2: My Turn
The bed was creaking fit to bust when I arrived. The daughter had been in a rush to get out of the house when I arrived and I was directed to the bedroom of her mother, my lover. Strictly the daughter was my lover too, but I was not sure if our one frantic interaction, into which I had no input, counted so I left that thought where it was for later examination. Sadly Sister Two had failed to show on that remarkable afternoon but I still had high hope for another day.
I tapped lightly on the door, as was our custom, to allow her a moment to arrange herself at her most advantageous. There was a brief pause in the sounds’ movement, then they started again with even more energy. I pushed the door open and smiled widely at the sight that greeted my eyes.
My lover was in her bed waiting for me all right. Well, on it was more accurate. The tight silken scarves that had so often made me their prisoner were tightly fastened about her wrists and ankles where she was tightly spread-eagled, gloriously naked on her own bed. Her pale flesh displayed to the finest advantage imaginable, her muscular limbs pulled tight as she lay there.
I made a guess that she had been demonstrating something in the bondage line to her just departed daughter and things had somehow got out of control. Who knew, but from the way she was thrashing in her tight bonds she was not happy. The other sounds I had heard from outside the door had been her attempts at speech muffled to inarticulate burblings by the big red ball-gag between her lips.
She had always been the dominant one in our relationship and as I lent over and kissed her I could see a mixture of fury, passion and fear in her pale grey eyes. I smiled as I slipped out of my clothes and reached out for her. She tried to pull away, but the daughter had tied her well and there was little movement available to her in her bonds.
She flinched as my fingertips caressed her flanks and made their way up over her ribcage. She tried to talk to me, no doubt to persuade me to let her up, but I was going to have none of it. I allowed my fingertips to dance across her taut skin and laughed as she tried to flinch away.
I looked around the room until I found what I wanted. Her eyes followed my line of sight and she renewed her futile thrashing as she realised what I had found.
My lover is a closet witchy type. She loves all that early age stuff. Reads books of ‘spells’ and the like. Thinks the ‘old knowledge’ is always superior to the ways we think and act now. In certain circles she refers to herself as ‘Awakening Goddess’. Parts of her house are stuffed with the stuff that fills her head, and across the room on a small shelf is a little pot of her mystical stuff. I recall how happy she was when the things I had spotted had arrived. It was a bunch of tall, curved and surprisingly sturdy American eagle feathers.
I sprang off the bed and snatched a feather from the pot which also held her ‘wand’ and all manner of other paraphernalia. I swung round and moved slowly back to the bed with a huge smile on my face. As I took the couple of slow paces to the bed I twirled the feather about in my fingers.
She went very still, her eyes fixed on the feather. I came to the foot of the bed and reached out with the feather. Her eyes went wide with fear and she tried to pull her feet away up the bed. I allowed the very tip of the feather to caress the exposed sole of her foot, gently letting it move slowly from the mound beneath her toes, sweeping along the curve of her sole and ending up at her heel. I caught the first inkling of a giggle before allowing it to flick fast up and down her defenceless sole.
The screams of laughter echoed around the room despite the ballgag and I realised I had learned that my Lover the dominant had a weakness. A vital weakness that I now intended to exploit to the full.
With my smile getting ever wider I kept flicking the feather up and down that sensitive foot while reaching out and caressing her other sole with my fingertips.
The screams and the frenzied writhing on the bed were a thing to behold. She forced some play into the knotted scarves that had her their prisoner and as her sensitive feet retreated from my attention, my fingertips and feather followed them, still attacking them intently as she screamed at the other end of the bed.
I paused in my assault, allowing her to gather her breath before renewing my attack vigorously.
By the time I stopped every inch of her pale flesh wash flushed a bright red and gleaming with sweat Her breathing was as heavy and laboured as if we had been indulging passionate sex for an age. I sat back and turned the feather on it’s side and ran it along her flanks, across her hips then along the lines of her ribs. The gentle caress was enough to make her giggle again, only now there was a deep purr behind the giggle that I knew all too well. A sign of a deep and mounting passion. I stroked the long feather up and down her side, then lent across and repeated the same gentle action on her other side. By the time I stopped she was purring with passion and writhing on the bed for new and far more interesting reasons.
The gentle click of the latch of the door made me look up and the daughter was peering in. She allowed the door to open more than a crack and I could see she was dressed for fun. The stockings were black, the heels high and the satin playsuit tight in all the right places.
My lover, her mother looked across at her with dilated eyes and whimpered as the prospect of her joining in. I nodded my head towards the pot containing the feathers and the daughter quickly got the message. She snatched up a feather like mine and lay down opposite me, adding the warmth of her body to our little scene as she lay up against her helpless mother.
I lay down beside her and used the very tip of the feather to tease her ears and allowed it’s gentle edge caress the tender sides of her neck, a spot I knew from experience she loved to have stroked, licked and kissed. I glanced up and saw the daughter following my lead, gently stroking the tender neck of our victim. Quite how the feathers felt to her I could only imagine, but as they moved back and forth she became still and her breathing grew deep and powerful. Her eyes closed as she sank into her reverie.
I felt myself smiling as I reached out the very tip of the sturdy feather and flicked it back and forth across the tip of a painfully erect nipple. With a smile wide enough to hurt her face, the daughter did exactly the same thing with her feather. Her mother screamed at the unexpected touches and nearly sprang off the bed. I turned the feather so the tip pointed downwards and swirled it gently around first my nipple while her daughter attacked the other with the same relentless rhythm.
The writhing and wailing it created was beyond our wildest dreams, her body butting up against both of us in turn as she fought the soft but implacable silken bonds that had her their prisoner.
We lent tight up against her, our bodies pressed against each other, keeping her in place as we ran our feathers down over the swell of her stomach, dancing the tip into her belly button before gently running the flat edge down over her abdomen. She froze as she felt the feathers approaching her tenderest area, and we paused too. The only sound I could hear was her heavy breathing.
After what probably felt like an eternity to my lover we allowed our feathers to drift lower and caress the softness of her womanhood. Her moan was a thing to behold, turning into a hard growl as the feathers tips turned inwards and probed gently. When it reached that spot every lady values the most she howled as the feathers flicked back and forth. She strained tight against her bonds, then fell back up on the bed, her passion briefly spent.
We all lay still for a moment, then I handed my feather to the daughter before replacing the intimate caress of the feather with that of my tongue. Before my mind was completely elsewhere I watched as the daughter reached out with both feathers and started to swirl them around her mother’s straining nipples.
Her cries, screams and moans filled the room as mobile flesh replaced the feather between her legs while her sensitive nipples had to endure the tender but rough advances of the feathers. Every muscle strained as her orgasm shook the bed, her back bent so sharply by the primeval forces that racked her body only her heels and head remained in contact with the bed.
Moments later we were all lying silently together, and the only sound we could hear was that of breathing. My lover whimpered softly, her exhausted limbs tugging feebly at the silk scarves that still held her their prisoner. I reached out for the closest wrist but the daughter was quicker. She unfastened the wrist closest to her and held out a hand towards me. I handed over the un-tied end of the scarf and before I could stop her she fastened them quickly together and refastened her mother’s wrists together to the head of the bed.
Suddenly realising what had happened her eyes snapped open and she started to fight anew at the abruptly changed bondage. As she tugged at her wrists, her fingers desperately trying to reach the knots in the soft silk Daughter slid down the bed and tugged at her ankle bonds, pulling her whole body tight on the king sized bed.
As her mother, my lover, fought her bonds anew the daughter reached out to me with the second feather and smiled. It was going to be a fun afternoon.