Olive Oyly_(0) free porn video

Olivia's alter ego Oyly is released in a public performance.

Olivia Franklin awakes to find herself in a strange theater where she is forced to participate in an erotic performance involving humiliation, spanking, masturbation, and several other interesting sexual practices. At the end of the performance she is called upon to make what is perhaps the most important decision of her life.

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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2017 by The Technician.

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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Olivia Franklin woke up very, very slowly, which was unusual for her. Normally she would snap awake each morning as if a switch had been thrown. But this morning she was having trouble waking up. Her head seemed filled with fog and she was only dimly aware of her surroundings. Even so, something didn’t feel right.

For one thing, she wasn’t in her own bed. That she was sure of because the mattress beneath her, if you could call it that, was much too hard. And the sheets were rough, almost as if they were made out of heavy denim or canvas. Perhaps they weren’t sheets at all and she was laying on some sort of thin pad.

She shifted her shoulder back and forth. She could feel the rough canvas move against her back. There was nothing between her back and the pad! Wiggling her hips told her the same about her ass. She wasn’t wearing one of her teddys or even a T-shirt and panties. She was naked!

The cool draft across her body told her that there was also no sheet covering her. She was more than naked. She was naked and exposed!

She never slept like that.

She wasn’t in her own apartment either. The room was dark. Her bedroom had large windows which let the sun in early each morning and the glow of the city lights at night. Regardless of what time of day it actually was, her bedroom would not be dark.

She was not in her own bed and not in her own bedroom.

Something also seemed to be wrong with her arms and legs. They didn’t want to move. It was as if she were tied to the corners of this strange bed she was in. Maybe she just needed to wake up more.

“Wake up Olivia,” she started repeating silently to herself. “Wake up. It’s time to wake up.”

She could feel herself coming further awake. She tried again to move her arms, but then she felt the rope in her left hand... and in her right hand... and around both of her ankles. She was now totally awake. She couldn’t move because she was actually tied to the corners of the bed. No, not the corners of the bed. In the dimness she could make out what looked like a thick wooden frame surrounding the pad or mattress or whatever. She was tied to the corners of that frame.

She was lying naked on some sort of rough pad, tied tightly to some sort of frame.

She tried to scream, but all that came out was a muffled, “Hmmmpff.” Not only was she bound, she was gagged.

A voice called to her. It was a male voice. “Come on Olive Oyly,” it said. “Wakey, wakey.”

She must be dreaming. No one called her “Olive Oyly.” No one knew about that name for herself. Olive Oyly existed only in her fantasies. Olive Oyly was the girl that inhabited her masturbation fantasies. Oyly was what she was when she slicked herself up with oil and lay on the plastic sheets on her bed with several of her favorite toys. When she was Oyly, men would do nasty things to her– and with her. They would make her wear that jeweled butt plug and then make her show her ass to everyone as they dragged her naked through the town. Oyly would let them do all this because Oyly was a pain slut who got off on humiliation and bondage and pain.

Except no one ever really tied Oyly up, or paraded her naked through the town streets, or inflicted pain on her in any way. Because Oyly existed only in her imagination. She had to be dreaming. This had to be some sort of very strange nightmare.

“Wake up!” she tried to scream at herself through her gag. “Wake up!”

The room brightened slightly, but somehow still remained dark. She could see lights shining down on her, but there was still nothing but shadows and silhouettes. It was as if she were looking out through a black fog which clouded her vision.

“Maybe I should removed the blindfold,” the voice said.

A few moments later, a hand began unwinding layers of black gauze from her eyes. “I really shouldn’t call this a blindfold,” he said with slight laugh. “It doesn’t blind you, it just makes it very difficult for you to see. It is more of a shade-fold.”

He laughed at his own joke as Olivia blinked at the brightness that now assailed her eyes. She was definitely not in her own bed nor in her own bedroom. She was on platform on a stage with bright stage lights shining down on her.

“She doesn’t seem to know what happened,” the voice said. Behind him there was a sound of laughter– a lot of laughter. It sounded like hundreds– maybe thousands– of people were laughing.

Olivia tried to lift her head to look around, but felt a tug on her scalp as if her hair were tied to the top of the bed. Her quick glimpse before the pain forced her to fall back onto the pad told her that there was, indeed, an audience in front of the stage. In that brief glance, she could see rows upon rows of men and women sitting as if waiting for the beginning of a Broadway show.

She struggled against the ropes which bound her tightly to the bed. Her mind was racing. Where could she be? How did she get her?

“What is the last thing you remember?” the voice asked as someone removed the gag from her mouth.

She took a deep breath. She remembered being at work yesterday. Her boss, Mister Abernathy, had been his usual asshole self. He was young, and blond and well-built, but thought he was God’s gift to all women.

That was bad enough, but then Ellen– the woman who was supposed to relieve her at lunch– hadn’t shown up, so she ended up having to eat lunch at her receptionist’s desk with people coming into the office or sitting in the lobby waiting... and watching her eat. Olivia couldn’t stand to have people watch her eat. There was no way she could forget that.

She particularly remembered a young black couple. The man wasn’t too bad, but the woman had been all smart and angry from the instant they walked in the front door. Something had delayed their appointment and they both sat staring angrily at her as she tried to eat her lunch.

She also couldn’t forget that slimy jerk from sales, Dave Wilcox, who stopped by mid-afternoon to ask for a date. He asked her out at least once a week. If he wasn’t such a jerk– and if his personal hygiene wasn’t so bad– she wouldn’t have minded. She still would have said no, but she wouldn’t have minded so much that he asked her to begin with.

There wasn’t much to remember about the rest of the afternoon. It was the usual, boring stuff. She spent most of the afternoon watching the clouds move in from Lake Michigan and cover the Chicago skyline.

The drive home was routine... except... except... except something that she couldn’t quite remember. She could remember that she was on I-55. Traffic was suddenly stopping. She could hear the dull thump of cars hitting each other. Everything was happening so fast. There was a huge column of smoke and flames from the center of the road. People were abandoning their cars and running. A young woman carrying a baby and pulling a small child ran across the road in front of her. There was no place to go and no time to stop. Her only choices were to hit the running woman or swerve into the line of stopped cars in the center lane.

The airbag slammed against her face and then quickly deflated. She knew she was hurt, but wasn’t sure how bad. The door wouldn’t open– or maybe she didn’t have the strength to push it open. There was a very loud noise and she looked out of her shattered windshield to see an extremely bright, yellow light heading directly toward her. The windshield seemed to dissolve in front of her as the light– and the intense heat– overwhelmed her car. And then... and then... and then she woke up here.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” she asked.

“Afraid so,” the man said with a smile. “So now we get to play with you for a while...” he laughed a very deep laugh and added, “... a very long while.”

“Oh, God!,” she screamed. “I’m in Hell, aren’t I?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that question right now, Olive Oyly” the man answered. “Or should I call you ‘Oyly’?”

Olivia thrashed against her bonds trying to pull herself free. The man reached down and stroked her face. “Does Oyly really want to get away?” he asked in a mocking voice. “Isn’t this exactly what Oyly has always wanted?.. a chance to be humiliated and degraded in front of a large crowd of people?”

She thrashed again, and then suddenly her muscles went rigid as she felt the familiar tingling welling up between her legs. “Noooooo!” she cried out. “Noooooo. I don’t want this.”

The man laughed and let his hand continue to slide down Olivia’s body. She inhaled sharply as his fingers passed between her breasts. She gasped as he twirled the tips of his fingers around her navel. She moaned as those fingers slid over her clit and dipped into her slit.

“Olivia’s mind says no,” the man said as he held his glistening hand in front of her face. “But Oyly’s body says yes.” He laughed again and the audience joined in his laughter.

“Oyly wants this,” he said with a wide smile, “So I guess Olivia is just going to have to go along for the ride.”

With that he turned to face the rows of people sitting in the audience and shouted out, “Let the show begin!”

Olivia felt a tug on her head and arms. The frame holding her in place was moving. It was lifting up and dragging her to a standing position. As the frame became upright, Olivia felt her feet slide to the base of the frame, increasing the tension on her head and arms. There was a noise and the bed slid away from her leaving the frame hanging in the air. A “thunk!” followed as the frame set down noisily on the stage.

The man stepped up in front of her and again slid his hand down the length of her body. “I think we need to let Oyly come out to play,” he said. “Don’t you, Olivia?”

Her mind raced thinking about what he could mean. Then her eyes went wide and she once again thrashed in her restraints. She knew what he meant! But how could he know? She had done that only once or twice– or maybe three times– but only when she was about half-drunk after a full bottle of wine. Those times, before she started playtime on the bed, she had stood in front of the big mirror in the bathroom and said aloud to herself, “Time to let Oyly come out and play.”

Surely he couldn’t mean that!

Two stagehands dressed in all black pushed a small cart onto the stage. Their heads must have been swathed in black gauze or something because it wasn’t possible to see their faces. On the cart was a large bowl of what appeared to be steaming hot water. Next to it was an old fashioned shaving cup and brush.

“Who should we get to lather her up?” the MC asked. “It should probably be someone who knows about personal hygiene.” He laughed again and dropped his voice an octave. “So we won’t ask that type of person. Instead...” His voice came back to normal but was now very, very loud. “Dave Wilcox come on down!!!”

“Noooo,” Olivia wailed, “anyone but him!”

The MC leaned in close to her and said very softly, “You wanted humiliation, didn’t you? You are trembling inside at the thought of him touching your body, aren’t you? Your cunt is dripping from having all of these people watch you be humiliated isn’t it? Oyly is enjoying herself very much, isn’t she?”

“Noooo, no, no, no, no,” Olivia mumbled softly, but he was right. She hated all of this, but at the same time her body was responding just like it did when she let Oyly out to play in her bedroom. The only difference was that now all of this was real.

She watched as David stood sloshing the brush through the cup, stirring up foam. She felt the hot lather on her skin as he began running the brush in small circles throughout her crotch and up onto her belly. He seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time lathering up her clit. Perhaps that was because she bucked and moaned each time the warm, soft, slippery brush slid over that nub of passion.

After what seemed like ten or fifteen minutes of slathering during which Oyly cried out twice with mini-orgasms, he set the shaving mug back on the cart and picked up a straight razor. There was a wide leather strop hanging from the cart and he rapidly slapped the razor up and down on the strop making sure it was sharp.

“You need to hold very still for this,” he said in that irritating, whiny voice of his, “or else I might cut you.”

Olivia just turned her head upward and closed her eyes. There was nothing she could do to stop him.

She heard him laughing softly and she could feel the razor scraping along her skin, but the pull of the razor itself as it cut her bush was very light. She found herself thinking, “He must have done this before.” Then she said aloud, “This is crazy. This can’t be happening!”

“Stay still,” the voice of the MC boomed out. “You don’t want cuts down there with everything else that is yet to be done tonight.”

“Besides,” Dave said, “if I cut you, I don’t get to fuck you.”

That caused Olivia to buck furiously, but the slimy jerk from sales had a firm grip on her labia. He pulled it downward tightly so he could scrape the lather– and hair– from the edges of her slit. “One more stroke,” he said softly as he let go and reached for her other pussy lip. A moment later, he said proudly, “All done and not even a single nick.”

The MC bent in to examine Olivia’s body more closely as Dave used a rough towel to wipe excess shaving lather from between her legs. “Nice job, Mister Wilcox,” he said. “You have earned first crack at her.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” she cried out, but there was nothing she could do.

She stared in horror as he took off his clothing and dropped it on the stage. Then he approached her and bent his knees slightly to lower himself so that the head of his raging hard penis could be aligned with her slick opening.

“This can’t be happening,” she said softly as she felt him enter her. Her mind wanted to shut out everything that was happening, but her body began bouncing on Dave’s prick as he straightened his legs and forced himself fully inside her. Soon she was again crying out, “No, no, no,” but each “No” was in time with her downward thrusts as she bounced on Dave’s quite impressive penis.

After several minutes, her body began shaking and she cried out a long drawn out “Nooooooooooooooo!” as she went into a full-blown orgasm. Dave countered her cry with a loud, “Yeeeessssss!” as he erupted within her.

Dave lowered himself so that he could pull out of her as she hung almost senseless in her bonds.

“That’s one!” the MC cried out as he faced the audience. Then he turned to Olivia and leaned in close to her face.

“What does Oyly usually want after a good orgasm?” he asked quietly.

Olivia remained silent.

“Now, now,” he chided. “You know what you do after your first really good orgasm with Mister Rabbit.”

Olivia shook in her bonds, trying desperately to pull herself loose. She knew what Oyly– she– usually did after taking herself to orgasm with her rabbit vibrator. She would stand in front of the mirror and give herself twenty or twenty-five smacks with her wooden paddle.

“So you do remember,” he said jovially. “How many smacks do you think your mother should give you?”

Olivia’s eyes went wide open. Her mother had caught her masturbating once when she was a senior in high school and demanded that she get over her lap for a spanking. “I’m eighteen years old,” she yelled back at her mother. “I don’t have to listen to you.”

“You just set the number of times I’m going to whale that ass of yours,” her mother retorted as she grabbed Olivia and pulled her across her lap. Olivia fought furiously, but her mother was stronger and held her in place as she repeatedly smashed a ping-pong paddle into her naked ass.

“I am going to keep going until you say you’re sorry,” her mother said between swats. Her mother stopped counting at thirty, but somewhere around the forty-fifth slap with the paddle, Olivia suddenly stiffened across her lap and cried out “Aaaahhhhaaahhhhaaahhhhaaahhhh!”

“You came from getting your ass pounded!” her mother yelled at her as she shoved her off her lap and down onto the floor. “You’re a hopeless slut,” she screamed at her. ‘I want you out of this house by the end of the week.”

And so Olivia had moved out on her own. Her parents helped with her rent and such until she had finished high school and then the local junior college, but after that she was truly on her own. The memory of that last spanking at the hands of her mother, however, always remained with her. When she stood in front of her mirror swinging the paddle into her own ass, she was imagining it was her mother who was beating her. Sometimes, she could even see the face of her mother over her shoulder as she did those final strokes before the pain drove her into orgasm.

“How many is it going to take to make your slut ass pop?” her mother said sarcastically as she stepped up behind her. Olivia could see that she was holding a thick wooden paddle in her hands. It was about three feet long and four inches wide and was made of two-inch thick oak. One side was smooth and polished. The other had an intricate pattern cut into it. In other words, it was an exact duplicate of the paddle Olivia kept hidden under her bathroom sink.

Olivia could hear the swish as the paddle swung rapidly through the air. There was a loud “Splat!” as the patterned side of the paddle slammed into her left asscheek. She screamed. Then her mother said sharply, “Count them!” and Olivia sobbed out, “One.”

“I think the audience needs to see this,” the MC said as he signaled for a couple of stagehands to come out onto the stage. Two gauze-swathed figures rushed out onto the stage and grabbed the large frame. Another ran out with a step ladder and climbed up to release cables on the top of the frame. The first two then pushed the frame around so that Olivia was facing the back of the stage. The stagehand with the ladder then went up and re-attached the cables.

“What does that say?” the MC boomed as he pointed to the red welt on Olivia’s ass.

“Slut!” the audience screamed back.

“That’s right!” he replied loudly. “Each time Oyly’s mom smacks her ass with that paddle, it brands her as the slut she truly is.”

“Nooooo,” Olivia said mournfully. She had only used the patterned side of her paddle once or twice because it hurt so much more than the smooth side. And she had never hit herself hard enough to raise a welt that showed what the pattern actually said. But now, thinking about what it said and the fact that everyone could see her butt proclaim that she was a slut, Olivia could feel her body responding to the shame and embarrassment– as well as the pain– of what was happening.

“I said count them,” her mother said loudly. Had there actually been another blow delivered?

“Two,” Olivia sputtered back.

There was another loud “Smack!”

“Three,” Olivia said sharply.

And so it continued. Smack after smack. The paddle would strike, Olivia would cry out and then take a loud intake of breath and give the count.

Somewhere around forty, the pain began to fade and in its place was a strange pleasure-pain. It still hurt, but it was almost as if someone were thrusting into her rather than beating on her. The cries became throatier, and the intake of breath became longer and louder.

Finally, Olivia cried out, “Fifty-twooooooooooooooooooo,” and began to buck and thrash in her bonds as an intense orgasm tore through her body.

“Slut!” her mother said with disgust in her voice. She threw the paddle down on the floor and walked off the stage.

“That’s two,” the MC boomed and the audience responded with cheers and applause.

“I think it’s time to let Oyly out of the frame,” the MC said cheerfully. Then he leaned in close to Olivia and said, “Don’t you agree?”

Olivia didn’t respond except to groan slightly as the two stagehands returned and began releasing her arms and legs from the restraints. The frame started to move upward and Olivia dangled swinging her arms and kicking her legs and screaming in fright.

“I think you forgot something,” the MC said with a laugh.

The frame lowered back to the floor and the two stagehands returned. One of them reached up above Olivia’s head and untied the knots which held her hair.

“Wouldn’t want to pull out all that beautiful hair, would we?” the MC taunted.

With nothing holding her up, Olivia collapsed to the floor of the stage and lay on her back panting. The two stagehands stood on either side of her looking down at her with their strangely blank faces.

As she lay there she could hear the people in the audience making loud comments. “Such a slut!” one of them said. Another shouted out, “Insatiable!” A third, a woman, called out, “I wonder if she eats pussy?” Then a very loud male voice called out, “She’s so hungry for another orgasm, I’ll bet if we left her alone for five minutes, she wouldn’t be able to keep her hands off herself. She’ll frig herself off right there at the front of the stage with everyone watching.”

Suddenly everything got very quiet. The MC was looking out at the audience. “I’ll take that bet,” he said with a big smile. “It would be worth losing just to see what she actually does.”

The two stagehands each reached down and grabbed an ankle. They then dragged Olivia to stage front at stage center. She was now at the very front of the stage at the middle of the front row. She could feel the heat of the big spotlights as they tightened in on her. One spotlight tightened all the way down so that it was just a very bright circle on her crotch.

The two stagehands pushed her feet up almost against her ass and pulled her legs even wider apart. “If you can lay there like that for five minutes without touching yourself,” the MC said in his booming voice, “then this is all over.”

Another stagehand ran out onto the stage with a small table and a large timer clock. He set it up above Olivia’s head where she couldn’t see it. The MC walked over to the timer. As he pressed the large button on the top of the black box to start the timer, he said, “But if you can’t control yourself, then we will finish the program... and maybe even have an encore or two.”

Olivia could once again hear the people in the audience. Many were making side bets among themselves. One voice, in a very loud whisper, said, “I’ll bet she orgasms before the timer runs out.” Another voice whispered back just as loudly, “I’ll take that bet.”

A woman’s voice from one of the front rows said loudly, “Look at that fountain pouring out of her. She’s getting off on all of us staring at her bald beaver.” That was followed by laughter from everyone who had heard her– everyone, that is, except Olivia, who groaned in embarrassment. Or was it a groan of need as the heat from between her legs began to once again spread throughout her body.

“What kind of depraved slut am I?” she asked herself. “Would I really jill myself off in front of all these people?”

Her body’s answer to her unspoken question was an almost uncontrollable shudder and a sudden feeling of wetness as her sex juices flowed copiously out of her slit and puddled on the floor between her asscheeks.

“You’re already in Hell,” said a voice from the back of her mind. “How much worse can it get?” She felt her arm moving so that her hand was now resting on her stomach. The voice continued, “You’re touching yourself already, aren’t you? Your fingers are caressing your sensitive tummy area just below your navel, aren’t they?”

Olivia’s body answered with a low moan. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” the voice continued. “Go for it!”

Olivia wasn’t conscious of her movements until the crowd began cheering. Her hand was no longer on her stomach. It was down between her legs sliding up and down in her slit.

The crowd’s roar intensified as she brought her other hand over to join the first. One hand was making small circles around her engorged clit. The other hand, with the fingers held together to form a wedge, was driving in and out of her cunt. With each hard stab into her cunt, Olivia would cry out, “Ahh!” Soon the crowd was clapping with her as she yelled, “Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Ahh!”

The MC leaned down so that he could look into Olivia’s passion-stressed face. “Look at me!” he ordered loudly and she opened her eyes. “Are you really such a wanton slut that you will take yourself to orgasm in front of hundreds of people?”

That question itself drove her over the top as she imagined the shame and humiliation of cumming uncontrollably in front of so many people.

“Yessssssssssssssss!” she screamed out. Neither she nor the MC was sure whether or not that was an answer to his question or just a response to having reaching the point of explosion. In either case, the answer to the MC’s question was still “Yes!”

The MC turned and faced the audience. “That’s three!” he yelled. The crowd responded with wild applause.

Olivia lay where she was with her legs splayed and her hands firmly on her crotch. One hand was stroking the skin below her navel. The other was clamped firmly on– and in– her still quivering cunt.

“I think it’s time for some regular sex,” the MC announced.

There was a scrapping sound as stagehands pushed a bed onto the stage. This wasn’t the same bed in which she awoke. The mattress was soft and there were regular sheets on the bed. After the stagehands put the bed in place, they walked out to the front of the stage and picked up Olivia. One of them threw her over his shoulder like a bag of grain and then flopped her onto the bed. They then arranged her so that she was lying in the middle of the bed face up with her legs spread facing the audience.

“The winners of tonight’s lottery are already backstage,” the MC said loudly, “so let’s bring out winner number one!”

A tall, blond, naked man walked out onto the stage. It was Victor Abernathy, her boss. He was sporting a tremendous smile and an even more tremendous hard-on. He stopped to flex his muscles for the audience, and, of course, to give them a good view of his massive manhood.

“This is just good, old-fashioned, sex,” The MC explained. Then he pointed to the bed and said, “She’s all yours.”

Victor nearly jumped onto the bed and almost instantly buried himself balls-deep into Olivia’s glistening pussy. As he got onto the bed, she had pulled her feet closer to her body and pushed up to lift herself slightly into the air. That had allowed him to more easily enter her.

He began thrusting almost immediately and Olivia found herself slamming her body upward against each of his thrusts. Murmuring could be heard in the audience as various men– and women– took bets as to how long this young stud would last.

Those who bet on the short numbers lost. After four minutes he was still pounding like a pile driver and Olivia was screaming with each heavy slam into her cunt. After six or seven minutes, she was calling out “Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,” with each thrust. She was right on the edge, but somehow her body wouldn’t take the leap off orgasm mountain until the young man jumped with her.

It was at almost ten minutes when the blond stud suddenly rammed into her hard enough to drive her back down to the mattress. He didn’t withdraw again, but instead continued to press heavily against her cunt as he let out a deep, bellowing, grunt.

Olivia responded by losing control of her body and her mind. Everything was a deep black as intense feelings overwhelmed her. She tried to grab onto Victor with her arms and legs, but nothing was working like it was supposed to. Instead her arms and legs just flailed wildly as she screamed out a low-pitched, continuous, keening wail that rose in pitch and volume until she truly lost consciousness and fell back against the bed.

The movement of the bed and the sensations of her boss pulling his prick out of her clenched cunt brought her back to reality in time to hear the MC shout out, “That’s four!”

Olivia raised herself groggily up from the bed to watch Mister Abernathy as he smugly walked off the stage.

“Our next winners are a couple,” the MC shouted as a middle-aged man and woman walked out onto the stage. Olivia didn’t know the man, but the woman was definitely Ellen.

They crawled onto the bed with Olivia and Ellen said sweetly, “Have you ever eaten pussy before?” She smiled and then asked, “More specifically, have you ever eaten pussy while you are getting fucked?”

The man pulled Olivia up and helped her turn over onto her hands and knees. Then Ellen pushed all the pillows up to the center of the bed and lay back against them. “You are going to take me to orgasm,” Ellen explained, “while my husband, George, takes you from behind.”

She laughed and said, “He doesn’t get to cum, and you don’t get to cum until I cum. You understand that!?”

George immediately shot back, “Yes, Ma’am!” Olivia merely nodded her head.

Ellen smiled at her once again and said, “Then get at it.”

Olivia crawled around on the bed so her head was between Ellen’s legs. She then bent down and took a tentative lap at her slit.

“You’re starting from a dry well,” Ellen said with a laugh. “You’re going to have to really prime the pump if you’re going to get anything flowing.”

With that, she reached up and grabbed Olivia’s hair so she could pull her down and press her face into her crotch. Olivia began lapping in earnest, trying to push her tongue as far into the woman’s slit as possible.

“That’s a good start,” Ellen said. She then called out, “George, get busy!” and the man pulled himself up behind Olivia and pressed his prick against the opening of her cunt. She relaxed slightly. Up to that point, she had been afraid that he was going to dry fuck her ass.

As soon as the man’s prick was against her pussy lips, Olivia pressed backward to impale herself on his prick. He was nowhere near as large as Victor had been, but entering her from the rear caused his prick to rub against all the right spots inside her.

“Remember,” said Ellen harshly, “you can’t cum until I cum. So you’d better get busy!”

Olivia redoubled her lapping efforts and brought one of her hands up to play with the woman’s pussy lips near the back. She lowered her mouth over Ellen’s clit and sucked on it like it was a nipple.

Ellen’s gasp and then moan of joy let Olivia know that she was on the right trail. She kept her mouth glued to the woman’s clit and sucked and lapped as that pleasure nub began to harden and extend.

Her fingers could feel moisture accumulating on the Ellen’s labia. She twisted her fingers to open the woman’s pussy lips and slowly slid her fingers insides. Ellen’s groans and sighs told her that she should continue.

From that point on, Olivia kept her mouth on the Ellen’s clit and her left hand sliding in and out of her cunt. She found that she was unconsciously synchronizing the thrust of her hand with the thrusts of George’s prick slamming into her own pussy.

George was starting to grunt and groan with each thrust. It was obvious he couldn’t last much longer. Olivia was screaming with her mouth closed as she continued to suck and lap at the Ellen’s clit.

Then she could feel it. Ellen’s cunt was starting to grip her hand and her clit was starting to pulsate slightly. Ellen was close– so was Olivia, and even moreso was George.

Suddenly the Ellen’s cunt clamped down on Olivia’s fingers so strongly that it was almost painful. At the same time a strange, salty liquid began squirting into Olivia’s mouth. Ellen tilted back her head and screamed– no sang– a very high-pitched scream. She was obviously having an orgasm.

That shrill scream was all George needed to hear and he slammed against Olivia one last time before spurting into her.

Olivia didn’t know if it was the scream or the feeling of more cum being pumped into her body, but she also went over the top. As she cried out in release, she could vaguely hear the voice of the MC saying, “That’s five.”

The crowd was on its feet clapping and stamping and cheering. The MC was waving his hands, motioning them to sit back down.

“I know that the program called for five,” he said loudly, “but we had sort of an impromptu encore in the middle of the show.” His voice became softer as the crowd quieted. “So,” he continued, “we are going to do act five as an encore.” Loud applause greeted that announcement.

Ellen and George walked off the stage and several stagehands rushed on stage. Each was carrying what looked like a large watering can. “It’s time,” the MC shouted gleefully, “to really let Oyly come out and play.”

The stagehands began pouring baby oil all over Olivia and all over the bed. She felt her body began to quiver once again. Her body was now totally in control as her mind watched from the fog. “I am Oyly,” she said loudly, rubbing her hands up and down her slick body. “And Oyly has come out to play!”

The MC laughed and announced loudly, “And here are Oyly’s playmates for today.”

A black couple walked quickly out onto the stage. Both appeared to be in their late twenties or early thirties and were both very lean and very muscular. Somehow, they seemed familiar to Olivia, but she couldn’t remember for sure from where. A large, semi-erect penis bobbed in the air in front of the man.

The couple crawled up onto the bed like George and Ellen had done. The black woman took her place on the pillows and asked, “You ever sucked black pussy before?” Then she laughed and said, “Actually, you ain’t sucking no black pussy today neither.”

She flipped over onto her hands and knees and lowered her head so that her ass was raised high and was wide open. “You are going to get me off by tonguing my asshole,” she said with a laugh. “If your tongue is long enough you can reach up and fuck me with it, but you gotta do it from behind, so your face is going to be pressed right up against my ass either way.” The black woman laughed once again as she wiggled her ass in front of Oyly’s face.

Meanwhile, the stagehands were busy pouring more baby oil over Oyly and the black couple. She could feel the man behind her rubbing the oil between her asscheeks. After making sure everything was well lubricated on the outside, he stuck one finger up inside her... and then two.

“You’d better get busy, sweetcheeks,” the black woman said with a sneer, “‘cause you ain’t finished ‘til I’m finished.”

Oyly put her face closer to the woman’s ass and stuck out her tongue. The black asscheeks glistened in front of her. She leaned in closer and touched the black woman’s puckered rosebud with the tip of her tongue.

“That’s it, honey,” the woman said. “Now you just need to go deeper and harder.”

Oyly pushed her tongue against the shiny, black rosebud and jumped back as it opened slightly to receive her.

“Your tongue ain’t that long, sweetcheeks,” the woman called up. “Get your face back down on my ass. I want to feel your cheeks against mine.”

Oyly couldn’t believe she was doing this. She was licking a woman’s asshole– and hundreds of people were watching her do it.

That thought caused her to shudder as bolts of lightning traveled from her crotch to the extremities of her body. “Whatever you’re doing,” the man behind her said, “keep doing it. It’s like you’re milking my prick with your asshole.” She hadn’t even realized that he had entered her.

She stuck her tongue as deep into the black woman’s rosebud as she could and then began thrusting with it.

“Don’t forget to spin the rim,” the woman said and Orly pulled her tongue back and moved it in circles around the edges of the puckered circle. Then she darted back into the tight sphincter. She tried to bring one of her hands up to massage the woman’s slit, but with the man pounding into her from behind that wasn’t possible... unless... unless she let her face press tightly into the woman’s ass to hold her up.

When she lifted her hand off the bed again, she could hear several of the men in the audience whooping. “Go, girl!” one woman shouted.

She lifted her other hand. Now her face was the only thing supporting her and that was buried between the cheeks of the black woman’s ass. One hand found the woman’s slit. The other began to softly massage the woman’s clit.

“That’s cheatin’,” the woman said, “but I like it.”

Oyly began rubbing slightly faster. Her tongue was now darting in and out of her mouth. It would swirl around the black woman’s dark moon and then plunge deeply into the opening itself. Each time she could feel the woman’s anal sphincter pulse and squeeze as she penetrated her with her tongue.

She could now feel her own orgasm boiling within her. She had to hold it back. The black woman was nowhere near the top. She began rubbing faster and harder on the woman’s slit and clit. In response, the woman began to grunt and tilt her pelvis in time with the rubbing.

The only problem with that was that each time the woman tilted her pelvis forward, she tightened her asscheeks, nearly smothering Oyly in the process.

The black woman began to grunt louder. “Oh, yes,” she started to say. “Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Oh, yes.” Then suddenly she began quaking and shouted out “Oh, Yeeeeessssss!” as she squeezed her asscheeks tightly on Oyly’s face.

Oyly was almost there herself, but when the black woman began to orgasm, she thought to herself, “What must this look like to people in the audience? I must look like the most perverted slut they have ever seen.”

She had no more than thought that when her own orgasm exploded within her. And her orgasm triggered the man who was buggering her to also release and slam forward pinning her in place. The three of them were locked together in a giant sweaty mess on the bed as all of them screamed out in the passion of release.

Olivia felt herself getting dizzy. Her face was pressed tightly into the black woman’s asscheeks and held there by the force of the man rammed into her own ass. She couldn’t breathe. The theater was becoming dimmer. The voices were fading away. And then, darkness.

When she came to, she was alone on the bed. Well, not exactly alone, but the black couple was gone. So too was the audience. It was just her and the MC, who was sitting on the edge of the bed near her feet.

“Will the punishments get worse?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” the MC replied.

“This can’t be heaven,” she answered glumly. “I don’t think there’s kinky sex in Heaven, so I must be in Hell. Will the punishments get worse?”

“Did you think all of this was a hellish punishment?” he asked with a slight laugh. “How was it a punishment?” he asked. “Wasn’t it everything that your secret self, Olive Oyly, ever wished for?

“You mean that this IS heaven?” she asked, her eyes growing very wide. “Did my swerving to avoid that family get me into heaven?”

“I’m afraid that you have an incorrect view of the afterlife,” he said politely. “Your heroic act of sacrificing yourself to save a mother and her small children was a great thing. You will be praised and remembered for it.”

He gestured around them, “But such actions have no bearing on the afterlife.” He looked at her and smiled slightly. “You are in neither Heaven nor in Hell. You are in a transition area where you become adjusted to your existence in the afterlife.”

“What do I have to become adjusted to?” she asked.

“Primarily the lack of corporeal form,” he answered.

“What?” she gasped, having no idea what he just said.

“No body,” he answered quickly. “You have to get used to not having a body. Energies are created during life which continue on after your body is dead, but...”

“What are you trying to tell me?” she asked.

“We have found,” he explained, “that the best way for people to accept giving up all bodily sensations is for them to go through what they imagined as the best possible experience of their life... or perhaps, of their imagination.” He smiled again. “Both are possible right after death while you still remember what it is like to feel things with your body.”

“So all of this was just a memory?” she replied.

“Not exactly a memory,” he answered, “because none of it has ever occurred. But you did give many others a chance to remember some of the old feelings they, themselves, once had.”

She continued to look at him blankly. He took a deep breath and said flatly, “It was as real as anything you ever experienced in life, but no, it never really happened.”

“So what happens now?” she asked. She wasn’t sure whether she was excited or scared.

“At this point,” the MC explained, “you have a choice to make. If you feel you have adjusted to what will be, then it is time for you to go on into eternity. But if...” He patted her leg slightly. “But if you are not yet ready to let go of the feelings and experiences of Earthly life, then you come back here, to the transition area.”

“How do I do that?”

“For each person, it is different,” the MC explained. “For you, the choice is which door you walk through when we finish our little chat.” He pointed to the back of the theater where the lights of a lobby cast a glow onto the seats. “If you go out the front doors of the theater, you are walking into eternity,” he said calmly.

“If, on the other hand, you go through that door...” He then pointed to a door alongside the stage at the outer wall which bore a large painted sign, “Backstage.”

“If you go through that door...” He chuckled lightly. “... let us just say that there will be another performance here tomorrow night.”

He patted her leg lightly once again and said, “I will leave you here to think about it.”

***

Olivia Franklin woke up very, very slowly, which was unusual for her............

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