Trapped
- 4 years ago
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Trapped, Pt 1 free porn video
TRAPPED
By: Simon Mason
To say that I had frequently fought with my stepsister Melanie
would be akin to describing the Arab-Israeli war as a minor tete a tete.
Our semi sibling rivalry had frequently driven our respective parents,
her mother and my father, to tears and only their strong love for each
other had enabled their relationship to survive. In retrospect I must
have been a nightmare stepson - bookish, anti social, fiercely protective
of my space and property. Katherine, my stepmother, a woman of
great beauty and considerable patience had made Herculean efforts to
smooth the friction caused by the permanent encampment of two
strangers into what I regarded as MY house. In fairness the
relationship between us wasn't as dreadful as tradition would expect -
our times alone together were pleasant and companionable lulls in the
domestic battlefield that we called home. And Melanie ? Melanie was
wild.
Sent home from school aged nine for introducing commerce and
tongues into ?Catch a girl, kiss a girl? Melanie ended up seeing more
daytime TV than the occupants of a care home for the elderly. Fashion
infractions - Stilettos, pelmet skirts, thigh high boots, bra revealing
blouses, make up, dyed hair (red, blonde, and green). Sexual
infractions - ?Cavorting? (the headmaster's word) with various boys -
not necessarily on separate occasions, asking a rather demure student
teacher whether he was still a virgin, and during one notable biology
lesson asking the teacher how long a boy's tongue would have to be
before it could lick the G spot. Violence - four female pupils with facial
bruising and minor cuts, two of those from the same ill conceived
?revenge? attack upon her, one male pupil with an imprint of Melanie?s
right hand upon his cheek, and the captain of the school rugby team
detained overnight in hospital with bruised genitalia.
General infractions : - Smoking, repeatedly. Melanie would
have undoubtedly been expelled save for three things. Firstly my
father?s professional skill as an advocate. Secondly that she was
exceptionally bright and able student and our school, a large
comprehensive, needed all the good results it could muster. Thirdly
most of the school, pupils and teachers, were terrified of her. At home
Melanie and I pursued our individual battles for freedom with the
energy and fanaticism of apprentice William Wallaces and deployed
parents, step and otherwise, against each other as first, main, and final
strike weapons. Our parents? relief at Melanie?s departure to university
was echoed by the school.
This made it particularly peculiar that I found myself, aged 18,
standing facing the full length mirror in her bedroom dressed from head
to toe in her clothes. Actually that wasn't entirely accurate. The black
shiny nylon panties lodged hard into the crack between my buttocks by
a straining erection were my own blushing cash purchase from a large
impersonal department store in the nearby city centre, as was the black
lacy bra padded out with balled silk scarves. The sheer back 10 dernier
stockings that encased my shapely legs had been acquired as a ?free
gift? on the front of a rapidly discarded women's magazine bought far
from my home town. However the suspender belt that held them in
place, the silky lace trimmed slip that slid down my torso, the crisp
white school blouse, the short black skirt, the too small stilettos into
which my feet were tortuously strapped, and the innocuous but oh so
sensual elbow length black opera gloves had all been temporarily
purloined from Melanie?s wardrobes and draws. Topping my frame
was a long blond wig bought from a joke shop and Melanie?s straw
boater, inclined at a jaunty angle necessitated by my larger head. I had
also temporarily acquired Melanie?s ghetto blaster which was thumping
out dance anthems.
As I caressed my swollen penis with a gloved hand I
contemplated the irony of the situation - after detesting Melanie for so
long I had used the opportunity of her departure to become her. But
that wasn?t it - I didn?t want to be Melanie exactly. Part of it was the
feel of the garments, the touch of silk, nylon and lace across bare skin,
the way that women?s clothes bound and imprisoned male flesh. The
other part was the risk and shame of it :- hoping that none of your
friends or neighbours would see you shopping where men usually
feared to tread, the chance of discovery, the humiliation of strong male
transformed to weak female. Not that I would want to be discovered
by my parents, and certainly not by Melanie, in this predicament. But
someone else perhaps ? Someone sensitive yet cruel, intelligent,
perceptive, who would use my plight to exact demeaning servitude and
to reward with salacious bounty. My hard cock twitched appreciatively
in anticipation. As I looked into Melanie?s mirror through half lidded
eyes I could almost see a suitable dominant approaching, her tall frame
lithe and strong, her eyes glinting fire and malice.
For a fatal moment I failed to recognise the reality of the second
figure in the mirror. The music had stopped my ears, my approaching
orgasm had dimmed my eyes. As a second error my first reaction was
to quickly scrabble out of view my lecherous manhood. This allowed
time for a sleeping bag to be brought down over my head and onto my
shoulders. In darkness I tried to lift my arms to throw off the
encumbrance, realising in cold terror that my last sight had shown at
least two intruders in the mirror. My delay had however allowed my
attackers to seize the sleeping bag in strong hands and pull it down over
my shoulders, pinioning my arms to my side. I could hear voices
shouting excitedly - ?Keep hold of him!?, ?Pull him to the floor?,
?Don?t let him escape.? One of the voices sounded disturbingly like
Melanie?s. A form knocked into me heavily, causing me to stumble on
the precarious shoes. I could feel someone else grab and pull at my
torso, causing me to topple with a muffled cry to the floor. I fell
heavily, my shoulder jarring on the carpeted floor, before rolling onto
my chest. Within a moment I was crushed as a number of heavy bodies
descended on my back and legs.
?Owwww. Get off,? I shouted. My cries were ignored and I
was more emphatically pressed down as my shoulders, waist and thighs
were all squashed beneath my attackers bodies. ?Hold him there.? This
time I was certain that the voice was Melanie?s. I tried to struggle but
the combination of being muffled in the sleeping bag and being sat on
by several people meant that breathing alone was a battle. I could feel
something rub against my ankles but by the time I realised that they
were being bound the cord had already bit into my stockinged flesh and
been secured.
I could see white dots before my eyes and my chest felt tight.
?Please. I can?t breathe,? I begged.
After a short but worrying pause whoever had pinned me down
moved their position although strong hands still pressed my shoulders
to the floor. I tried to move my legs but there was no leeway. My
attackers had obviously bound my ankles to the leg of the bed and even
now were roping my legs together at the knees. Taking advantage of
my limited movement I carefully slipped my hands out of reach beneath
my body. I felt the sleeping bag being peeled upwards and an
experimental tug at my right arm. After I refused to yield a brief,
muttered discussion followed.
Someone?s foot prodded me. A voice, lower in timbre than
Melanie?s spoke, ?Put your hands behind your back.?
?Fuck off.?
?Do it or regret it, Simon,? Melanie threatened.
Silence seemed the best policy. Again I could hear whispered
discussion, this time punctuated with excited giggles. I felt the sleeping
bag being pulled upwards once more, as was the skirt that I wore.
Someone sat on my waist, pinning me securely again. More giggles
followed. If it weren?t for fear I would have felt even more shame.
Suddenly there was a stripe of fire across my buttocks.
?Owwww,? I exclaimed, more in surprise than pain. The second blow
was harder than the first. ?Yowwwwwww.? A definite shout this time.
I could feel tears of pain welling in my eyes. The third blow swiftly
followed. ?Owwww,? I cried again. ?Stop it !? The fourth, a vicious
cut to already tortured flesh raised a further shriek. ?Please Melanie,
stop it !? My eyes were full of tears as the next blow struck.
?Aggghhhhh ! No ! I give in. Please stop beating me.?
There was a pause. ?Are you sure ?? Melanie?s voice was icily
mocking.
?Yes, yes. I surrender. Please don?t hit me again,? I sobbed.
?You can have some more if you want.?
I didn?t want. ?No. No. I?ve had enough,? I begged.
?Okay then.? Suddenly there was another strike, this time to
my thighs.
?Owwww,? I cried in outrage, tears forming again.
?Just a reminder,? Melanie whispered sweetly.
?Now put your hands behind your back like a good little
pervert,? ordered the dark voice. This time I complied. A cord snaked
round my wrists, looping and pulling, before its grip was firmly knotted
in place. My ill gotten haberdashery would make releasing the knot
impossible, even if I could reach it. I could feel my legs being forced
back towards my wounded backside. As the hands released my ankles I
tried to stretch out again only to be prevented by an uncomfortable pull
at my wrists. Hog-tied !
After a few moments I was unceremoniously hoisted to my
knees, the strict hog-tie making me rest uncomfortably on my haunches.
Then, with a flourish, the sleeping bag was removed.
Melanie had obviously brought four of her university friends
back home. There was a tall black girl in a leather skirt and halter top
wearing lots of bangles. To her right stood an Amazon like brunette,
tall and aloof in her tailored suit and stilettos. Sat on the bed was a
raven haired girl in a little black dress who was clutching a pretty young
blonde girl with pigtails. Melanie herself stood before the door, flexing
the riding crop which recently she had used to such noticeable effect.
And they were all laughing hysterically. I stared at the floor, not
wishing to catch their eyes, whilst frantically twisting in my bonds,
trying to release my wrists.
?The perv boy?s trying to escape. Do you have any more rope
Mel ??, noted the tall black girl contemptuously.
?Top draw of the cupboard,? smiled Melanie, clearly enjoying
herself, whilst nodding towards the one location in her room which my
covert investigations had revealed was invariably locked. After a brief
scrabble, which caused a disconcerting amount of chain like clinking,
Melanie?s friend returned unravelling what appeared to be a great
length of nylon coated clothes line. I wondered briefly for what
purpose Melanie kept such an item in her room before deciding, with a
shudder, that it was usually employed for a similar purpose to its
present one. My captor methodically, but with practised ease, used the
nylon cord to form a spider?s web around my upper torso, securing my
upper arms, lower arms and wrists against my back and waist, whilst
carefully winding the line around my impressive false breasts. Now
even my most dramatic contortions barely elicited a centimetre of
movement from my captive form. After tightening a final slipknot to
the front of my waist, well out of reach of either my fingers or my teeth,
she gave a self-satisfied nod and stood up.
?Doesn?t he look pretty?? mocked the girl in the little black
dress with an unexpected estuary accent.
?No. You?ve messed his outfit up,? complained her pretty
blonde companion in a light girlish voice. She knelt down and began
tugging at my clothes and tucking them until she was satisfied that they
were neat. Then she retrieved the wig and the somewhat crumpled
straw boater and adjusted them upon my head until they met her
requirements.
?Happy now?? chided Melanie.
The pretty blonde studied me intently. ?Nearly. There?s
something missing,? she mused. She brightened suddenly. ?I know,? she
exclaimed clapping her hands together. ?Make-up!?
She grabbed a large clutch bag from the bed and began
emptying purses and tubes onto the floor. With great enthusiasm she
seized a small compact and began dabbing foundation powder on my
face. The others watched her with amused disdain. Like an artist
creating a painting she regarded me intensely before adding each new
brush stroke or gloss coat. At her puppy like commands I pouted,
closed my eyes, and opened them to facilitate her endeavours. Finally
with a few minor dabs of a cotton bud she sighed ?Finished. Someone
pass me a mirror.? She held up the mirror, allowing me to inspect her
handiwork. It was amazing. Whilst few people would have, in good
lighting anyway, mistaken me for a woman her efforts had given a
feminine sheen to my masculine features so my appearance was now
quite comely.
?Thank Mistress Emily for her services Simone,? ordered
Melanie coolly.
I scowled at her and muttered ?Thank you.?
?Thank her properly Simone,? Melanie warned. ?Let him kiss
your feet Emily.?
?Alright,? smiled Emily raising her strappy sandalled foot to my
lips. Melanie flexed the crop menacingly in the background.
?Thank you Mistress Emily,? I intoned, respectfully laying my
lips against the sole of her sandal.
?You?re welcome,? Emily replied brightly, as if receiving thanks
from a maiden aunt for an unexpected birthday present.
?What about me,? complained her friend in the little back dress.
?I want to be thanked too !?
?Yes. Thank Mistress Vanessa too,? ordered Melanie.
? Why does he have to thank her. She didn?t do anything,?
pouted Emily.
? I sat on ?im while Nadine tied ?im up, and Mel whipped him
with the crop didn? I ?? exclaimed Vanessa, her estuary accent
becoming more pronounced as she became irate. ?Anyway he?s a
thieving perv getting dressed up in all Mel?s gear behind her back and I
think if I want him to thank me then he should do it.?
?Well said Vanessa,? endorsed Melanie firmly. Still slightly
flustered, Vanessa approached me and lifted up her stilettos for my
attention. She held them there until satisfied that both my verbal
genuflections and my oral tribute were significantly greater in degree
than that afforded to Emily.
?My turn, vanilla tart,? demanded Nadine, the tall black girl.
?But you can kiss something a little more useful than my boots.? She
stood astride me, affording me a glimpse of the cream panties that
crowned her ebony legs as she tossed the boater onto the bed. Then to
my surprise she lowered herself down so that her leather skirt draped
like a surplice over my shoulders. Her cunt brushed against my nose,
shielded only by a gossamer thin layer of nylon and lace. ?Kiss there
white boy.? I obeyed instantly, so taken by surprise by the demand that
I couldn?t have said whether it was lust or fear that most motivated my
actions. At first I merely reverently laid my lips at the entrance of that
worshipful passage but when Nadine did not pull back I began to kiss as
fervently and lick as much as my bound body would allow me to do.
As I felt a dampness to Nadine?s knickers I first thought that my
amateur slobberings had been solely responsible but then I sensed a
pungent taste and scent that I would forever recognise as the aroma of
female arousal.
?That?s enough,? scolded Melanie. ?Both of you are enjoying
that too much.?
Nadine stepped back from me and I swear there was what
appeared to be a type of blush to her cheeks.
?How about you Christine? You haven?t been thanked yet,?
remarked Vanessa. I looked at the tall, haughty brunette expectantly.
?Uggghhhh,? Christine exclaimed. ?I don?t know how you
could let him do that to you.? She contemplated me with disgust whilst
I gazed at her in mesmerised anticipation. Then she gave a cruel smile.
?If he likes the taste of women?s knickers so much then he?ll love this.?
I watched in puzzlement as she gestured to Melanie and they had a
whispered discussion whilst rummaging briefly again in the cupboard.
When Christine returned a headscarf with a large knot in it dangled
from one hand whilst something was balled in her left fist. She knelt
down and stared coldly into my eyes.
?Thank me now,? she ordered icily, framing the bottom of my
face with a strong hand. ?Thank you Mist...? I started before Christine
gripped my face hard in her hand forcing my mouth open. As she did
so I caught a brief glimpse of the balled up crimson panties in her fist
before she rammed them into my mouth.
?Don?t you dare struggle,? she warned as I tried to twist free
from her grip. She pushed the panties more firmly back Then she lifted
the knotted scarf to my lips. ?Open wide,? she demanded. I tried to
shake my head but my anguished gaze fell briefly upon Melanie who
was tapping the crop angrily against her thigh. Despairingly I relented
and allowed Christine to wedge the large knot between my teeth. She
used one hand to press the scarf firmly in place whilst she manoeuvred
behind me.
I felt her push her knee into my back for leverage as she took
hold of the two ends of the scarf and pulled them with force. My
outraged protests were reduced to stifled gasps as the knotted scarf
forced the knickers deep into my mouth. A knot formed and then
tightened at the nape of my neck before Christine stood up and
contemplated me with an expression of quiet satisfaction. I tried to
gnaw at the gag but the knot had been forced so deeply that my teeth
could barely graze it. My tongue had been wedged down by the balled
panties and they yielded nothing to the slight pressure I could bring to
bear. A scream of outraged frustration was diminished to a muffled
groan by the sadistically effective gag. The sight of my additional plight
was enough to cause hilarity amongst my captors once more, even the
gentle Emily.
?But he hasn?t thanked you Mel,? observed Vanessa brightly.
Melanie surveyed me serenely. ?Just the look on his face is
thanks enough,? she replied. Vanessa laughed.
?What would Daddy say if he could see his beloved son and heir
now?? speculated Melanie maliciously. ?All those teachers who
wondered why I couldn?t be more like my good little brother Simon.
Your nerdy friends who called me the school bike. I?d bet that they?d
be surprised to discover that you were a worse sex case than me. I
should leave you here like this until Mum and Dad come home just so
they could see the truth for themselves.?
I shook my head despairingly. Christine approached Melanie,
flashing me an evil glance as she passed. She whispered in Melanie?s
ear whilst she smiled cruelly at me. Melanie brightened into a beatific
expression of pure joy. She clasped Christine to her bosom and kissed
her on both cheeks. Then she hurried across the room to her cupboard.
Moments later she returned, her face still transfixed in ecstasy. ?You?re
so right Christine darling,? she breathed. She produced a large SLR
camera from behind her back. ?It?s a Kodak moment.?
I struggled with all my might and shouted my protests at the top
of my voice. The effect was similar to a slightly arthritic slug singing
and dancing to ?The Macarena?. The girls enthusiastically draped
themselves around my bound body. As Melanie adjusted the focus on
the camera I tried to turn my face away from the lens. However
Melanie reached over towards her crop and I shook my head
submissively. Once satisfied of my compliance Melanie shot off a reel
of film, swapping between long shots and close-ups as the girls assumed
ever more provocative poses. I was tormented by lust as their nubile
bodies brushed against me but was unable to act on, or even speak of,
my desires. Melanie finished her set by using the timer setting so that
she could be included in the photos, emphasising her particular
dominance by fastening a collar and lead to my neck so I appeared as
her diminutive pet. To my horror each of the girls had cameras with
them and my torture was quintupled as each insisted on their own
photographic record of the events. My worst humiliation came as
Christine demanded that my dick should be exposed to prove that I was
a pervy male and not some unfortunate female prisoner. Nadine, who
seemed to lack any qualms when it came to handling my person, lifted
my skirt and pulled down the knickers before recoiling in mock horror.
?Yeuuch!? she exclaimed. ?He?s got a hard-on.? Each of the
girls, save Melanie, insisted on looking before turning away in feigned
disgust, although I noticed Emily take a longer and more intense view
than the others. Christine photographed it anyway saying that at least it
would show I was a willing victim.
After the photograph session was completed I was abandoned.
Naomi and Christine busied themselves with Melanie examining and
discussing her collections of clothes, CDs, and bondage gear, the latter
being a personal, and unwelcome, revelation. Vanessa and Emily lay on
the bed together flicking through a glossy magazine and discussing
make-up. I was left on the floor like a discarded doll. Although each
personal infringement had been unwelcome and arduous I felt indignant
that I could be so shamefully ignored.
Melanie then announced that she knew a wonderful restaurant
for lunch and a place where she could have the photos developed, the
assistant there being a friend of hers who would not quibble about any
minor indecencies. I became more alert, anticipating an early release.
The girls gathered their belongings and left the room, only Melanie
sparing a glance at my imploring eyes as they departed. I called out as
five pairs of footsteps descended the stairs but it was doubtful that my
cry could have been heard. There was a clatter and chatter in the
hallway below before the door slammed shut with a heavy finality.
My bonds were now painfully uncomfortable. My jaw ached
from the tight gag, and my arms felt crushed by their myriad bonds. I
struggled half heartedly, already aware that to fight the bonds only
brought pain, not release. Then as I began to despair I heard the clink
of keys in the door. I was infused both by hope and fear. The new
entrant would probably bring release but if it was one of my parents
what explanation could I offer for my predicament? Claiming I had
been viciously attacked and brutalised by Melanie and her friends had
the benefit of truth to add to its credibility but my humiliation was so
intricate as to leave no doubt that some form of co-operation must have
been afforded to its implementation. The awful truth seemed to be
amongst the best of explanations - which meant that my situation truly
was desperate. I waited with dread anticipation as footsteps ascended
the stairs and headed unerringly for Melanie?s room.
Melanie entered the room briskly, a lit cigarette in one hand, her
bag swinging from her shoulder. ?This isn?t right,? she muttered as she
knelt at my back and began unfastening the rope at my wrists. The rope
slackened, then briefly tightened, before it was again knotted securely.
I made muffled sounds of puzzlement which Melanie ignored. She used
a dressing gown cord to fasten my ankles to the nearest leg of the bed,
ensuring beyond doubt that my release would require third party
intervention. Next she switched on the radio to a level that would
overwhelm completely my muffled protests, deliberately choosing a
local station whose inane DJs and repetitive adverts I detested. She
stood above me, her eyes registering complete satisfaction at my
circumstances, and drew a deep drag from the cigarette with an air of
post coital bliss. Deliberately she raised her boot to my shoulder level
before using it to push me over onto my side. My bonds were so
effective that I would be unable to right myself unaided.
This time Melanie paused as she left the room. ?Have fun,? she
instructed as she closed the door behind her. This time she secured it
with the padlock that had protected her privacy when she was younger
and wished to stop her beloved fags being confiscated. Again the door
slammed shut but this time there was no swift respite from my
imprisoned solitude. As I lay trussed and gagged, a dark negative of
the virginal damsel in distress, I realised that whatever happened next
my life would never be the same again.
Nanette
- 05.04.2020
- 14
- 0
