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Laura Walks the Dog
by Autolycus (no address provided)

***

Laura is enjoying one of her many thrills. In this story 
she "walks the dog" at an isolated - and very busy - 
private toilet. She meets up with two undie fans and 
happily joins them in their car for some very dirty 
games. Later they drive her out into the country for 
more of the same, plus a lot of spanking and abuse... 
before taking her to meet their wives. (MMFFF, dogging, 
orgy, tor, bd, huml, scat, ws)

***

Dogging is fun at any time, if time is on your side as 
it was with me. 

It was a splendid evening to Walk the Dog, the end of a 
fine day – dry foliage and deep dusk at about eight 
o'clock. Walking the Dog was one of my little side-lines 
- one of many - and it brought me a lot of exciting 
depravity, usually anonymous and furtive. At about seven 
I started to prepare myself, already quite excited by 
the prospects that the evening had to offer.

I'm not the elegant twenty-three year old who bewitched 
Belinda but, at thirty-two, I can still turn heads. 
Other doggers never seemed to bother about appearances 
anyway – but doggers don't seem to care who watches 
them, or fondles and sucks them, or even fucks with 
them. And cunts and asshole are just that... cunts and 
assholes. And mouths. 

For my part, I was of an average for a thirty-year-old, 
a little plump, offset by my height, but still endowed 
with an ample bosom and butt, and a trim waist. I was 
wearing black hold-up stockings and I pulled a pair of 
white knees socks over them, and then a pair of soft, 
white cotton knicks. A bra would be an encumbrance so I 
slipped a pink nylon vest over my head. 

That was actually quite figure-hugging, added a little 
restraint to my bouncy boobs, and it had a low neck 
line. For ease of access, so to speak. It was long, too, 
covering the tops of my stockings...just, and, for 
appearance, I was wearing a school-girlie pleated skirt.

So far, so good. I daubed on some bold make-up and tied 
my hair into a pony tail, sliding my feet into some 
serviceable sneakers. High heels were definitely not for 
Nowhere Park, and sneakers gave me a turn of speed if it 
was needed: not everybody who visited Nowhere Park was a 
dogger. 

Last came my coat. I was inordinately proud if that, 
since it really was my old school gabardine and complete 
with a hood, buttons, and a belt. And it had those 
wonderful in-and-out pockets that made self-abuse so 
convenient. I'd been using it to Walk the Dog for years: 
in fact it was my standard dress for any of my sexual 
outings.

All those preparations made, I still had a few minutes 
in hand...time to attend to my spare room. 

I did have a spare room of sorts on the ground floor, 
still, although it was called the Nursery then : a room 
that had always been the Nursery. It was the last room 
to the back of the building and could only be accessed 
through my bedroom... or an outside door that was tucked 
away at the end of an alley that ran down one side of 
the building. For my part I was not unhappy about it. 

The exterior entrance meant that I could pick up very 
casual contacts where 'a place' was needed but I didn't 
want the contact to know who I was. It was a room where 
I played my games, my Games Room. It was accessed 
through a passage way, about the same length as the room 
and about half the width. 

The passage way was shelved along one wall – that's 
where I kept my gear – and the door into it from my room 
was almost concealed by my wardrobe. For furnishing, the 
room was covered in a thick black rubber sheet that 
spread over the whole floor area and up the walls for 
about a foot, and on it lay three mattresses, all 
sheathed in hospital pink rubber sacks, with ample 
pillows sealed in the same material. 

The lighting came from some naked bulbs, a couple in the 
hallway and the others in the room itself: the bulbs 
were only 40 watt but their unshaded dimness added to 
the slutty atmosphere of the place.  And that's where 
most evenings ended. They usually did, since Nowhere 
Park had required a reputation over the years and 
attracted visitors from a wide area. 

One couple of my acquaintance regularly travelled eighty 
miles to visit. And, of course, they stayed over with 
me. One interesting point that I discovered some time 
after I took possession of the property was that, at the 
end of the nursery and hidden around another corner was 
a smaller room with a sloping ceiling. The stairs to the 
other flats. The cot went in there, plus any appropriate 
equipment. 

The cellar was a different proposition altogether.

That wasn't the rule, mind you. Sometimes I ended up in 
very strange places.

***

What was Nowhere Park? 

It was a lay-by on a busy road in the Midlands. Many 
years previously the local council needed to perform 
major road works. They approached the owners of the 
estate adjacent to the road with a view to building a 
diversion on his land. The "Mad Parker" – as the owner 
was known locally – was happy to oblige. 

The authorities were delighted with his proposal that, 
once the work was completed on the road, the detour 
should remain his property. Great! They didn't even have 
to dig the blasted road back up for him. In subsequent 
conversations he – the father of the current title 
holder – proposed that he should provide a public 
convenience and a place for road-weary travellers to 
rest. He even declined a civic ceremony to give the Lay-
By a good send-off. 

Only, Gerry Parker just never seemed to get round to 
signposting it. The cognoscenti knew of it, though, and 
it even had it's own Web page which appealed to people 
who were prepared to admit to Dogger activity or wanted 
to show off. The space between the new and temporary 
road was filled with trees and undergrowth, not sign-
posted in any way, and was Private...which meant the 
area was of no interest to the local plods and, 
therefore, a hang-out for all sorts sexual weirdos. 

I knew, I'd been coming here for years. The temporary 
road was in some disrepair but still has a pavement on 
the same side as the lav, and that the only source of 
light – naked 40 watt bulbs - hung over the entrance to 
the 'Ladies' and 'Men', and even those were placed 
inside the entrances. Parking was on both sides of the 
road. That, then, was Nowhere Park, a place for 
exhibiting, watching and, quite often, taking part.

***

And that was where I was off to, that pleasant evening. 
Even though I felt the place was 'local', I still had 
nigh on half-an-hour's drive ahead of me. It was cosy in 
my compact off-roader, though, and I looking forward to 
the visit, sufficient enough to unbutton the bottom my 
gabardine and part it so that I could tease myself. 

I was already nicely lubricated: by the time I arrived, 
I was sopping wet. I reached the track that connected 
the lay-by to the highway and drove from one end to the 
other slowly – sidelights only and with my interior 
light on – checking the attendance.

It was busy. It was going to be a good night. I picked a 
parking spot on the pavement side and with my driver's 
door to the kerb. Once I'd parked up I switched 
everything off and sat with my eyes closed for a couple 
of minutes. When I opened them again, I had much better 
night vision. I hopped out of the van, quick. Later on 
I'd perform: for now I wanted to do a little exploring. 
In the deepening dusk, my gabardine made me almost 
invisible. 

The lorries always parked on the rough – as opposed to 
the paved  - side of the road and at a particular spot 
where a bit of a bank allowed a pedestrian a view into 
their cabs and sleeping backs. I sauntered along the 
pavement, real slow, peeping into the cars I was passing 
out of the corner of my eye. 

The cars were parked at discrete intervals, and it was 
easy to be a shadow. The first car was empty – someone 
no doubt walking their own dog or sharing another car – 
and, although the second car was bouncing around like 
fury,  the windows were steamed up and I couldn't see a 
thing. Well, I guess they wanted privacy. The next car 
again was the genuine article.

If you're an experienced dogger, you leave the courtesy 
light on in the car. Depending on how exhibitionist you 
are, you can use brighter or dimmer bulbs for 
this...although I've come across cars with a couple of 
lights of varying wattage  to suit the situation. On my 
own, of course, I've got a dimmer switch fitted as 
standard. 

The third car in the row was well lit. As I approached 
it I noticed that the light in that car was shaded, 
illuminating just the driving wheel and the occupant's 
lap. I stopped in the shadows to observe. From that 
distance, as far as I could see, the occupant was male – 
and he had some ladies' undies draped over the steering 
wheel. Pretty ones, pink, white and black. I crept 
closer. 

He knew I was there: I saw his head move slightly as he 
saw my outline appeared in his wing mirror. Then I was 
peering through his window. He glanced up at me, smiled, 
and looked back into his lap. He wore no trousers, that 
was obvious, 'cos I could see his plump legs, his black 
stockings, his suspender belt, and a pair of schoolie 
knicks with an elasticated hole through which emerged a 
quite tasty hard-on and balls. I drooled and scratched 
on the window: it hissed quietly open.

Some doggers never speak – nobody minds – and this was 
the strong, silent type. One hand was curled around his 
knob, the other was holding up a spread of photos. 

Naturally I moved the top part of my body through the 
window to see the pics and while I was looking at 
several of him dressed in his undies, he was groping my 
tits... and pinching my nipples. I had a look at him in 
his gear: he certainly looked alright. Perhaps I'd ask 
him home for later but, for now, I was quite keen to 
strike up a closer relationship with that prick he was 
fondling.

'We're in a dark place,' I whispered, 'Why don't you get 
in the back seat an' I'll give you real head.'

'Will you wear my other panties over your head, round 
your neck?'

This one was really kookie, definitely a candidate for 
home. I gathered them and raised them to my nose: damp 
to touch and variously smelling of spunk and piss. 
'Sure, why not?' I said, handing them back to him. 
'Bring them with you.'

It was only a matter of a couple of moments before he 
was spread out on the back seat, his stockinged legs 
hooked into his parcel shelf on one side and over the 
front seat squab with the other. I knelt between them 
and held my head up while he crowned it with his knicks. 
He'd left the interior light on so, until I was 
effectively blindfolded, I could see what was happening: 
so could any other passing dogger. 

Well, I wished them luck and started exploring my 
contact's genitals. He was a big boy, and big balls to 
match. I slobbered over his dick, running my tongue 
along its length and licking at the trickles of pre-cum 
that were dribbling over my hands. Fact was, with both 
my hands encircling him, his glans was still free for me 
to kiss. 

Then I started to nibble at it, easing it into my 
mouth...and ease was the thing. I stretched my jaws as 
far as I could but, even then, there was a plop! when it 
finally slid past me teeth and completely filled my 
mouth. I was reflecting on its effect as gag when I felt 
his hands encircle my wrists and pull them away. Perhaps 
I was making him come too quickly.

But he didn't let go, and his grip was tight.

Dogging is not a safe hobby, 'cos there's nothing you 
can really do if something goes wrong. The hands 
clasping my wrists panicked me, but when I felt someone 
else lifting my skirt and the hem of my vest, and the 
cold night air blowing around my nethers, it got 
serious.

'Don't worry,' whispered the man who's penis was gagging 
me. 'It's my mate looking for a bit of the action. You 
wouldn't want to deprive him, would you?'

As though that made it all right. On the other hand, I 
was as randy as hell, and when the other guy slid his 
hand inside my knickers and I felt his rough fingers 
squeezing my buttocks I didn't want him to stop. Nor did 
he, and I parted my legs as much as I could. 

He dipped a rude forefinger into my asshole and then 
went on to fondle my cunt. And, of course, I was 
sopping. And this new bloke really knew how to finger a 
chick: he was good at it. I was being fingered, I had my 
mouth full of smelly cock and, at that point, I stopped 
worrying. 

Thrilled on by those expert fingers, I tongue-lashed my 
real cock gag, paying particular attention to the male 
G-spot where the foreskin gathers... and had the 
satisfaction of hearing the undie-fan groan. In passing, 
I wondered if his friend was an undie-fan too: I liked 
undie-fans.

Then my knicks were tugged down my thighs and the second 
man started to work in earnest on my sex, first dipping 
his fingers deep into my pussy, twiddling them about – 
which caused me considerable pleasure – and then driving 
two of them ...lubricated... into my asshole. After he 
had performed that operation several times, I realised 
that he was just lubricating me. That thought brought me 
to my first orgasm of the evening. 

Mannie number two was positioning himself over my body 
and he laid his erection along my sex, looking for my 
cunt. He found it and as soon as he engaged his glans I 
knew that he was as large, if not larger, that his femme 
friend. But as he drove into me I felt his stocking tops 
brushing my thighs, just briefly, as my vagina was 
already milking his shaft. Then, with a grunt he pulled 
out of me and rolled partially off my body. 

With one hand he separated my buttocks... and then I 
felt a sensation dear to every willing asshole taker, 
the feel of his spit dribbling on to my anus. It's warm, 
it's wet, it's slithery, and you know you're in for a 
good time. He massaged it into me, lubricating me more.

This was fun! First hit of the evening and I'd scored a 
top-and-tailer, something of  a hole-in-one: I would be 
sure to tell all my friends on the dogging net about it. 
As he manoeuvred himself until he was laying over me 
again – and his prick was nestled between my ass cheeks 
– I wriggled my wrists free from the driver's grip and 
grasped them myself to draw them further apart. 

I remembered Mannie Two's size from his brief sojourn in 
my cunt and when I considered that raping my asshole, I 
was glad that my mouth was effectively gagged. Then he 
raised his hips, positioned his glans against my asshole 
and started to push. He wasn't gentle, either, driving 
that fat cockhead through my rectum and into my bowels 
and then squeezing through any shit that was in there... 
and there was! Sure, it hurt, and I'd have been 
hollering where it not for my fleshy, pulsating gag – 
but I was loving every minute of it.

The lubrication, that brief moment when your asshole 
tenses up as it feels the size of the invader, the 
straining out ...and the pain... were working me up to 
dream climax. I hoped they wouldn't be long.

'You nearly there?' grunted the man who was fucking my 
mouth to his mate. 'I can't hold on much longer. This 
one's a cutie with her mouth.'

'She's not got a bad butt, either,' the other replied. 
'Whenever you're ready.'

I felt Number Two's prick swell in my asshole, his 
thrusting becoming wilder. He was so far up me that I 
could feel his balls banging against my sex; that was a 
thrill, too, since each collision seemed to target my 
clit. He no longer needed me to hold my ass-cheeks 
apart, I wriggled one hand under my body to finger 
myself. The other reached for Number One's penis: it was 
swelling, too, and I was waiting for the  pulsing that 
told me that his spunk was already flowing. 

Number Two started to grunt with each insertion, and I 
held myself right on the edge of my climax. Any minute 
now. Then there was a final, desperate lunge as he 
buried his cock in me and I felt his semen pulsing along 
it length before it spurted out into my bowels. He gave 
a cry and Number One jerked into my mouth, jet after 
jet, more than I could swallow with his glans in my 
mouth. 

I disengaged until I covered just his 'eye' with the 
circle of my lips. I swallowed as much as I could, but 
some still trickled down my chin and on to my blouse. 
Then it was my turn to feast on my orgasm...and it was a 
good one.  I remembered to keep a mouthful of Number 
One's jism while we sorted ourselves out.

Sorting ourselves out meant that I was sitting between 
the two shemales in the back of their car, a detumescing 
penis in each hand and my mouth full of spunk. The 
pantie hood had been removed and I made some noises down 
my throat and they took my meaning immediately.

'What a clever girl!' exclaimed Number Two. 'She's 
actually managed to save some spunk to share. You were 
going to share, weren't you?'

I nodded emphatically and we shared a passionate three-
way kiss where everybody got a taste of salty spunk. One 
of the guys produced a joint and we shared that, too: 
they obviously weren't short of blow. While I was 
fondling their pricks, the shemales had managed lift my 
breasts out of my vest. 

I had big, ruby red nipples and it was very exciting to 
have them both suckled at the same time. And both of 
those pricks started to grow again. The one in my right 
hand was more slippery than the other and I suddenly 
realised why. He'd been the one who's cock had raped my 
ass.

'Would you both still french-kiss me if I sucked this 
one?' I asked with a giggle, nodding the prick on my 
left. 'It's all slithery with my shit.'

'Try us!' exclaimed Number One. 'Just try us. More to 
the point, do you fancy making a bit more of the same? 
Back at our place – or yours?'

'What goes?'

'Everything.'

'How everything is 'everything'?' I asked suspiciously.  
'I've wasted a lot of time on folk whose ideas of 
'everything' really meant 'nothing'.'

The driver chuckled. 'Now that's a place we've been to 
lots of times. You suck Ben and we'll share a passionate 
kiss – three ways. Will that put your mind to rest?'

'I'll think about it,' I replied. Then, 'I've thought,' 
and rolled over Ben's knees until I could kneel between 
them. His prick was still half hard, and I could see – 
even under the dim interior light – that it was well 
soiled with my shit. Well, he was a big boy... and he 
had gone all the way in. I lapped away at him, not so 
much cleaning as shifting his – my – muck to a central 
point which was his glans. As I licked and slobbered, so 
his erection grew again: I teased him by caressing his 
balls and sliding my hand under his bum to press a 
couple of fingers into his anus.

'You'll be making me come in a minute,' he warned. 'You 
want that?'

'Cream for the pudding,' I stopped the head for a 
moment. 'All goes to fill a mouth.'

'Do mine first, then,' the driver said. Out of the 
corner of my eye I had seen him rubbing his own 
erection, and it looked about ready to climax.

I moved my head away from Ben. 'I'm game,' I said. 'I'll 
take your 'clean' spunk, and then add Benny's shitty 
mess and his spunk. I'll mix them up in my mouth and 
share it with you both. Yes?' It suited me, since I was 
already bringing on my own orgasm with busy fingers in 
my cunt and asshole. I barely managed to cover the 
Driver's glans with my lips before he jetted his second 
load into my mouth, in such a quantity that I wondered 
if I've be able to hold Ben's as well. 

I wasn't, however, being offered the chance as Ben 
pulled my head back and forced his prick into me. The 
shit came first – since I'd moved all the bits to the 
head of his penis – and then, almost immediately 
afterwards, his contribution of jism. I was right. I 
didn't have enough capacity and was forced to swallow 
some before offering my mouth to my two new friends. We 
shared the mess while the two blokes made a splendid job 
of fingering, nearly fisting, me off.

The night had much to offer.

Over a another fat joint, provided by myself, we 
composed ourselves and made further arrangements. Ben 
and Timothy wanted to go to their place, a place outside 
the town and was convenient for their sexual 
activities... individually and collectively. I had a 
little bag of goodies – some bits of pieces of undies 
and rubber and other items I'd found useful - and I was 
happy to fit in with their wishes. Quite casually, Ben 
asked if I'd object to other people joining us. 'They'd 
all be into undies, rubber, bondage or other nastiness,' 
he added, 'And do you make it with women, too?'

'I have a feeling that this is going to be a night to 
remember,' was my response, 'Or even a weekend,' I added 
hopefully.

Tim laughed. 'Well, things do go on and on at weekends. 
About the only things that stay the same are Ben and me 
– and you, if you want to – but people, couples and 
groups change as they wear themselves out. Oh, and our 
families. They're permanent fixtures, too.'

'Families?'

Ben laughed crudely. 'That shocked you, didn't it? 
Imagine lots of young horny little teenagers all eager 
to have sex with you?' I nodded slowly, not sure where 
the conversation was heading. 'Well, the little bitch is 
winding you up. By "families" he means his wife, Alice, 
my wife, Brenda, and my son Roxy...and he's past twenty-
five.' I'd let the joint go out so Ben retrieved it from 
my fingers and set fire to it again. He took a deep pull 
and gave me more information. 

'The four of us went to school together, in the same 
year, and we just latched onto each other. We've been 
together ever since. Love at first sight for the four of 
us. We weren't particularly bright, any of us, but we 
had other talents that we shared, between ourselves and 
with anyone else who was interested. Sex. Lots and lots 
of filthy, depraved sex. If there was a daisy chain 
running in the school, we were part of it... if we 
hadn't started it. Mind you, all this was a long time 
ago and a couple of hundred miles away.'

This was fascinating stuff, both the blow and the story. 
'What happened then,' I asked, 'And how did you protect 
your child from your other activities?'

'Misapprehension there,' Ben rumbled, 'Roxy was my son, 
but not Brenda's.' As an aside he added that once their 
mιnage a quatre was the choice that they all wanted, 
both Alice and Brenda went off and got themselves 
surgically sterilised. Ben laughed again. 'I never knew 
the name of the little minx that I sired Roxy on, and 
she left the school and the area before the child was 
born, but I could have been any one of five potential 
fathers. 

We all used to go off together, you see, all six of us 
and there was this disused railway carriage in a wood in 
the middle of nowhere. We didn't even need mattresses. 
Went on for about three or four months. Sorry, not 
boring you am I? I sort of assumed that you'd be coming 
with us and was preparing the way.'

I shook my head emphatically. 'Not in the least! I've 
cum four times, and I read somewhere that a good orgasm 
uses up about the same energy as a 9-mile walk. I've 
just walked thirty-six miles.' I tucked my arms into 
theirs and drew them companionably close. 'After all 
that walking I'm a bit puffed. I need a comfortable car, 
a couple of comfortable gents who share my outlook on 
life, and prospects of a couple of wildly filthy days. 
Carry on, please. It's fascinating,' and, as an 
afterthought, added, 'Pity we haven't got a drink.'

Tim slapped his free hand to his forehead. 'That's what 
sex and drugs do for you. Coffee plus coming up!'

'No point in rushing anyway,' Ben added, 'The girls are 
out to dinner and we've strict instructions not to call 
them until eleven.' He glanced at his watch. 'Shit! 
That's over two hours away. Fastest pick-up ever, even 
for Nowhere Park. Anyhow, where was I? Oh, yes. We did 
college and then we rented a house that had been split 
into two flats. We worked, but our nights and weekends 
were our own. 

A few years later on my folks kicked the bucket in a car 
crash. I wasn't expecting to get anything, and I 
certainly didn't get the family house. Instead I was 
left the pair of semi-detached houses that we're heading 
to that my father had invested in.' There was more. The 
couples got married and took up the occupancy and the 
conversation turned into a recital of their adventures, 
which left me green with envy. Ben finished up by 
formally inviting me to come home with them. 

'Wow! And thanks for the invite. I bet I can keep up as 
long as you want me to, and love every minute of it.' It 
occurred that I'd have to relate my experiences to my 
net buddies as a flier and send it to all the interested 
parties at the same time. 'I will get a lift home? 
Promise?' That was given and Tim suggested that since he 
was feeling frisky again, perhaps we should drive into 
the country for a bit more depravity. He giggled over 
the idea that the womenfolk didn't realise what was in 
store for them.

After moving my car to a safer place, I collected my bag 
and dumped it in the boot of their car, a luxurious old 
beast with a front bench seat and a column change. 
Before they let me in, Ben passed me a pair of rubber 
knicks. 'Put these on,' he said. 'I know Tim's cums... 
they're more like enemas so the added protection.' Then 
I was wriggled between my new friends and even before we 
reached the main road they were both groping me. It was 
all very exciting.

It was still the half-hour drive to town and, as they 
fondled my tits and sex, I was replying in kind. The 
conversation didn't help, either. What was my most 
exciting experience, was I dom or sub, on and on: I gave 
them a pretty accurate description of myself and my 
tastes without really meaning to. Then, suddenly, Tim 
announced that he was going to cum, and since I was on 
the verge on another orgasm myself I urged him on, 
wanking both of them harder. 

I felt Tim's spunk running over my hand and that was 
sufficient to spur my climax into being. Then Ben swore 
and the car started to weave across the road. It was 
fortunate that it was quiet because I had forgotten that 
he was driving. He kept on swearing while I made a meal 
of two handfuls of spunk and then I realised that we had 
turned off the road some few moments before and were 
well into a rough track. I realised that Ben was 
seriously mad with me, or was making a pretty good job 
of pretending to be.

'Stupid fucking bitch!' he swore. 'Didn't you have 
enough sense to stop wanking me? Another car there and 
we'd have been goners!' We travelled several hundred 
yards further along the track, round several sharp 
bends, before it  debouched into the parking area of an 
obviously abandoned cluster of single-storey buildings, 
a left-over from the military. 

The glass in some windows had been smashed and some of 
the doors had been kicked in. Real dereliction, 
surrounded by a dilapidated wire fence and deep, deep in 
the heart of impenetrable woodlands. There was even a 
barely visible sign announcing that it had once been 
'No. 7 Special Services Training Camp'. 

'Get out of the car, cunt!' Ben shouted.

'Alright!' I shouted back. 'Alright, I made a mistake. 
I'm sorry. But you're not dumping me here. At least run 
me back to my van.'

'I'm not dumping you anywhere, slut!' he retorted. 'I 
just want to make sure you don't do the same thing 
again. Now, get out of the fucking car.'
 
Tim already had his door open and was stepping out. 
Although the slaps made my cheeks sting and my eyes 
water, I sensed that there was something pre-planned 
about it. Atmosphere, perhaps? If so, it was very 
convincing. Was this Tim's idea of a flaunt in the 
country to take up the two hours until the distaff side 
got home? He  reached into the back of the car and piled 
some items on the roof, one of which was a blanket. 
There was still just enough light to see what was 
happening. Ben had also left the car and came to join 
Tim.

'Fix the blanket,' he said to Tim, and then turned his 
attention to me. 'Wrists!' he ordered. Feeling new 
excitement growing in my loins I held my hands out, 
palms upwards. Silently he buckled leather wristlets in 
place. 'Now kneel.' The grass was soft on my knees as he 
buckled a leather collar around my neck, a broad one set 
with several D-rings. 'Too tight?' he asked.

I shook my head. 'Just about right,' and then, because 
the lust was heavy on me, 'Perhaps a notch tighter?'

'If you want it. Won't it interfere with your 
breathing?'

I shrugged. 'No point in wearing a collar it you don't 
know it's there.' There was the sudden flash as Ben made 
the adjustment and I spun to see Tim snapping the 
action. I glanced around fearfully. 'Is that safe?' I 
asked.

'As houses,' he replied, 'We're quite a way from the 
road and in the middle of a pretty dense forest of 
evergreens. You can't see any lights from the road.' I 
guessed that I was not the first dogger that Ben and Tim 
had brought this way. And the side and interior lights 
provided a certain illumination. 'Take your pants off – 
carefully – and lay them on the blanket. The rubber ones 
first and your schoolie knicks on top of them, flat, 
with the crutch uppermost.' 

The blanket by this time had been laid over the bonnet 
of the car. A couple more photos covered me pulling down 
my pants and stepping out of them, and then another of 
my cotton knicks spread out. In the flash I could see 
that they were very soiled. A last shot was of me with 
my skirts raised, exposing my depilated sex. 

I watched, surprised, as both men removed their 
trousers: it was a pretty enough sight to see their 
ladies undies, but I was more surprised to see that they 
both had rampant hard-ons again. They'd come off not 
fifteen minutes before. Magic. Both lodged the 
waistbands of their knickers under their scrotums.

Ben steered me towards the front of the car and pressed 
me forward. I got the idea at once and willingly, 
eagerly, fell forward onto the warm bonnet. Again, no 
words as lengths of rope secured my wrists to the front 
door handles of the car. 

The silence was eerie... and wildly sexy. A piece of 
foam went under the blanket at the edge of the bonnet, 
something I was sure I'd appreciate, and then my legs 
were drawn wide apart and my ankles were lashed to the 
fender. I liked rough times, and I'd enjoyed them often 
before: this one had the feeling of being something 
extra special. There were a couple more photos of my 
predicament, and then several as Ben lifted my knicks 
and raised them to his nose.

'Coo!' he exclaimed, 'They're sopping. Dirty slut!' He 
offered them to Bill. 'Reckon she needs some warming?'

Tim passed them back. 'Reckon so,' he replied, 'Fix her 
up and we'll get a couple of switches.'

Ben spread the waistband of my knicks and stretched it 
over my head, settled it around my neck, covering my 
head with my dirty, malodorous undies. He adjusted them 
until the gusset, the most soiled part, covered my nose 
and mouth. I savoured the smell – and the taste – of the 
mixture of spunks, my own juices, and a little bit that 
had already leaked out of my asshole. I was loving it! 

I guessed what a warming was, too, as I heard them 
walking around and then the snapping of a couple of  
thin branches. The whistles as they flexed them sent a 
shiver of fearful anticipation along my spine. Then, 
without warning, a stinging pain cut across my bum. 
Before I had time to yelp it was followed by another 
one, and more just as quickly. 

I realised that both men were taking swipes at me in 
turn, They weren't vicious swipes, but the fast rhythm 
didn't allow me time to recover between blows and the 
pain grew and grew until my tears added a new wetness to 
my undie hood. So that I shouldn't make any noise – I 
was afraid of the location, despite Tim's reassurances – 
I sucked the filthy gusset of my pants into my mouth as 
a gag... of sorts. Then, after what seemed to be a long 
time, the blows ceased.

A strange aspect of being naturally submissive, a 
masochist, was that the pleasure of pain was appreciated 
in anticipation and in contemplation. That beating had 
hurt – although the pain and the pleasure were often 
indistinguishable – but even then I was unprepared for 
the next act. 

I heard the men deciding who would be first, to do what 
I didn't know, and that they both required some warming 
themselves. I tensed myself, ready for more abuse to my 
ass cheeks, only to feel a pair of rough fingers forced 
into my asshole. With Ben's spunk slowly dribbling out 
of me, they made easy, exciting passage.

'She don't need no lub, this one,' Ben cackled, and Tim 
recorded the insertion.

Assuming Tim was still wielding the camera, I'd guessed 
that the invading fingers belonged to Ben. The short 
times between their withdrawal and replacement by a fat 
glans suggested that it was Ben who was going to ass-
fuck me again. Nor was he kind about. As soon as that 
glans was located correctly Ben started to push – hard – 
and kept it up through my shit until I could feel his 
scrotum brushing against my labia... and his stockinged-
thighs brushing mine. 

He might have thought I was well lubricated but it was 
his prick I was accommodating. And it hurt. At first. 
Then, filling my ass fully, he started to plunge away, 
withdrawing almost completely before driving hard into 
me, and each plunge accompanied by a whistling cut that 
I guessed was landing on Ben's bum. Again there was a 
pause for photos and, in passing, Tim discovered that I 
was using my dirty knicks as a gag of sorts. More 
photos.

'Come on!' Ben grunted. 'Never mind her fucking head. 
Get working with that stick. I'll nearly there!'

'Alright, alright,' Tim replied. 'Our Laura's sucked her 
pants into her mouth a gag. That's surely worth a snap.'

Whatever Ben might have grunted was lost in the sound of 
the switch and my squeal of pleasure as he rammed me 
again. I felt each blow pass through his body and onto 
mine, and it was a different feeling to Ben's thrusts – 
now speeding up as the speed of the blows increased. The 
thought that Tim was waiting to take his friend's place 
made the matter all the more thrilling. Ben slid his 
hands under my body and grasped my tits, kneading them 
like dough... and I started to orgasm, slowly, 
controlling it as the strokes fell faster and Ben's 
prick swelled in my bowels. 

He was slobbering over one of my ears. 'Get ready!' he 
warned, and then 'Here it comes!' His motions froze with 
his prick buried up to the hilt. I could feel it pulsing 
along its length and then his spunk jetted into me 
again. There was so much that I could feel it gushing 
into me, and it was enough to tumble me into my orgasm. 
And it was a good one, what with the circumstances, the 
bondage, the dirty gag. I was still shivering and 
twitching as Ben withdrew, to be immediately replaced by 
Tim.

'Don't wipe it!' he called, and then the first stroke to 
his ass drove him in further. 

I was actually trying to guess who had the biggest tool 
when Tim introduced his own gimmick. Sticking his hands 
under my tummy he wriggled my vest loose and pulled it 
up my body, bearing my breasts and locking his fingers 
and thumbs over my nipples. More pleasure! After that, 
as each blow cut across his bum he pinched them, hard, 
hard enough to make me squeal. It was a muffled squeal, 
too: by that time I'd sucked quite a bit of my knickers 
into my mouth. 

Ben was already striking faster and there was no finesse 
about Tim's raping my asshole. And I was building up to 
another orgasm – or was it just a continuation of the 
first? It seemed like only moments before Tim pumped his 
load to join Ben's, and more cums to be  had. Then he 
was gone and one of them dragged my knicks away and 
pressed them against my asshole and dribbling cunt while 
the other released my bonds. The same person who 
released me also switched the car's headlights on. Full 
beam.

Without giving me time to ease the circulation in my 
wrists and ankles, Ben passed me the pink rubber pants 
and told me to put them on, pronto. Then I realised that 
this was a different pair. This was a pair of rubber 
knickers with four inch reinforced strips to make seals 
against my thighs and stomach, and what appeared to be 
something like an extra-strength condom that was set in 
the gusset and I guessed would hang between my legs when 
it was released. 

The knicker gag, currently serving as a nappy, was held 
in place until I was ready to snap the waistband into 
position. 'Kneel!' Ben ordered, and for the first time I 
was able to see their shit and spunk smeared pricks. Tim 
tossed me my pants. 'Use these to clean us up, Ben 
added, 'And make a good job of it.' And I did, giving 
both men a tongue-polish when I had finished. My 
underwear, however, was in a pretty sorry state, and I 
was told to lay it on the blanket. 

Whoever had released the ropes that were tied around the 
door handles had left them in place with one end still 
attached to each D-ring on my wristlets. While I was 
still kneeling the ropes were passed through the D-ring 
at the back of my collar and tied there, forcing my arms 
painfully up between my shoulder blades. Then I was 
pulled to my feet so that another length of rope was 
used to draw my elbows together. 

I guessed where the gag was going at that point and held 
my mouth open invitingly. I was actually quite glad when 
the shitty, spunky undies filled my mouth – held tightly 
in place by a stocking – 'cos my new bondage was rather 
painful and it was nice to have something to keep me 
quiet... and to chew on to savour the contents.

This was how I liked it, rough and filthy dirty. And 
there was more to come. Tim dumped the blanket into the 
boot and collected the last items from the car roof. In 
the blaze of the headlights I could see that they were 
two well-filled sheaths and, when he rolled them over my 
breasts, I knew that one was liquid and one mushy. 

I didn't have to be told that one contained piss and the 
other shit, but they told me anyway. Ben drew out the 
waistband the rubber knicks that I had been given to 
wear and Tim dropped the sheaths into them. They 
slithered over my tummy and wriggled between my legs, 
the rubber of my knicks holding them against my sex. 

Much acquainted with sheaths, I knew at once that they 
were double-layered, and hence designed for pleasure 
rather than performance. The last item of my clothing 
was my old gabardine, put on over my bound arms, 
buttoned to the neck, and the hood pulled forward.

'Comfortable?' Ben asked, coming over and embracing me. 
I nodded enthusiastically. 'Anything we've done that you 
didn't like, made you sick, or hurt too much?' My head 
shook just as wildly. He beckoned Tim over to join in 
the embrace, hugging my bound body whilst exchanging 
kisses with my gagged mouth and each other. 'I think 
we've found a rarity here, my lover,' he addressed to 
Tim. What do you reckon?'

'I'd be happy to serve with her!' Tim replied, and it 
confirmed my suspicion that Tim was generally the 
submissive of the pair. I turned my head towards him and 
rubbed my gag over his lips.

Ben glanced at his watch. 'Right,' he announced, 'It's 
twenty to eleven and our ladies will be home dead on 
eleven. Do you want to stay in bondage? And do you fancy 
a bit more atmosphere?' Another frantic nod from me: 
that was just exactly what I wanted to do. 'OK. So, we 
go home now - that's Tim and me - and you walk the rest 
of the way.' They both laughed aloud at my shocked 
expression. 'You don't have to worry,' Ben added, 
'You've been on our land ever since we left the main 
road. Now,... What do you want?'

I had been alternatively nodding and shaking my head to 
catch their attention. I walked towards the boot of 
their car and nodded towards it. 'You want something 
from your holdall?" Smart lad, Ben. I nodded and the 
holdall was lifted from the car. The holdall had side 
pockets and another roomy pocket at each end, and each 
of those contained a pair of my heels. The 4" silver 
court shoes? No. They weren't suitable for distances. 

My black T-bars, still with a 4" heel but more robust. 
The obvious choice and I tapped that pouch with my toe. 
Ben nodded approvingly as he examined them and told Tim 
to loosen  my trainers and remove them while he'd be 
waiting to fit my feet into my heels. That felt much 
better, and sexier: the tightening of my muscles in my 
bum forced my cheeks closer and this had the effect of  
tunnelling my crotch so that the two sheaths lay outside 
my swollen sex lips and kept up a slight frottage on my 
clitoris. I wondered how many times I would orgasm on my 
journey. And I noticed Ben and Paul whispering... and 
giggling.

'Slight change of plans,' Ben announced, as he undid and 
removed my gabardine. Behind me, Tim had gathered the 
hem of my vest and was knotting it around tightly around 
my waist, and above the waistband of my rubber knicks. 
While he did that, Ben reached down the front of my 
shirt and hooked my breasts out into the open air! 

It wasn't cold but there was a sufficient chill in the 
air to harden up my already engorged nipples. The feel 
of Ben's rough fingers as he caressed and pinched them 
and mauled my tits was heavenly and, together with the 
action on the sheaths on my clit, I wondered if I was 
going to have another orgasm there and then. 'Ready, 
Tim?' Ben called, and I was surprised to see that Tim 
had mounted the car's bonnet and was sitting there - 
camera in hand.

'Yep. Keep it to about four minutes, though...I'm 
running out of battery.'

Ben grunted, and from his pocket drew some shiny metal 
chain that resolved itself into a stainless steel chain 
joining a pair of nipple clamps. So that was why he was 
groping me! This undie-fan was a walking torture 
chamber. I recognised the type: loosely, almost gently, 
sprung and designed for titillation rather than pain. As 
he placed them over my engorged nipples I realised that 
Tim was already using his camera...in movie mode. 

'Right,' Ben ordered, 'Strut your stuff across the 
lights, side to side, then walk away from the car for 
about twenty paces, do your stuff again and then walk 
back to the car. Got it?' I nodded. 'Do it then, and 
swing it around!' and sent me on my way with a sharp 
slap to my bum. Most masochists... all masochists... are 
keen exhibitionists and I was no exception. 

I followed the choreography that Ben had set me and 
putting on my best show, excited that I was being 
filmed. Again the sheaths took up their chosen places 
either side of my sex lips and perked my walk. It was 
only on the return journey that their firm caress on my 
clit proved too much for me and I toppled into an 
orgasm. My walk got a little hazy for a few paces as I 
wriggled around, body throbbing with lust while I 
strived to maintain my balance. 

When Tim let me view my performance I was quite 
impressed, and I thought that the involuntary orgasm 
added so much cream to the sweet. I was quite pleased 
with my appearance: the hospital pink rubbers almost 
matched my vest, and the black stockings, white knee 
socks and black heels were attractive both ways. 

As it happened, the three minutes allowed stretched into 
ten. 'We're out of time,' Tim announced, 'To let Laura 
walk to the house anyway.' At the same time another car 
swept up the front of the house and, moments later, 
lights came on in several of the windows.

Ben though for a moment, and then gave a dry laugh. 
'Well,' he said, 'We've been late before. Into the car, 
all of us,' he announced, already making is way there 
and then,  when we were all cosily packed in, he 
produced yet another joint. 'Let's give them a few 
minutes to get themselves comfortable. 

They've been to an incredibly boring social event, they 
know that it's a Friday night so there'll be visitors, 
so they'll probably getting into something more 
appropriate. Let's do the decent thing for Laura here 
and present her to the gang when they won't be 
distracted.' 

Holding the number between his lips, he untied the 
stocking that held my gag in place and dumped both of 
them in my lap. 'Don't look so pleased. They'll go back 
in before we move off. Be a bit of a job to offer you 
the joint while your mouth was stuffed with your dirty 
knickers,' which he thereupon did, holding it for me as 
I drew deep. To prove his point, several of the upper 
windows soon had lights shining in them.

I exhaled slowly and, before Ben stuffed the J back into 
my mouth, I grabbed a quick word. 'Hey, you guys! I 
exclaimed. 'We're nearly home, I reckon I've proved my 
worth, what comes next?'

'Reaching limits?' he enquired.

'No. I don't have any of those. Just putting myself in 
the picture: I'd like a general idea of what's expected 
from me. Nothing more, and I'll still do the whole thing 
with you.'

'Yeah, why not?' Ben drawled. 'It'll pass a few minutes. 
Ok, so you know that there's basically five of us. By 
nature, my wife and me are dom, Tim and Alice tend to go 
sub, and as for Roxy, he's anyone's... or anyone's his. 
But we all give or take as the scene develops. You don't 
have any preferences... you're Slave. Does that suit you 
so far?' 

Having just had my second hit on the joint, and it was 
obvious that it wouldn't reach me again, my messy gag 
was replaced and the stocking knotted back in place 
enough to go around my head and be tied in a tasteful 
bow over my mouth. So I nodded my agreement. Ben 
continued, 'That's us. Next is open house. 

After one AM people start to arrive. Never a lot - there 
isn't a lot of us - and they'll join in whatever is 
happening. Or they might have their own scene that they 
want to play out and we, or some of us will be required 
to help. Again, as Slave, you'll do what you're damn 
well told. And that, my dear, goes on until late on 
Sunday afternoon. I'll give you a room in the 'ordinary' 
part of the house where you can go and take your ease 
for a couple of hours, when you need a rest.'

Tim stuck his oar in. 'The punishments are real, too,' 
he added, 'But we tend not to be blood-thirsty about 
them. A stinging bum, cuts, nipple torture are accepted, 
but we draw the line at blood. Anyway, our activities 
are all atmosphere, and you can be just as punished with 
humiliation... more so, in fact. And we've got lots of 
gear: it's not just rubber we're into. Ever been corset 
bound?' I shook my head. 'Something to look forward 
to...perhaps you and me together!'

All this sounded too wonderful for words but, for some 
reason, I knew that it was true. There was lots more 
that I wanted to ask but, at that point, Ben started the 
car and we made our stately progress to the house. His 
judgement was about right, 'cos several of the up-stairs 
lights were flicking off and, as we approached the 
house, I could see bodies in the living rooms.

'You comfy with those ropes' Ben asked solicitously. I 
wasn't, really, and shook my head. 'What's the problem? 
Elbow ties...' I nodded, '...position?' I nodded again 
but shook my head when he asked if I wanted my bonds 
removed altogether. Ben grinned, and I realised that 
he's just been teasing me. 'You'll have them off... 
eventually,' and brought the car to a halt beside the 
other. 'Sometime,' he added as he bundled me out of the 
car. Once I found my balance, he continued. 

'Now we're going to stand you in the front door, ring 
the bell and leave you to the tender mercies of the 
women folk while sneak off to get changed... through 
another door.' By that we had arrived at the glass-
fronted door to the house, our presence illuminated by a 
small light that switched itself on when anyone stood in 
the porch. Tim tucked his camera between my tits and 
pointed to the bell push. 'Press it when you're ready, 
and remember that nobody in there knows you're here. 
Have fun!' and suddenly I was on my own.

Well, this was an outing to remember. I found that I 
could press the bell with my nose and, for a moment, 
considered my situation. I hurt all over, some hurts 
that were happening – like my pain caused by my arm 
bondage – and some that were only memories of pains that 
had happened, becoming amalgamated into the thrilling 
and fearful anticipation of what was bound to happened 
to me. 

The feeling made me shudder enough to work the sheaths 
against my sex. And then there was Lilli, alone – or 
maybe not – in the cell. I tried to sense time, and then 
remember who had bought the key to the cell that night. 
I guessed the time to be between 11.30 and midnight. Was 
it the Doctor and Nurse couple – and they really were a 
Doctor and Nurse – who would subject my Lilli to all 
manner of dirty and disgusting 'medical' treatments? 

If it was them, they would have visited early and Lilli 
would be nursing her sore and soiled body in the cot 
that stood in one corner of the cell. Or was it the 
young bloods, three of them, who would give Lilli a 
thorough fucking in all her holes? I had taken them on 
once, all three of them, and it took me a week to get my 
body back into shape. If they were still with Lilli, 
they would be packing up, tying her up to dump on the 
cot, 'cos they knew that they had to leave by midnight. 

So, should I suggest that she would make a willing 
volunteer slave for the rest of the weekend? Of course I 
would: Lilli would give me a bad time if I missed her 
out. But not just now. And then, because wild horses 
couldn't have dragged me away from the weekend that lay 
before me, I nudged the bell with my forehead.

And waited. Although the bell was loud I began to wonder 
if I had been heard and was considering another press 
when I heard the clack! of the high heels approaching 
the door. The light came on and the door opened. The 
lady revealed was quite something. Plump but not fat, 
with immense boobs hardly contained within a blue satin 
bra that also did little to conceal her huge, erect 
nipples. 

Beneath the bra was a matching blue corselette with six 
suspenders to support, again, blue stockings. Her 
knickers, I guessed, were rubber, pink rubber, that 
looked as though they had been dragged on so that the 
wearer could answer to door. And then I looked at her 
face. Beautiful, beautifully made up, capped with 
shoulder-length blonde hair. And evil. So evil that it 
made me shudder again. This lady had looked into dark 
alleyways and seen many depravities. Our eyes met.

'Finished you inspection?' she asked and, taking my 
silence as an affirmative, spoke on. 'Good. Well. So 
have I. Don't tell me, you were walking in our woods 
looking for mushrooms and you were set upon by a couple 
of tramps who raped you, abused you, and left you here 
to be rescued. Happens all the time.' 

She collected the camera from its nest in my boobs, 
wrapped my lead around her hand, and drew me into the 
house. She allowed the door to swing shut and as it 
closed the automatic locks clicked ominously into place. 

'Come and join the others. I'm sure that they'll be 
pleased to see you.' Then, as we passed the foot of the 
staircase, her tone changed. 'Roxy!' she bellowed, 'Get 
your ass down here pronto. Father Christmas's come early 
this year!' The deep, husky acknowledgement made me 
wonder about Roxy, a wonder that tingled my spine.

I guessed that the lady who was holding my lead was 
Ben's wife and shared the dominant part of the group. As 
I walked behind her, my eyes feasted on her plump 
buttocks, intimately wrapped in her pink rubber knicks 
and held pert by her very high heels. I was actually 
drooling into my gag. We turned into one of the rooms, 
obviously a play room. 

The main feature was a fifty-inch plasma television that 
took pride of place at the far wall and, in front of it, 
a large, rubber covered mattress and a rubber covered 
bench that was fitted with all manner of exciting 
restraints. In another semicircle around the arena were 
a series of sofas and armchairs, bean bags and poufs, 
all covered in black leather or rubber. 

Although the room was quite well illuminated, there were 
a lot of other items, piles of clothes, various pieces 
of equipment, that I just hadn't time to take in; no 
doubt I'd learn all about them in due course. And there 
was only one other person in the room and, since the 
clatter of high heels told me that Roxy was still on his 
way, this had to be Tim's wife, Alice. While Brenda was 
all dom and aggression, Alice was her complete 
antithesis. Small, almost girlish despite her years and 
her ample boobs, she went to some lengths to complete 
the picture. 

She wore a simple summer dress that would have looked in 
place on a four-year-old, the floral pattern dress with 
bouffant sleeves and a hem that barely covered her hips, 
was edged in with lace, and matched the white knee socks 
and black Mary Janes. 

At first I thought that her skin texture matched her 
image until I realised that she had chosen her make-up 
to produce that very effect – and done it rather well. 
Her auburn hair was dressed across her head and into 
plaits falling behind her ears. She lounged over one of 
the armchairs, her legs carelessly apart to show her 
pink schoolie knicks ... and the hand that was busy 
inside them. The other hand was holding a lollypop.

'Hi!' she said simply, 'I'm Alice'.

I nodded, and Brenda added that since I was gagged, that 
was all the response I could give. 'Go get the water 
stool,' she added. 'I'm sure that our guest would like 
to sit through her introductory session.' Alice went off 
to fetch the water stool, whatever that was, while 
Brenda plugged the camera to the television and set the 
controls to slide-show the contents. I was wondering at 
my luck when that same deep, husky voice that I heard 
earlier spoke, right behind me.

'Turn around, girl,' it ordered, 'I've seen the back of 
you now.'

Surprised, I yelped into my gag and nearly tripped as I 
spun on my heels. And then I saw Roxy, and I knew I'd 
arrived. Roxy, son of Ben by some unknown female, was at 
least seventy-four inches tall in his high heels, his 
face was elegantly painted in the manner of Cruella de 
Ville, and his long black hair hung glossy across his 
shoulders and down his back. But was it a him or a her? 
Her amazing boobs (40? DD?) were contained in a white 
bra, deep waisted but thin enough about the cups to 
flash an outline of her huge nipples... a mouthful for a 
greedy adult baby. 

I got the impression that the bra was rubber of the 
Playtex-y sort. Then my eyes dropped below his waist and 
I had my doubts. Overlapped by the waistband of Roxy's 
bra was the top of a pair of matching directiore 
knickers, almost fitted, and with the leg openings 
covered with the elasticated tops of a pair of shiny 
black latex stockings. Over the knickers, however, he 
wore a black thong bulging with something big and fat 
that moved on its own... mainly growing. 

With a grin to the other girls, Roxy hooked her/his 
thumbs into the front of the thong and pulled it down, 
hooking it under some sexual equipment that a stallion 
could be proud of. An elasticated hole in the knickers, 
tightly elasticated, passed around Roxy's genitals at 
the base of his penis and behind his balls. It was a 
wonderful sight: I couldn't remember seeing anything so 
massive in the flesh, and the thought of servicing such 
a beast flipped me into an involuntary orgasm that had 
me wobbling all over the place, and mewling into my gag.

Roxy covered himself and pulled me into his arms, the 
other girls crowding around to support me. With the 
support came some much-appreciated groping that made my 
climax quite a treat. I felt I had really established 
myself and I wondered how many other playmates had 
graced them with a genuine involuntary orgasm?

'That doesn't happen very often,' Roxy remarked, as 
though he had read my mind. He frottaged his breasts 
against mine, hard, and I was amazed that I could still 
respond to his caresses. 'Looks like the guys have 
really done us proud this time.' He spun me to one side, 
still embracing me, and placed the chair directly in 
front of the plasma screen: it consisted of a simple 
stool with a water bed feature for a seat and I could 
guess at the effects. 'Now, here's your squishy seat. 
Let's watch Tim's dirty pictures.' 

I knew as soon as my bottom settled onto the wobbly 
surface, and the vibrations transmitted themselves 
through the sheaths to my slippery, slithery sex that my 
torments were by no means over. As I took my seat one of 
the girls reached under my thighs to spread them, 
bringing those sheaths closer. 

Then they all gathered around me and the screen sprang 
into life. It must have been a pretty sophisticated 
camera 'cos the photos of my approach to their car and 
my first contacts with Ben were quite clear. I didn't 
object to the photos but I couldn't work out how Tim 
took them. Of course! He must have been outside the car, 
since he buggered me from the outside. Very crafty. So, 
some of them were blurred, but he captured everything 
that happened between us. Then I was surprised to hear 
voices – mine included – as the camera recorded our 
speech. 

Alice and Brenda knelt on either side of me, their hands 
all over me, probing and caressing my body. Roxy stood 
behind me like a back to my stool. He had replaced the 
rubber thong over his enormous prick which, most 
conveniently, found its way between my bound hands... 
the icing on the cake.

The slide-show was a blow-for-blow account of the 
evening. There were some shots that I wouldn't have seen 
taken – 'cos I was otherwise engaged, but there were 
others that I should have seen Tim taking. That, 
however, didn't matter because seeing myself on the box 
awoke all the excitement of the evening thus far and 
that, together with the very aggressive caresses from 
the others, I had three more orgasms before Ben and Tim 
appeared at the top of the stairs.

I was surely glad of those rubber knickers with their 
tight, broad bands.
 
END

--------------------------------------------------------
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in 
any way, shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of 
the scenarios in this story should seriously consider 
seeking professional help.
--------------------------------------------------------
Kristen's collection - Directory 82