The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

[Lulu’s Viewpoint]

Our Studio’s boss, Solly Allen, says he doesn’t have enough time in the can, especially if he cuts.

The doctor suggests tickling, without any heavy bondage, such as tight-tying and gagging: Only being held-down by a couple of girls?

Solly says I should try it.

I don’t like tickling: I’m too ticklish! Fifteen to twenty minutes of tickling with feathers will kill me!

“Jayci can take it if that’s the case…won’t you Baby?” Solly says turning calmly to a husky-voiced beauty.

The superb Eastern-European Jayci says, “Yes, of course, if someone has to take the hit…It must be me.”

I am surprised she is less than enthusiastic, but Jayci has put up with a lot of abuse on this picture.

Solly looks at her sternly, starts exit, saying, “You’re a Stand-in and also earn half-pay as a Co-star, Jayci.”

Jayci perks up at this last, quivers with satisfaction her full breasts quaking says “That’s O.K. then, Chief!”

[The Re-Takes]

My ex-friends Margie and Kelly will restrain my arms and legs.

Gather around a torture-bench, Margie and Kelly greet me with, “Hiya, Babes” [Margie] and, “You ready to be tickled to death, Lulu?” [Kelly].

First I am friendly, saying, ‘Hi, hi,’ and ask they take it easy on me, or Jayci will do it.

Solly directing, instructs me to strip and lie back-down on the bench. He beckons to a foursome nearby.

It’s Tammy, who acts like she hates me, for some reason? Two taller muscular Grips flank her.

She ain’t short, neither. Tammy is a big blonde—Scarily smiling, she holds a length of rope in each hand. Hands ties to Grips. I don’t care for Tammy. You’ll disregard my describing her as a long drink of water?

Gina, my busty, frizzy-redhead girlfriend brings up the rear: To my fright, Gina carries a tubular feather-box in each hand! If Tammy and Gina tickle me, it’ll reach my limit quickly.

My mortification’s partly because my lover Gina is to betray me, executing my feather-torture.

Solly indicates that all of us should strip naked. I know he loves ‘strip’ himself so all our fans get excited?

Margie doesn’t show that great a body for our people: Her tits only small-to-medium, large, red nipples?

As for Jayci, she doubles me: A short, especially short-legged, dirty-blonde, nice tits, about a C-cup? She’s bigger-busted than Tammy, who’s taller, but Jayci’s the same, or part-way to the next, cup-size.

Kelly’s a beautiful, full-figured redhead as busty as, or close, to me, she’s is more-auburn than Gina?

Gina is a shortish, frizzy-haired voluptuous lesbian: Has two inches on me. Gina’s heavy in thighs, butt?

If following my adventures, I stand five-foot-two, standout hooters, 38DD, bulbous pink nipples, heavy thighs, butt, tiny belly. …I’ve been dieting, exercising. My weight’s down to 128½. …An ordeal!

To describe my round face, with rosy cheek-bumps and past shoulder-length, naturally-blonde hair—usually not all this white a blonde—normally, yellow-corn or sun-blonde. It’s tied-up in a B-52 anyway.

…See the Doctor arguing with Solly near camera: Doc’s shrugging toward me? ”Action!” Solly hollers.

I strip my pleated skirt, which I believe hides the heaviness of my bottom: …Doesn’t it? Camera closes in on my butt, ruining my ruse! Rats! I’m removing my white, sheer blouse. Flaunt it if you’ve got it? My bra is pink, brand-new. I’ve never fit into a 38DD-top, yet-larger until lately. I unclip it; my mammoth boobies pop out as if they’d been strapped-down: It’s too close a fit? Air on my breasts excites my long pink grape-like nipples to erect pointedly, dramatically? Pink sets my flesh off hotly.

I peel down my panties, bending causes inadvertent jiggling of my fat tits, suspends each of my jugs separately and pendulously-forward: Lovingly closed-in-on by Lou, the hand-held cameraman. I smile like I’m trying to excite viewers. That’s not so at all… I’m afraid of my restraint-bench and feathers, girls give to the Grip: Passes his mate the rope he held. I say, ‘I thought I’m only held-down for this scene?’

“We changed our minds.” Is all I get from Margie, whereas well-built redhead Kelly smirks and nods.

I sit and slip off my heels, awful-necessary to us short broads. I’ve got a three-inch pink heel, to match my skirt and pink bra. Bursting-full bra’s visible through my blouse. Sheer tops are exciting for guys, don’t ask me why? Fans can see my great tits entirely now …but to them complete nudity is not as sexy!

I lie on the bench. I never get over helplessness. Shorter, darker Grip -Marty?— ties my wrists above my head fairly taut, moves to my feet, my legs bent-down at the knees, ties my ankles, to the base of the bench-legs. My sex-lips part, letting a scary, cool breeze waft inside me. Tied down—totally helpless!

Margie lets go of my upper arms where she’d held them extended: Little, pointy fingers imprint my arms afterwards. My large tits especially, though flattened by the position and stretching feel mile-high!

Kelly releases my ankles; Marty the Grip takes over: Kelly lip-licks herself, gently spreads-open my pussy. Close-up: Face Margie’s cruel grin; Kelly’s pretty, orange body warmly nears.—Fright overcomes!

Tammy is disrobing: She’s got a long defined-shape girls dream of…Her pear-shaped tits are big in relief against her slimness. I don’t care for her light-tan color, dark for a blonde. Her fattish, somewhat too-curvy thighs quiver. I don’t know of any physical defect, other than that half-smiling sneer Tammy’s got.

Gina is fatter, with heavy breasts, the dark, blood-red nipples expected on a brunette, instead of the redhead she is. She’s more exciting than Tammy, I don’t know why exactly—but you can tell she glories in showing her naked skin …her giant tits, fat ass, red-haired bush, too-full thighs stuck-out in the open…

Kelly is better proportioned, tall, enormous pear-breasts, red-orange nipples, not an extra ounce anywhere. I admit a thrill goes through me when I look at her, from my hopelessly-exposed position.

Margie is only attractive, only if going for the petite-type woman. I like her anyhow. If only Margie weren’t lifting my feet and tickling my soles with those feathers, rippling into, up my body! ‘Oh, it’s murder!’ I’m laughing-crying-tearing… It makes me throb a bit with passion and I lube up in my sex.

When Tammy tickles my cleavage, my ribs shake and quiver. Ribs hurting! Breasts quiver, shuddering.

I’m signaling Solly, nodding is my safeword that ‘I’ve had enough.’ Have to substitute Jayci immediately.

Margie moves hairs to elsewhere around my feet causing me to jerk friskily with each and every tickle.

Tammy grins; moves to my thighs, my hips, my most-sensitive bellybutton? Tickles. I’m bucking so bad:

My arms wrench loose, Solly yells:

“Cut!” Says to Grip, pointing out my nearly-undone wrist-ropes, I’m furiously loosing ties with my teeth. “That’s not a good-enough tie you rigged on Lulu’s hands, though for now, we’ll leave it in the film.”

It’s a horrid surprise, when Solly asks me, “If I could take only a little more?” Meanwhile I am hurting…

I say ‘All right.’ To be ‘easy-to-work-with’ in his Studio: …I do what he wants, you see? Most any favor?

Though I’d got halfway up, I lie back down and Solly says “Action!”

Lou the-handheld-Cameraman creeps closer—so does Stan, the operator of the larger, rolling-camera.

Tammy stupidly parades her tallish, slender, attractive, busty tan body two steps to re-tie-up my hands.

Margie’s spreading my quaking thighs wider apart—kissing away pain—causes a nausea wave to ride me.

I signal Solly, nodding my safeword-signal ‘quits,’ but in vain. Solly seems excited at my predicament.

Tammy feathers my armpits. Cannot take this. I’m nearing my limit, which isn’t so high in tickling. A pain to laugh... I can’t resist… I cry-laugh-giggle-squeal: A smooth, wavy-envisioned daze sedately settles: Shuts me down—resulting in my seeing everything unclearly—only faintly as if through a screen.

“Cut!” I hear? Fade to a place where I don’t hurt at all: Dream of Margie’s admirably-spare, unit-body?

Jayci takes my place on the bench and I’m barely able to make out who’s going and who’s replacing. …It looks like redheads Kelly and Gina will be ticklers instead of Tammy and Margie who’re starting to dress?

I’m watching Margie’s slick physique shuffling tiny-tits into her hardly-necessary bra, panties. What thin thighs! Her brownish bush is strangely tempting, medium-to-dark-brown…I stare at her cute little pussy.

Jayci is less attractive than her usual bombshell look when lying because her boobs deflate, flopping into her armpits. Didn’t realize great importance, busty curves are to a girl’s sexiness! It does set Jayci off.

I notice the tall, fairer Grip—Roger?—seems friendly to Jayci. He might be her guy? To prove it Roger doesn’t tie her ankles tightly?

Kelly is a real redhead, although her bush is the type of dark-red that’s only barely-detectable from black hair. Admire her cut figure, with no extra fat. Yet Kelly is in all ways magnificently-developed, filled-out.

Gina’s bush is the opposite obvious-red. Considering the half-foot lesser-height, she appears bustier. On Gina you see her tits featured. She is a frizzy, lighter-red and not so auburn: Nipples nearly-black.

Kelly’s much-bustier yet on her, tits are but slightly-noticeable attractions: Red hair, reddish-black bush?

The short darker Grip Marty—I’m sure that’s his name now—half-carries me over; I sleepily examine girls dispassionately. With no apparent effort—and I’m no lightweight—Marty wiggle-adjusts my dead-weight body onto a chair. Being an object is sort of pleasant… I kind of like his firm-holding male arms.

Can’t help exaggerating my helplessness though I am a bit sore especially my tits and midsection. My plump white arms bounce and my alluring thick pillar-legs flop? Eyes I keep half-closed softly moaning…

Hear Solly in the background: He is finding he can’t reach the Doctor:

“Marty, you’re going to have to stay with Lulu, give her a drink.”

It’s a sort of wine Marty gets, brings. Don’t care for it: But it settles my stomach? Marty-the-Grip says it’s ‘Centerbe,’ an ‘Old-Country’ home-remedy for indigestion or the like.

‘Are you Italian?’ He says “Yes,” though I hear him at a very low-volume level, distracted as I am, watching as the other Grip—Roger?—ties Jayci tautly to the torture-bench.

[Jayci’s Viewpoint]

”Action!” Solly cries as though a big deal it is? Our short, busty-redhead Gina with the black nipples, is working on my feet with feathers…Thoroughly: Toes, soles, heels, my upper-surfaces flicked-grooved?

“Tee-heeeeee…” I’m laughing, shaking much? The bigger-redhead with red-orange nipples, Kelly—in this business, an Irish broad? That’s not normal!—Biggest tits around, like Lulu’s? …Works hairs on my belly.

“Oooooooh!” I’m more ticklish there than anywhere. Kelly signals to her partner Gina to rise up and they each tickle one side of my belly, working with a feather in each hand. Kelly is slower. It’s rotten…

“Oooooooh!” “Oooooooh!” “Oooooooh!” “Oooooooh!” “Oooooooh!” “Oooooooh!” “Oooooooh!” “Oooooooh!” Bucking! From continuous laughter, I’m hurting… In my tits and my pussy… Worse than a longer, thorough whipping—is this tickling. I don’t understand, they haven’t tickled my asshole: It is contracting crazily. …It is aching.

I never laugh: I am a somber chick—a smile is a lot out of me.

I know my work is sluttish. I can’t tell my folks at home. Send money, say I’m a success: Good thing sex films don’t travel. Computers not well-known on farm: At times, a youngster bills hay or feed with one.

…Close to my face, I’m seeing Gina’s neck, my hungry fingers to crush, I crave! Never any violent impulses had I: Yet much I’d like to strangle Gina now? …A safe-word to stop, I’m using: Head-shaking.

Solly lets redheads go until my ankle-ropes loose I rip. My legs I’m kicking at them in vain. Solly shouts:

“Cut!”

I have to use a toilet bad. My ribs, tits, pussy—hurt ‘awesomely.’

“Please to help me up, Marty.” He’s my boyfriend. Few minutes ago, his hanging out with Lulu worries.

Roger, the fair, tall Grip, undoes the ripped-loose ankle-ties off my still tingling feet, the rest of the way.

Marty kisses me, only a snap-smooch to energize me. It does help. …Unties my hands and helps me up.

“I need a restroom. Could you walk me there? I’m not …alert. …Lover, you’ll provide walk-support?” When upset, my English falters: Utterly to-pieces, falling. Pleasure mixes with pain in most filming: This one, not… Maddened by seeing Kelly and Gina snickering.

Unsure how, but as Marty is half-carrying me to the ‘Ladies,’ I ‘accidentally’ fall on Gina, my elbows into her nipples I’m pointing out. I know I can’t beat Kelly, because she’s much too big. Kelly’s both taller, heavier: That fat little Gina-bitch… Yeah, her- I can take. I’m shamed, I wet myself when I threw weight into elbowing her. I have to go bad. I’m passing out. …Dazedly feel cursing-Gina escape beneath me.

[Lulu’s Viewpoint]

We’re in the elevator. Gina wears my borrowed too-wide-short overcoat: Crazy Jayci peed on her dress!

Gina’s telling me to: ‘Look at her watch.’

It’s shiny and swaying. By when we get grounded, Gina’s hypnotized me! Under instantly:

“Sleepy and relaxed, and Lulu, you like it, you love me, when you wake, you’ll want a dark Grip, Marty.”

I acquiesce. I know there’s evil in her intent, but my leftover bruises hurt less now. I’m mystified why I love Gina: As a car arrives, opens, reveals us, I kiss her deeply. …Warm-sweet-yummy. …My nipples zing praises of Gina’s gigantic breasts pressing hard. No one awaits arrival this late. Day darkened colder.

I’m wakened, walking out. “You can awaken!” Suddenly need a man—and not just any: That short, dark Italian Grip—Marty.

I’d like to wait for someone. I say Gina might as well go home. She understands?

Immediately after Gina goes, I catch Marty getting out of the next elevator. He supports a clingy-leaning Jayci: Not unconscious, possuming, nobody is out-of-it needy, as all that? Head dug into guy’s shoulder.

‘Oh, let me do that.’ I open his car door, hook boob on his elbow. He’s lowering a disgraced-Jayci inside.

Says, “She’ll be all right in a few days. Needs a lot of rest, the Doc says.” Querulous look goes to smile.

‘I’m sure that’s so.’ Her eyes seem strange, like nearly-all rolled-up. Focuses on me. Jayci says:

“You don’t think I ruined my career, do you, Lulu? …Huhhhh?” With groaning at end.

‘No, of course not, Jayci: I’ll specify I want you to double for me, if you’d like.’ Her lurching response to this, nearly flops her from the car, since she leans out. I bend so she can kiss me. Jayci’s breath is sour.

“Thank you Lulu so much…” She may be malingering, but Jayci’s more-pathetic than I might’ve thought.

‘Marty,’ I say ‘You’d better put Jayci to bed right away.’ And sotto-voce, I add, ‘Come back after, you visit me for as long as we can get away with, during the break.’ Resist farewell kisses because of Jayci.

He gives me his look of lust, grinning, nods. Marty goes around to the driver’s side, gets in, fluidly agile.

Jayci waves and says, “You’re much too good to me, Lulu.” Which makes me bristle like a femme-fatale.

[At Lulu’s]

Washing always makes me feel better. I don’t know why. I strip, my jutting boobs bouncing naughtily. They’re lying there: Make no difference... My boobs being mammoth. I’m looking at myself in room-wide mirrors. I’m welcoming my one size smaller. My tits stand up better. Sure, they’re still bombs. But I’m not triple-D anymore. That’s great. Round, pale pillar-thighs are a bit too heavy. My ass is white and massive: …Near-perfect in its heart-shape? If only my ass weren’t so round? The roundest butt in creation. …And the thickest thighs. Yet I’m only three-and-a-half pounds over my exact right weight?

Pinker, whiter than usual? I pinch my tits out a bit, inspecting two tiny purple marks near each nipple: Pulling on my nether lips gently.—Notice two larger bruises—one on my thigh and another—centered above my pubic mound. My knees shaky, my appearance deceives, for I’m weak, a wobbly girl. My man-hunger is strong? Ought to sleep it off? The Fountain-of-Youth-secret: A year disappears for each hour of extra sleep! …If I sleep nine to eleven hours I look teenage-girlish. …I only need the eight hours.

Stepping in I turn the water on not too hot: Go easy on my aching ribs. I slather my feet mercilessly—they tingle—‘don’t you dare’—but a post-tickle tee-hee slips out—my tits vibrate, stomach ripples pain dutifully.—My pussy, up my clitoris specially-complaining yet a thrill wanders over me at the same time. I can’t do any jilling-off. I wash my nether bits carefully rinse more than necessary? Wash hands extra.

Pull off my shower-cap. Yeah, I shiver…and my huge breasts shake, quaking my long pink nipples!

My touched-up, whitish hair didn’t wet: Next time I’ll do it. Does my bleach-job add anything? I’m going back to normal, letting it grow out? …To hell with what fans want! Rebellion feels great… A humongous towel is a perk of success. I won’t have to clean up in here either. Stomp my towel to floor.

Look at Guerlain bottle: It’s dear, so a dab at each ear and one in my cleavage, is sufficient. Its heavy scent fills the bathroom. I don’t talcum powder all over, only on my thigh-tops and butt. Afterthoughts: …My pussy. …My belly? Notice my bush, half-grown back-in, my yellow-tan, nether-hair not so light as my head hair? With my powdering, my bush’s whiter: The same color nearly…I resist over-powdering it.

Gina, my agent says: I’ve got to have a maid? Who’s coming her first time today: ‘Justine’, she’s called.

[At Jayci’s]

Naked Jayci distastefully looks at a crude steel neck-ring. Grimacing, opens, fits it around her neck.

I’m closing this coarse, cold, hard, black metal ring about my soft, fair neck. It fits close because Marty custom-fit it to me. Insists I sleep collared. By a short, exact-length chain, it’s wall-bolted.—Yes, that’s measured too. It is fitting correctly.—It reaches my neck in bed with half-a-foot to a foot as they say, to spare. Kneeling it barely reaches. Bare because I’m naked. Black ring clicks: Won’t open. …I pull, check? My full tits sway, rounded white pears, with my large pink nipples fading to almost-invisible light-pink aureoles. I squash my round bottom onto my—nothing special, all-right—calves. Round knees taut. My thighs are short, but to men: Ultra-soft, fair, curvy treats? I’m a milk-white person over all: Except my pink spots. No slack, my neck-chain jerks: Kneeling, I suck off Marty: He humiliates me… Awful-long, twenty centimeters -eight inches?— considering his

less-than-average height. A

lucky freak…

I give him a full blow-job, licking along his length, sucking-kissing its tip, throwing my full-lipped mouth over and sliding Marty’s dick all down my throat, choking out into me his spurts of glutinous ejaculate.

While he pulls my head, squeezes my sore tits way too-tightly, I wiggle-waggle his tool down deep inside my throat. I’m strange, near-sick. Close to upchucking toward end. Manage not to: By ejecting him. I hand-pull his long, wet tool out. “Aawwhh!” My head down, I howl. My boobs shudder, my fleshy side-hips quiver in pain. My pussy throbs. Horribly unpleasant. …But it helps to know I look good: My hot, pale curves, my tits, thighs, face, neck, shoulders …Whitely-pronounced, pinkish perfection, kneeling?

Marty says, “That’s O.K., Baby, I’ll let you out of swallowing tonight.” He drips a wet spot, visits my john, returns to my mangled bed to stretch me out, tying my hands behind, and my feet!

I dizzily protest, “I’m not going to the bathroom as it is.”

Marty relents, re-ties my hands in front, placing a bedpan and a toilet-paper roll on the far side of bed. “I’m going out now. Don’t wait up.” He kisses me: I know to not ask.

[Back at Lulu’s]

I admit for fans asking what I wear to bed: Not “The radio,” where I slept in the raw, or in a silk baby-doll nightie, I wear to bed in ‘Repentance’ and other hit flicks. Have a thigh-length thin-cotton white long-T-shirt, little red hearts on it: I like my silly garment enough I re-ordered, have two, so I can wash them. After drying myself: An erotic dance nobody watches, as I shake-gyrate-wriggle all my wildly-sexy bits. White body—breasts thighs ass—jounces sideways pink-tip big boobs bouncing crazily up and down?

…Oh, you want to know? My enormous tit-mounds jiggle. I slip my soft, white-print nightgown on, over me. My arms being raised: My tits standing up straight and proud, long pink bulbous nipples half-erect. Howitzer-headlights greatly-outstanding since with my arms overhead, my belly flattens as it seldom does. I turn back-on, admire my form in the glass: My impressively-round, too-fat, glowing-white arse and below this giant roundness, my smooth, not-flabby-now-I’m-slimmer, pillar-like curvy thigh-backs:

Before the gown falls and hides all of me from view. I sit on my bed and set my clock, thinking it’s well after midnight, the guy might not show… More careless home-etiquette, my crack parting, I get in bed—pull covers up-lie-snake out my plump pale arm-click off lamp—when lobby-doorbell rings buzzing below.

I tell Marty he can come up. Unlock my door, put on the kettle. …I’ll work up a yen for him if I want: …I’m cooled off at the moment. I let him in, he peck-kisses me …a little more of a kiss. Not bad for a Grip. He isn’t really in the business of pleasing a lady: I let him go on and on, he’s fervent without being exciting, yet when he squashes-twists-pulls my left nipple fiercely, I push off, claiming kettle calls…Which it does. I’m off to my kitchen tell him we have real or unreal: Don’t make instant-coffee, only ground.

I can’t explain unless it is because I am a female, but I go back and forth between being a hostess and a seductress. First make the coffee and we sit sipping. I’m sizing him up: Short, medium-build, unhandsome. Unbuttoning his shirt, rubbing my tits teasingly against him. I offer him things to eat.

Marty explains: “It’s you, I’d like to eat more than cake and to have you…in the worst way.” I say coyly that might be arranged. He explains he is kinky and would like to suspend me by my tits and pussy…

’I can’t do it’, I admit. ‘I’m hurt and have to heal. But you might tie my arms and legs up to these ring-bolts.’

…I show him my wall-set-up Gina installed, with an expert talking about his ‘two-by-four joists’ and the ‘external-structural-wall’ used.

Marty looks it over and says: “Let’s try it out now.”

I retreat and take a moment to precariously practice-balance, stretching up my white pillar-legs sitting on my kitchen chair; raise my plump arms toward the ceiling. ‘I can do it. My ribs pain already. We’d better try hanging me with a waist-rope or a hip-support rope or both, as well as my arms, or else it won’t be any good—at least for me.’

Marty rummages through my bondage-gear toy-chest. Holds up: “What about this corset? It has crotch-straps we’ll wind around your thighs. Lock them back to themselves on top with their end-rings. That should support your hips: Small rings on the half-bra top can be strung as extra support. Waist-roped, with your wrists- and ankles-tied, could be plenty. …I can eat you, screw you easily, that way.”

His description alone heats me. My suddenly-moist pussy and puffy nipples erect the rest of the way. I excitedly dash over to the wall. My clitoris sends a warning buzz, though as if to say ‘watch out for me.’

Marty pulls drawstrings tight as I wrap on my taut corset, helps cuff both my wrists and ankles. Marty, a Grip, is an accomplished rigger: In no time, strings ropes, lifting me spread-eagled on my wall like a butterfly. It stretches, spreads, me absolutely open! Supports do assist.

The crotch-straps give trouble. Marty locks two padlocks firmly closing off straps to themselves, the ends around my heavy thighs. Tiny padlocks rest cold, hard on my thigh-tops. He fingers along my visibly-strained inner-thigh muscles. Kisses, licks me; touching, feeling, tonguing me inside. It’s marvy… “Argghh!” Coming is a surprise… Marty’s licking, sucking, enjoying face—, tongue-whirling on my pussy.

“Not there, it’s awful sore…” I warn, as his busy pussy-devouring mouth nears my clitoris. Feel a buzz.

“All right, but now you’re going to get it.” …Rock-hard-erect. I’m ready, wide-open. He shoves it in. I scream a bit. It hurts. He’s longer than any non-professional his height. Seven-eight inches? Nearly ask Marty to loosen his tight handfuls of my torpedo tits, push his schlong less-roughly in me? Remnant burning-sensations zip my boobs, clitoris…misplaced? Pussy’s confused…throbs…and…sings. I’m not so big inside there: He’s hitting my back-end…bouncing off my womb? Squashed up tightly against me…

‘Aaaaaah!’ Close, Marty looks at my face, wordlessly asking should he stop his mighty thrusting, only starting, grunting? I’m lifted up by his thrusting, not as stressed, able to enjoy it. Why? …I don’t love him, or really like him…Got this drive to seduce him. …Don’t understand why? His face, abnormally reddish-swarthy. Strained…Awfully close-up. See every detail?…Can’t complain. I’m enjoying too much.

“No, don’t stop. …Exactly… that… a hundred more thrusts would do me.” I smile as if I exaggerate wildly? It isn’t so. He takes me at my word, keeps riding me until his climax …May not make a hundred strokes, but …fifty? Until he lets it all hang out: Releases, spurts forcibly… He yells, followed by a sigh.

“Aaacckk! ..Ohhh!” I’m tensing my pussy, grasping his cock with my insides, milking him over and over as much as I can… I climax! Not simultaneous: Three or four seconds later? “Argghh!”

He falls forward onto me, lifts back up and pulls out of me, grabs, shoves a tissue into me, wrapping another onto his sticky, half-soft, longish darkly-hanging shaft. See for a flash, a tasty glob on his tip?

I‘ve got tissue-boxes all over. I can afford any extravagance: Tissues, napkins, paper plates, high rent, ring-bolt renovations, girlfriends, boyfriends... As he’s letting me down. Hips, shoulders, complain, ache, sting? …Why do I let them beat up on me if I’m a big winner? Do I have to get my kicks this way?

We kiss nicely. Haven’t kissed that much. Our foreplay is backwards?

Marty says, ‘Jayci isn’t as good a lover. Not nearly as well-built.’ My free arms wrap his dark against my fair. Comfortable holding, warm and close in our after-sex glow. I could stay like this forever!

‘How about pretty?’ I ask, knowing his lovely European tops me, but he is a gentleman and waggles his hand to say, “A tie?” I release my close hold. Feel suddenly chilled. Sulky even. Why’m I loving Marty?

I would like to kill him for daring to approach that close to the truth. I content myself with only kicking him out with no more fun. Before he goes I say with feeling ‘If he can make up his mind to let me know.’

I close the door, grin with my back to it, panting to tell Gina about my victory: She’ll feel vindicated?

The first indication that Justine’s no ordinary maid, should’ve been her stunning figure, and that she’s French. Her get-up is the kind of French-Maid outfit seen in porno films. A slender but busty, very-pretty, wavy-brunette in a cheap, flat-black, flared-dress. If I wear this…—White, gold or a light purple, looks better on me, but not black, I’m too fair?—I’d pick a satiny, silky or a lace-dress, not flared-out hips …Which promotes my bottom too much? Justine is a bubble-butt: In it, her bottom’s round not flat.

She says, “I’m Justine. Gina sends me. To clean? Oui?” I admit her. She puts on an apron and a white, little tiara-like hat, her protruding largish breasts point out when she raises her arms to perform this.

After she’s done a pretty-good cleaning job, I offer her thirty bucks, which is fair since she did a morning’s work. Funnily outfitted, eyes downcast, next she rolls her big brown orbs cutely up at me.

“Oh, Madame, I offer much more service: Oui! The personal …loving and so forth …you’d like? …And pay me later?” With this information, Justine drops dough, her duster and flys into my arms, kissing feverishly. Yes, her pinkish-red lips are wet and hot. She knows to put her nipples atop of my own…

“O.K., but you’ll remember …who’s boss, Justine …I don’t want you getting too-familiar ‘cause we’re intimate. …The house is your responsibility …if you stay another hour…you’ll make another hour’s pay.” I talk, breathe, in-between detaching the juicy brunette’s lips: She’s glued onto me. I see stars, lost to the world: Her black eyes, red lips, tongue bore in hotly and spin, overtake unseeing and unthinking-me.

“I must not make your place a mess”, says this world-class, lesbian-temptress, disguised as a maid! Last few lip smooches only past pecks. Hunkering to hand fallen money up to me smiling broadly. Hot hands.

I take the money, catch her head between my knees. Sit and pull Justine over, pushing her head down between my ankles. Pulling up her black dress, I see black panties. I can’t wear those: Make me look cadaverous? See she’s got a ‘21’ waist… Peel ‘em down, angrily. Yanking clear her two wrists held together in my other hand!

I spank her prominent perfect bare bottom-cheeks: Hardly jiggles at all from my hardest hits! Many spanks with my right hand only. Switch to holding her wrists with my right and spanking with my left. Whack hard in my tough bent-over position, gratifying squalling-sobbing rising from between my legs. Her beige ass turns pink to bright red. She is mewling, sobbing. Drooling, dripping, from each end.

“Madam Lulu, please I’ll be good, promise…stop spanking me…I hurt…wee-wee…” Though already at about a dozen, I smack four last ones, hard at her two holes: Her pussy’s hot and soaking-wet… She wants the bathroom. We both go since there’s two: Another great luxury. But necessary? I’ve never before shoved anyone into my fairly-tiny, guest-bath. Nor am I a brutal type? She brings it out in me? I smile as I listen to the crash. Justine emerges, recovered from my bodily throwing her in the can …Rubs her shoulder, both cheeks of her butt, shows me her red bottom—has no panties on now.—Why?

Instead, I tell the black-dress-upholding wench to ‘Get in the bedroom. Not to lie in my bed, kneel beside it: Stupid worthless slave that she is…’

Justine is a masochist? I must have hurt her at least with the thorough spanks? She’s sniffling, kneeling:

I instruct her to eat me, which she does. Rather energetically: Justine’s questing hot, long, pointy tongue is extremely active, only short of tongue-whipping my inner thighs and pussy. ‘Careful there…’

I’m distracted, thinking of the potential of her standout figure…”Stop a sec, Baby, show me your tits.” Maid strips her top shows me her black striving too-small bra. Breasts flee its confines, hopping around as she breathes.

She undoes her bra too: Tits are fuller, fatter and rounder than I’d hoped: Have long, reddish nipples and these treasures are surrounded by the huge, red aureoles men yearn for… Wow, wow, wow…

”What size chest and cup are you? ” I’d guess 34C; she’s 32D… And with a 21-inch waist. She’s thirty-six or—seven, hips? …No, she’s only a 35… Slimmish.

‘Go ahead and finish me, Justine I’m going to call Gina…This could be good for you…No, not only your tip for this play, that’s chicken-feed, we’re talking movies here.’ ‘Argghh!’ Too fast but wonderful! Star-spangled paradise promised is fully realized by Justine’s hot pointy tongue moving in out around! ”O.K., Sweetheart, scoot up here and lay your head here on my left boob…Relax.’ Kisses. ‘Awful sweet of you.’

[Lulu on phone to Gina, with maid Justine cuddling-up on Lulu comfortably squeezing-in closer, purring]

‘Gina? …Sure, I seduced Marty, what do you think? …I’m glad to rip off Jayci! …Woozy, when last I saw her.’ Thinking: A knockout punch for that poor foreign broad… I’m not as sympathetic as I ought to be.

‘…I’ve enjoyed Justine a lot. She’s wasted as a maid: How’d you like a split of her agent-fee…promote her to “The Country Of Love”?

What, to Solly? He’s got girls up the kazoo!

…Oooh …No brunettes? …Tom’s got two?… What about Margie and Kelly? Oh, they’re medium light-brown and auburn… O.K., I’ll buy that. …Try Solly. …Your boobs hurt? Uh-huh. …Working will distract you from that! Umm-hummm. …Doc forbids? Ahhh-hah, he’s always warning us! Forget him! …You’ll call Tom up? …Ask him? …Solly, too? Good. ‘Bye.’