The seventh Rachel’s Shaved Pussy by pANTSU

A literotic sexstories: The seventh Rachel’s Shaved Pussy by pANTSU ,

My foray into the world of erotic bondage. If anybody wants more pain in a story of this type, sorry, but that ain’t really my kind of thing. I did enjoy the opportunity to mix it up with a wide variety of… well, you’ll see.

Over the next few months, my rate of copulation did not diminish. My eighteenth birthday came… and came, and came, because it was another slumber party at mine, to which several of my sexiest friends were invited, and it descended into a massive lesbian orgy. Kirsty and I contrived to make it seem spontaneous, so that nobody thought it would be a good idea to try too hard to repeat, but everybody ended up joining in enthusiastically. My highlight was an astonishing FIVE-way circular daisy-chain of mouths on pussies. Maybe I will tell you more about that some other time.

I enjoyed fucking – every kind of fucking – tremendously, but it has to be said that I found it more and more difficult to find new ways and types, and sometimes I yearned a bit for that freshness.

So, on one of my ‘study sessions’ with Dr McPhail, I was intrigued when he said that it was a special day, and he had something different in mind. He had me take my shoes off, then took my hand and led me to a door to the cupboard under the stairs. I had never seen it opened, so I was surprised to discover stairs leading downward, to a basement. “I didn’t know you have a basement,” I said.

“I don’t use it very often. Come along,” and he led me behind him down the wooden stairs. I was a little worried about the possibility of splinters on my bare feet, especially since he did not turn a light on. By the time I was at the bottom and my feet touched dusty concrete, I was effectively blind, as the hallway light from above did not illuminate enough for my unadapted eyes to make out, and the only illumination down here was occasional strange orange pin-pricks dotted around the place. I turned to look up at the only thing I could see, the lit-up door at the top of the stairs.

Suddenly, I felt something on my wrist, and heard a click. Just as quickly, another on my other wrist. Handcuffs! I felt my arms jerked backwards, dragging me with them, and my bum hit the edge of something. I tipped over and fell roughly onto a surface, my arms now stretched above me. More handcuffs on my ankles, and my legs were pulled apart. All this happened more quickly than I could think, and by the time I thought to struggle, I was bound hand and foot.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “Stop.”

But there was no response. Only some movement in the darkness. Then I felt something on my wrist again. The feeling of leather on my skin, and a cuff of some kind wrapped around, a couple of inches wide. I heard the slight tinkling of metal fastenings. Then again on my other wrist, another wide leather cuff pulling tight on my arm… but not too tight. Then I heard the most alarming sound yet, the clanking of metal chains, and my armed were pulled more firmly above my head, giving me very little freedom of movement.

“I want to know what you’re doing,” I said, a slight tremor entering my voice.

A warm voice came from the darkness. “It’s a surprise.”

“Are you going to… hurt me?”

Dr McPhail chuckled. “Oh, no. You’re going to enjoy this, child.” And with that, the handcuffs came free with mechanical clicks. I pulled experimentally, but the leather straps held me faster and more firmly than the cuffs had.

The same treatment followed on my ankles; wide leather straps were fastened in place, and my legs were pulled apart by clanking chains. I was sure it was entirely deliberate that my crotch was now stretched wide to the open air, with the gusset of my panties stretching across it under my short skirt, and my position also had my chest thrusting slightly outward. Finally, the metal handcuffs were removed, the burden of binding me having shifted to the chain-fastened leather cuffs.

Then I heard a metallic sound, followed by an odd sound I didn’t recognize. It took a few moments for me to realize that it was the sound of scissors cutting cloth, and when cold metal touched my hip, it suddenly became clear that he was cutting my skirt off! “No, you can’t do that!” I cried, but he ignored me. The snipping stopped, and a swift yank brought the material out from under me. My frilly knickers touched the wooden surface I was on, and I was skirtless in the dark.

I thought that would be it, but of course, it wasn’t. More snipping, closer to my ears, and the cold blade made contact with my cleavage, raising goosebumps on my breasts. He was cutting right up the middle of the tight little tank-top I had worn that day! The cut reached my collar, and the tight-pulled fabric sprang apart as my little breasts popped outwards. He had also severed the middle link of my frilly bra, so my chest was now completely exposed to the cool air.

I was too shocked to even speak as further snips at my shoulders allowed the whole garments to slide out from under me. He was not just removing my clothes, he was destroying them. Somehow, that made me feel even more naked and vulnerable than mere nakedness. Even if I had been free to move, I had no way to reach the coverings of basic decency. Despite my womanly curves, now on display to the whole of this dark cellar, I felt very much like a frightened, dominated little girl.

Frozen in my panic, I made no noise as the inevitable happened – the move to slide the scissor-blade underneath the gusset of my only remaining clothing, a skimpy pair of white cotton knickers. When the ice-cold blade made contact with my labia, I hissed. Had he taken it straight from a fucking fridge?! I almost snapped at the man, but caught myself when I realized that it was lingering there longer than it should have. The touch of that cold, sharp steel cutting tool on my most intimate parts seemed to suggest things I was desperate not to think about. Was this some kind of unspoken threat? Unbidden, my mind filled with the most horrible images of mutilation that he could mete out on me without my being able to lift a finger in my defence. A sob rose up in my throat, and hung behind my teeth, but I held back by a force of will, not knowing what would happen if I let the floodgates open.

Then with a gesture, the gusset was gone. With another gesture, the panties were gone altogether, and my destructive yet methodical stripping was complete. I suddenly realized that not a word had passed since almost the start; silently, in mere moments, Dr McPhail had transformed me as much internally as he had outwardly, making the confident sex Goddess into a quivering plaything paralyzed by the knowledge that she was at the mercy of his every whim.

There was no point crying out, I knew, all the way down here in the dark. My captor would have made sure nobody could hear me. Unable to move, all I could do was wait for whatever Dr McPhail would do next. Probably fuck me. The thought garnered an enthusiastic response from my pinned body, but then it always did. Even through the wall of terror, lust exerted its unstoppable primal force.

What happened next, though, was absolutely nothing. I detected movement, and my headteacher’s silhouette appeared at the base of the stairs, lit from behind by the hallway light. He turned to look at me, but I could see nothing of his expression. I waited for him to undo his trousers… but instead, he turned and went up the stairs.

“Wait… Where are you going?! Aren’t you going to fuck me? Come back!” But my words were unheeded. He reached the top of the stairs, and closed the door, leaving me in pitch darkness.

I yanked experimentally at my bonds again, but they held me tight. I could not even move my legs closer together – I felt wood on the insides of my knees, and surmised that they were hanging just off the edges of some kind of wooden table or worktop, from which my lower legs dangled down to the leather and chains that held my ankles tight. Strapped to what amounted to a medieval torture device (although it was not inflicting actual pain at that point), I was totally, completely and utterly helpless, naked and bound in a dark basement, all alone.

It was alarming. Very alarming. I felt panic engulf me… and something else. I suddenly realized that the situation was getting me sexually aroused. That brought shame with it, that I could be so weak and easily influenced. All these new and surprising feelings rolled around my mind, blending together and feeding off each other.

In this environment of sensory deprivation, my other senses became heightened. I felt the slightly cool air breeze past my skin, brushing my damp pussy, and my now bullet-hard nipples. The leather on my ankles and wrists felt firm, yet soft, and I knew that if I tried to pull even harder, with all my strength, the force would spread evenly across the couple of inches of strap, and I would neither get free nor harm my soft, delicate teenage flesh. A part of my mind, too, noted that the sensation of leather on naked skin was quite a pleasant one, and maybe I should explore that more in future… if I ever escaped from here.

What was Dr McPhail doing? Had he gone full Joszef Fritzl? Would I be trapped here for the rest of my life, in his basement, popping out babies to grow up and be fucked by him in turn? Surely people knew where I was if I went missing. But then my captor was a powerful, very intelligent man in a position of trust, so maybe he had a plan, some kind of scheme whereby a false story about me going away on short notice had been planted. Suddenly it occurred to me that other girls in my year might be under his thrall, to propagate and support any lie he might tell while they waited eagerly for their next opportunity to be serviced by his energetic cock.

What happened next was astonishing given these particular thoughts, as if he were reading my very mind. I heard a quiet whir, and a rectangle lit up to my right, above one of the little orange dots. That was when I realized what they were – the standby lights of computer monitors! The screen glowed into life, showing a scene of Dr McPhail’s kitchen in the background, and in the foreground a beautiful blonde girl about my age, dressed in our school uniform. Then it started moving – a video. She started dancing to a tune I couldn’t quite make out, and proceeded to slowly take her clothes off, revealing a hot pink bra, then matching frilly knickers, then pert young breasts, and finally a pretty little pussy, not totally bald like mine and Kirsty’s, but neatly trimmed, with a small fuzzy brown patch of hair (she must bleach, then) just above her clit. She twirled in a lap-dance move, bending down and gyrating one of the most stunning, pert, shapely bums I had ever seen. As the music stopped, she draped herself seductively on the kitchen table I knew so well.

The camera tilted downwards, to a shirt and pair of trousers, with which two hands fumbled. A hard cock emerged, and I recognized it as Dr McPhail’s penis. The camera must have been mounted on his head. To my astonishment, I realized I was watching the headmaster’s home-made porn!

As the recorded image of my captor positioned himself at the entrance of a bleached-blonde nymph I did not recognize and began to push in, another screen came to life up and to my left. This showed a black girl, already mostly naked and showing her light, hot-chocolate skin to the camera. I realized I recognized this girl – she had been five or six years above me in school, just doing her final exam years as I started. We had never spoken, and I did not even know her name, but I remember admiring her beauty and confidence. Now, that was enhanced by the lascivious glint in her eye as she bent over the table, looking back to the camera and spreading her pussy-lips wide.

More monitors awoke all over the room, each one with a different teenage lovely. An Oriental-looking girl knelt down, her enormous, slanted eyes looking upward at the camera as she fed Dr McPhail’s cock into her mouth. I turned my head and looked upward to see an olive-skinned girl with long hair like mine gasp and say “Oh, YES!” as the same penis penetrated her butt-hole. I looked across my left armpit and saw a young lady with frizzy brown hair and very large breasts (Suzie Broad from last year’s sixth-form, a part of my mind noted) place the rigid phallus between those breasts, those beasts, and press them together as it moved up and down her cleavage. I looked back to the first screen, and the blonde stunner’s perfect ass was now being drilled, as jizz leaked from her pussy and matted on that dark brown patch above it.

Everywhere I looked now, I could see girls like me getting fucked by Dr McPhail. Tall and short, Oriental and Indian and black and white, in every position imaginable, loud and quiet, moaning and whimpering, shouting or just silent.

The only things they had in common were their youth, their beauty and the fact that they all appeared to be enjoying the sex they were having tremendously. Even the one receiving ringing slaps on her buttocks and thighs, a strikingly pale goth girl with piercings in one eyebrow and one nipple, was growling, “Yes, I’ve been a bad girl. Hurt me, sir. Punish me!” The hand-marks glowed red on her milk-white buttocks, and mascara ran from her large eyes, but her spittle-flecked black lips were cracked wide in an ecstatic smile in between the gasps and grunts. “I’m a dirty – URGH – slut. Punish my whore body!”

In every direction I was surrounded by scenes of hot, ravishing, intense fucking. My eyes and ears, and even my mind were full of it… and yet my body remained untouched. It was responding to the proximity of so much sex, expecting to be part of it, but there was nobody around to consummate that expectation, and the yearning for it was killing me. My pussy gushed with natural lubricant, my nipples protruded further than I had ever seen, and my whole body sweated despite the cool conditions, but to no avail. I couldn’t even bring myself off, with my hands stretched high above my head, and my thighs were pulled far apart so I could not try to rub them together and bring myself off that way – not that it would have worked.

The piece de resistance came when I tried to turn away from all that hot flesh pumping away in procreative frenzy on every side, and stared straight up at the ceiling… where I saw myself. A bank of mirrors had been attached to the ceiling, showing a panoramic view of my tight teenage body in the flickering light of many screens, stretched out and pinned down, ready to be ravished. SO ready to be ravished. Yearning for it. Begging for it. In that moment, there was nothing I wanted more than the feel of a hot cock impaling me and driving me to orgasm.

But there was no release. My genitals were open to the world, ready for sex that would not arrive, and there was nothing I could do about it. Desperately, I tried to wrench my arms free, hoping against hope that I could get my hand down to my nether lips and fill that void with dainty girlish fingers, massaging my clit until I got the orgasmic culmination replayed over and over again all around me… but I was stuck fast. All I succeeded in doing was adding the sensuous creak of leather to the tantalizing soundscape, and feel the powerful, manly grip of the straps on my wrist, so effortlessly powerful that they need not even hurt me to keep me restrained and helpless. In attempting to escape, I had only succeeded in adding to the erotic panorama that thrilled my every nerve.

In the absence of release, my sex drive continued to build and build, beyond anything I had dreamt possible, beyond anything I had ever desired in my entire life. My brain tried to fill the void with fantasies, with hands and tongues and penises all over and inside my body. I became every girl in every one of those videos… but it was still not quite real enough to push me over the edge. As I gasped and moaned, my chest heaved with every deep, excited breath. I felt like an over-inflated balloon of erotic energy, ready to explode at any moment.

One video caught my eye. The girl was a redhead, her hair a wreath of molten cooper around her head as she shook from the driving cock that pounded her from behind. Her exposed back, visible in all its expanse, was of a pure paleness only a redhead can have. I heard her shout, “I’m going to cum!”

Then the camera shook slightly, and went down to settle beside her ecstatic face. In front of her was a short line of white powder. As I watched, she pressed her nose to the table and snort the powder up her nostril. Her huge, intense hazel eyes seemed to grow even more massive as her pupils shrank to pin-pricks, and she whispered something I couldn’t make out, although the awe in her voice was unmistakable. She turned over, and the camera pulled up again to get a full view of her beaming face, her large heaving breasts, her narrow, pale belly, and finally zoomed in again to capture her divine, hairless pussy and the semen now leaking out of it.

Then I spotted something. Just an inch above and to the right of her gooey vulva was a mark, or rather three marks, three small brown spots in an equilateral triangle about a centimetre to a side. I recognized those marks.

“Miss Riordan!” I gasped, for it could be no other than my geography teacher, who had succumbed to my advances with an almost suspicious ease, and become one of my most frequent lovers. That birthmark had become very familiar to me through the many occasions I had stared at it while eating out her delicious pussy. I had not recognized her at first because of the age difference – she had to be 15 years older now – but I saw now that it was unmistakably the same woman, blossomed from a stunning teenage minx to a mature, rounded, sexually ravenous vixen.

It seemed that she had returned to the school of the teacher who had seduced her, even taking up the same subject he had taught – maybe his private tutoring had inspired her as it had me.

To my fever of sexual images, both on every side and within my mind, was now added my intense memories of copulation with Miss Riordan. Her tongue and strap-on (What kind of unconventional teacher keeps a strap-on dildo in a locked drawer of her schoolroom? A very horny one, I had discovered!) had pleasured me many times, and the feel of them came readily to the very forefront of my memory.

A very slight cool breeze caressing my naked skin, the sultry, smooth feel of leather on my ankles and wrists, the trickle of vaginal secretions down my perineum to my sensitive butt-hole. Within and without, there was no let-up from the erotic sensations that fed me, forcing me higher and higher into a rhapsody of unfulfilled desire.

The cacophony of sex-noises all around me slowly subsided as the videos came to an end. When the last nubile, feminine body with its anointment of blessed cum disappeared from view, I was left once more in the darkness, tingling from head to toe with need.

“Tell me what you want.” The voice of my captor came from the darkness. He must have opened the door, come through and closed it while I had been distracted by the pornographic panorama around me.

“Cock,” I replied immediately.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Fuck me,” I almost whimpered.

“Say it again.”

“Fuck me.”

“Louder.”

“Fuck me! Please, fuck me!”

“Scream it.”

“FUCK ME! FUCK ME NOW! MAKE ME COME!”

“Should I take off the restraints?”

“NO, just PUT YOUR COCK IN ME! I NEED TO COME! FUCK MY FUCKING PUSSY!!!”

And with that, I felt something move between my legs, and my cunt was cloven apart by the most blessedly welcome meat rod I had just seen penetrating so many others before me. Then it withdrew, and I actually did whimper, fearing that he might leave me again after only a taste of what my aching vagina was starved for. Then he slammed into me again, deep, so that I felt his pubic hair mash against my mons pubis. A long out-breath wafted my black hair back from my forehead, hands caressed my sides, and he started in earnest.

The only thing I could see was a vague silhouette. The only thing I could hear was two sets of intense panting, and the distinctive creak of stretching leather as my bonds took the weight of my entire body moving back and forth. Every time he withdrew, I strained every muscle of my pelvis to keep him inside me, and thrilled at the sensation when he thrust once more.

It took only a few strokes before I came, the pleasure of orgasm erupting from my every pore. I screamed. More than ever before, I could feel the blasts of semen rushing into my pulsing young womb. He popped out, and more jizz hit my thighs, belly, tits and higher. Jet after jet struck me on my cheeks, in my open mouth, on my spread-wide armpits, before subsiding again to further baste my belly and loins. It seemed that he too had been deferring gratification to build the anticipation of this moment.

I lay there, cum dribbling off my naked body in the cool basement darkness. A few details suddenly came together in my mind. “Happy birthday, sir,” I said into the black.

“Thank you,” he replied, seeming to confirm my guess.

“What’s the time now?”

A light lit up in the darkness. It seemed incredibly bright to my light-starved eyes, but it was probably just the glow of a mobile phone screen, or even a digital watch. “About 8:30.”

“Hmm, earlier than I thought. It felt like an eternity there, waiting to be fucked.”

“I suppose I owe you for subjecting you to my twisted fantasy. What do you want to do?”

I thought for a moment. The drying semen on my face was making my nose itch, but of course I couldn’t move my hands to scratch it. The need, the anticipation of relief that would come from scratching that itch, made me reflect back on everything I had just experienced. “Well… you could go and start up the videos again…”

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