When your imagination just isn't cutting it!

(An unexpected continuation of this previous bit.)

“If you had just kept still, we would have let you cum,” they told her with feigned earnestness, as this was a lie. It didn’t matter what she did; they had formed a private pact that they would withhold her orgasms for a week, and then see where it went from there. She didn’t know of their timetable of course, so it all just seemed interminable to her, especially since they continued to stimulate her.

But them saying some variation of this statement—telling her that they had planned to let her cum if only she’d done this or that—It never failed to make her cry—the thought that she herself had ruined her chance to finally obtain her pleasure was incredibly frustrating.

This time they had left her unbound but ordered her to hold herself in a spread eagle on the futon Brian had obtained. Frank wrapped a thinnish rope around the base of her breasts, causing her flesh to bulge and tauten most becomingly. Her tits jutted out as if they’d been inflated. Then they set about taking turns switching her tied-up breasts as they carried on a conversation about her “teats”. Of course she held her position for as best and long as she could, and they had been disappointed because she had performed so well through their punishment of her breasts. But then they crowded around her and stared at her weeping cunt, and in a sudden flush of embarrassment, she made as if to close her legs, and they had her.

Now she was sobbing breathlessly, babbling her entreaties for them to relent, to fuck her, to avail themselves in her, any hole they liked. Rick ignored her by rolling her over onto her front and connecting her four cuffs together behind her back. “Maybe next time, Toy,” he said with faux sympathy.