Humiliating Barbie
by Chrissycravesit.
Rhonda and I have always been competitive even when we were toddlers. Maturity had done little to dampen our enthusiam for a contest, albiet that, by the time we reached our teens,the competition became somewhat lopsided. Rhonda could never emulate my popularity, especially among the boys. Yet, a natural competitiveness, even if tinged with envy, falls well short of explaining her recent hostility.
I know that she has never really forgiven me for beating her to the back seat of Gareth Jones’ Alpha Romeo. “Jesus Christ!” We were young, barely eighteen and there was the thrill of my coronation. More to the point, Rhonda could not seriously have believed that the captain of the football team and allround hunk would have anything to do with her no matter how hard she wished it were otherwise. Boys like that were destined to bed the local Strawberry Queen and not some prized cow. Such is the way of the real world. Thereafter, however, Rhonda persisted in calling me Barbie, knowing full well how I hated that abbreviation of my name and all that its use implied. If that insult didn’t sate her desire for vengence, I figure that ruining my engagement party by spilling half a bottle of red over my Versace had roughly evened the score. Surely, there had to be more to her recent animosity than some old wound.
No, from the very moment she fell for Seamus Fogarty, Rhonda had changed for the worse. She’d developed an open antagonism toward me the extent of which was, at times, alarming. There are those who believe Seamus to be some sort of Celtic warlock. For mine, he’s nothing more than a budding sociopath. Whatever the truth, he’s convinced her that she can control people’s minds. I mean seriously; what a joke!
So a now gothic Rhonda spends her days reciting bizarre Goidelic incantations and giving me the evil eye. The poor idiot has on several occasions prevailed upon me to listen to what she calls ancient rhymes (more like ancient babble if you ask me). When I’ve had nothing better to do, I have complied. After all, we are related. Not surprisingly, though, I’ve always drifted off before the conclusion. I never did have an ear for foreign languages new or old and I’ve no tolerance for silly games either. The only trouble is that, while I’ve not been paying any attention to Rhonda, I’ve obviously not been paying much attention to anything else; winding up in places and situations and not remembering how I managed to do so.
So it was this afternoon. Rhonda came about blithering away and I turned off half way through. I certainly don’t remember inviting her into my bedroom and I’ve only a vague notion that it was on her orders that I removed my clothes. Nonetheless, dimly dawns an awareness that Rhonda’s will has etched its way through my consciousness.
“Shit!” I’ve got to get a grip on myself. I can’t let this stupid bitch ruin my life.
Things are out of hand; Rhonda, my porky pig of a cousin, standing over me, holding sway as if I were her Slave. She’s accompanied by a St Bernard.
“Your Joking right? You can’t be serious! Please, Rhonda don’t ... This is sick ... For God’s sake! You can’t! You wouldn’t! ...Whatever you want, you can have just don’t...”
The stupid mutt’s aroused and Rhonda is eagerly murmuring encouragement in response to its sniffing and licking my exposed genitals. To my dismay, the brief and irregular rasping of the dog’s tongue transmits an undeniable tension through my loins. I am, entirely naked kneeling against the side of my bed, legs apart presenting my sex to a dog. What a slut I’ve become. “God!” Every time I even think the ‘s’ word it makes me horny. Don’t want to be this way; I’ve got to concentrate. Can’t let her reasoning dominate. I can remember when humiliation wasn’t synonymous with sexual excitement. “Shit no!” Not the ‘h’ word; another word that arouses. “Christ!” If only the dog would stop licking me. Maybe then I could compose myself enough to push Rhonda out my head. But his cold nose tickles and excites and all I can focus upon is how embarrassing that feels. “Fuck!” Even that ‘e’ word stimulates.
Bruno’s a massive slobbering hound covered in a thick shaggy coat. Judging by appearance, he, unquestionably, has the power to pull a grown man, perhaps even a baby hippo like Rhonda, free of any snow drift.
“Shit!” Breathing is difficult and painful; the beast’s mounted, his immense body pressing my lower ribs and diapragm hard against the side of the bed. “Christ!” The arch in my back must surely collapse under the weight of his chest. Adrenalin surging through my every fibre, my heart pounding such that I feel my brain might explode under the pressure of my racing pulse. I must remain in control, can’t let this happen to me, I must resist. Maybe, if I could just bring my thighs together? No such luck, the bitch’s grip upon my will is iron cast. “Jesus, No! Rhonda, Please.... I’m begging...”
Paralysis and panic grasp my very soul. Bruno’s haphazardly set about his search for my opening. Several errant thrusts flounder about my soft smooth mound and upon my inner thighs, but my prayers go unanswered as his febrile member ultimately slips between my outer lips. “Okay Rhonda you’ve proved that I’m a slut, that I’ll even let a dog fuck me, for God’s sake let it end!” “Oh shit …yes!” That ‘s’ word again. In spite of my revulsion, the silky glide of satin sheets beneath my breasts brings my nipples to attention.
Bruno’s early efforts at intercourse are not at all what I had expected. Complete penetration brings with it a strange mixture of sensations. His penis is certainly longer than I’d anticipated, Rodger, my fiancé, is over six foot and Bruno’s every bit his measure. There’s the welcome warmth of his erection pushing between my pulsing lips and yet his penis is softer and narrower than any I’ve experienced before. Apprehension continues to mount as a lack of rhythm in Bruno’s early work suggests some inexperience. Apprehension, however, is a wasted emotion in the circumstances. Even were I mentally capable of terminating Rhonda’s little experiment in torture, Bruno’s weight resting squarely against my spine is sufficient to ensure that any effort to reject his advances would prove futile. Despite my disgust, this realisation prompts a smear of lubricant to surface within my labium.
The fervent sensations of taboo and humiliation meld to form an overwhelming aphrodisiac. Conscious of the warmth flooding my loins, my laboured breathing now produces slutty, guttural grunts and groans in response to Bruno’s more vigorous thrusts. “OH shit! ... Oh God! ....ummm.” The ‘h’ and ‘s’ words in close proximity. “Please! No More! Rhonda why....?”
With my vulvae enveloping his full length Bruno’s desire becomes patent. Once more the blend of sensations surprises. His thrusts are faster and more rhythmic than I was expecting, almost staccato. They are accompanied by brutal pressure driving his narrow tip deep within me. Before long, intense pleasure accompanies each assault. Peculiar, though, is the exquisite awareness that Bruno’s erection is somehow thickening, impinging my ‘G spot’. “Oh God....ummmm ....Yes, fill my cleft ...oh yessss...!” Waves of gratification echo against my consciousness compelling my submission.
All reticence now abandoned, my hips bucking against his every incursion, I splay my thighs in an effort to accommodate the continued swelling of Bruno’s penis. Each ecstatic thrust of his pelvis building the pressure behind my throbbing clit; “Oh God.... ummm….. Oh shit.... ummmmm.... Oh yessss!” It’s seventh heaven, I just know I’ll ignite at the slightest spark.
Despite the coolness of autumn beads of perspiration daub a path along my cleavage. The knowledge that I’m irrevocably impaled upon Bruno’s fully engorged penis only amplifies the exhilaration. His now rock like tip pressuring my cervix, I’ve never felt so wanton. My very essence craves him, I am his for the taking. “Oh yesss... Fuck meee!”
“Oh my God!” I bite hard on my bottom lip as a powerful thrust from Bruno ushers me across the threshold between pleasure and pain. “Shittt! Yessss, Bruno make meeee.... your Biiitchhh.” Suddenly, he lifts his weight from my spine and turns his body away from mine. Sweet spasms of satisafaction now accompany even the slightest motion. In vain, I rail against his momentary lack of activity, my pelvis shunting hard aginst his bulbous rod. “Oh God noooo! Bruno, don’t ..ummmmm....stop nnnnowwww!” Why would he stop now, when I’m so close to a thunderous climax? Barely sufficient time for the thought to nestle but Bruno’s erection erupts. The first discharge of his semen is all that is needed to make my fevered sheath pulsate through an orgasm. Bruno’s detonation is metronomic and his cum is hot, hotter than any I’ve known. His steady ejaculation forces heat into my every nook. The sensation is volcanic I’ve never been “sooooo hoooot”. My aching crocth erupts for a second time.
I’m torn between exhaustion and desire. Still Bruno’s massive penis remains fused within me, its slightest quiver transmits arcs of pleasure through my core. Rhonda’s sitting on the bed my cell phone in hand, filming my torment. “Please Rhonda, I’m begging, pleading ....Please you’ve had your fun, your revenge, whatever .... No more, for God’s sake!” Filming complete she broadcasts her video message to Rodger laughing as she does. “Shit! It’s humiliating.” “Oh fuuuckk.... Oh shiiit....yeahhh...ughhh... yesss... uhhhh... yessssss!” A third Climax, I mustn’t think.
My delight at Bruno’s ministrations slowly ebbs, revealing a stunning reality, tears flow steadily down my cheeks. I briefly bury my face in the satin sheets to sob. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” Not yet able to extract Bruno’s knotted penis, nausea accompanies shock, as my cell phone rings and I raise my head to the sound of Rhonda declaring to Rodger that I’m “tied up” and can’t come to the phone. A contented smirk crosses Rhonda’s face as she terminates the call.
Scolding me for having caused her to saturate her panties, Rhonda discards them to the bedside floor. Hitching her skirt about her dimpled hips, she positions her bulk upon the bed. Plump and pale her thighs pin my arms against the matress as she trusts her dark hairy knoll toward my chin. I sense her chubby fingers knotting my silky blonde hair as she forces my face against her opening, demanding that I lick clean the mess I’ve created. Her juices are pungent and salty and she positively shrieks at the merest touch of my tongue upon her clit. The humiliation is excruciatingly exquisite.