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CH 48
The session lasted from eight until midnight and after the men left Denise spent two more hours dabbing antiseptic on our wounds. Both Dianne and I were too exhausted to drive home so we slept in the store that night.
The next morning we staggered out the back door at seven am. My body hurt from the bites and my back was stiff from hanging under the pole, but I felt a warm glow between my legs.
A police car with two bored and sleepy cops came slowly down the alley. They stopped, rolled down a window and asked what we were doing.
“Going to breakfast,” Dianne told them.
We looked like hell. We were still exhausted, bleary eyed and hadn’t bothered to redo our makeup.
“It looks like you just finished an orgy,” the cop chuckled.
“Yes,” Dianne said flatly.
“A bondage orgy,” I added.
The officer behind the wheel looked me up and down, then nodded toward the shop. “You were in the dungeon last night?” he asked.
I was surprised that he knew about the dungeon.
“All night,” Dianne said. “The orgy went until midnight, afterwards we just slept there.”
“Are you working girls?” he asked. “I’ve never seen you around the neighborhood.”
“Nope, strictly amateurs,” she said.
“Unpaid volunteers,” I added. “We do it for fun.”
“Just a couple of ordinary Sunday school teachers on our day off,” Diane said.
The officer chuckled.
I glanced down at my cleavage and noticed the bite marks on my breasts. I pulled my shirt open and rubbed them. The policeman noticed.
He looked at me with slightly more interest. “So you like it rough, eh?”
I leaned on the door of the car and bent forward. “Yes, I do.”
His eyes went to my cleavage, and his brows rose when he saw the bite marks. He pulled my blouse open slightly.
“You should have those bites checked,” he said, with genuine concern. “They could get infected.”
I undid the top button and pushed my chest toward him. His partner leaned forward to get a good look.
“Are you fellows paramedics?” I asked. “Could you check me over? I’ve got bite marks are all over my body.”
“I’d love to,” the passenger cop laughed. “But we aren’t medically trained. You’ll have to go to the fire department for that.”
“Oh, but I prefer cops,” I said. “But if you won’t examine me, my sister is a nurse and she’ll take good care of me.”
He looked at Dianne, who was hungry and in no mood to chat.
“That’s good,” the cop said. “Just make sure that you obey the nurse’s orders.”
“Oh, I have to,” I said. “Otherwise she’ll punish me.”
Dianne slapped me on the bottom hard. “Let’s go, I’m hungry.” She turned to the officer. “If you want to keep flirting with my little sister you can meet us at the breakfast café down the street.”
“Can’t,” he said. “We’re getting off shift and have to get the car back to the station. Some other time perhaps.”
“Sure.”
“I mean it,” he said.
“So do I’” Dianne answered. “Give your business card.”
The officer dug into his shirt pocket and handed her his card. She took a pen from his pocket, wrote her phone number on the card and handed them back. “And bring your handcuffs.”
“Lots of handcuffs,” I added. “And your big sticks too.”
He grinned and drove away.
“Did you give him your real phone number?” I asked Dianne.
“Sure. Did you see the muscles on his arms? He’s cute and he’s got a wicked gleam in his eye. I’ll bet he’d be pretty good in bed.”
“Especially if you are tied to it,” I said.
“That’s what I’m counting on,” she said. “Besides, maybe I can get him to arrest me and take me to the police station in handcuffs like your boyfriend did.”
“Maybe.”
We walked to my car and I noticed that Dianne was limping.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“They bit my toes,” she said. “They hurt.”
“Have you ever been bitten like that?” I asked Dianne at breakfast.
“Nothing like last night. What did you do to start all that?”
“Damned if I know,” I answered. “I just told one of them to bite my boob and that seemed to set them off.”
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I liked it.”
“Yeah. It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘oral sex.”
“Yes,” she chuckled. “But you know what I liked the best?”
“Being carried under the pole?”
“Exactly.”
“Me too. I pretended they were cannibals taking me to their village,” I told her. “And I imagined that we were being roasted over a fire.”
“You’re reading my mind,” she whispered.
“Uh huh, and I think I can understand Dolcett’s drawings now, “ I said.
“I think you need to be careful about your fantasies,” she said. “First it was hanging with hooks through your breasts, then being strapped into the electric chair, and now roasting. Don’t go off the deep end.”
“Am I the only one who needs to be careful?” I asked.
She nodded. “Oh, I admit that I’m just as bad. Maybe we both should step back and think about our lifestyles.”
We were silent for a moment.
“Ok, I thought it over,” I said. “And I’m not changing.”
“Me neither.”
“And by the way,” I added. “Why don’t you come out to the farm next weekend. Mom’s having a barbeque for her church and I think I can talk her into cooking us both.”
When I got home and stripped I found bite marks on every inch of my body, even on the soles of my feet. I took a long bath then wiped my body down with antiseptic oil.
Between Denise’s claw marks and the bites, my body looked like pure hell for a week.
It was a Sunday and I went to bed. I was sound asleep when Bob let himself in to my apartment. I usually didn’t see him on the weekends, but his wife was out of town and he wanted a woman.
He woke me up and wanted sex but I was too tired. He was horny as hell and tried to talk me into it. He even tied me up for once, and I actually went along. At least, I didn’t resist. He tied me wide open, slid himself inside and started fucking me, but seemed to lose interest when he saw the teeth marks on my body. He asked what had happened to me but all I could mumble was ‘cannibals.’
“You must have had one hell of a party,” he said disgustedly.
“Yes, I was the snack food,” I said, then I fell asleep. I don’t know if he finished screwing me or not, but when I woke up I was still partially tied to the bed.
I woke up hours later and couldn’t move. I drifted off again and dreamt that I was at the annual neighborhood picnic, and I was being cooked on a huge grill. Everyone stood around chatting while Bob basted me with barbeque sauce. When I was done they ate me. That was a weird dream because we didn’t have neighborhood picnics. I thought about it and decided that I wouldn’t have minded getting eaten by all the neighbors.
When I awoke again it took a few minutes to realize that my feet were tied wide apart and one wrist was tied to the bedpost. I was still tired and dopey and it took forever to get myself free. I pulled the covers up, rolled onto my side and went right back to sleep.
Dianne and I had many more sessions together, and we developed a mild rivalry as to which of us could act the craziest. We competed to take the most pain, to get the most attention, and to see how worked up we could make our tormentors.
Denise and Mary circulated the rumor that we were sisters and our intensity came from sibling rivalry, which began when we let boys tie us up when we were little girls. We made a reputation as a pair of psycho masochists.
Sometimes the sessions were dangerous, but always thrilling and once or twice I got scared. Mary and Denise watched over us and made sure that we weren’t injured, but they became so concerned that they told us to stop getting so crazy or they wouldn’t set any more sessions for us.
There’s really no way of scoring a competition like that, but I like to think that I outdid Dianne.
I talked to Mary and Denise about my newfound roasting fetish. I explained how sexy I’d felt fantasizing about being cooked. They listened with speaking a word.
I asked if there was any way to rig up a spit to turn my body over a low fire and if they knew of anyone who shared that kind of fetish.
“Maybe you know some man who might like to pretend to cook me,” I suggested.
“Absolutely not,” Denise said flatly.
Mary fixed me with her eyes and stared forcefully. “Forget it.”
“Why?” I asked surprised.
“That is one door that you are not going through,” Mary said.
“Cooking and cannibal fetishes are too dangerous,” Denise said. “Several women have been murdered by guys acting out those fantasies.
“There was a trial of a serial killer in Canada a few years ago who cooked several women and ate their bodies, and apparently some of those women went to him voluntarily.”
“Did they actually go along with being cooked to death?” I gasped.
“Who knows?” Denise answered. “The guy claimed that they did at his trial. I think they probably went for the submission but not to be killed.”
“A psycho in California did the same thing to a girl he hired to model for cannibal photography. She was into the fantasy but didn’t realize that he was serious about it until too late.”
“I’m just interested in the bondage aspects,” I said.
“Sure, we understand,” Denise told me. “But that part of the bondage scene actually involves a death fantasy and too many psychopaths indulge in it.”
“And you are not going anywhere near that game,” Mary said. “If you want to remain our friend you will put it out of your head.”
They were absolutely serious.
“Ok.”
We were quiet for a few minutes.
“Do you know that the police are aware of the dungeon at the store?” I asked them.
“Sure.”
“How is it that they let you get away with it?” I asked. I was afraid to ask if the storeowner was paying bribes.
“Because we aren’t breaking the law,” Denise told me. “Everything we do is legal.”
Mary nodded.
I thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess you’re right.”
“Why do you ask,” Mary wanted to know.
I told them about our conversation with the police officers.
“Yes, those fellows know us, and they know all about the store,” Denise said. “A good cop knows what goes on in his beat. You used to date a cop, you should know that.”
“They keep an eye on the place at night,” Mary said, “Along with all the other businesses along the street. They check to make sure that the doors and windows are secure.”
“They found the back door unlocked one night and called me at home,” Denise said. “I had to drive in and lock the place up. They were browsing through the magazines when I got there.”
“They were inside?”
“Sure. They searched the building to make certain that there were no burglars, then they waited.”
“Hmm, so if we left the alley door unlocked they might walk in on a torture session?”
“Would you like that?” Mary asked.
“I sure would.”
“Well, I doubt if the client who is torturing you would,” Denise said. “I can’t imagine a faster way for a man to lose his erection than to have a pair of police officers walk in on him.”
“Well, then they could just take over for him,” I said.
“Mary just shook her head.
“Were you embarrassed to find the cops reading your magazines?” I asked.
Denise looked at me like I was crazy. “Me, embarrassed?”
“Right, forget I said that,” I laughed. “I just thought that cops might have something to say about the content of your merchandise.”
“Nope.”
“So they didn’t ask for a police discount?” I laughed.
“One of them asked if I liked to be tied up like the girls in the magazines, but I set him straight.”
“Oh, did you punish him for his disrespect?”
“I threatened to, but they just laughed.”
“Too bad, I’ll bet he has no idea what he’s missing.”
“No, I don’t think that either of those men is submissive,” Mary said. “But we do have a customer from the city that comes in on a regular basis.”
“Who’s that?”
“He’s an inspector, and I won’t tell which department he’s with, but the first time he walked through and saw the dungeon, his eyes went glassy.” Mary said. “And I could tell that he was turned on.”
“Did he ask to be spanked?” I laughed.
“Not then, but he came back on his day off and paid for a two hour session,” Denise said. “And he’s been coming in once a week ever since.”
“Does he give the store special consideration?” I asked.
“No, and he pays full price,” Denise said firmly. “The owner doesn’t want any hint of bribery or misconduct, and we keep his visits strictly separate from his job.”
“His bondage sessions are private and personal,” Mary said. “Just like any other client.”
“Do any police officers come in for dominance?” I asked.
“Not that I’m aware of,” Mary replied. “But we don’t know what our clients do for a living, and none of them have ever told us that they were cops.”
“Yeah, and I’ll bet that policemen are too tough to want to be dominated anyway,” I said. “What about police women?”
Denise just looked at me and shook her head.
I thought about my friend Jill and imagined how lovely she would look naked on a cross.
“Since you won’t barbeque me, would it be ok if I fantasized about being handcuffed by a cop and screwed with his baton?” I asked.
“That’s already happened to you,” Denise said.
“Yes, but meeting those two officers reminded me how nice it was, so I’d like to do it again.”
“Do you mean spread wide open on the hood of a police cruiser?” Denise asked. “And screwed by only one cop?”
“Or would you prefer more, say about a dozen or so?” Mary added.
“Sure.”
“Female as well as male cops?”
“Of course.”
“Ok, you can dream about that to your heart’s content,” Mary said. “But that’s one of my favorite fantasies.”
“Mine too,” Denise said. “And I thought of it first.”
“You did not.”
“Did too.”
I got to act out a lightweight version of that fantasy a few months later at a party thrown by Lord L.
Mary and Denise created a little burlesque where I played a streetwalker and they wore police uniforms. (Well, almost police uniforms; they wore real police shirts and hats, but the shirts were very tight and missing a few buttons so that they were spilling out of them, especially Denise. They also wore navy blue micro skirts, matching panties and knee boots.)
The scene opened with Lady L and me leaning against a lamppost dressed like Parisian hookers. We both wore slit skirts, striped tee shirts and spike heels. Lady L wore the highest heels I’d ever seen; they must have been five inches high. I don’t know how she managed to walk in them.
Lord L went to the trouble to have a plywood mock up of a police car built, and the lady officers drove up in it. (Actually they were dragging it along the floor with their feet, but what the heck.)
They got out, looked us over and decided to question us. They started by frisking us, then peeking down our shirtfronts, then they slipped their hands under our shirts and squeezed our breasts. And just to make sure we weren’t hiding anything, they yanked our shirts down to expose our boobs. Then the lady cops decided to arrest us.
They handcuffed me, but Lady L resisted arrest. They had to subdue her and it turned into a catfight with the three of them rolling around on the floor. Lady L’s skirt ended up around her waist and her panties were in full view.
After they finally got her face down, Mary sat on her body while Denise put handcuffs on her wrists. Then she pulled her panties off. Lady L kicked and squealed but couldn’t dislodge Mary. Then they rolled her over and Mary sat on her face while Denise spread her knees and searched her pussy. This involved more kicking and muffled protests.
Satisfied that she wasn’t hiding anything up there, they put another set of handcuffs on her ankles, then leaving her lying flat (with her skirt still up) they turned their attention to me.
They lifted my skirt, yanked my panties off and searched my pussy too, then I got a set of cuffs on my ankles. They spun me around, bent me over the hood of the ‘police car’, spread my bottom and slid a baton inside me.
Mary held me down with a firm grip in my hair while Denise fucked me with her baton.
After I had an orgasm (a real one), they hauled Lady L to her feet and did the same thing to her.
The finale had Mary sitting on the hood and Denise on the trunk, with Lady L’s tongue in Denise’s pussy and mine in Mary’s.
After the skit we were given to the party guests. Mary and Denise took us to the bedrooms and handcuffed us to beds, then Lord L ushered the gentlemen in and let them take their pick.
Denise and Mary surprised us by going to bed with Lord L while the guests screwed us.
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