Tingles for Tiffany
(part 1)
After the disaster, they had to evacuate the students from
the college dormitory. Tiffany arrived home, unexpectedly, and
let herself into the house. "Mom? Dad?" she called. There was
no answer. They must be home, she thought, because the car was
in the driveway, and another, too. She looked in the kitchen and
living room, toured the upstairs bedrooms. There was no one
there. Then she decided to look in the basement.
When she opened the playroom door, she was startled to the
point where she couldn't move. She saw her dad, tied to one of
the supporting columns which held up the main floor beam.
Suddenly, a cloth soaked in ether was held over Tiffany's
face. The more she tried to scream, the more she breathed in the
anesthetic, until she passed out.
When she awoke, she was hanging upside down, with her legs
wide spread and her ankles bound to big screw eyes set into the
joists of the floor above. Her hands, hanging freely down,
brushed the concrete floor, and when she opened her eyes, she saw
she was looking at her father.
"Dad, what's going on?" she said.
"You weren't supposed to find out, Tiff, darling," he
replied.
"Explain to me. Why am I hanging here?"
A deep masculine voice behind her answered: "Didn't you ever
wonder why your father got three promotions in less than two
years? He and your mother agreed to allow me to act out my
fantasies, and you got to attend college. I paid for it."
"Who are you?"
"I can't afford having you identify me. First, you must
agree to keep this secret. Otherwise..."
She heard her mother, somewhere behind her: "Tiffany, say
you will."
"Mom, are you all right?" Tiffany said, her voice loud and
trembling.
"Yes, Tiffany, my dear. But you had better agree to keep
this secret."
"Say yes, Tiff," said her father, evenly.
"Promise the man," advised her mother.
"OK, I promise to keep this secret," said Tiffany.
"A wise decision," said the man, as he stepped in front of
her. The first thing Tiffany saw was shiny leather boots, and
then, as she looked upward, for her head hung at about the level
of the man's knees, she saw a rather handsome man, thirty or
forty, dressed in some kind of uniform, like a State Trooper, or
a Nazi. "Your cooperation, my dear, will be rewarded. Tell me,
Tiffany, do you love your mother?"
"Yes, of course."
"You wouldn't want to see her suffer."
"No, of course not."
"Well, then, my dear, in order to spare your mother more
pain than she expects, you will have to suffer some pain,
yourself. But, of course, you love your mother, so you will
suffer gladly, to spare her, is that not so? Just as your father
suffers, by having to watch his wife, and now his daughter,
subjected to punishment for his sake."
Tiffany did not know what to say, so she said nothing. Her
blood was rushing to her head, and she couldn't really believe
this was happening to her. Could it be some sort of nightmare?
Reaching up with a razor blade, the man began to cut the
outer seam of Tiffany's jeans. "Hey!" she shouted, "These are my
favorite pair."
"Do be quiet, Tiffany," said her mother. "I'll buy you new
ones."
When the man had slit the cloth all the way to the
waistband, he began on the other leg. When he cut through the
second side, there was nothing to hold the jeans on, and they
fell to the floor, leaving Tiffany's legs naked, her private
place exposed, except for the skimpy cotton panties she wore.
She had chosen high-cut panties, with just a thong in the back,
between her lower cheeks, so that there would be no panty line
showing through her tight jeans. She had never imagined that
anyone would see them. As the jeans fell off, the tails of
Tiffany's men's shirt fell down, covering her face and leaving
her middle bare. She kept thinking to herself that she should be
embarrassed, but the whole experience was too exciting.
She felt the shirt being dragged over her head and arms, and
she put her chin against her chest, looking almost wonderingly at
her ample breasts, almost falling out of her bra, since she was
hanging upside down. And then the man pulled her bra off, so
that she was naked, but for her running shoes and panties. The
man reached up to the ceiling and pulled off her shoes and socks,
taking a moment to tickle her feet, which made her wriggle. Her
breasts jiggled when she moved.
She looked at her father, bound to the post just a few feet
away, and realized that he probably hadn't seen her bare breasts
since she was about thirteen. He seemed entranced by what he
saw, her swaying breasts, and then, as the man cut away her
skimpy panties, a full view of her pubic area. Never, she
thought, had she showed her lush pubic hair to any family member;
she should feel embarrassed, shouldn't she? Somehow, the
excitement, the fear, being helpless in the hands of this strange
man made the embarrassment of being naked seem inconsequential.
The man in the uniform tied Tiffany's wrists together with a
soft cloth strip and lifted, tying it to a hook on one of the
joists overhead, pulling her body upward, making her bend at the
hips. Well, at least that relieved the discomfort of having the
blood rush to her head. She now hung, rump forward, with her
legs spread wide apart and her crotch naked, utterly exposed and
vulnerable. When she raised her eyes from her own genital
region, she found she was looking at her mother's.
There, before her eyes, her mother was spread out naked on
the ping pong table. Her legs formed a wide vee, either side of
her hairless pubic area; they were straight and taut, tied with
the sort of strong rubber ropes truckers use to secure a tarp.
Her arms, also, were taut and spread. Like Tiffany, she had big
breasts, but age had lessened their elasticity, and they lay
spread out on the mother's chest like pillows on a bed. The
mother's tummy was no longer flat. Tiffany saw a gentle bulge
above her mother's mount of Venus, and her belly button was
deeply indented, the result of a thickening of the sub-cutaneous
fat around it. Still, for age forty-something, she was a
handsome woman.
"Slave Two," the man said, "you may watch what happens to
Slave One, your mother. Then we will attend to you."
Tiffany watched, with horror and fascination, as the man ran
his hands over her mother's body and stroked her thighs. He
carried a riding crop, and from time to time he would poke her
with it, pushing her breast from side to side, or sliding the
leather loop on the end over her mother's hairless vulva. While
her mother was tied so tightly she could barely move, it seemed
to Tiffany that she shivered when the man touched her womanly
parts. Tiffany turned her head and saw her father, unable to
interfere, watching intently as his wife was handled by this
other man. It was bizarre, unreal.
The man had a good supply of rubber goods and a variety of
metal and plastic objects.
He began by touching the mother's right nipple, stroking it,
until it became erect. Then, when he had something to hold on
to, he pulled her nipple up and slipped a rubber noose around it,
which he drew tight. The noose attached to a hook-ended elastic
rope. When the other hook was hooked over another of the many
screw eyes in the joists overhead, Tiffany saw her mother's
breast drawn up in a tall cone, contrasting with the other
breast, which still lay spread out upon her chest. Tiffany
thought it must hurt, but her mother didn't say anything.
The man repeated the treatment with the other breast.
Tiffany was reminded of the "missile nose cone" bras she had seen
in old pictures from the Fifties.
Next, the strange man wrapped stretchy rubber tubing around
the mother's breasts, starting at chest wall and wrapping upward
in a spiral. That made each breast tall and cylindrical. The
flesh around the areola bulged outward, like the glans of a giant
penis, and it turned pink, as the pressure of the rubber trapped
blood in the breast.
The man then took rubber straps and placed them around the
mother's thighs, high up, pulling them tight, so that the flesh
bulged around the edges. Tiffany watched, amazed, as the straps
pressed into her mother's tender flesh and her legs flushed pink.
Then the man went to the mother's crotch and parted her
labia with his fingers. Tiffany could see right in, see the
ragged inner lips. He put a metal clamp on each of the outer
lips, squeezing them under the pressure. Her mother endured the
torture without a sound. Then the man used hooked, elastic bands
to attach to cunt-clamps to the straps on the mother's widespread
legs. Her vulva gaped open, stretched wide, and the mother
grunted.
Her inner lips were perforated, like pierced ear lobes, and
a set of hooks and elastics pulled the inner lips apart,
revealing the pink tunnel of the mother's vagina. Tiffany had
never seen such a spectacle, though she recalled that she must
have been born through that hole. Though it was stretched wide,
it seemed hardly possible that a baby's head could have passed
through it.
At the apex of the inner lips, the man found the mother's
clitoris, a kind of mini-penis which bulged up pinkly. He
fingered it, which caused another groan from the mother, but he
refrained from putting a clamp on it.
While Tiffany felt naked and exposed, her position was
nothing, compared to her mother's. Her mother had been subjected
to the most humiliating treatment the naive Tiffany could
imagine. Everything about her mother which was womanly had been
exposed and abused -- her breasts, her white, soft, womanly skin,
her vulva and vagina. And all of this was done in plain view of
her husband! What more degradation could she endure?
Without warning, the man swung his riding crop and snapped
the leather end exactly on the mother's swollen clitoris. She
screamed, a great howl of agony.
"Mother," Tiffany said, "are you all right?"
"It hurts, Tiffany," her mother said, "but there's no
permanent harm done."
"Why do you let him do this to you?"
"Tiffany, darling. We couldn't afford to send you to
college, if your father hadn't been promoted and I was still
working for minimum wage. I can't stop now. Your father would
be fired, and we'd all be in a fix."
"Mother," said Tiffany, "I never dreamed you'd submit to
torture, just so I could go to college. I promise, I'll study
very hard. I'll try to make it up to you."
The man brought the riding crop down hard, just below the
mother's navel, leaving a pink stripe across her belly. The
mother shrieked.
"NO!" shouted Tiffany. "Don't hurt her."
The man whirled and lashed out several times at Tiffany,
whipping both buttocks and the tender inner sides of her thighs,
leaving red bruises. His last blow was directly between
Tiffany's widespread legs; squarely on her tender labia. Tiffany
had tried to hold back, but that last blow made her cry
uncontrollably. He ran a hand along the ridge of her sartorius
muscle, stretched taut, so that it stood out from her thigh. "I
always did have a thing for young, lean flesh," he said. He put
down the whip and used both hands to reach between Tiffany's legs
and squeeze her ample breasts. Then he said, "If you don't want
to see your mother hurt, you must take her punishment for her."
Through her tears, Tiffany said, "Yes, she did it for me. I
deserve the punishment, not her."
The man turned to the mother, gave her three strokes for no
good reason, and then put a box under her head, raising her face
so she could look directly between her daughter's beaten thighs.
"Watch," he said. Tiffany shuddered inwardly, wondering what
would come next.
It was strangely exciting. She was quite helpless, and
neither her mother nor her father, though they might watch, could
ever blame her for it, even if she behaved shamelessly under
torture.
The man started to work on Tiffany, while her mother
watched, still stretched on the table with her cunt wide open.
First the man wrapped Tiffany's breasts with rubber, as he had
her mother's. Tiffany had firmer breasts, so there were only a
few turns around the base of each breast, forcing the rest to
bulge tautly forward. Tiffany could look down, see them turning
pink, see the nipples more erect than she would have thought
possible. Tiffany realized that the tingles from her tortured
breasts were rather exciting, even nice.
The man put rubber straps around Tiffany's thighs, then ran
his fingers through her curly pubic hairs. "These will have to
go," he said, "but not yet. We can have a grand time doing
that." He placed a clamp on one outer lip of Tiffany's vulva and
rubber banded it to a strap on her leg, stretching the sensitive
flesh out and away from its normal position. He did the same to
the other lip, leaving her vulva gaping wide open, as her
mother's did. He even held up a mirror, so Tiffany could look.
Of course, the clamps pinched, but the discomfort was not
severe. It was exciting. Tiffany could think of nothing but her
own genitals. This intense stimulation, and the sense of danger,
had Tiffany's pulse pounding, and all she could think of was the
variety of sensations from her tortured skin.
"Hmm," the man said, looking into Tiffany's gaping vulva,
"it seems a bit wet." Tiffany strained against the bindings
which held her, as the pain-pleasure between her legs drove her
crazy.
The "policeman" picked up a device which looked like a
flashlight, except a cord came out from where the bulb would be,
and on the end of the cord was a silver egg. He turned the
switch on and passed the egg slowly along the open groove of
Tiffany's sex. The egg vibrated strongly, causing exciting
tingles wherever it touched her sensitive pink membranes. Then
he placed the egg below her sexbox and pushed hard.
Tiffany felt the vibrating egg being forced into her rectum,
so hard that her weight was lifted, until it popped in and she
was left to swing back and forth, a pendulum, unable to stop.
The battery case swung on the end of its cord, pulling the egg
against Tiffany's anal sphincter muscles, which had clamped
around the cord. The vibrations transmitted all through the
muscles between her legs and made her feel as if everything below
her navel was in chaos. Add to that the aching, tingling feeling
in her engorged breasts, feeling as if they were going to burst,
and she could barely notice anything going on in the room. All
she could think of was the incredible sensory overload in her
pelvis.
So Tiffany was surprised when she saw her mother standing
before her, the mother's breasts still bound and standing out
like erect penises. The man took one bound breast and pushed it
against Tiffany's pink groove, teasing her as the stiff nipple
parted the inner lips and moved up and down, pressing against the
clitoris. The pressure of the bulging breast in her crotch
stopped Tiffany's swinging. She looked down, amazed to see
herself being fucked with her own mother's breast.
Suddenly, the man pulled the mother back and forced her face
down between her daughter's parted thighs. He snapped his
fingers, and she ran her tongue along the open groove of
Tiffany's vulva. "No, Mother," Tiffany shouted. "OH, Oh, no."
Her mother's mouth found Tiffany's clitoris. "Oh, no. Oh, yes.
Oh, God, what's happening to me?"
To the tingles in her breasts and the vibrations in her
bowels, there was added a new set of sensations, as if some
animal was inside her vagina, trying to escape, and the tingles,
the almost electric excitement centered on her clitoris drove
Tiffany out of control. "Oh, God! OH, oh, oh, AAAhhh!" Her body
shook. A machine gun was firing somewhere inside her, and there
were sparks in her vision and a roaring in her ears, as she
experienced an orgasm more violent than she could have imagined.
Tiffany came down off her high. Cool air wafted across the
drenched membranes of her gaping cunt. The vibrator in her
rectum still buzzed, but in her dreamy state, she dismissed it.
She swung slowly, there in the basement, and time seemed out of
joint.
To her horror, she heard the stranger ordering her mother:
"Slave One, do it again." He began snapping his fingers.
Her mother bent again, to place her tongue against Tiffany's
wet inner lips, and lapped at her daughter's wet love tunnel to
the time of the man's snapping fingers. The sensations began
again, a first pleasant, but so insistent, so hypnotizing, that
Tiffany, while she tried to resist, found her body responding,
quite out of her control. Straining against her bonds, she found
herself shuddering with another orgasm, and then another, until
the tingles radiating from her gaping vulva seemed more painful
than pleasurable. Gasping, shouting, pleading for mercy, she
went out of control, into a delirium of sexual frenzy.
