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jessica biel (request m/f. part II of II - explicit)

Marquis De Sade

1st Level Blue Feather
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Nov 21, 2007
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It’s faint. Like she’s underwater. It’s just his voice cutting through the static of her headache.

It’s faint, but she hears the Sheriff say, “Thought I’d just cut right to the chase.”
It comes out, “Thought ahy’d jus cut raht tu tha chayse”

And this before she even knows where she is.

The Sheriff, he’s right now sitting spread-legged right in front of her on a whatever-colored couch, beer in hand, in his Sheriff’s uniform minus his Sheriff pants. He says, “Thought I’d just tell you, right off the bat, where you are.”

He smiles, says, “Saves you a whole lotta trouble you waking up all slow and stupid, blinking your eyes like some retard and looking around all dumb as fuck like trying to figure out where you are and what the hell happened and if anything you last remember was real or not and,”

He takes a sip of beer. “of course wondering why you’s all chained up and hanging from the rafters like you are.”

He says, “But that last one’s one of them dumb questions.”

He says, “It’s so’s you don’t go nowhere.”

Jessica closes her eyes and gently pulls at her arms stretched up above her. Picking at the two little metal padlocks keeping her leather wrist cuffs in place will do nothing.

The Sheriff, he says, “And if you’re wondering why you ain’t wearing any clothes, well, I tell you, that’d be a stupid thing to wonder as well.”

He says, “I mean, just look at’cha.”

He says, “Woman with a body like yours, you weren’t meant for clothes.”

He says, “Now if you’re wondering why I ain’t wearing any pants, don’t worry. It ain’t what you thinking.” He tilts his beer can to his mouth again. He says, “It’s just hot as hell is all.”

The thin steel silver chains trailing from each leather cuff buckled around each of her wrists had been pulled upwards above her, stretching her arms high above her head. The chains looped through an iron hook set in the ceiling of...

She says, “So where am I?”

Sheriff says, laughing, “Look at’chu bein’ all calm n’ shit!”

She says again, more seriously, “Where am I?”

Sheriff says, “What’s it look like to you sweetheart?”

She looks around. “Mobile home. A trailer.”

Her eyes studying the newspaper-clipping plastered walls, the smeared windows, the cluttered kitchen sink. “Just like how it’s described in Texas Chainsaw.”

She says, “The movie.”

“Well then,” The Sheriff says, standing up. “That’s where here is then isn’t it?” And again his mouth widens into a smile.

The Sheriff steps a slow circle around her, admiring her stripped body in all its revealed glory.

Jessica stands in the middle of what you might call a living room. Her perfectly sculpted arms pulled up high above her head and chained to the roof. She wears a pair of handcuffs around each ankle. The joining chain to each cuff looped through a second hook. This one set deep in the floorboards. Bolted down. It keeps her standing. She can’t kick or fight.

Her arms pulled up so high, Jessica has to balance almost on her tip-toes. The balls of her bare feet barely able to make contact with the warm wooden floor beneath her.

The Sheriff says, grinning, “Ain’t you a pretty sight?”

Jessica’s breathing is erratic. Still, she remains quietly reserved and fights the urge to swear, to spit, to fight against her restraints.

The Sheriff says, “You know how many ways you can use superglue?”

Jessica says nothing. Jessica swallows. Trying, forcing herself to stay calm. Jessica shuts her eyes. Jessica opens her eyes. Jessica focuses on her breathing. Trying to get back to a slow, steady, relaxed rhythm.

Maybe this is all just some sick and twisted horror movie.

The Sheriff, he says, “Well, we’ll get to that later.” He says, “I do want you to know though,” he takes another sip of beer, “we may be where we are right now, and that’s right here, in this here trailer but, honestly, if you think real hard about it, it’s still nowhere.”

The Sheriff laughs, looking down at the foam dribbling beer bottle in his hand. He says, “Wow. Check me out getting all deep and philo-so-phical.”

He says, “What I’m trying to say is, Miss Jessica Erin, is please do feel free to scream your pretty little head off.” He says, “This is one of them if a tree fell in the woods but no one was no place type of deal things.”

And the Sheriff stands behind her.

Jessica’s breathing is erratic. Jessica holds her breath.

Nothing happens.

Jessica takes in another lungs-full of air.

Jessica clenches her jaw and squeezes her eyes closed so tight she sees colored spots.

Jessica’s beautiful dimly lamp-lit naked body sways from side to side - little giggles spilling out from the corners of her beautiful full lips as she feels the Sheriff’s fingertips grazing against the revealed skin of her bare sides.

His hands reaching in front of her. His fingertips, just his fingertips gently scratching, scratching at the surface of her smooth skin.

His fingers scratching at her ribcage.

Just the surface. Just barely even touching. The Sheriff’s light touch making things even worse for her.

Jessica’s nerves light up like a switchboard. The fingers scuttling all over her stomach, her sides, all over the skin pulled taut over her abs and shown-off expanding and contracting six pack.

Jessica throws her head back letting out her first real laugh since the soles of her feet were used as scratching posts earlier that day.

Jessica, she squeaks as she fights to hold it in. Jessica’s face turns red. The air exploding in her lungs but having nowhere to go as she violently sways from side to side, backwards and forwards, shaking her head and twisting and jerking in her bondage.

Jessica’s chains rattle. She stamps the floorboards with the bottoms of her bare feet as she can’t help but maddeningly snort.

Can’t help but buck her hips and squeal like an animal as she feels the Sheriff’s hands playfully squeeze at her sides.

His fingers working their way up from her hips, up the outside curves of her wet upper torso, the ripples of her ribcage...

The Sheriff’s fingers pause at her underarms.

His fingertips not touching her skin but close enough she can feel what it’s going to feel like when they do.

Jessica lets all the air out of her inflated lungs. It’s a slow wheezing, a quiet whistling sound as she miserably shakes her head slowly, from side to side, almost crying, pleading with him...

Saying, “No.”

Jessica whispering, shaking her head, “Please no.”

Whimpering, “Please.”

The Sheriff’s fingers, they’re slow and deliberate.

Two small reading lamps on either side of the whatever-colored couch light up the room and make Jessica look as perfect as a piece of art. The lamps’ dim amber glow softly brightening all the most fantastical places of her flawless stripped-naked body.

The Sheriff’s fingertips begin to gently graze at her exposed skin. His fingerprints barely even touching her.

The Sheriff leans closer, his gentle breath finding its way through all her wet tangles of brunette and blowing into her ear. Jessica leans her head back and groans.

He whispers, deeply, “Now I want you to tell me how you really feel.”

Jessica throws her head back in slow motion and she wails. Her perfect hanging body powerfully shuddering and trembling in its chains.

Jessica throws her head forward again. The giggles erupting from her giant chest. The laughter spewing out of her.

The Sheriff leans his weight on one side, his eyes using the lamp light and guiding his fingers to follow the shadowed curves of her body. He follows the grayed outlines of light, the silhouettes and amber-colored contours of her faultless shape – his fingertips drawing her being all over again.

Drawing the hollows of her underarms. Her smooth, soft bone structure. His fingers go faster. His fingers scratch a little harder.

He guides his hands carefully across her front again – the edges of his nails gently scraping the wet skin of her flexed stomach, up and around her heavy breasts, back around to her arched back again.

Jessica’s lost it by now. The tortured woman tries to bury her face in her own breasts, lowering her head as far as she can and just giggling and squealing. Her feet stampeding against the floorboards. Her chains rattling and clinking like tambourines.

The Sheriff holds her still with one hand placed gently against the wet small of her back. His other hand scratches hard. Scratches at the soft stretched-up shown-off skin of her right armpit.

Jessica goes crazy. Jessica tosses her head backwards suddenly and lets out a maddened string of shouts and wild squealing. She throws her head from side to side in protest, the tears from her eyes flying off of her reddened face.

“PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSEEE!”

Jessica howls.

Jessica bucks as hard as she can. Her arms straining at the chains and cuffs around her wrists. Her fingers clawing at the padlocks.

The Sheriff switches armpits.

Her reaction is more of the same display - all cries and baying with crazed laughter until he surprises her by letting go of the small of her back and gently begins to swat at her naked bottom.

Jessica’s startled reaction causes her to almost choke with surprise. She swallows hard and suddenly bucks forward as far as she can go to try and avoid the gentle, playful spankings.

“NOOOOO!! NOOOOO!! PLEEEEEEEEEASE!!” Between each word Jessica gasps, taking in a huge breath and letting it go in an over-excited high pitched squeal every time the Sheriff’s flattened palm connects with her tight, rounded cheeks.

The Sheriff, yelling above all of her noise, he shouts, “You can let yourself go you know, anytime now.”

And right now, in what you might call a trailer, in every room it’s just the sound of manic laughter and light, sharp spankings.

The Sheriff shouts, in between each smack and squeeze, “Louder!”

Jessica guffaws with laughter. Then squeals as she feels her naked bottom get spanked again.

The Sheriff shouts, “That’s more like it!”

Her body bucks forward. Jessica twists left and right. She pulls and lifts at her shackled ankles. Stomps the sweat-soaked wooden floorboards beneath her with her bare feet and laughs like she’s lost her mind as both his sets of fingers now reach around in front of her from behind again and attack the insides of her dampened thighs.

The Sheriff steps in front of her. He cups her face with one hand and lifts her head up. Jessica’s eyes half open, half closed and blinking in exhaustion.

Her breathing erratic.

Below her wet face, her two massive breasts pumping up and down with every overexerted breath she takes in and out.

Her breasts, her body, every inch of her naked self drenched and wet and glistening with her own sweat and tears in amber lamp light.

The Sheriff chuckles, “Knew it was a good idea not to wear pants.” He says, “Told you it was hot as all hell in here.”

He lets go of her face. Jessica’s head drops. The Sheriff walks back over to where his pants are on the couch, he reaches into one of the pockets and pulls out a small tube.

He says, grinning, “Now then, about this here superglue.”

The Sheriff pinches the little plastic tube between his thumb and his forefinger and holds it up for her to see.

He says, “Let me tell you a thing or two about a few things.”

The adhesive, he explains, it usually work best when used to bond non-porous materials together.

He says, “It’s called cyanoacrylate.”

The Sheriff laughs, “Well check that out! First time I pronounced it right.” He says, “Must’ve been the beer.”

Jessica moans.

The Sheriff goes on. Explaining how it also works on substances that contain traces of water.

The way he says it, it comes out, “Lyke skyn.”

He says, “Doctors been using this stuff in surgeries now for years. Helps keep the skin together see. That bullshit about avoiding skin contact?” He says, “It’s bullshit.”

The Sheriff’s mouth pulls into a smirk. He reaches toward her and, as gentle as he can be, his one fingertip just barely comes into contact with the very, very tip of her right, stiffened nipple.

Jessica’s eyes fly open. Her mouth drops and a deep, deep groan escapes her cherry lips. Her body reacts immediately and she arches herself sharply backwards, away from his graze, all of her toes curling beneath her, her body shuddering powerfully in its chains.

“OH. MY. GOD.”

Her words aren’t in her voice. It’s from someplace deeper.

Jessica crumples in her restraints, her breath leaving her entire body in forceful tremor after tremor as the Sheriff traces the faintest outline of a circle around and around the edge of her nipple. Her face contorts with pleasure and confusion all at once.

The Sheriff says, “What else superglue does is, it deadens the nerves wherever you put it.”

He says, experimenting with her other nipple and causing Jessica to go into wild convulsions – each massive thrust of her hips accompanied by an even deeper groan of emotion, he says, “So what happens is, all the skin around that one area...”

Jessica arches her body backwards as far as it can go in her chains and cuffs. The soles of her feet lift off the floor as she pulls herself up by her wrist restraints and remains stiff. Her body trembling.

“...makes up for it.”

He says, “By becoming more sensitive.”

Jessica’s mouth opens as wide as it can go. The scream that comes out of her, she doesn’t even know how it was possible to have that inside of her in the first place.

The Sheriff’s fingertips trace circles over both her breasts at the same time, enjoying the show she puts on without being able to help herself.

Jessica lets it all out. Every little everything that was trapped in her soul. Everything comes out. The skin around her nipples is stiff and glued. The Sheriff explains, above all of her primitive shouting and sounds and noises, how it can easily be peeled off later on. But she pays no attention.

The trailer rocks back and forth with Jessica’s hips. Her bare feet smashing dents in the floorboards as she gives up trying to control herself. The slightest sensation of contact against her nipples and Jessica flies right off the handle.

Her body like a beautiful, furious tornado, slamming in every direction against her restrictive chains. Her cries almost wipe clean the smeared windows. The force of her pleasure making the Sheriff wonder if perhaps her restraints would even hold her much longer.

The Sheriff’s fingers scuttle from her nipples down the outside rounded edges of her bouncing up and down breasts and she explodes into giggles and squeaks and cute little hiccup gasping fits as his fingertips go to work on the undersides of each of them.

He squeezes her sides again. Scratches at her ribcage. He traces circle patterns around and around the edges of her bellybutton and the actress howls and cries with laughter.

“PLEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAASE!!” More laughing.

“PLEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAASE!!”

More laughing.

The Sheriff bends forward, suddenly licking her left breast and then blowing on it. Jessica switches gears again – the moan of pleasure gushing out of her body so fast it makes her physically wrench at her chains with all her strength. Holding on to whatever shred of sanity she might have left in her.

“UUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!”

The Sheriff does the same with her right breast.

Jessica’s body is slack in her cuffs, drained and battered, but still she can’t help coming alive all over again.

She stamps and stomps her shackled bare feet against the floor, crying and pleading with the Sheriff for mercy.

The Sheriff stands, head to one side. He says, “You really want me to stop Miss?”

He says, grinning. “’Cause I ain’t even got started yet.”

Jessica wants to look up at him but can’t muster the strength. She stares at the floor below her. The wood is stained with sweat that drips from her tangles of hair.

Her body wrecked.

It’s faint, it’s just a whisper, but Jessica’s cartoon perfect lips say, “I never said stop.”

She whimpers, “I said please.”

The Sheriff nods, grinning at himself. “Lyke ah said right frum the start. You’re a fahsty won.”

He says, “You’ve been a good girl though. I’m gonna let you lie down for a bit.”

Comes out, “Gonna let you lah down fer a bit.”

It’s faint, and she can barely hear anything at all over the pounding bass drum of her own heartbeat, but behind her Jessica makes out the solid wooden heaviness of what feels like a coffee table being pushed up against the backs of her sculpted calves. The polished wood of its edge cold against her wet skin.

The rattling of chains. Jessica’s arms collapse by her side and she slumps, useless and dead weight into the Sheriff’s arms behind her.

The Sheriff lays her down carefully, resting her back against the top of the carved oak coffee table behind her.

The Sheriff takes her arms, lifts them up again and gently pulls them back above and behind her head. He takes each wrist and carefully wraps her arms at her elbows once around the short stubby legs of the coffee table and bends the rest of her arms carefully upward so her hands are near the upper corners of the table. He takes the two lengths of chain and wraps them around and around her arms and wrists, again and again, solidly fixing both her arms to the table legs.

Jessica moans in protest, making a whining sound as she hears padlocks being snap-locked in places she won’t be able to reach.

The Sheriff calms her, running his fingers through her matted hair and shushing her. Tells her to relax.

Jessica lifts her head but can’t keep it up. She lets it fall again as the Sheriff moves over to where her legs are. He unlocks the cuffs around her ankles and does the same with her legs as he did her arms – wrapping her legs around the table and wedging both her ankles in the upper corners of the table where the table’s legs and the table top come together. He takes the remaining lengths of chain and secures her legs, knees and her ankles to the table legs.

Jessica lies almost completely flat across the small the table. Her arms stretched up again above her head that hangs upside down of the edge of the table. Her arms spread apart just slightly. Both wrists fastened to the table legs below her. Her arms heavily mummified in chains. Her ankles secured the same way. The smooth soles of her bare feet upturned and exposed. Both of her legs spread apart juuuuuuuuust enough.

This stretches her body out a little. Makes her arch her body upwards so the curve of her back is just a few inches off the tabletop.

Her back arched like this, Jessica’s over-exaggerated breasts rise and fall very noticeably as she takes in each breath.

Her strength trickling back slowly, Jessica struggles to move even a little but it’s impossible. Her chains don’t even rattle.

Jessica lifts her head, pleading with the Sheriff to spare her of any more torture.

The Sheriff drops down, rests on his knees. He says, “Oh, we’re not quite finished just yet Miss Jessica.”

Jessica lets out a sharp yelp as she feels his fingers stroke at her stretched taut stomach. His fingertips slow-dancing across the pulled skin of her ribs.

The circles being circled around and around her bellybutton. Jessica bubbles over with giggles all over again.

The Sheriff wriggles his fingers between her legs, each individual finger stroking slowly and purposely at the insides of her thighs.

Jessica moans. Her body visibly struggling in vain to move, to try and escape his fingers, to make it easier for herself but the poor actress can’t budge an inch.

His fingers work their way down her legs, scuttling like spiders over her knees, her shins, the backs of her legs. He squeezes the backs of her calves and Jessica violently thrashes all about the table without even being able to move.

Her beautiful breasts reacting to each powerful earthquake of laughter desperate to find another way out of her suffering body.

The Sheriff cups the top of her right foot in his hand and applies the gentlest of pressure. Pushing and pressing up just slightly so all her toes splay out, her foot flexes, shows off its every curve and remains still as Jessica screeches at the tops of her lungs as she feels small finger-spiders waltzing all across her bare sole.

He does the same with her other foot.

He squeezes her knees.

He runs a single finger from right between her legs, up across her stomach, her sides, into the hollows of her armpits and across her collar bone, her neck and the back of each ear.

He says, pausing and letting her almost catch her breath again, he says, “Like I said...” and he gently pinches her nipples.

Jessica’s eyes roll into the back of her head. Her mouth opens but no sound happens. Her stiffened nipples so fully alert, so completely and utterly alive and sensitive to even the slightest of touches, little orgasms detonate from her swelled-huge breasts and course throughout her entire self. The ripples fill her entire body, each chained limb with pleasure so complete and making the dark between her thighs pulse and throb and ache.

The Sheriff smiles, says, “...I ain’t even gut started yet.”
 
I have waited for ages to see a really good tickle fic with the divine Miss Biel in her TCM persona and this was incredible.

The superglue thing came from way out of leftfield but I loved it. The bondage was suitably tight, the tickler as devious as TiB at his best (but much less restrained) and how on earth can you go wrong with an uber-hottie like Jessie.

BRAVO!

I am sure I am not alone when I say I hope this is definitely not the last time we will see you grace this forum.
 
Is there a Part 3?

Mr. De Sade,

Once again I feel indebted to your for your most excellent story! I really love the way you describe things. One question, is what you said about super glue really true? I have never heard that before. See, you even give us a little science lesson!

Thanks for the story, I hope there is another part coming. So what, I am selfish!:cry1:

Peace out!
 
Thanks jm157!! Really appreciate the comments. I'm glad you enjoyed it. I hope others did/do too.

As far as the superglue is concerned...let's just say I have very interesting friends. Or, friend, really. According to her, yes it does really work but, unlike in the story, it takes a few days for the nipples to become as sensitive as I portrayed Jessica's to be. It doesn't happen right away or even after a few hours even though the glue is dry. But, when once the surrounding skin of the nipple (the areola) has lost all of its sensitivity, it ALL (and even then, maybe a little more) gets transferred over to just the nipple and the slighest touch feels like an orgasm in your chest. I spoke to my friend first to try and get an acurate account of what the final effect feels like and she said I got pretty close.

She discovered it by accident but now uses it on a regular basis as foreplay.

She says it works for both men and women. :p

After a few days it just flakes off or peels off without any trouble, leaves no traces, isn't harmful (the part in the story about doctors using it is true - I think the warnings of every bottle might be more like, don't drink the stuff or superglue your eyelids shut or something else equally as stupid), and scratching her chest for a few minutes afterwards is probably the closest thing to sex.

Btw, LOVE your sig.
 
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