Pados Wali Bhabhi Ki Choot Maari
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By "C.C."
There seemed to be no doubt in Robyn's mind, however. She started
immediately pedaling down the road after the van, and with little choice
in the matter I followed her.
Or tried to. It was much easier for Robyn to pedal with her legs than it
was for me with my arms, and she soon had me outdistanced. I pumped as
hard as I could, my breasts swinging furiously, hair tousled in the
wind, while sweat ran down my feminine body, but it was no use. I began
to lose sight of her when we turned at curves. Then the road began to
wind even more, and I could only see Robyn when we were on a
straightaway. The glimpses became shorter, less frequent, her bare rump
smaller in the distance, and finally the road straightened out for
nearly a mile ahead, and she was nowhere in sight.
Some swell detective I looked now! I had lost the teenager that I had
gone through all this for. Gotten myself stuck out here like this in
this ridiculous condition, bare-assed and feminine, all alone, pumping
away, hoping desperately to be allowed to reach the safety of my slavery
without being seen.
It was not to be. Over the whirr of my bicycle, I suddenly heard the
rumble of a car engine. Oh Gawd! What was it? I couldn't look back. I
could only keep pedaling furiously and hope against hope that they might
just pass me by.
No such luck. I heard the vehicle slow up behind me, as if to get a
better look at the incredible sight I must present. Who could it be? It
didn't sound like a semi-truck, but it might be farmers or some local
high school kids out for a ride. Maybe even a Police Car! I felt close
to tears as the mystery vehicle eased along behind me. Oh, why didn't
they just pass me and get it over with?
At last, the car accelerated, but to my horror, it pulled up in front of
me and two young men got out, blocking the road.
"Out for a spin, Miss?" one of them leered. They were both dressed in
casual but expensive clothes, and I noticed that their car had a
fraternity bumper sticker on it.
"Yeah." The other one, an athletic-looking fellow with thick brown hair
asked, "Whatcha doin' out here like that?"
I was close to fainting from embarrassment, out of breath, chest
heaving, quivering with dread as their staring eyes roamed all over my
feminine nudity and bizarre bondage. But then that fraternity sign gave
me an inspiration.
"Oh dear," I said as best I could, "I was afraid of this. I'm in the
Delta Sorority at Northern State and the girls did this to me for
initiation. Th-they're waiting for me somewhere up ahead."
"Oh yeah?" the other one, a slender, blonde guy spoke up. "We go to N.U.
too; Want a lift? We could take you down to the pep rally and drop you
off there!"
I quailed at the thought of being taken so far away and put down in the
middle of a crowd on a strange campus -- like this!
"Oh no!" I said quickly. "I couldn't! I mustn't! My Sisters are waiting
and if I don't meet them down the road here, I have to do this whole
darned thing over again!"
"Y'know," the chunky one said doubtfully, "you look a little old to be
joining a sorority. Are you sure you're telling us this thing straight?"
I didn't have to feign the nervous deeper blush or the guilty sidelong
glance.
"Actually," I lied, "I'm the House Mother. Oh, this is so embarrassing!
One of the girls caught me borrowing her bath salts, and since we're
having our pre-summer-rush this week, I agreed to go through Initiation
with the Pledges as punishment. I never dreamed they'd do this to me!
Oh, please just let me go. I'll make it worthwhile to you. Oh, I will!
I'll get you keys to the house so you can come and go as you please.
I'll let you peek into the shower room... Anything!"
"Whatcha think?" the blonde one asked his buddy. "Shall we just take her
back to the Frat House? Maybe we could hold her there a few days and
then ransom her off to those stuck-up Delta girls. They'd probably do
plenty to keep this from getting out, and we could have a lot of fun
with her in the meantime."
"Naah," the big one said to my vast relief, "that could get us in
trouble. We'll get more out of her this way if she owes us a favor.
Let's just leave her here to pedal her ass all over the county!"
His friend laughed.
"All right!" He squatted down in front of me. "Let's have a little face-
sucking, Beautiful!" And he grabbed me by the hair, pulling my lips to
his.
Humiliated, mortified, I returned his kiss. I felt his dry male lips
press against my fed-painted ones. Felt his tongue invade my mouth, hot
and demanding. Confused, woman-like, I felt myself swoon in his
embrace.....
He got up and stuck a casual thumb into my false pussy, laughing as I
jumped and squirmed.
"Hot to trot and you know it, Bitch," he sneered, then cracked his open
palm on my vulnerable, upraised, inviting ass. "Get going! We'll stay
here to make sure no one else comes along. But we'll be looking you up
back at N.U.!"
Let them look, I thought angrily as I sped off. I hope they get
themselves into a real bind with those Delta sisters. Burning with
embarrassment, I pedaled down the road.
It was only minutes later when I arrived at the Club, where they were
indeed expecting me. Cindi and Grace obligingly took me off my bike and
carried me to a backstage dressing room where Robyn was waiting. Using
sponges soaked in mild cologne, I wiped the sweat from our bodies those
parts that weren't sealed up in the rubber casings) then dusted us with
powder, combed out our hair and fixed our makeup. Really! Having the use
of my arms had seemed a blessing at first, but lately I wondered if it
didn't make me as much a slave to Robyn as to the other girls, since I
had to wait on her so much. I found myself wishing my arms were secured
like hers so someone would have to wait on me for a change!
"Chains, My Baby's got me locked up in chains,
And they ain't the kind, that you could see...."
Out front, the girls had kicked off their act with an oldie, while a
smiling female stage hand watched Robyn and me in the dressing room. I
knew now that Mrs. Thaylor had been unsuccessful in getting us
intercepted en route to the Club, and I suspected that Robyn and I would
soon be performing on stage. I just wondered what we would have to do.
My answer came three songs later, when Bitchin' Heat took a break and
the four girls sauntered backstage, looking sexy and exciting in their
studded leather bikinis. They wiped each other down with perfumed
sponges that made their supple bodies glisten, then turned their
attention to us.
It was the "Practice" position. The curved collar and padded satin hand-
pods went on me again, followed by a black net stocking held up by a
ruffled leather garter. I slipped my oversized high heel on and bent
submissively forward as Edie bound my torso to my single leg with strong
black nylon belts, forcing me into the ass-raised hobble that they had
coached me in. Robyn was similarly dressed in black net stockings, heels
and garters, and she was bound in the now-familiar position. As a
finishing touch, tight black rubber bathing caps were strapped on our
heads, making us look oddly identical. The idea of matching salt-and-
pepper shakers came to mind again as I saw us in a mirror, standing this
way with our heads down and our bare asses raised temptingly in the air.
And then it occurred to me what Robyn and I were going to have to do.
Oh no, I thought; Not that. Not bound up and naked like this. Not in
front of a crowd of strangers, amorous kinky lesbians. Oh no!
Oh yes!!
The girls strode out on stage to thunderous applause while a muscular
female stagehand calmly carried Robyn and me to the wings. The music
started up, an eccentric, jiggling, bouncing beat. Edie picked up her
microphone and spoke to the crowd in a breathy, sensuous voice:
"Hey, Lovers... I want to show you all a new feature in the act... one I
think... you're gonna like...."
A spotlight flashed on Stage Left where Robyn and I would soon make our
entrance.
"As you watch," Edie continued, "I want you to listen to the words... and
think about them." Her voice picked up as she prepared for her song.
"You've all heard of Talking Heads. Well get a load of Walking Butts!"
The music kicked on full force as the lesbian stage hand casually
prodded us in a very private place, forcing Robyn and me to mince on
stage. Riotous cheering rattled my ear drums, even as blinding
spotlights tore at my eyes. The applause swelled.
There was a packed house out there, watching two semi-nude women,
willing slaves, show off their debasement eagerly as they hopped about
on stage, bare asses raised high. Or were these truly women doing this
degrading act? Perhaps in the depth of their submissive passion, they
had ceased to be persons at all, and were merely, as Edie said, Walking
Butts. Nothing but sex-objects, vulnerable to any stranger.
Whatever they were, I was one of them. I felt hundreds of eyes all over
me: Watching, scornful, evaluative, excited, sneering -- a whole range of
emotion that seemed to come in a psychic wave straight from lesbian
audience and into my consciousness, paralyzing my brain, just as the
lights and noise had overwhelmed my eyes and ears.
I, a naked, bound female, was out in front of all these people, the
focus of their attention... their desire.
And next to me, Edie was singing:
"Hey Ba-a-aby, How'd you ever fall so low?
Ohh, Sug-Sugar, Now was my kiss your fatal blow?
Ahh, sing it to the crowd now, 'Cause they're all asking for to know--
Baby, Ba-a-a-aby, How'd you ever fall so low?"
The synthesizer swung in, and Edie danced back. The next thing I knew,
she had a purple velvet whip in her hand, and was flicking it with
skillful precision on the two, upturned dancing asses before her.
Beat-ba-da-Beat-da-da-Beat, went the synthesizer.
Smack! (pause) Crack! (pause pause) Snap! Crack! Smack! came the soft
whip, exploding like a sunburst of pain across the pale surface of our
tender, upraised bottoms.
At last the whipping was over, and as Robyn and I hopped about laughably
to cool our burning bums, Edie finished,
"Yeah, once you were really something,
But now everybody's wond'ring,
Umm-mmm, Baby! How'd you ever fall so low?"
And as I minced about, jiggling sexily for everyone to see, I almost
wondered the same thing myself.
But it was far from the end of our night. After two encores, the House
Lights came up and our Mistresses made us hobble down among the crowd,
passing between packed tables, feeling eager, exploring, feminine hands
over our vulnerable flesh. We were turned upright and set on cushioned
chairs, our feet sticking in the air, while a reporter from an
underground newspaper insisted on interviewing us. Seated there in that
ridiculous fix, head still bent back by my collar, I had to smile and
say in my best feminine voice that this was all an expression of my love
and trust in my lesbian Mistresses, that I enjoyed the excitement of
being bound and the thrill of being totally exposed to the whims of a
strange, exotic crowd.
I wondered if Doctor Naomi Bernstein was there, sitting outside my
limited field of view and listening to all this. I could just picture
her lips curling over her large white teeth as she got an earful of what
I, an erstwhile male and her date of five days ago, was saying about my
present condition.
But I did not see Naomi, and thankfully remembered her commenting that
she would be at work this week. It was small relief. After awhile, the
girls took us backstage and removed the straps from around us. I
straightened out, grateful for the release, as Olivia removed the rest
of our clothing and, to my surprise, cut off the rubber casings around
my legs and Robyn's torso, freeing us completely for the first time in
days!
But this was just by way of preparation. For once Robyn and I were
completely free and nude, we were placed back inside that clear plastic
drum in the familiar position -- my face under Robyn's ass while my
smooth legs curled around her head -- then wheeled back out front so that
Bitchin' Heat could thrill the crowd with their new hit single, "Canned
Slave."
Writhing in that can, trapped for everyone to see while Robyn ground her
pretty ass into my feminine face, felt like the absolute bottom point of
my life.
And two hours later, we were rescued.
Robyn and I were still inside the plastic drum. Only now we were in the
back of Bitchin' Heat's gold van, on our way from the Club back to the
Grandamme estate, when I heard (I could see nothing because of Robyn's
bottom) Grace say,
"Looks like an accident up ahead!"
"Oh dear," Edie cried, "that girl is hurt! I'd better stop!"
"I think she's pinned under that van," Olivia put in. "We'd better get
out and help push."
I heard the four front doors of the van open and close as the girls
rushed to the aid of what they thought was a stricken motorist. Then,
very faintly, I heard cries of alarm and dismay. Orders being barked in
a strong feminine voice quite unlike any of the rock singers. Finally,
after a suspenseful spent rolled up naked in that plastic drum with the
equally nude Robyn, I heard someone climb into the van.
"Don't be alarmed girls," came the female voice, "we're here to help
you." I heard and felt hands running over the sides of the barrel.
"Might as well take you to the clinic before we open this thing. Just to
let you know, you won't be hearing from those other girls for awhile. My
partner Carole and I suckered them into stopping for an 'accident' then
got the drop on them.
"We were just going to tie them up and take you with us in our van, but
I came up with a better idea. You see, we got some background
information on that Club they've been performing at, and I thought we'd
give those Bitches a taste of their own medicine. So I told them we were
going to take you two back to the Club and make you work there as slaves
for a month. Since everyone had seen you with those singers, though,
we'd need a written release from them to get you back in. At least
that's what we told those gullible she-punks."
"Anyway, I wrote up a paper that said 'Please take these girls in and
keep them as slaves for a month. We, the undersigned girls of Bitchin'
Heat, hereby state that any future objection or denial on our part is to
be disregarded.' I got all four girls to sign it at gunpoint. Then,
Carole and I handcuffed them and put leg shackles on their ankles. They
didn't mind that so much, but you should have heard them holler when we
cut away all their clothing, leaving them naked. They yelled so much
that Carole and I finally decided to lock them in hoods with built-in
gags, blindfolds and earplugs."
"They're in the back of our van now, and Carole is taking them back to
the Club. When they get there, all the dykes who run the place will see
are four bound and hooded slaves, one of whom will have a note taped to
her forehead, signed by all four, asking that they be kept as slaves for
the whole month of July! Won't that be a kick?"
"No!!!" Robyn's scream reverberated inside our tiny plastic can. "No!
You can't do that to my Mistresses! I love them! Oh, don't take me from
them! Let me go! Let me get back to them!"
She started kicking her arms and legs as much as she could, trying to
break out of the confining plastic drum. Packed inside as we were, she
couldn't move at all without pushing at some part of my body, and escape
was out of the question, but her struggles did succeed in rubbing her
body even more intimately over mine, and it must have looked to our
rescuer like two very active females squirming around in there while
screams of protest squeaked out from the air-holes.
As for me, I felt pretty good. Maybe it was the thought of the erotic
punishment that our rescuers had dreamed up for Bitchin' Heat. Maybe it
was Robyn's round silky bottom moving back and forth across my feminine
face. But it was most of all the satisfying glow of a Mission
Accomplished. Soon, Robyn and I would be at the Clinic, and I could just
imagine the surprised faces-of the staff when I told them who I really
was and had Mrs. Thaylor corroborate my story. Then, a little later, I
would be back to my masculine self and several thousand dollars richer.
Robyn writhed in despair, perhaps thinking of the harsh de-programming
clinic awaiting her, and her full, bare breasts rubbed against my
smooth, well-shaped thighs.
It felt good.
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