Virginia awoke to find herself bound."What the" she began, tongue and lips thick with the alcohol she'd ingested earlier. She was staring up at a huge mirror, and she could see that she was naked, spread-eagled, on a black surface. She could see four faint beams of light from the far corners of the room twisting her head she could see the spotlights themselves all converging on her. Her creamy flesh and bright-red hair sone almost luminously against the black background, and she could feel the silky texture of the sheet beneath her."Ahhhh, so you've rejoined us."
She turned and tried to see Burt, but he was hidden in the blackness of the room beyond the area lit with the spots."What what are you going to do?" she asked,voice trembling with fear. Was he going to whip her? Beat her? What?"Well, anticipation may be the better part of pleasure, my dear, but I think I'd prefer to surprise you as we go along."
She caught her lower lip between her even white teeth."But don't worry, my dear, lovely, red-headed lady you won't be hurt. Oh my my no, you won't be hurt at all," and his voice trailed off into delighted chuckles.
He was nuts, she decided, totally, raving, absolutely bonkers and she had called him! But still, her cunt was throbbing, aching, her pussy drooling with excitement. She looked up at her reflection again and her eyes telescoped in on the sight of her wide-open snatch. She could make out the stiffened, aroused bud of her clitoris and, seeing it, the arousal rose through her still more powerfully and almost against her will. What's the matter with me? Why do I feel so fucking horny? She tensed as she heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being opened followed by the rustle of clothes being shed.
"Are you familiar with absinthe, my dear?" Burt's disembodied voice asked.
"N-No."
"Hehehehehe" More rustling."Well, absinthe is a liqueur that's been banned in most of the civilized countries of the world. It has aphrodisiac powers, documented effects. Very potent." Her eyes widened.
"It received a bad rap, to use the vernacular, some years ago and was subsequently banned. It causes no physiological damage, though. Let me assure you, at least, of that." And when fine wines and certain foods are ingested in precise quantities. He broke off into chuckles again."Let us say that the absinthe was an optional item, that even without it, you were undoubtedly feeling some arousal. Is that so?" She nodded uncertainly.
"Ahh, yes. Well, it's always good to be reassured that one hasn't lost one's touch, shall we say? Indeed." And then he stepped forward. Virginia stared. He was incredibly skinny, barely more than a skeleton. He was also totally hairless and his skin was so pale that he looked about three days dead and ready for the maggots. He wore only a towel like affair, cinched about his waist, that reached down to the midpoint of his bony thighs.
"Let us begin," he said, as if he were about to prepare a meal. Burt bent and from somewhere beneath the bed withdrew a black satin covered pillow. It wasn't stuffed at all, but was a single rectangular bulge of cushioned fabric. As he climbed up onto the bed beside her, Virginia tried to push her thighs shut but couldn't. The bonds tying her were expertly measured. They held her legs completely straight out and spread, without pain but without slack, either. With surprising strength, he slipped one bony arm beneath her delicious ass-cheeks and lifted her crotch, then pushed the pillow beneath.
Now she was arched up backwards from the bed, with her cunt and inner thighs offered towards the mirror on the ceiling.
"Ah, perfection, perfection," Burt muttered, as if appraising a souffle just removed from the oven.
She shivered in mixed apprehension and arousal. Once again he bent, and Virginia heard a drawer sliding open. The bed, she guessed, was a platform bed and the frame contained drawers. What was in those drawers, she couldn't guess. That she would find out about their contents was, however, a certainty. Burt straightened, and in the mirror, Virginia saw her expression change from one of fear to puzzlement. Of all things in the world that he might have held, Burt was clasping a long feather, an ostrich plume, dyed bright, shocking red. Her vision focused on the tip of the feather as it weaved cobra-like through the air over her. She was oddly fascinated by it, and she watched distantly as the feather dipped slowly downward over her lushly curved nakedness. on the bed. It never reached her.
Instead, she felt the soft breath of moving air on her warm flesh as the feather glided above her, displacing the air so that it, and not the feather, caressed her. It started just above her forehead, and she closed her eyes as it flowed smoothly downward, over her face and her throat, over her upper chest and the firm thrust of her tit jugs, over the inviting expanse of her flat stomach and taut abdomen, over the smooth swell of her red beaver, over the sleekness of her upper thighs, over her long slim legs to her feet and then back up over her body. Again, the plume moved over her, this time still lower. She could feel just the lightest, most feathery of touches on her hypersensitive flesh as the very ends of the feather traced over her skin. She felt as if every single filament were finding her nerves, fancying that she could actually feel each one individually. Burt's control of the feather was masterful, always slow and constant, never varying. She could hear the sound of her breath in the utter silence, somehow louder than normal to her ears, and she – could hear the gradual, subtle but unmistakable arousal creeping into it. Still again the feather traveled over her, even lower, and this time it was brushing over her fully. She sucked in a sharp breath as the feather touched her throat, her aching, swollen nipples, her abdomen, her pubes, her thighs.
She grunted as the feather brushed up along the inside of one tautly stretched thigh to the edge of her wet beaver. There he hesitated for the first time but only to lift the gripped edge of the feather till the plume was rising vertically between her legs. He drew it painstakingly slowly upward, and a million gentle, knowing fingers rippled over her swollen pussy-lips and clitoris.
Virginia exhaled sharply, her hips humping upwards just slightly in response to that stimulus. Sensations were exploding through her pussy. She caught sight of her own reflected image in the huge mirror overhead and felt arousal rising through her still higher. She felt like a voyeur, watching some lovely woman being aroused to fever pitch while at the same time having precisely the same caresses lavished upon herself.
Now Burt was adopting a different tack. Only the tip of the plume was touching her, gliding over her like a feathery aircraft, following the contours of her rich body, dipping from time to time to skim the peaks of her tits, the valley of her thighs,the smoldering volcano of lusty passion in her cunt. Within moments, Virginia was groaning, almost sobbing with her excitement. She was writhing or tried to as well as she could within the confines of the bonds securing her feet and hands in place. Her knockers heaved irregularly as she responded to the powerful sensations washing through her ever more thoroughly excited body. He traced the tip of the feather about the swollen nutshell dome of her nipple. Virginia gasped, thrusting the fit upward. She wanted it to be touched, yes, teased, yes but she needed to have it sucked, powerfully, laved and bitten by a man s mouth. As it was, she was being brought to a violin-string tension and without the release she craved so urgently. The plume moved to the other boob, again lightly grazing the hardened, reddish-brown mass of her hypersensitive nipple.
Virginia thought she was going to lose her mind completely. The feather moved upwards. Catlike, she arched her head back, offering the smooth, graceful line of her throat to the feathery touch. Burt wasted no time or enthusiasm in taking her up on the offer. She writhed as the feather tip moved upward over the exact center line of her arched, drawn throat,reacting as if the touch were at her clitoral shaft and not on her neck. She'd never had any idea that she was so sensitive there, though she'd always been quickly aroused by the press of hot male kisses against the hollow at the base of her throat but that had always been merely a stopping off place on the way to the magnificent swells of her creamy jugs.
This time, though, that point at the base of her throat was receiving lavish attention in its own fight and was responding gratefully by sending electric shocks of pleasure through her. When the tip of the feather began to touch just barely touch the soft flesh of her cheeks and follow the lust-tensed line of her jaw up to her shell-like ears, Virginia was sure that she'd been drugged. That could be, she thought, the only possible explanation for the incredibly intense sensations radiating outward from the point of the feather's touch.
The feather moved to the other side, its journey there an exact duplicate of its first, and the knowing of each next move only made her anticipate the more and crave the greater and respond the more intensely. But then, without any other warning, the feathery caress stopped, was taken away from her.
She lay there on the bed, a tensely strung bundleof aroused nerves, all but screaming for continuation and release. Suddenly, she felt the touch of the feather tip on the inside of her left thigh, just above the knee. Slowly, the feather moved upwards, always closer to her cunt.
By the time it reached the crease of her thigh, she was trying to open her legs still farther, thrusting her cunt upward and trying to work her body lower on the bed in a desperate effort to bring the tip of the feather into contact with her pussy and clitoris once again. But she was denied. Without any warning at all, Burt abruptly removed the slowly swinging feather tip from her flesh. Virginia cried out and moaned, a sound of sheer, animal want and frustration.
He was, she decided, a sadist but of a different sort than she'd expected. He intended to torture her by arousing her to the very bunk of orgasm but never giving her the explosive relief of which her body was capable, which she needed. Again the feather tip descended this time to the sensitive flesh of the other thigh."Oh, no," she moaned, "Please, no, no, don't torture me any more!"
But he did. Exactly as before, the slowly writhing tip of the plume danced upwards towards her cunt, this time actually grazing the outer edge of her swollen, sensitive pussy-lips before abruptly being withdrawn, to leave her once more writhing and pleading for the last stimulus she needed for her orgasm.
"Please, please," she whined, barely controlling her sobs."Please touch my cunt, please touch it or lick it or suck. I've got to come!"
Her voice was a shrill shriek of pure, unadulterated lust, the last word leaving her dry lips explosively, reverberating in the darkness surrounding her spotlight star's place on the bed. Evidently, though, as far as Burt was concerned, she wasn't yet ready. He placed the feather on the bed, between her legs, the soft tip of it high up between her soft, convulsively tensing thighs where she could just barely feel its softness against her flesh if she pulled her body down till the bonds of her wrists were restraining her with painful. resistence, and spread her legs still more, until the tics about her ankles were digging into the flesh. She tried to will herself to stretch her lower torso and pelvis, down, down but could never lower quite enough to bring that soft, foreign touch to her clitoris or even her eagerly throbbing pussy-lips.
She heard another smooth ball-bearing sound and tensed, straining to see what he was takingfrom the bed-drawer. With what instrument of pleasure would he torture her next?She soon found out. Burt's hand came into view. He was holding a vibrator in his hand a vibrating dildo.