The keeper - illustrated bondage story, part 49

Melissa shook as if electrocuted; her legs kicking and her head failing. She felt the stream of cum sloshing across her vaginal walls, wadding up like the balls they forced into her mouth. Her groan became an aching yodel as the old woman grabbed a handful of her faming red hair --just as the man dropped her.

Her head thunked to the table, and her legs fell over, useless (the back of her knees on the edge). He sat down heavily on his seat, watching her continue to cry and quake as his mother pressed her other hand onto Melissa’s mouth while “helping’ her to her feet by dragging her up by her strawberry mane.

“Come on, come on,” she chastised. “The job’s not over yet,” Melissa cried even louder. The old woman wrapped her arm around the girl’s head, recupping her wet, raw mouth. “Ssh, ssh. No, no. You know he has to go to work in the morning. Clean him off. Come on, clean him off. You don’t want him to go to work all wet and sticky, do you?”

So saying, she forced Melissa to her knees in front of his chair, and, as she sobbed, her lips quivering, the girl took his cock into her mouth.

“Lick,” the old woman told her. “Suck. Clean.” Melissa did as she was told, her eyes closed, her larynx making strangled humming noises. The thing grew in her mouth, moving farther and farther down her throat. Still, all she did was service him, concentrating only on the task at hand, her soft pink lips and warm wet tongue caressing his cock.

Suddenly she was roughly pulled off by her hair, her head thrust back, a hand clamping her jaw shut, and more duct tape was tightly affxed over her mouth.

Then, before she knew what was happening, she was turned around, tripped, and thrown to the foor. She landed on her frm butt, jiggling, and then the old woman was there, roping one ankle to the same thigh, then taking the other ankle, and tying that to the ankle roped to the thigh. One leg was doubled, and the other was bent in an “L.”

Suddenly Melissa found herself sitting, bound, gagged, and blinking, as if the whole thing hadn’t happened.

The old woman pushed the girl over with her foot, then accompanied her son to the door. “Have a nice day, dear.”

“You too, mother,” he said, about to kiss her on the cheek, then thought better of it. “See you tonight.” “Indeed,” said the old woman. And then he was gone.

The old woman closed the door behind him, locked it, then returned to the dining room, where a ravishing young redhead lay on her side, her ankles crossed and together, her wet cunt exposed under the ruffed micro-mini, her freckled front heaving, her face covered in sweat, and the tape puckered, rippling over her working mouth. She stared at her captor with anguish and effort, her arms wrenched behind her back.

“That’s all right, darling,’ said the old woman.

“Plenty of time for the spermicidal foam. And then we’ll see what your sisters are up to ....”

He was surprised by the call to the front desk. He was even more surprised by the message.

“Visitor waiting for you in the lot,” grunted the desk man. “Something about a pick-up....”

His step was stiff and quick as he moved outside and into the parking lot out back. Sure enough, there was his mother -- standing beside a van. His heart leapt for a nanosecond, but the expression on her face was calm and pleased. His smile too got wider as he got nearer. He looked in every direction as he approached, seeing only a lining of trees, a grassy knoll, and a tall stone fence.

“Hello, mother,” he said, taking her shoulders and kissing her on the cheek. “What brings you here?’ he asked with barely concealed excitement.

“Well my dear,” the tough old woman answered. “You left so quickly this morning you forgot something.” “Forgot? Forgot what?”

“Not what, dear,” his mother answered, turning toward the van door with a key. “Who.”

She opened the passenger door, which was beside the stone wall, and pulled herself in. “I was so concerned that I rented this lovely vehicle,” she continued pleasantly, turning around in the driver’s seat. “Now that I’ve tested it, we might think very seriously about buying one.”

He pulled himself in after her, his eyes taken with a vision in the back seat, bolted to the metal foor in the middle of the windowless cargo area.

Dana was sitting there, bolt upright in the padded seat. She had little choice. Her arms were wrenched behind her and the seat back, the elbows and wrists lashed tightly together, forcing her shoulders wide and her chest to thrust out. Her upper and lower arms were then tied to the metal seat frame itself. Her legs were spread and knees bent, the ankles lashed to where the top of the rear seat legs and rear seat came together. On her feet were black patent high heels.

She wore an incredibly tight, double-breasted, gray pinstriped business suit without shirt. The skirt was micro-miniskirt length with a slit up the front. Her breasts were bunched in the cleavage opening, and heaving as she struggled to breathe.

Her lower face was covered with the half-hood bus-tier-gag which cinched around her throat and clung to her cheekbones. From the way her face was fushed, it was obvious that her mouth was completely flled, her lips crushed, and the entire lower part of her face padded.

Her brown eyes were wide and unseeing as always, as she tried to change her position, or scream.

He looked quickly back to his mother, his expression mixing joy and disbelief.

“You did everyone but her,” the old woman explained.