Bad Day

This, as one might imagine, went on for quite a while. I forgot how many pussies I serviced that night. It seemed to go on forever. All along, there was merciless hooting and laughing. I was not a person to them. I was a sex toy. A plaything.

But it didn't end there. Soon, it was time for everyone to more or less go to bed. They gambled to see who I would be "sleeping' with. I was blindfolded and laid face down on the bed. I never knew whose pussy I serviced that night, all night long. I only knew that every now and then, the owner of the pussy would awaken and find that I had flagged in my duties. The leash on my collar would be pulled, or the twine around my dick, flattened but still engorged against my stomach, would be tightened, until I resumed my licking and sucking. I got very little sleep that night, if any at all. So ended a "spectacular" day for Ginger, Darla, and 6 other heartless friends of theirs.

The next morning I awoke to find my latest tormentress gone. I was still hogtied on the bed, my face smeared with pussy juice, but the blindfold had been removed. I raised my head to see a polaroid of myself from the back, clad in the red camisole I still had on. You couldn't see my face but you could see the face of the woman I had serviced all night. A rather pudgy woman, smiling broadly, wearing only a white bra, her thighs around my head, my face obviously buried in her cunt. She was holding two leashes, one that was attached to my collar, the other attached to my engorged cock. I didn't know her, thank God. It was bad enough knowing that Ginger and Darla held all the pictures they had taken of my torment. That, and other pictures taken earlier, might allow those two bitches to blackmail me into indefinite sexual slavery. If I ever got free, I wouldn't actually be free. There were people, employers, family and others who I definitely did not want to see what I had been through yesterday and last night.

When I managed to roll over onto my right side, I saw that Ginger had been standing there all along. At least since I had awakened. "Good morning, my little housewife," she said. She had that damn crop in her right hand. She was smiling. Smiling a wicked wicked smile. This was going to go on. But hadn't I suffered enough for all those Saturdays when I had tormented her?

Evidently so. She came up to me and showed me a handcuff key. Then she reached behind me unlocked the cuffs, and then quickly, warily, backed away. "You can untie the rest of the ropes yourself now. Your clothes are in your car, which I very kindly brought back here. Get dressed and get out of here." She showed me her cell phone. "And don't try anything, or I will call the cops. I know you want revenge, but we should call it even, okay?" She tapped the phone again. "Remember, you're still naked, mostly," she looked at the red camisole she and the others had forced me to wear, smiling, "so no tricks, and you can go on your way to your date with that slut Pamela." And then she walked away. She gave her ass a little shake before she left the bedroom.

I had, with all the humiliations I had endured, forgotten about my brunch date with Pamela, only an hour or so away now. I rubbed my wrists and turned my attention to getting the rest of the damn ropes off. When I came downstairs, the house was empty. I was still "dressed" in the camisole, but I sure wasn't going to go out to the car, parked in the street, naked, so I pushed my dick into the hole the best I could, and ran out to my car, hoping no one saw a man dressed in a red camisole get in a car and hurriedly drive away. I hoped I wouldn't get pulled over.

And, thank God, I didn't. Before I got to my apartment, I pulled over in an isolated spot and put my clothes on and threw the camisole into the back seat.. It felt good to be in my own clothes again, not naked and trussed, subject to the whims of a vengeful woman and her cruel friends, especially Darla.

45 minutes later, I was at Pamela's front door. My little brunette was dressed in a pullover that went down to a few inches above her knee. She had dressed that way before for me, which meant she wanted to have sex. Even with all I had gone through, I was more than ready. After all, during all the time Ginger and her friends had tortured me, I was not allowed to come. I resolved, of course, never to tell her what I had just been through. It was just too goddamn embarrassing.

We hardly even talked except for Pamela to note that I had shaved my beard off. I didn't want to tell her that all my body hair had been removed except the hair on my head. Pamela giggled, and ran away from me towards the bedroom, pulling her pullover up almost to her fine, nicely sculpted ass. I followed closely. Perhaps brunch could wait. She pulled out the handcuffs we kept at her bedside, dangling them in front of me. This was our foreplay. I would cuff her hands behind her back, spank her a little, then uncuff her, and we would go at it. But first we both took her pullover off.

I was on top of her, holding her hands against her lower back while I cuffed her, my hand raised, ready to spank her, which I knew she liked, when I heard the bedroom door open. There was a flash of light, obviously from a cell phone camera. .

"Uh oh," I heard a familiar voice say. It was Ginger. Ginger, who I had only an hour ago escaped. "Looks like I happened on a very embarrassing moment," she said. "I wonder what your daughter and your bosses would say if they saw this picture?" She directed the question toward Pamela. And she took another picture, showing, I'm sure, our shocked, flushed faces.

"Looks like we've got a bit of bargaining to do," Ginger said. Behind her, I saw Darla, smiling broadly. Ginger crooked her finger at us and walked out into the living room. Pamela and I lay on the bed together.

"That's Ginger, isn't it?" Pamela asked. Her face was white. I could only nod. I had told her, perfunctorily, about my year long affair with Ginger, but I hadn't told her about Ginger's thirst for vengeance, or how far she would go to satisfy it. I hadn't counted on Ginger to go this far, though. And definitely how far she went.

"Get me out of these!" Pamela said, showing, as best she could, her wrists cuffed behind her back. I frantically searched for the keys, which were usually tucked under the mattress of her bed. But, as I searched, Ginger showed up in the bedroom doorway, her cell phone in hand, the other hand poised to push a button. "I'm ready to call your daughter," she said, again addressing Pamela. "Unless you come into the living room with me NOW. I wonder what she'll think about the pictures I took?" Pamela, still ashen, rose and began to walk into the living room as I quit my search for the handcuffs keys, and followed her.

"Oh my, what a little cutie," Darla said.

"Oh yes," Ginger said, "what a cute little naked slut." She raised a camera, this time a digital one, and took another picture of poor Pamela, standing there cuffed, unable to cover herself. "Why aren't you undressed?" Ginger asked me. I didn't reply.

"Get naked. Now."

"You heard her," Darla said. "Strip." And Ginger held up he cell phone again. "If you don't, little Pamela's daughter gets some nasty pictures of her mother doing some very kinky things."

I just stood there, not complying, until Pamela turned toward me, a pleading expression on her face. Yet another flash occurred, this time definitely showing Pam's cuffed wrists and naked behind. "Please do as she says. I can't have Abby seeing me like this."

I liked her too much to let that happen to her, and of course I was culpable in all this in that Ginger and Darla had obviously followed me to Pam's house. I gathered also that Ginger had researched her rival enough to obtain her daughter's phone number. So the threat to expose Pam's "kinky" activities was real enough for me to, reluctantly, obey Ginger's command, to "strip" as she said..

A few minutes later, I was naked again, facing Ginger's wrath, Darla's sadism, and ashamed to know that Pamela would now be part of their wicked games.