EROTIC SHORT FICTION
The below tale of bisexual BDSM exploration includes sexually-explicit scenarios of a violent nature, which are not for the faint-hearted. If you believe “normal sex” is an act involving a heterosexual married couple, solely for the purposes of reproduction, with everything else being an “amoral fetish”, then I urge you to read no further. There truly is nothing of interest for you here. However, if you believe, like me, that any sexually-arousing interaction between consenting adults of any number, be it one to a crowded bus station, is wholesome, joyful, and beautiful, then this post may very well be for you.
PIGTAILS AND DOG COLLARS: A LOVE STORY
Four stressed-out individuals take a day off from their respective fields of work to experiment in a different kind of strenuous activity.
DISCLAIMER: ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+ (SEE CLOSING PARAGRAPHS) AND ALL OPINIONS EXPRESSED WITHIN THE ENTIRELY-FICTIONAL SERIES OF EVENTS BELONG TO THE HYPOTHETICAL NARRATOR AND NOT THE AUTHOR.
Andrew Litchfield, an affable senior manager for the insurance company at which I used to work, one day met a precocious girl online. As it turned out, the girl wanted to play truant for the day with her best friend, but had nowhere convenient in which to loiter for such an extended period. Andrew, with whom I had built up a friendly rapport, due to his department regularly crossing paths with my own, offered to let the two girls hang out at his house for a morning and afternoon during the week. The one tricky caveat, he had put forward, was that the girls needed to agree to play in the bedroom with him before they left. Andrew was the only person I knew who could get away with making such a lurid proposition. I was even more shocked when this charismatic and very generous acquaintance invited me, of all people, to join in with his illicit rendezvous. His rationale, was that he wanted to make the girls feel confident that it would not just be a lone “creepy” guy there on the day.
And no witnesses.
Before Andrew went to pick the girls up from their dreary local shopping arcade, he turned to me with a concerned flicker in his eye. I had never received that look from him in all the years we had been acquainted. I still wish I could shake it from my memory altogether.
“I’ll text you if they don’t show up and you’re best going home.” He said, patting me on the shoulder. “If I don’t text you at all by 9 AM, just leave anyway, you get me?!”
I nodded and looked down at the floor, subordinately. At work, I was just an administrative assistant, which should go some way in explaining my depressing bedsit, compared to Andrew’s four-bedroom house in a leafy village for smug bastards.
I waved from the living room window as his car disappeared amongst a sprinkling of affluent detached properties, the owners of which never felt the need to lock their doors or windows or drink simply to get drunk. Their lives were very different from my own meagre existence.
What followed felt like the longest half-an-hour of my life. I kept checking my phone every few seconds, almost to the point where I depleted its cheap battery life. Finally, I received his text: “THEY’RE FOR REAL. CRAZY CUTE. STAY THERE.”. I smiled and made a little cheering motion with my arms. I really needed this, and the picture Andrew had forwarded me of the two girls, decked in frilly bikinis that left nothing to the imagination, on holiday together with their respective families, he assured me was the real deal.
I quickly looked at the picture again, which made all my anxious feelings worthwhile.
Still, I could not help but have intense butterflies in my belly waiting for Andrew’s car to pull up into the secluded driveway. Unable to settle down, I stalked about the place checking things were neat and tidy, even though it was not my house. After a few false alarms, the car eventually pulled up and the engine shut off. I could already hear the girls loudly chatting and giggling from where I pensively stood in the hallway.
Typical girls, huh?!
Andrew brought the two inside, introducing them as “Gemma” and “Becky”, both of whom had unfortunately changed out of their petite uniforms. This was so as not to draw attention to themselves outside, whilst navigating their gossip-poisoned neighbourhood of origin. Gemma, the girl who had initiated the meet-up, wore stretchy bicycle shorts and an orange t-shirt, the latter hanging so low off one shoulder that you could practically see down to her navel. Becky was more conservative, wearing a navy blue and white diamond-chequered cardigan and a pair of tight, trendy jeans. I fell for her instantly, especially with her long, light-brown hair falling down her back. Gemma had pigtails and braces on her teeth, which gave her an adorable lisp.
Our budding foursome sat watching cartoons and sipping fizzy pop all morning, getting to know and trust one another really well. I found the time to pass agonisingly slow, but I kept my composure. Andrew and I shared the sofa, while the other two sat cross-legged on the thick, comfy rug by the television set. They were actually a very sweet pair of girls, whom I would surely never have the confidence to speak to on an average day. I am something of an awkward nerd, you see. Then, as lunchtime approached and the conversation began to get stale, Andrew ominously presented the girls with a pair of dog collars.
”If you’re still up for playing upstairs before you go, just put these on.” He said, dropping the collars onto the floor in front of the girls’ knees.
While Gemma and Becky made their important decision, Andrew took me out into the ample back garden to help him examine his busted lawnmower. I honestly knew nothing about fixing gardening equipment, but it at least meant the two of us had something vaguely-masculine to while away the time with for as long as was frustratingly necessary.
“Do you think they’ll put them on?” Andrew said, rubbing his watering mouth.
“I’m not sure.” I said, dusting grass off my jeans. “They seem to be having a good time though.”
“Maybe they won’t even be there at all when we get back in.” He said gloomily with a sigh. “Fuck it, let’s bite the bullet and go have a look!”
There was a reason why he made a lucrative career out of being decisive, while I did the photocopying and booked rental cars for people like him.
When we returned to the living room, both girls were wearing their dog collars and standing ready to attention. I nearly fainted with relief. We held their trembling hands and guided them upstairs for a tour, ending on the largest of the three spare rooms. It had a lot of convenient free space in which to muck around in. There was a tatty old sheet on the floor waiting for us and towels lining the way to the bathroom, just in case things got messy.
My heart was pounding at this point. Why did I not just stick to photocopying?!
Andrew and I agreed to leave the girls alone in the spare room to strip off, while us men got naked in the main bedroom. We were always conscious about not wanting to intimidate the inexperienced pair, so this arrangement worked well as a friendly gesture. As Andrew and I playfully mocked the size of each other’s dicks, as boys do, we continuously heard strained shuffling and coquettish giggling coming from the spare room. The girls eventually called us back through after five minutes or so, with us two finding the girls stood naked against the far wall, their giggles now diluted into nervous rasping. Gemma’s heavy exhalations whistled through her braces, whilst Becky kept rubbing the wallpaper with the palms of her hands.
I mean, what else do you do with yourself in such an unfamiliar situation?!
You could tell the girls were already quite moist, squirming their eager legs together with an almost indiscernible smacking sound. I had to try so hard not to lose control of my bodily functions right there and then. Andrew and I had initially been covering our dicks and balls with our hands as we walked back in, so as not to frighten the girls when we first appeared.
After drawing the curtains, just in case the neighbours got curious or the window cleaner was making his rounds, we all knelt down on the sheet and began sharing kisses and light touches. Andrew and I were surprised at how eager the girls were to kiss each other. Becky, who seemed uptight and hesitant at first, got into things much quicker, reacting well to me stroking her soft, pink arse and fingering the tender, quivering lips beneath.
“Does that feel okay?” I asked, genuinely concerned.
“Y-y-yeah, it feels really n-n-nice, k-k-keep doing it!” She said, stuttering uncontrollably as she bobbed her head rhythmically back and forth.
I eventually pulled my hand away and leaned across to Gemma, inserting my slick fingers into her mouth and telling her to suck on them.
“How does the inside of your best friend taste?!” I said, with a mischievous grin.
“It tastes like mine!” Gemma said, laughing and coughing a little as I pushed my filthy fingers past her tongue and down to her uvula.
I could feel her braces graze my hand as I pulled my slimy fingers back out. Both girls kept stealing glances at our dicks, which were now so hard that they kept touching our stomachs. Mine was dripping with excitement, but I had somehow managed to fight off an orgasm. Andrew and I still had plenty of work to do, after all.
It was then that the girls grimly discovered our planned second use for the dog collars. Andrew and I attached leashes to them and walked the girls on their hands and knees around the upstairs rooms for awhile, eventually leading them to a dog bowl, filled with a cocktail of mine and Andrew’s piss, that lay on the floor next to the toilet.
“Get plenty of fluid in you, girls, we’re going to need it for something special later!” Said Andrew, forcing the girls’ heads lower and lower into the ripe-smelling bowl with his foot.
“You don’t deserve one each, so that’s why you have to share.” I said, yanking on Becky’s taut leash at random, just to make her yelp miserably.
Once the bowl had been emptied and licked clean, with the girls making dry heaving motions with their mouths and wincing in pain at having to hold so much fluid in their anorexic bellies, Andrew and I led them back across the landing into the familiar spare room. Even by that short time, the novelty of shuffling around playfully on their knees had become very much a chore for the two girls. However, they still faked a guffaw here and there to buoy their dimming spirits.
How little they knew.
Allowing Gemma to curl up on the sheet for a rest, Andrew crept over to a box of special toys, which he kept on a bookshelf filled with odds and ends. Most people had a junk drawer. Andrew had a junk wall. He rummaged about, the tip of his dick knocking over a few worthless artefacts on a lower shelf, and selected what appeared to be a pink, foot-long, plastic cucumber.
From her wilting pose of feline abandon, Gemma angled her head upwards and gasped. Becky, who clearly had far more stamina than her pigtailed counterpart, laughed in astonishment and clasped a hand to her mouth.
“What is that?!” She said, attempting to move in closer for further inspection.
Feeling I had snapped her leash back too often and too early, I instead leant down, tucked my hands under her midriff, and pulled her towards where Gemma still lay. I turned Becky’s backside to face Gemma’s front, then spread the former’s buttocks as wide as my clammy palms would allow. Andrew crouched down at the girls’ side and held the pink object, with two fingers holding each end of the curious device.
“This is a double-headed dildo.” He said, staring at it lovingly. “And it is the subject of our next game.”
“Oh no!” Said Gemma, throwing herself back down to the floor and hiding her face beneath her forearms.
I decided to pick up the metaphorical baton of description from whence Andrew had left it.
“Becky has an anus.” I said, spitting down the respective girl’s buttock crevice that I still held wide-open. “And, I’m afraid, as do you, Gemma.”
“Please don’t!” She sobbed.
Andrew leaned down to Becky’s rear, adding his own nasty gob of sputum to mine. Her posterior was now glistening with makeshift lubricant. Andrew teased his fingertip inside her tight hole and began massaging it loose. The girl yelped and moaned in equal measures. Gemma just lay still, tears running down to her nose, snot running down to her mouth, drool running down to her chin.
“You both get an end put inside you.” Said Andrew, lightly slapping Gemma back to attention. “Whoever can keep it up their arse the longest wins. The one who drops it loses. It’s as simple as that.”
Becky gulped and stuttered a reluctant question of clarification.
“W-w-what happens when w-w-we’re the l-l-loser?!”
Andrew laughed and placed the dildo neatly on the sheet between the girls. He then hoisted Gemma to her bruised knees, reversing her shivering body up against Becky’s, as if they were two train cars coupling. I picked up the intimidatingly-long dildo and used the precum trickling out of my dick to wet each end.
“If it drops out of either of you before we allow, then you both have to suck the other girl’s end clean.” I said, slapping the dildo into my palm like, well, a large double-headed dildo.
Andrew gave me a knowing smile and gestured down to his own dick. I obligingly mopped up the precum spewing from it and slathered the stuff over the lengthy pink horror, motivating my own modest contribution. Andrew then wiped the many fast-running fluids pouring from Gemma’s facial cavities and slicked the resulting pool along the dildo’s length too.
“Afterwards, the winner will be fortunate enough to only experience suffering.” He said, gouging open Gemma’s anus with what became her end of the thing. “The loser, however, will only know pain.”
“So, it’s in both your interests to gobble up as much as you can and clench as hard as you can.” I said, feeling vaguely sorry for the two girls. “And be as selfish as you can in trying to pull it out of your rival contestant’s body.”
Becky smiled wickedly and rested her forehead confidently down onto the tatty old sheet. There had clearly been unspoken enmity between the two girls in the past, which was about to come to a head. Well, two heads.
“Do it.” Said Becky, wiggling her bottom hungrily. “Put my end in now. I want it.”
The room fell silent, with the midday sun choosing that ironic moment to hide behind a cloud, bathing the prone girls in a befitting funeral gloom.
Assuming the game was intended to last no longer than a few minutes at the most, I was as perplexed as the girls to learn that Andrew expected the pair to keep the dildo inside themselves for a whole-fucking-hour. I shrugged and willingly obliged to play co-umpire. Where else did I need to be? Where else would I honestly want to be?! The idea was, that during this ridiculously-prolonged match, Andrew and I would do everything we could to distract, confuse, and unsteady the contestants. My additional plot involved making them both laugh, thus having the dildo fall out thanks to their involuntary convulsions. This plot took the form of me tickling them, either by direct contact with their armpits and feet, or by stroking the sensitive backs of their necks and arms and legs, in order to send a shiver through their weakening bodies.
“It’s impaling time, girls.” Said Andrew, taking command of the shiny toy. “Remember, don’t think of this as a game, but as a cessation of unremitting agony.”
Gemma’s resolve was suddenly strengthened by Becky’s uncharacteristically malevolent eagerness, with the thunderous pain of the dildo’s gradual insertion having a similar effect to a pitcher of espresso in boosting the former’s lost enthusiasm.
We allowed the girls a good fifteen minutes of settling into the game, before Andrew and I began our devious attempts at sabotage. After that brief parole, cold water was poured over them. The sheet was pulled from under them. Andrew took a frayed wire, that was plugged into a wall socket, and zapped Gemma’s braces. I wrapped a roll of tin foil around Becky’s torso, using the same frayed wire to electrify her. She must have frog-leaped an inch off the ground. The two shook with injury and exertion, as their thighs kept wanting to give way. Becky would definitely experiment with teasing the dildo out of her friend’s anus, but, when she found it nearly escaping her own, she would sheath it back up her stubborn rectum.
With only ten minutes of the game left, Andrew decided on one last cruel tactic to humiliate the girls. He produced a wheel of brown packing tape, proceeding to wrap a length of the sticky plastic around and around and around Gemma’s nose and mouth. He then tiptoed over to Becky and wrapped the stuff around and around and around her nose and mouth too. Both girls began a barrage of silent screams in panicked alarm.
“The first one who drops the dildo gets to breathe.” Said Andrew, grazing a pair of scissors across both of the girls’ writhing faces. “If you both suffocate, then we’ll just call it a draw, yes?”
The plucky Gemma, who we would forever remember as the closet heroine of the two, winced with resignation and loosened her backside to allow the grease-smeared toy to fall to the spare room’s floor. Andrew immediately freed both girls’ faces of the packing tape, with their following gasps echoing throughout the house.
“Fuck you!” Gemma cried in staggering rage. “Do whatever you fucking want to me, you fucking bastard!”
Andrew grinned like a Cheshire cat.
Picking up the messy dildo triumphantly from the floor, he presented it casually before Gemma’s mouth, as if it were a medal. With as much dignity as one could afford in such a rare scenario, Gemma gracefully fulfilled her loser’s commitment. Her tongue licked up and down the full length of the pink nightmare, from her end to Becky’s end, thereby relieving her rival of her own commitment. Every last rotten inch of the thing was now spotless. Gemma never broke eye contact with Andrew while she worked, with Andrew then awarding her bravery with a gentle kiss on her soiled lips.
“Now for the pain and suffering part.” He said, lifting her whole body up over his shoulder like a sack of shit-stained potatoes.
With Becky watching in quiet shame and sympathy, Andrew bound Gemma’s hands and feet with more packing tape and hung her by her collar from a coat hook in the corner of the spare room, whipping her milky-white bum with a belt I had definitely seen him wearing at work. Gemma’s cheeks became raspberry-red with agony, while Andrew made sure to keep one hand clasped around her throat so as to stifle her pathetic squeaks.
“Bet you’re regretting putting that collar on now, aren’t you?!” Andrew muttered into her ear, inserting his tongue every now and then to upset her further.
I had kept the leash attached to Becky’s collar and was making her lap at my balls and choke on my smelly dick. She cried and puked and even passed out for a few seconds, all the while I kept spitting in her tearful eyes. After noticing she had too many holes on her fragile body free, I pushed most of my foot up inside her sopping-wet cunt. Was she actually enjoying this?! I also reached around to insert the grip of the leash into her arsehole, snapping it back out with a violent jerking motion.
This did not go down well, but she was in no position to successfully protest.
Before us lads prematurely ejaculated and ruined our dark fun, we dragged the girls by their collars back through to the bathroom, picking them up and throwing them down into the empty tub. Whilst belt-whipping them both a few more times, we ordered them to wrap their scrawny legs around each other’s bare waists and urinate as forcefully as they were physically able. They made such a glorious mess, with Gemma in particular managing to shoot as high as Becky’s eyes, nose, and mouth; while Becky only managed to splash Gemma’s chest and tummy.
Us lads stood there laughing and wanking with gleeful abandon above the girls’ soaking wet and red-raw bodies. Much to our delight, their own salty piss made their lashed skin sting even more.
“This is how dogs take a bath!” Said Andrew. “Be fucking thankful!”
The girls just kept mewling: “No, no, no!” as Andrew and I could take no more and squirted our nasty white spunk over their grovelling bodies.
Andrew refused to rinse the sticky tarts off, instead keeping their casual clothes as a trophy and forcing Gemma and Becky to walk all the way home in their uniforms, stinking of dried urine and cum. By then their hair was matted and stuck unglamorously to their ashamed faces. Fortunately for them, they had not been wearing any makeup for us to smear.
What a shame.
Andrew and I knew the girls would not tell anyone about our behaviour, since they had been playing truant anyway. I still have Becky’s clothes in a drawer somewhere. You can smell her sweet pussy juice on the knickers and jeans a little.
The young women, both in their early-20s, had been playing truant from their day jobs as harassed checkout staff at the busy local supermarket. On that day in particular, the women were expected to attend a tedious health and safety presentation, hence their keen desire not to be there at all. Gemma and Becky had provided us with a list of kinky activities they wanted to try out, the details of which astonished even me. I suppose you could say Andrew and I gave them a different kind of health and safety presentation, focussing on the importance of bending at the knees, manual handling, and waste management.
Andrew’s apprehension over leaving to pick the women up had been due to a recent spate of muggings, burglaries, and even a stabbing, related to nefarious criminal elements in our local area using message boards and chat rooms to target victims. The online dating and anonymous hook-up community had been on edge for quite some time. Andrew had not been terribly sure that he would return that morning in one piece, if at all. He had even left his wallet at home under a potted plant. I believe the coordinated gang of thieves, who had been stalking friendly internet users to fund their drug network, were eventually caught and removed from our worst fears.
We did get an email from Gemma some time after, saying both girls had actually had a great time that day, and would be up for meeting again. They never did, but I suspected they were only after getting their expensive clothes back. Well, they had been fired from the supermarket for not turning up to work, after all. Ha! Dumb bitches. At least Andrew and I gave them back their work uniforms, so they could claim the security deposit on them. Gemma and Becky’s respective parents, whom I believe the girls still live with to this very day, now drive their truant-hungry daughters, door-to-door, to whichever shitty day job the girls happen to con their way into.
I only spoke to Andrew once before I left for mediocre pastures new. He muttered something angrily about a broken potted plant and having to cancel his bank cards. Goodness knows what he was on about.
Right, back to unjamming yet another accursed photocopier, at yet another accursed insurance company!
THE END
