Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Dee Does HS 3 By peregrinf

   The first day of classes, the moment I walked up to the front door of
the high school, I had a decision to make.

   "Fresh meat."

   "Kinda scrawny."

   "She'd look like a zipper if she stuck her tongue out."

   His buddy cackled.  "She better be careful around them straws they got
in the cafeteria.  Might get sucked in."

   Someone had left the cage door open and two knuckle draggers --
sophomores was my bet -- were looking me over as if I were a picked over
spare-rib.  I got that prickly adrenaline rush I felt before a swimming
meet.  There it was a tool to be used.  Here it was scary.  This sort of
encounter hadn't been covered in the orientation tour we'd had.

   So, do I hold my head high and ignore them?  Or do I call their bluff.
I'd flinched, and I'd felt Greg stiffen beside me.  They knew they'd struck
a nerve, and that's like blood in the water to snarks like that.

   The Stick, of course, took over.  I gave Greg an eye cock and squeezed
his hand to damp down his testosterone.  This required a woman's touch,
neither fight nor flight.  I turned to confront the gruesome twosome,
donning my sweet, reasonable look to put them off their guard, even as The
Stick reminded me to show no fear, stand tall, keep my shoulders back, and
stick out my chest -- what there was of it.

   Yuck!  I wished I was upwind.  They smelled of stale smoke -- both
tobacco and weed.  Their clothes looked like they'd crawled out of a pile
of thrift-shop rejects.  The elastic of red paisley boxers ringed the top
of one's low-slung, tatty cargoes like a caterpillar.  The other wore
Haines.  It said so right on the waistband of what should have been
tighty-whities.  The crotch of their trousers was at the level of their
knees.  I bet inside the school they'd haul their pants up rather than
catch a dress-code violation -- underwear was to be worn "under" everything
else.  Said so right in our orientation papers.

   A dress code in a school that has the Naked in School Program?  Don't
ask me, I'm just a lowly student, freshman at that.

   Aided by my latest growth spurt, and their slouches, I could look them
right in their bloodshot eyes before slowly scanning each of them from head
to toe and back up again, making sure to let my gaze linger below their
waists, cocking my head slightly as I did, as if examining some strange,
inconsequential life form -- or, maybe, measuring them for castration.

   "I can't wait to see you guys naked in school," I noted after a pregnant
pause, eyeball to eyeball with them again, deflecting their smirks with an
insincere smile.  "It's gotta look better than your outfits.  I bet your
dicks are as dinky as your brains, so it doesn't matter which head you
think with -- if you think at all."

   Unused to being confronted, they shifted nervously, tried to regain the
advantage.

   "Wait'll you hear our reasonable requests," one growled.  I think he was
trying to grow a beard -- or maybe he just hadn't washed.

   I gave him an eye roll.  "If you do, remember, 'reasonable requests'
cuts both ways.  I don't think you'll like what I'll ask you to do.  It may
be physically impossible but it'll be fun watching you try.  And you don't
want to ask me for relief.  I've got teeth and claws."

   I turned on my heel.

   "Dorks!" I snorted.  They reminded me of Horace.  At least I was free of
him for the year, while he tried to claw his way out of the legal and
academic hole he'd dug for himself.  I should have known high school came
with its own consignment of Neanderthals.

   "Ouch!" Greg winced as together we walked in to the building.  "Well,
that got things off to a good start!"

   "Too much, huh?" I asked.

   He shrugged, and gave my hand a reassuring "we'll get through this
together" squeeze as we merged with the chattering crowd.  Around us
upper-class kids chattered like machine guns.  Summers were being caught up
on, old friendships renewed, hugs and kisses, shoulder slaps, fist bumps
and elaborate handshakes exchanged.  Guys scoped out the girls, and vice
versa.  There were bursts of laughter, squeals and giggles, shouts. 
Seniors strutted, Juniors looked serious, sophs slouched, frosh cringed.

   Then I saw John looking uncertain and fearful in the chaos and quickly
moved to gather him under my wing.

   "Sorry we're late.  Greg's bus was late, and then I had to deal with the
local goon squad guarding the door."

   "Me, too," John admitted unhappily, in a way that led me to suspect the
"fag" label had preceded him here.  He's not gay, by the way -- not that I
care.

   "Well, we're here now," I assured him.  I could actually feel him relax
as, together, the three of us plunged into the turmoil of a new school. 
With Beth off at college, John's home life with her parents was shaken, and
a new school would be hard without his sweet squeeze, Alice, to buck him
up. I wondered if the relationship would survive the two years she had left
in middle school.  I hoped so.

   At least he was still seeing Ms.  Andrews, his counselor from middle
school.  His so-called mother and her boyfriend were still where they
belonged, behind bars, and, it was hoped, would be until he turned
eighteen. The case against them had been so solid it hadn't gone to trial,
which meant very little publicity.  Because names were different no one
connected those losers to John.  He had enough problems without that.

   Meanwhile, after orientation we'd done what we could to assemble a
support group for him, ignoring his mumbled protests.  Greg was in some of
John's classes, Mike in others, and both in his lunch period, so John had
someone to sit with.  Through me Greg knew John, had a sketchy knowledge of
his background and was happy to oblige.  Even though John and I had a
carnal history, Greg knew the circumstances and claimed he wasn't jealous,
though I still worried.

   Even so, mom was right -- life is a lot simpler if you don't try to keep
secrets.

   Speaking of which, something was perking between her -- Mom -- and
Elaine -- Dr.  Elaine Smathers, OB-GYN.  The strange noises in the night
were getting stranger.  I'd do some snooping after school.  No secrets,
right?  Don't want Mom's life getting complicated, after all, do we?

   Then I saw Missy and Mike, and for a moment I thought maybe they were
back together, but they just happened to be standing side-by-side, looking
in opposite directions, obviously lost.  So we all coalesced, the five of
us seeking comfort in the herd.  Since out of all of us I'd spent the most
time around the high school I was the natural leader, again.

   Not that I minded, really.  These were old friends.  Four of us had
survived the fires of our own middle school together, including our
notorious sex ed adventures, while Greg had endured his own pubescent
torments.  Now we faced high school together.  Even allowing for Saturday's
tour the turmoil was intimidating, the geography confusing, and our
assigned peer counselors had their own opening day challenges to deal with.
Consulting the fists of papers we'd been given during orientation, I helped
maneuver them through the maze to find homerooms and lockers.

   * * *

   "Diane Walker!"

   "Here," I responded as I slid into my desk in home room in the nick of
time.  I was aware of various curious looks from some of the people around
me.  Well, I do stand out in a crowd, I consoled myself.

   If the teacher said anything about Carl ....

   "I had your brother for English Lit," she remarked.

   "Yes'm," I answered.  I was relieved she left it at that and moved on
with the roll call.

   And so it went through the morning, from class to class, my backpack
growing steadily heavier with each textbook or workbook, a few comments
about my scintillating, talented brother Carl, only adding to my burden. 
I'd marched in his footsteps since pre-k, so I was used to it.  This isn't
to say that I liked it.

   Greg and I shared some classes, John and I others, along with various
other classmates from my middle school.  I wasn't in French, where, during
their stints in The Program, Madame DuClos had used Carl and Beth for
lessons in French anatomical slang.  I wondered if Frau Blucher would use
me the same way in German class.  When I'm in The Program, or maybe even if
I'm not, I'd likely be called on in biology at some point, of course.  Such
is my fame.

   The culinary offerings at lunch looked no worse here than they'd been in
middle school, but no better, either.  I was carrying my tray toward a
distant table -- this cafeteria was at least four times the size of the one
I was used to -- when I heard a snatch of conversation from a table of
fashionably dressed upper-class girls, conversation obviously intended for
my ears.

   "What on earth is that?" one drawled.

   "Looks like a truffula tree," another sniped.

   That triggered a gust of catty laughter.

   I winced internally at the reference to the slender-trunked, puff-ball
topped trees out of Dr.  Seuss.  But what could I do?  I am what I am, tall
and slender, and my hair is my hair.  Even under the best of circumstances
it has a mind of its own.  After a summer of sun and chlorine it was
bleached almost white, with the texture of straw.  Maybe if it were long I
could do something with it, but it was cheaper, and infinitely more
practical for swimming, to keep it in a simple bowl cut.  With it really
cropped I'd look like the business end of a cue stick.  Instead I looked
sort of like a bottle-brush.

   I told myself I had better uses for my limited resources than the
beautician.  The Stick reminded me that we are tall, we are slender, we are
graceful and to pay no attention to the carefully coiffed dwarfs.

   "That's Dee Walker," one commented.

   "Carl's sister?"

   The mention of Carl brought a wave of sighs and drools from the estrogen
brigade as I drifted out of earshot.  The whole exchange -- like I needed
it!  -- was a reminder that, as a lowly frosh, I was at the bottom of the
food chain again, after a year of being at the top in middle school.

   Ah well.

   While the gender barriers were eroding under the hormone onslaught, the
tables were still pretty much segregated by sex, social group -- jocks
here, geeks there, this first day we frosh circled our wagons based on the
middle school we came from.  I joined my lunchroom gang from last year as
they coalesced around probably the least desirable table in the cafeteria,
in a far corner, near where the departing diners scraped their debris into
ripe trash containers and clattered trays onto the wash line.

   We tried to be unobtrusive, keeping our voices down as we compared
teachers and courses.  At the same time we were aware of the boys scoping
us out as they exited the room, and our eyes flicked over them in return.
When sightlines happened to intersect there was a flinch and the applesauce
on our trays suddenly became a point of interest while the boys usually
found the sorting and recycling instructions on the wall above the
containers fascinating.

   "So, is anyone we know naked in school this week?" Inez asked, nervously
twirling a lock of her black hair.

   "No one," Fran answered around a bite.  "I think they try to lull us
into a false sense of security.  They don't start The Program until next
week."

   Peggy, the most modest of us all, shivered and looked uncomfortable,
hugging herself.  Petite in every direction, her little breasts barely made
an impression on her usual trim polo shirt.  "I don't know if I can do it.
I don't wanna be naked in school!  What happens if I won't do it?"

   "Didn't your parents opt you out?" Cindy asked.

   Peggy shook her head dolefully.  "They opted me in.  Said it would be
good for me."

   "Uh oh," Fran barked in her way.  "Bummer." Fran is big, and bold, and
kinda brassy, with a heart as big as all outdoors.

   I tried to soothe Peggy.  "You can do it.  We'll help you, won't we
girls?"

   "Well, you won't have any trouble with it, after what you did in Sex
Ed," Fran observed slyly, looking at me.

   I shrugged.  "Naked is naked.  But it is a different audience, and first
thing this morning I drew some fire from a pair of Neanderthals by the
front door...."

   "Ick!  Me, too," Cindy put in.  "They said, 'Look at them balloons!'
Gross!" She's precociously endowed, you might say.

   "...and then there's the fashion-police at table one," I went on.

   "The Witches of Winfield?" Fran asked.

   "You know them?"

   She shrugged her broad shoulders.  "Heard of 'em.  They're the Queen
Bees around here.  They'll roast me on a spit if I have to go naked for a
week."

   Fran is, well, as I said, a Big Girl.  I reminded her that Stephanie had
made it through her week in The Program with the help of my brother Carl
and his GF Beth.

   "We've got your back," I assured her.

   "It'll take more of us than there are to cover Fran's back," Cindy
sniped.

   Fran laughed the loudest among us.

   "I'll bring a parachute," Inez teased affectionately as we gathered our
stuff and joined the departing throng, chattering about who goes where
next.

   Phys Ed resulted in the usual dorky phys ed shirt and shorts, both of
which exposed plenty of my epidermis, of course, in comparison to my less
vertically gifted classmates, especially my long legs.  I figured I was
certain to be first-pick for volleyball and basketball teams, until they
discovered my ball-handling skills.

   As the afternoon wore down I was not looking forward to going home,
believe it or not.  Mom wouldn't be home for hours, and Carl was gone,
gone, gone, had been for a week.  I was suffering from a sibling version of
the empty nest syndrome, the house seemed so empty without him.

   Oh, sure, even before he wasn't always home when I got there after
school, what with his swimming and band practice, but I knew he'd be home
later.  We teased each other, and fought, but I always knew when I needed
to talk, he'd listen.  But now he wasn't going to be home that evening --
any evening -- for quite some time, and I missed him.  I wasn't eager to go
home to an empty house.

   The stick reminded me if I was handed a lemon I could always make
lemonade.  Hmmmmm.  Mom and Dr.  Smathers had been making some very
interesting night noises, something more than the usual sighs and moans. 
Maybe it was time to do a little snooping.

   Me?  Snoop?

   Well, at Mom's infamous pelvic exam Dr.  Smathers had said, "no
secrets," and after that exam there had been few left.  If there were not
supposed to be any secrets, what's wrong with a little snooping?

   I had another problem as well -- make that two problems.  Until swimming
practice began in a few weeks Greg was locked in to his bus schedule. 
While that would change, now it meant I had no snuggle and smooch time with
him.

   And on the second front, John would be going home to Beth's house,
probably walking.  Though I hadn't shared my worries with him I had no
illusions.  At this point he practically had "victim" stenciled on his
forehead, the way he walked, shying at every loud laugh, every sudden move,
even when he was with me.  I'd seen how the people who didn't know him
assessed him in the hallways.  If the wrong people got him out in the wild
they'd make mincemeat of him, psychologically if not physically.  I
wouldn't even put it past them to deliberately hunt him down.

   I don't mean to give the impression the school is a hot-bed of violence,
but face it, with the testosterone flowing there's a pack mentality. 
There's a pecking order, a food chain, and John was on the wrong end of
them.  Boys, and girls, I admit, in a pack can be ruthless.  John needed
time to find his balance.

   After the closing bell I found him with his head in his locker, a hermit
crab looking for shelter.  As if to verify my fears, I saw the same goons
who'd greeted us in the morning sauntering down the hall and picked up my
pace to get to John before they did.  I wouldn't put it past those jerks to
stuff him in his locker and snap the lock.  Whether my being there
deflected them or not, they ignored him and swaggered on their way.

   "Hi, John."

   There was a muffled thump and curse as he backed out, rubbing his head.

   "Sorry," I apologized.

   "'S'okay.  Hi, Dee."

   "Want to walk home with me?  Beth's place is pretty much on my way."

   He looked relieved.  "Yeah!  Lemme get my stuff." He hauled out a
backpack that looked heavier than mine and wobbled under it as he
shouldered it.

   "So, how was your first day?" I asked as we trekked down the hall.

   He shrugged, or tried to.  "Okay, I guess.  A few of the big kids made
some nasty comments."

   I nodded as we headed down the hall.  "Did I ever tell you about The
Stick?"

   "What's 'the stick?'"

   "Remember the first day of sex ed, when Carl got me up in front of the
whole class and had me get naked?  And you called me 'the stick?'"

   He looked mortified.  "Yeah.  I'm sorry.  That was really mean of me."

   I reassured him.  "You were still trying to be part of Horace's bunch of
nasties.  I understand."

   "But still, I shouldn'ta...."

   "No," I agreed.  "But I'm glad you did."

   "Huh?"

   We blinked against the bright sun outside.  "I went home feeling like
shit," I admitted, "but then I got this little voice inside me."

   So, I told him about how I'd taken what he'd said and turned it
upside-down, how I was "The Stick." I was -- am -- tall, and slender, and
sexy and proud of it.

   "And it worked?"

   I nodded.  "Every time I get down on myself, or have to make a big
decision, The Stick takes over when I need her most."

   I let him think on that as we walked along.

   "But what if they call me 'fag' or something like that?  How can I turn
that upside-down?"

   "You tell yourself that you know you are not a fag.  You tell yourself
they're wrong and you're not gonna let them get to you.  You square your
shoulders and march on.  You are your own person, not what they try to make
you.  Tell yourself they're just trying to tear you down 'cause they don't
feel as good about themselves as you do about yourself."

   "They're bullies," he concluded.

   "Yes, they are, but only if you let them bully you.  And if you have a
problem you can always come to me, to any of your friends -- you know who
we are.  You may not have family, but you've got us."

   "Yeah!" He positively glowed.  "I got friends!"

   It was as if it had never occurred to him.

   "And I got family, too, sorta.  Mom -- I mean, Mrs.  Finch...."

   "You call her 'Mom?'"

   "She asked me to," he mumbled.  "They asked me if they could adopt me."

   I squealed with joy and gave him a hug, practically unbalancing both of
us because of the weight of our packs.  "You have got a family!  That is so
cool!  What did you say?"

   "That I'd think about it.  I think it means they'd lose the foster
parent money, though."

   "I'd say you let them worry about that.  How can you say 'no?'"

   He shrugged, and I didn't press him.

   "Anyway, Mom thinks I might like to take karate."

   "Would you -- like to, I mean?" I'd known a couple of kids who had.  It
had given 'em confidence, but not arrogance.

   He made a couple of karate like moves, almost falling off the sidewalk
when his backpack unbalanced him.  "Might be fun," he admitted.

   So we talked about that for a while, and found ourselves at the foot of
the Finch's walkway.

   "You want to come in, Dee?" Mrs.  Finch was already at the door.  She
must have been watching for John.

   "No, thanks, Mrs.  Finch.  I need to get home."

   "Well, remember, you're always welcome here."

   "Thanks!" She always gives me a warm feeling.  I gave her and John a
wave and headed off, feeling good.

   At home, after the mandatory pit stops -- cookies and milk, then
bathroom and bedroom (where I got myself naked, of course) -- I began my
espionage.  I couldn't help thinking that Mom and Dr.  Smathers were up to
something beyond a straight -- if you could call it that -- lesbian love
affair.  But where to start?

   Mom's bedroom, of course!  It was the obvious scene of the crime, the
battlefield, if you want to call it that, the source of the intriguing
noises, the yelps and yips, the moans of carnal pleasures.  That Mom and
Dr. Smathers had a sexual relationship was no secret.  The question was,
what kind of a sexual relationship.

   I remembered Mom's hesitancy at her gyno exam, how Dr.  Smathers
directed the action, so I had my suspicions.  Now, at one time Mom had
loaned me and Missy -- dear Missy, I still missed her -- some toys she'd
had squirreled away under her bed, so that was the obvious starting point,
even though it was long before she and Dr.  Smathers had hooked up.

   Mom's bedroom was nicely feminine without being gushy.  The bedspread
was white satin with pink flowers and a dust ruffle.  There were matching
curtains, a makeup table, a full length mirror on the wall, a closet and a
bureau, some pictures and bookshelves just loaded with books.  I dug under
the dust ruffle for the toy box Mom had dragged out for Missy and me that
wonderful day we'd pleasured each other.  The box was there, but judging by
the dust it hadn't seen any action recently, so I left it undisturbed and
went for the closet, and almost immediately struck pay dirt.

   I'd learned not to look high on shelves a long time ago.  Mom was used
to have a skyscraper for a daughter and never hid things like Christmas
presents on high shelves.  No, this was on the floor, in a back corner, not
really hidden but unobtrusive, a case not unlike the one that Beth had
brought to Judy's slumber party.

   Dragging it out of the closet, I folded my legs tailor fashion, my
little quim already steaming.  It had been a while since I'd had any
action, and the very possibility of finding something titillating was
enough to make my pussy drool in anticipation.  So, after giving my eager
little kitty just a teasing tweak on the nose, I opened the case, noting
the initials E.  S.  on the latch.

   Elaine Smathers was my bet.

   Oh my!  And what to my wondering eyes should appear?

   No, not a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.  Nor lions and
tigers and bears, oh my!  Instead it was leashes and tethers and butt plugs
-- to say nothing of vibrators and strap-ons and cuffs and titty clamps, a
blindfold, even a soft leather cat o' nine tails!

   Oh My!  Okay, I confess -- sticks and stones may break my bones, but
whips and chains excite me.

   Mom!  What have you been up to?

   Just the sight of the butt plugs was enough to give me a micro-come from
remembering the delicious pleasure/pain/humiliation of having that wicked
little gymnast, Judy Liu, stuff one up my ass in front of the whole crowd
at her party.

   Oh my indeed!  Discipline and submission, a little BD and some SM by the
looks of it.  Nothing heavy, but still, this was my mom we're talking
about. Was she a top or a bottom?  I've been doing a bit of reading, and
talked with Beth after Judy's party, where she'd provided the butt plug
that had violated my rear.  It had come out of a box of toys just like the
ones I was looking at now.

   I'd learned a lot from Beth, I tell you, about tops and bottoms, and
safe words.  A true scientist, she was given to experimentation.

   My bet was that Dr.  Smathers was the top.

   I gave a shiver as I handled a set of leather cuffs that were snapped
together.  The vibrators and dildoes were obvious, and the butt plugs -- I
shivered, remembering that again -- but the leashes and stuff had surprised
me.  Mom, and Beth, too, had things so together, were so efficient and in
charge it was hard to envision either of them tied up and being tortured.

   Beth had been as honest with me as always.  Bondage was something she
and Carl did when the mood struck, and she wasn't always the one that was
helpless.  They'd tease each other, and even give a light whipping with the
cat.  As she described it it wasn't torture, it was teasing, tantalizing,
bringing her to the edge of coming, until she was begging for release.

   Wondering how Mom and Dr.  Smathers did it, I took a look at Mom's bed.
It was queen size, which cramped the room a little bit, but she'd always
liked to sprawl out.  There was certainly enough play room for her and Dr.
Smathers to have a good romp.

   But when I looked closely, I noticed some additional fittings that
intrigued me -- what I'd thought were decorative flourishes at the corners
of the headboard and footboard suddenly took on a new aspect.  I'd seen
them when I changed the sheets on laundry day -- one of my chores -- but
saw them now in a new light.

   Hmmmm.  That tingle in my crotch was getting stronger.

   It was a little tricky, but I separated the two cuffs and managed to
buckle one on each wrist.  They were lined with soft fleece and very
comfortable.  From my explorations on the internet I knew they were
top-of-the-line.  I guess OB/GYN work paid pretty well.  A little pawing
through the toy box turned up another pair, so I fastened them on my ankles
and scrambled to my feet.

   WhooooOO!  I looked at myself in the mirror and the tingle got even
stronger.  Something about the black leather with shining steel fittings
collaring my wrists and ankles looked incredibly sexy.  I was tall, and
slender, and naked and all skin, with my little puff of pussy-hair, my
modest boobs capped with nips that were hard as diamonds, with those
unforgiving bracelets and anklets embracing my extremities.

   A little more digging and I found four leashes that looked about the
right length.  Settling myself in the middle of the bed, the satin spread
cool and slippery under my naked butt, I tried to figure out how I could do
this.  My ankles were no problem.  A quick "snap, snap," and I had my
ankles anchored to the corners of the footboard.  When I scooched myself up
toward the headboard my legs spread, of course.

   Oh wow!  Did I feel vulnerable!  I could see my reflection in the mirror
on the wall beyond the foot of the bed, the inner pink ruffles of my cunt
visible and already salivating, and suddenly realized that the placement of
the mirror was quite deliberate, with malice aforethought, you might say.
Shit!  Talk about indecent exposure!

   The tingle had turned into a hot little flame.  I shoulda put a towel
under me, I realized, but didn't want to stop to fix that right now.  But
with my feet already secured I couldn't reach to get the leashes attached
to the headboard, so I had to sit up and unhook my ankles.  After a scamper
for a towel I was back on the bed.  Once I had the leashes attached to the
headboard I refastened my ankles.

   Now the wrists!  Oh jeez was I hot!  This was so incredibly sexy!

   Being as tall as I am, I had to readjust things that were obviously set
for Mom or Dr.  Smathers, and got my ankles secured again.  Darn it, if
Greg were here it would be simple.  Finally, somehow, I managed to get one
wrist attached to the headboard, leaving my right arm free, but I couldn't
figure any way to get it anchored.  It was just as well.  I was so horny I
just had to scratch that crotch itch!

   I diddled my clit and went off like a roman candle, fireballs blasting
through me right out to the tips of my toes and fingers.  My whole body was
twisting and squirming against the tethers that spread my legs wide open.
My crotch was so hot it was inflamed!  Good thing I had the towel or I
would have drenched Mom's bedspread.  My legs jittered and jumped against
the tethers, the muscles of my abdomen were rippling, my tied arm tugging
hard against its restraint, my modest boobies dancing to the tune of my
pecs.  If I'd had a third hand I would have pinched my nips, and I promised
myself next time I'd try the titty clamps, and maybe jam a vibrator up my
cunt.

   Finally my coming crested and began to fade and I flopped back, limp but
still restrained.  Something about being so helpless was an incredible
turn-on.  I just lay there for a while, still bound but for my right hand,
which was cuddling up to my sopping pussy just fine.

   What would it be like, I wondered, to be totally restrained, to be at
the mercy of someone like Greg?  I remembered that marvelous fuck we'd had
at my birthday party.  So far I'd fucked three different boys, and that one
had been, by far, the best.  I had been totally his, and he had been
totally mine, and we were one.  Oh how I ached to do that again, but, as
they say, events had conspired against us.  We didn't want it to be some
quickie in the back seat of a car or a grubby mattress in someone's garage.


   What would he do if he had me in this position?  Would he torment my
tits?  Would he play with my pussy?  Maybe he'd whip my tender breasts, or
chew on my nipples until I screamed.  Then maybe he'd fuck me, deep and
hard, ruthlessly.

   I reached up with my free right hand.  Finding that loose tether, I
wrapped it around my fist, so I was well and truly helpless.  Tugging and
pulling against the bindings, I let my mind drift, imagining Greg standing
by the bed, nude, his cock rigid as he looked down at me, so naked, so
exposed, so vulnerable and helpless.  He'd reach for my breast, maybe,
stroke it, squeeze it.

   Oh gosh that would feel so good.

   Maybe he'd pinch my nipple, gently?  No, hard, he'd pinch it hard, and
pull on it as if he were trying to lift me by my tit, twist it like he was
trying to unscrew it.  I'd cry out, not from pain but from pleasure,
burning pleasure, until he let go and it would snap back, sting with
relief, leaving me gasping, quivering.  Naked, my legs spread, I'd struggle
against the restraints, not to get away but so I could touch him, grab his
cock, drag it down, to my lips or my cunt.  I tugged at the leashes as I
imagined it, trying to close my legs, to roll over, to break loose, but I
was helpless.

   He'd caress me, his hands stroking my naked ribs.  Maybe he'd pinch my
mouth into a pucker and make me kiss him -- oh, how I'd love to kiss him.
Then he'd stroke down my bare body, teasing my flesh, making me achingly
aware of my nakedness and helplessness.

   Or, maybe he'd present his cock to my mouth, command me to suck it,
thrust it into my mouth, clear to the back of my mouth, and I'd taste his
hot, manly come.

   Maybe he'd kneel on the bed between my open legs, running his hands up
and down my long, graceful legs, tickling the insides of my thighs,
massaging my calves, my quads, my hamstrings, getting closer and closer to
my cunt, but not touching me there.  I'd be so frustrated!

   Touch me, touch me, touch me, I thought, immersing myself in the
fantasy. My hips rose, inviting him, but he teased me, just teased me, his
fingers tickling where my thighs joined my pelvis, that curving line where
limb joined body.  I convulsed like I was hooked up to some source of
electricity...something about frog's legs?  Oooooooo.

   And then, maybe he'd bend down his head, his lips approaching my naked
cunt.  Oh please, eat me, eat me, eat me, I'd beg, but he wouldn't.  He'd
tease and torment me.  He'd blow on my little puff of hair, his breath
chilling my oozing juices, and he'd laugh gently at my desperate efforts to
raise my pussy to him so he could taste my arousal.  He had to smell me. 
He'd have to know how turned on I was.  I was writhing and squirming,
inviting him to devour me.

   Then, then, he'd lick me, oh so gently, his hot tongue sliding up my
slit -- my inner lips would already have blossomed eagerly, and he'd be
tasting my yummy juices, and more would flow, and more.  He'd get hungrier
for me, his tongue probing deeper, spreading my petals.  He'd lick my clit
and I'd jump from the shock.

   Oh, I would want to come so much!  I'd look down, and my eyes would meet
his as he looked up, his mouth buried in my crotch.  He'd lick my clit, and
then maybe he'd see how far he could get his tongue into my cunt and I'd
feel it wriggling around, all hot and wormy, inside me.  And then he'd move
up my gooey gash.  With his fingers he'd peel back the hood from my clit
and his lips would close around it and he'd suck on it, and tongue it,
until I erupted in a tremendous, wonderful orgasm, and then, he couldn't
take it any longer, and he'd pull up, move up to cover me.

   At last, at last, at last I'd feel his cock fill my eager vagina, and
he'd be pumping into me, hard, hard, hard, his body cracking my clit with
every stroke, flash, flash, flash until my cunt was clutching at him and I
was grunting, and then he'd shove hard one last time and I'd feel his come
spurting, spurting, spurting into me, hot and gooey and rich while I
swirled away on a flood tide of ecstasy.

   And I almost did it.  I almost came just from the fantasy, and if I'd
freed my hand from the leash I could have touched myself, just touched my
little clitty and I would have gone over the waterfall.  But I was so
enveloped in my fantasy I couldn't get my hand untangled and the next thing
I knew the wave had passed and I was left panting on the soft satin
bedspread.

   "Dee?  Are you home?"

   Oh shit!  Mom!  What was she doing home?  How long had I been here?  I
couldn't see a clock.  I struggled to get my right hand untangled so I
could free myself as I heard her footsteps on the stairs.

   "Dee?  I know you're here, you left your backpack in the kitchen."

   OOhhmygosh!  Shit!  My hand was still tangled up and the harder I tried
the worse it got!  SHIT!

   I was working frantically, trying to shake free, making the snap link to
the bed chatter like a rattler's tail, even though I knew it was already
too late.

   I heard a gasp, a snort, and all I could do was cringe as my mom stood
in the doorway, taking in my plight, and all I could do was lie there, on
my back, naked as the day I was born, spread wide and tied, in a trap of my
own making, caught red pussied, you might say.  Red all over.  Mortified!
   I couldn't even hide my face and try to pretend she couldn't see me!