kryptonite
TMF Poster
- Joined
- Jan 25, 2007
- Messages
- 112
- Points
- 0
Mrs. Harden insisted on taking me to the emergency room. I sat next to her in the car, the air conditioning turned full blast, chilling my wet skin. I just wanted to go home and relieve my hard-on--I'd never experienced such an overwhelming need to explode. I asked if she could just take me home.
"No, you may have sustained a brain injury."
I squirmed in my seat, my balls now aching and causing awful bolts to spasm into my lower belly. The pain and humiliation I'd experienced were too much--I was clearly uncomfortable. Mrs. Harden noticed. She glanced at the bulge in my crotch which was impossible to conceal and she saw my flushed face, the look of embarrassment I couldn't hide.
"You didn't hit your head, did you?" she suddenly asked. She put her turn signal on, ready to go on the main highway but she paused and looked at me. I shook my head.
"Then what did happen that's got you so disturbed?"
I couldn't tell her, the truth was mortifying.
"What did those girls do to you?"
I looked down in incredible shame.
She backed the car up, turned it around, and took me to her house--one of those half a million jobs upper middle class businessmen spend their whole lives working to afford but hardly ever live in because...well they're busy workng. It was a ranch style house made out of white brick, the yard a perfectly landscaped lot of pine islands and flowery bushes.
"We're going to go inside, and you're going to tell me exactly what happened," she said.
I followed her out of the car, and she walked in front of me, the keys jingling in her hands. She wore a white towel dress over her bathing suit, and her high heeled sandals put an extra sway in her walk. I'd lusted her backside before and couldn't resist looking even now as I tried thinking of a lie. But my mind was blank and I couldn't think of any face-saving story.
She told me to sit on the plush white sofa in her living room, and I was too flustered to remind her that my bathing suit was still wet and might ruin her furniture. She sat down next to me.
"Now tell me exactly what happened. This is just between you and me and if those girls did anything wrong, I'll take appropriate action."
Reluctantly, I stuttered through a brief explanation, telling her how Steffi had faked a cramp and when I tried to help her, all three grabbed me.
"What did they do to you?" she asked, a serious look on her face.
I looked down, too ashamed to look her in the face.
"They tickled me."
"Oh," she paused and I thought she would dismiss the whole subject now because it was frivolous...harmless. But she didn't. "Well, that must have been terrible, if you're ticklish. Are you ticklish?"
I didn't want to admit it. She pushed me for an answer and asked again. I still wouldn't answer.
"Let me touch you," she said and she quickly placed her hands on my neck and I laughed out right away out of fear of being tickled. She withdrew her hands.
"That answers that question. I didn't even tickle you and you laughed. What did it feel like when they tickled you and you couldn't get away?"
The conversation had kept me in such a state of arousal I couldn't hold back any longer. I grabbed my crotch and grunted.
"Oh," she said and she paused. "You were turned on. I'm sorry I must've interrupted the climax."
She pushed my hands away. She pulled my trunk down. She put her lipstick-covered mouth over my throbbing penis and started bobbing her red head and I felt like I was about to break. I squirmed, unable to avoid the suctioning sensation that felt good but strange, one I wasn't used to. I thought I was going to orgasm in her mouth but she stopped just in time and pushed me back on the couch. Her towel dress fell to the floor, her green one piece bathing suit fell on top of that, and her naked freckled body was on me, her breasts, the nipples, pressed against my chest. She kissed me and pulled her pussy lips over my penis and rode me until I was at the point of orgasm.
She turned around so that I was facing her fleshy feminine backside and shoved my cock in again. My orgasm was long overdue and the sight of her sexy behind moving around was too much. I came inside her.
But she didn't stop humping.
My spent penis was extra sensitive and the humping tickled me.
I bit my cheeks, tried to grind my teeth; but the laughter built inside and came out--loud guffaws audible to perhaps anyone within a quarter mile.
"STOP! STOP!" I begged, the ticklish feeling on my penis like some kind of medieval torture.
My limp penis fell out but she shoved it back in.
"Is this what it felt like? To be tickled and unable to stop it?" she asked.
I couldn't answer I was laughing so hard. She took her fingernail and began tickling my scrotum.
"Tickle, tickle, tickle," she sang.
My penis became hard again but the friction still overwhelmed my senses. Now her pussy--a tickling machine--shocked the nerves of my penis while her finger probed my sensitive balls. The room spun, I giggled insanely, tears streamed down my face which was redder than hell, my belly trembled and ached, my strength sapped away as if absorbed by a succubus.
"HELP! HELP! SOMEBODY STOP HER!"
"You're just like my husband. Tickling turns you into a blubbering fool."
"Please, stop."
She gave me another round of tickling for good measure and I lost control again, expelling semen inside her.
I was broken, undone, still under her. I whimpered.
"Look at what those troublemakers did to you. They turned you into a depraved pervert. There's only one course of action we can take. Tomorrow, I'll invite them over one-by-one."
She left the room and came back with bondage apparatus--leather cuffs, chains, belts.
"And you can help me. You'll have your revenge."
****
"No, you may have sustained a brain injury."
I squirmed in my seat, my balls now aching and causing awful bolts to spasm into my lower belly. The pain and humiliation I'd experienced were too much--I was clearly uncomfortable. Mrs. Harden noticed. She glanced at the bulge in my crotch which was impossible to conceal and she saw my flushed face, the look of embarrassment I couldn't hide.
"You didn't hit your head, did you?" she suddenly asked. She put her turn signal on, ready to go on the main highway but she paused and looked at me. I shook my head.
"Then what did happen that's got you so disturbed?"
I couldn't tell her, the truth was mortifying.
"What did those girls do to you?"
I looked down in incredible shame.
She backed the car up, turned it around, and took me to her house--one of those half a million jobs upper middle class businessmen spend their whole lives working to afford but hardly ever live in because...well they're busy workng. It was a ranch style house made out of white brick, the yard a perfectly landscaped lot of pine islands and flowery bushes.
"We're going to go inside, and you're going to tell me exactly what happened," she said.
I followed her out of the car, and she walked in front of me, the keys jingling in her hands. She wore a white towel dress over her bathing suit, and her high heeled sandals put an extra sway in her walk. I'd lusted her backside before and couldn't resist looking even now as I tried thinking of a lie. But my mind was blank and I couldn't think of any face-saving story.
She told me to sit on the plush white sofa in her living room, and I was too flustered to remind her that my bathing suit was still wet and might ruin her furniture. She sat down next to me.
"Now tell me exactly what happened. This is just between you and me and if those girls did anything wrong, I'll take appropriate action."
Reluctantly, I stuttered through a brief explanation, telling her how Steffi had faked a cramp and when I tried to help her, all three grabbed me.
"What did they do to you?" she asked, a serious look on her face.
I looked down, too ashamed to look her in the face.
"They tickled me."
"Oh," she paused and I thought she would dismiss the whole subject now because it was frivolous...harmless. But she didn't. "Well, that must have been terrible, if you're ticklish. Are you ticklish?"
I didn't want to admit it. She pushed me for an answer and asked again. I still wouldn't answer.
"Let me touch you," she said and she quickly placed her hands on my neck and I laughed out right away out of fear of being tickled. She withdrew her hands.
"That answers that question. I didn't even tickle you and you laughed. What did it feel like when they tickled you and you couldn't get away?"
The conversation had kept me in such a state of arousal I couldn't hold back any longer. I grabbed my crotch and grunted.
"Oh," she said and she paused. "You were turned on. I'm sorry I must've interrupted the climax."
She pushed my hands away. She pulled my trunk down. She put her lipstick-covered mouth over my throbbing penis and started bobbing her red head and I felt like I was about to break. I squirmed, unable to avoid the suctioning sensation that felt good but strange, one I wasn't used to. I thought I was going to orgasm in her mouth but she stopped just in time and pushed me back on the couch. Her towel dress fell to the floor, her green one piece bathing suit fell on top of that, and her naked freckled body was on me, her breasts, the nipples, pressed against my chest. She kissed me and pulled her pussy lips over my penis and rode me until I was at the point of orgasm.
She turned around so that I was facing her fleshy feminine backside and shoved my cock in again. My orgasm was long overdue and the sight of her sexy behind moving around was too much. I came inside her.
But she didn't stop humping.
My spent penis was extra sensitive and the humping tickled me.
I bit my cheeks, tried to grind my teeth; but the laughter built inside and came out--loud guffaws audible to perhaps anyone within a quarter mile.
"STOP! STOP!" I begged, the ticklish feeling on my penis like some kind of medieval torture.
My limp penis fell out but she shoved it back in.
"Is this what it felt like? To be tickled and unable to stop it?" she asked.
I couldn't answer I was laughing so hard. She took her fingernail and began tickling my scrotum.
"Tickle, tickle, tickle," she sang.
My penis became hard again but the friction still overwhelmed my senses. Now her pussy--a tickling machine--shocked the nerves of my penis while her finger probed my sensitive balls. The room spun, I giggled insanely, tears streamed down my face which was redder than hell, my belly trembled and ached, my strength sapped away as if absorbed by a succubus.
"HELP! HELP! SOMEBODY STOP HER!"
"You're just like my husband. Tickling turns you into a blubbering fool."
"Please, stop."
She gave me another round of tickling for good measure and I lost control again, expelling semen inside her.
I was broken, undone, still under her. I whimpered.
"Look at what those troublemakers did to you. They turned you into a depraved pervert. There's only one course of action we can take. Tomorrow, I'll invite them over one-by-one."
She left the room and came back with bondage apparatus--leather cuffs, chains, belts.
"And you can help me. You'll have your revenge."
****
Last edited:
Awesome!
I can`t wait to see what happens! 
