2 HoT TG: Beach Blonde 1/4

From alt.sex.stories.tg Fri Apr 26 00:29:36 1996 Message-ID: 141343Z21041996@anon.penet.fi Path: mordred.cc.jyu.fi!news.csc.fi!news.eunet.fi!anon.penet.fi ~Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.tg,alt.sex.femdom,alt.sex.bondage ~X-Anonymously-To: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.tg,alt.sex.femdom,alt.sex.bondage Organization: Anonymous forwarding service ~Reply-To: an381574@anon.penet.fi ~~~Lines: 365 ~Xref: mordred.cc.jyu.fi alt.sex.stories:147936 alt.sex.stories.tg:4169 alt.sex.femdom:29488 alt.sex.bondage:181402

Part 1 of 4 -- Beach Blonde

• • • • • • • • • • • D I S C L A I M E R * * * * * * * * * * *

Beach Blonde contains graphic non-consensual sexual, and sometimes violent, scenes between adults.

This story is FICTION. It does NOT depict the relationship between actual living people.

This work of erotic fiction is NOT intended for readers under 18 or those who are under the statutory legal age, or those who are easily offended by pornography. If you are UNDER 18, or if you ARE offended by pornography, please press ill or or and DO NOT CONTINUE to read.

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All rights reserved: Permission is hereby given to distribute this story via electronic means only, for non-profit use. This header must remain intact. All rights for this story remain the property of the author.

Beach Blonde

by A. BoyChik, April, 1996

Synopsis: A beautiful but troubled blonde seductress meets a young

man on the lookout for some fun. Too late, he realizes that

"fun is in the eyes of the beholder."

I was meandering along the boardwalk one summer evening watching the interaction among various groupings of people. Teenage couples stopped to lean against the aluminum rails and press bodies against each other and neck. Married people were pushing toddlers in strollers. Older people, some in twos and threes, were walking purposely for exercise, avoiding the heat of the day.

I stopped to observe the groupings of people play shuffleboard and paddle tennis, and then walked further on to the bandshell to listen to the "hits of the sixties" and to watch the dancers. I was always on the lookout for some action, though I seldom got any. Yet, tonight, I had a premonition that this night would be different from all other nights.

As you can gather, I loved watching people closely. Part, or maybe most, of the reason I was there to feel that I was somehow involved in their lives. I positioned myself so that I could eavesdrop on conversations. I watched people more intently than I should have and sometimes I was sneered at for not looking politely away.

As usual, I was scanning the crowd, and then, from far away, as if out of a haze, I saw her. She was walking by herself, or should I say, sashaying down the boardwalk. Her walk was so fluid that she almost oozed along in her short, black sleeveless dress and sandals. Her shoulder length blonde hair flowed down either side of her face and blew slightly in the soft breeze. I couldn't help but stare; it was unbelievable that no one else noticed her, or even saw her, as I did. As she approached and caught me staring, she looked right back into my eyes. I was speechless and overwhelmed.

She smiled and as she passed me, I began to follow. Her walk was so smooth and liquid that I imagined that her ass cheeks must have been lubricated. I heard myself groaning an "uhhmmmm" quietly to myself as I fantasized about having my dick inside of her.

I caught up with her as we got to the bandshell. I tapped her on the shoulder and she whirled around. Startled, she asked, "What do you want?"

"I...I think you're beautiful!" I blurted out. Jeez, stupid me. I quickly recovered to say, "I couldn't keep my eyes off of you."

I saw her visibly compose herself and I did so, too. "Do you wanna dance?" I asked.

She paused, momentarily, and then nodded. We walked towards the open dancing area. The band was playing a slow song, usually the next to the last one in the set. I stopped, turned to face her, and then reached out my hands to pull her towards me. I sensed her body being tense at first, but she soon eased up against me as we started to sway to the rhythm.

I held her close, one hand was around her waist and I could feel the curve between her lower back and her ass; my other hand was softly on her neck. My face was against hers and only her blonde hair kept our skin from touching.

And then she did something that completely astonished me. She removed her right hand from my shoulder, reached down and brushed it against my manhood, which was already starting to become aroused. I thought it was a mistake, but she then did it again. I heard her chuckle to herself. A moment later, she pressed her fingers into my nose. "What the..." I said, trying to jerk away. She held me tightly. She removed her fingers, and I sniffed. It smelled like warm pussy! She must have rubbed her fingers between her legs. And, suddenly, she pulled my head towards her and smothered my mouth with hers. And, in the middle of this passionate kiss, I couldn't help breathing in her aroma, her intoxicating essence!

The music ended and we held each other close. Then, our bodies separated, unwillingly. I took her hand and we walked back towards the boardwalk.

"Let's go to your car," she said urgently.

"Wait, I don't even know your name," I said. I couldn't believe that this was progressing so quickly.

"It doesn't matter. Why do we have to know each other's names?"

We walked hurriedly towards the parking lot. I led her over to my small Japanese car. I was glad that I had gotten the windows darkly tinted.

I started to get into the back seat after I unlocked the doors. "Wait. Get in on the driver's side," she said. I slid in behind the wheel and, automatically as usual, I put the key in the ignition. I noticed her dress riding up a bit as she got in on the passenger side.

To me, she was perfection. Beautiful hair, great body. A super kisser! And, more, she was full of surprises.

She turned to me and we embraced and our mouths joined. My hands wandered down over her beasts; she wasn't wearing a bra and her nipples stuck out. Moments later, she pulled away and said, "I'm gonna give you the best blow job you ever had." Who was I to argue? "But you're going to have to promise that you won't touch me while I'm doing it, or else."

Or else what, I wondered. As if she were reading my mind, she replied, "If you touch me, it'll be all over between us."

"Sure," I replied. I was getting so horny. "Anything you say."

"Okay. Now recline your seat down a bit, and remember...no hands!"

She reached over and unbuttoned my shorts and pulled down the fly. My cock, now engorged, was straining to push out. She slowly pulled it out of my underwear.

Ever so slowly, she started to rub it up and down with her hand. She watched me as I watched the intent look in her green eyes.

Soon, she bent over and lightly caressed the head of my cock with her tongue. She flicked her tongue slowly back and forth on the tip and then, ever so carefully, placed her mouth around the head. And then, even more slowly, she took my cock all the way into her mouth. I groaned, "Ohhhmmmmm."

And then, she brought her mouth slowly back up my shaft. Her hot, wet mouth felt like the inside of a woman -- yet far better.

She continued to move her head up and down, but so slowly that it was both agonizing and immensely erotic.

I couldn't take it any more. I reached out, grabbed her head, and pushed my cock deep into her mouth.

Angrily, she stopped, and sat back up in her seat. "I warned you." She started opening her door.

"Wait!" I shouted. "You can't leave me hanging like this."

She looked back at me and said, "Okay, but you're going have to listen to what I say. And do anything I want."

I had been almost on the brink of getting there. They say that "when the cock gets hard, the brain gets soft." I replied, probably too hurriedly, "Yeah, whatever."

Her voice took on a harsher tone. "Promise me," she demanded.

"Okay, I promise," I replied.

"Take your shirt off," she ordered. I pulled my T-shirt up over my head.

"Pull down your shorts and your underwear, and hand them to me." I swiftly complied. This was going to be good!

"Now close your eyes and make sure you keep them closed." I could hear her fumbling around in her bag. She reached over and started to slowly -- ever so slowly as before -- stroke my cock, which quickly became hard again.

She stopped and then said, "Keep your eyes closed and give me your hands."

I extended my arms outward towards her. She began to caress my arms and her soft hands were very sensuous against the sensitive insides of my arms. She stopped and, suddenly, I felt cold steel locked around my wrists. I had been handcuffed! "What the hell...?" I tried to pull away.

She held on tight to the handcuff chain. "Quiet!" she ordered. "Hold still and don't move! And, I don't want to warn you again -- keep those eyes closed!" She started to slowly rub my cock.

Soon, she stopped. "Remember what I told you. Don't open your eyes until I allow you to. I don't want to remind you again!"

I felt her leaning over me. She fastened what felt like a very wide dog collar around my neck. As she did so, my neck was stretched upwards. She readjusted it and made it even tighter. I could barely breathe and turn my head. Quickly, she pulled my wrists up towards my neck. I heard the click of a lock closing and the handcuffs were attached to the collar!

"Good. You won't be going anywhere. You can open your eyes now."

She was looking at me intently. I was helpless, sitting naked in the car with my hands locked to my neck. She turned, opened the door, got out of the car and walked around to the driver's side. She opened the driver's side door and said, "Get out of the car. Now."

I shook my head, or at least I tried to, since the collar hardly allowed any movement. "You're going to regret this," she warned.

She bent over and pulled off one of my sneakers. I couldn't help looking down the front of her dress, seeing the curve of her breasts. Looking up, she caught me staring. She shook her head; I felt humiliated.

She pulled the lace out of the shoe and tied a slipknot on one end. She reached in, grabbed my cock and looped the lace around the base of my cock, underneath my scrotum. She pulled it tight. I winced. She looped the other end around her hand. She started to pull it even tighter and as she pulled, she said, very menacingly and slowly, "Now get out of the car or I'll ruin your dick."

The lace bit into my privates. My cock, already engorged, was becoming purple in the dim light. I had no choice.

I turned my body to get my legs out the door. She pulled at me. "Move it!"

I hit my head on the top of the door opening as I got out and stood up. I looked around, hoping no one would see me. She pushed me aside and got in behind the wheel. Then, she shut the door.

I was left stranded, naked and vulnerable, outside the car. She could drive away, if she wanted to, and there was nothing I could do to stop her. And then, she started the engine.

I looked at her, pleadingly. She laughed and then opened the window. "What will you do for me if I let you back in the car?" she asked in a mocking tone.

"Oh, please," I begged. "Anything you want. Just let me get back in."

"Anything?" she asked teasingly.

"Yeah, anything," I replied, resigned to whatever was coming. She got out of the car with her shoulder bag, pulled it over my head and pulled the drawstring tight. She then must have knotted the drawstrings.

"Nobody will know who you are, now," she said. In a strange way, I felt more at ease because of my anonymity, but the overall situation was becoming even more perilous. I was becoming more worried. What could she have in store for me?

I soon found out. I felt myself being pulled forwards by the shoelace, which tightened around my shaft. She made me walk around the front of the car. I still was wearing one sneaker and my walking was awkward. Then, she paraded me once more all around the car. I was becoming disoriented. My knee banged against a bumper and she laughed. I remembered how it felt, many years ago, when I played the children's game "Pin the Tail on the Donkey" at a party.

She stopped me and turned me around several times. She then pushed my body against the car. The front of my bare legs felt cold against the bare metal. Suddenly, she bent me forwards and I was forced to lean down over a fender. She held me down; I couldn't resist. She kicked the inside of my right ankle, saying, "Separate your legs wide!" She then swiftly followed with a hard kick to my left ankle. I was bent over on my stomach with my legs spread apart. "Now stay right where you are," she ordered.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked. "What did I ever do to you?"

"I don't like you," she replied. " and I don't like people like you. I don't like the way you watch people...the way you undress women with your eyes...the way you leered at me..." Her voice trailed off.

"But worst of all, I hate the way people like you treat women," she continued. Suddenly, I felt her fingers between the crack of my ass. One of her fingers started to probe my opening. I tightened my sphincter in reflex.

"One night," she went on, "I went to a bar with several friends. I met a man and we started to hit it off." She pushed a finger into my ass. "I had to go outside to get a hairbrush from my car and he followed me." I felt her pull the one finger out and then she swiftly pushed two fingers back inside. I winced and she held me down tightly.

"Anyway," she continued, "I was a little high and we started to kiss." She pulled out her fingers, and then she pushed them in again, harder this time. "I was wearing the same black dress then that I'm wearing tonight. He started to softly caress me." Out, and then in went her fingers once more, as if to punctuate and accentuate what she was saying. "Suddenly, he turned me around and pushed me down over the hood of my car!" She pushed the two fingers in even harder. "I tried to scream, but I couldn't get out a sound." She added a third finger as she rammed my ass which was becoming raw. "He lifted my dress over my head and yanked down my panties." Another thrust of her fingers inside of me made me jump. "He pressed his body against me and I felt him unzipping his pants." She rotated her fingers as she shoved them inside. "He pulled out his cock, spit on his hand, and wet his cock. He started to push it between my legs." Her thrusting fingers were unstoppable.

"I couldn't believe that it was happening to me. I was going to be raped and I was helpless." Another jab and more pain. "I opened my eyes, and I saw, standing there, someone like you, watching the way people like you watch other people." Her fingers pushed in more cruelly. "That bastard was just watching...detached...he wasn't going to do anything, the son of a bitch." Another stab of pain. "Worse yet, he had a smile on his face." In and out hard. "Suddenly, I heard my friends shouting. They ran over and started kicking and punching the guy." Another jolt of pain in my ass. "He tried to defend himself but then ran away. I was crying hysterically...I was so glad to see them." There was one final thrust and I was almost lifted off the ground.

"Just like this -- you like how it feels?" she asked. "And how it feels to be helpless. To be bent over a car with someone about to fuck you. And not being able to resist." I felt the pressure from her fingers inside of me begin to subside. Her fingers relaxed as she slowly pulled them out. "Get up now...we've got to go."

My ass felt like something had exploded inside. My legs felt rubbery from their being stretching apart. My hot skin was sweating against the cold metal surface. Slowly, I stood up. Before I had a chance to get my bearings, she grabbed the cord holding my cock.

She guided me to a spot next to the open door and carefully positioned me. She pushed me backwards, at the same time pulling the handcuff chain so that I was bent forward. I fell backwards -- right into the seat.

"Admit it...aren't you glad you were handcuffed so you didn't hit your head this time?" she asked. I hardly heard her; her voice was muffled by the bag.

I had to reply. "Yes, I'm glad," I said.

She kicked one of my shins and then the other. "Get your whole body in," she ordered. Hurriedly, I complied. She pulled the seat belt around me and fastened me in. She then pulled the lace upwards; she must have tied it to my collar. I heard my door close, followed shortly by the shutting of the driver's side door.

Suddenly, I felt another painful yank on the lace. And then she slapped my cock. Again, yet again.

"I'm going to make you -- yes, you -- the object of derision. Something interesting -- compelling -- to stare at. But first, I'm going to take you home, and teach you a lesson you'll never forget."

With that, she put the car in gear and drove away.

I don't know how far we went. For all I knew, we could have been driving in circles. At one point, she stopped. She turned off the engine and said, "I'll be back in a minute. I have to pick up a few things in the drugstore. Don't you go anywhere." And she snickered as she got out.

I was left sitting there, naked, except for the bag tied around my head. My wrists were handcuffed and attached to a large collar that stopped me from being able to turn my head, or to even bend my neck. My cock and balls were tied up tightly and the cord, pulling upwards unremittingly, felt like a hot wire. And there was nothing I could do about my predicament.

Soon she was back, and she drove on into the night.

The car stopped and she turned off the ignition. I heard her getting out of the car. The door closed and I was left there, in my own darkness and fear.

Minutes passed. Finally, I heard my door open. My seatbelt was unfastened and she unceremoniously hauled me up and out of the car by wickedly pulling on the lace.

I was forced to follow her. It felt like I was led up a concrete walk and into a house. The door closed behind me and I heard a lock being turned.

I was then led, roughly, down a flight of stairs. Another door closed behind me. Suddenly, the bag was pulled off, and my eyes slowly became adjusted to the light.

The room was unremarkable. It looked like any other finished basement out of the 1950's, with tongue-and-groove panelling, kentile floor, and tiled ceiling. The only thing out of place was a table right smack in the center of the room that looked exactly like one from a doctor's office, except that this one had wide, tan, leather straps hanging from each corner.

"What the..." I started to say, but she slapped me abruptly on one cheek, and then the other. My eyes started to water.

"No talking allowed," she commanded. "Don't you dare make a sound."

I wondered what would happen if I yelled out. Yet, I was too afraid to find out.

Alongside the table was a step stool. "Get up on the table," she ordered. "Step up there and then lie down on your back."

I wondered why she would have a table like that? I looked around and then, I noticed, that on the far wall, there were drawings of tattoos -- flowers, dragons, religious icons, skulls -- beautiful, magical drawings full of color, as well as dangerous and dark representations of evil.

I hesitated; I felt myself cringing. She kicked my right shin so hard I almost fell over and then she then yanked the cord. I quickly got the message that she expected me to obey instantly.

I walked over to the table, stepped up, sat up on the table and then awkwardly lay down. She grabbed one of my ankles and fastened it to a corner of the table with one of the hanging straps. She did the same with the other ankle.

She then walked around to the head of the table and affixed a rope to my collar. Like a winch, she pulled the rope with so much force that I was stretched out taut on the table. I could hardly breathe.

She pulled down a clothes hanger that was hanging from a hook on the wall. As she brought it over, I noticed it was the kind that had two movable metal spring-loaded clamps designed to hold a garment. She brought it over, and made me watch as she opened one of the clamps and allowed it to snap closed with a loud click. She then started to pinch my right nipple. I squirmed but couldn't resist. She opened the clamp, carefully placed it around my nipple and let it close. A dull pain quickly started to emanate from my nipple.

"It's amazing what you can do with common household items," she said as she watched me writhe. I was trying, somehow, to escape from the pain...to get the hanger off. I wanted to ask her -- to beg her -- to stop this madness, but I feared her stinging slaps even more. Several minutes later -- the pain was so intense, it seemed like hours -- she adjusted the other clamp, pulling the tortured nipple in the process, and fastened it on my other nipple.

The pain was doubled, increased. My whole being seemed to focus in on the terrible reality of the throbbing pain in my chest. She started to pull the hanger and then twist it, all the while watching my face. My nipples were being pinched horribly. She smiled at me as she recognized my anguished, pleading look.

Finally, she stopped pulling on the hanger, but didn't remove it. Without a word, she turned and went upstairs. On the way up, she turned off the lights.

I was left to suffer in darkness. She could leave me hours -- for days -- and there was nothing I could do.

Later -- how much later, I couldn't tell -- the lights went on again as she came down the stairs. Out of the corner of my eye, because the wide collar stopped me from turning my head, I watched her carefully carrying a large kitchen pot. She placed it on the table between my outstretched legs; I could see the steam curling up, and felt the heat on my thighs.

She drew a ladle of liquid out of the pot, saying, "Hot wax is the best way to remove body hair." She meticulously began to ladle the hot liquid onto my chest and my belly. The burning sensation was unavoidable. "And your pain will be doubled -- when the hot wax goes on, and then, when it's removed." She made sure to coat my underarms.

She chuckled as she applied the hot wax, ignoring my moans. "If you think it hurts now, just wait until I pull it off," she warned, ominously. "You'll want to scream, and I'm not going to want to listen."

She fastidiously poured on one spoonful after another, letting the hot wax dry after each application, and also, quite obviously, prolonging my agony. "I'll do your crotch last since it's the most sensitive," she casually mentioned, as she made sure to cover every spot on my chest with the scalding liquid.

Then, she started working on my legs, beginning at my ankles and working upwards. Her steady progress towards my crotch was inevitable and unavoidable. The hot wax cooled and then hardened on my legs. Strangely, I was becoming inured to my own suffering; the horrible undeviating cycle of burning, cooling and hardening became my entire consciousness.

And, suddenly, I was startled our of my resignation as she spooned the terrible concoction onto my cock. I strained against my bonds, and started begging her to stop. She just giggled.

Finally, she finished spooning on the wax. She lifted up the pot and put it aside. Then, she opened a carryall gym bag and, rummaging around, picked out a blue racquet ball. She brought it over and suddenly pushed it against my lips. "Open your mouth wide," she commanded. I couldn't move my head to avoid it; my only resistance was trying to keep my lips together. "Okay...if you insist," she said as she slapped my right cheek, and then my left, and then both again.

Then, in a strange, ultra-polite voice, she said, "Please open your mouth." And again, she slapped both cheeks. In acquiescence, I drew my lips apart and allowed her to push the ball into my mouth. She then took an ace bandage out of her bag and began to wrap it over my mouth and behind my head, pulling the 3-inch wide, 6-foot long elasticized gauze strip tightly around and around until she got to the other end and pinned it closed. "That'll keep your new gag in. And now, for best part!" And she smiled.

Near my right ankle, I felt excruciating pain as she ripped some of the wax off, yanking out my hair in one swipe. Then, she reached over to my left ankle, and snatched off more wax, and more hair. She turned and grasped some hardened wax on my chest and pulled it off, too. Methodically, she followed the same pattern -- peeling wax off one leg, then the other, and then my chest -- which served to intensify and prolong the dreadful experience. When she got to my underarms, I never realized how sensitive they were.

She worked her way up my legs and down my chest, where she made sure to be particularly cruel. I screamed into my gag as she pulled up the makeshift nipple clamps in one direction and yanked off more wax and hair in the other. Only my muffled screams could be heard.

I felt like I had been whipped, flogged, skinned alive. I could only feel, but not see -- because of the restrictive collar -- my skin starting to welt. With every wax and hair removal, the pain steadily and inexorably increased. Steadily, she was getting closer to my groin. This was dreadfully unbearable and, impossibly, getting even worse!

"The last area will take a while -- it'll be the most sensitive" she said. Little by little, she started to remove the hardened wax and my pubic hair.

I squirmed and writhed but nothing would relieve the horror. I yowled into my gag. I tried to kick -- to do anything to escape -- but to no avail. The agony just went on and on.

Then, after a final gasp, it was suddenly over. My crotch felt like it was aflame. Sweat poured down my face.

"There...that wasn't so bad, was it?" she asked, with mock gentleness. She began to apply cool lotion over my legs, chest, and stomach, under my arms, and then, on my pubic area. Even her soft touch aggravated the soreness though the lotion quickly began to soothe. Despite my suffering, my cock begin to harden and the shoelace, which she had never untied, began, once again, to bite into the base of my cock.

"It's time to turn over," she announced. I realized that she was only half done! She attached a cord to one ankle, and tied it to the opposite side of the table. She did the same to the other. "I don't even want you to think about kicking at me. You'll end up hurting yourself anyway."

She opened a nipple clamp and blood rushed back into my nipple. It hurt even more than when she first snapped it on. She released the jaws of the other.

She then removed the original straps holding my ankles. The rope holding my collar was loosened, but not untied. She jabbed at my side, ordering me to turn over. "Hurry up!" she demanded. With my wrists still attached to my collar, I could only wriggle on the table. She laughed.

By pushing and prodding, she eventually got me on my stomach. I began to dread that she would continue to wax my back. I couldn't stand any more of that!

She grabbed a seat cushion, forced me to raise my pelvis, and pushed the pillow under my stomach. She then grabbed several more pillows and positioned them under me. Then, she picked up the loose straps and refastened my ankles to the table. She walked around to the head, retightened the collar rope, and my body was tightly stretched out again, with my legs wide apart and my ass up in the air.

My hard cock was pressed up against my stomach by a pillow. The cord was still tied tightly around the base. She reached down between my legs, grabbed my cock and unceremoniously pulled it out from beneath me. My own erection, already painful because of the noose, made me suffer even more when it was forced downward into the odd position.

She started to stroke my cock. The harder and more engorged it became, the better it felt, but significantly more pain was caused by the constricting cord. I was about to start to cum, but, sensing that, she grabbed my cock, right below the head and pinched hard. I would have let out a loud yelp, except that I was still gagged.

Peripherally, I saw her reach into her carryall bag again. I first heard, and then saw her pulling on rubber surgical gloves. "It's amazing what can come in handy," she said. In plain view, this time, she opened up a tube of Ben Gay and pressed out some onto her palms. She then stepped back and started to rub my cock again. Caressing my cock with lubricated gloves felt very nice, at first, but then, the muscle relaxing heat of the ointment kicked in. My cock grew hotter and the pain increased. The center of my being was under assault and I could not escape. Futilely, I could only bounce up and down on the pillows, and as I did so, she laughed at my agony. She watched me writhe for a while.

"Now, I'm going to finish what I started when you were bent over the car," she announced. "I'm going to fuck you in the ass, like you've never been fucked before." She paused and then, "That really sounds good, saying, 'I'm gonna fuck you in the ass.' I'm going to get my whole fist way up inside of you!"

Slowly, she pressed more Ben Gay onto her gloved fingers. Oh, no, she was going to force that stuff inside me! She smiled when she saw that I realized what was about to come. And then it began.

First, she pressed in one finger, as if to make way for the others. My ass was already raw from the first onslaught on the hood of the car, which seemed like hours ago. The first finger was joined by a second, and then, a third, as she increased the pressure but decreased the tempo, grinding her fingers harshly into me. I felt the heat of the ointment start to merge with the pounding of her fingers.

Soon, I felt my hole being distended by yet another finger. As she pushed her fingers in, she also rotated them violently around. I was being reamed and screwed and violated, and, it then occurred to me, that there was more to come. And then it happened. With one more push, her whole hand was inside me. My ass erupted with a flare of pain as she pressed her fist way up inside of me. Grinding, pushing, probing...this most horrible invasion of all continued without letup. I was sure that I would split apart.

There was one last enormous thrust, and then she pulled out her hand. It was over. It had ended. Or so I thought.

She let me relax. Still throbbing from the violation and heat, it felt as if my ass were torn open. But just moments later, she walked around to the head of the table, made me take notice of a wooden softball bat that she picked up, and then walked around to the other side of the table. I feared that she was going to crush it down on my head.

"Your ass has been opened up so nice and wide. It's a shame to let it close back up," she said forebodingly. With that, she coated the large end of the bat with more of that horrible Ben Gay and started to push it up into me -- with seemingly, and surprisingly little effort. This is not to say it didn't hurt terribly -- it did, very much -- and she relentlessly forced it way into me. I was sure that I would suffer permanent damage.

Once it was in place, she left it deep inside. She pulled the pillows out from beneath me. She loosened the straps holding me ankles apart and, without retying them, she ordered me to turn over, which was, to say the least, excruciating and almost unmanageable. Finally, after much prodding, after grinding the bat around inside of me, I was once again on my back. The huge bat was stuck into me at an impossible angle, and then she refastened my legs spread far apart, as before, forcing the bat further in.

"I've had you...I've forced my whole hand inside...and now I'm going to make sure that everyone knows that you've been raped by me." I was unsure about what she meant, until I saw her pick up a tattooing needle. She jabbed it towards my face, and I flinched involuntarily. "I'm going to sign my name on you for everyone to see. That way, they're going to know that you've been fucked."

She picked up a marker and I felt her write on the skin right in the middle of my forehead, just above my eyebrows. Then, she used the marker on my groin and I felt the wet tip of the pen go all the across, from just above the joint of one leg to another. "I use the markers to help guide the needle," she explained. I was going to be permanently marked -- and in places I really couldn't hide.

The tattooing began. The needle felt, at first, more naggingly uncomfortable than painful, but as she proceeded, the accumulation of pricks became more painful, especially since my skin was still swelled by the hot wax removal. First, she worked on my groin, from right to left, and then, again, from right to left. She told me that the combination of two or three dense colors would be more noticeable, and that scared me even more.

"There...that does it," she said, finally. "It says, 'Fist Fucked by Beach Blonde' in red, blue and black letters, and everybody will be able to see it tomorrow when we go back down to the beach." With growing panic, I wondered what she had in store for me.

I hoped that she had forgotten about tattooing my forehead. I knew that I'd have to shower alone, and wear shorts up to my waist to conceal those horrid words of conquest, but my forehead was something I wouldn't be able to cover.

She took some time rearranging her tools and materials, but she knew that making me wait prolonged the agony and fear. Then she started marking my face. Slowly, resolutely and very carefully, she began to irreversibly inscribe her words on my skin.

When she was done, she asked, "Don't you want to know what I wrote on your face?" I looked up at her and her evil smile. She expected me to, so I nodded in consent. "Good."

She brought a mirror over and held it above my face with a look of triumph. In the mirror, I saw, in reverse, the words in capital letters, "FUCK ME, PLEASE" in red and blue shadow lettering. The letters were about half an inch high and extended from halfway above one eyebrow to halfway above the other. She held the mirror in one hand and, with her other hand, began to unwrap the elastic bandage that had held the racquet ball in my mouth.

I pushed the ball out of my mouth with my tongue. My jaw ached from being distended. "Read aloud what your new tattoo says," she commanded. I tried to move my jaw and saw the words, but I heard only unintelligible mumbling coming out of my mouth. She slapped me across my face...I couldn't turn away!...I couldn't resist her blows!

"Say the words now," she commanded. "Say them."

I forced out the three words. In barely a whisper, I said "Fuck me, please."

"Again, and louder," she demanded.

"Fuck me, please!" I said. My mouth was able to move slightly better.

"Good. Thank you," she replied. "But I have already." And she laughed.

She turned, walked up the stairs and turned the lights off. I was strapped down on my back, with my legs widely spread apart. My wrists were handcuffed to a thick, rigid collar which stopped my neck from turning or moving, and the collar, in turn, was pulled tightly towards the other end of the table. Because I couldn't move my legs, I couldn't do anything to dislodge the softball bat which she had left lodged deep in my ass. The entire front of my body -- from my neck down to my toes -- burned from the hot wax and the removal of my body hair. My forehead and my lower stomach still suffered from the hundreds of tiny puncture wounds. My nipples had been tortured and still ached from the horribly pinching hanger clamps, and my cock, still engorged and sticking up, was a shade of deep purple from the cord wrapped tightly around the base. I was left to suffer in the darkness, not knowing where I was, and not knowing what would follow. Much later, I finally dozed off into a fitful, dazed sleep.

My eyes blinked open as the overhead fluorescent lights went on. Momentarily, I was disoriented, but, very soon, as I tried to move, my predicament came back to me in a flood of worry and helplessness.

I also realized that I had to pee very badly. She walked over and examined her handiwork, carefully checking the tattoos, and moving the bat slightly, but enough so that I squirmed in response. "Your cock is turning purple," she said as she grabbed it and squeezed. "Maybe I'll never let you go -- then you'll never use this thing again."

"I've gotta take a piss," I said as she manhandled me.

"You're going to have to wait," she announced. She picked up another shoelace and quickly tied it around my cock, just below the head. She pulled it so tightly that it burned. "That'll stop you from going until I think it's time. Now, I have to get you ready for our day together at the beach."

She reached down an jammed the bat further inside of me. I thought my insides would tear. I moaned. "Don't make me hurt you more," she warned, as she unlocked my handcuffs from the collar, leaving my wrists still shackled. She removed the stiff collar and even as I tried to move my head, I realized that the muscles in my neck were sore and numb.

However, before I could respond, she fastened another narrower collar around my neck, and locked it with a small padlock. Suddenly, a shock coursed through my neck and my body. My whole body twitched. Involuntarily, I reached my hands up to my neck to somehow stop it. "Put your hands down!" she commanded. I moved them away from my neck, and the shock abruptly stopped.

"Your special new dog collar is quite effective. See how quickly it makes you jump and obey," she said. "Now clasp your hands around your cock and start jerking yourself off. Do it."

Oh no! She was going to make me rub my already inflamed cock. I hesitated and I was hit with a shock. I hurriedly started softly stroking up and down. "Harder!" Shock. "Rub harder and faster."

The cord around the base was still biting into my skin as well as the one tied so tightly right below the head. I was being forced to inflict pain on myself in order to avoid an even harsher pain.

As my handcuffed hands scraped against my cock, she said, "I'm not going to let you cum or pee until I am good and ready," and she exclamated the "I" by pushing in on the bat.

Soon, my cock felt raw, and mercifully, she told me to stop. "Just remember the power of your collar," she added. She knew I'd do anything to avoid being shocked.

She slowly pulled the bat out of my ass and my sphincter started to relax. Strangely, she seemed to be more gentle with me; perhaps she knew she had proven her point that she had me under complete control. She unfastened the straps that had been holding my legs so wide apart. She allowed me to relax for a few minutes and then told me to sit up.

She took out a bright pink bikini bathing suit from her carryall bag and held it up in front of me, saying, "This is what you're going to wear today."

I started to shake my head, and my reluctance was immediately met by a momentary electric shock. She knew that was all it would take to make me comply with her wishes.

"Untie the cords on your cock," she said. I first undid the top one, and then the one at the base. There was a line of horrid dark purple and blue discoloration where the lower cord had been.

She handed me wide-mouthed quart-sized jar. "Stand up and piss into this," she said.

Wobbling, unsure of my legs, I slid off the table and stood up gingerly. I held the jar down at my crotch and, finally, the piss came out, first in a dribble, then in a stream. The burning inside of me from the previously restricted flow was counteracted by my huge sense of relief. Everything that I did or was forced to do made me realize how much she had cruelly abused my body.

"Close the jar tight," she said as she handed me a lid. "We'll save it for later." I wondered, with growing fear, what she had in store for me.

She handed me the bikini bottom. Without a word, I bent over, stepped into it, and pulled it up my legs. The elasticized material fit tightly around my legs and waist and were also low enough in front to not only allow the humiliating words of my tattoo -- "Fist Fucked by Beach Blonde" -- to be seen, but, moreover, to highly accentuate them.

She came towards me and pushed her hand under the waistband. She grabbed my cock and adjusted it so that it stuck straight up against my stomach. She pulled out her hand and started rubbing it over the material and it became harder. Its outline could clearly be seen through the form-fitting material.

She picked up the bikini top and with just the faintest cue of her upward head movement, I lifted my arms over my head. She pulled the top around me and fastened it in back. "Keep standing there," she ordered. She started carefully threading a needle and then turned me around, saying, "With nothing to hold up your bra, you wouldn't want it to fall off." She then proceeded to sew up the already closed ends behind my back.

"One more touch," she said, pulling out lipstick from her bag. She twisted it open and I watched her smiling as she painted my lips with the very bright red waxy color.

She told me to close my eyes and keep them closed as she walked me over towards the corner of the room. "Be a good boy," she warned, "and keep your eyes shut until I tell you to open them."

She grabbed my wrists and I felt my arms finally freed from the handcuffs that had been locked on me all night long. I reached automatically to massage away the ache. She quickly said, "Keep your hands down at your sides," and she stepped back.

"Now you can open your eyes." In the reflection in a full- length mirror hanging on the back of a door I saw myself and shuddered. With short hair and a stocky build, I never had visible outward attributes that anyone would ever call feminine. Despite the neon pink bikini and my lips overpainted into a rictus, I looked not like a man disguised, or a man trying to look like a woman, but, rather, like a terrible circus-like caricature.

After my momentary shock of realization, I examined myself more closely. On my forehead, indeed, were the red and blue block letters, "FUCK ME, PLEASE" in reverse, in the mirror. The black collar around my neck was reinforced by metal and had a small metal protuberance in the back. The skin all over my body was red and swollen, and the tattooed words on my abdomen were all too legible.

Over my right shoulder, I saw her in the mirror looking admiringly at her handiwork. I noticed that she had, in her open upraised hand, what appeared to be a key chain-type car alarm switch. Then, just as our eyes met, a jolt of electricity shot through my body and I crumpled to the floor.

"Now stand up, face away from the mirror, and bend over," she commanded. Grab onto your ankles and stay in that position." I complied without hesitation, for she had exquisitely made her point.

In my upside down reflection, as the blood rushed to my head, I saw my ass stuck way up in the air, and with the bright pink lycra pulled tautly over it. "I'm going to make the color of your skin match the nice, attractive pink color or your bikini," she said ominously. "Now ask me to whip you."

Oh, no...not again! Once more, she was involving me in my own torture by making me ask to be struck. Even though my handcuffs had been removed and I could theoretically defend myself, I knew, in actuality, that I couldn't refuse because the alternative -- punishing jolts of electricity -- was worse. So, humbly, I muttered, "Please, whip me."

"I'm glad you remembered you manners. I want you to make sure to keep your eyes open. And, I want you to count each stroke. Make sure you don't lose count or you'll have to start over," she said chuckling. I resolved that nothing was going to make me forget the count.

I saw her pick up a wide black leather belt. She reached back and I watched, in horror, as she brought her arm around and struck me full force with it. It sounded like the explosion of a large firecracker, and the blow took my breath away.

I wasn't quick enough to start counting. "Let's start again with one'" she quietly said. She lifted the belt high above her shoulder and hit me with amazing strength.

"One!" I shrieked out.

Another blow. "Two!" My ass was on fire.

A third landed...and then a fourth. "Five!...six..." And then, four more, in a slow, steady, unceasing succession. She made sure that each blow cracked onto a new area, from my waist down to the back of my legs. I heard, through the haze of pain, the unmistakable sound of my own voice agonizingly howling out the numbers. I almost fainted as I gasped out, "Ten."

Calmly, in a hushed voice, she said, "Now, ten more on the other side."

I couldn't take anymore. "Please...no more," I begged.

But she was implacable. "Just stay bent over and keep holding onto your ankles. And, don't forget to count."

The first blow smacked into my ass. She was as cruel as she was relentless. As methodical as before, she made me count to "ten" as she covered my entire ass with welts.

In the mirror behind me, I watched in abject defeat as I saw the horizontal stripes on my skin redden and then begin to turn a hellish pinkish purple.

"In a while, they'll be more noticeable," she said. She grabbed the waistband and pulled it down. The stripes were in neat rows. She reached once more into her bag and pulled out -- oh no! -- a dildo.

As I watched with growing apprehension, she opened a tube of KY jelly and coated the dildo with it. Thank goodness, I thought to myself, it wasn't more of the dreadful Ben Gay. She pressed the tip against my ass, and with no more than a nudge, it slid right in.

As much as I was afraid of being impaled again, its unexpected easy entry terrified me. I was frightened to consider that my ass had been stretched so wide and that if there were almost no resistance to the insertion of the dildo, then the enlargement of the opening might be irreversible.

She pulled up the bikini bottom and told me to stand up. "It's time to hit the beach," she announced. She handed me a pink, cut-off halter top, which I put on. Predictably, it did not hide, but rather, emphasized, my lower tattoo. She also told me to put my sneakers back on.

She put a towel and a few other items, including the sealed jar, into her carryall bag. She unsubtly displayed the remote switch to the dreadful shock collar which she was holding in one hand and wordlessly handed me the leather drawstring bag. Resignedly, I pulled it over my head and tied the ends together. "Double-knot it," she quietly said, and I did.

Blinded and totally dependent oh her whims, I was led up the stairs. As I walked, the dildo slid around inside my ass. The soothing sensual slitheriness of the lubricated love wand was stimulating and I felt the stirring of arousal as I was guided out to, and then into, the car. She must have placed my car in her garage, for I heard the garage door open as she started up the car, and then we were in motion.

Some time later, she pulled the car into a parking lot and stopped. She untied the strings from around my neck and pulled the bag off my head. My eyes slowly became accustomed to the bright sunshine, and I realized that we were at a 7-11 store -- one that was near my home. I wondered if her choice of location was coincidental. She reached over and began manipulating and rubbing my cock over the tight fabric. As she had figured, my cock naturally responded by getting hard. Its turgid outline unmistakably showed through the material.

"I've got to get a few things," she said, and started getting out of the car.

I didn't move, but, rather, slunk down lower in my seat. I didn't want to be seen this way. "C'mon out," she demanded, and she placed her thumb on the button.

I got the message; I quickly sat up, opened the door and got out of the car. We crossed the lot and went into the store. Heads turned and I heard giggling. Mouths were agape as they "took in" my appearance: bright red lipstick on a man's face with the shadow of a day's beard growth...a cruel "Fuck Me, Please" tattoo above my eyebrows...a black leather steel reinforced padlocked collar around my neck...a pink halter top accentuating the tattooed words above my bright pink bikini bottom...my engorged cock looking like it was trying to burst through the bright pink spandex. As I passed a few people who I recognized from "around," I heard gasps and murmurs -- they must have also noticed the welts on my legs. I looked down and I saw that the stripes had turned a deep shade of dark bluish purple.

"Wait here," she whispered loudly to me in a commanding way. "Keep your head up and your eyes open." I was forced to stand next to the front counter as she walked towards the back of the store.

Standing there, I had to absorb the loud laughs of several young teenage girls who bought cigarettes and candy. I had to swallow the taunts of laborers who circled me, pointing; their foreign language hid only the actual words, but not the message. I had to endure the wrath of the clerk, who frustratingly shouted out, "Get this fuckin' freak out of here!"

Finally, she brought a bottle of iced tea and a dog leash to the counter and took money out of my wallet to pay for it. I did not miss the meaning of that act. With everyone watching intently, she ceremoniously clipped the dog leash to my collar, gave it a tug, and said, "C'mon, you pussy." Loud laughter and guffaws followed us out the door.

As we walked back to the car, she handed me my car keys and said, "You drive." I quickly got in behind the wheel and then pulled out of the parking area. I caught a quick glimpse of smiling, laughing faces in the window watching me as I drove off to the beach.

We waited in line for several minutes at the tollbooth to purchase beach parking tickets. She took a twenty dollar bill out of my wallet; she knew I would have to wait to get change...to have to patiently wait while the toll taker collected one more story to tell his family that evening.

The huge westernmost parking lot was almost filled. We finally found a spot near the back, close to where I had parked just the night before and aeons ego. "Open the trunk," she ordered, and I released the latch from inside. "Hand me the keys."

We got out and she made sure that all the doors were locked. "Take the blanket out of the trunk." She must have put it into the car while I was sleeping. She handed me the bag, saying, "You carry this. And make sure you don't try to hide behind it."

We walked through the rows of cars and then onto the boardwalk. She ordered me, as before, to keep my head up and eyes open. Needless to say, I was the main attraction. Heads turned; strollers stopped and stared. We stopped. "Take off your halter top and put it in the bag," she commanded. I knew enough to obey without question.

Without the halter top, my appearance was even more bizarre. The bright neon pink color of my bikini, on its own merits, attracted immediate attention. I walked along beside her with the leash dangling from my collar, with my ass swishing from the greased-up dildo up inside me. It was futile to ignore the gawking looks, to be deaf to the insults that were hurled at me, to maintain any semblance of dignity and self worth.

In the bright sunshine, it was impossible to hide. We walked -- I was made to "parade" -- the entire length of the boardwalk to the furthest end of the beach. The sun was hot on my shoulders; I was sure that I was going to burn. "Take off your sneakers here," she said, and I bent over to remove them. As I did so, she didn't miss the opportunity to push the dildo deeper inside of me and I almost lost my balance and fell over. We then strolled out onto the sand.

The burning sand was excruciating against the soles of my feet. Like all the other demeaning and painful things I had to suffer, this torture was just as inescapable. I tried to walk more quickly -- to "skip" over the sand -- in a futile attempt to avoid the pain, but she ordered me to slow down, emphasizing her command with an almost subliminal shock. We walked for several hundred yards to the water's edge where she told me to stop and spread out the blanket.

I started to lie down on the blanket, but was hit by a sudden jolt of electricity. I went down on my knees, in agony. "You" -- stressing the "you" -- "lie down on the sand...on your stomach," she ordered. "This blanket's for me." Slowly and very tentatively, I lowered myself down. My hairless, swollen skin blazed against the hot sand. "Stretch out so you can get a nice tan."

After a while, I became somewhat used to the abrasive hot sand. I even closed my eyes as the sun burned onto my skin.

I was jostled awake. "Turn over on your back," she directed, "You don't want to get burnt too much."

Because the sand that had been under me had cooled, I made sure to lie back down right where I had been before. She reached over and unhooked the dog leash, saying, "We don't want to ruin your tan."

As I lay there, passers-by stopped to stare and then react with derisive remarks. Even small children stopped digging with their plastic shovels and pails; many ran back to their parents, pointing and gesticulating at me. I closed my eyes, attempting to escape within myself.

Some time later, I was told to turn over onto my stomach, and later, again on my back. I was made to suffer and bake in silence while she was remained covered comfortably with a towel.

"Get up on your knees," I heard from far away as I came awake. "I want you to go to the concession to get some more iced tea for me to drink." She handed me several dollar bills and was told to fold them and tuck them into my waistband.

I knew that no pleading would change her mind. Again, I'd have to cross over the even hotter sand -- not once, but twice.

She knelt behind me, took a pocket knife from her bag, and cut the threads that fastened the ends that held the bikini top closed. She removed it and tied it loosely around my neck, and told me to turn around to face her. I looked down and realized that my skin had reddened and burned everywhere except where the top had been. As if she were reading my mind, she said, "You're going to have to wear a shirt to hide your nice dark suntan from now on, or else everyone will know."

She chuckled to herself as she started playing with my nipples, which had already been abused the night before. They swelled a bit in arousal. She pulled two three-foot lengths of clear nylon fishing line from her bag and tied a double loop around my right nipple. She then started to tighten the loop by pulling on the ends of the line. The steadily increasing pressure cut into my nipple and made me want to push her hand away. I knew I had to resist that impulse. With one more yank, I let out a moan. Satisfied with its tightness, she knotted the ends and then repeated the process on my other nipple. I stood there, scarcely able to avoid squirming. My nipples were engorged and protruding. Pleased with the effect, she cut off the ends of the nylon line with her knife so that the loops were hardly visible against my brown nipples and white skin.

She massaged my crotch and my cock responded by getting hard. Its shape, as before, was clearly outlined against the tight fabric. When she was satisfied, she commanded, "You walk ahead of me." I got up on my feet and headed back towards the boardwalk. By obeying, without question, I had to then undergo another regimen of punishment to the soles of my feet. The dildo was still stuck deep in my ass and continued to move around inside me as I walked.

Without the bikini top, my bare-chestedness was even more humiliating than before. Because of the sharp difference between my skin colorations, it was obvious that I had been wearing a feminine top, and then having to wear the bright pink top around my neck made it even more shameful. Again, I had to endure the looks, the smirks, the taunts, the bursts of laughter and pointing fingers. Reflexively, I lowered my head in shame as I walked, and I received a shocking reminder to keep my head up.

I walked up to the soda concession inside the building. While waiting on line, the clamor died down, and all eyes were turned towards me. She walked up to me and whispered loudly enough for anyone in near proximity to hear, "Order a large diet soda for me. Your drink is back on the beach."

Finally, I got to the head of the line. "I'd like to have a large Diet Coke, please," I said to the teenager working behind the counter.

"Hey, man," he said, as he looked closely. "What's that tied around your tits?" And then he laughed. He turned to the others, and called out, "Hey, check this faggot out! -- look at his face. What's that? Fuck Me, Please!'" Laughing harder, and joined my his friends. "Look at that tattoo down there...'Fist Fucked By Beach Blonde.'" I was frozen, speechless. Whatever dignity I had remaining disappeared at that instant.

The clerk finally handed me the soda, and I gave him the bills. I turned and started to walk away. "Hey, pussy," he shouted out, "you forgot your change." Peals of laughter followed me back out to the boardwalk.

I walked slowly back to the blanket. She caught up with me, and I handed her the soda. "Would you like something to drink?" she asked. After hours of baking in the sun, I was extremely thirsty and my lips were getting chapped. I nodded.

She reached down into her bag and drew out the glass jar that was filled with yellow liquid. Momentarily, I didn't remember, but then, I realized that it was the jar filled with my piss from the night before. Now I know why she had kept it.

Gesturing with the hand that held the remote shocking device, she demanded, "Open it and drink it all." I unscrewed the lid and brought it to my lips. The warm acrid smell was overpowering; I hesitated. I saw her thumb move towards the switch as she said, "Drink it now...I don't want to tell you again."

I started sipping the salty liquid. I wet my very dry lips with my tongue. I slowly drank more of it. My mouth was so parched that swallowing was difficult. I looked at her imploringly, but all she said was, "All of it."

Gulping, I emptied the jar. Some of it ran down my chest, burning against my nipples. I was sinking steadily lower into the abyss of debasement.

She picked up her bag, and told me to pick up the blanket. "Let's go to a more remote part of the beach," she said, "where we can have some privacy."

Her mood towards me had again changed subtly. She seemed kinder to me as we walked east along the water's edge. It had been low tide and the wet sand was cool and soothing against my feet. She pointed to a child's pail that had been abandoned and told me to pick it up and bring it along.

There were fewer people on the beach as we continued walking east. Judging from the angle of the sun, it had to be late afternoon. She stopped, looked around, and said, "This'll do fine." I spread the blanket out below the clumps of drying seaweed that demarcated the high tide line.

"Take the pail and dig a nice deep hole. I want it to be about three feet deep and three feet in diameter," she ordered, pointing to a spot that was even closer to the water. "Now get busy!"

I got down on my knees and started digging the hole. Removing the first foot or so of sand was pretty easy. But then, I had to lie on my stomach to make the hole deeper. When I couldn't reach down any further, I got into the hole to dig out the rest of the sand.

As I was finishing, she came over, holding her bag, to check how I was doing. "Very good," she said. It was the first nice thing that she had said to me. "Just a little deeper," she added.

"Now stand up and turn around." She brought one arm back behind me and locked a handcuff around my left wrist. Before I could respond, she grabbed my right arm and locked the other cuff around my wrist.

"Now get back into the hole...and kneel down the way you were." I slid down into the hole and got down on my knees. She told me to turn around and face the water. She stepped in, bent down and wrapped the leather loop and chain of the dog leash tightly around my ankles. She then pulled up on my ankles, wrapped the chain around my handcuff, tied a knot in the leash around my handcuff chain, and snapped the clip of the leash back down onto the chain around my ankles. On my knees, with my wrists cuffed behind me, I was immobilized in the hole. She used my legs, back and shoulders to help her climb out of the hole. She then stepped back and admired her handiwork, and nodded silently to herself.

She got down on her knees and started to fill the hole with the sand that I had piled up around it. Bucket after bucket of sand were poured back into the hole and my legs were quickly covered. She made sure to tamp down the sand between my legs.

More sand followed. She worked feverishly filling up the hole that I had dug. A short while later, the sand covered my wrists and, soon after, the sand was up to my neck. She stomped around on the sand, pressing the sand down around me. She poured on more sand to fill in her footprints. All that one could see, if anyone had been there to observe, was my head sticking out of the sand, facing the water. I watched the waves rolling towards shore and noticed that the water was coming up ever so slightly closer than before.

I could not move. My shackles tightly bound me and I was heavily weighted down by the sand. She bent down and unlocked the collar that had overpowered me so effectively, saying, "We're not going to need this anymore."

She lowered the blanket carefully around my head, pulled her bikini bottom down, and positioned herself with my head held between her legs. "It's finally time for my pleasure," she announced as she held onto the back of my head and thrust her hot sex against my face. She commanded me to lick her, to tongue her, to make her cum. She started to writhe in excitation.

I lapped her and sucked her for all I was worth. I stuck my tongue way inside her, while, far below, in the sand, I felt my cock getting hard. "Oh yes!" she screamed. "This is soooo good." It took only a few minutes. And then she started to gyrate wildly; her breathing became more labored and intense. She let out with a loud "ooooh" and her legs froze tight against my head. Seconds later, her body relaxed.

She got up on her knees and just before she pulled up her bikini bottom, I saw the glistening of her body liquids on her thighs. Water came up a bit closer; it was now about four feet away. Suddenly, the horrible realization hit.

"You know how humiliated you felt walking around with your tattoos and your special suntan," she began. "I know the suntan will disappear, but your tattoos, unfortunately, are permanent."

"Please let me out," I begged. "Please...I'll do anything."

She ignored me and continued, "Well, I'd feel terrible being responsible for your having to go through life with such a burden. I know how much I've suffered. It just wouldn't be right for you to live in such agony."

A particularly large wave curled over and smashed down on shore. Water ran up only inches from my face, and then quickly receded.

"No, there's no other way," she said, and distractedly started to gather up her bag and blanket.

I looked around to my left and right and saw no one. "Help...someone help me!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, but the thundering waves drowned out my cries. I tasted a spray of salt water as it hit my lips.

"Noooooo!" I shrieked. "Please! Pleeazzzze!" Only my beautiful torturess could become my savior.

With the bag in one hand, and the blanket in the other, she stood watching, impervious to my pleading. She watched me try to somehow hopelessly escape as wave after wave crashed against the shore. I started to wail and thrash under the weight of sand when water from one came up and lapped me on the chin.

She bent down and kissed me full on my lips. Then, she abruptly turned away and started walking back towards the boardwalk. The last I saw of her was her fading silhouette and the sun glistening brightly against her blonde hair.

End

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