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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Lessons on his Birthday
by Triple Delta (triple--delta@hotmail.com)
***
Tyler's brother, Mark, just turned fifteen, and his
parents are renting him a secluded cabin in Colorado.
Tyler is worried about his brother, however -
specifically, worried about his sex skills. Nobody's
taught the kids the moves of the real world, and their
all-guys boarding-school education isn't exactly
providing them with a lot of learning experiences. So
Tyler and his friend Carl take it upon themselves to
'procure' some hands-on teaching supplies. (mf-teens,
youths, nc, rp, 1st, v, bd, oral, anal, ws)
***
Author Note: This is a complete work of fiction by the
author, Triple Delta. The events depicted in this story
are criminal offences in the United States of America
and jurisdictions around the world. The events depicted
in this story are physically, emotionally and
psychologically dangerous, and can lead to serious
injury, physical and mental, and even death. None of
the events depicted in this story should ever be
repeated, under any circumstance, in any form or
degree. The author herein releases this work to the
public domain, and allows it to be freely distributed,
reproduced, edited, integrated into a commercial
enterprise, etc., without the need to consult or
contact the author. By reading this document, you
affirm that you are eighteen years of age or older, and
by reading this document, that you will not be
violating any law, bylaw or court order in any and all
legal jurisdictions that you are subject to.
***
I should have worn a sweater.
I was sitting on the back of the piece of crap that was
my cars, a 1998 Ford Ranger pickup truck, its red paint
faded and chipped. I was wearing only a black T-shirt
and a pair of jeans, which was probably not the
smartest idea, given the temperatures. Of course, now
that I've been sitting here for, like, four hours with
my friend, you can't expect me to duck in to grab my
hoodie, right? I took another sip from the can of Red
Bull I'd been nursing, and stared out onto the lake.
My name's Carl Lambert, I'm a twenty-two year-old
college dropout. Before you call me a slacker, in my
defence, I was betting that my soccer yes, soccer
would be good enough to make one of the U.S. teams. I'm
pretty good, by anyone's standards, but small-town
Idaho just doesn't cut it at a national level, as
reality was quick to remind me. I tried taking some
hands-on college courses but, fuck it, I just don't
have it in me. I'm an outdoor guy, an athletic guy. If
I don't spent two hours pumping iron I don't sleep well
at night. So I'm drifting right now, hanging out with
Tyler Brown, a kindergarten-era friend.
The view of Lake Swan, I have to admit, is pretty nice.
It was a fully moon, which was reflected in the still
waters, with only a few ripples on the surface. No
swans, but I figure the nearby cabin party is freaking
them out. Either that or they're sleeping, I can't
decide which.
My Ford was parked right next to a large wooden cabin,
the type that you can rent for a decent price (or so
I'm told) for whatever the occasion is business
retreat, honeymoon, etc. Truth be told, I wouldn't be
here if Tyler wasn't here, and he wouldn't be here if
it wasn't for his now-fifteen brother, Mark Brown.
Finishing the can of Red Bull, I scrunched up the can
in one hand, then tossed it onto the lake, watching it
bob on the surface.
Tyler's brother, Mark, had just turned fifteen. Now,
Mark, unlike his older brother, is totally spoiled.
Tyler and I have stories to last a lifetime about the
things we did for cash back in our high schools days.
Mark, on the other hand, has it pouring out the ass.
So, unsurprisingly, for his fifteenth birthday, his
parents rented him a cabin a ways east of Denver,
Colorado, for him to throw a party. Tyler needed me for
two reasons: (a) he needed my pickup to haul all of his
little brother's gear, and (b) his parents had told him
to chaperone (Christ, people still use that word?) the
party, and he didn't want to be bored out of his mind.
I can understand that fear.
The pickup truck was situated just beneath an open
window, where the kids seemed to be totally drunk,
although there was no alcohol (yet). I can't remember
if I sounded like that at fifteen, but maybe eight.
Tyler and I had spent about two hours hooking up a 42-
inch plasma TV, surround-sound speakers and a handful
of game consoles before the kids arrived in their
luxury SUVs, which they seemed to be enjoying. I have
to admit, although I turned away from video games long
ago (too damn expensive), the kids seemed to be having
a kick. They'd done some Halo 3 on the Xbox 360, and
then moved onto some Call of Duty 4 on the sleek new
Sony Playstation 3. There was a brief lull as they
decided what game to do next, and their voices
flittered through the open window.
Girls. Ah, the age of puberty. Semi-surprisingly,
nobody had any girlfriends they cared to bring to the
party, but sex was the only conversation topic of the
virgins. What was better anal or vaginal? How long
did you need to rest between orgasms? I'm paraphrasing
this, a little, because I'll be damned if I have to
commit anything they actually say to memory.
Tyler was sitting next to me, downing his... third...
can of Coca-Cola. He had, to my amusement, packed a
handheld digital video camera, the purpose of which was
becoming increasingly clearer. Like any guy of his age,
Tyler didn't like babysitting, particularly,
babysitting a bunch of rowdy, annoying teenage boys.
About a minute ago, Tyler had ducked into the cabin to
ask if anyone wanted beer. I'll bet you can guess the
answer. Unfortunately, we didn't exactly have any on
us, so it was back to the shitty Ford for a drive to
the local beer store.
Crushing the red-and-white can beneath his foot, Tyler
hopped through the window into the passenger's seat,
whilst I turned the keys in the ignition. I backed up,
then began the twenty-minute drive to the nearest
shopping center, a few stores in a hub around a gas
station. The cabin, I have to admit, was in the middle
of fucking nowhere. It was a dirt road branching off of
a confusing maze of dirt roads, nestled in a thick
forest at the base of a mountain range. No street
signs, and no connection to civilization, apart from
the telephone/electricity lines. Obviously, no cops. No
cops, in fact, for dozens of kilometres in every
direction. A perfect party locale.
"Fuck, did you hear them in there?" asked Tyler,
rhetorically, as we began the drive. "I mean, shit,
Carl, I want you to punch me in the face if I ever
sounded that annoying." I punched him the shoulder,
provoking a slight laugh between the two of us. "I
mean, all the time he spends on the Internet, you'd
think he'd have found at least one porn site?"
"Ah, pussy, Wikipedia's not the way to go," I said.
"You want to find something out, you got to do it
yourself. Remember Emily?"
"Oh, fuck you," replied Tyler. Emily was the first girl
he'd ever had sex with, and he'd fucking gotten her
pregnant. She'd taken a day-after pill, thank God, but
Tyler was having a fucking panic attack. We drove on
for a few minutes, in silence.
"Seriously," said Tyler, breaking the silence, "when do
you think they're ever going to get laid?"
"Well, Mark goes to that private boarding school,
right? So it dependents if we're talking straight or
gay sex." That made us both laugh. "But anyways, the
thing about an all-guys boarding school is that you're
only hope of sex is getting a chick so drunk in one
night that she does you then and there."
"Yeah, and Mark will fucking collapse after the first
can," snorted Tyler. "So you're saying, what,
university?"
"I was going to say college, but yeah. Problem is-"
"Problem is," interjected Tyler, "that every other
fucking guy on campus is going to have more balls and
skills than him. He's got no moves, trust me. I mean,
my parents are already choosing which Ivy school they
want to send him to. There's fewer chicks there, too,
and you know the whole supply and demand thing."
"So, what, you're saying we find a whore who'll band a
fifteen-year old and his friends at their LAN party?"
We finally pulled into a gas station, which was,
conveniently, directly across from a late-night beer
store. Parking the car, we got out, first heading to
the beer store. Tyler pulled out a roll of crisp
twenty-dollar bills, and we bought a shitload of stuff,
mainly Canadian stuff, actually. Higher alcohol
content. Tyler then talked me into going to the
convenience store, for what, I don't quite know.
It was a small store that had that family-run feel to
it. Tyler immediately went to a magazine rack,
presumably looking for a porno, whilst I browsed the
aisles. There was nobody at the counter, but since I
was wearing only my jeans and a T-shirt, I could only
help myself to a few chewing gum sticks, shoving them
into my pockets. After about thirty seconds, Tyler
looked like he had given up, and we were about to leave
the unattended store.
That was, of course, when a cashier arrived. She was
young, I mean, around twelve or thirteen, a 'tween', I
think. She was small for her age (I think, it's hard to
remember), maybe about four feet seven inches. She was
Caucasian, probably Scandinavian, if I had to guess.
She had long, flowing blond hair that covered the sides
of her head and stopped about halfway down her back,
with dark blue eyes. She looked like she was in pretty
good shape, physically, I mean, almost no body fat on
her slim figure. For a girl just reaching puberty, she
had pretty decent breasts, I have to admit.
"Sorry, did I miss you?" asked the girl, in peppy,
energetic voice (interesting for two in the fucking
morning). She had to jump to lean on the counter top,
her feet dangling mid-air, unintentionally giving me a
clear view of her cleavage. She was wearing a tight-
fitting blue denim skirt and a spaghetti-strap tank
top, decorated in tropical colors.
"Oh, we're just going," replied Tyler, but he made no
motion towards the door.
"Were you looking for something?" asked the young girl,
pulling her feet up so she was sitting on the counter
top, hugging her knees to her chest in such a
seductively cute manner.
"Just some magazines, but we didn't find anything,"
replied Tyler.
"Oh, were you looking for the porn?" asked the girl, as
if she was asking if you wanted fries with that. "We
keep it in the back, where the kiddies don't normally
go."
She gestured to a second magazine rack, hidden in the
back corner of the store, which I had somehow
overlooked, probably due to the way it was angled.
Tyler began walking towards the rack, whilst I stayed
near the door.
"You're remarkable mature for a twelve-year old," I
said, taking a stab at her age. She smiled, playfully.
"I'm thirteen," she retorted, with mock anger. "Oh, by
the way, my name's Pamela pleased to meet you."
"Yeah, likewise," I said, somewhat awkwardly. Damn, was
she good-looking for a thirteen year old. If only my
elementary school years had had chicks like her.
"Oh, uh, since you're here," began Tyler, abandoning
his search through the porn magazine rack in the back,
"I was wondering if you could help me find a few
things?"
"Sure," replied Pamela, hopping off the counter. "What
are you looking for?"
Before Tyler even said anything, I knew where he was
going with this. We thought very much alike.
Instinctively, I checked for security cameras
nothing. There was a door in the back marked 'STORAGE',
presumably leading to the second-floor bedrooms, as
well, but the lights had been off when we'd pulled up.
"You see, it's my bro's birthday tomorrow, and I was
wondering if you had any cardboard boxes," he gestured
with his hands, "about, I guess, two by two feet."
"Oh, sure," said Pamela, ducking behind the counter and
pulling out a brown cardboard box that almost exactly
matched the description. It was a decent size, with a
lid that popped on and off. "You want some wrapping
paper for that?"
"Yeah, and some colored string, if you have any,"
replied Tyler. Pamela again ducked under, retrieving a
roll of red-and-black striped wrapping paper and a roll
of red sting, complete with a like-colored bow, the
fancy kinds, you know.
"On a complete different note," continued Tyler, "do
you have any duct tape, burlap sacks and kitchen rags?"
"Sure, follow me," said Pamela. She lead us into a
corner of the store, which I again managed to overlook.
Weird. Pamela pointed to a row of different-sized
spools of adhesive duct and electrical tape, in various
colors. "You got a favourite color, or do you just want
the boring industrial grey?"
"Oh, what the hell, I'll go with pink," said Tyler,
with a smile, picking a roll of florescent pick duct
tape off the rack. He then stooped down, picking up a
box of blue J-cloth kitchen towel/cloth things and a
brown sack.
"Ah, a guy comfortable with his masculinity."
It was then that things got... interesting. Pamela
turned her back on Tyler as she began walking back to
the counter. That was when Tyler whipped out his the
switchblade he always kept in his pocket. With his
right hand, he pressed the polished steel blade into
the small of Pamela's back, the point just prickling
her. With his right hand, he swung around her head and
hand gagged her. I quickly walked to the front of the
store, locked the door, flipped the sign to 'CLOSED'
and killed the lights, so only the light from a nearby
streetlight filtered through the windows came in.
Pamela, instinctively, put both hands around Tyler's
forearm, trying to remove his hand from over her face,
but it was hopeless. Tyler pricked the small of her
back with the blade, just scratching through the thin
cloth of her spaghetti top. Pamela decided to shut up.
After a moment's hesitation, Tyler released Pamela, but
kept his knife pointed towards her.
"Alright, now, I want you to turn around, get on your
knees, and place your hands behind your back," began
Tyler, speaking calmly and precisely, keeping his voice
menacingly low. "If you yell, or try to struggle in any
way, I'll have this blade through your throat before
you can cry 'Mommy'. Do I make myself clear?"
Pamela said nothing, but glared at him with a deep
hatred, the complete polar opposite of her bouncy,
energetic self from moments before. She turned around,
dropping to her knees, the denim skirt sliding up her
thighs. She clasped her hands together behind her back,
and said nothing. That was good. I looked around,
feeling the caffeine of the Red Bull pulsing through my
body.
There was the familiar sound of a sheet of duct tape
being removed from the roll, the ripping sound I'm sure
you know so well. Tyler turned Pamela's wrists around
so that her palms were facing out, and then proceeded
to wrap the florescent pink duct tape around her wrists
above a half dozen times.
"You're taking this pretty well," I said, opening the
cash register and shoving twenty dollar bills into my
pants. "Most people would be panicking."
"What, you think you're the first people to rob me?"
asked Pamela, glaring at me. I smiled and turned away,
having largely emptied out the register. After
finishing with her hands, Tyler ripped open the box of
cloths and shoved one of the blue rags into Pamela's
mouth. Her jaw was forced open by it, but she made no
effort to spit it out, which would have been pretty
easy. Tyler then pressed the end of the roll of duct
tape to her left cheek, and began wheeling the roll
around her head. Her silky blond hair got tangled in
the tape, which, by the tenth circumnavigation,
completely covered everything from her nostrils to her
chin. Ripping off the tape, Tyler patted some of the
tape covering her cheek before moving on.
Tyler tore off a strip this time, placing the pink tape
over her eyes, repeating the procedure twice more, for
safety. Tyler than pushed her forward, causing her to
land on her chest. He pulled off her Nike running shoes
and white gym socks, wrapping the pink roll around her
ankles several times, pressing her legs together.
Satisfied in her immobility, Tyler ripped off the tape.
"Alright, there's the burlap sack you helped us find
directly in front of you," said Tyler, after standing
the bound Pamela up. "I want you take a small step
forward, into it." Pamela complied, hobbling forward
until her ankles were within the confines of the burlap
sack in a puddle at her feet. "Good, now, when I pull
this over you, I want you to curl up into a ball,
okay?"
Pamela didn't say anything, but complied when the sack
was drawn up to neck height, disappearing into the
rough container. Tyler tightened the drawstrings at the
top, sliding it down until he hit Pamela's bound form.
Tyler proceeded to lift her up, neatly placing her
inside the two by two cardboard box she'd helped us
find. Once she Tyler had closed the lid on the box and
set to work on gift-wrapping it, I grabbed a plastic
bag from behind the counter and began touring the shop
for anything else that could be useful.
Tyler awkwardly covered the box in the striped wrapping
paper, then tying the red string around the box,
complete with the red bow. Meanwhile, I helped myself
to whatever I thought might be fun. Sleep masks, dog
collars with little metal studs, leather dog leashes
and leashes that could be retracted. A shock collar,
some bars of soap, twenty feet of white nylon rope, a
pair of scissors, and a handful of binder clips. By the
time Tyler was finished tying the bow on the package, I
was scooping up Pamela's shoes and socks from the
floor, and then we were on our way out.
Tyler laid the cardboard box containing our captive
down in the back up the pickup truck, covering it with
several thick blankets I'd never gotten rid of. I
turned the key in the ignition and we began the drive
back to our remote cabin. Neither of us said anything
on the drive, listening to the shitty 'classic rock' on
the only radio station we could actually pick up.
Twenty minutes of driving on unpaved roads through the
forests later, having seen not a single human being, we
pulled into the driveway of the cabin. Tyler carried in
our birthday present, whilst I grabbed two twelve-packs
of Molson Canadian beer. The kiddies were playing Gears
of War when we came back, but the sight of beer seemed
to make them completely forget about it.
I closed the door behind us. There were six kids,
between fourteen and fifteen, including Mark, the
birthday boy. They were all white, with varying degrees
of physical build, but none of them were really fat.
Mark was tall for his age, with neatly-cut dark brown
hair and eyes. Tyler placed the box on the floor,
which, to my surprise, didn't kick about or make any
unusual noises.
"Alright, bro," said Tyler, patting his younger sibling
on the shoulder, "actually, this is for all you guys
out there. Listen, the social scene sucks when you're
all boarding in an all-guys school. And when you get to
college or university or whatever, that means you're
going to be at a serious disadvantage. You guys no jack
shit about sex don't argue with me, just go with it.
So, tonight, my friend Carl and I got you this present.
Think of it as tutorial level, okay?"
Tyler tapped the box with his foot, barely moving it
forward. Mark moved forward, awkwardly slipping off the
red string and then ripping off the wrapping paper.
Popping off the lid, Mark then looked at the burlap
sack inside. Pamela wasn't moving, or groaning, yet.
Sliding up the draw string, Mark pulled the folds of
the bag down, and the blindfolded and gagged head of
our dear little Pamela popped out.
Everyone stepped back, including Mark.
"Now, you guys probably know a thing or two about
getting a stripper for your eighteenth birthday," said
Tyler. He tripped the box sideways, so the sack
containing Pamela tumbled out. "Unfortunately, Mark
here isn't going to be eighteen for a while, and by
that time, it's going to be a little late. But it's the
same idea. Tyler grabbed the bottom of the sack,
yanking it and spilling the rest of Pamela onto the
floor. Her hands and feet remained taped tightly
together, and she was awkwardly writhing on the floor.
"So who wants a turn first?"
Unsurprisingly, nobody moved. Pamela rolled over onto
her back, an uncomfortable position given where her
hands were, facing the direction of Tyler, but unable
to see him. She tried to say something, but the
combination of the stuff and tape gag prevented her.
"Alright, that's cool, you're all a little nervous,"
said Tyler, looking about. Carl and I'll go first, show
how it's done. In the meantime, why don't you guys help
yourselves to some beers, get you in the mood." As the
boys began pulling beer cans out, Tyler pulled Pamela
into a kneeling position, then shoved her face into the
wooden floor, her ass high in the air, in an almost
kowtow position. I reached into the plastic bag of
goodies from the store, and tossed Tyler an electric
shock collar. Tyler fastened the collar around Pamela's
neck, whilst I examined the remote it had nine
setting, from one to nine volts, selected by a little
dial on the side. I flipped it up to Level 4 and
squeezed a little trigger.
Pamela shot forward, her muscles spasmed and forced her
into a prone position on the floor. She gasped it pain,
but it was muffled by the thick gag. Tyler nodded to
me, indicating that this was a good setting. Bringing
her back into the kowtow position, Tyler reached
between her thighs and up her denim skirt. A second
later, his had was withdrawn, a pair of torn white
panties clutched in his fist. He tossed them aside,
then set to work.
"Now, the thing is, you don't want to just get all anal
right off the bat," said Tyler rolling up Pamela's
skirt so everyone that her bare butt cheeks were
exposed for all to see. "Do that to a chick and all
she'll be is pissed from the pain, not turned on. So
you got to soften them up first, see."
The fingers and thumbs of Tyler's hands began playing
over her ass, at first, almost like a massage. Then, he
stuck his two thumbs up her ass, causing Pamela to
release a gagged moan of pain. Tyler than withdrew his
thumbs, inserting his right index finger, probing
about. Pamela was giving off a constant moan, but we
all ignored it. Finally, Tyler moved up again, this
time sticking the four fingers of his right hand into
her ass. Pamela sounded like she was beginning to cry,
but the blindfold most have captured all the tears. A
pity, that kind of turned me on.
"Okay, so now this girl's ass is a little more
receptive. It's obvious she hasn't had much experience
with anal before, cause she keeps tensing up. That's
bad, but understandable. You have to get them to relax,
or at least, accept it, for maximum enjoyment. Now,
moving up," Tyler flattened out all the digits on his
hand, and then shoved his entire right hand up her
rectum. This time, Pamela let out a louder scream of
pain, but Tyler continued the fisting. He rapidly
pulled his hand in and out of her ass, in what's known
as 'pistol fisting' to you outsiders, at the end,
sliding several inches of his forearm up the crack in
her ass. When he finally withdrew his hand, Tyler
pulled off his T-shirt, wiping his fist.
"Now is when they're relaxed, or at least, their ass
muscles are. There'll be less resistance when you start
your main moves, more pleasure." Tyler pulled off his
jeans and boxers, his erect nine-inch penis standing
out in the air. Using the pair of scissors I'd
shoplifted, he cut the strips of duct tape binding
Pamela's legs together. Once she was in the proper
doggy position (albeit, with her hands still taped
behind her back, Tyler plunged his dick into her ass.
His hands firmly planted on either side of her hips,
Tyler moved her back in forth, his dick protruding and
intruding again and again. By the end of it, he was
pushing his pelvis into her with every swing, with
muffled yelps coming through the gag.
Finally withdrawing his dick completely for the first
time in, like, five minutes, Tyler wiped his soak dick
on his T-shirt before pulling his boxers back on.
Pamela lay prone on the floor, her legs curled up in
front of her.
"Alright, now, Carl here," said Tyler, pulling his
jeans on, "is going to give you a demonstration on how
to get the most bang for your buck when it comes to a
blowjob." Fun time. I pulled off my pants and boxers,
tossing them into a corner, but leaving my shirt on. My
dick was already quite erect, literally bouncing off
her face as I stood over her, unravelling the tape gag.
Her hair was getting tangled in the pink florescent
tape, but she made no sign that it bothered her. After
yanking the wet cloth out of her mouth, I placed both
hands on her head.
"Blowjobs, or 'fellatio', if you're fancy, is one where
you should be doing as little work as possible. If you
have to think about it, you're not having fun. That
being said, there are a few easy tricks to getting the
best blow. Keep both hands on the back of her head, and
every time she bobs, give her a little extra push. Once
you're in the rhythm of it, it doesn't really deter
from the overall sensation.
"Now, Pamela here, I'm guessing, has never given a
blowjob before, isn't that right?" I asked. Pamela
nodded, her head bowed, my dick resting on her
forehead. "So there's always some advice you can give
to your partner. Holding your dick whilst they blow is
always good, but playing with your testes can also be
fun. Also, try to avoid the teeth, whenever possible,
gums are best. And of course, if you're not relaxed,
they won't enjoy it. You catch all that, Pam?"
I tilted Pam's head back, and her lips reluctantly
parted. I thrust my eight-inch dick into her mouth, and
her lips automatically sealed around it. She began
slowly rocking back and forth, not putting much effort
into it. I forced her head forwards with every bob,
knowing she was going to get the hang of it. Then, she
began sucking, letting her tongue play across my male
reproductive organ. Her tongue tickled the tip of my
penis, her lips sliding up and down the sides. She
looked almost like a fish as she sucked my dick, her
small, almost ticklish tongue doing wonders.
I ejaculated, but when Pamela instinctively tried to
pull away as semen filled her mouth, I held it in
place, forcing her to lick it and swallow it. Then,
after I'd given her the first taste, I withdrew my
dick, letting the white fluid spray all over her face
and her boobs. She tried to turn away, but that just
meant I got more of the sides of her face. Her blonde
hair became coated with white fluids, and streams were
running down her chest, slipping onto her boobs.
"A good old blowjob," I concluded, towelling off my
dick with Tyler's shirt. "If you pay more than twenty
bucks for it, you're getting ripped off."
Pamela was kneeling, hands taped behind her back,
blindfolded, head bowed in submission as semen coated
her face, unable to wipe it away.
"Alright, now Mark," said Tyler, wearing only his
jeans, "is going to help you explore the last major
avenue of sex, the pussy. Now, if you ever pick up the
Hindu work, the Kama Sutra, you'll find there are more
sex positions than you can hope to test. You'll
probably find some work better than others. Now, Mark
here is going to experience the cowgirl position
woman on top. Not too much energy, very
straightforward, very satisfying.
Tyler handed Mark the scissors he had used to cut the
tape around her ankles. Mark walked up to Pamela, who
was still kneeling, pushing her onto her front. Mark
then grabbed the pink tape around her eyes and ripped
it off, allowing Pamela to take in her surroundings for
the first time. I made sure the blinds were drawn, but
other than that, there was no real risk. We all lived
in a completely different state, anyways. Mark stared
into her dark blue eyes before setting to work with the
scissors, neatly cutting through the front of her denim
skirt, tossing it aside, exposing her pussy.
Mark obviously knew what the cowgirl position was, and
Pamela seemed to guess. Mark took off his clothes so he
was completely nude, lying on his back on the floor.
Pamela then placed a knee on either side of Mark's
hips. She was still wearing her tropical spaghetti-
strap top. I could see her cheeks and eyes were
completely red, with small tears trickling out of her
eyes. Pamela said nothing as she set to work.
Mark's erect dick slid neatly into Pamela's vagina,
which, I take it, was already in the mood for sex
thanks to our anal and oral sex. Pamela began bouncing
up and down, letting Mark's penis slide in and out of
her pussy whilst she did all the work. Her hands were
still taped behind her back, and she had to stretch her
thighs in order to get far away. I picked up the shock
collar remote, dropped the setting down to Level Two,
and gave her a mild shock.
The pumping increased. Pamela slid up and down like a
flag on a flagpole. She went from the tip of his dick
down to his balls, sliding, pumping. Every so often I
gave her a brief shock, to keep her motivated. Up and
down, in and out. Pamela's entire body was swaying with
every motion. Finally, she pulled herself off of Mark,
awkwardly, letting his white semen splash around her
bare thighs. Mark lay on the ground, apparently
exhausted, whilst Pamela simply returned to her
submissive kneeling position.
Tyler then walked up to Pamela, snipped the straps of
her top and yanked it off. As I knew, she had decent-
sized breasts for a girl her age. Her white boobs
flopped lazily on her chest. She didn't seem all that
tired, despite a long jackhammer sex run. Tyler
beckoned for the remaining boys to come forward.
"Alright, now, that was some pretty good cowgirl
action, if I do say so. Now, Pamela here is a sub,
which in BDSM terms means she'll do what you want. Some
of you guys might dig the more dominating chick,
dominatrix, mistress, slaves and whatnot. Whatever
sex is sex, but remember: you have to adapt. Being a
sub, we have to make sure Pamela knows where her
dignity should be at. Now, if you'll all just follow my
example."
Tyler pulled is dick out of his pants, which I and all
the boys, save the exhausted Mark, mimicked. Tyler than
let a steady stream of urine shoot out of his penis
towards Panama, followed by the other four boys and
myself, who all needed to piss.
"Come on, Pamela, pretend it's soda. I order you to
drink as much of it as you can," said Tyler. Pamela
didn't move for a second, letting the fountains of piss
thoroughly soak her. Then, she raised her chin and
opened her mouth. All six streams of urine immediately
were aimed into her mouth, rapidly filling her mouth.
Pamela choked and gagged at first, spitting some out.
But when the streams didn't stop, she began gulping it
down, learning to close her mouth when it was full. The
golden shower completely soaked her face, hair and
boobs, as Pamela struggled to swallow mouthful after
mouthful of bitter-tasting piss. Finally, we all ran
out, and Pamela was kneeling there, yellow rivers of
piss trickling down her body, small droplets forming
and falling off the tip of her nose.
The rest of the evening went, well, pretty much as
expected. The rest of the boys took their turns. Some
of them were confident, choosing their own positions
and techniques. Most only went vaginal, but a few tried
anal. All of them got blowjobs. Some were a little more
reluctant Tyler and I gave them a hand here's a
position you might like, or maybe a little electric
shock to Pamela to keep her motivated.
I have to admit, that girl is like a fucking horse.
She'd been riding guys and having guys ride her for
hours now, and most of them weren't exactly gentle. She
was covered in a combination of urine and semen, as
ejaculating all over her was a popular decision. Her
ass was completely red, as was her crotch. Some of the
guys liked to play with her boobs, but she hardly
seemed to notice them. After the forth pussy probing
she stopped groaning in pain. The Canadian beer began
to wear on the kids, and those that didn't pass out
continued for more rounds with Pamela, getting more and
more adventurous with every time.
It was something like eight in the fucking morning when
the last kid passed out, exhausted. Pamela was sweating
and passively gasping for air, seeming to be checking
if anyone was queued up. When there was nobody left,
she turned to Tyler, pressing her forehead to the
floor, kowtowing (her hands, admittedly, were still
taped tightly behind her back).
"Sir," she began, speaking for the first time in what
seemed like an eternity, "what are you going to do with
me know?"
"Well, we're all going to head back home now," said
Tyler, smiling. He was patting the top of her head with
his bare foot. "Don't worry, we all live far away from
here, so you won't see us again."
Tyler and I set to work for 'returning the package', as
he called it. Pamela was still soaked from out combined
bodily fluids, particularly around her face and crotch.
Submissively, she accepted the dish rag stuffed into
her mouth, and the pink roll of duct tape was wrapped
around her mouth, ankles, knees and eyes once again.
Thoroughly bound, gagged and blindfolded, I gave her a
Level Nine electric shock. The strong electric charge
was enough to knock her unconscious, after a brief,
muffled yelp of pain. Once she was out cold, we stuffed
her back into her burlap sack, then into the cardboard
box. We used the pink duct tape to seal the edges, and
scribbled a random address in Denver on the front.
"Think they got their education," asked Tyler, as we
loaded the package into the back of my Ford.
"Oh, fuck yeah. Some of those guys, 'specially your
bro, seemed to be getting it by the end of it. And
Pamela's going to be a fucking goddess."
END
Author Note: The author of this story is Triple Delta,
the author of several other bondage/sex-themed
fictional pieces on the Kristen Archives. The author is
open to comments, compliments, suggestions and
criticisms. The author will also take story requests,
free of charge, on ANY kind of erotica, from a sexy
costume party to basement rape. If you would like to
contact the author for any of the above reasons, please
e-mail: tripledelta@hotmail.com - Please note that
there are TWO dashes between 'triple' and 'delta'.
Thank you for your time.
57001
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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 57