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The Cougars
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
The Cougars
Cynthia flushed. Her heart leapt, and she found
herself short of breath.
She had just finished getting ready for church.
This was the first time that she had gone to church with
Jeff, and she had been a little surprised when he had asked
her. They had not been going steady very long, but there
Jeff stood at her door, dangling a pair of shiny nickel
handcuffs from his finger teasingly.
"Jeff, I know that I lost the bet, but now?" she
pleaded.
Jeff walked into her apartment. He took her by both
shoulders, and gave her a light kiss on the lips. "Now,
you knew the stakes when you made the bet. The Cougars
lost, and the bet was that the loser spends the day as a
prisoner, and today is your day. My, you sure look nice!"
Jeff stood back to admire his girlfriend.
"Thank you," she stammered, but she was unable to
take her eyes off the handcuffs.
She did look nice. Her long brown hair was
carefully curled, and her makeup nicely set off her light
blue eyes. She had chosen to wear a light orange chiffon
blouse with sheer sleeves, and a slim black leather skirt
that came to mid calf length with a slit up past her knees.
Her hose was seamed, and carefully centered along the back
of her shapely calves, and she wore patent high heeled
pumps.
An extra sexy touch was the velvet black ribbon that
she had tied about her slender throat.
Since they were both students, Jeff usually saw
Cynthia in jeans, although she did almost always wear a
very feminine blouse and heels. The semester had just
begun just over two weeks ago, and the two of them had met
the first day of classes.
Jeff had swept her off her feet. He was a senior
who transferred in from another school to be in the
business program. They met in the registration lines.
Things between them progressed rather quickly, and they
were quite close after only having known each other a short
time.
At lunch, a few days before, they were talking about
college football, which they both followed closely, and
Cynthia remarked that she was certain that the Cougars
would defeat the Bears (Jeff's home school team) by a sound
margin. Jeff, sensing he had a fish on the line, carefully
reeled her in.
"Oh come on, now," he teased. "The Cougars don't
have a chance!"
"A chance? They're going to win!" replied Cynthia.
"How much do you want to bet?"
"I don't like to bet money with friends, Cynthia,"
said Jeff. "I tell you what. Since we are going to church
this Sunday, and we are planning to spend the afternoon
together anyway, I'll bet you my freedom for the day that
the Bears will win."
Cynthia was intrigued. "What do you mean, your
freedom?"
"Simple," said Jeff. "If the Cougars win, I will be
your prisoner for the whole day. I'll do whatever you
want. I'll clean your apartment, do errands for you,
whatever. You can even hogtie me on the floor for the
whole day, if you want."
Cynthia smiled. "Hogtying you sounds fun. And if
your Bears win?"
"I thought you were so sure that they wouldn't have
a chance."
"But if they do?"
"The same thing. You will be my prisoner for the
day."
Cynthia thought for a minute. "I'm not sure that I
want to be trussed up, but it seems a fair bet." She held
her hand out across the table. "You're on!" They shook on
it.
On Saturday afternoon, Jeff had a study group
session, and he was unable to watch the game. It was about
four o'clock when he came out of the library, and went back
to his apartment. He picked up the phone and dialed
Cynthia. They were going to a film that night.
After a bit of small talk, Jeff said, "Good, then
I'll be by at 7:30 to pick you up."
"See you then," said Cynthia, almost too quickly.
"Wait a minute," Jeff said. "Do you know who won
the game?"
"See you at 7:30," stalled Cynthia.
"Hey, now, I do detect a bit of reluctance to come
out with the facts, here. Now who won the game?"
"The Bears won, 21 to 17," said Cynthia reluctantly.
"I knew it!" said Jeff. "Well, it looks like I won
the bet. Well, don't worry, even though you will be my
prisoner, I'll try to see that it's not all bad for you.
Tell me, do you prefer ropes or chains?"
"Ropes or chains!" exclaimed Cynthia. "You're not
going to keep me tied up are you? I'll clean your
apartment, anything!"
"The bet was that you would be my prisoner. And
besides, you said that you would keep me hogtied. I
thought that a prisoner was supposed to be tied up by
definition."
"OK, smarty, well, I hope that my sentence will be
suspended for tonight, at least."
"Prisoner at the bar, I hereby declare that your
sentence is for the night only suspended and that you will
be remanded into custody there to be taken into restraint
come the morrow's sun. Tell me, what type of gag do you
prefer?" asked Jeff.
"Very funny, Jeff," laughed Cynthia. "See you
soon."
"Bye, lover, pick you up at 7:30."
. . . . . . . . .
"Well, if you must lock those silly things on me, go
ahead," said Cynthia reluctantly, proffering her wrists
before her. "I just trust that you will remove them before
the service?"
Jeff took one of her wrists, and clasped the bright
metal around her blouse cuffs between the bottom third and
fourth buttons. He did not fasten them overly tightly, but
assured himself that there was not too much play between
her wrists and the handcuffs. She could not escape and
she could not even succeed in moving the handcuff clasp
over her blouse button. With one of wrists thus clasped,
and its mate dangling in the air, he took her into his arms
and hugged her warmly.
"Be careful," she admonished, "you might get makeup
on your jacket."
He held her firmly at arm's length, looked at her
and said, "You're so beautiful."
"You didn't answer my question," she said. "Are you
going to take these 'cuffs off me before we go into the
Church?"
He kissed her firmly and deeply on the mouth.
Cynthia hesitated a bit, then responded to him. Her jaw
relaxed. Her breathing became short and quick. After
over a minute, they came up for air, and he said, "Let's
go."
"I have to fix my lipstick, and you need to get the
pink lipstick off your lips."
She went to the mirror, and redid her lips as the
handcuff dangled from her wrist. She seemed slightly
annoyed by the dangling metal, but quickly redid herself as
Jeff took Kleenex and removed her lipstick from his lips.
As soon as Cynthia put the lipstick back into her
purse, she began to examine the clasps at her wrist. The
free end was closed, and she asked Jeff, "Are you going to
unlock this part, or do I just wear these like this?"
"No need to unlock them," he said. "They just
ratchet through." He demonstrated. The clicking sound
opened the clasp, and made them available for her wrists.
Again, she proffered her wrists in front of her. He took
both of them in a firm grip, gave her a light kiss, and
then twisted her wrists behind her back, with his arms
around her.
"Are you going to lock up my wrists behind me?
That's the way they carry criminals around."
"Well, you are my prisoner, and this is only the
beginning of your restraint today. In fact, just handcuffs
are hardly sufficient to transport you to church." He
clasped her free wrist into the metal shackle. She was now
handcuffed.
Cynthia stepped away. She tried to look at the
metal bands that held her wrists behind her. With her arms
locked up behind her back, her lacy slip and bra were
visible through the sheer orange material of her blouse.
Twisting her wrists in the cuffs brought her neither relief
nor freedom. She relaxed her efforts, allowing her wrists
to drop, and they fell with a clatter to the small of her
back.
A wisp of her brown curls fell in her face, and she
instinctively reached up to remove it. When her motion was
stopped by her opposite arm's inability to twist further,
she gave her lover a dependent, exasperated look.
"Please?" she asked.
Instead of brushing the brown locks aside, Jeff took
her in his arms. Her body, convex due to the handcuff's
locking of her wrists behind her molded against his. She
raised her lips to his to receive a kiss. Instead of
kissing her, however, he brushed the hair from her eyes
with his lips. He heard the single link of chain that
joined her cuffs rattle behind her.
Reaching into his jacket pocket, Jeff pulled out a
set of leg irons. Before Cynthia even had a chance to
comment, he stooped down and swiftly clasped them about her
ankles.
"Now I feel like a hobbled harem girl!" said
Cynthia. "Jeff, you know, this is kind of sexy."
"It sure is, just the thing for a Sunday morning
before church. It will give us something to look forward
to afterwards. Oh, there's one more thing."
"What is it now, or dare I ask?"
Jeff pulled out a leather strap that ran through a
bright red rubber ball. "What on earth is that for?"
exclaimed Cynthia. Jeff had taken all her generous head of
hair in his grip, forming a ponytail, and raised the ball
up to her mouth. She opened, and Jeff set the ball on her
bottom teeth and twisted down and back. There was a bit of
pressure required, but the ball slipped under her white
upper teeth and seated itself firmly in the cavity of her
mouth.
Her eyes immediately widened, and Jeff paused for a
moment to enjoy her reaction to this new higher level of
bondage before tightening the strap tightly at the soft
nape of her neck. As the roller buckle was pulled, the gag
bisected her jaws, and the ball was pulled further back
into her mouth, and her lips stretched around it, forming a
perfect seal. Jeff took a small lock from his pocket and
ran it through the hole closest to the buckle, making it
impossible to unbuckle without his key.
Cynthia tried to talk, and all that would emit from
her mouth was feeble moans. She clearly was not pleased
with this latest restriction imposed upon her, but Jeff
took her keys from her purse, left it on the table, took
her by the arm around the soft georgette fabric of her
blouse and lead her out her apartment door, locking it
behind him.
. . . . . . . . .
Cynthia sat quietly in the car on the way back from
Church. Her wrists were locked in hard steel in front of
her, and run through the seatbelt, and the leg irons had
been reaffixed to her ankles. The service was quite
enjoyable. The music was beautiful, and the sermon
inspiring. The rector had greeted them warmly as they
left.
She was trying to deal with the almost overpowering
desire she felt for Jeff's touch throughout the service.
He had driven her, chained up and ball-gagged to the
Church, and when they had arrived slightly early, he had
removed her gag and kissed her deeply. She wanted him to
take her right then, but said nothing, knowing that this
would have been impossible.
Back in the car after Church, he kissed her again,
and smiled. "Are you going to put me back in the handcuffs
and the gag?" she asked. She was almost hoping for the
ball-gag to keep her from saying something that he might
find too desirous or silly.
"Handcuffs only, and this time in front of you. And
leg irons, of course."
After her seatbelt was fastened, the handcuffs were
removed from his jacket pocket and clasped about her
wrists, and the leg irons, stored beneath the car seat were
taken out and locked about her ankles. He kissed her
again, and placed his hand on her breast. "Do you want to
go to lunch, or would you like to go back to my apartment?"
"Take me back to your apartment," was her reply.
Jeff's apartment was perfectly neat. Cynthia
thought this unusual for a man. Several of the pieces of
furniture were antiques. Cynthia was left standing in the
living room in her chains as Jeff went into his bedroom to
get her something "more appropriate".
In several moments, her emerged with a complex set
of black leather straps, and a ball-gag wrapped in Saran
Wrap. Throwing these on the couch, he unlocked her
handcuffs from one wrist, but not the other. He put his
arms around her, and she returned his warm hug. "Jeff,"
she said. "I want to feel you inside me."
"You will," he assured her. "But it may be a
while." He kissed her and pressed himself against her.
Her desire was all the more inflamed. Jeff began to
unbutton her blouse down her back, and then on her wrists,
and removed it. He left her to stand as he went to hang it
up in the closet. He then removed her bra. Her skirt was
next, and he was pleased to see that she wore no panties,
and she wore a garter belt with her stocking rather than
pantyhose.
"My compliments, beautiful lady," he said, taking
her into his arms and kissing her once more.
With the handcuffs still locked about her one wrist,
he turned her about and began to strap the leather shoulder
harness around her shoulders and buckled it, making sure
that her shoulders were properly drawn back. Then, he
twisted her wrists behind her, and carefully strapped them
together. This strap was run through the D-ring at the
nape of her neck, forming an anchor by which her wrists
could be drawn up to the small of her back. The ball-gag
was strapped about her throat, but as yet was not inserted
into her mouth.
"Where did you get this harness?" she asked.
"In New York City, when I visited there last
summer," he said. "I've been wanting to try it out ever
since."
Cynthia stood back and tested it, trying to take it
off her shoulders. Her bare breasts stood out at attention
as she manipulated the black leather straps that were
strapped about her shoulders, holding her arms suspended.
As if it would help in some way, she bend forward, and
wrestled with her bindings, and her brown curls fell over
her head into her face as she stood. The handcuffs
dangling ineffective and redundant from her pinioned wrist
flashed in the lamplight and rattled.
As it became obvious that her harness could not be
simply pulled off by her, she resorted to brute force,
straining by pulling downward with her wrists, but these
had been drawn up so far behind her back that it was
difficult at best for her to get any leverage, and besides,
these leather straps were so thick that they would have
held a horse. Certainly a young girl could make no
headway.
Defeated, she looked up at Jeff, who, holding a pair
of leg irons, was watching her with high interest. Cynthia
was short of breath from her exertions against her
constraints, and was becoming ever more frustrated by the
desire that welling up inside her. "You are going to
hobble me as well, I presume?" she asked, and proffered
her ankle for his attentions. This done, he took her in
his arms, gave her a deep kiss. He stroked her nipples
gently.
"Jeff, please take me to bed," she moaned in his
ear. He responded by kissing her again. He looked at his
watch, then looked up at her.
"It's almost 2:00, time for the football game," he
said as he unstrapped the gag from around her throat, and
made it ready for insertion. "Let's make another bet.
Tell me, do you favor the Oilers or the Saints?"
"I'll take the Oilers," she said.
"Well," Jeff said, "It looks like this is not the
only afternoon you will spend like this."
She opened her mouth for her gag, knowing it would
be a long afternoon.
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