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Chained Heat

35280 words

Style: Fem Dom - F/F, Male Dom - M/F

There was a dark hunger in Rory, one she could only satisfy by submitting to masochistic bondage games. But knowing no trustworthy men to indulge her kinky desires, she turned to Angie, an acquaintance from school, a leather clad punk lesbian she knew had always wanted her. Though she had no desire whatever to engage in sex with another woman, being forced to perform, being bound and punished, set her mind aflame, and set her lithe young body writhing with heat. The more degraded she felt, the hotter the flame burned, and as Angie taunted and tormented her, and gave her body to her friends, both male and female, the flames roared in Rory's mind and she gave herself to them. Getting too close to the flame, however, can burn, and as the days turned into months Rory found herself adrift on a hot sea of passion and lust, a plaything for anyone's enjoyment, passed around and used in live sex shows, revelling in her own degradation and abuse.

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The story of my life – so far – is kind of a perverted one. And so I knew
a lot of people would be interested in reading about it. I am and have always been an exhibitionist, too, so the thought of a bunch of people reading about me and getting all excited and turned on is a real turn-on for me.
I am not your average beauty queen. In fact, I’m not a beauty queen, or average in anything. I’ve never really liked the kinds of things other girls like, except, of course, that I like being seen as beautiful. I like being admired, being looked at by men and women. I never let anyone know it, of course, but I do like it. And I like to tease.
I am a natural blonde, and I have a kind of egg-shaped face, with a snub nose, and full lips. My skin is very pale and Nordic, and I am normal height with a fairly normal build – other than a small, but terrifically firm little round butt. My breasts are high and firm and round, and while I’m not busty, they’re a nice size. I am beautiful, but would not win many beauty contests. I don’t have that fragile, ethereal look, but rather, the look of one who had a lot of freckles when she was younger – which I did, liked to make mud pies, which I didn’t, and got into lots of arguments, which I still do.
I’m strong-willed, generally know what I want, and am rarely deterred in going to get it.
And that comes to sex, too, though I have to admit, that my sexual hunger is such that it gets me into trouble, and my independence and strong will can melt away in the face of enough heat and excitement. When I’m really turned on, there’s nothing I care about but getting off, and almost nothing I won’t do to achieve that.
The Internet was a revelation to me. There were so many nasty things on it! I learned a lot about kinky sex, and found some of it intriguing. Stuff that most other people curled their lip at, and thought disgusting, struck some kind of chord deep within me. I still don’t know why, but it did and does.
I had always, for example, been fascinated by bondage. Even when I was a young girl, and didn’t know what bondage was, and had no idea it could be connected to sex, I still found it fascinating to see girls getting “tied up”. Maybe it was a budding masochism, or maybe just a strange obsession with the idea of being helpless and controlled. But even when I was very young I fantasized about being tied up, a prisoner to some kind of pirate or to Indians or bank robbers or whatever.
Once I became sexually active I acted pretty much like most girls, except in my desire to get as much sex as possible, perhaps. I loved sex from the start. No terrible experiences here! No sense of guilt or shame, either. I quickly became, in a word, a slut, with a reputation to match. My enthusiasm for sex was not considered acceptable, and my knowledge and understanding of boys did not clue me in quickly enough to how widely they would spread news of what I did with them, and how I reacted to what they did to me.
But that was all just sex. A novice at it, a wide-eyed, if delighted experimenter, I was quite happy with fucking boys, one at a time, for several years without ever delving into anything you might really call kinky. Oh sure, I had a lot of “boyfriends” and I fucked a lot of guys in cars, closets, parks, basements and garages without ever even going on a date to begin with. But I was a pretty vanilla slut. You know what I mean? I mean, I wouldn’t even let them fuck me in the ass at first!
The Internet was what made me a slut. The Internet exposed me to ideas I would never have had on my own, and probably never would have encountered unless, by chance, I ran into a guy who had such kinky ideas to begin with. And frankly, most perves are older. The teenage boys I was fucking were more than content with just doing me. They didn’t have all kinds of weird ideas about how to make our fucking more complicated or exciting. If I’d asked one to spank me he would have thought I was crazy.
Anyway, having such a deep and abiding interest in sex, I naturally explored the world of sex to be found on the internet, and it gave me a lot of wicked, nasty ideas.
One of the first wicked and nasty ideas I had was to video tape myself and put it on the internet. I did that a number of times – not showing my face, of course. First it was just partial nudity, pictures. Then it was videos of me naked, fondling myself. Then came masturbation, again with my face covered, and uploaded so thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of men could watch and drool over me.
When I got my first job, that gave me money to play with. And one of the first things I wanted to buy was a vibrator. Naturally, I did it on the internet. I wasn’t about to go into one of those gross little stores filled with middle aged men wearing raincoats (yes, I know it’s a clichĂ© but what do you expect from a teenager). It was while I was buying a vibrator that I came across some of the other kinky toys you could buy.
Masks and hoods. That caught my eye, for I had been exposing myself on the internet for some time, and I had the idea these would be handy. Of course, they turned out to be bondage masks and discipline hoods, and frankly, most of them looked silly, like leather bags or ski masks or cat woman outfits. The one that didn’t, was a sort of very soft, perforated leather hood. It squeezed tight around my face, but I could see through it after a fashion. At the same time, no one could see my face.
I decided to buy it, not for any kind of bondage purpose, but to aid me in my nasty exhibitionistic games on the internet. But while I was looking at the hoods, I came across other things.
Including the first set of leather restraints I had ever seen.
That twigged something inside me, and the thought of my wearing them, helpless, suddenly became intensely erotic. I was wet, just staring at them on the computer screen. My old interest in helplessness and being tied up suddenly ran head first into my slutty delight in sex and the two formed something new, and nasty. I began to have my first really kinky fantasies.
They really took off when I saw myself in my first bondage video. I had the soft leather hood completely covering my face and head – tight against my face, with a hard collar which buckled around my throat. The leather restraints were held together with Velcro, and I was limber enough that I could actually put the restraints securely around my wrists while they were in front of me, then use my teeth and the corner edge of a table to clip them together, then slide my arms under my buttocks so they were behind my back.
That is what I did after school one day. I was able to see myself in the mirror, and my pussy became instantly sopping wet. I looked so incredibly hot, so erotic and exotic! I looked helpless, a sexual toy, a sexual prisoner! I hadn’t been so aroused in quite some time.
I had set up the camera to snap pictures every five seconds. I posed for it again and again, turning, positioning my body in different ways as the light flashed again and again and again. All of this involved stopping several times to reposition the camera, of course, which meant I had to keep sliding my arms back under my buttocks to get them in front of me. It was a good thing I was so limber!
In the end, though (no pun intended), I had a bunch of pictures of me naked and in bondage, some standing, some kneeling, some bent over, some on my back. They were some great pictures, including some with the vibrator partially sticking out of my pussy.
You can’t imagine how hot that made me. I mean, I was just standing there in the middle of the room, naked, hooded, wrists bound behind my back, with about an inch of the vibrator sticking out of my pussy. I artfully posed bent over a little, my head turned over my shoulder. That was the best of the pictures, cause you could see the side of my bare breast, my bound wrists, my ass, and the vibrator sticking out of me. It was really hot.
I uploaded them all to the Internet so people could see them, and comment. Which they did. Boy did they ever. They said the nastiest things! Some of them were even aggressively crude and nasty and even menacing. I was just as glad they had no idea who or where I was! But still, it made me wet reading people, mostly men, but even some women, writing how hot and sexy I looked, and the things they’d like to do to me if they were here.
I didn’t know if they were fat or thin, tall or short, old or young, ugly or handsome, man or woman (I suspected some of those who claimed to be women weren’t). But it didn’t really matter. The thought that I was getting all these people hard (or wet as the case may be) just by looking at my body was a real ego trip, and made me burn with excitement and hunger.
It was way better than when I went out to a mall or something in tight white pants and tight, midriff baring tank that squeezed across my chest. Oh I got lots of looks then, sideways, eyes rolling across me, eyes flicking up and down, men of all ages looking at me and going “Mmmmmmm.” I knew it, and it had always been a boost to my ego. But this was much more.
They all had suggestions about what they wanted me to do next, and most of that involved seeing me in action with another person, man or woman. But I wasn’t ready for that, yet, and had no one to do it with. I did want to make a video, though, but that took some thought. Obviously what I could do with my wrists locked behind my back was limited.
First, I went to the attic. I positioned the camera carefully, then found a small chain to attach to my linked restraints and attached it to a hook overhead. After some experimenting I hooked it at such a length that I was on the balls of my feet – with the vibrator jammed almost painfully deep into my pussy. I had the camera snap a number of pictures of me like that, then switched it to video and just kind of stood there.
It was summer, and afternoon, and very hot in the attic, and my heart was pounding with excitement, my pulse racing. The hood was perforated but it was still even hotter inside. I could have killed myself, idiot that I was. I was careless. I hadn’t really thought about something like heat stroke, hadn’t intended to stand there for all that long. But the strain, the pull on my arms, the way my nude body was stretched out, the sense of helplessness, and the buzzing vibrator inside me, all served to mesmerize me.
I was spellbound, reveling in my sense of victim hood, moaning softly as I half hung there, the padded leather tight and somewhat painful against my wrists, my ankles weakening and beginning to tremble as I stood on the balls of my feet. I was dripping wet inside and out, sweat trickling slowly down my body as I stood there. My pussy was quivering and throbbing and pulsing and squeezing tight around the vibrator.
Several times I drew my toes up to hang freely, groaning at the increased pressure against my wrists, and on my arms and shoulders. Several times I opened my legs, shifting my feet apart on the floor to the point I was hanging freely. And inside the hood, it was sweltering, my hair soaking wet and matted against my skull.
The first orgasm shook me like a rag doll. I mean that literally. Viewing myself afterwards, watching my body thrash and twist and kick and swing, I looked like a maddened thing. I wasn’t gagged, so the sound of my gurgling, gasping, grunting, moaning voice was even more rawly sexual.
The orgasm sapped me of energy, and at the same time left me feeling a deep sense of languorous contentment and ease. I groaned weakly, eyes slitted under the hood, and hung there by the wrists, the backs of my toes limp against the floor, not caring about anything, reveling in that deep sense of sexual satisfaction, my jaw slack, my body still sweating profusely.
The heat almost overcame me. I was too fixed on my sexual excitement. I managed to work up the energy to spread my legs a lot more, then close them and rub my thighs together. I came again, powerfully, and then hung there again, now not entirely conscious, gasping weakly. The floor beneath me was wet with my sweat – and something more. My pussy had become so soaking wet, my orgasms so intense, that my pussy juices had seeped out around the vibrator and trickled down my legs.
What saved me was a sudden burst of alarm which woke my mind up somewhat. It wasn’t alarm at the danger, but that I didn’t know what time it was. Was it late now? Were my parents due home? The thought of one of them coming up here and finding me like this was sufficiently horrifying that it leant me energy, enough energy to force myself to my toes and slip the linked restraints over the edge of the hook.
I fell awkwardly to the floor, surprised by my dizziness and weakness, and newly aware of just how hot I had become and how hard it was to breath in that overheated attic, in that overheated hood.
I fumbled at the hood with my fingers, and almost fainted before I got it off. I gasped for breath, feeling suddenly ten or twenty degrees cooler, but that coolness showed me how soaking wet my head and face were. I gasped weakly, and tried to stand, but fell again. So I crawled, instead, partly on my belly, partly on my knees and hands, making it to the stairs, and then slid down them slowly, on my bottom, grasping the hand rail.
I opened the door and fell out onto the second floor, gasping for breath. There was air conditioning here, and again I became aware, with some amazement, at how utterly soaking wet I was top to bottom. I tried to get the restraints off, but couldn’t at first, for my head was too fuzzy. I did make it to the bathroom, though, and pulled myself up to the sink to drink – and drink – and drink. After that I was able to get the restraints off, and then recovered considerably.
That did not dissuade me, of course, not after I witnessed the video, not with the memories of how powerful those comes had been. In fact, staring at myself, watching myself, I masturbated frantically and came several more times in quick succession as I watched myself on the computer monitor.
But it did make me realize how dangerous it was to play bondage games by myself. It wasn’t really fear of my health, for at my age I thought myself practically immortal. It was the fear of being rendered temporarily unconscious or dazed and then being found by my parents, who, at that time, probably still thought I was a virgin.
I uploaded the video onto the internet, of course, through the same anonymous reposter I had been using. And I got a flood of excited, often obscene responses telling me how hot and sexy I was, and all the nasty things they wanted to do to me. Several people said they had come just looking at me. Wow. Imagine making people climax without ever even touching them!
You might think it would be easy to find a partner, for there were almost no limits to how many men would be salivating at the thought of “helping” a hot, sexy young girl who wanted to do bondage sex. But most men, especially younger ones, had little interest in bondage, and most of those my age would have wrinkled their noses and made odd faces at me for suggesting it.
And it wasn’t as if those who were into it were easy to find. It wasn’t like they had signs on their faces or little badges that told me what their deepest fantasies were. Nor was I about to just accept any old pervert from the Internet. It had to be someone I sort of knew and could trust to keep my secret. I had enough of a reputation as a slut. I didn’t need an even worse one.
And so I settled on Angie Foster. Angie was pretty notorious at school, or had been before she’d been expelled. She was probably the only one with a worse reputation than mine. That was because Angie was a dyke. She was slim, with a pretty face and narrow chin, but she wore her hair dyed jet black, and kept short and spiky, except in front. She wore tight black jeans with chain belts, tight black tank tops, and leather jackets, with studded leather wrist bands. She smoked a lot, cursed a lot, and had a permanent sneer on her face, and a real attitude problem.
She had no job, of course, for who would hire her? She got welfare, and after having been thrown out by her parents, lived in a tiny room above a pizza shop. I still knew her, sort of, because I ran into her at the mall often enough, or at the local park where a lot of us hung out.
Now despite being a slut, I had never really had much to do with girls. I mean, sexually speaking. I had always craved penetration, you see, and girls just didn’t have much to help me with there. Angie and I were cordial, maybe because we were both kind of looked down on, but weren’t what you would call friends.
Anyway, the idea of using Angie came to me all of a sudden when I was in the park one evening. There she was over by a bush, sitting cross-legged on the grass, having a smoke, and the idea just popped into my head. Right away I felt a hot surge of excitement. It was as though the idea of having sex with a girl suddenly just occurred to me, and I found it nastily exciting.
No, it was more than that. It was because of the thought of giving myself to her, letting her do what she wanted to me, it was the though that I didn’t really want to have sex with girls, but was going to let her use me, let her do what she wanted to me, in order to satisfy this other dark, nasty hunger of mine.
I didn’t think for a minute that I was going to enjoy anything she would do to me in the way of lesbian sex. That wasn’t it. I thought I would have to endure it, that I would be forced to do things to her I didn’t like, all helpless like, all tied up. That was what turned me on. It was the thought of me naked and tied up, and at her mercy (at anyone’s mercy) that had my pussy thrumming with excitement.
I think a part of me thought it would be degrading, too, and unpleasant, and that, strangely, made it even more exciting.



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