Three weeks ago, I started sharing my novella, “Trading Up” with you. If you missed it, check out Chapter 1 Part 1 and Chapter 1 Part 2 before reading this one! Stop back Saturday to read the second part (conclusion???) of my collaboration with Richard! Catch up on Part 1 of Real or Accident!
I pull at my bonds experimentally. I hadn’t tested them yet, but of course, the boys pulled them nice and tight, so there’s no getting out of them. The basement room is chilly. My nipples are perked up and pointing at the ceiling. I can already feel my pussy getting wet. There’s nothing I can do about any of it, not that I want to.
I hear some murmuring in the room, but I have no idea what’s going on. I can’t catch any of their words. I want to whine at them and ask what they’re planning, but one of the hallmarks of our relationship has been that the two of them scheme. It’s adorable, actually. It’s still new, but it’s adorable. I love it. And especially right now, I am thrilled not to be the one having to make decisions.
I feel a hand on my right calf and another on my left. I’m pretty sure they’re from different guys. But then I know because Nick has started tickling me, and Brandon has started scratching me. It’s not hard enough to leave marks, but it’s hard enough to elicit a gasp of pain, which is then covered by the gurgle of laughter that escapes my throat.
My pussy spasms and clenches as I wrench my arms and legs against my bonds as the two guys tickle and scratch me. I’m gasping for air, and I can’t imagine letting them go any further.
And then, as quickly as it started, it stops. Their hands are suddenly absent from my body, and all I want is for them to be touching me again. I squirm a little, as much as I can, but I can’t brush my body up against their hands at all. I turn my head from side to side, trying to catch some kind of sound from either one of them. But I don’t feel anything. I shiver a little in the cool air. Where did they go? It’s like they aren’t even in the room. But that’s impossible. I would know if they left. I didn’t hear anyone on the stairs. I didn’t hear anyone go into another room. They have to be here.
And then I hear something, plastic rustling. That could mean anything. All of our toys are stored in plastic bags. It could mean anything. No fucking help.
I want to sigh out loud, but I’m practically holding my breath, trying to hear anything. And then I feel breath on my ear. It tickles. “Anxious?” It’s Brandon.
“Yes,” I hiss.
“In a good way?”
“Yes,” I reply.
“Good,” he says. He nips at my earlobe with his teeth, and I shudder. I want to ask him to do it again, but I don’t. Instead, I bite my lip. I’m not going to rise to the bait. I’m sure they want me to beg, but it’s far, far too early for that.
His breath is gone, so I know he isn’t hovering his mouth near my ear now, but I don’t know where he’s gone.
And then I feel it—the prick of the Wartenburg Wheel. God, I hate that thing. I jump, trying to pull away from it. “No,” I groan.
I can hear Brandon chuckle, and I’m sure Nick is smiling or at least smirking. “No what?” Nick asks.
“I hate the Wartenburg Wheel. You know that.”
“I do, but it’s so much fun watching you squirm.”
It’s the first time Brandon has seen the Wartenburg Wheel used on me. I want to see the look on his face. I want to know if it’s turning him on. But all I see is the inside of the blindfold.
Nick runs it up my calf, over my thigh, across my pubic mound, and then I think he hands it to Brandon. I can hear him murmuring something, maybe about not going too hard. At least, I hope that’s what he’s saying. Brandon runs it all the way down to my toes. My whole leg is trembling, and I keep jumping. It tickles and hurts at the same time.
I groan, “Oh god,” but then a laugh overtakes the groan.
“How do you feel, slut?” Nick asks.
I groan. “I’m okay,” I say. I know he’s asking for an honest answer. Of course, I have a safe word if I really need it, but I also know that Nick doesn’t want to push me up to that edge too soon accidentally.
“Good. Should we continue with the Wartenburg Wheel?” he asks.
I know this is a trick question. I know he wants me to give him an opinion, and he’ll probably do the opposite. But I know that if I ask him to continue, he’ll know that it’s a bull shit answer, and I’m just trying to get him to do the opposite. He’s too smart for those games. He has me trapped, and he knows it. “Whatever you want, Sir,” I say finally.
“That’s the right answer,” he says. And I feel the wheel travel back up my body, across my stomach, and then over my breasts and nipples. I gasp out in pain, and my upper body rises off the bed. Ahh! It hurts. I cry out, but the guys ignore me.
I feel a hand on my chest pushing me back down, not that I could get up very far. It’s a warm, firm hand, and it feels good. It feels fucking hot, actually, but I’m pretty sure that has less to do with temperature and more to do with my level of arousal at being pushed back down onto the bed.
I am crying out in earnest now as someone brings the Wartenburg wheel across my nipples over and over again. It hurts so much. I feel tears sting the corners of my eyes, and I let them fall.
“Please, please, stop, noooo,” I groan. I’m often incoherent, so those are some pretty decent words for me. Though, to be fair, I haven’t orgasmed yet. But if they keep this up, I’m going to be a firecracker ready to explode. I’m already so turned on, my pussy is dripping, and I can feel my clit swelling with desire. One little touch, one tongue on my clit, and I’m sure I’m a goner. I’m positive that my orgasm will crash over me like nothing else I’ve ever experienced, and I’ll be lost for a while.
But that’s assuming they let me cum.