Friday, March 25, 2011

Final chapter of the story.


Chapter 4
Aftermath.


There was no pleasure in her screams when my rigid cock forced its way into her anus. She was willing but her ass said otherwise. When I finally impaled her on my shaft, and the hilt encountered the tender skin of her asshole, for so long forbidden to me, I could not contain a cry of triumph.

Here she was, in my arms, with my cock buried deep into her rear entrance. I held her chin in my hand and felt her tremors around my shaft at the same time that her tears fell on my hand.

I began to thrust at her backside, to pound on her ass seeking my release. With every thrust, a scream, or a whimper of pain greeted my ears. I felt my rod get harder, and larger, inside her body. Her fingers, still bound behind the small of her back, caressed my belly.

I pulled out of her; I felt the cold air on my rod, in contrast with the heat of her bowels.

She turned her face around, "Go ahead; tear me apart if you must."

I rammed my cock back inside of her, her screams splitting my ears.

I did not last long.

I stood up, behind her kneeling body.

Her head lay silent, on top of the shelf that crushed her breasts. Her arms, still crossed at the wrists, were bound behind her back. Her thighs, bound by the straps to the poles of the breast chair, allowed a peek between the cheeks of her ass. I saw the drops of my come, dripping out of her rear, tinged with the red drops of her blood. I continued to look, to savor, to drink in the sight of my wife, drained, defeated, with all her dignity taken from her, her pride dripping slowly out of her ass.

I walked to the front of the chair where her areolas, purple by now, peeked swollen, between the twin shelves of wood that crushed her tits. The two toothed clamps stretched her nipples obscenely. Her eyes were closed. She cried with soft whimpers.

I brought her a glass of water with a straw that I held to her lips. She drank greedily of it.

"Thank you," she said; her voice weak.

I released her wrists. Her hands flew to her breasts, but she could not reach them, still crushed between the leaves of the chair. Her fingers sought her nipples touching the clamps instead. She screamed when her touch caused the dangling clamps to swing and further pull on her nips.

Her eyes looked at me as she held on to the poles.
"I shall take the clamps out first," I said, "It will be worse than when they went on."

"I know," she whispered, "I am ready."

Her hands grasped the poles harder.

We lay together in bed, her breasts covered in ice bags, spooning.
She told me how it was, for her, and my cock, resting between her cheeks came to attention to listen to her story.

It found its welcome in the depths of her moist pussy, as we made tender love, long into the night.

They looked terrible in the morning, purple and swollen to almost twice their size. In the kitchen, Helen replaced the ice cubes from the zip lock bags that lined the towels that made up her makeshift bra. I embraced her, careful not to touch her breasts, and kissed her lips.

"You are going to ruin your toys if you do this too often," she said.

"The deal is still on then?"

"They are yours," she said, "What you do with them is your business."

"How about this?" I asked reaching for her ass with my hand.

She twisted away, taking it out of my reach.

"There is only one way you get that."

"Next weekend then," I promised.

"Whenever you want," she answered.

She kept her word.



The End.

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