Bobbi always loved the early dawn. Maybe it was growing up on her grandparents’ farm, the one she now owned herself after their passing a few years back. This was the perfect morning, the air chilly enough to justify keeping her sleeves rolled down, but not so much to need a jacket. The sun only moments ago had broken over the mountains to the east, golden rays falling across the dew-covered valley her farm was nestled in. The chirps of birds as they flitted about in their carefree moments. The crunch of gravel under heavy work boots on the path from the house to the old barn. The simpering whimpers and grunts of her lover and dearest wife a few feet ahead, managing the best she could, walking on her hands along the same jagged gravel pathway.
It elated Bobbi to have her darling wife home. Wendy completed her, made her whole. The problem was how often she wasn’t home. Wendy was a very successful professional contortionist, and her last gig had seen her gone for three months straight. She’d only got back last night, or technically this morning Bobbi supposed since she got to the farmhouse around 1 a.m. after catching a late flight to rush home, to be with Bobbi as soon as possible. Bobbi smiled, looking down at her struggling spouse. Never could she love someone so much.
Bendy Wendy, Bobbi still had to stifle a chuckle whenever she said or thought of her wife’s stage name, was definitely showing it. Since leaving the porch, she had been walking on her hands in a back bend that left her legs draped above her trembling shoulders, bare feet dangling to either side of her straining face. It was a true athletic display. One Bobbi had seen many times before, but she never tired of watching, especially nude as she was now. It allowed her to watch every coiled muscle, each twitch in those ever weakening but determined arms.
The best part about the current labor was that the highest point on Wendy’s nude form was her cute little slit, upturned to the sky, her neatly trimmed landing strip guiding Bobbi’s eyes directly to the spot she had teased plenty already this morning, but which would suffer so much more before the day ended. Theirs had always been a kinky love. Wendy, the flexible, moldable submissive to Bobbi’s demanding and playfully twisted domineering mind. Bobbi licked her lips. She had some fun, strenuous, and downright sadistic plans for her submissive love when they reached the old barn. The only question right now was if Wendy with less than three hours of sleep and a full morning of forced stretching and exercising before dawn had enough left in the tank to make it, or would she falter on the path and earn extra punishments? Oh, who was Bobbi kidding? She was going to do everything either way, but if Wendy failed, she could at least tease her. Wendy would love it as she always did. Such a perfect submissive and partner.
Wendy had slowed her pace quite a bit, so Bobbi gave her a small reminder to keep going. “Keep going, cunt,” she said sweetly, adding a light tap of the riding crop to that beckoning spot on her love. Not enough to hurt, but enough to startle the contortionist and make the consequences of stopping crystal clear. With inspiring strength drawn from that seemingly endless well that never ceased to amaze Bobbi, her wife continued the hand walk at a faster pace. Dust disturbed with each placing of a hand. Truth be told, Wendy could only go so fast. To add to her wife’s predicament, Bobbi had wrapped her wrists in soft leather cuffs held together by a short chain that dragged in the dirt and rock. It wasn’t her only adornments for this little trip, either.
Matching cuffs wound about beautiful ankles, but without the connecting chain. A harshly knotted rope gag stuffed Wendy’s drooling mouth and was tightly cinched at the back of her dyed pink hair. A sudden high-pitched, but of course muffled, squeal escaped Wendy’s lips at that very moment. A wolfish grin grew across Bobbi’s face. The last addition had just made its presence felt again, a set of nipple clamps with a weight dangling precariously above ground level if Wendy kept herself in proper form. Clearly, the burst of speed came at the cost of poise. The uninitiated to their games might think this far too cruel a game, but Bobbi knew well that Wendy could take a lot more. And more importantly, that Wendy was having the time of her life.
If Bobbi had really wanted to make this difficult, she would have had Wendy keep her legs extended out in front instead of letting them rest, and she’d have a vibrator buzzing away at that perfect pussy. Wendy had only ever managed to make it the full 50 yards from the house to the barn twice with the additional obstacles. Those had been inspired days, but otherwise, the extra features were far too much, even for the magnificent creature Bobbi had the honor to call her love. In truth, Bobbi preferred when Wendy bested her predicaments. It was beyond arousing to see that spirit triumph, to demonstrate how superhuman her partner was. In those moments, Bobbi was only ever proud.
Still, the only way to get that feeling was to build truly torturous and vicious hurdles to clear. Today that came not in vibrating form or in making those delectable legs hold perfect poise. No, the real obstacle was how tired Wendy was from her travel, and the ever so thoughtful “breaks” Bobbi kept making her take. During these generous respites, Wendy had to remain aloft on her flagging arms. God, those arms would be utter jello by the time they were inside the barn. It was getting so close now. Wendy must be excited at how close her salvation is, thought Bobbi. Time to defer that hope once more.
“You’re doing so well, Bendy Wendy. Let’s take a quick break again, why don’t we?”
The ragged whine that came was far more delightful than it had any reason being. The gremlin Domina in Bobbi used it as an excuse. She swatted with the crop. Her sub’s thighs jerked slightly. A nearly whispered grunt, the only response Wendy gave this time. Crunching her way around, Bobbi loomed over Wendy. She could see the exhaustion in the way her lips trembled around the rope gag, the way sweat trickled down from all but spent arms. And those green eyes! Full of desperation and determination.
Bobbi raised her water bottle, taking a long swig, groaning in exaggerated pleasure to rub it in that the sweating Bendy Wendy couldn’t enjoy such a luxury. The fire burned brighter in Wendy’s eyes. Good, thought Bobbi as she set her cold bottle right on the apex of her little contortionist’s womanhood, balancing it carefully. A sharp inhale came from the temporary human table; the cold wet condensation of the metal must have felt jarring on the exposed and flushed flesh. Bobbi needed to cool off herself.
Bobbi looked off to the north end of the farm, as much to avoid chuckling at her newest inflicted humiliation on Wendy as anything else. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it, cunt?” Bobbi asked rhetorically. The sun was bouncing off the white paint of the new barn that was a couple hundred yards away. Well, new was a relative term here. How new could a thirty-year-old barn really be?
The new barn had been renovated with the money she had earned from selling off half the land when she inherited the farm. It had been necessary to refit it for the new cattle she had hosted there. She’d helped grow soybean and corn when her grandparents were alive, but Bobbi had a more interesting business model. She started hosting ponies and cows of a human variety. Men and women who paid handsomely to spend a day, or a week, trussed up in leather and treated like a farm animal.
On a busy weekend they’d have a dozen or more such guests, but luckily, since this was the first weekend Wendy was back, they only had two pathetic heifers on site and a seasoned ponygirl due for this evening. Bobbi didn’t plan to spend a minute with any of those clients today. She’d leave that to her main ranch hand these days, Delores, a gruff 52-year-old farmhand that had started off working here when Bobbi’s grandparents were still alive. Bobbi had been surprised how well the woman took to the work. She was a real hit with the clients, too. It had meant Bobbi only needed to hire one other assistant.
Delores would have no problems on such a slow weekend while Bobbi enjoyed some private time with her wife. Speak of the devil, Bobbi thought, seeing the weathered middle-aged woman walk around the corner of the distant barn, hauling a sack of feed for the hucows who’d been here since Wednesday. Bobbi waved, and then picking up her water bottle from her wife-table, she ordered her clearly struggling spouse to wave. Tentatively, Wendy raised one leg vertically and waved with her foot as if it were a hand. So cute! Delores noticed and gave a quick hand raise before darting into the other barn.
“Good job, cunt, now that’s enough lazing around. Get on inside your home for the next twenty-four hours!” She said, tapping the exposed sex once more with her crop. Wendy groaned and struggled inside. Once there, new orders followed. “Stand up cunt, presentation!”
Maybe it was habit, maybe a bit of brattiness, but instead of unbending her back to stand, Wendy rolled herself forward, planting her feet and then twisted her torso up into alignment. Showing off, huh? Let’s see how you like the new setup I have planned, Bobbi laughed in her own head. Wendy then stepped through her own cuffed hands to allow her to raise them up her backside.
Bobbi circled her wonderful wife, inspecting her pose. Legs were spread wide for easy access. Hands were clasped and raised up to the back of her neck. Wendy needed no rope to achieve a perfect reverse prayer, an unfair advantage of being a professional contortionist. Bobbi took one exposed breast in hand and gently caressed it. She laid a few tender kisses along Wendy’s collarbone. She pulled back, looking at the nipple clamps. “Time for these to go. Ready?”
Wendy closed those bright green eyes and nodded. Bobbi released one and then another of the clamps. Strong inhales came as blood raced back into the numb nubs. Bobbi loved hearing those deep inhales. She gently rubbed the afflicted flesh before slowly caressing her way down between Wendy’s legs as sensually as she could manage. There, in her favorite spot in the whole world, Bobbi inserted two experienced fingers, letting her thumb rest on her wife’s clit. She began pumping slowly, rhythmically. Then, when the first moans came, Bobbi started stroking Wendy’s special button. She worked her wife masterfully until she felt Wendy’s clit stiffen and swell with arousal as huffed pants came past rope. Then she stopped, earning her a perfect frustrated noise.
She planned to eventually grant a release, but that was hours, maybe even a day away. In the interim, Bobbi had some fun new experiences planned for her remarkable partner. She couldn’t wait to see how her other half would handle the trials in her magnificent elegance and poise.
…
Bleary eyes closed, embracing darkness as fingers worked an otherworldly magic on Wendy’s womanhood. She was exhausted. That last performance, the flight home, the four a.m. wake-up call from her saintly sadist wife, and the hand walk down to the barn. She was not at peak right now, but oh was she near the apex of some rising pleasure. Then it vanished without warning. A cruel, flawless joke. Her eyes shot open, a gurgling sob of indignation at the denied pleasure. It wasn’t surprising. Bobbi liked to take her time lovingly layering experiences for Wendy. It was her way of showing how much she cared the contortionist knew.
Wendy was excited for what the day held. She’d been gone too long. Three months of nothing but self-care, texted daily commands from her mistress, and the rare video sex was not enough to sate her hunger, especially her desire to suffer whatever ridiculous predicament or pose Bobbi might insist upon. Wendy really couldn’t have asked for a more attentive partner. Bobbi could perfectly anticipate how far to press Wendy so she would grow beyond her typical limits. Like how destroyed Wendy’s arms were from the hand walk. The distance was bad enough, but she could never quite get used to how the jagged rock felt underhand. She swore Bobbi found the sharpest, most terrible gravel to use each year.
Now, as she remained tired but horny, Bobbi released the leather cuffs holding her wrists in bondage. Despite their freedom, Wendy didn’t dare move her hands from their position. Then from over the shoulder a familiar, calloused hand seized her jaw. The scent of earth, Bobbi’s smell, filled Wendy with arousal. That firm hand directed the contortionist’s attention to the corner of the old dusty barn, to the angled wooden step ladder that went up to the loft.
“To start our play, I’m going to have you twist that limber ass of yours around the ladder. You’ll love it, cunt.” Wendy felt her slit clench with excitement at being called a cunt. She wasn’t sure why, but being called that derogatory term left her excited. Perhaps it was the humiliation, or that it called attention to her pussy. She really couldn’t say, but every time Bobbi used their odd term of endearment, Wendy could feel herself turn to puddy.
“First, though, let’s add this,” Bobbi said and stepped to a nearby wall, pulling off a stiff leather posture collar with plenty of anchor points. Wendy moved her hands out of the way as Bobbi silently wrapped the oppressive neck corset about her throat. Bobbi looped one finger through the front O-ring, and led Wendy across the barn’s wooden floor. Walking behind her wife, Wendy admired the woman she treasured more than anything. Her wavy hair in a sloppy bun on top of her head. Her firm, confident shoulders as she led the contortionist along. The confidence of her gait. Her command and control over Wendy herself. It was all Wendy could do not to collapse from swooning. Three months apart were only sufferable for the intensity it brought when they were reunited once more. Bobbi was her mistress, and she desired nothing more than to honor and serve.
Stopping before the ladder, Wendy noticed that beside the sturdy wooden construction was a sizable table draped with a black cloth hiding whatever was atop it. Ominous, thought Wendy excitedly. Bobbi released her finger grip and practically danced to the ladder. Her hand rested on a step a few feet up, calling Wendy’s attention to a set of open manacles bolted to the top of the step. She could already see where this was going and loved the idea. “Alright, Bendy Wendy, let’s have a little private demonstration of your talents.” Bobbi patted a step a few feet off the ground, and one rung above where the wrist restraints were located. “Lay across here.”
Wendy dutifully ascended the angled ladder to the chosen rung, and turned around, facing her mistress with a smile before slowly leaning back and threading herself through the small space between steps. Her vision spun as she wrapped herself around the coarse wooden step. One thing Wendy loved about contortion was this dizzying disorientation of the world as her body shifted and twisted. It was bizarrely fun to see the world literally from an abnormal perspective. Wendy perched the small of her back on the step. It was no deeper than six to seven inches. The wood was rough on her soft skin. Her head appeared a step lower, wrists sliding into place in the bolted cuffs. Bobbi closed and locked the restraints, seductively caressing each arm as she did so. Wendy loved the feeling of her flexible form being stuck, fixed in place, even just partially. To be so lithe and yet to be made immobile. She enjoyed the contrast.
“Legs out, cunt.” Hmm, that pejorative again, the unyielding demand in Bobbi’s voice. Wendy straightened her legs. Her thighs tensed, calves flared, and toes pointed. She was effectively doing a chest stand on the ladder step, a trivial contortion position for her. She could hold this for a long time, even with the uncomfortable wooden surface as a base. Sure, eventually the unsupported legs would make their presence known, but that would be far off. Bobbi would know that, so obviously more would come.
And a second later Wendy’s excitement soared when something hard and cool tapped her outstretched calves. Her eyes flicked up to see a familiar cane lightly tapping away at her flexed legs. There was some force to the strikes, but these weren’t meant to hurt. They were meant to sensitize, to prepare rapidly tingling flesh for the real strike that would… “Gah!” She grunted at the first true stroke. Her legs wobbled slightly from the inertia of the cane blow. The pain was bright. There would be a red mark, but Wendy could tell it wouldn’t welt or bleed. Bobbi was adept at walking that line. She was more than capable of more severe outcomes, but neither of them tended to enjoy those.
The lighter tapping returned, slightly further down her leg, that wonderful tingling sensation following. Then, as that feeling reached a peak, the whoosh of wood through air and a sting struck the new spot. Wendy inhaled, and before a moan could fully escape her gagged mouth, the taps returned, tracing further along her legs. Bobbi was taking her time and truly treating Wendy to a spectacular sensory experience.
In her position, her head below and behind her outstretched legs, Wendy could both feel and watch the cane work its magic along her legs. The wooden implement never spent more than a fraction of a second not kissing her skin. The lighter strokes, rapid but noticeable, were meant more to keep her skin activated, sensitive, tingling. A shallow but persistent sensation not letting her body rest. They were a sort of portent to each coming real strike. Those were sharp, radiating deeper and brighter. Her green eyes could already see where each harsher hit landed, faint pink lines stretching across taut calves.
The unrelenting sensations, the taps punctuated by the harder strikes, built atop one another, all towards a growing overload of feeling. Wendy loved this feeling, how it seemed to spiral out from the afflicted area to her whole body. It made the hair on the back of her neck raise, her heart flutter, and her aroused womanhood clench around nothing. The constant cadence of tap, tap, tap, tap, thwack, rhythmic and wondrous. Her mind fading into the pulsing touch that seemed to reach across her whole body despite the narrowness of its origin.
By the time the epicenter of the sensation reached the heels of her feet, she was moaning and drooling constantly around the knot of rope in her mouth, a pool of wet slobber growing on the wood beneath her chin. She had closed her eyes to let the world fall away to pure sensation. Then the rhythm slightly changed as the wood shifted to scrunched soles. The tap, tap, tap followed by a harder thwack remained, but that last harsh strike now came whistling louder. Bobbi was taking advantage of how much harder she could strike here without the worry of leaving a lasting mark. It was a perfect way to kick the impact play into a sudden higher gear.
As fiery pain lanced from her assaulted soles up her leg, Wendy felt the faint reflexive raising of her feet as they tried to escape the merciless storm of sensation. A strong hand clamped over-top of her joined feet. A backstop that ensured the full transfer of energy for the harder strokes. Wendy’s mind was turning to an unthinking mush, overloaded by the physical onslaught, and just as she thought she might settle, Bobbi changed the game once more. The light taps evaporated as a series of repeated and mercilessly harsh strikes came in rapid succession. Thank whatever higher power existed that Bobbi hadn’t been making her count the strokes because this final fusillade whited her mind, blanking at the sharp turn of events. Wendy, lost in the experience, couldn’t even tell when she began shrieking, but at some point, after the blows ceased, she realized she was indeed yelling.
Still recovering, Wendy soon felt a new sensation as strong, calloused hands began massaging her calves. Where the red marks were, it hurt slightly, but it felt oh so good. Then her tenderized soles felt something warm and soft lap and caress. Bobbi was kissing away the pain. Tender, affectionate touches that were the opposite of the cane’s, but were just as loving and desired by the contortionist. Wendy shifted back down into emitting low moans. Lips and hands began a dance trading back and forth between flexed calves and arched feet. It was a heavenly worship, loving and perfect. Wendy could have let those caring caresses continue for a century, but it seemed her mistress had further plans.
As another warm, passionate kiss graced Wendy’s instep, she felt one and then the other leg be pressed in towards her. Knees bending in obeisance to the other woman. Gently, those strong hands guided first her left and then her right foot into place so that Wendy’s feet passed her jaw on either side of her face, soles coming to rest on her shoulders, knees spread wide to accommodate the new position. Wendy let her green eyes open, her jaw now resting along the tops of her in-steps, her face framed by her own feet. This position was one of contorted bliss.
She looked into hungry and proud eyes, her love’s. Bobbi commanded her to remain in the position as she stepped away briefly, returning with a set of pliers and a spool of wire. Her wife used the tools to affix Wendy’s leather ankles cuffs to the posture collar. Until further notice, the contortionist would remain completely wrapped around the ladder’s step, her feet fixed as an odd pillow to her chin. Bobbi also added rope around Wendy’s knees to ensure they remained splayed wide, explaining she needed easy access. For what, she wouldn’t share with Wendy just yet, and that uncertainty had the perfect planned effect as Wendy couldn’t stop drooling both figuratively and literally at whatever was coming.
Bobbi’s warm lips landed on Wendy’s exposed lower ones. Her tongue worked down and around Wendy’s clit deftly. The small, special button hardening and engorging in response. Wendy clenched her fists, her breath quickening. She was bound into a tight contortion, still feeling the buzz from the cane, so it didn’t take her long to slip towards an orgasm, but maddeningly Bobbi stopped shy.
“Not yet, cunt,” Bobbi chuckled. “Let’s take away your sight to keep you guessing about the real fun for today.” Had this been merely a warm up? thought Wendy, worried and elated as leather descended over her vision. Next something painful clamped and pulled apart one of her outer labia and then the same for the opposing side. She was spread and exposed. A humiliating and arousing prospect. She imagined herself as a perverse art installation at this point.
Bobbi’s strong fingers returned; playing, teasing and penetrating her. She worked with an inspired wickedness from Wendy’s perspective. She would build the contortionist to the edge of bliss and then stop. One time, she left her fingers inserted, but cruelly still as Wendy desperately tried to clench around the stoic digits. Another time a single finger stopped its twirls and pressure on Wendy’s clit with inhuman precision. Worst of all, though, was to come.
Worked to the precipice of climax, Bobbi once again paused, completely leaving Wendy to undulate her upturned hips despite the pull on her labia in the futile hope of catching some stimulation. Only vacant air greeting her. Then suddenly a warm breeze flowed over her oversensitive clit as her mistress blew on it. It was such a faint sensation, but needy as Wendy was, it felt like a divine gale. Then that too stopped. She whimpered, wanting it or any stimulus to return. Her prayer was answered when suddenly she felt her clitoral hood spread fully and a single tap came from one of Bobbi’s fingers. Then another and another. A faint tap, tap, tap reminiscent of the cane, but maddeningly, there was no thwack, only the constant tapping.
She felt every touch, but it was too light, too fleeting to give Wendy the relief she desired. She thrashed against her bonds. Her fingers scratched the rough wood. Her feet rolled and flexed underneath her face. Thighs trying to close. Hips twisted, her labia stretching against the clamps. Nothing could abate the assault. A dark chuckle came from her mistress, “Aww, seems cunt’s cunt needs something. Do you want some extra stimulation here, cunt?” Bobbi asked teasingly as her finger continued its cadence.
Wendy couldn’t think, but she knew she needed to convince the sexy voice to do something else. She mewled and begged through the rope between her teeth. Frantic and unsure of what to say, Wendy spewed sounds she thought were words, pleas maybe even, but she was too far gone to register exactly what she was saying. It worked though, as her perfect mistress finally relented, saying, “Alright, but I don’t think you’ll quite enjoy what I have for you.” Wendy barely caught the ominous nature of the words as she was more focused on the suddenly missing tapping sensation.
She heard Bobbi step away. Then what sounded like nitrile gloves snapping on. A fearful thought shot through Wendy’s mind. Is she about to put icy hot on my clit again? They had tried the chemical play a few times, mostly as punishment for Wendy for real or imagined transgressions. It was one of the most intense sensations. She could only wonder in terror how her hyper stimulated sex would react to the chemical heat. She tried stilling her mind, but the fear grew with each passing second.
Then she felt Bobbi’s presence looming over her. This was it. She expected to feel deceptively cool cream coat her clit, but instead there was a powdery sensation that dusted the spot. It was curious, like talcum. Bobbi painted the dry substance across every surface of her clit and lower lips. As her wife continued to work, Wendy noticed a new sensation, a slight discomfort that soon exploded into the worst itching feeling she had ever felt. Wendy let out distressed whines. She had no way to scratch the infuriating feeling.
“Figure it out, cunt? This is the strongest itching powder I could find. And you know what, unlike the icy hot, this itching isn’t going to get better until I wash you off. See, it’s made up of these little irritating bits that dig into your skin. It’s purely physical. It might dull or you might get used to it a bit if left alone, but if I do this…” A warm breath blew across Wendy’s exposed and itching pussy. Wherever that human made breeze caught Wendy, the burning irritation exploded to new heights briefly. “Fun, huh?” Wendy’s loud if muffled protests made clear she disagreed with her wife’s assessment, but Wendy couldn’t deny that this was an inspired torture. Soon the powdery substance was added to Wendy’s down-turned tits, rubbed deeply in by safely gloved hands.
“So, still want that orgasm I know you’ve been lusting after? Happy to oblige, cunt. I have both a magic wand here and your favorite dildo. Catch is, I’ve coated both in the same powder, so if I use them, you really are going to feel it. And as you can tell from the rubbing, friction makes it itch so much worse. So, you may want to take a minute to think about if you really want an orgasm.” Wendy screamed as she felt a gloved finger rub her clit, the burning irritation blooming horrendously. “I’ll let you think over the orgasm while I get the breast pump set up.”
As the irritation at her clit, pussy, and tits settled back down to only infuriatingly irritating, she felt the suction cups settle into place. Then the sound of the breast pumps activating. Bobbi had used them before on Wendy, and she rather enjoyed the suction and discomfort they placed on her nipples, but today that lowly arousing feeling was completely eclipsed by another. Each time the pump sucked on her encapsulated flesh, it caused the itching powder’s effect to flare. The steady rhythmic pumping caused her tits to itch in alternating fashion.
It was a terrible, awful sensation gripping her womanhood and her nipples. Bobbi, as always, had really outdone herself. This was truly agonizing, especially after the edging, and Wendy loved every delicious minute of it. She was in a predicament of horny discomfort and the only relief possible would make both worse before either got better.
“Made up your mind, cunt? If not, I can leave you like this for a couple hours. It’s really no inconvenience for me, I promise.”
Oh, of course it wouldn’t be for you, thought Wendy as she struggled against her bonds, the discomfort, and her need. They both knew Wendy’s answer already, but the contortionist played along with her delightfully sadistic lover’s charade. She began begging as best she could through the gag. Bobbi, of course, pretended not to understand, asking her to repeat herself while the she-devil tapped her itching clit once more. Wendy’s voice went ragged as she screamed through the rope, pleading to be fucked, and she meant it at this point.
Bobbi obliged, stepping away only to return with the needed implements. She slowly inserted the powder covered phallic facsimile. Despite the burning from the itching substance, Wendy groaned as the ribbed thing filled her. Then the wand settled on her exposed and irritated clit. Bobbi started things excruciatingly slowly. It was clearly intentional, meant to draw out the predicament. Wendy hated and loved her for it. Then the wand’s vibrations increased and the pace of the intruder gathered momentum. Wendy was filled with a mix of sensations, the awful powder and the lovely stimulation. They warred with each other inside her body and mind. She wasn’t sure if she could even climax like this at first, but somehow the pleasure started to win out. The irritation was still maddeningly there, but maybe it was being away for three months or maybe it was the predicament itself, but either way it was clear an orgasm was on the horizon. Then it all stopped.
“Oh, cunt, you didn’t think it would be that easy, did you? I mean, I had to wait three whole months for you to come home. Besides, I think we need to reapply the powder.”
Wendy whimpered. Bobbi was going to tease her into oblivion at this rate. But truthfully, she wouldn’t have it any other way. Earning the orgasm by stretching her limits, enduring whatever Bobbi wished, made it all the sweeter. It was going to be a long, atrocious day, but it would be everything she could have hoped for.
….
It was a beautiful day, Bobbi thought as she lounged in a lawn chair, her heavy boots kicked up on a fairly inconspicuous wooden box, sipping cool water. She watched as, across the way, Delores ran the fully tacked out lone ponygirl for the weekend through her paces on the hot walker. The older woman was not holding back, applying the whip liberally to motivate the experienced pony and push her past her limits.
“Goddamn, my life is perfect,” she said aloud as she stomped on the box a few times. “Wouldn't you say so, cunt?” Bobbi was wet thinking about how Wendy was contorted into the small custom box, limbs folded upon themselves, unable to move. It was yet more proof of how amazing her wife was that she could fit into somewhere so small and shallow. The box looked plain, but for a small hole on one end exposing Wendy's sex, a vibrator wand wedged against her clit.
After teasing Wendy for the better part of an hour with the itching powder and the toys, Bobbi had realized that they had both needed a break. Honestly, she was shocked how long her contortionist had lasted. Wendy had been a wreck by that point. It took ages to get all the powder washed away, and then they had taken a long break so the submissive could recover and hydrate. All the while though, having not gotten a climax, Wendy had remained agitated, needy. The break had been a cruelly deceptive gesture by Bobbi, and it had worked so well to continue to build the need.
When the break ended, being so proud of Wendy, Bobbi had let her pick how she wanted to enjoy her hard-earned pleasure. The contortionist had picked the box and for the last two hours Bobbi had fiddled with the controls, teasing her to the edge and back. She had to be borderline delirious once again. It was time to start the vibrator back up after the cool down from the last edge, but this time Bobbi had no intention of backing off. She planned to spend the next hour ripping orgasm after orgasm from the foldy woman she loved so much. Then it would be a few hours of rest and tender aftercare. She had Wendy's favorite meal planned out for the night, and afterwards she would tie Bendy Wendy up once more for them to have glorious sex until they either passed out exhausted or were sated. Then they'd cuddle until Sunday, sleeping in past dawn for once.
Bobbi flicked the vibrator back on. The echoing sound of a woman already primed to explode left the box. Yep, life is really good, isn’t it? she thought as her wife careened into her first of what was sure to be many, many orgasms. “Love you, cunt,” she whispered lovingly.