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FANTASIA 4: Lorna and the Law [mf nc bondage pain]
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.
torture, incest, degradation, underage characters. If these
things offend you, do not read.
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LORNA AND THE LAW
by V.P. Viddler
"Mmmphh-mmmphh," Lorna said.
"No," I said. "I like you that way."
"Mmmm--Mm--"
"I love it," I said. And I did. My cock was standing up,
throbbing. "I'll have to gag you all the time."
"Nnngghh," Lorna said.
"Christ. If you could only move, I'd have you pull my cock
out right now. And go down on it, gag and all."
But Lorna couldn't do that, not the way I had her tied on
the car seat next to me. Driving through the night with my Lorna
sitting at my side, unmoving. With her hands lashed behind her
back. And her ankles pinioned tightly, held still by ropes
clamped to the floorboards. And with her long lustrous brown hair
tied too, fastened to her pulled-back wrists. Making Lorna hold
her head high, pulling it back slightly, not allowing her to look
down, or even to turn to look at me, or out the window. Not
without a gasp of pain. But that occasional gasp, or moan, or
whimper, through the gag, always made my cock jump. And with
Lorna's snug blouse, pulling so tightly across her straining,
quivering, beckoning breasts. And with Lorna's skirt riding high,
high over her luscious, curving, lust-rousing thighs. Lorna.
Unmoving as I drove through the night. Lorna gagged. But not
silent. Whimpering. Moaning. Wordlessly pleading.
Lorna was not fond of being gagged.
And I was fond of doing things that Lorna was not fond of.
My cock was throbbing. I put my right hand on Lorna's bare
thigh. The hand with the cigarette in it. I felt the thigh
tighten. "Mmm-mmmphh. Mmm-mmm. Nnnghh." From that muffled mouth.
Lorna's breasts were rising and falling in rapid apprehension.
Lorna's soft smooth thigh flexing, twitching. Lorna trying to
shake her head, hissing at the pain in her scalp.
"Christ," I said. Anticipating. Anticipating the stiffening,
straining body, the helpless, twisting torment, the full-throated
scream that would sound as a tiny, ragged mewling through the
gag.
And then--lights. Flashing. And the sound of a siren.
Cops.
I took my hand away from Lorna's thigh, slowing down. Lorna
made a half-mewling, half-grunting sound of panic.
"Cops. I have to stop."
"Nnnghh! Nnn-nnnhh! Nnnggghhh!"
"No way out," I said. "Just play it cool." Not that Lorna
could do anything at all about it.
"Nn-nn-nn-nunnghh." Twisting, squirming, hurting herself
trying to pull away. Panting noisily through the gag. "Unngghh-
unnnghh," brokenly as I slowed and stopped. As the car behind us
pulled up and a cop in uniform got out, holding a flashlight.
"Nn-unhh mmm!" Lorna said frantically.
"Oh, no. No, Lorna. You're the only card I have right now."
Lorna tried to look at me, but couldn't turn that far. I
heard the air go out of her. Saw her sinking in despair against
the seat. And now the cop was at my window.
"What's the problem, officer?"
"You know how fast you were going?"
How could I? About to inflict that burning pain on my
captive plaything Lorna, my foot had lost all sense of proportion
on the accelerator. Now he would ask for my license and
registration. That would not be good.
"Sorry, officer. I didn't know. You see, I was having such a
fascinating conversation with this young lady--"
Now the flashlight, shining on me, then moving. To Lorna. A
loud gasp of astonishment from the cop. "Jesus Christ!" The
flashlight on Lorna's face, then moving down her body. Her
helplessly tied, leggy, full-breasted, luscious body. And back up
to her face. The wide, staring eyes. The tautly pulled hair. And
the gagged, fully stuffed, forcibly wide-open mouth.
"Holy Christ!" the cop said, almost dropping the flashlight,
but not quite. "What--what the fuck is going on here?"
"Not a thing, officer. My lady friend and I are just playing
a bit of a game."
"A game! Jesus H. Christ!" Now the cop left my window to
walk swiftly around the car to Lorna's side. He shone his light
into her window, again moving it slowly down that pinioned body,
and back to her face. He started to speak, but had to clear his
throat first.
"Miss," he said at last. "Miss--are you--I mean--is this man
kidnapping you? Abducting you?"
"Nn," Lorna said.
"What?"
Lorna shook her head. But it wouldn't shake very far, and
with each tiny turn back and forth, the pull on her hair brought
sounds from Lorna. "Nhh-nnghh-nunn," Lorna said. "Nhh-nnhh-
mumphh."
"No?"
"Certainly not," I said. "It's just that she is my--my
plaything, you might say."
"Plaything. Christ. You play rough, mister. Jesus." Again
the flashlight toured Lorna's shapely form. "Shit. This girl is--
she can't move, can she?"
"No," I said. "That's part of the point, you know."
"Yeah, huh? And she can't use her hands, right?"
"Right."
"And she can't talk."
"That's right."
"Or scream or anything."
"No, she can't."
"She can't do anything. No matter what you do."
"No matter what anybody does," I said.
"Mmmpphh," Lorna said. "Nngghh. Nnnggh."
"I could do things to her," the cop said. "And she can't do
anything about it."
"That's right."
"And you know what I think, mister? I think you can't do
anything about it either."
"You're probably right," I said. "With you being an officer
of the law, and having a gun and all."
"Fuckin' A," the cop said.
Lorna made a kind of low whinnying sound through her
nostrils, and I could hear her panting in fright.
"Let's try something," the cop said, and the hand that was
not holding his flashlight now reached through Lorna's open
window. It reached for Lorna's breast. That round high firm sexy
bra-less breast, outlined so fully by the tightly stretching
blouse, the hard, pointing nipple sharply defined through the
soft thin cotton. The cop molded his hand over that breast,
around it, holding it, testing it, then mauling it., through that
taut material. And then letting go of it. Only to grasp at that
protruding nubbin of nipple. Grasp it and take it, holding it
between his fingers. His thumb and first finger, actually.
Holding it. And then, slowly but most firmly, squeezing.
Clamping. Crushing. Hard. Very hard. Just as hard, I would say,
as it was possible for him to do.
I watched. As Lorna's eyes went wide. As Lorna's body
stiffened, straining, then shaking, then pulling, or trying to
pull, upwards. Frantically trying to fight the strong cords that
bound her. Body arching up from the car seat, straining tautly in
agony. Agony. As the cop did not stop. His fingers white with the
pressure, quivering with it, Lorna straining wildly, vainly,
helplessly. Bare thighs spasming with pain and furious, futile
effort. Torso jerking madly. Head pulled back, far back, with the
terrible pulling of that bound hair as she bucked and rocked and
arched like a bow with the agonizing, unstoppable pain.
And Lorna, my Lorna, said: "Mm. Nnngghh. Nn-n-nnnuhhgg!
Nngghh! Nuhh. Ngugghh. Nnnnggghhh! Ngngng! NNNNGGGHH! NGNGNGNGUH!
Mmphh! Nunnggngngnghh! NUNNNGGGMMGGGUNNGGHHH!
NGANGANNNGGHHANUNGNGNGNNNGGG! GGGGHGHH! GYANNGGYANNGGHHH!
GHGHGHGHGH--NNNNNNN! NNGGHHHHNNNNGGGHH! NGGANGGH. NGANG. HUHN.
HUHN. NGUNGH. UNNGHUNNG. Hnnnhh. Hnnnhh. Nnnggh. Nngh. Nngh.
Nngh. Nn-nn. Nn-nn-nnhh. NNGH. HUNNG. NNnnn."
"Christ H. Jesus," the cop said.
"I was just about to burn her on the thigh when you came
along," I said.
"Do it," the cop said.
Lorna said the usual things, only a bit more frantically, a
bit more pleadingly, with all the horror of hell in her beautiful
brown eyes.
So I did it.
The cop and I both watched Lorna and listened to Lorna. For
a long time.
"I want to see her tits," the cop said.
"Why not?" I said, and I ripped Lorna's blouse open. Lorna
was crying. I tore her skirt off too. Lorna's thighs gleaming.
"I want her," the cop said.
"I don't want to untie her."
"No. Don't. But take that gag out."
"She'll scream."
"I don't think so." The cop took out his gun and put its
barrel against Lorna's head. "You won't scream, lady, will you?
Hmm?"
Lorna shook her head. Hard. Crying out through the gag with
each painful shake.
"Take it out," the cop said.
I took the gag out.
"Not a word," the cop said. "Not a fucking sound, lady." He
opened the door and got in, putting his foot on the seat,
swinging his other foot over Lorna's body, straddling her legs,
standing on the seat, crouching over. His crotch toward Lorna's
face. He brought his hand to his fly (the hand not holding the
gun--he had dropped his flashlight on the ground) and pulled at
his zipper. And took out his cock, which was hard, stiff and
throbbing--as was my own.
"Gag yourself with this, girl," the cop said. "Now!"
And Lorna's whimpering, sobbing mouth opened and his prick
stuffed itself into it.
"Christ!" the cop said.
Lorna was gagged again, as fully as she had been. Painful
crying whimpers around the cock gag as the cop began moving back
and forth, his hips swinging back and forth, slowly, back and
forth, his big stiff cock sliding in and out of Lorna's helpless
mouth, all the way in, Lorna gagging, choking; almost all the way
out, Lorna gasping for air through her sobs and whinnyings. On
and on, with Lorna in constant pain as his rhythm pulled at her
head, pulling that bound hair, hurting her scalp. His knees
rubbed at her breasts, punishing those nipples.
"Lorna," I said. "Lorna, darling. When our officer friend
shoots his load in your mouth, I want you to take it right down
your throat. I want you to swallow it, Lorna, swallow it all. All
of it. Swallow it down. Do you hear me, Lorna? Do you?"
And around the plunging, raping prick in her mouth, Lorna
said, "Mm-mph." Which meant yes. Yes, you bastard, I hear you,
and I will obey. I will swallow this man's come, disgusting and
nauseating as it may be, horrible as he is, as much as I hate
what he is doing to me, what you are allowing him to do to me
(and loving it all), because I am your slave and you are my
master.
"Swallow, Lorna," I said. "Swallow."
I will do it, Lorna's gasping whimpers said. And if you wish
to make me stay this way always, bound and gagged for you, I
cannot and will not stop you. And if you want to show off to this
idiot still more, if you want to show him your power over me, by
making me crawl in the dust, crawl through the mud, naked, and
then suck you off in front of him, in front of anybody, I will do
that. If you want to burn my thighs again; if you want to hang me
from a tree limb by my wrists, and whip my body until I scream my
lungs out, until I promise to do anything, anything at all, for
anybody, I will not object.
So that's what I did.
All of it.
Now Lorna is crouching at my feet, hands bound in back of
her, nude, with that soft warm mouth surrounding my cock. I want
your tongue, Lorna. That's my girl. All around. Now slowly,
Lorna. Up and down. Good. I don't care if your hair hurts. That's
just why I tied it this way. All the way down. Now stay right
there. Lorna's hair taut, pulling, Lorna crying around my cock,
tongue licking my cock, Lorna hurting, Lorna choking, Lorna
saying around the stiff gag, "Nnngghh. Nn-nng-ghughgh-mmphh--
nummnghh." Lorna's tears on my thighs. Swallow this, my gagging
lady...
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