Two Knotty Boys
A tearing sound at my right ear.
“I’ll be hanging a little weight on that,” a cold voice emphasized by a
cold, dispassionate tweak on the clamp. I gasp, sharply. “I wouldn’t
jump around so much if I were you.”
A shock ran, electrifying my spine, as a *heavy* pull followed. I felt
a cold piece of metal swing against my breast, above (no, that’s below,
I’m upside- down) my nub, sparking and spitting with every heartbeat.
I moan, a wail sailing in my ear. The tears flow freely, and the tape
starts to give again. And it holds fast after giving precious ground.
The hell throbs down to a bearable onrush. My mind swims. Febblely, I
reach with my hands, knowing that they will never relieve the pain.
Bound as they are at elbow and wrist, I surprise myself by swinging the
coarsely past my buttocks. Firm hands, cool with sweat, grab the
flailing limbs. By my uncovered ear, I hear, “That is a no-no.”
Gasp. I clench in response, but too late. The head of the phallus is
already past the spinchter. The lubricant steal away what little grip
I had, and whatever it is is now inside my ass. It is cunningly
designed, with a groove near the base (pressing against my previously
warmed cheeks) preventing my natural reflex from expelling it. I bear
down, to no avail.
There is the faint tickle of rope brushing the cheeks, then my hands
are hauled back and down, tied to the attaching rope. I tug and feel a
push within myself, pivoting at the hole. I experiment, forgetting
completely the deep pulses from the front.
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