Brenda's  Bondage

by Abe

       Brenda dismounted her bike by the corner of the apartments.  She had just ridden 9.3 miles in the southern California heat.  She was one of those tall, muscular women who could be mistaken for a man.  Her shoulders were as wide as her hips, and her upper body was trim and muscular from lifting weights.  Her breasts were nicely shaped but not especially large.  Her lower half , legs and bottom, was all muscle, the result of daily bicycle riding.  Her hair was short and red, complimenting her green eyes.

       She lifted the bike to her shoulder and climbed the stairs to the walkway which granted access to the second floor housing units.  She took off her back pack and fished out her key, opening the door to 421; block 4, second floor, first unit, on the end.  Her place was a single room, with a bathroom, a small kitchen, and a walk-in closet along one side.  The only windows were sliding glass doors on the side away from the entrance.  She wheeled the bike across the floor, opened the glass door, and put the bike on the balcony.  Returning to her room, closing the door, Brenda surveyed her room.  Earlier that day, Sunday, she had paid an acquaintance who had a SUV to move her stuff.  Her bed was a metal framed lounge chair with plastic straps across it, exactly like the ones you might find next to a swimming pool, except for some modifications.  She had borrowed a drill and installed several eye-bolts in the metal frame. With the back up, it was a comfortable place to sit.  At night, she could lower it flat, add a 4 inch foam pad, and it was a good bed.  She had a small book case, with a small TV on top, a simple, cheap dresser from a thrift store, a folded up card table and two steel folding chairs.  Her hang-up clothes were in the closet, but most of her belongings were still in cardboard boxes:  Kitchen things, bedding, underwear, personal papers, toys, weights, etc., all labeled with felt tip pen.

       Brenda removed her canvas shoes, peeled off her sweaty tee-shirt  and sports bra, then squirmed out of her black Spandex cycling shorts, leaving them all on the floor.  Standing naked,  she noted there were no curtains over the glass doors, but it was a commercial area across the street; it wasn't likely anyone could see in.  She took a quick shower.  Naked, she went to her toy box and then lifted the back of her lounge.  She put cuffs, modified dog collars, on her wrists and ankles.  Ever since she had learned to read, she had been fascinated with the idea of a female in bondage, herself.  The Christian slave chained in the slave market, the helpless woman tied to the mast of a pirate ship, the captive of American Indians, spread eagled on the ground, they all occupied her daily fantasies.  With snap hook links, she clipped her ankles to eye-bolts either side of the frame, so that her knees were bent and held apart.  She sat back and  snapped her wrists together with double clips, leaving enough slack that she could later undo them.  She closed her eyes, the better to fantasize, and her finger tips walked their way down her belly and through the fine, reddish, curly hairs, feeling for the dimple at the apex of her labia.  She was beginning to get damp.  She knew that if she slipped a finger tip into that opening and pulled upward, delicious tingles would tease her clitoris.

       She heard the sliding door open.  He eyes opened, and what she saw caused her heart to race and her cunt to loosen.  She felt fear and excitement as if she were on a roller coaster.  She instantly remembered an experience four years ago in high school.  She had gone to the girls' room before lunch.  There was an Asian girl, shorter than Brenda, who demanded her lunch money.  A fight ensued, and Brenda lost; she lost her money, lost her embroidered tights, and lost her hymen, torn as a trophy of victory by the fingers of the vicious Viet Namese girl.  Brenda spent the lunch period in the girls' room, devastated by her loss and occupied in cleaning up the blood from her torn hymen.  She was embarrassed, fearful, as she attended her afternoon classes and rode the school bus with nothing but a stained bit of toilet paper under her short skirt, constantly aware of the nakedness and vulnerability of her cunt,  constantly trying to keep her knees together.  Ever since that day, she responded with a shiver of erotic excitement every time she saw an Asian woman who even remotely resembled her assailant.

       What she saw was two women, both dressed in black.  One was  shorter than Brenda, distinctly Asian, much like the one in the girls' room, muscular, almost mannish.  The other was tall and slender, with pale skin and flowing blond hair.  She walked with undulations, like a giraffe.  Wordlessly, they advanced on Brenda, took hold of her wrists and, before she could think of how to resist, they separated the wrist cuffs and clipped them to the frame above Brenda's head.  Her elbows were bent, her upper arms straight out from her shoulders, a posture which Brenda was sure emphasized her breasts.  While the tall one watched, the short one ran her finger tips over Brenda's boobs, circled the nipples, bent down and licked them. Then the fingers went for the cunt, causing Brenda to feel the same anguish she had in the girls' room, but the fingers were gentle.  They slid gently over the labia, slipped into that little pit at the front, and expertly stroked the hood of the clitoris, careful not to overdo it, careful to cause no pain.  Brenda cried, groaned, into her gag and and got very wet, lingering for what seemed a long time on the edge of an orgasm.

       The short one said, “There is no name on your door bell.  What's your name?”

       Brenda managed to answer, “Brenda.”

       “I'm Amy,” said the short one cheerily, “and that's Stephanie.  We live next door.   You on welfare?”

       Still somewhat confused, Brenda replied, “No.  I have a job.  Actually two jobs.”

       “Then why did you rent a dump like this?”

       “It's close to my work.  I can ride my bike.”

       “You don't have a car?”

       “I did.  The timing belt broke, and it died, right in the middle of the freeway.  It's junk, and I decided not to replace it.  I can use my two leg-power bicycle.”

       “So where do you work?” asked Amy.  Stephanie didn't talk.  She was rummaging through Brenda's things.

       “Carson Wholesale.  I audit the inventory.”

       “And the other job?”

       Brenda hesitated, a bit embarrassed.  “Jennifer's Book Shop.  It's only a block and a half away, a short walk.  I work Friday and Saturday nights, 8 pm to 4 am.”

       Amy laughed.  “I know that place.  It's a porno store!”

       “Well, she used to sell books, but nowadays it's all DVDs and fetish mags.  She carries a line of lingerie and, of course, marital aids.”

       “And leather gear.  Are you straight or gay?”

       “Straight.”

       “You have a boy friend?”

       “Not right now.  Working nights, I don't have much time for dates.”  She didn't get asked very often, either.  Men seem to like girls shorter than they are.

       “Yeah, sure.  Are you a virgin?”

       “No.”

       “Uh-huh.  I'll bet you are some  middle class save-it-for-marriage cunt.  Probably can't get off, unless you are in bondage.”  Brenda realized that Amy had it about right.   Even in bondage, she couldn't get off.  Stephanie handed something to Amy.  Amy said, “Well, we'll be going.  Enjoy.”

       “No, don't leave me like this.  I can't get loose!”

       “You enjoy it, the bondage.  I'll stop by later.  I've got your spare key, so I won't have to hop across to your balcony.”  Amy and Stephanie left by the front door, and Brenda  was left, truly in bondage, and unable to get loose.  However, Amy returned in a minute and went to Brenda.  She had a large black vibrator which she turned on and left, its butt on the plastic webbing and the business end resting one the outer labia over Brenda's clit.  Then Amy left.

       Brenda was helpless, just as she had fantasized, with the black thing buzzing over her very sensitive clitoris, not actually touching it but close enough to drive Brenda to frustrating sexual arousal, almost there but not over the crest.  At first it was nice, as Brenda hoped she might, this time, experience that mind blowing orgasm she so longed for but never attained.  After a while, she could stand the tease no longer.  At last she managed to buck her hips and joggle the vibrator so it flopped against her thigh.    Exhausted, she fell asleep.  When she awoke, it was dark.  The vibrator was gone, and her right wrist was unhooked.  She released her other arm and her ankles, removed the cuffs, turned on the overhead light.  She put the security chain on the front door, and set her alarm clock.  Then she put the back of the chaise down, the foam mattress on it, found a blanket in the bedding box, and went to sleep, too tired to bother finding her pajamas.

       Monday morning, she dressed for work, a knee length skirt and matching jacket over a light sweater.  She went to get her bike off the balcony and put her work shoes in the basket.  High heels are unsuitable for biking.  She really preferred flats, but the high heels made her even taller and more able to stand up to some of the men at work.  Then she heard the sliding door open.  “Good morning, Cunt,” said Amy.

       “Please don't call me that,” said Brenda, aware of the sudden wetness between her legs.

       “That's what you are, a bitch cunt.  You belong to me now, Cunt, and that's what I'll call you.  Don't ever put the chain on your front door, understand, Cunt?”

       Brenda was totally intimidated.  She nodded.  “Lift your skirt, Cunt.  Let me see your pussy.”  Brenda  lifted the hem of her skirt. “OK, off with the pantyhose.  From now on, you won't wear any underwear I don't approve of.”

       

       Brenda complied by removing  her pantyhose, remembering how she lost her embroidered tights, years ago.  “I can't wear heels without stockings.”

       “Not my problem, Cunt.”  Amy let herself out the front door.

       

       Cycling to work was scary.  Brenda worried that her skirt might blow up and reveal her nakedness.  At work, she felt awkward, vulnerable.  She decided to wear slacks and knee-high stockings tomorrow.  On the way home, she stopped at a corner grocery store for food.  When she got home, she found the security chain removed from the door frame.  She microwaved a frozen dinner and ate it, sitting at her card table on a folding chair with a bottle of Diet Coke and watching the news on TV.  She was not really surprised when her neighbors let themselves in. 

       “Time to play,” said Amy.  “Strip.  Get naked.  Now!”

       Brenda couldn't think to resist; she took off her clothes as fast as she could.  Stephanie flipped the mattress off the bed, and the two of them put on her cuffs and clipped her flat on her back, legs spread, arms as before.  “In future, when you get home you will undress and put on your cuffs, before we get here.  Understood?”  Brenda nodded.   Stephanie unloaded the box marked kitchen while Amy toyed with Brenda's tits, checking from time to time to see how wet Brenda's cunt was.    Amy slapped the tits, and Brenda complained that it hurt.  She pulled the nipples, and Brenda groaned.  Amy not only checked for wetness, she rubbed the outer labia to put pressure on the clitoris below.  Brenda mewled and writhed as  Amy inserted a finger to evaluate the wetness.  “Cunt,” announced Amy, “your tits are worthless, dead.  I'm going to fix that.  Any functional female should be able to come just from having her tits played with.” 

       Amy walked to the kitchen to wash her hands.  Then she selected two tall drinking glasses and poured the remaining Coke out of the plastic bottle.  She put a wet paper towel on a plate in the microwave with the glasses inverted  over it.  Less than a minute on high filled the glasses with steam.  She carried the plate to Brenda and slid each glass off the plate and over a breast.  The steam condensed, drawing Brenda's breasts into the glasses, making her nipples stand up incredibly.  Brenda could see them, turning pink and standing taller than she could have imagined, and the pain, the stretching of her tender tissues, seemed to  make her hornier.  Amy microwaved the plastic Coke bottle on the wet plate and then, parting Brenda's labia, she put the mouth of the bottle right over the little pink clit, which was soon sucked out from under its hood and stretched, like the nipples, to extraordinary dimensions.  Brenda screamed, motivated by pain and fear as her precious tiger button felt as if it would be torn from its roots.  Amy told her to shut up and fitted her with a ball gag.  Lower down, Amy fingered the entrance to Brenda's vagina, and  Brenda got wetter, howling into her gag and shaking her swollen breasts.

Amy said, “You are going to be my slut, Cunt.  You need a shave.”    Amy  smeared shaving cream over the mons pubis and around the  Coke bottle.  Then, with a straight razor, she removed all Brenda's pubic hair while Brenda made protesting noises through her gag.  When the hair and the cream were gone,   Amy pulled the Coke bottle off the swollen clitoris and immediately kissed it,which made Brenda again writhe with tingles, but still no real orgasm.

       They left her like that.  “Remember, no panties.”

       Sometime during the night, Amy released Brenda and removed the boob stretchers.  In the morning, Tuesday, Brenda ate cereal for breakfast, still naked, and then dressed in bra, blouse, slacks, and jacket.  As directed, she wore no panties.  As she rode to work, she could feel the fabric of her slacks rubbing her now naked labia, and she spent much of her work day preoccupied with thoughts of sex.  When she walked, the friction made her feel sexy.

       That night, she was waiting, naked with her cuffs on.  After Brenda was gagged, Amy put some big rubber bands around the base of Brenda's breasts, so they stood up like softballs on her chest.  Then they fastened Brenda face down on her bed, with the foam pad rolled up under her belly so her ass was elevated, showing off her hairless peach, and her swollen boobs were pressed into the foam.  “You have a beautiful ass,” said Amy.  “Stephanie is jealous, because I like yours better than hers.  So, for tonight your ass is hers, Cunt.”

       Stephanie began by spanking the raised ass cheeks until they were pink.  Then she took a long kitchen knife, in its plastic sheath, and paddled her to put brighter stripes over the more uniform pink.  Then Amy stepped in and did a wetness check on the cunt.  “I think she is ready,” Amy said.  Stephanie  reached round Brenda's chest and squeezed her breast as hard as she could,  as Amy plunged her thumb into Brenda's cunt and used her first finger, which lay between the spread labia, to massage the clit.  The thumb found the rough patch which designated the G-spot, and with Amy's thumb on one hot button and her finger on the other and Stephanie hurting the tits, Brenda got wetter and wetter.  With her other hand, Amy spanked Brenda's firm ass, and at last Brenda went ballistic with a humongous orgasm, gushing pussy juice.  Brenda was so exhausted from her first real orgasm that Amy released her and let her shower and go to bed.

       Wednesday morning, before she left, Brenda was intercepted by Amy.  “You know what this is?”

       “Yes, I sell them.  It's a butt plug.”

       “Put it in now, and don't take it out unless you have to poop.  Then put it back.  Understand?”  Brenda nodded and dropped her slacks, exposing her naked ass.  “Here, bend over.  I'll put it in the first time.”  Amy slipped the “jelly” object, lubricated with K-Y, into Brenda's rosebud.  It slipped in until the flared base stopped it.  “OK, off to work you go, Cunt.”

       Cycling to work, even just a mile, was even stranger with the butt plug pressed against the bicycle seat, and there was still the friction of the crotch seam of the slacks, teasing her twat.  At work, she could not forget the thing in her ass, whether sitting or standing.  Once, out in the warehouse, something made her sneeze, and the plug popped out, falling part way down the leg of her slacks.  Almost in panic,Brenda raced for the rest room, recovered the plug, and managed to insert it again.

       That night, standing naked in her cuffs and butt plug, she had to tell Amy all about it.  Amy went next door for a moment and returned with a large rubber bulb with a plastic tip on it.  “In the morning, remove the plug and give yourself an enema.  Don't get dressed until I show up.”  Then Amy and Stephanie gagged Brenda and used rope to immobilize her, tying her to one of the folding chairs.  Her Arms were tied behind her  back, and the rope was wound up her forearms, tightly, until her elbows touched, pulling her shoulders back and thrusting her breasts forward.  They wound rope around her body, starting at the waist and tightly binding her, so she could only breathe by raising and lowering her chest.  They criss-crossed the ropes over her breasts, forcing her nipples forward. Sitting on the metal chair seat, her bare skin against the cold metal, she was aware of the butt plug, but it was not uncomfortable.  However, before binding her legs together, Amy slipped a golf ball  under her, opposite the entrance to her vagina, and her weight forced it half way into her.  Soon her legs were wrapped in rope from her ankles nearly to her crotch.  Brenda tried to complain, but Amy gagged her with a rubber dog bone held in place by a big rubber band.

       The two women lifted the chair and placed it, with Brenda in it, out on the balcony.  Amy stood behind the chair and covered Brenda's nipples with her hands, sometimes pinching or twisting them, noting that Brenda seemed to thrive on pain.  It was still twilight, and as traffic went by along the street, a driver could look up and see Brenda,  bizarrely wrapped in rope and gagged.  Brenda could barely wriggle, but when she did, the golf ball moved against her vaginal opening, and the effect was sexy.   Squirming on the seat of the chair, mewling with pain into her gag, she made eye contact with a passing truck driver, and she came with a gush which wet the chair.  Amy and Stephanie stood by her and continued to torture her tits, before they carried her inside.  It was dark by then, anyway.

       Amy stopped squeezing the nipples and instead installed   nipple clamps, not so much painful as humiliating.  They tickled her feet, and her squirming, with the golf ball, kept her on the edge of another orgasm.  When her tormentors figured she had had enough, they untied her.  As she stood up, the golf ball, wet with pussy juice, fell to the floor.  “OK, Cunt, I'll show you how to give yourself an enema,and then you can do what you want.  I'll see you in the morning.

       Thursday morning, Brenda removed her butt plug and filled the washbowl in the bathroom with warm water.  She filled the rubber bulb and, straddling the toilet, she inserted the plastic nozzle into her now somewhat relaxed rosebud.  As it had been last night, it was strangely erotic to feel the water entering her, almost as if a giant had ejaculated into her rectum.  Then she removed the nozzle and sat on the toilet, releasing the water with a gush.  She looked in the toilet and saw some brown solids, so she flushed and repeated the sequence.  By the third repeat, the water in the bowl remained clear, so she put away the enema bulb and reinserted the butt plug.

       When Amy arrived, Brenda was still naked, but for her bra.  Amy took some scissors  and cut  silver dollar sized circle out of each cup, leaving the breasts supported but the nipples exposed and vulnerable.  Friction would make them swell.  “My boss will complain.  We have a dress code.  We have to wear appropriate undergarments.”

       “Not my problem, Cunt,” said Amy.  “You said the plug came out when you sneezed.  This will fix that.”  She wrapped a length of light rope around Brenda's waist, made an overhand knot, and led the two strands, twisted together, down between her legs and up between her cheeks, over the butt plug, holding it in place.  She tied the two ends to the loop around the waist.  Brenda knew she would not be able to untie it, would have to put up with it, whatever.  “I want to see you wearing this when I see you tonight.”

       The ride to work was torture.  The twisted ropes rubbed between the inner lips, got soaked with pussy juice, and pressed on Brenda's clitoris painfully, but...   In addition, her exertions while riding rubbed her nipples against the inside of her sweater – she was glad she hadn't worn a blouse – and distracted her.  Her day at work was  filled with anxiety, with her nipples showing erect through her sweater, blessedly covered by her jacket, which she usually took off at work, and the periodic pressure on her clitoris drove her nearly crazy.  She had to visit the ladies' room, finally forcing a pad of toilet paper under the twisted  ropes.  It spread her labia unnaturally, but it cushioned the pressure of the ropes on her clitoris.

       The ride home kept her constantly aware of the rope in her crotch, and when she got home she had to remove the paper pad. She had to shower and eat with the wet rope rubbing her clit.  She was afraid to be discovered “cheating” with a pad to protect herself.  When her neighbors did arrive, they decided to tie Brenda in a hog tie, with her hands and ankles roped together behind her back.  Gagged with a red ball gag, she could not complain when they left her to struggle. Each movement, it seemed, tightened the ropes which pressed her clitoris and caused genuine pain, yet the pain was exciting.  When Amy squeezed Brenda's tits while Stephanie punched her ass, Brenda finally got over the edge to a huge orgasm which left her limp.  “I think,” said Amy, “that our captive Cunt is a true submissive who gets off on pain.  With a little more training,  she'll do nicely.”

       The Friday morning instructions were, of course, the enema and butt plug, a bigger one, but Amy, when she passed the ropes between Brenda's legs, added another item.  “You complained that your clit was sore, so here's a solution to that.”  She inserted a short, soft dildo, about 4 inches, well lubricated, and then  drew the twisted ropes taut.  A kind of rubber tongue from the base extended over the clitoris, with rubber knobs pressing the concealed clit as the ropes pressed the rubber.  “You may have some trouble taking a pee, Cunt, but you can deal with that.  Wear a dress to work.”

       The ride to work, with her rope and rubber pressing the bicycle seat, had her wet and on the edge of an orgasm, but it didn't happen.  At work, the constant reminder, the constant stimulus, of her sexual apparatus distracted Brenda.  Last week her breasts had been insensitive, but now, after the hours of  painful stimulation, her nipples were almost always erect.  Blessedly, her boss did not comment.  On the ride home, Brenda was on the very edge. As she entered her room she lifted her skirt and used her hand to push those little rubber knobs against her on-button,  but she didn't come.

       She had to shower and eat before leaving for work about 7:40.  The two neighbor  women did not appear, so before she got dressed she cut the rope and removed the rubber plugs.  She even put on cotton panties before jeans with a tee shirt. She did, however, leave off the bra.  The porno shop had a more relaxed  sort of dress code.

       Business was slow.  A couple of guys came in and window shopped, handling the merchandise, but they didn't buy anything.  A familiar face, a Latino man, came in and spent twenty minutes, probably five dollars, in the “peep shows”, coin-operated booths with short sex videos.  A middle aged woman, looking drunk, came in, bought a “Purple Peril” vibrator and left.  So far, the sales wouldn't pay her salary.

       Then, about 10:10, Amy and Stephanie and a third woman came in.  The woman selected a leather chastity belt and asked Brenda if she would put it on and show what it looked like.  Brenda didn't like to unwrap  things, but there was a $60 sale at stake, so she allowed the woman to put the thing on over her jeans.  It seemed to be too small for Brenda's robust body.  The woman found a different one and insisted on trying it on Brenda.  It was like a metal jock strap with a metal mesh cup.  Then the woman selected a leather bra, really more of a tit binder, with cups of  leather strips attached to a metal ring which fit over the nipple.  Brenda willingly let the woman put it on over Brenda's tee shirt, and the woman tightened it until Brenda's tits were squeezed out between the leather straps and her nipples jutted out.  With all this strange fetish gear, new to Brenda, Brenda's southern regions were turning tropical.

       Amy and Stephanie came to the counter with a bag full of goodies: lingerie, whips, gags, hand cuffs, vibrators, butt plugs, leather goods, nipple clamps,  enough to turn on a whole girls' field hockey team all at once.  “We're together,” said Amy.  “Add 'em up, Cunt.”

       Still wearing the bra and chastity belt, Brenda rang up the merchandise, $492.69 with tax.  “Will that be cash or charge, Amy.”

       “Shit, Cunt, I can't afford that.  You pay for it.  You probably get an employee discount, don't you?”

       “I don't have that kind of money,” said Brenda with a tremor in her voice.

       “Use your credit card.  Otherwise we'll have to steal the stuff, and you will be an accomplice, Cunt.  You know what will happen to your pale white ass in jail?”

       Brenda shivered with dread, and her cunt responded to being dominated.  She consented to pay for the stuff and recalculated the bill, using her 20 per cent employee discount.  Amy told her to leave the gear on until she got home.  She would have to walk down a public street wearing that fantastic bondage gear, but perhaps no one would see at 4 am.  Later a couple came in and admired Brenda's chastity belt, and she sold  one for full price.  They also bought a metal bra, $119.99.  The leather bra was uncomfortable, and the metal  cup between her legs forced her thighs apart, so Brenda found the remaining time on her shift  anything but boring.  Her cunt was wet and her cash register busy.

       Walking home, with the cup between her thighs making her roll like a sailor, she was thankful it was so late.  She  was tired, having worked 16 hours, and was ready for bed.   Amy and Stephanie were waiting for her, and they released her from her leather and metal restraints.  When they undressed her, Amy yelled, “You worthless cunt!  Who told you to remove the  dildo and butt plug?   You will be punished.  I'll whip you until you come!”

       Without any verbal command, Stephanie went next door and returned with several torture instruments.  Amy ordered Brenda to give herself an enema, and she poured shampoo into the bowl so that the effect was enhanced and Brenda expelled  bubbly water into the toilet.  The Amy went to the shower stall and removed the shower head.  She replaced it with a shower on a hose.  They removed the shower head from the hose and fastened a balloon over the end of it.   Brenda thought Amy would shove it in her Brenda's ass, but instead Amy slipped the tube into Brenda's vagina.  “No, please!” cried Brenda.

       “Why not?  You said you weren't a virgin.  They used a nylon strap to strap Brenda's thighs together.  They sat Brenda crossways across the toilet and tied her feet to the legs of the sink.  Stephanie took Brenda's shoulders and bent her backward, pressing her shoulders to the floor, so her body was a bow over the toilet with her  cunt uppermost.  Amy stepped into the shower stall and turned on the hot water, just a little.  Then she began to methodically beat Brenda with a wet towel, from her knees, up over her taut belly, on to her breasts.  The balloon slowly expanded, stretching the walls of Brenda's vagina and pushing on her cervix.  It could not escape with her thighs strapped together.  Brenda cried, begging for mercy, until, at last, she was wracked by a sexual climax that forced the balloon to squeeze out and lie on her lap like a melon.

       “That's better,” said Amy.  “One last chore before you go to bed.”  They released Brenda and inserted the butt plug and a new, larger dildo.  “Put on your Spandex shorts.”  Brenda complied, knowing the shorts would hold the plugs in place.  They let her put on a tee-shirt, no bra, and then put on nipple clamps over the shirt.  From each clamp hung a weight.  “Get your bike and follow us.”

       Barefoot, Brenda followed them across the street and into the commercial district.  A railroad track extended past a number  of buildings.  They adjusted the bicycle seat until Brenda's feet could barely reach the pedals in their lowest position, and they had to hold the bike upright as Brenda mounted, as her feet were far from the ground.  There was no way she could raise herself off the seat, and the pressure of the seat forced the plugs deeply into her cunt and ass.  “OK, cunt, ride your bike down the track, between the rails.”  They got Brenda started with a push and then jogged along beside her in the pre-dawn light.

       Brenda could not go very fast, as the bicycle wheels bumped up and own with every cross tie, bumpity, bump.  The bike seat pounded the dildo and butt plug into her, and the weights on her nipple clamps swung wildly.  She had not gone a hundred yard when she yelled, “Ahh, oh my God!” and fell off the bike, cutting her knees and one hand on the gravel ballast.  The crotch of her shorts was wet with pussy juice.  Amy allowed her to walk her bike back to the apartments, where they cleaned her wounds and put bandage strips over them.

       Brenda slept until it was almost time to go to work Saturday night.  She opened a can of chili for supper and waited for instructions from Amy.  After the enema, Amy told her to put on a baby-doll dress she had bought from the porno shop, white, with puff sleeves, a scoop neck, and short skirt.  “No underwear!” was the order.  Well, it was fairly dark when Brenda walked to work, and she was only a little embarrassed, knowing she was naked, but for a bit of cotton fabric, a sex crime looking for a place to happen.

       The Saturday night customers seemed to appreciate Brenda's costume, and the embarrassment, sitting on her stool behind the counter with her knees clamped together, kept her nipples erect and visible as bumps in the cotton fabric.  Sales were good.  She sold out of baby doll dresses and it seemed customers were more interested in nipple clamps.  When she was relieved at 4 am, Amy and Stephanie were waiting for her outside, sitting in Amy's old car.  Amy was dressed as a man, while Stephanie was in a black body stocking.

        Amy got out and, while Brenda was forced to stand on the sidewalk, Amy lifted the brief cotton skirt.  She installed a dildo with remote controlled vibrator.  After a short test, which confirmed that it worked well, the metal chastity belt went on,  insuring that the dildo would not be removed and forcing Brenda to keep her knees apart, lest the metal cup rub her thighs.  The straps in back spread the ass cheeks, so her rosebud was well exposed.  They didn't insert a butt plug.  Next came a leather gag which covered her mouth and had a chin strap to hold her jaws closed.   That was followed by a “sleep mask”, a blindfold.   Then they guided her into the back seat and took her for a fairly lengthy drive.  After parking, they led Brenda to a house.

       The air was thick with smoke, weed and cigarettes and cigars.  Brenda  thought she heard surf, so it might be a beach house, way above Amy's socio-economic status.  She heard dozens of voices, some or all women's voices.  A husky voice said,  “Nice, body.  Nice legs. Fine ass.”  Someone put  a collar around Brenda's neck, and put cuffs on her wrists and ankles.  Then her wrist cuffs were clipped to the back of the collar, so her elbows were out and an added strap pulled her shoulders back.  Unseen hands pulled up the hem of Brenda's dress  and tucked it into the waist band of her chastity belt, leaving her ass fully exposed and her metal clad crotch fully visible.  “Yes, beautiful ass,” the husky woman murmured.  Brenda was pushed into the crowd, staggering as she tried to keep the metal basket between her legs from rubbing her inner thighs.  A dozen hands groped her.  A woman called out, “Her ass is grass, and you all have the lawnmowers.”

       Someone  poured beer over the front of the dress, turning it transparent.  Brenda felt clamps being put on her swollen nipples, to the sounds of approval of  several others.  They bent Brenda over a bar stool, and took turns spanking her ass.  Someone complained that she hurt her hand on the metal straps, so they used a belt to wallop Brenda's firm butt cheeks.  Meanwhile, Amy had turned on the vibrator, and Brenda was so distracted by the buzz over her clitoris and G-spot that the pain in her ass simply amplified the erotic experience.  Here she was, the real thing, like the slave, the pirate wench, the Indian captive, living her fantasies in real life.  The excitement built up, reaching a climax, with juices running down her inner thighs, but the ass beating kept up, and the orgasms kept happening.  Ultimately, someone with a strap-on dildo raped Brenda's ass.  The bondage, the humiliation, the stretching of her asshole, stimulating the perineal nerve, plus the vibrator and the pressure of the dildo bumping her G-spot as the strap-on pushed the walls of her vagina, all drove Brenda into a semi-conscious heaven of non-stop climaxes.  God, how time flies when you are having fun.

       At last, about dawn, Amy, who had been given a wad of cash, took Brenda out to the car.  They took off the gag but left the blindfold.  Brenda rode on her hands and knees on the back seat, to spare her crimson ass.  As soon as she was home, and free from the gear, she fell asleep.

       In the early afternoon, Amy woke Brenda, who had been sleeping on her tummy.  “You going to be able to go to work tomorrow morning?”

       Brenda ran her hands over her still sore ass, imagining what it would be like to work at the warehouse with no panties and with her sore bottom making her wet.  “Yes.”

       “Good.  I take it you liked the party, you slut.”  Brenda nodded in the affirmative.  “Good, there's another next week.  I think this is the beginning of a profitable friendship, Cunt.”