maryallison
TMF Novice
- Joined
- Feb 22, 2006
- Messages
- 74
- Points
- 0
Six years out of college. No more embarrassing winks from people who knew me back then, no more wondering if a guy at the grocery store had seen me in the all-together. The only one who remembered those incidents was me, and I could read my stories on TMF whenever I wanted, in the privacy of my apartment. I could discreetly visit an adult store in the city, where no one knew me, and picked up an interesting video. I had recently found a nice series called public disgrace, and i won't even tell you what it's about but you can probably guess. The DVDs piled up on my computer table, where only i could see them.
A woman my age has responsibilities now: voting, writing a letter to the editor of my local paper, chipping in to a charity now and then. And i still had to find a husband if I wanted to be taken seriously at work. So I decided to throw a New Year's Eve Party at my apartment. My first. I printed invitations and mailed them out to old friends, and wandered through the office quietly handing out others to women close to my age. I gave out thirty in all, and hoped for ten people to show up - just enough to be seen as the grown up with a respectable professional network. Of course I cleaned up the apartment and put away my DVDs in the desk drawer, but, after a half day's scrubbing and wiping and vacuuming and preparing all sorts of snacks, I was plum tuckered and ready to call the whole thing off. At 7 o'clock on December 31. I indulged in a little internet naughtiness as a pick me up, and clicked off the computer before the doorbell rang.
A little more than ten people showed up - sixteen, in fact, but several of them simply made an appearance and said their goodbyes by eleven. I guess they had a better party to go to. The rest of us, four women, three guys, sat around my kitchen table with a board game where we competed for consonants and vowels, pulling them off the table and collecting them. The trick was to think of words like "peppermint" and "Bubble" so you could move the P or B tiles closer to your side of the board. Someone thought of cocaine and got the C. A guy I didn't know came up with Vancouver so he took the V. In the middle of things the S was still available and i blurted out "submissive," which let me take the tile off the board, but got me a few interesting looks. In between rounds I pulled out my camera and we sat together for a group photo. I even got the delay switch right so i could be pictured in the small, smiling crowd.
We played til just before midnight, and stood around the TV watching the ball drop and saw the various couples kissing in a crowd of thousands. The camera crew switched back and forth between announcers and revelers, and a few people helped me clear the table before they said goodnight. By 12:15, I was alone again. Until I heard a muffled conversation, somewhere behind me. I went to the living room, but all was dark. I peeked into the hallway, which was empty. I knocked on the bathroom door, and turned the handle, but no one was there. At last I went to my bedroom, ready to think it was my imagination, when I saw two people crouched in front of my computer. It was Karen, from my office, and her husband, Paul.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
Karen hesitated.
"We were checking our email," Paul answered.
"didn't think you would notice with the TV going," Karen added.
"Well, it's a little --"
I stopped. Oh no.
Next to the computer was a couple of DVDs, and the desk drawer was ajar.
I stepped closer, but before I read the title i recognized the photo of a naked woman surrounded by a crowd. They found my stash. I looked up at them and glanced to the computer screen, where I saw the distinctive color photos to the left, the same photos you can see as you read this.
Had I turned my computer off earlier?
"What the fuck did you do?" I asked.
"We just wanted to go on gmail, for a second." Karen said. "we were going to be in and out before you noticed."
I stepped closer to the screen and saw one of my TMF stories, from years ago, glowing in the darkness. At the bottom was a set of little links, across the bottom of my computer like accusers at a trial: slavegirls,com, ticklehorror.com, humilation.org. All of that might be excused except for the DVD's they found, and even though only two of them had been pulled out, they sealed my fate. They were called "Make Me Beg" and "Make Me Suffer."
"Well, ..." I grasped for an explanation. "I, I was .. I had. uh."
"It's OK," Karen said. "We didn't tell anyone."
"Well, it's after midnight and the party's over."
"Is everyone gone?" paul asked.
"Yes, of course they --"
Oops. Why did I say that?
"That's good. I mean, if everyone is gone..." Paul smirked.
I glanced at Karen. "What about your wife?"
She looked up at her husband, then clicked my computer mouse a few times. The screen flickered to something I had forgotten to delete. Oh crap I should have deleted it. The TMF personals.
"Desperately seeking submission." It read. Do I have to reveal who posted it?
Paul left the room, and in the distance i heard a distinctive click of the front door. By the time he returned Karen led me to my own bed, and Paul had taken off his necktie. But he only had one. Karen opened my dresser until she found three fresh packs of panty hose, and opened them as Paul tied my left wrist to the bedpost. In the minute it took Karen to slip off my shoes and spread my legs apart, I understood that this was what i wanted anyway. I had advertised for it and they had, fortunately, found it. She tied my legs to the bedpost and i was helpless.
They kept their positions, with karen at my exposed feet and paul wandering wherever he wanted - over my tummy, my ribs, my neck and arms. They started slow but found a devilish thrill in taking turns, each one trying to score brownie points. It had been along time since this had happened to me, and my flesh betrayed me at every square inch. Each giggle and moan encouraged them. Soon enough Paul fumbled at my blouse buttons, and Karen ran her unsympathetic hands up my skirt. She couldn't pull it off but she could take it far enough to reach my panties. She was just about the grip them when paul gasped, like he had discovered plutonium.
"The camera!" he said.
We all hesitated a few seconds.
"Wait...Wait..."
"Karen looked at paul. "Did she log on to humiliation.org?"
"Uhhh, yes she did."
"And did it have pictures of...."
No. No. NOO.
"Wait." I said. "I've had enough. let me go."
Paul went from the room while Karen pulled at my panties. They only got halfway down my thighs and she had to stop. She reached to my bra and pushed it up, over my breasts so they were also exposed, as paul returned with the camera.
"THis should be easy to upload on the internet," he said.
"Oh God. Don't. Please."
Karen grinned. "you also looked at slavegirls.com, right?"
She waited.
"Y-Yes," I whispered.
"And something about Ticklehorror?"
"Yes."
Karen got up and went to my nightstand, where she quickly found my vibrator, as if she knew where it was the whole time. She flicked it on, and ran it across my hands as they wrestled with the restraining pantyhose. She glanced that vibrator over my shoulders, across my neck, and down my sides before returning to my nipples, both celebrating the New Year in their own way. Paul knelt at my feet and attacked them, one finger at a time, two fingers, three fingers, slowly and quickly, in turn. Karen ran the vibrator farther south, across my ribs, over my hips, up and down my thighs, and by the time she found my last unvisited spot Paul lifted the camera with a sinister grin.
A woman my age has responsibilities now: voting, writing a letter to the editor of my local paper, chipping in to a charity now and then. And i still had to find a husband if I wanted to be taken seriously at work. So I decided to throw a New Year's Eve Party at my apartment. My first. I printed invitations and mailed them out to old friends, and wandered through the office quietly handing out others to women close to my age. I gave out thirty in all, and hoped for ten people to show up - just enough to be seen as the grown up with a respectable professional network. Of course I cleaned up the apartment and put away my DVDs in the desk drawer, but, after a half day's scrubbing and wiping and vacuuming and preparing all sorts of snacks, I was plum tuckered and ready to call the whole thing off. At 7 o'clock on December 31. I indulged in a little internet naughtiness as a pick me up, and clicked off the computer before the doorbell rang.
A little more than ten people showed up - sixteen, in fact, but several of them simply made an appearance and said their goodbyes by eleven. I guess they had a better party to go to. The rest of us, four women, three guys, sat around my kitchen table with a board game where we competed for consonants and vowels, pulling them off the table and collecting them. The trick was to think of words like "peppermint" and "Bubble" so you could move the P or B tiles closer to your side of the board. Someone thought of cocaine and got the C. A guy I didn't know came up with Vancouver so he took the V. In the middle of things the S was still available and i blurted out "submissive," which let me take the tile off the board, but got me a few interesting looks. In between rounds I pulled out my camera and we sat together for a group photo. I even got the delay switch right so i could be pictured in the small, smiling crowd.
We played til just before midnight, and stood around the TV watching the ball drop and saw the various couples kissing in a crowd of thousands. The camera crew switched back and forth between announcers and revelers, and a few people helped me clear the table before they said goodnight. By 12:15, I was alone again. Until I heard a muffled conversation, somewhere behind me. I went to the living room, but all was dark. I peeked into the hallway, which was empty. I knocked on the bathroom door, and turned the handle, but no one was there. At last I went to my bedroom, ready to think it was my imagination, when I saw two people crouched in front of my computer. It was Karen, from my office, and her husband, Paul.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
Karen hesitated.
"We were checking our email," Paul answered.
"didn't think you would notice with the TV going," Karen added.
"Well, it's a little --"
I stopped. Oh no.
Next to the computer was a couple of DVDs, and the desk drawer was ajar.
I stepped closer, but before I read the title i recognized the photo of a naked woman surrounded by a crowd. They found my stash. I looked up at them and glanced to the computer screen, where I saw the distinctive color photos to the left, the same photos you can see as you read this.
Had I turned my computer off earlier?
"What the fuck did you do?" I asked.
"We just wanted to go on gmail, for a second." Karen said. "we were going to be in and out before you noticed."
I stepped closer to the screen and saw one of my TMF stories, from years ago, glowing in the darkness. At the bottom was a set of little links, across the bottom of my computer like accusers at a trial: slavegirls,com, ticklehorror.com, humilation.org. All of that might be excused except for the DVD's they found, and even though only two of them had been pulled out, they sealed my fate. They were called "Make Me Beg" and "Make Me Suffer."
"Well, ..." I grasped for an explanation. "I, I was .. I had. uh."
"It's OK," Karen said. "We didn't tell anyone."
"Well, it's after midnight and the party's over."
"Is everyone gone?" paul asked.
"Yes, of course they --"
Oops. Why did I say that?
"That's good. I mean, if everyone is gone..." Paul smirked.
I glanced at Karen. "What about your wife?"
She looked up at her husband, then clicked my computer mouse a few times. The screen flickered to something I had forgotten to delete. Oh crap I should have deleted it. The TMF personals.
"Desperately seeking submission." It read. Do I have to reveal who posted it?
Paul left the room, and in the distance i heard a distinctive click of the front door. By the time he returned Karen led me to my own bed, and Paul had taken off his necktie. But he only had one. Karen opened my dresser until she found three fresh packs of panty hose, and opened them as Paul tied my left wrist to the bedpost. In the minute it took Karen to slip off my shoes and spread my legs apart, I understood that this was what i wanted anyway. I had advertised for it and they had, fortunately, found it. She tied my legs to the bedpost and i was helpless.
They kept their positions, with karen at my exposed feet and paul wandering wherever he wanted - over my tummy, my ribs, my neck and arms. They started slow but found a devilish thrill in taking turns, each one trying to score brownie points. It had been along time since this had happened to me, and my flesh betrayed me at every square inch. Each giggle and moan encouraged them. Soon enough Paul fumbled at my blouse buttons, and Karen ran her unsympathetic hands up my skirt. She couldn't pull it off but she could take it far enough to reach my panties. She was just about the grip them when paul gasped, like he had discovered plutonium.
"The camera!" he said.
We all hesitated a few seconds.
"Wait...Wait..."
"Karen looked at paul. "Did she log on to humiliation.org?"
"Uhhh, yes she did."
"And did it have pictures of...."
No. No. NOO.
"Wait." I said. "I've had enough. let me go."
Paul went from the room while Karen pulled at my panties. They only got halfway down my thighs and she had to stop. She reached to my bra and pushed it up, over my breasts so they were also exposed, as paul returned with the camera.
"THis should be easy to upload on the internet," he said.
"Oh God. Don't. Please."
Karen grinned. "you also looked at slavegirls.com, right?"
She waited.
"Y-Yes," I whispered.
"And something about Ticklehorror?"
"Yes."
Karen got up and went to my nightstand, where she quickly found my vibrator, as if she knew where it was the whole time. She flicked it on, and ran it across my hands as they wrestled with the restraining pantyhose. She glanced that vibrator over my shoulders, across my neck, and down my sides before returning to my nipples, both celebrating the New Year in their own way. Paul knelt at my feet and attacked them, one finger at a time, two fingers, three fingers, slowly and quickly, in turn. Karen ran the vibrator farther south, across my ribs, over my hips, up and down my thighs, and by the time she found my last unvisited spot Paul lifted the camera with a sinister grin.
Please continue it. 
