him for the better part of a year. A part of me prayed this time would be different. The content of what my recorded voice was about to say was appropriate, fun, and perfectly in line with our relationship back then then but now it would be a nightmare. That he would have it recorded made it thirty times worse.
I heard my voice playing poorly though the tiny speaker on the phone. I sounded perky and enthusiastic as always. "Hi Scott! It's Regina. Yeah, didn't see this coming, huh? Well anyway, I am at home and I'm kinda stuck right now and I need your help. Could you come over to my house? Let yourself in, you know where the key is, and feel free to help yourself to anything you see for as long as you like. Since I explicitly invited you over, it's not like I can say no or complain about it later, so have lotsa fun with whatever you find! Anyway, I really need your help so come by soon. Thanks!" And the phone clicked off.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to wet myself. Most of all, I wanted to get loose so I wasn't tied on top of my bed in a nude spread-eagle with a bright red ball gag in my mouth when my ex-boyfriend arrived. My ex-boyfriend who I did not part well with almost three months ago. My ex-boyfriend who would be very glad to take me up on the offer in the message and therefore I had just stupidly extended it to him. My ex-boyfriend who would probably enjoy several hours of fucking the living hell and playing with, and maybe even doing worse things to me, the girl who dumped him in a very loud and public fight not too long ago.
I heard the phone ring, and it was sure enough Scott. He sounded curious and confused and down underneath hopeful that he was properly reading between the lines of my message. He'd be over as fast as he could, in about 15 to 20 minutes, and he'd be quite happy to take me up on my offer. Screaming wouldn't work through the ball gag, crying wouldn't change anything. I was screwed, and fixing to get thoroughly screwed. I had done it to myself, sure enough.
I thrashed violently yet again, trying to find any weakness in the ropes that held me. None. I was stuck. Cooked goose. Naked cooked goose.
And now here I was, naked as he'd ever seen me, helpless and stuck, because I wasn't able to get free and turn off the timer and prevent the phone call from going out. And here I would still be when he arrived, free to do whatever he wanted to me for as long as he wanted to. By invitation.
Scott and I had found each other last year, in our junior year at the college. He was in the mechanical engineering program, doing well and had a solid future in front of him. He was a reasonably good but definitely kinky guy and I could find uses for a horny kinky guy. I hadn't really been sexually active up until then and we really made up for lost time! I found I liked making love and especially liked having orgasms, regularly. I also found we both had a taste for what some of my girlfriends - prudes! Didn't have a clue what they were missing! - thought was risky sex, thrill seeking, risk taking. We had done some really wild things, sex outdoors, sex tied up - all except one or two times it was me tied up while he took thorough and delightful advantage - even a little sex outdoors tied up, I really didn't like anal sex, but I did enjoy giving blow jobs and watching how my poor guy became watery putty in my hands - more in my mouth, to be honest.
I would and we did just about everything we wanted indoors and alone but I had a real mental block about dressing slutty in public, to anywhere, especially to class. It did seem kind of weird, since I enjoyed being an absolute slut indoors, but I was just unwilling. There wasn't anything wrong with me physically, I wasn't and never would be a stick but there was no doubt at all I was all woman. I had long legs in 3-inch heels, a regular-sized body, and didn't look remarkable but could successfully pull off a bikini. Bra strap length brown hair, 36D bust, and a long thin body, nice legs with no visible fat - well, maybe just a tad on my stomach, but it was unnoticeable to everyone but me, including Scott. My reluctance caused us problems - it caused Scott to be unhappy - and eventually, when he was out with me and admiring some barely - and I do mean bare - post-teenager in a micro-miniskirt too openly, I blew up at him. We had a ten-minute screaming match right then and there in the middle of the meal - well, I did the screaming and he tried to get us out of the restaurant - after which he took me home and that was that.
I went into a blue funk, of course, and wasn't good company to anyone, even myself. It didn't help that Scott and I had four of our six classes together and most of them we were sitting side by side. It was mid-semester so we were stuck in our assigned seats. I missed my steady sex and especially the steady orgasms but I had had it with him and his wandering eyes and I wasn't quite ready to throw myself at another lecherous beast like Scott - there wasn't any other types. I had tied myself up several times when we were dating during the occasional times he was too busy with something to spend time with me - or to leave myself as a present for him, of course - and I loved the way I could think myself horribly horny but not do anything about it until I got loose afterward. I had set up an ice release which had every time up until now worked perfectly. I had the computer and desk phone set up to call my boyfriend as my safety man - back then who else would I call? - with a spicy invitation of a message, but never needed it. I'd get loose and turn off the program and then treat myself to some long-awaited gigantic O's.
The first two hours went fine and normal. I imagined being kidnapped, my rich daddy would come up with the ransom in time but the kidnappers were enjoying keeping me in terror, tied naked to the bed with nothing to do but wait and panic. They had promised me that when they got back from wherever they had gone, they would all be demanding services. Some of them would be content to try to choke me with the stream of cum they would force me to suck out of them and then hold my head down so I had to swallow it all, but some of them would only be satisfied with the traditional method and the traditional place to deposit cum. I was squirming, trying to get loose before they got back and all eight of them, including two girls, started taking turns with me. I got real wet and started twitching, trying to find something to rub against my clit or pussy but of course tied naked and spread-eagle nothing was there. That was the plan. Squeezing and clenching my thighs felt real good but was far too little to bring me off even though I wanted it real bad.
Then the key fell, but my hands were tied just a little too tight or the string was a little too short or something. No matter how it happened, the key had fallen but all I could do was brush it with my fingertips. I had been trying to get it for the remaining two hours with increasing desperation because I knew what would and did happen at the four-hour point since I wasn't able to click the stop button on the computer program. It had dialed and sent the pre-recorded message just like I had set it up to. And yes, I now had adequate time to reflect on how I should have changed the program and message to go to one of my girlfriends. Shirley or Tina would have been good options to come get me, good friends and most likely would understand. Shirley probably would enjoy seeing me naked, being lez, but they'd both have been good people to get a phone call. But deep down inside I knew it was the risk-taker in me that didn't change it. It added to the risk and the thrill that if things did go wrong Scott, who would not by any means settle for just letting me loose, would be called. But it had never been that important since I had done this plenty of times, I had this self-bondage thing pretty well figured out, never had a problem getting loose and knew I never would. Until today.
And yes, I was screwed thoroughly. If I wasn't helpless, I wouldn't be in this mess so I was completely helpless. I reflected unhappily that I couldn't even threaten to turn him in for rape with that message on his cell phone in my own voice inviting him over and hinting pretty plainly that he was welcome to do whatever for as long as he wanted. He could beat the charge. At the least I would destroy my reputation at school and make me look like an absolute idiot to the police. He could claim that he was acting based on our past history - we sometimes had played where I was unwilling - and my message. I heard a car motor pull up and turn off outside, and I knew things were about to get dicey.
And on top of everything else over time I had built up to a very full bladder. I was supposed to be loose two hours ago. I needed to pee real, real bad.
Scott was a decent person down at the core although the chances of him doing the honorable thing and just letting me loose were microscopic. OK, subatomic. OK, quantum physics world. It wasn't going to happen. I hadn't heard or found that he had replaced me yet so I expected his balls these days were probably a really beautiful shade of blue. He would almost certainly take advantage of me, have sex with me and do other things, but once he was done he would release me and through it all make sure I was ok.
Despite the invitation if I could avoid it I was not going to give myself to him. That message was created when he had free and open access to my body and that it played now was nothing more than a huge mistake. To say thank you I'd take him out to dinner or cook him a meal or something but no free milk from this cow while he couldn't keep his eyes off the rest of the herd. But I did feel myself start to get wet and antsy down between my legs. Even involuntarily, one way or another, at least I was pretty certain to real soon get that orgasm I was craving.
I detected the sound of the front door opening, and with a last desperate failed try at the key and a shake of my head abandoned myself to my fate. I heard him from the entry way call out my name. Of course, I couldn't answer, but my car was still in the driveway. He'd check the house for me and most likely check here first. I listened to his footsteps down the hall and then he walked quickly into the room. I noted that he must have been expecting this because he didn't hesitate or act surprised at all. He looked me over, saw the key and I demonstrated the problem by brushing it with my fingertips. He looked at it for a second, said "oh" and then reached for it and jerked the string, breaking it and taking the key completely out of reach.
There was a flare of hope that he'd release me but he pocketed the key and then reached behind my head for the ball-gag straps and undid them. He gently pulled the ball out of my mouth. "You OK?" He asked, and he knew it would take me a moment or two to get my voice back in working order. But I had a problem so I started croaking anyway.
"Bathroom. Gotta pee." It wasn't too well voiced, with the dryness and soreness of a mouth that had contained a large ball gag until a few seconds ago. "Please unlock me so I can go pee."
He looked at me for a second. "And you'll let me tie you back up afterward like you promised so I can play with you?" It wasn't really a question. We both knew, and if he didn't know me well enough by now he could see in my eyes that I would never let that happen.
"O-K." He said, more to himself after a second. He left the room and I heard him walk into the kitchen, rummage for a second for something, then start back to the bedroom. Dammit, what was he doing? Let me go! Did he really want me to piss the bed? In the hallway he stopped and turned on the air conditioner and I started to get a little scared. It needed some fixing and was pretty much right outside my bedroom window. It was loud enough to the outside world that we - I - could be in my bedroom screaming at the top of my lungs and nobody would ever hear me. We used it for noise blanketing all the time when we were together. Nobody outside ever heard anything.
He came back in, and I groaned at what I saw in his hand. A large super-thirsty cup. "No, I think I am going to do just what you said I could. But here, pee into this and I'll go dump it. It wouldn't do for me to be laying on top of you and give you a burst bladder or a wet bed." He held the cup in a reasonable spot between my legs and waited.
"No, Scott, let me go. I'm not going to do this." After about fifteen seconds of watching me not do anything, he sighed and pressed down firmly on my already overfull bladder.
I gasped and almost screamed, but without a choice I started peeing and once I started there was no way I was going to be able to stop. I peed into the cup until he told me to wait while he went to the bathroom and poured it in the toilet, then came back for more with the cup and a little toilet paper. I finished and he wiped me down then went back into the bathroom and emptied and threw out the cup.
He came back and stood over me. "Please no!" I begged. He grimaced and I realized what I had done as he reached for the gag and started to force it back in my mouth. I thought about fighting him on this, but we'd done this sort of thing in the past and I knew what would happen. He'd pinch my nose, eventually I'd have to open my mouth to breathe and he'd get the ball gag in me. So I compliantly opened my mouth and he placed it back in and strapped it into position. I was really stuck and screwed, and as I was already thoroughly stuck it was now time for the screwing part to begin.
He didn't do that, but when I saw what he was doing I wished he had. He stepped back to the door and pulled out his cell phone and started taking pictures. From the doorway. Up close. Of me laying naked and stretched out, breasts bare, pussy and hair exposed, legs spread wide. From the side. From the headboard. From the footing. Standing on the bed right above me. At my feet down real low where my pussy and pubic hair were the main point with my naked breasts behind them. Of my face with the ball-gag in. At least with the gag in, there could be a little doubt that it was me.
It wasn't as bad as it might be. He had a few pictures from when we were together - and I was adequately drunk - of me in conditions ranging from nicely dressed to full frontal nudity. Nothing of me tied up; I had drawn the line at that despite his begging. Even with the way we had broken up he had never so much as mentioned the pictures much less posted them or done anything with them that I knew. That was then and this was now, but seeing that I could do exactly nothing about it hopefully he was still discreet.
After quite a few pictures, he reached back and took off the ball gag. I immediately rolled my head away from him, to hide my face from the camera. He put the gag on the other side of the bed and positioned the camera for some pictures of my unencumbered face. He waited about thirty seconds, then sighed and reached over and grabbed one of my nipples to pinch it.
I thrashed but couldn't generate enough movement to throw off his hand. "Stop that, you bastard." I gritted under my breath.
"You have a choice." He informed me. "You can look over here and let me get the pictures I want. Or I will go out to the side yard and get a bunch of clothes pins and I'll zipper you. You're being such a shit that I might do it anyway but I *will* do it right now if you don't stop this crap."
I felt my blood run cold and my panic rise almost to swamp me. He had asked me about it once while we were dating and I had learned, although not first-hand, how much it hurt. A restrained person had a bunch of clothespins placed on their body, usually including and especially on their breasts and nipples and sometimes on their labia. The clothespins were strung together with a length of small cord or string. The ridges of flesh created by the closely-spaced clothespins resembled a zipper, especially right after they had been removed, giving it the name. They looked to hurt bad enough as they were going on, really hurt on a woman's nipples or labia, but the cord was used to pull them off all at once and really fast. The pain of that and the blood flow returning made every woman I had ever seen having this done to her scream at the top of her lungs in agony for about a minute before they settled down to hyperventilated hysterical sobbing. He had wanted to do it, but I was unwilling to be hurt that bad, even for him, so he dropped it and we never did.
"I will zipper you over and over until you decide to cooperate," He told me, "and we both know you can't stop me. You could scream and nobody would hear you over the A/C, but you'll have the ball-gag back in anyway. I'm going to get up in a few seconds and go get the clothespins if your head stays turned." He told me. "If you don't stop this crap before I get out the door I am going to get them, and do you at least once no matter what you say or promise." He stopped and let me chew on it, but I kept my head turned. Would he really do this to me? Would he really hurt me that much? After a little bit of reflecting I had to conclude he would. He presumably still wanted to, I couldn't stop him, and he had nothing to lose. We were both aware I had given him permission to do anything he wanted and it was not as if he would refrain from doing it because he'd piss off and lose his girlfriend. But I didn't know if he would. One thing was sure that he didn't make idle threats. If he got out the door he most likely would follow through.
"Gina, I really don't want to do that to you. It really hurts and I don't want to hurt you." I still didn't respond. He sighed, shook his head, and reached for the ball gag, no doubt planning to put it on before he left the room. No point in letting me scream or call for help while he was down the hall or in the side yard. My head was still facing away from him as he put the ball against my mouth, not even expecting me to open it for him, and reached over to pinch my nose closed and wait.
And it hit me, he would zipper me. Probably make a nice video on his cell phone. You might not be able to hear it outside, but my screams of agony and moans of pain would be perfectly audible in here. To me. From me.
I rolled my head to the top leaving the ball gag behind. "OK, you win, you bastard." I whispered. "Take your fucking pictures."
He put the ball gag back down on the bed beside me and grabbed the cell phone. I kept my head straight up, without really moving it or watching him, just a resolute look as he took lots more pictures, all of which showed my naked face - along with my naked everything else - looking straight above me at the ceiling, resigned to my fate, the price, I reflected, for my stupidity in not changing the phone message, for not double-checking the length of the key string. I knew he'd want the pictures as trophies for his own private enjoyment but I figured - hoped - he wasn't about to share them with the whole world. It would slaughter my existence but it would cause him hugely if he did. If he did make the pictures public I would file rape charges. There wouldn't be any point in not doing so at that time.
Then the cell phone went away. Then his clothes went away. And his cock was as hard and long as I remembered. No condom, but according to the calendar I was safe. Despite the situation I felt a warmness that told me that I would enjoy getting that in me - and out of me, and in, and out of me lots more. I gave a little mental shrug. Nothing I could do about it right now. Might as well get out of it what I could.
He took his time and enjoyed himself. I didn't get anywhere. Although it felt nice I was frozen solid numb over the situation and the pictures he took. After about ten minutes of him in and out of me I felt him tense up and push as hard as he could inside of me, felt the flex as he came several times, then he lay still on top of me for about a minute.
He got up and rummaged in my closet for a second. He brought back a short denim miniskirt and a pair of 2-inch sandals. He held them up for me to see then put them down on my dresser. He had gotten the skirt for me while we were together. I'd wear the skirt when we were just hanging around the house, but it was way too short for anywhere else but alone and indoors. I had never worn it outside and it bothered him but when it did I would generally distract him with sex until he let it pass. I just looked at him; I knew what was coming. If anything, it was more modest than what some other females around us wore to school but it was still way too short for me and for anyone's eyes but his when my body was his.
"You will wear this skirt and these shoes to class tomorrow." I inwardly screamed, but didn't let any of it slip to the surface. After a second, he continued. "And no panties or hose of any kind underneath it. Bare legged." I gave an outraged grunt. No way in hell. "And at some point I will pull you off somewhere private and verify it." He pulled out his cell phone, worked with it for a moment, then showed it to me. It was a perfectly clear and high-resolution picture showing my full face, my naked breasts, and my right wrist bound to the headboard. All I could do was cringe. "Or that's one of the first pictures, as well as several of your full body on the bed that will go out." He pressed the handcuff key into my left hand and was gone.
My Nightmare, Day 1
I couldn't even believe it myself as I walked into my first class ten minutes early and sat down in my seat. I straightened the denim miniskirt I wore, fruitlessly trying to pull it down far enough to reach a decent length. It was about three inches above my knees when standing but was more than halfway up my thighs when I sat. I felt so humiliated. I felt so exposed, damn near naked. I could feel air running through my pubic hair, so that wasn't that far from the truth. Damn Scott anyway, he might as well have asked me to come to school completely bare below the waist. And the sand-brown strappy sandals didn't help things a bit.
On the good side, I had to admit that the skirt and the heels made my legs look great. I was far from fat, and equally far from over muscled. I kept in shape and felt I had been blessed with a nice body - a little much up top, but not enormous - and if I had to go traipsing around campus like a ten dollar tart, at least I didn't look silly. I had gotten plenty of looks from the male losers I passed on the way in - though yes, the one by the library was extremely buff-looking and hot for a loser - but had made it to my seat without having my clothes torn off and getting raped.
I wore a black sweater as the remainder of my clothes. It wasn't loose but neither was I going to suffocate in it. Snug. Showed my curves without being so tight I couldn't breathe. And a very firm, well-holding bra, I was a D-cup, plenty of balcony and the bra held everything firm, unmoving, and well-rounded, which was what a bra was supposed to do and this one did. At least I didn't have any worries above the waist.
As people came in some of the males did double-takes or slow-go-overs on my legs. I pretended not to notice but along with the outrage was an appreciation of being appreciated by them and a surprising little bit of antsy-ness down there. Yeah, they'd never seen me like this before, never seen this much of me. Fuck off, all of you. A minute or two before class started, in came Scott. He sat down in his regular chair beside me and spent a long time pretending to set up his books but actually spending it working over my exposed legs. After about ninety seconds his eyes finally made it up to my face to see my lips silently voice the words "Bastard. My eyes are up here." I refused to look anywhere near him the remainder of the class.
He caught up with me as I exited the class. I wasn't about to make a scene but biting his head off - both of them - would have been particularly satisfying at that moment.
"You look real, real good..." He started.
"I look like a slut," I slammed him. "Actually, I look like all the other ten-dollar sluts around here. This isn't who I am and we both know it and I hate it." I stomped away from him toward our next class, and left him behind. I hardly noticed the occasional double-takes or the male stares as I covered the distance to our Trig class. I hope Scott saw them. I hope he felt he was getting his money's worth, so to speak. He had me over a barrel, but he still didn't, and after this would sure as hell would never again, have me.
We had a long break before Certs, my last class of the day. There was almost an hour before the class started and on normal days Scott, not having a class this hour or while I was in English, would already be leaving, or once upon a time studying waiting for me to finish so we could ride home together. He found me coming out of class and told me to follow him. I considered giving him crap but decided against it. I wondered what he was thinking and if he was wanting to revisit the quickies we sometimes stole over this time on a Monday. As we headed off for the liberal arts building, Acron Hall, I sighed. At least I didn't have to worry about losing my panties.
He led me, as expected, into Acron and toward the center stairs. I figured we were going to end up on the seventh-floor landing where we had gone and had fun several times. The building had five usable stories, but the center stairs had two additional floors above the fifth to allow access to the piping and air conditioning. We could go up to the seventh-floor landing, the top of the stairwell, and have relative, if not completely secure privacy. Anyone could come up to where we were on the seventh floor but by the time they got there we would have every button back in place and give a completely convincing impression of two people who had gone somewhere quiet for a review session. I of course enjoy the sex and the thrill-seeker in me liked the risk; it added to the sex. But we went downward instead. The building and the stairwell had two basement floors as well. The basement was actually the library, but I'd hardly noticed the stairs kept descending much less gone to see where it went but I was finding out now. Nobody ever used the stairs anyways; we knew that from all the time we'd spent on the seventh floor landing. They were behind a door in the middle of the building and there were architecturally pleasing open stairs and an elevator in the center of the building that were much more user-friendly.
These stairs went down and bottomed out at a large door, presumably locked but Scott didn't even stop. The bottom of the stairwell was as wide as both sides of the stairs so you could go around and walk under the last set of metal steps, which we did. Scott backed me against the wall under the highest part of that stair run, then reached into his pocket and pulled out... handcuffs.
He had my first wrist in the cuffs before I had much of a chance to react then was pulling the free cuff - and the wrist along with it - up over my head. A pipe, probably a water pipe, came straight out of the wall for an inch or two before it went into an elbow and started straight upward. I was more flabbergasted and shocked at this. I expected him to pull up my skirt for sure, perhaps to strip me and perhaps to try to consummate the aforementioned quickie, but handcuffs? My paralysis lasted just long enough for him to pass the free handcuff through the opening created by the pipe, grab it on the other side, and then with his other hand force my other wrist halfway to the waiting cuff before I really got a grasp on what was happening. Unfortunately that was enough time not having decided to actively resist for the free handcuff to close around the free wrist, and now here I was, in a hugely short denim miniskirt and heels, hands cuffed over my head to a pipe, in the basement of a very public college building. And my hands held over my head did just very wrong things to the miniskirt.
"Scott!" I whispered in a voice that communicated 'scream'. "What are you doing?"
"It's ok." He reassured me. Maybe for him, I thought. He's not half-dressed and handcuffed in public. "Just going to check you over like I said I would." He backed up and took a few more pictures then returned to me. His hands roamed downward from my waist to the bottom of the skirt's hemline, then worked the bottom of the skirt up. He found what he expected and what he demanded. Rolling up the skirt into my waistline showed nothing underneath it except me. He backed up and got a picture or two or ten of that too.
Then his hands roamed upward, over my sweater to caress and squeeze my breasts. I would have enjoyed it except I was handcuffed to a pipe in a public school building with my skirt around my waist, where anyone could discover us at any moment and with no signs of being here and groped a little would be all that was going to happen. He squeezed. rubbed my nipples through the sweater and bra. Expected. But then things got entirely out of hand.
To my relief he unrolled the skirt pretty much back to it's normal length, but instead of ending his grope session he grabbed the front of the skirt and before I could object, the button was open and the zipper was down. He tugged down on the skirt, and thus opened, it found its way to my sandals. Visions of him walking away with my skirt, leaving me bottomless and handcuffed for someone else to find flooded my brain. "No!" I whisper-screamed again, but he wasn't paying attention to me. He wasn't done with my attire either. Up came my sweater and he pulled it over my head. I wondered what he was going to do then to try to take it all the way off me because once my hands were uncuffed there was no way in hell they were going back in. He just tied the arms of it over the same pipe as the handcuffs, well above my head and off me. Bastard. He made no attempt to mess with the bra, but did take some more pictures of me in that state too.
What he did next made me very glad I was handcuffed because if not I would have hurt him with my bare hands. He pulled out his pocket knife and sliced through the narrow part of the bra between my breasts and then through my shoulder straps. It fell to the ground at my feet, ruined, with my breasts fully exposed. I was now naked except for my sandals and my sweater doing me little good tied above my head. If someone came down the stairs now I sure as hell would get Scott in jail and with these circumstances all the pictures and phone messages in the world of me wouldn't save his ass. He backed up and took a few more pictures; I was now completely exposed and knowing I was handcuffed and stuck until he released me, was just wanting to get this over with as soon as possible, before somebody found us, found me like this. If someone came down the stairs there was no way there'd be enough time for me to get dressed; probably not even enough time for him to get the handcuffs off me. I might get the sweater down but it wasn't nearly long enough to cover my crotch.
But he dropped his own pants, revealing his cock, larger and harder than I'd ever seen it before. He rolled a condom over it, then hissed at me "Grab the pipe above your head." He picked me up at the waist and forced my knees to either side of him, then impaled me on his cock.
There wasn't much to it. Neither of us wanted to make noise and we both wanted to get this over with as fast as possible. I helped a little by pulling up and down on the pipe and he obliged me by ramming me fast and getting done with me in about four minutes. By the time he got there I had given up on my outrage and was doing my part and, truth be known, enjoying it. The part of me that got me into this, that enjoyed the risk and forced-sex fantasies was loving this, and I knew I'd be reliving it to some huge orgasms over the next week or so in my private times at home. Assuming we didn't get caught. Assuming I wasn't in jail. No, not for getting caught naked at school, for Scott's murder. Nah. They'd never find his body.
Then he stiffened up and I felt him flex as he came inside me. After he recovered he let me down gently back onto my sandals as it was obvious I was a little wobbly. He stripped off the condom, full with his cum and placed it in a small zip-lock baggie and into his pocket as he always did for later disposal. And then he reached up and took off the handcuffs.
"Damn you Scott, you ruined my bra! I've got Certs class in ten minutes, and I have no bra!" As I pulled down my sweater I decided to kill him later, on my time. Certs class was not something I could afford to miss, but... "I'll have to skip class." I gestured to my chest, where I was nowhere near as firm as I was in the bra and more than a little bouncy. You couldn't see much but anyone who bothered to consider it, especially if they saw me walking - and bouncing - would know I wasn't wearing a bra. And I had to walk all the way across campus to my car, and then from my car to my condo like this. "I can't go to class like this." I gestured to my chest.as I bent down to retrieve the skirt. "Anyone who looks at me will know."
"No. You're going to class just like you are, right now." His voice was cock-sure and with a tone that promised problems if I argued. "I'm going to walk you to your class, then sit outside the door while you're there to make sure you don't bail."
In fact I had a quiz in class and really couldn't miss it. Scott was right, I'd have to go without the bra, especially if he was going to push it. I was very grateful I had chosen a black sweater and not a white one. My nipples poking into it as they surely would, should not be that obvious while I was seated. Nothing I could do about the bounce, though. I finished zipping the skirt as he grabbed the remnants of my bra and stuffed it into his backpack. With a glare that could have atomized him and the first dozen people it hit behind him I grabbed my own backpack and we headed to class.
He did walk me to my class. I did have a massive jiggle as I walked. Being in heels only made it worse but it wasn't that bad. The rubbing of my nipples against the sweater was definitely nice. He walked me up to the class and peeled off near the door, sitting down in the chairs in the hall right outside. There were only two doors into the class, both within 10 feet of Scott. No way to sneak out. Scott sat in one of the chairs outside the class. He had done that lots of times while we were dating, nobody would even give him a second glance. Pissed, determined, and bouncy, I strode the rest of the way to my seat. One of the guys who was already there, Bill, I could see him pop the guy he was talking to, Randy, to point out my skirt and the bounciness I was displaying, but otherwise I don't think anyone noticed. I felt a flush at that but the flush was a nice flush, a warm flush, and there was nothing I could do about it anyway except do my last-minute review for my quiz. When I came out of the room after class Scott was nowhere to be found.
Continues in part two