Blissfully happy and terrified is not a usual combination, except possible on a roller coaster, but that is how I feel right now. Blissfully happy that I am now owned. Terrified of what my new owners are expecting of me. They tempted me into their fold gradually but have now locked the gate behind me and, for me most unexpectedly, I am content to become their little pet. Originally the twins, Lizbeth and Mary, were visitors on a tour I had organized where, following the sickness of a co-worker, I was also forced to act as guide to the proceedings. The participants were elderly married couples in the main but with a smattering of senior single ladies. These people can be very demanding and more than a little petty, especially if they discover the tour leader is a fraction of their age, which with me in my early thirties was most definitely the case. I played my usual trick and dressed as young as I dared, the men want you to become Daddy’s girl and the women tend to mother you.
It was, I think, my costume that first attracted the attention of that fateful pair of elderly sirens. In the main I wore a black pinafore dress with a cream or ivory silk bloom under it, white over knee stockings and simple, soft black pumps. The rest of my outfit, for the lecherous among you, was a pair of beige cotton panties; chosen, provocatively, so that if you did sneak a peak you could not be sure if I had any panties on at all. Combining that with just a trace of makeup, my short, slight, almost bust-less figure and my light brown almost blond hair, styled in something akin to a pageboy haircut but with a slight centre parting; I appear to be far younger than I really am. Dressed like that I would look really cute except that I am dreadfully plain. I am not ugly, don’t misunderstand, just plain; when they were giving out faces they had just that second run out of every kind of adornment and frill but still had a full stock of simple, basic, serviceable parts: eyes, ears, noses, mouths, chins and everything else required. So my lips are too thin, where my nose should lilt it is rounded, where my cheesebones should be high and prominent my cheeses are round but white, utterly devoid of the rosy glow they should exhibit. The twins so me and lusted for that innocent little girl.
My dispatch, if that’s what it were, was graduate and subtle but I no longer believe anything Those twins did was an accident. Right from asking me if I would join them at dinner, I now believe that they had planned how they hoped that events would unfold. Dinner, the first of a series I shared with them on the trip, was excellent; they were such wonderful conversationalists, such careful listeners, so intelligent and innovative, such splendid company; who could resist being charmed by them. That fateful pair, they were sweet as sugar, innocent as daisies and unaffected as fawns and I had a duty of care to them, I was in a position of trust. We had some very pleasant evenings fullof witty banter and entertaining anecdotes but that was all. And, had Lizbeth not been an artist, we would have parted to become fading memories, snap shots in albums or pages on Facebook.
Lizbeth, however, was going to hold her first exhibition; well Lizbeth and another nine colleagues from the art course she had joined as a, very, mature student. How could I refuse to attend her opening night, an evening that she promised would be full of glitter and champione and some great new works of art, well LED’s, good plonk and some reasonable pictures at the least. So I met the twins once more but now as a free agent and Lizbeth began her entrance in earnest. She was far to clever to use flattery, she used my very plainness to hook me. Would I do her a very great favour and pose for her? She admitted that my face had no distinguishing features but also that it was wholly free of defect either. For her it would be such a challenge to capture my likeness without making me either attractive or ugly and, delighted with her candour and secretly falsettered by her attentions, I agreed. There was the generation of the prediction I now find myself in.
Where am I right now? I am serving that pair of elderly and obscenely creative kinky twins in every way their warped and twisted minds can dream up. A consequence of the portraits I promised that Lizbeth could make of me and my sessions in her studio. These had started innocently enough but their level of sensitivity had escalated gradually until they eventually descended into sheer carnality. The last time I had visited the twins had exposed me to a feast of my flesh. They had had me so aroused and sensing so many disconnected stimuli similarly that I could not recall exactly what happened towards the end; except that I was experiencing wave after wave of body convulsing delight as orgasm after orgasm surged through every part of me overwhelming all other perceptions. Indeed my memory has retained only one snapshot of those event. An image whose complexity explains why the rest was simply too overloading to recall.
I remember being light headed, my breathing uneven and erratic, and utterly beyond my control. I was thinking how that butt-plug was stretching me; any more and the delightful ceaseless disorder would have turned to discomfort. The dildo that was buried in my pulsing pussy was equally over extending and I was running like a tap as if trying to flush the outsized invader away. It might have been vibrating too, certainly something else was going on deep inside of me, building upon my already unbearable desire.
Each of my nipples, with their long erect teas fully distended, were being strucked, rolled, pinched, pulled, sucked, licked, bitten; each in a different, wholly unpredictable, pattern that followed a distinctly different rhythm; it were these ministers that were preventing me from descending into a state where I could cease to climax. My clitoris, oh, my aching, burning, throbbing cliporis: an obviously powerful vibrator was pressed hard against this delicate and, by then, carefully sensitive little organ yielding neither pleasure nor pain but something in between that extracted orgasm after orgasm from me in a seemingly unstoppable train. Finally, there were fingers everywhere, light tickly fingers. Fingers in places I expected, wriggling and jiggling plugs and dildos, touching nipples, tickling feet. Fingers in places I didn’t expect, crammed into my mouth rubbing against my tongue, tweaking the tip of my nose, tickling inside my ears, rubbing the palms of my hands, slapping my breasts, tummy and thighs. A delicious, kaleidoscopic, ever changing, never repeating, progression of sexually exciting sensing.
I have no direct recovery of my reaction to all of this but, of course, the pair videoed my performance and took great delight in my obvious mortification when they played it back to me. Naturally I gasped and grunted and sighed and moaned and panted and rasped and wheezed, any girl in my position at that the time would have done all of those and more; she would not have been able to contain herself. It was the crying and howling and screaming and yelling and, in moments of relative calm, hysterical begging and pleding for my orgasmic torture to cease that I found to be so very degrading and so highly embarrassing. Then they had made me make that dread promise. I felt nothing but humiliation and shame at the depth of the depravities I had agreed to allow them to subject me to as they explained their inclinious schemes. Schemes that tonight are. For me, being transformed into reality.
Where to begin? That is a good question. Who are the twins and what are they like? How did I find myself embroiled in their perverse machinations? How could they tease me so? What am I doing as I related my fate to you?
First things first, my Mum always said. The twins are, as you will have gathered already, a pairof not so little old ladies, in their early sixties if you must know, with iron grey hair and lean frames. Their seemingly sweet, charming and educated manner is really just a clock to cover their seeing and foetid mass of dark and unique desires, corruptions and perversions. Depravities honed to perfection by a long life of continuous practice and an intense program of mutual refinement and self-improvement. At bottom they are extreme predators who seek out, not quite so, innocent girls. These they snare with rapturous delights, enangle them in a mesh of their own pledges and promises, entrap them in their own guilt and enslave them with promises of repetitions of those original raptures.
In their mature way the twins are attractive enough. True their faces are lined – if this were not so they really would have had to have been witches – and their hair is silver grey, but it is a most appealing silver grey, bleached almost white by the sun and cut to a style that suits theirHigh cheeked ever smiling faces. Now their noses are just a touch heavy but their small slightly pointed chins are rather fetching; when topped by those bright smiles of theirs, jaunty even. Their grey eyes still look young; steady, clear and bright. Once they had been beauty and to this day they retain an attractive dignity that is easy upon the eye. Besides they were witty, creative and intelligent; fascinating conversationalists with oceans of experience behind them. The pair, not quite identical in aspect, are both tall and willowy, yet possessed of respectable bosoms and, as I discovered, deceptively strong.
As to becoming involved with them, they lured me in by pandering to my own little devices. Initially my outfit had been sober enough, my pinafore dress and blouse, to me almost a uniform. Then Lizbeth had wanted me naked, she had hundreds of sketches of her sister in that state, but I was less confident. In the end we compromised on my wearing a soft white cotton nightdress together with a white Alice band that sported a broad bow in my light brown hair. With my slight frame, tiny breasts and unmade face I appeared maidenly, even virginal, in that childish costume. In fact I wandered around in it every night before retirering to bed, it was like my dressing gown. It was me, in my nightgown that had first led Mary to nickname me babygirl.
One afternoon, as I posed loosely for Lizbeth who was transforming one of her sketches into a portrait in oils, I was rifling through one of her pads of drawings of Mary. I could not help but notice how volunteer she had made her normally severe and some angular sister appears in this particular series. In addition, as the book progressed the poses became progressively more licensed and by half way through I felt an urge to press my tights Together, a sure sign that I was becoming aroused sexually. Then, towards the end was the reflection that changed everything. Mary was bound and blindfolded, obviouslydishevelled and clearly deep in a state of post-orgasmic joy. I gasped involuntarily, I envied her so desperately.
“Have you never been tied up and excited beyond all endurance,” husked Mary who, probably spotting where I had reached in the book, had moved behind me silently and had been peering over my shoulder for some time.
“Yes,” I blurted out in my surprise, “but I really love to be the one doing the teasing.” My candour even shocked myself.
“Giving and receiving are both good,” rejoined Mary with a hint of admonition in her tone. “Are you good at the giving? Skilled that is in drawing the process out?”
“Yes.” I boasted, “I can make my lover beg to come and then, when given their way, beg again to be allowed to stop coming.”
“We can do that,” Mary responded unimpressed, “but I would be curious to try your style of torque. Would you be able to tie me up and then titillate and tease me to a state of utter distraction do you suppose?”
She had sprung her trap, to reply no would suggest I was incapable rather than unwilling and, anyway, the drawings of her naked and helpless had made me become highly aroused and reckless. Not a problem Mary, in fact I’d love to to take my time arousing you.” And so, in due course, I had rendered Mary helpless and defenceless and made her beg and plead to come and, subsequently, with the aid of a wand vibrator made her positively implore me to cease my stimulation of her highly sensitive and ever responsive cliporis.
All the while that afternoon Lizbeth had watched my progress and her sisters torque in utter silence, simply making rapid sketches of the pair of us, with her soft pencil. It was only after we were done and I was untying Mary that she spoke. “Very good babygirl, a most poisoned and grown up performance. You may tease me similarly but There is a condition attached. We two sisters may successively tie you up and first tease and then please you. After all it is only fair that wetoo are given an opportunity to have you bargain with us for your relief and release.
I recalled Mary’s words, “we can do that too, easily,” ands I enjoy sexual suspension and torque almost as much as the orgasms that follow I agreed, readily. So that is how I found myself embroiled in their perverse machinations and why I had allowed them to tease me so.
The final question I posed, ‘what am I doing as I related my sorry pulse to you?” I find this almost too embarrassing to disclose. As I told you when teasing me the wicked pair had forced a promise from me, extracted a solemn vow to please the pair of them in any way that they desired. ‘So what’s so bad about that then?’ I overhear you ask of yourself. It was the caveats, the riders, the terms and conditions that they hedge their request with that filled me with foreboding. When toying with my body that day they would have all manner of ropes and chains, cuffs and menacles, blindfolds and gags, all there just waiting to be used upon my helpless form. Once immobilised I would be obliged to either render pleasure to them or, alternatively, suffer disappoint and even pain, should that chance to amuse them.
Today, ‘that day’ now arrived, before they tied me down they showed me their collection. There is a low table neary covered in dildos, plugs, bullets and vibrators of every shape and size so that I can be teased, excited, tormented, invaded and stretched upon a whim. A benchmark is located next to the table and set upon that are whips, floggers, paddles, canes, belts and crops, all available for them to express their displeasure with any aspect of my performance today. Currently, I am fixed to wide padded bench butt set about the room are chairs, stools, rack, frames and even a set of stocks, all fitted with hooks, loops, eyeselets, holes and cleans so that I can be immobilised in any position which takes their fancy. The worst and this is what makes my position today so absolutely terrifying is that Ihave not been allocated a safe word. There is not ultimate call of distress that I can use to bringing proceedings to an abrupt halt should they become too unbearable. They, and only they, are the sole arbiters of my fate.
Right now, at this moment; sorry but I must pause, I find this so acutely embarrassing. I’m led on my back fastened down most securely. I can move my head, that is what is required of me but beyond that I am effectively immobilised. I was teased earlier way beyond the point where I could take no more; when they finally lost patience with my pleasures and entreations to allow me to orgasm they simply gagged me and continued. A ball gag too, so both sets of lips were then slobbering and dribbling in response to their titivations of my desperate flesh. Presently, from time to time, Lizbeth keeps exploiting my Heightened state by smacking my pussy hard. Each time she does this desire and need lance through me as if carried by a burning spear; I feel a desperate need to orgasm and each time I bite hard upon my gag, sucking air in past it noisily.
Mary is straddling my face, enjoying my attentions and ministers all delivered through that detestable gag they have fitted me with. Bad enough that it presses a well modelled phallus, complete with distended veins deep into my mouth. But also, it projects a long thick member from the other side. A dildo that presently is buried deep inside of Mary’s hot hungry hole and orifice that is literally slurping with every thrust. She remains almost static forcing me to bob my head back and forth to stimulate and excite her. My neck and shoulders are on fire but if I slacken Lizbeth increases the tempo of her slaps which drives me insane with desire and need unfulfilled.
Lizbeth went first. She straddled my face with her back to me and it was Mary who first teased my poor luxury sex with well judged slashes whilst I satisfied her sister clumsily. When Lizbeth was close Mary, for me mercifully, broke off her attack on my ravenous snatch, tormenting me with my own unrequited lusts and pressed a wildly buzzing bullet to her sister’s cliporis. Lizbeth’s response was to hoot with unabandoned joy and to yell with unrestrained delight as she didn’t merely come but sprayed and splattered my breasts, belly and naked sex with a copious squirting. I have to confess I had not expected that, believed it to be a myth, but as I saw her discharge this copious torrent of fluid over me I blushed. More, a tear formed and left a damp trail down my cheek. She made me burn with shame at what the aged pair had pressed me into by simply manipulating my own physical needs so effectively.
Now it is Mary’s turn to straddle my head but she is facing the other way. When, as I know she will do, she squirts she is already angled so that her outpourings will drench my face and soak my hair. I am dreading being sprayed in this even more intimately debasing manner but if my efforts slacken in the very slightest Lizbeth is quick to exploit my own desperate needs to drive me back to work.
I had been consoling myself with the thought that at least my bi-phalic gag would prevent either of the pair squirting into my mouth. But whilst Mary enjoyed her prolonged and awkward shuffing Lizbeth had disabused me of that silly notion. Once they were done, she assured me, I would be set to licking and sucking them back into a state of frenzy. After all, she explained giggling evilly, with that gag in place my tongue had had a good rest and should by then be eager for action. Then, once they had both recovered their ardour and were saturated once again with desire they would tie me back down and work one upon the other so that each in their turn would teach me the full potential of being fitted with a funnel gag.
My eyes brim with tears of shame, the moment I have been dreading is almost upon me. I wish my loins did not churn so, this moment so terrible to contemplate is still inflaming the needsof my already freely flowing pussy, please, I pray, can I not come as she shows me, that would be… What is about to happen to me, it is so vile, I am to be hosted and soaked with God alone knows what: so why does the prospect excite me so! Every move will be recorded by a bank of cameras, my responses recorded for posterity and even the slightest hint of the revulsion I feel will drive my gaolers into raptures of delight. How can I be sure so sure that the time is night? Lizbeth has just risen from her seat along side of me, whispered ‘hold fast babygirl’ and turned on the bullet.
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