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My Turn
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.
Subject: As requested: My Turn
Copyright © 1992 by Hope/Sarge, This file may be redistributed electronicly
only if the following two conditions are met: (1) This copyright is retained
with the file and (2) that you make no further restrictions on resdistribution.
My turn (in the barrel so to speak).
Some years later, after I got out of the Marines (hey it wasn't much of
a war, but it was the only war that we had, when it was over, so was
I). I had a couple of years of love/hate (no, let's be honest lust)
relationship with a strikingly beautiful young lady of New York
extraction.
Yeah, yeah, I know, it was my own fault. Anyone who is NOT a New
Yorker, that falls into lust with a New Yorker deserves just what they
get, and I got it.
I had, by this time, discovered that there was some erotic interest in
female clothing. You women don't know just how good you have it now.
You can wear men's clothing and no one will even raise an eyebrow (well
unless your name is Pat [ewwwwwwww]<wiggles hands near top of chest>)
or your own soft, silky, sensuous clothing or any combination of the two.
Pop quiz: Show of hands please, how many people remember the Brut
(Blech) add of about 5 years ago (that's '87 or '88) with the pretty
young lady putting on her SO's shirt, tie, hat and Brut, then getting a
phone call from him and getting all flustered (gee I wonder if she was
going to exercise her wabbily bits(tm)*).
* wabbily bits is a Registered trade mark of STella and the
ASB groupthink clique\' SA, Ltd., Inc.
Anyway The Ol' Sarge makes a really bad woman (not that kind of bad, I mean
stone ugly, -you heard of people "done bin whupped widda ugly stick"? Well
my female persona had the whole tree fall on her [shudder]). Still under
the right circumstances (20 years and 80 pounds ago, in dim light) she was
acceptable as a partner for at least one young lady with a then as yet
unreconized yen for a MOTSS.
My SO at that time was fairly tall for a woman (well OK, VERY tall) six
feet of New York attitude (you don't like it? Fuck you!). She had
short blond hair worn in a Anne Murray style. I was 6'4 (still am)
and rather skinny <not any more> (in 1967 I weighed less than 160
pounds). So that when I was dressed up and had my heels on I was about
a foot taller than her, conveniently she had a couple of step stools that
were exactly a foot tall.
We were deeply in lust with each other but not, I think, in love.
Everything and anything was fair game, vanillia, bondage, spankings,
enemas, breath control (usually with a silken scarf wrapped around the
victims neck), forced oral sex with the giver bound, with the recipient
bound, anal sex bounded and unbounded, on the plane and manifolds, et cetera,
et cetera, and so forth.
One afternoon found me dressed in a black silky blouse, bra, breast
forms, slip, waist cinchers (several, this is before I discovered
Versatile Fashions) with garters, hose, a tight black satin Midi dress,
high heels (6 inches, with locking ankle straps), a long brunette wig
and bondage. My wrists were tied together with nylon rope, palms out,
with a piece of twine tying my little fingers together to keep my arms
from twisting around. Around my neck was a wide dog collar and from
the D ring at the back a rope pulled up the rope around my wrists
holding them at about the middle of my back. It was a fairly
comfortable tie, and I could maintain it for several hours before my
arms began to cramp up. I was laying on my stomach with my ankles
pulled up beside my rump, they were connected to each other by a strap that
passed across the front of my body. My wig was clipped back so as to
not interfere with the project in front of me, cunnilingus, as much as
I could provide.
It seemed like hours or seconds (my how time flys when you're having
fun) after we started, she finished yet another orgasm (greedy,
greedy), and slowly pulled away (I kept trying to reach her, but
couldn't make much headway). She rolled me over enough to reach the
buckle on the ankle strap, releasing it. Then she helped me push my
legs down until they were straight (I didn't say my legs liked it)
accompanied by much groaning and moaning on my part.
She helped me to sit up and then took some tissues and cleaned my face
and chin up, then reapplied my makeup. She gave me a big kiss and said
"I've been thinking up some new fun, you're just going to love it".
Almost every time she said that I got nervous. This time I didn't,
until it was too late <you dummy>.
She helped me to stand and then we walked (she walked, I wiggled, there
is no way on God's green earth that I can walk in 6" heels and not have
my butt wobble around like Marilyn Monroe's) over the the chain that
was attached to one of the banisters of the loft railing. The clip was
one of those quick release kind that you use on horses (stupid animals
that they are, right Rosie?) in case they panic at the sight of a leaf
blowing across the ground ("AIEEEE, a Hippo-munch-a-crunch-a-sauris,
run away, run away") and are pulling with all 1000+ pounds against the
chain (or they've fallen down and can't get up because they are tangled
up in the chain, "and that piece of paper just attacked me, MOMMIE" as
they leap into your lap), it hung just at the level of her neck (she'd
worn it last). She clipped it to my collar and walked over to the
goody box. There she extracted a length of rope which, after directing
me to face the mirror (under the loft was a floor to ceiling mirror
about 4 feet wide, the previous tenant wust have paid a small fortune
for it), she tied once around my ankles, finishing off with a bow, she
tucked the ends of the bow under the knot "For safekeeping".
Then she vanished, up the ladder to the loft. After much clattering and
rummaging and then several minutes of silence, the end of a thin rope
(parachute cord I guess) dropped several feet away, I shuffled back a
few inches and looked up, She was looking down, "No peeking, you silly
slut".
Well that gave me some idea as to what was going to happen, I was to be
punished, for sluttyness no less, sounds interesting. I shuffled
forward again to remove the temptation to peek.
After a few more minutes she came back down the stairs. She was
dressed in the one remaining set of Greens that I had left, ribbons,
stripes, hashmark , spit shined shoes (somewhat scruffy now) and all.
She'd even tied the field scarf (tie) correctly. It was a bit baggy on
her, and the pisscutter sat very strangly on her head of hair (being
sized for a Marine Corps haircut), but all in all it looked very nice,
not ready for an inspection, you understand, but reasonably squared away.
She pulled the stool in front of me and stepped up on it. Her lips
were right at the level of mine. She reached around my head and
removed the hair clip that held back the full wig, my hair tumbled
forwards.
"Shake your head".
I did, vigorously, the hair settled down around my face, hiding most of
it (a big improvement I thought). She leaned forwards and kissed me,
long and deep. Her tongue probing into my open mouth, I leaned
forward into the kiss. She pulled away, and slapped me, gently.
"None of that, you slut, I control what happens here". She reached
over and pulled the parachute cord, it fell, followed by a thick white
braided nylon rope that ended in a noose! The noose thumped the side of
my head.
I shook my head, "No, I don't want to do that".
She smiled and said, "We'll do it, but only if you put your head in the
noose yourself".
The noose hung just below my chin, the top was above my head, all I had
to do was to lean forward and a little sideways and it would slip over
my head.
She kissed me again, caressed my breasts (you can feel through high
quality breast forms, for those who have never tried it). Lifted my
skirt and played with me, kissed me some more, driving her tongue deep
into my mouth. Geeze I was horny. This went on for some time, with me
getting hornier and hornier. Every time I'd be ready to come she'd
stop, step down and allow me cool down.
Finally she said, "If you put your head through, I'll let you come".
Without even thinking I leaned my head forward and put it through the noose.
Quick as a wink, she grabbed the knot and the rope and pushed the knot,
pulled the rope. GLIK! The rope was tight enough around my neck that it
wouldn't come off over my head. I shook my head, tossed it, no way.
That noose was there to stay. She stepped down again. The rope felt
soft and silky, comfortable almost.
"Hey, wait a minute, you promised!".
"Don't worry, you'll get yours". I didn't like the sound of that.
She disconnected the chain, and went back up the steps to the loft.
The chain was hauled up, and another piece of rope came down, the noose
slackened, hanging down from my neck. Quickly she was back down, and
up on the stool. She pulled on the end of the rope, there was a
squeaky noise from above and the heavy rope was slowly pulled up, the
noose began to bite into my neck and then stopped.
She leaned into me and began to kiss me again, soon I was lost in the
pleasures of her mouth (she was one hell of a kisser). She leaned
against me harder and harder, I pressed back. Suddenly she jumped
back, off of the stool, I lost my balance and tried to step forwards.
Remember the rope around my ankles? I did, too late, I tripped and
started to fall, the noose caught me, tightening around my neck. I
stumbled forwards, partially supported by my neck, got my feet under
me, stood up, squeak, squeak, the slack that had appeared in the rope
was taken out. Now the noose was snug around my neck. That soft
silky rope felt harder, not uncomfortable yet, but harder.
Gently she pushed me back under the edge of the loft, right where the
noose came down. She pushed the stool in front of me again, and
stepped up again. She reached for the knot, and slid it every so
gently around from behind my neck, to the side, just behind the ear.
She took my hair and gently pulled it from under the noose, relieving
the some of the tension around my throat. Again she leaned on me
kissing, fondling, probing, as I leaned into her she slowly increased
the pressure, then quickly jerked back. Ah, but I was ready for her
this time, I jerked back violently, as I did she reached up with her
left hand and pushed firmly on my right shoulder. Gakkk! over I went
again, this time I really lost it, and ended up hanging by the noose
for several seconds as my feet scrabbled for footing, as I got my feet
under me, squeak, squeak, squeak up went the rope. The rope now felt
quite hard, like metal around my neck, I didn't have any problems with
breathing, but my face felt sort of full and puffy.
Again she gently turned me around and pushed me under the edge of the
loft, taking the slack out of the rope as I shuffled along (you know,
it really is hard to move around in high heels and bondage). She
stepped up on the stool, and adjusted the noose again. This time she
had to work at sliding the knot into place behind my ear. She kissed
me again several times. Then stepped down and turned the lights on each
side of the mirror on. Then she walked off to the right.
In the mirror was a very plain, tall, large breasted (well anything
worth doing is worth overdoing) woman, dressed in black. Her elbows
sticking out to the sides, a noose sungly around her neck, tipping her
head to the side, her ankles tied with a single strand of rope. A
cloud of messy black hair surrounded her face, which was rather red.
She returned to me with a piece of thin rope which she tied to my
elbow, the other end was tied to the hinge of the hall door. She tied
another piece of rope the my other elbow and walked over to the stairs
and tied it there, this left me held in position by two lines, not very
tight but not slack either. She bent down and untied my ankles, then
pulled the stool away from in front of me. Experimentally I tried to
take a step, a shuffle to the left a few inches pulled on my right arm,
a shuffle to the right brought the same results on the left arm.
She took a firm grip on the thin rope, as high as she could reach, and
said, "Bye, bye dearie", then pulled down as far as she could.
"Ngggggggg", That's hangee for NO!. I was up on my tip toes, trying to
talk. Her hands go up, up then pull, my toes leave the ground. The rope
feels like a band of steel around my neck, my head is tipped far to the
side. But I can still breath! By tightening my neck muscles I can
gurgle out and snore in. I look in the mirror, my feet are waving in
circles, out, around, reaching down just above the floor. Her hand
reaches up, the other up, then pull. Now my feet are at least 3 inches
above the floor. Again her hand reaches up, the other up, then pull.
Now it's 6 inches. The ropes to my elbows stop me from swinging or
twisting, I face myself in the mirror. My feet are still waving.
She stops pulling, and looks in the mirror at me, "Now, you silly slut,
you're going to pay for choking me yesterday". She dropped the rope.
<OH NO! that's a locking pulley, she's really going to hang me>.
"Glugggggg, rasp".
I look in the mirror, feet swinging around, limited by the tight skirt,
face turning dark red, eyes starting to bulge a little. Suddenly my
feet give a flutter kick. <I've seen that before, where? Hong Kong!,
don't do that!>. I try to stop my feet ,but they seem to have a life of
their own. Every kick draws the noose tighter, it slides slowly
around, now my head is tipped as much forward as sideways. <Oh god,
it's just like in Hong Kong, but it's ME hanging>.
I feel the pressure in my groin, rising towards orgasm. Dazzled, my
mind races <the noose is tight, the dress is tight, I'm helpless, My
arms tightly bound, I'm a slut being punished, the dress tight, the
noose tight, helpless, wrists tightly tied, listen to her strangle> my
feet kick out and down <look at her kicking feet, my kicking feet, the
noose tighter> struggling for support <feet kicking, arms bound, my
dress tight, a slut hanging, my feet dancing in the air, listen to my
gurgling, tight dress, tight noose, dress!, noose!, tight!, noose-tight,
dress-tight>. I come, trying to scream, "Glggggggggg!".
<I can't breath> That last gurgle was not followed by a rasp, just
silence. I try again, gurgle out <that's good> in ... <no!>. My feet
begin to kick vigorously, violently, the rope literally races around my
neck to the back. The gurgles quickly stop. Now the only sound is my
legs wisping against each other, the flap of satin fabric and the creak
of the banister and rope.
Suddenly there she is, in front of me. I reach out my legs to grasp
her and she slips away. There's a rope around one ankle, it pulls out
to the side. She's there again, and gone, another rope, the other
ankle, out the the side. In the mirror, my face purple, eyes bulging,
lips gasping. A helpless, hanging, slut with my legs pulled as wide as the
skirt allows, my feet kick forwards and backwards, jerking up and down. The
rope comes down right in the middle of my neck, chin pressed down, hair
falling foward around my face down across my breasts, bobbing down with each
kick.
She places the stool in front of me, steps up, I try to reach her,
speak, anything. Only futile wiggles, and not much of that. She leans
up to me, on the stool, I try to reach for her, more wiggles. She
kisses me, my face, my neck, the noose, fondles by breasts now at the
center of my field of view, that's how far down the noose pushes my
head.
She steps down, my legs are released and they begin kicking again, not
very much though. Everything is getting darker, I'm getting tunnel
vision, soon all I can see are my breasts, then they too fade from
view. There is a buzzing in my ears, and my face feels all tingely. I
hear her say, "I think that this is enough... OH SHIT" (but I don't
take any interest in it). All I want is a breath of air. Then nothing.
The next thing that I see is her, leaning over me, somehow I'm laying
on my back on the floor, she's kissing me, and her hands are shaking,
and saying, "You don't know how close you came, the pulley jammed". My
throat hurts inside and out, I have a splitting headache and I'm still
bound. Water, I croak, she brings be a glass of water, helps me to sit
up, and take small sips from it, my throat feels better inside, just a
bit raw, like I'd been shouting. My headache is fading now. She slips
the noose off, it had been loosely around my neck, still attached to the
block and tackle (RONCO, Lifts 1000 pounds easily). Releases the collar,
and lowers my wrists, and unties them. We move over to the coutch, two
women, one pretty and red eyed, the other plain and disheveled.
She starts to kiss me, "I'm sorry, you could have died, I got so scared
when the block stuck", starts to cry. I say to her "no no, it's OK,
that was the most awesome thing that I've ever done. Just, please, be
a little more careful next time <if there is a next time>". She slowly
calmed down, kissed me some more and asked, "What was it like?".
I told her, in detail, between kisses and fondles.
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