The keeper - illustrated bondage story, part 32

Free bondage photos blog 15 November

Dana started yelling no again. He merely pressed on the sides of her breasts, pushing his cock through her cleavage again and again. Dana jerked at the ropes holding her wrists under the table. She pulled on her legs and twisted her hips, but none of it had any effect on what was going on at her chest.

The cotton was out of her ears so she heard the refrigerator door closing. Into her fuzzy sight came the shape of the woman, who was holding all sorts of things in her hands. He ignored it and just kept rubbing his cock along the sides of Dana’s pressed together tits.

Dana heard an ice tray crackling, sending her eyes rolling, more sweat pouring down, and her tongue wagging. Then there was the old woman, leaning over the tablet gently lowering some cold, clear, dripping thing toward her.

The touch of the ice on her nipple was electric. Dana jerked in place, moving neither him or the table. The woman stroked, stroked, and stroked again, watching the thick brown nub rise and stiffen. Then she brought the cube to Dana’s other tit. She pressed the melting ice hard against the mound, making it bunch in her son’s gripping hand. Then she lightly drew around the nipple, infating it as well. Then, with practiced strokes, she clamped a colorful plastic bread-bag freshness clip onto the erect right nipple.

Dana jerked in place again, howling. Then she jerked one more time. And another, and another, as the aqua blue plastic pin held on and bounced. The woman took a second clip -- this one a sickly green color -- and lowered it slowly toward Dana’s left tit.

He slowed his thrusting only long enough to grab Dana’s left breast in both hands and squeeze, so the nipple was stiff out the top. The woman rubbed it once with the clip’s plastic teeth, as Dana writhed, then rubbed it twice, then fnally affxed it in place.

Dana screamed so loudly even Melissa heard it, banging her head on her arms. But abruptly the woman grabbed Dana’s hair, twisted her head to the side, and stuffed a dishtowel through the ring.

Dana’s voice rattled in her throat, and her head fell back, exhausted.

She just lay there for a while, limbs lax, as he rutted between her tits, his vibrating dick getting red and purple. The woman stared at her closed eyes and slightly averted face for a few seconds more. “Ah, don’t be like that,’ she complained before grabbing a bottle on the shelf beside her.

The old woman slowly, purposefully and carefully raised it over Dana’s oblivious face. Then she tipped it over her chest.

The cold heavy cream drooled all over her mounds and his hands. Dana’s eyes snapped open and she wailed some more, staring at the fuzzy white liquid coursing over her skin.

The clamped nipples raised to attention again as she yowled and kicked. The man didn’t let go, or stop thrusting. Instead, he just leaned down and sucked up the sweet stuff. He licked her solid tits, letting his tongue scrape her aureoles.

Dana repeatedly tried to yank herself from under him and off the table, but the solid construction hardly moved.

“See?” he said happily. “Very enthusiastic.” “And strong,” she concurred, grabbing a new bottle. The honey was warm, slow, and sticky. “But not strong enough....”

Dana groaned, trying to arch her back, her eyes screwing shut. He just grabbed handfuls of the gooey stuff and massaged it into her breasts.

The woman put both hands on the lip of the table and watched her son’s cock moving back and forth be- tween Dana’s bunched tits -- like a rod being pushed between two wet rollers.

Dana’s head was back as far as it could go and her eyes were screwed shut again. The breath came out of her nose in ragged bursts. The ends of the dishtowel lay on her throat, soaking up the milk and honey that had collected in the pool of her slim, shapely neck.

“Just going to tough it out, eh, dear?” the woman asked. Dana didn’t respond; her every muscle tightened, her every limb stiff. The old woman looked behind her boy, to where the hem of Dana’s chemise was pulled up to her waist. “Oh no, you’re not,’ she murmured.

Dana felt soft, pulpy hands on her knees. Her head jerked up, her chin dipping in the milky honey, as her legs were pushed even wider. But all she could see was his shape, still on her stomach, his prick still pushing through her mushed-together breasts.

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