Continues from part one
Part 2 - A Top-Flight Adventure
Tuesday was a light day and Scott and I just sat next to each other in Medieval History, my second class of three on Tuesdays. Neither of us was willing to show anything different to any of our classmates and we pretty well ignored each other like we had been doing for the last few months. I had back-to-back classes on Tuesday and we were on separate sides of campus when I was in the third class so I was long gone before he could find me, in my car and on my way back home.
I did hate him now, which I pretty much did before, just now I had better reasons. I did have to admit the skirt and the attention yesterday was nice and the orgasms that I gave myself later were much better than normal; he the pig of course didn't get me off at the bottom of Acron Hall but I brought myself off explosively reliving the event in bed before I went to sleep. And slept like a rock which was a nice change. And was ten minutes late for first class because I took too long in the shower reliving it again. But I was very relaxed.
Wednesday's schedule was more like Monday's than Tuesday's and I figured I was in for more of it. Scott and I had Poly Sci together from 1 to 2 then nothing until a last class at 4 and that was a Lab. He didn't say much as I arrived in class, just mentioned he had plans for us before Lab.
Most of me was pissing and hating, and still in a quandary deciding what sort of wine I was going to serve him with his sautéed testicles but a part of me was getting itchy and figuring that another good fucking (and hopefully this time the attendant orgasm) was impending and looking forward to that. God, you are a slut, Gina, I thought, but answered myself. Yes, I really was and didn't have a problem with that. I just didn't want to be one in public. What was that sarcastic definition of a slut? A woman with a sex drive as strong as the one in the average male? Hell.
After class he led me to my car where he had me deposit my bag then back toward Acron Hall. Again to the center stairwell but we went up this time instead of down. I was feeling so-far-so-good about this. We'd had plenty of quickies up on the 7th floor landing when we were dating. We'd get up there and out of our clothes and he'd ring my bells in ways he had native talent for and increasingly acquired skills. Sometimes it was just quickie sex, sometimes when we were in a mood for risky behavior he'd handcuff me to a water pipe coming out of the floor. I'd always have the key in my hand with the thought that if someone came up the stairs he would delay them long enough for me to uncuff myself and get presentable. But nothing ever happened, in the 20 or 30 times we'd been up there. We'd heard doors open below us exactly twice, generally people walking down to the ground floor and out. I wondered as we climbed the stairs whether he was just nostalgic for the quickies, whether I was to be handcuffed again (bet I didn't get to hold the key this time!), or if he had something new in mind.
But I did notice I was getting warm and wet. I may not like the current situation but Scott did still know where all my buttons were and had always shown an interest in keeping me safe. The orgasms were as good as ever, this morning in the shower was a fine example of it. It wasn't as if I were cheating on someone else who would do this for me. Confirmed, you're a slut, I thought as the fifth-floor landing passed and I found myself firmly wet between my legs. The positive reinforcement from being out in a short skirt and admired that much was nice, even though I'd never admit that to a soul and deny it to myself. I'd never felt like I could compete with the anorexic ten-dollar tarts with the micro-thin pencil legs so I made a point of never trying. But when I was forced into it I had to confess it wasn't that bad. The attention was ego-gratifying and I might not win the tart battle but the other tarts would at least know they'd been in a slap-fest.
The sixth floor landing passed and Scott stopped me just below the halfway platform to the seventh. He waved at me to move to the center near the second half of the stairs. Out of his bag came the handcuffs and he motioned me to lift my hands over my head and through the bottom of the railing on the upper steps. He continued up the stairs. Seeing what he wanted I sighed and put my hands through the horizontal bars making the upper railing, with one of the vertical bars between my forearms waiting for him to handcuff me there. No, you idiot, I thought, take the girl up to the 7th floor like you always do and fuck her silly to two orgasms. Handcuffs if you must, orgasms yes. But he stopped above where my hands were and looked down at me. "Topless" he said. I closed my eyes and shook my head. Then I lowered my hands, tugged off my sweater and bra and dropped them at my feet. Raising my hands back to their previous position, I was rewarded with the expected feel of fuzzy-wrapped steel encircling both of them and trapping them in place.
Scott was back down almost in an instant. I had closed my eyes which I sometimes did and Scott never seemed to mind in the past. Well if he has a problem with it now he can micromanage me like he is in every other way, I thought. He took the obligatory pictures but then he grabbed my head firmly but gently and started kissing me.
Bastard! He knew me too well (Well, duh, we dated for almost 11 months). Some women if you kissed them on the neck or on the ears, they lost it and their lust would overpower them. My weakness was french kissing. After about ten or fifteen minutes of serious spit-swapping as a general rule I was ready to hump doorknobs. The air across my bare chest and the rubbing contact he made with them as he kissed me didn't help any either. But it was effective and I felt myself start to twitch a little as we continued to kiss. At least he wasn't taking me dry and raw - with the blackmail material right now he could have me any way he wanted but it seemed he wanted me to at least be somewhat enjoying it. We continued to kiss and I continued to weaken. Not a sound disturbed us except our near-silent breathing and the quiet noise of the machinery in the building.
Then I "ran myself over" as I always thought of it. He had kissed me enough that something snapped and now all I wanted was him inside me and the orgasm that would follow. I started rubbing back. "Fuck me." I breathlessly whispered. "Now."
Slut! A little out-of-the-way part of me hissed mockingly. Damn right, the main part replied. And about to enjoy the hell out of it.
He pulled back just for a second. "No."
I pulled back and pursed my lips at him. “What do you mean, no? Fuck me, now!”
"Soon enough." was his reply. And he went back to kissing me. Since I wasn't free to stop him or able to resist and I damn well wasn't interested in moving in the less-kissing direction, we went back to kissing.
After a few minutes though, he stopped. I was still a little blurry. "What'd I do?" I squeaked.
"The lady made a request a little bit ago and a gentleman should oblige her."
"Oh!" I murmured; eyes still closed. "Good."
I didn't know how well it would work if he stripped my jeans off me and took me where I stood, but I was ready to try. But that wasn't what he had in mind. He walked back up to the steps and unlocked the handcuffs. A little disappointed but unwilling to dump any water on what looked to be a well-raging fire I tried to look shy and comely. I didn't know how well it worked but he pointed to the 7th-floor landing and I smiled and moved quickly up there as he went back down to retrieve my sweater and bra. By the time he got to the landing I was out of shoes, pants and panties, fully naked, eyes closed, and stretched out on the landing. I hoped I looked plenty attractive to him and he'd get down to what he used to do real well. I hoped he wasn't going to handcuff me some more but at this point if he didn't whip it out and start doing me I was about desperate enough to start doing me myself. It wouldn't be anything he hadn't seen before, even up here once or twice at his request.
I was a little disappointed as I felt the handcuffs go around my wrists again securing me to the water pipe, and no, the key wasn't pressed into my hand. I was unhappy as I heard his cell phone camera clicking; he was taking more pictures. The flash of disappointment I felt disappeared when I heard his zipper going down. Then a sound I'd heard many times before, of his shirt hitting the concrete floor. I moved my legs open wide as I felt/heard him kneel between them (I wondered how big a wet spot I had already made on the concrete). I felt his hand cover my mouth and I wasn't offended, just grateful. Truth be told I was biting my lips pretty hard for the same reason. He paused right at the outside of my vagina then with no warning shoved himself in hard.
I gave a huge gasp and grunt and thrust up into him and was lost in my orgasm after three strokes. Or was it four, or five? I wasn't sure. I didn't care. I wasn't thinking coherently enough at that moment to count or care. In gentleman mode as normal he just held still fully inside me as I bucked and rode it out. When I had finished and calmed down I nodded as was customary and he started working on his own.
That was fine. I was still in the afterglow and he was riding me steady which felt awfully, awfully good. It was fine. I'd had a beaut and now it was his turn. That was the way we always did it.
After about five minutes he did come. I felt him twitch deep inside me, four, five times, then lay still on top of me for about another five minutes while he came down from his own.
When he did stir I expected him to let me go but I could only watch with growing concern as he re-dressed without touching me. Ok, he's going to get dressed and then let me go, I thought. Let me stew a little while still naked. But he didn't. What he did do was reach into his backpack and pull out a metal cash box, about six inches square and about four high, the kind of box that money was kept in at bake sales and that sort of thing. It had a hasp and out of the metal box he took a large key lock with a four-inch loop and the key stuck in the lock. I watched in horror as all my clothes went in the box. Handcuffed to the pipe I couldn't do anything about it. When everything I had worn up here was inside, including shoes, he closed the box, latched the hasp, then ran the key lock through the hasp and around one of the side-rail supports. All my clothes were locked in the box and the box was locked to the railing. I had a very bad feeling about this.
He made sure I was watching him as he stood up and moved his hand that had the key over the railing into the three-or-four-inch gap between both sides of the stairs. Watching me to make sure I was watching him he opened his hand and I gave a little gasped "No!" as the key soundlessly fell the nine floors to the basement-2 level where we had been on Monday. I barely heard it tingle in the stillness as it landed. Far, far away.
*Then* he pressed the handcuff key into my hand. And shouldered his backpack. "It's 3:30 and you have plenty of time to run down there, find the key, run back up here, get dressed, and make it to class on time." He blew me a kiss and smiled as he started down the stairway. I was still in shock from watching the key fall from his hands to do anything except listen to him descend the stairs. I heard a door open somewhere below me then shut with a clang leaving me alone with the silence.
It didn't take long to get the handcuffs off; I normally got out of them on my own when we did things up here. I was naked and there was absolutely nothing around with which I could fix that. I looked at the box, but there was nothing for it. It was pretty solid and I had nothing to use as a lever to pry it open. On top of that was the fact that I doubted I would be willing to risk all the noise that would make anyways. But I was free, of a sort, and Scott was no longer around to make things any worse, not that he hadn't done a pretty good job of that while he was present.
I was hugely pissed. I didn't mind being naked in private, or at home, but here anyone could walk up on me. If someone decided to climb the stairs right now all I had to cover me was my hands. And admit it sister, your boobs are too big to do that properly anyway. I was still going to serve Scott his balls sautéed but for this I was going to cook them in the original packaging. Damn he did have balls. He knew I was afraid of being half-dressed, much less full-blown naked in public. I was too terrified at the risk of starting down the stairs and passing a landing as someone walked into the stairwell. There I would be, buck naked, already seen, and busted. Surely if I waited here long enough Scott would realize I wasn't going to go down the stairs like this and come back up and rescue me. What was I thinking earlier, that he'd shown an interest in keeping me safe? Oh yeah, that was about a negative 1000 right now on the one-to-ten truth scale.
But it was slightly cold and there was nothing else I could do. I started slowly, gingerly, listening to every creak and crack and for noises beyond the doors that meant that someone was about to walk in on me. Fifth floor. No issue. Fourth. Third.
I came around the 2 1/2 floor landing and froze. Someone was sitting on the stairway at the second-floor level, back to me. It was too late. I had already walked into full view of this person and although his or her back was to me all they had to do was turn around and there I was, stark naked. I was too far down the stairs to quickly pull back up.
Everything ran cold from my hair to my toes. I started to back slowly up the stairs and the person started to turn toward me. Maybe I could bribe them with sex to keep quiet. Hell, I was dressed for it, yes? Maybe they'd be helpful. If they decided to turn in an alarm I didn't have time to get down to the sub-basement, find the key, and get back up to my clothes before I was caught. I was done. It was over. I just stopped and stood still, naked as the day I was born, screaming fountains of tears inside and wondering what was about to happen.
What happened is that I got very, very pissed. The person kept turning until I saw it was Scott. I wanted to bitch him out so badly that the fight that broke us up would seem like a pleasant conversation but of course didn't dare to make any noise in the stairwell. He looked at me for a second then wordlessly gave a little wave. After a second I gave a little wave back. One finger only.
I moved past him and made it to the bottom. The key was easy to find, sitting in the middle of the floor. With it in my hand I started back up. Scott wasn't on the second-floor landing. I found him on the mid-level between the third and fourth floors. I moved to go past him but he blocked me. He had another pair of handcuffs in his hand.
"You left the key I gave you with the first set of handcuffs up on the 7th floor?" He asked. I nodded tersely. "OK, you get to go the rest of the way up with your hands cuffed behind you and you don't get to carry the key in your hand the rest of the way."
"Well, then how do I get the key up...." There was one of two possibilities, and I knew which one it was. "Oh."
Actually, there was a third but there was no way in hell that was going to happen and he knew it. Anal had always been out. Up until now, I despaired.
"I don't suppose I can put it in my mouth..." I asked, knowing the answer.
"I pee'd on it earlier. You wouldn't want to do that."
I glared at him. He raised his hands in surrender. "Of course not. Just kidding."
I basically was stuck. He still had the pictures and could make it very hard right at the moment for me to get to the top of the stairs. I sighed. opened my legs wide and pushed the key in as far as it could go. I turned around and put my wrists together behind me and felt the cuffs close around them.
"If the key does fall out, you can just finish the climb, get out of the handcuffs and go back and get it." He offered.
"Thanks." I responded with oceans of sarcasm as I moved past him. "For everything."
"Happy to do it." He replied equally, "Hold still please while I take a few more pictures."
I made it back to the 7th floor landing without any problem. The key was lodged in me deep enough that it was never a concern although going up stairs with your pubic muscles crunched is an interesting experience that I might want to someday repeat. I found the handcuff key and got out of the current set of handcuffs. I fished the lock key out, got my clothes, and got dressed without incident. Hoping that Scott was still in the stairwell, I locked both handcuffs and their key in the box, locked the box with the key lock (key in the lock mechanism), and dropped *it* nine floors to the sub-basement. It bounced really loudly off a couple of the railings on its way to a really loud crash when it hit the ground at the 2nd sub-basement floor. I didn't care, I just hoped that Scott had been somewhere nearby and had wet his pants. It took about three minutes to get to the ground floor and out the door. Curiously enough nobody came into the stairwell to investigate in that time. Maybe nobody heard.
Thursdays were my light days, I had one class early and nothing else for the rest of the day. Knowing this I figured it was pretty certain Scott would have something for me but I never saw him. I did, however, find a small box on my doorstep when I got home. When I opened it, it contained a note on top of another box. I read the note:
Gina:
I would like to take you out to dinner to Zulu's tomorrow night and while we dine do the sort of things we used to do there. Please be ready at 7:45 and be wearing nothing that is not in this box.
Scott.
When we were dating we would go from time to time to nice restaurants, the type with full tablecloths that hid what was going on in the back of the booth. We did a lot of different things, most of which involved me hiking up my skirt from my knees to my waist and then normally Scott playing with me while we waited for the food and ate and him driving me crazy while I couldn’t react to it or let any giveaway expressions cross my face. The risk-taker in me loved that and unless someone had actually slid into the booth with us (which no one ever did) only Scott could see me. Sometimes I was handcuffed while this happened. Once I slid under the table and gave him a blow job. We did a lot of things.
I started opening the box pretty sure I'd find something slinky, thin, and with a hemline way too short. But I noticed I didn't have quite the adverse reaction I thought I would have. I wondered if Monday had anything to do with that. People hadn't laughed and pointed; I knew I looked good in a short skirt. The box opened, there was a dress and a box for heels. The dress was a beautiful shiny blue, only a little thicker than gauze (no, actually it was normal weight cloth, but still if I was cold everyone who could see the front of me would know it). The dress had a bandeau top and holding it up against me to gauge the length, nope, won't be bending over in this thing. I did actually look to see if any panties came with it but wasn't surprised to not find any. I wasn't going to be happy but Monday wasn't that bad (actually it wasn't bad at all), we would be going from the house to his car to the table and back again so the public exposure was minimal. I could do this. I really didn’t have any choice. And to be perfectly honest I thought the dress was beautiful (short, but beautiful). The risky part of me, deep down inside, actually was smiling. You know you’ll rock that dress, sweetie. Might even manage to only get raped by the people you want to do that to you. And then I opened the shoe box and everything shattered to a halt.
Hooker heels.
Slip-ons. Clear plastic top. Two inch heels on two-inch platforms. All of it clear plexiglass.
No. Way. In. Hell.
But if he released those pictures my life would be ruined for the next 20 years. School, first couple of employers, everything.
I broke down in tears and cried for the better part of an hour.
I barely spoke to him at school. We had one class together and I came in right at the starting bell and left right at the ending. Beyond acknowledging that I had received the package and would be ready on time he'd have to be blind and stupid (or male) to miss how unhappy I was. I didn't think he was blind.
It was 7:40. I was terrified. The dress fit perfectly, snugly but it had give. It was so short it could almost be called a micro-skirt; if I bent over I would be showing my tush and likely my privates so bending over was out. Bending at the knees wasn’t much better. If I dropped something Scott was picking it up. I had thought, stupid me, that this was just a kinky 50-shades-of-something sort of relationship but now I wasn't so sure. I could live with that, to some degree and depending on exactly what happened even enjoy it. But the underlying hardness was his threat to ruin me with the pictures.
Maybe all that was going on was a long, drawn-out revenge fuck (hell, revenge rape) and there wasn't really any relationship. He just had the opportunity to use my body however he wanted and I was his meaningless and trapped play toy. I could sort of deal with the 50-shades thing. Parts of me were loving that aspect of it and I didn't have anything else going in the sex-and-companionship department right now anyway. I was getting orgasms on a reasonably regular basis again and the crap he did pull was making my alone sessions explosive. He had been good and considerate (I realized he sat in the stairwell to make sure I was ok and if anything had happened he was right there, likely until he knew I had gotten to my clothes). But maybe I was just lying to myself.
At 7:45 there was a knock on the door and I opened it to see Scott, shirt and tie, nicely dressed. He expected me to come out the door with him but I waved him inside. I was wearing the dress and the hooker heels and about ready to explode. He looked me over and something that had already bunched up in his slacks became very tight. The appropriate thing to do with these heels was to kick it as hard as I could. The heels would be good for that.
He came inside and I closed the door behind him. He moved toward me but I pushed him back against the wall. Not being quite as dense as concrete he stayed there. I backed up far enough that he could get a good look at all of me while I talked.
"Scott, there's a problem." He mutely nodded. Figured that one out on your own, did you? "If I say no to you and you release all those pictures, or any of those pictures, I'd probably have to drop out of school and go somewhere else. Even then there's no guarantee that the pictures wouldn't follow me to the other school sooner or later. And to the first few jobs once I graduated. I'd never be able to come back here, and I'd spend the next twenty years looking over my shoulder waiting for the hammer to fall on me again and to have to throw away everything I'd done there and go somewhere no one knew me and start over."
"Here I am in the shoes but I'll be honest with you, I can't wear them out in public especially with this dress. Here in the house, fine. Outside the door, I'll die. But I don't have a choice, do I? You've got me completely cornered."
"So here I am, and if you tell me to, I'll walk out the door like this and go to dinner with you as ordered. I’ll even pretend to have a good time. But I've spent about two hours this afternoon crying and working up enough nerve to do even this, here inside my own house. I will hate myself every single second I'm out like this. I am not a whore and that's all this outfit is. I don't mind the dress, *it* is beautiful and I'm happy to wear it. But with these heels all I am is a cheap worthless slut. Not even a ten-dollar one. I'll hate every second in this outfit in public, have a horrible, dreadful time, and I'll definitely need some major alcohol at dinner to be willing to go on and walk out of the restaurant like this, even though I know better. I will do my best to be happy and sweet on the outside but I'll be wanting to die on the inside. You could do whatever you wanted with my body while we're out and once we get back because the real me will be a thousand miles away and still running further, screaming. I've already spent almost two hours crying about going out like this and if we do I expect I'll cry a lot more once you finally let me go. And hate myself. And you. Because when I walk out the door like this I am truly even less than a ten-dollar slut whore."
I squatted and grabbed another pair of heels from out of a bag at my side. They were two-inch platform heels, a brown wicker style that matched well with the color of my legs. They were his favorite heels for me when we were dating. "I could, I want to wear these instead. I wouldn’t be a slut, just a woman in a very short, very thin dress. I'd have a good time. I wouldn't even have to fake it. I’d be fine."
"But here I am, just like you told me to be. Look at me. Like I said I know you can ruin my life if I don't do what you want. But please, can I wear the other shoes?"
He waited for a second, then snorted. I barely dared to breathe. I didn't know what I would do if he still wanted me out like this in the hooker heels. But I knew I would go. I would pretend to be happy and be dead inside by the time I got back home.
"God, yes, change shoes." He started, waving his hands in surrender. "OK, you're right, I went a little too far" (like the Grand Canyon is a crevice, I thought) "but yes, wear the brown ones."
The brown ones were on the floor and I was out of the hooker heels in a heartbeat and into the other ones. "Think about wearing the other heels someday. Even if you never decide to actually do it just think about it."
"I wouldn't mind those shoes in something like black slacks and a top." I told him. Inside, I surprisingly felt like all I wanted to do was take a nap. I guess it was unwinding from the fears. "I'd be willing to wear them just not with a skirt or dress."
Good work, girl. Everything seems to be turning out ok. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to faint and I did want to take a nap. But I picked up my handbag and held out my hand to him. "Dinner awaits, quiaff?"
We had a nice time at dinner. I had my first glass of wine as soon as we sat down to help reset my nerves. I had expected to be in such a different place that I was almost lost. My skirt did go up around my waist, he did have a good time and got me quite itchy and bothered but not over the line which was what normally happened when we did this. I played with him a bit and got him itchy but stopped before we made a mess that we couldn't expect the bus boy to clean up. I get a red flush under my neck when I get turned on; it was pretty visible and warm but I could not have cared less. And I did get admiring looks as we walked into the restaurant and waited to be seated. I think I got admiring looks on the way out but was not fully recovered from the wine. He took me home.
We stopped in the driveway. "Gina, you have a choice tonight. Just tonight, don't ever expect this again. I can watch you safely get inside your door and then I go home or I can come inside and spend the night with you. No stress, no worries, no repercussions. Just decide what sort of sleeping you want to do tonight."
I couldn't believe him. Could he be for real in this? I probably should have answered more diplomatically but the wine got in the way. "Scott, I've had a good time tonight but to be perfectly blunt you're blackmailing me. This isn't a consensual relationship. If you're giving me a choice I hope you have a good night."
He did look like I'd just hit him with a brick. I'm sure he expected a different answer, especially after having given in on the shoes. But he said nothing as I leaned over, pecked him on the cheek then opened my door and climbed out of the car.
What was I doing? My head was swimming, only partially the wine. Why was I deliberately pissing off someone who could ruin my life? Who I'd just spent the last two hours having fun getting his balls a lovely shade of blue while he did the equivalent to me? But I had to see if he was serious about his offer. He could still, once I walked in the door, call me or come up to the door and start making demands to which I'd have no choice about.
I opened the door, stepped inside, closed it, and turned off the light. I didn’t think Scott had barely breathed much less moved the whole time. But a few seconds after the light went out I heard the car engine start and the car start to back out of the driveway.
I was out of the heels in an instant, running headlong across my front yard barefoot in a micro-mini dress at 11:30 at night. I tried desperately and only partially successfully as I ran to hold my breasts in the top of the dress. He saw me coming, stopped and rolled down the window.
I was only a little out of breath. "Scott Winston, you get your ass right back up that driveway, come inside and screw me breathless. After playing with me for two hours don't even think of leaving me high and dry. I had to see if you were serious, you were and now I know it. I also know I've caused you some blue-shaded problems myself and I know just how you should fix it." I stopped and dramatically adjusted the top of the dress. "Besides, you've been looking at my cleavage all night. Don’t tell me you don't want to spend some time with your face in there."
He just looked at me, speechless.
"It's the alcohol talking." I prompted him. "Run with it."
He cracked a smile, nodded his head, then put the car into drive. He rolled forward and parked. I smiled broadly.
I called him up Saturday afternoon and told him he was taking me out to dinner tonight and he wasn't going to tell me what to wear. He was taken aback and quiet for a few seconds then apparently decided to go with it. He agreed to be at my door at 7:00.
I was ready at 7 sharp. Electric blue silk blouse, reasonable cleavage, thin bra, black slacks, and the hooker heels. Smiling, happy about it. In this outfit they were sexy. We had a nice dinner. I sat across from him and kept putting my feet into his lap and playing with him, which he didn't mind a bit. I took the heels off after the first couple of times. I made him choke once but just a little. I just smiled lovingly at him and looked to everyone else like I was concerned about my date.
Yes, he took me home and fucked me thoroughly. Didn't tie me up either.
Scott kept it casual until he let me know Wednesday that he wanted to spend Thursday afternoon out on a picnic with me in Salcedo Park. Both of us on alternate Thursdays had only one class from 9 to 10 and the rest of the day free. We had gone a couple of times to Salcedo Park, a really huge, couple-of-hundred-acre recreational area on the north side of town. I realized what he probably had in mind since we had gone out one time about twenty minutes into the park where there was a picnic table set up in a clearing. It was really remote and most people didn't even know it was there. We enjoyed a nice picnic lunch then he laid me on my back on the picnic table, up went my skirt, and I held my ankles nearly to my chest as to work he went. I was excited at the risk part of it but terrified since we were so far out in public but we hadn't even seen anyone on the trails as we walked there on a Thursday afternoon and I was in the mood for a quickie and my risk-taker was dancing. The wine in the lunch didn't hurt either.
That was then and this is now. I figured he was looking for a replay of the quickie but on his terms. I probably would be tied to the table this time. And he had talked about, and we had done short distances, always at night, where he had taken my clothes and stashed them somewhere I had to get to. I could see him taking my clothes and telling me to walk back to the parking lot without them. None of this was anything I wanted to do, and really not the naked walk, but then again he wasn't asking my opinion on these things a lot these days.
The next morning as I was getting dressed I knew it was jeans and hiking shoes but what up top? I thought about my shelf bra and a sweater. Support and nipples out there, freely bouncing, just not sagging, in a tight sweater, under an open windbreaker. I thought about a normal bra then passed on it. It probably wouldn't hurt to get him favorably disposed to me by wearing the shelf. I wore the regular bra to school and changed into the shelf before we left.
It was a clear, warm day, about 80 degrees so I left the windbreaker in the car. As before there were only one or two other cars in the parking lot. We didn't see a soul once we were a quarter-mile away from there. We both had backpacks, carrying the food (his seemed a little overpacked for just food but I wasn't surprised by that). We arrived and found the picnic area just like we remembered, a concrete picnic table under a shelter near the middle of an about-100-foot natural clearing. And nothing but the sounds of nature since the city noise didn't make it this deep inside the park.
Lunch was egg salad sandwiches and water we had brought. A small stream ran down one side of the clearing. It had slow moving but not murky water and we rinsed the utensils afterward. We brought them back up and repacked them. There was a pregnant pause, nothing else to do but go back but Scott certainly had other things in mind to do.
He looked at me, breaking the silence. "Topless and on your back on the table." He instructed me. I don't know, maybe I was expecting a little foreplay. Maybe being kissed tenderly and gently before he tied me up and treated me roughly, fucked me ruthlessly and then made me walk naked back to the car. Well, you don't have that kind of relationship this time, toots. Get over it.
I sighed and pulled the sweater over my head. He just watched, admiring the shelf bra and what was in it as I unfastened it and it too went in my pack. I climbed up on the picnic table as he started rummaging in his bag and as expected brought out some white poly 3/8 rope. He motioned me to lay on my back on the table (fortunately by this time of day the picnic table wasn't cold any more) and scooted me up far enough that I could bring my feet comfortably against my buns. He took each wrist, tied a loop around it and tied the free ends to the seats. OK, flat on my back topless and tied up in the middle of a public park. Probably not just topless real soon. Fortunately deep in the middle of the park. Quiet day. As he secured the ropes I looked around but saw nothing but trees and grass and nature. But now would be the appropriate time for the park police to just happen to be stopping by. They'd probably take a long time with Scott while I was still tied topless to the table. But anyway...
He took some pictures of me that way of course. Then two more pieces of rope, smaller rope, which went around the table and my chest, one immediately above and below my nipples. He took smaller pieces of rope and used them to tie the two ropes on either side of each nipple, then slid them up next to them, pinching them with the tope and holding my nipples in place. It didn't hurt as I feared but it did transmit any movement I made directly to my nipples. Then he tied a rope around my waist and up between my legs to give me a crotch rope. He looked me over, apparently satisfied with his work.
Scott took off my shoes and socks, unbuttoned and unzipped my pants (nope, no panties. I knew better than that), then took a few more pictures. He then sat down beside me and ran his hands all over my chest, around my breasts, across my nipples, every once in a while tweaking them. There was nothing to be done for this, I just lay back with my eyes closed, enjoyed the sunbeams and the warm gentle wind blowing across me and let him play however he wanted. Hopefully he'd get down to the fucking part and we could get done and he could prove me wrong about the taking-a-naked-walk-back part. A girl can hope, yes?
"Enjoying yourself?" He asked. I just glared back at him.
"If I could be absolutely certain that no one was going to see me then yes, I'd be having a great time. I'm not certain at all but here I am so you have a good time."
He smiled but didn't otherwise reply. He stood up and moved to the end of the table by my feet. He untied the crotch rope and then grabbed the cuffs of my trousers and began pulling. I raised up as best I could to facilitate things and the jeans eventually slipped off me. By this time my tush was right at the edge of the table. He grabbed another piece of rope out of his bag and wrapped it around my waist, then tied it off the edge and under the table. I understood he was making sure I didn't slide up the table as he doubtless was soon going to be pounding into me in that direction.
But with my hands tied, I obviously couldn't hold my ankles like the first time. He brought each ankle up and tied it to the other under the seat. Now I was folded up like I was before and like I expected. It was tight but I was limber and my feet were about a foot and a half above my head. He rubbed my taut thigh muscles which felt nice but then he took one of the jugs of water that he had filled and tied it to my right ankle leaving it about two foot off the ground. When he let go I could feel my leg stretch even more. He did the same to the other and I had about a ten-pound weight now on each foot, which would make sure I stayed stretched and tensioned. Bouncing as he slammed into me wouldn’t feel great either. Bastard.
Scott had a thing for the Viennese Oyster position, where the girl pretty much folds herself up double at the hips and gets her ankles behind her shoulders. If she was extremely flexible, behind her head. I had tried to do that for Scott while we were dating but never was able; I just couldn’t stretch my calves quite that far no matter how hard I tried for him. I started at about where I was now and by the time we had broken up I was doing better; I could get my ankles to about six inches from my shoulders. But not touching them and not behind them. It had been a disappointment with him that I was determined to fix. Scott knew that I was trying and that I wanted to please him and thankfully had been outwardly patient and encouraging.
I decided I had better start my stretching exercises again. It didn’t feel good now and he was completely free to put me in positions like this any time he wanted to for as long as he wanted to. He could tie me naked to one of our coffee tables at home or something and bend me up like now and leave me there for hours. Maybe even all night. Ten pounds per ankle was keeping me stretched but only a little uncomfortable. It got worse over time; if he were to tie me up and stretch me out and leave me it wouldn’t feel good at first but I’d be crying and maybe screaming after a few hours. Especially if he tied me up like that and just went to bed. I could be stuck there, stretched painfully, alone, forgotten, knowing nobody was coming to help me until morning. Not even a tormentor to play with my breasts and fuck my pussy for his own pleasure as a distraction. He wouldn’t have dreamt of it while we were dating but now...
He could trade my comfort for speeding up the process by using more weight. It’d hurt but he could just gag me and ignore the sounds of my pain. Folded up and gaping like that he could take the open invitation and screw me while I was hurting and helpless to resist. Him bouncing me around, and he always fucked me hard and enthusiastically when he had me like that, would probably just help the stretching process.
He dropped his pants and moved to the bottom of the table. I felt him play with his cock on my pubic hair for a few seconds and then push into me. I gave out a grunt but otherwise made no noise as he took his time going in and out of me. Nothing I could do about it but it wasn't bad. The risk-taker part of me was having an awesome time, the rest of me was just worried stiff about someone coming and finding me buck naked and unable to move.
He finished and pulled up his pants. I watched as he put everything that wasn't tied to me in his bag. "Hey, aren't you going to untie me?"
He pulled out a roll of duct tape, which I was really unhappy about seeing, and tore a strip off and carefully placed it over my mouth. "No, I don't think so. Did you spot those two boys?" My blood ran cold as I shook my head no, in terror.
"I first saw them about the time I sat down beside you, they're in the edge of the woods up there." and he tossed his head to the far side of the clearing. "They've been watching us ever since I tied you up. You didn't come and they haven't been a problem so I think they deserve a reward for good behavior. I'm going to take the picnic stuff back to the car, should take about 45 minutes. Maybe they will want to come over here and try out the naked woman tied to the picnic table themselves while I'm gone."
I looked over but couldn't see anyone. There was no way to be sure. Scott could be truthful or he could be screwing with my head. Would he really leave me here to get raped? The Scott I dated wouldn't but that Scott disappeared the night at the restaurant when I screamed my head off at him. I struggled and retried my bonds but I was tight. Everything in the backpack I watched in loud but muffled disbelief and struggled harder but uselessly as Scott put the crotch rope in the traditional position, tightened it up a bit, then walked away. I watched him go down the path and out of sight.
I looked desperately over at the edge of the forest but still saw no one. I made a concerted and sustained effort to get free but my wrists were secure, my ankles still held above me and stretched, almost painfully weighted down, and my hips held to the edge of the concrete table where anyone could plunge into me like Scott had just demonstrated.
So I relaxed. A little. At least I stopped struggling. All I was doing was getting parts of my body chafed. I didn't know what the next hour of my life held but until someone else untied me I would be right here. I looked again, scanning the edge of the forest for faces. Nothing at all. Maybe I couldn't see them from such a low angle. Maybe they were just waiting to make sure Scott was good and gone.
Or maybe Scott was playing with my head. He had that sort of streak these days, had shown a little of it when we were dating. The Scott I had now had taken steps when he first found me and in the stairwell and at other times to make sure I was safe. The Scott I dated would have taken a bullet for me. I didn't have that Scott any more, did I?
Still, quiet, a naked trapped animal, I lay still as the sounds of the forest and the gentle warm wind washed over my body. As time passed and nothing happened the answer became obvious. If there had been someone out there they would have come over to play by now. Probably Scott was at the edge of the wood watching over me. I couldn't be sure. I'd know when I found out if our packs were still with him or at the car.
No, he was watching over me. I was safe. He did every other time. I didn't expect this was different.
So my outlook changed. I was safe, it was warm, I was tied up tight but had a few ropes tied in really useful locations. Now that I thought of it that lent credence to the I-was-safe side.
So what to do? I wiggled a little and felt the ropes tug my breasts and felt the crotch rope send a shiver up my spine. OK, so where do the tracks go for my chain of thoughts on the way to Crescendo Station? I chose a favorite fantasy to help the physical side along and headed off on my pleasure journey.
Scott waited until after I had orgasmed and recovered and came back to me. He still had the backpacks with him. He untied me, let me get dressed, and then we went home.
Continues in part three