Girl on girl domination and bondage!


Girl on girl domination and bondage!


More Girl on girl domination and bondage! video samples here!

We’re sitting in a cafe together, drinking coffee. Our encounters always begin so civilized. The contrast is stark between now, and the moment I start hurting you. Though I drink my coffee calmly and smile at the barista, all I am thinking of right now is possessing you, cum baby. Every so often you come to my town, looking for me. I’m always happy to see you, because I like treating you the way no one else treats you. And I know how much you secretly crave it.


I never ask why else you’re here. I only know that you have to leave this evening, so I’ve got the afternoon to make this worth your while. You’ve been busy all morning, doing whatever it is you came to do, and now you’ve arrived at our secret meeting place – this little sidewalk cafe in the market, with the tall towers of commerce and the even taller tower behind them.



You always know what I like you to wear when I meet you. You’re wearing my favourite tiny, pleated, denim miniskirt. Strapless, heeled sandals. A tight white t-shirt through which I stare at the distinct outlines of your nipples. I’m wearing my summer weight slacks, leather loafers, a tight black t-shirt and a sport coat.



We’ve been talking about white elephants for an hour, and I’m getting itchy.



“I’ve moved,” I tell you.



“To where?” you ask.



“I don’t have my apartment anymore. I’ve found a large, west-facing live-work studio down the street from here. I do my sculpture in there.”



You lick your lips. “I’d like to see it,” you whisper. The wind ruffles your hair, and flutters the hem of your skirt. Your hand instinctively holds down the hem.



I get up without a word and help you move your chair back. In public, I’m the consummate gentleman, holding doors for you, helping you out of taxis, that sort of thing.



We walk hand-in-hand down the street, back towards my place. I’m listening to the sound of your heels on the pavement. I love the gritty sound they make on the hard, dirty concrete. Glancing over my shoulder lets me catch people turning their heads to watch you as we pass by. I know what they’re trying to see. Your little skirt is scandalously short, and their eyes are popping out of their heads. The hemline comes to just below your ass, and the breeze keeps lifting it. Girls titter to their mates, or cover their mouths. I decide I need to check something.



Looking left and right to ensure we’re not noticed, I steer you into a hidden, narrow laneway and roughly push you up against the bricks of a building on one side.



“Uh!” you gasp in surprise. I take your chin in my hand and stare into your eyes for a moment. Then I lean down and kiss your soft, ruby lips, gently at first, and then more firmly. Your body begins to melt into mine, and you make soft little noises as my tongue teases apart your mouth and teeth. I close my mouth full over yours until you can only breathe strongly through your nose, and then my hand slides up the back of your tiny skirt as we make out. My wrist lifts its hem, and you can feel the brick — hard, cool, and gritty — against your bare ass.



As we kiss more intensely, my fingers find the top of your g-string, and they curl around its waistband. You moan quietly, appreciatively.



And then I pull it upward, violently.



You break our kiss and suck in your breath in surprise and pain. I give your g-string another sharp, strong tug, up into your wet pussy, pulling it up so hard between your lips that I lift you up on your toes from the force. I hold you there.



“Aaa!” you cry out.



I hold you up on your toes as you arch your back and open your mouth. I let you back down slowly, locking my eyes with yours. And then I quickly jerk it up hard again.



“Aa-aa!”



When I pull again, I hear the back of your thong rip loudly, and feel the fabric give. I tear it further and it snaps with another pull. I jerk the torn fabric out from between your legs and let you go. You double over, grimacing in pain, and slowly, slowly sink to your bare knees in the gravel. I stand over you, watching you as you slip your hand up your skirt and cup your pussy. Your eyes are squeezed shut, and tears well up and trickle down your flushed cheeks.



“Oh, oh,” you whimper. You twist in the gravel, your bare legs sweeping the pebbles back and forth as you slowly writhe, holding your bare pussy under your skirt. All is silent except for you and the sound of the gravel. I continue to stare impassively down at you, saying nothing as you squirm.



“Unh…” The tears drip off your cheeks onto the gravel. You swallow audibly as I slowly bunch up your torn g-string and slide it into my pocket, not saying a word, and watching you as you wait for the pain to ebb.



“Unh.. .”



Yes, my tight little cum baby, this is what you came for.



“Let me help you up,” I finally say, extending a hand to you. You take it and struggle to your feet. You’re shaking. I help you smooth your skirt back down over your bare ass, and brush the dirt off your bare legs.



“Does it really hurt?” I ask. You nod and lean against the brick wall.



I kiss you softly again. “Good. I like you better this way,” I murmur between kisses. You’re breathing fast, but you kiss back, hard. I push you back against the wall again, kissing you deeply, feeling your soft lips slide across mine, feeling your tongue against my tongue.



I slide my hands up your t-shirt and feel your bare breasts underneath.



“You’re lucky you didn’t wear a bra today, cum baby,” I whisper in your ear. “Or else I would have torn it off as well, and choked you with it later when I fuck you hard. And believe me, I’m going to fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to stand when I’m done.” I feel you sag a little against the wall.



I slip my hand under your skirt to your bruised pussy. It’s wet and slick, and I see-saw the side of my finger back and forth against you. You moan into my mouth. I love the little sounds you make.



I break our kiss and put my finger in your mouth – the finger coated with you. I make you suck it clean, before pulling you off the wall and leading you back out of the alley by your hand. You’re still a little unsteady on your feet from the pain I’ve caused you.



“Don’t walk like that, cum baby. Walk sexy for me. Strut,” I command. You straighten up and begin to slink alongside me as we emerge into the sunlight and continue down the street towards my loft. Now the breeze is lifting your tiny skirt hem to reveal your tight, bare tush, with your swollen, brown pussy peeking out from between your cheeks, like a fat sultana raisin. Now you know I own you for the rest of the afternoon. I’m going to make you do whatever I desire.



On a particularly crowded part of the street, I stop you and pull you into me.



“Kiss me,” I say, and you reach up to close your lips over my mouth. You are so much shorter than me, and have to stand up on your toes, making your heels come up off the backs of your little heeled sandals. People passing by can see you are so obviously younger than I am. As we kiss, I place my hand in the small of your back and gently pull in and up, which pulls your hemline up. Now people approaching from behind can look up the back of your skirt with impunity. Your bare, wet slit is my badge of ownership.



Turning around I notice we’re outside my favourite bookshop. It’s in the antique style, with towering mahogany shelves, wooden flooring, and the hushed silence of a library. I pull you inside, and together we pace the stacks, gazing at the multitude of volumes. It obviously bores you. I’ll cure you of that.



“Come here, cum baby,” I whisper in your ear and lead you gently to an old, antique shelf ladder with brass rails and iron steps. The ladder runs along a track installed in the ceiling, and lets patrons climb up to reach the top shelves. There are plenty of patrons here now, and they’re more interested in your skirt than the books. This is why I point to a book on the top shelf.



“Get me that book like a good girl,” I whisper. You hesitantly grasp the brass rails and begin stepping up the ladder. Your heels clank on the iron steps, and heads swivel to watch as you climb up. It doesn’t take long to be able to see all the way up your skirt. I can hear some shocked intakes of breath.



In the stunned silence that follows, you reach for the book I’ve pointed out.



“Not that one,” I say. “Try more over to the left.”



You reach further over, shifting your balance. Your pussy is slick, and you can feel the hushed, cool air of the bookstore wafting over it, evaporating the moisture off your lips.



“Not that one either,” I say. “Further over.”



Now you have to reach, and you lift a leg out from behind you for balance. This makes your thighs separate, and your full, wet, bare vulva is plainly visible.



“This one?” you ask, your face red and burning. I don’t answer, and you are forced to hold the position. “This one, sir?” you ask again.



“Mm. Don’t think so,” I say slowly. “I think it’s further over than that.”



Now you are forced to lift your outstretched leg higher, for balance, as you reach further over. Several men below have stopped to look upward in unabashed silence at your slick, sopping pouch. I’m thinking about how good it’s going to taste when I lick it clean.



Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the proprietor. He is talking with a customer, but he keeps looking our way and frowning. I know soon he’ll come over to kick us out.



“Yes, baby, that one,” I say. You breathe a sigh of relief and climb back down the ladder to hand me the book. I smile at you. “You did very well,” I whisper. “Everyone here knows what your pussy looks like now.” You look down at the floor, face red and perspiring with humiliation.



The book is utterly inconsequential, but I buy it anyway, as a memento for you. Every time you see the book, you will remember what you had to do to get it. I pay for it at the cash as the proprietor walks over.



“Get out of my store now,” he says. You stare at the floor studiously while I ignore him and leisurely retrieve my debit card from the flustered cashier. The proprietor will not stop scowling at us.



Back out on the street, you clutch the book to your chest while I wrap an arm around your slim waist. The breeze has picked up a bit, and your hem flutters all the way down the walk to my building.



The building is large and old, made of brick and covered in vines. It was once a warehouse at the turn of the last century. Now it stands tall and brooding, and the only way up or down is in a large, old freight elevator off the entrance. We step into the cavernous car and I pull the gate down with a rope. The car clanks and creaks as it slowly climbs its way up to my floor. I’ve got you against the wall, and run my hands wantonly over your hard little body, feeling your pert breasts through your braless t-shit, and pushing your bare ass into the rough wood behind you.



“I’m going to hurt you now, cum baby,” I whisper in your ear. “I’m going to hurt you so bad. I’m going to make you sob, and while you’re crying, I’m going to lick the tears off your face.” Your breathing quickens, and I can feel your little heart pounding.



When the elevator reaches the floor, I open the gate up. Then I turn and seize you and throw you over my shoulder. Your gasp in surprise, and I carry you, over my shoulder, down the hall and to my door, your ass the the air, skirt hitched up your back, your head behind me and your kicking legs in front. With my free hand I unlock my door and step inside.



“We’re here!” I say, and I tip you off my shoulder and onto the floor. You land in a heap, winded, on the wooden planks. Your book skitters across the floor. I slam the door and lock it. Before you have a chance to catch your breath and check your bruises, I seize your by your hair and drag you across the floor. You cry out, and your heals scrape along the wooden planks before slipping off, leaving your beautiful feet bare. You try to reach for my hands, but I simply take your slim wrists in my strong grip and click a pair of manacles around them.



With a clank of metal, you sit up and look around. My studio is large, with a fourteen foot tall ceiling, and huge windows letting in the west light. At one end is a doorway to my living space. The rest of the studio has various pieces of equipment and several post-modern sculptures in various states of completion along one wall. A big, red, toolbox sits near you. You look above you and see that the cuffs I’ve locked you in are attached to a long chain which travels up to a large winch anchored in the cement ceiling.



“W-what is this?” you asked in a trembling voice. I don’t answer. I’ve strode across to the far wall, where I take a video camera in one hand, and a photo flood light in the other, and bring them out near you. I switch on the flood, and you’re bathed in light.



“Do you like being videotaped, cum baby?” I ask. I switch the video camera on, and its little red light glows.



Then I cross back to the wall — to a large switch box. I turn to you.



“Hold on tight,” I say, and throw the switch up. With a spark, the winch above rattles to life and begins turning. The chain attached to your wrist manacles pulls taut, and then you are slowly hoisted up. Your arms rise first, and as you struggle frantically and whimper, the winch pulls you slowly up to your feet.



I wait until you are standing on your tip toes before I shut it off. The winch stops hoisting, and you are left dangling, your pointed toes brushing the wood. Your breathing is loud, and your whole body shakes. I slowly walk up to you and look you over. Your little t-shirt is hitched up above your taut, bare stomach. Your skirt is riding up in the back. Your bare feet arch and flex as you try to get some purchase on the floor.



“This hurts my wrists,” you gasp. “Please let me down!”



“Soon, cum baby,” I say. “But not until I’m finished with you.” I pull a box cutter knife from the toolbox, seize your t-shirt by its collar, and slice into it with the knife. Then I finish the job with my bare hands with a harsh sound of tearing fabric, and I shuck it off your shoulders. You wince and grimace as I rip down the front and bare your breasts. The shirt hangs off you in shards.



“Do everything I tell you, baby,” I whisper. “Just for my camera.”



I step back and gaze at you, and slowly remove my sport coat and t-shirt. My hard, ripped chest is bare. I step back to you. Strung up like this, your head is now level with mine, and I lean into you and run my tongue across your trembling lips.



“Kiss me again, cum baby, like you did in the alley,” I whisper. And despite the pain in your wrists as you hang there, you do as I ask, leaning forward to kiss me gently at first, and then harder. I take some of the weight off your wrists my lifting your legs up under the knees and let you wrap them around my waist. Your wet pussy presses into my hard, bare stomach. I pull you into me firmly, to feel your pussy kiss my naval. When I let you go, it leaves a wet, sticky mark on my stomach. I repeatedly do this as we kiss. Our lips kissing each other, and your pussy, wet and sticky, kissing my stomach.



“Arch your feet,” I say. “Point your toes.” We continue kissing, your bare legs wrapped around my bare waist, and you let your feet arch like a gymnast. You rub them languorously against my skin, up and down, your toes and heels grazing my sides. As I kiss my way down your neck, you throw your head back, your chains clanking. I take your left nipple in my mouth and suck gently, rolling the nipple across the flat of my tongue. You moan softly as I suck and suck. Your bare toes rub my skin.



Then I bite your nipple, hard, and you buck in your chains and holler. I lift my head to see several, small ruby drops on your brown sworl.



“Did that hurt?” I ask. You nod, and sniff. “I’ve got something that will hurt more.” I smile, and let you go, stepping away from you. You wince as your wrists take the full weight of your body again, and your bare toes start searching for purchase on the floor.



I stride across the room to the far wall with the sculptures. They’re my sculptures. One in particular sits on a wheeled dolly. It bears no resemblance to the others. It’s a tall column – perhaps ten feet – out of the side of which erupts a large, cold, polished cement phallus. The phallus angles upwards, permanently erect. It’s huge. There is nothing more to it than this. You stare at it, wide-eyed, as I roll it across the floor and position it behind you and lock the wheels on the dolly. I step up against your rear.



“I made this for you,” I whisper, “but it’s a tad too big for you, and much too long, as I think you’ll find.”



The phallus is positioned about two thirds of the way up the column. So I walk casually back to the switch on the wall and throw it again. The hoist rattles to life and begins to winch you further up. You grimace at the weight on your wrists, and your bare feet paw the air. I stop when your pussy is level with the tip of the phallus before walking back over behind you and positioning it carefully underneath you.



“Ready, baby?” I ask. You breath quickly, but say nothing. Your eyes close. You look so very scared, and it makes me only harder. I reach up and place my hands on your hips, guiding you slowly onto the tip of the phallus. You’re high enough yet that just the tip pops into your wet, open pussy. You breathe in sharply as the cold cement kisses your moist lips.



“Hold still,” I say, and walk back over to the switch. I throw it for just an instant, and let you sink down the first inch of the cement. You gasp, and your body goes rigid as the tip opens you. I pause to watch you.



“How does it feel?” I ask. “Hard to talk? It’s a bit cold, yes?” You swallow and nod. I throw the switch again.



The rope on the winch goes taut as you become impaled on the concrete cock. With enough slack in the rope, you now begin to sink slowly down the phallus under your own weight. You cry out in alarm at the sudden stretching sensation and grab at the chains to stop from sinking further. The chains are cold, polished, and slippery, and your hands slip down them.



Your pussy bulges as you slide, the concrete moistening with your juice. Your back arches like a bow, and your mouth stretches open. Your feet are taut, arched, and kicking little kicks, back and forth.



“Aaa… ” you moan at the ceiling, eyes wide. “Aa, aa… too.. fast!” Silence follows, punctuated by the sound of your tongue moving in the back of your throat. You slowly bring your knees up to try and take the pressure off, but this only quickens your sliding. Your legs drop, kick twice as you grunt, and go rigid.



All is silent. You gurgle in the silence.



With every expanding inch of the violator, you have to adjust your legs and hips to try and accommodate its girth, to try and minimize the stretching. But the stretching itself is relentless. You can feel every square inch of yourself filled by cold concerete inside your warm, stretching pussy, but there is nothing else.



“Aaa”



The friction sucks your breath away until all you can do, all you can make, are noises at me, hoping they will somehow convince me to free you, perhaps pull you off of the stretching. You would slip off the end of the concerete phallus, breathe again.



“Aaaah!”



Now the sliding has lodged the phallus deep inside you, up against your cervix. Sweat prickles on your forehead, and on the soles of your arched feet. Your sweaty thighs brush back and forth against the rough, pourous cement, and your bare, sweaty legs and feet brush the pole. You suck in your breath and try again.



“Stop…. aa!”



You jerk as it begins to push against your cervix. You stop making noise, but your mouth stays open in a silent scream, opening and closing. You remain this way for a moment, wordlessly, your mouth open. Then your head tilts further back. You begin to slowly, slowly kick your bare feet back and forth, in tiny jerks, toes pointed hard. You stretch your jaw open wide. You stop kicking your legs, and hold them still. They quiver, every muscle straining, the toes pointed. A small noise escapes you again. Tears stream down your cheeks.