("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2008. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Lessons on his Birthday by Triple Delta (triple--delta@hotmail.com) *** Tyler's brother, Mark, just turned fifteen, and his parents are renting him a secluded cabin in Colorado. Tyler is worried about his brother, however - specifically, worried about his sex skills. Nobody's taught the kids the moves of the real world, and their all-guys boarding-school education isn't exactly providing them with a lot of learning experiences. So Tyler and his friend Carl take it upon themselves to 'procure' some hands-on teaching supplies. (mf-teens, youths, nc, rp, 1st, v, bd, oral, anal, ws) *** Author Note: This is a complete work of fiction by the author, Triple Delta. The events depicted in this story are criminal offences in the United States of America and jurisdictions around the world. The events depicted in this story are physically, emotionally and psychologically dangerous, and can lead to serious injury, physical and mental, and even death. None of the events depicted in this story should ever be repeated, under any circumstance, in any form or degree. The author herein releases this work to the public domain, and allows it to be freely distributed, reproduced, edited, integrated into a commercial enterprise, etc., without the need to consult or contact the author. By reading this document, you affirm that you are eighteen years of age or older, and by reading this document, that you will not be violating any law, bylaw or court order in any and all legal jurisdictions that you are subject to. *** I should have worn a sweater. I was sitting on the back of the piece of crap that was my cars, a 1998 Ford Ranger pickup truck, its red paint faded and chipped. I was wearing only a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans, which was probably not the smartest idea, given the temperatures. Of course, now that I've been sitting here for, like, four hours with my friend, you can't expect me to duck in to grab my hoodie, right? I took another sip from the can of Red Bull I'd been nursing, and stared out onto the lake. My name's Carl Lambert, I'm a twenty-two year-old college dropout. Before you call me a slacker, in my defence, I was betting that my soccer – yes, soccer – would be good enough to make one of the U.S. teams. I'm pretty good, by anyone's standards, but small-town Idaho just doesn't cut it at a national level, as reality was quick to remind me. I tried taking some hands-on college courses but, fuck it, I just don't have it in me. I'm an outdoor guy, an athletic guy. If I don't spent two hours pumping iron I don't sleep well at night. So I'm drifting right now, hanging out with Tyler Brown, a kindergarten-era friend. The view of Lake Swan, I have to admit, is pretty nice. It was a fully moon, which was reflected in the still waters, with only a few ripples on the surface. No swans, but I figure the nearby cabin party is freaking them out. Either that or they're sleeping, I can't decide which. My Ford was parked right next to a large wooden cabin, the type that you can rent for a decent price (or so I'm told) for whatever the occasion is – business retreat, honeymoon, etc. Truth be told, I wouldn't be here if Tyler wasn't here, and he wouldn't be here if it wasn't for his now-fifteen brother, Mark Brown. Finishing the can of Red Bull, I scrunched up the can in one hand, then tossed it onto the lake, watching it bob on the surface. Tyler's brother, Mark, had just turned fifteen. Now, Mark, unlike his older brother, is totally spoiled. Tyler and I have stories to last a lifetime about the things we did for cash back in our high schools days. Mark, on the other hand, has it pouring out the ass. So, unsurprisingly, for his fifteenth birthday, his parents rented him a cabin a ways east of Denver, Colorado, for him to throw a party. Tyler needed me for two reasons: (a) he needed my pickup to haul all of his little brother's gear, and (b) his parents had told him to chaperone (Christ, people still use that word?) the party, and he didn't want to be bored out of his mind. I can understand that fear. The pickup truck was situated just beneath an open window, where the kids seemed to be totally drunk, although there was no alcohol (yet). I can't remember if I sounded like that at fifteen, but maybe eight. Tyler and I had spent about two hours hooking up a 42- inch plasma TV, surround-sound speakers and a handful of game consoles before the kids arrived in their luxury SUVs, which they seemed to be enjoying. I have to admit, although I turned away from video games long ago (too damn expensive), the kids seemed to be having a kick. They'd done some Halo 3 on the Xbox 360, and then moved onto some Call of Duty 4 on the sleek new Sony Playstation 3. There was a brief lull as they decided what game to do next, and their voices flittered through the open window. Girls. Ah, the age of puberty. Semi-surprisingly, nobody had any girlfriends they cared to bring to the party, but sex was the only conversation topic of the virgins. What was better – anal or vaginal? How long did you need to rest between orgasms? I'm paraphrasing this, a little, because I'll be damned if I have to commit anything they actually say to memory. Tyler was sitting next to me, downing his... third... can of Coca-Cola. He had, to my amusement, packed a handheld digital video camera, the purpose of which was becoming increasingly clearer. Like any guy of his age, Tyler didn't like babysitting, particularly, babysitting a bunch of rowdy, annoying teenage boys. About a minute ago, Tyler had ducked into the cabin to ask if anyone wanted beer. I'll bet you can guess the answer. Unfortunately, we didn't exactly have any on us, so it was back to the shitty Ford for a drive to the local beer store. Crushing the red-and-white can beneath his foot, Tyler hopped through the window into the passenger's seat, whilst I turned the keys in the ignition. I backed up, then began the twenty-minute drive to the nearest shopping center, a few stores in a hub around a gas station. The cabin, I have to admit, was in the middle of fucking nowhere. It was a dirt road branching off of a confusing maze of dirt roads, nestled in a thick forest at the base of a mountain range. No street signs, and no connection to civilization, apart from the telephone/electricity lines. Obviously, no cops. No cops, in fact, for dozens of kilometres in every direction. A perfect party locale. "Fuck, did you hear them in there?" asked Tyler, rhetorically, as we began the drive. "I mean, shit, Carl, I want you to punch me in the face if I ever sounded that annoying." I punched him the shoulder, provoking a slight laugh between the two of us. "I mean, all the time he spends on the Internet, you'd think he'd have found at least one porn site?" "Ah, pussy, Wikipedia's not the way to go," I said. "You want to find something out, you got to do it yourself. Remember Emily?" "Oh, fuck you," replied Tyler. Emily was the first girl he'd ever had sex with, and he'd fucking gotten her pregnant. She'd taken a day-after pill, thank God, but Tyler was having a fucking panic attack. We drove on for a few minutes, in silence. "Seriously," said Tyler, breaking the silence, "when do you think they're ever going to get laid?" "Well, Mark goes to that private boarding school, right? So it dependents if we're talking straight or gay sex." That made us both laugh. "But anyways, the thing about an all-guys boarding school is that you're only hope of sex is getting a chick so drunk in one night that she does you then and there." "Yeah, and Mark will fucking collapse after the first can," snorted Tyler. "So you're saying, what, university?" "I was going to say college, but yeah. Problem is-" "Problem is," interjected Tyler, "that every other fucking guy on campus is going to have more balls and skills than him. He's got no moves, trust me. I mean, my parents are already choosing which Ivy school they want to send him to. There's fewer chicks there, too, and you know the whole supply and demand thing." "So, what, you're saying we find a whore who'll band a fifteen-year old and his friends at their LAN party?" We finally pulled into a gas station, which was, conveniently, directly across from a late-night beer store. Parking the car, we got out, first heading to the beer store. Tyler pulled out a roll of crisp twenty-dollar bills, and we bought a shitload of stuff, mainly Canadian stuff, actually. Higher alcohol content. Tyler then talked me into going to the convenience store, for what, I don't quite know. It was a small store that had that family-run feel to it. Tyler immediately went to a magazine rack, presumably looking for a porno, whilst I browsed the aisles. There was nobody at the counter, but since I was wearing only my jeans and a T-shirt, I could only help myself to a few chewing gum sticks, shoving them into my pockets. After about thirty seconds, Tyler looked like he had given up, and we were about to leave the unattended store. That was, of course, when a cashier arrived. She was young, I mean, around twelve or thirteen, a 'tween', I think. She was small for her age (I think, it's hard to remember), maybe about four feet seven inches. She was Caucasian, probably Scandinavian, if I had to guess. She had long, flowing blond hair that covered the sides of her head and stopped about halfway down her back, with dark blue eyes. She looked like she was in pretty good shape, physically, I mean, almost no body fat on her slim figure. For a girl just reaching puberty, she had pretty decent breasts, I have to admit. "Sorry, did I miss you?" asked the girl, in peppy, energetic voice (interesting for two in the fucking morning). She had to jump to lean on the counter top, her feet dangling mid-air, unintentionally giving me a clear view of her cleavage. She was wearing a tight- fitting blue denim skirt and a spaghetti-strap tank top, decorated in tropical colors. "Oh, we're just going," replied Tyler, but he made no motion towards the door. "Were you looking for something?" asked the young girl, pulling her feet up so she was sitting on the counter top, hugging her knees to her chest in such a seductively cute manner. "Just some magazines, but we didn't find anything," replied Tyler. "Oh, were you looking for the porn?" asked the girl, as if she was asking if you wanted fries with that. "We keep it in the back, where the kiddies don't normally go." She gestured to a second magazine rack, hidden in the back corner of the store, which I had somehow overlooked, probably due to the way it was angled. Tyler began walking towards the rack, whilst I stayed near the door. "You're remarkable mature for a twelve-year old," I said, taking a stab at her age. She smiled, playfully. "I'm thirteen," she retorted, with mock anger. "Oh, by the way, my name's Pamela – pleased to meet you." "Yeah, likewise," I said, somewhat awkwardly. Damn, was she good-looking for a thirteen year old. If only my elementary school years had had chicks like her. "Oh, uh, since you're here," began Tyler, abandoning his search through the porn magazine rack in the back, "I was wondering if you could help me find a few things?" "Sure," replied Pamela, hopping off the counter. "What are you looking for?" Before Tyler even said anything, I knew where he was going with this. We thought very much alike. Instinctively, I checked for security cameras – nothing. There was a door in the back marked 'STORAGE', presumably leading to the second-floor bedrooms, as well, but the lights had been off when we'd pulled up. "You see, it's my bro's birthday tomorrow, and I was wondering if you had any cardboard boxes," he gestured with his hands, "about, I guess, two by two feet." "Oh, sure," said Pamela, ducking behind the counter and pulling out a brown cardboard box that almost exactly matched the description. It was a decent size, with a lid that popped on and off. "You want some wrapping paper for that?" "Yeah, and some colored string, if you have any," replied Tyler. Pamela again ducked under, retrieving a roll of red-and-black striped wrapping paper and a roll of red sting, complete with a like-colored bow, the fancy kinds, you know. "On a complete different note," continued Tyler, "do you have any duct tape, burlap sacks and kitchen rags?" "Sure, follow me," said Pamela. She lead us into a corner of the store, which I again managed to overlook. Weird. Pamela pointed to a row of different-sized spools of adhesive duct and electrical tape, in various colors. "You got a favourite color, or do you just want the boring industrial grey?" "Oh, what the hell, I'll go with pink," said Tyler, with a smile, picking a roll of florescent pick duct tape off the rack. He then stooped down, picking up a box of blue J-cloth kitchen towel/cloth things and a brown sack. "Ah, a guy comfortable with his masculinity." It was then that things got... interesting. Pamela turned her back on Tyler as she began walking back to the counter. That was when Tyler whipped out his the switchblade he always kept in his pocket. With his right hand, he pressed the polished steel blade into the small of Pamela's back, the point just prickling her. With his right hand, he swung around her head and hand gagged her. I quickly walked to the front of the store, locked the door, flipped the sign to 'CLOSED' and killed the lights, so only the light from a nearby streetlight filtered through the windows came in. Pamela, instinctively, put both hands around Tyler's forearm, trying to remove his hand from over her face, but it was hopeless. Tyler pricked the small of her back with the blade, just scratching through the thin cloth of her spaghetti top. Pamela decided to shut up. After a moment's hesitation, Tyler released Pamela, but kept his knife pointed towards her. "Alright, now, I want you to turn around, get on your knees, and place your hands behind your back," began Tyler, speaking calmly and precisely, keeping his voice menacingly low. "If you yell, or try to struggle in any way, I'll have this blade through your throat before you can cry 'Mommy'. Do I make myself clear?" Pamela said nothing, but glared at him with a deep hatred, the complete polar opposite of her bouncy, energetic self from moments before. She turned around, dropping to her knees, the denim skirt sliding up her thighs. She clasped her hands together behind her back, and said nothing. That was good. I looked around, feeling the caffeine of the Red Bull pulsing through my body. There was the familiar sound of a sheet of duct tape being removed from the roll, the ripping sound I'm sure you know so well. Tyler turned Pamela's wrists around so that her palms were facing out, and then proceeded to wrap the florescent pink duct tape around her wrists above a half dozen times. "You're taking this pretty well," I said, opening the cash register and shoving twenty dollar bills into my pants. "Most people would be panicking." "What, you think you're the first people to rob me?" asked Pamela, glaring at me. I smiled and turned away, having largely emptied out the register. After finishing with her hands, Tyler ripped open the box of cloths and shoved one of the blue rags into Pamela's mouth. Her jaw was forced open by it, but she made no effort to spit it out, which would have been pretty easy. Tyler then pressed the end of the roll of duct tape to her left cheek, and began wheeling the roll around her head. Her silky blond hair got tangled in the tape, which, by the tenth circumnavigation, completely covered everything from her nostrils to her chin. Ripping off the tape, Tyler patted some of the tape covering her cheek before moving on. Tyler tore off a strip this time, placing the pink tape over her eyes, repeating the procedure twice more, for safety. Tyler than pushed her forward, causing her to land on her chest. He pulled off her Nike running shoes and white gym socks, wrapping the pink roll around her ankles several times, pressing her legs together. Satisfied in her immobility, Tyler ripped off the tape. "Alright, there's the burlap sack you helped us find directly in front of you," said Tyler, after standing the bound Pamela up. "I want you take a small step forward, into it." Pamela complied, hobbling forward until her ankles were within the confines of the burlap sack in a puddle at her feet. "Good, now, when I pull this over you, I want you to curl up into a ball, okay?" Pamela didn't say anything, but complied when the sack was drawn up to neck height, disappearing into the rough container. Tyler tightened the drawstrings at the top, sliding it down until he hit Pamela's bound form. Tyler proceeded to lift her up, neatly placing her inside the two by two cardboard box she'd helped us find. Once she Tyler had closed the lid on the box and set to work on gift-wrapping it, I grabbed a plastic bag from behind the counter and began touring the shop for anything else that could be useful. Tyler awkwardly covered the box in the striped wrapping paper, then tying the red string around the box, complete with the red bow. Meanwhile, I helped myself to whatever I thought might be fun. Sleep masks, dog collars with little metal studs, leather dog leashes and leashes that could be retracted. A shock collar, some bars of soap, twenty feet of white nylon rope, a pair of scissors, and a handful of binder clips. By the time Tyler was finished tying the bow on the package, I was scooping up Pamela's shoes and socks from the floor, and then we were on our way out. Tyler laid the cardboard box containing our captive down in the back up the pickup truck, covering it with several thick blankets I'd never gotten rid of. I turned the key in the ignition and we began the drive back to our remote cabin. Neither of us said anything on the drive, listening to the shitty 'classic rock' on the only radio station we could actually pick up. Twenty minutes of driving on unpaved roads through the forests later, having seen not a single human being, we pulled into the driveway of the cabin. Tyler carried in our birthday present, whilst I grabbed two twelve-packs of Molson Canadian beer. The kiddies were playing Gears of War when we came back, but the sight of beer seemed to make them completely forget about it. I closed the door behind us. There were six kids, between fourteen and fifteen, including Mark, the birthday boy. They were all white, with varying degrees of physical build, but none of them were really fat. Mark was tall for his age, with neatly-cut dark brown hair and eyes. Tyler placed the box on the floor, which, to my surprise, didn't kick about or make any unusual noises. "Alright, bro," said Tyler, patting his younger sibling on the shoulder, "actually, this is for all you guys out there. Listen, the social scene sucks when you're all boarding in an all-guys school. And when you get to college or university or whatever, that means you're going to be at a serious disadvantage. You guys no jack shit about sex – don't argue with me, just go with it. So, tonight, my friend Carl and I got you this present. Think of it as tutorial level, okay?" Tyler tapped the box with his foot, barely moving it forward. Mark moved forward, awkwardly slipping off the red string and then ripping off the wrapping paper. Popping off the lid, Mark then looked at the burlap sack inside. Pamela wasn't moving, or groaning, yet. Sliding up the draw string, Mark pulled the folds of the bag down, and the blindfolded and gagged head of our dear little Pamela popped out. Everyone stepped back, including Mark. "Now, you guys probably know a thing or two about getting a stripper for your eighteenth birthday," said Tyler. He tripped the box sideways, so the sack containing Pamela tumbled out. "Unfortunately, Mark here isn't going to be eighteen for a while, and by that time, it's going to be a little late. But it's the same idea. Tyler grabbed the bottom of the sack, yanking it and spilling the rest of Pamela onto the floor. Her hands and feet remained taped tightly together, and she was awkwardly writhing on the floor. "So who wants a turn first?" Unsurprisingly, nobody moved. Pamela rolled over onto her back, an uncomfortable position given where her hands were, facing the direction of Tyler, but unable to see him. She tried to say something, but the combination of the stuff and tape gag prevented her. "Alright, that's cool, you're all a little nervous," said Tyler, looking about. Carl and I'll go first, show how it's done. In the meantime, why don't you guys help yourselves to some beers, get you in the mood." As the boys began pulling beer cans out, Tyler pulled Pamela into a kneeling position, then shoved her face into the wooden floor, her ass high in the air, in an almost kowtow position. I reached into the plastic bag of goodies from the store, and tossed Tyler an electric shock collar. Tyler fastened the collar around Pamela's neck, whilst I examined the remote – it had nine setting, from one to nine volts, selected by a little dial on the side. I flipped it up to Level 4 and squeezed a little trigger. Pamela shot forward, her muscles spasmed and forced her into a prone position on the floor. She gasped it pain, but it was muffled by the thick gag. Tyler nodded to me, indicating that this was a good setting. Bringing her back into the kowtow position, Tyler reached between her thighs and up her denim skirt. A second later, his had was withdrawn, a pair of torn white panties clutched in his fist. He tossed them aside, then set to work. "Now, the thing is, you don't want to just get all anal right off the bat," said Tyler rolling up Pamela's skirt so everyone that her bare butt cheeks were exposed for all to see. "Do that to a chick and all she'll be is pissed from the pain, not turned on. So you got to soften them up first, see." The fingers and thumbs of Tyler's hands began playing over her ass, at first, almost like a massage. Then, he stuck his two thumbs up her ass, causing Pamela to release a gagged moan of pain. Tyler than withdrew his thumbs, inserting his right index finger, probing about. Pamela was giving off a constant moan, but we all ignored it. Finally, Tyler moved up again, this time sticking the four fingers of his right hand into her ass. Pamela sounded like she was beginning to cry, but the blindfold most have captured all the tears. A pity, that kind of turned me on. "Okay, so now this girl's ass is a little more receptive. It's obvious she hasn't had much experience with anal before, cause she keeps tensing up. That's bad, but understandable. You have to get them to relax, or at least, accept it, for maximum enjoyment. Now, moving up," Tyler flattened out all the digits on his hand, and then shoved his entire right hand up her rectum. This time, Pamela let out a louder scream of pain, but Tyler continued the fisting. He rapidly pulled his hand in and out of her ass, in what's known as 'pistol fisting' to you outsiders, at the end, sliding several inches of his forearm up the crack in her ass. When he finally withdrew his hand, Tyler pulled off his T-shirt, wiping his fist. "Now is when they're relaxed, or at least, their ass muscles are. There'll be less resistance when you start your main moves, more pleasure." Tyler pulled off his jeans and boxers, his erect nine-inch penis standing out in the air. Using the pair of scissors I'd shoplifted, he cut the strips of duct tape binding Pamela's legs together. Once she was in the proper doggy position (albeit, with her hands still taped behind her back, Tyler plunged his dick into her ass. His hands firmly planted on either side of her hips, Tyler moved her back in forth, his dick protruding and intruding again and again. By the end of it, he was pushing his pelvis into her with every swing, with muffled yelps coming through the gag. Finally withdrawing his dick completely for the first time in, like, five minutes, Tyler wiped his soak dick on his T-shirt before pulling his boxers back on. Pamela lay prone on the floor, her legs curled up in front of her. "Alright, now, Carl here," said Tyler, pulling his jeans on, "is going to give you a demonstration on how to get the most bang for your buck when it comes to a blowjob." Fun time. I pulled off my pants and boxers, tossing them into a corner, but leaving my shirt on. My dick was already quite erect, literally bouncing off her face as I stood over her, unravelling the tape gag. Her hair was getting tangled in the pink florescent tape, but she made no sign that it bothered her. After yanking the wet cloth out of her mouth, I placed both hands on her head. "Blowjobs, or 'fellatio', if you're fancy, is one where you should be doing as little work as possible. If you have to think about it, you're not having fun. That being said, there are a few easy tricks to getting the best blow. Keep both hands on the back of her head, and every time she bobs, give her a little extra push. Once you're in the rhythm of it, it doesn't really deter from the overall sensation. "Now, Pamela here, I'm guessing, has never given a blowjob before, isn't that right?" I asked. Pamela nodded, her head bowed, my dick resting on her forehead. "So there's always some advice you can give to your partner. Holding your dick whilst they blow is always good, but playing with your testes can also be fun. Also, try to avoid the teeth, whenever possible, gums are best. And of course, if you're not relaxed, they won't enjoy it. You catch all that, Pam?" I tilted Pam's head back, and her lips reluctantly parted. I thrust my eight-inch dick into her mouth, and her lips automatically sealed around it. She began slowly rocking back and forth, not putting much effort into it. I forced her head forwards with every bob, knowing she was going to get the hang of it. Then, she began sucking, letting her tongue play across my male reproductive organ. Her tongue tickled the tip of my penis, her lips sliding up and down the sides. She looked almost like a fish as she sucked my dick, her small, almost ticklish tongue doing wonders. I ejaculated, but when Pamela instinctively tried to pull away as semen filled her mouth, I held it in place, forcing her to lick it and swallow it. Then, after I'd given her the first taste, I withdrew my dick, letting the white fluid spray all over her face and her boobs. She tried to turn away, but that just meant I got more of the sides of her face. Her blonde hair became coated with white fluids, and streams were running down her chest, slipping onto her boobs. "A good old blowjob," I concluded, towelling off my dick with Tyler's shirt. "If you pay more than twenty bucks for it, you're getting ripped off." Pamela was kneeling, hands taped behind her back, blindfolded, head bowed in submission as semen coated her face, unable to wipe it away. "Alright, now Mark," said Tyler, wearing only his jeans, "is going to help you explore the last major avenue of sex, the pussy. Now, if you ever pick up the Hindu work, the Kama Sutra, you'll find there are more sex positions than you can hope to test. You'll probably find some work better than others. Now, Mark here is going to experience the cowgirl position – woman on top. Not too much energy, very straightforward, very satisfying. Tyler handed Mark the scissors he had used to cut the tape around her ankles. Mark walked up to Pamela, who was still kneeling, pushing her onto her front. Mark then grabbed the pink tape around her eyes and ripped it off, allowing Pamela to take in her surroundings for the first time. I made sure the blinds were drawn, but other than that, there was no real risk. We all lived in a completely different state, anyways. Mark stared into her dark blue eyes before setting to work with the scissors, neatly cutting through the front of her denim skirt, tossing it aside, exposing her pussy. Mark obviously knew what the cowgirl position was, and Pamela seemed to guess. Mark took off his clothes so he was completely nude, lying on his back on the floor. Pamela then placed a knee on either side of Mark's hips. She was still wearing her tropical spaghetti- strap top. I could see her cheeks and eyes were completely red, with small tears trickling out of her eyes. Pamela said nothing as she set to work. Mark's erect dick slid neatly into Pamela's vagina, which, I take it, was already in the mood for sex thanks to our anal and oral sex. Pamela began bouncing up and down, letting Mark's penis slide in and out of her pussy whilst she did all the work. Her hands were still taped behind her back, and she had to stretch her thighs in order to get far away. I picked up the shock collar remote, dropped the setting down to Level Two, and gave her a mild shock. The pumping increased. Pamela slid up and down like a flag on a flagpole. She went from the tip of his dick down to his balls, sliding, pumping. Every so often I gave her a brief shock, to keep her motivated. Up and down, in and out. Pamela's entire body was swaying with every motion. Finally, she pulled herself off of Mark, awkwardly, letting his white semen splash around her bare thighs. Mark lay on the ground, apparently exhausted, whilst Pamela simply returned to her submissive kneeling position. Tyler then walked up to Pamela, snipped the straps of her top and yanked it off. As I knew, she had decent- sized breasts for a girl her age. Her white boobs flopped lazily on her chest. She didn't seem all that tired, despite a long jackhammer sex run. Tyler beckoned for the remaining boys to come forward. "Alright, now, that was some pretty good cowgirl action, if I do say so. Now, Pamela here is a sub, which in BDSM terms means she'll do what you want. Some of you guys might dig the more dominating chick, dominatrix, mistress, slaves and whatnot. Whatever – sex is sex, but remember: you have to adapt. Being a sub, we have to make sure Pamela knows where her dignity should be at. Now, if you'll all just follow my example." Tyler pulled is dick out of his pants, which I and all the boys, save the exhausted Mark, mimicked. Tyler than let a steady stream of urine shoot out of his penis towards Panama, followed by the other four boys and myself, who all needed to piss. "Come on, Pamela, pretend it's soda. I order you to drink as much of it as you can," said Tyler. Pamela didn't move for a second, letting the fountains of piss thoroughly soak her. Then, she raised her chin and opened her mouth. All six streams of urine immediately were aimed into her mouth, rapidly filling her mouth. Pamela choked and gagged at first, spitting some out. But when the streams didn't stop, she began gulping it down, learning to close her mouth when it was full. The golden shower completely soaked her face, hair and boobs, as Pamela struggled to swallow mouthful after mouthful of bitter-tasting piss. Finally, we all ran out, and Pamela was kneeling there, yellow rivers of piss trickling down her body, small droplets forming and falling off the tip of her nose. The rest of the evening went, well, pretty much as expected. The rest of the boys took their turns. Some of them were confident, choosing their own positions and techniques. Most only went vaginal, but a few tried anal. All of them got blowjobs. Some were a little more reluctant Tyler and I gave them a hand – here's a position you might like, or maybe a little electric shock to Pamela to keep her motivated. I have to admit, that girl is like a fucking horse. She'd been riding guys and having guys ride her for hours now, and most of them weren't exactly gentle. She was covered in a combination of urine and semen, as ejaculating all over her was a popular decision. Her ass was completely red, as was her crotch. Some of the guys liked to play with her boobs, but she hardly seemed to notice them. After the forth pussy probing she stopped groaning in pain. The Canadian beer began to wear on the kids, and those that didn't pass out continued for more rounds with Pamela, getting more and more adventurous with every time. It was something like eight in the fucking morning when the last kid passed out, exhausted. Pamela was sweating and passively gasping for air, seeming to be checking if anyone was queued up. When there was nobody left, she turned to Tyler, pressing her forehead to the floor, kowtowing (her hands, admittedly, were still taped tightly behind her back). "Sir," she began, speaking for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, "what are you going to do with me know?" "Well, we're all going to head back home now," said Tyler, smiling. He was patting the top of her head with his bare foot. "Don't worry, we all live far away from here, so you won't see us again." Tyler and I set to work for 'returning the package', as he called it. Pamela was still soaked from out combined bodily fluids, particularly around her face and crotch. Submissively, she accepted the dish rag stuffed into her mouth, and the pink roll of duct tape was wrapped around her mouth, ankles, knees and eyes once again. Thoroughly bound, gagged and blindfolded, I gave her a Level Nine electric shock. The strong electric charge was enough to knock her unconscious, after a brief, muffled yelp of pain. Once she was out cold, we stuffed her back into her burlap sack, then into the cardboard box. We used the pink duct tape to seal the edges, and scribbled a random address in Denver on the front. "Think they got their education," asked Tyler, as we loaded the package into the back of my Ford. "Oh, fuck yeah. Some of those guys, 'specially your bro, seemed to be getting it by the end of it. And Pamela's going to be a fucking goddess." END Author Note: The author of this story is Triple Delta, the author of several other bondage/sex-themed fictional pieces on the Kristen Archives. The author is open to comments, compliments, suggestions and criticisms. The author will also take story requests, free of charge, on ANY kind of erotica, from a sexy costume party to basement rape. If you would like to contact the author for any of the above reasons, please e-mail: triple—delta@hotmail.com - Please note that there are TWO dashes between 'triple' and 'delta'. Thank you for your time. 57001 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of the hands of children. They should be outside playing in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 57