0 comments/ 69089 views/ 7 favorites The Stretching By: superdog46 This is how my wife fantasizes - I put it into words for you! I hope you like it! *********************** I let myself into your house, I know where you keep the spare key, when I enter your bedroom you are asleep, you are naked and your BIG COCK is semi hard, lying on your thigh, almost touching the bed! I am amazed, I have heard about cocks this big, but never really imagined it could beTRUE! Your testicles look like eggs hanging so low in your sack! I slip out of my dress and am left in my sexy blue panties and bra---- my nipples are so hard they hurt and I can feel my twat starting to swell and get wet! I lay slowly beside you and when I'm close enough I can smell your sexy aftershave! I start to gently rub your cock-its sooooo hot and it feels POWERFULL! It starts to harden more and soon it is standing at its full height—MY GOD IT'S HUGE! I can hardly believe it will fit inside any woman, I've heard its over fourteen inches-surely its fifteen and its so fat my fingers lack almost an inch touching as I grasp it and slowly jack it! You wake up and smile at me and ask if I'm having fun? I say "I have to try to fuck that even if it kills me!". You chuckle and say "You might think you've died and gone to heaven, but it won't kill you, BUT YOU WIIL BE SORE TOMORROW!" I lean in and lick the fat head and try to suck it—it will barely fit in my mouth and my saliva is running down it as I try to suck more in! I only manage about 3 0r 4 inches it's so big and with both my hands on it there is still a lot of uncovered cock! I hope I don't regret this and that you don't RUIN my little pussy! Its not long before you pull me off your cock and press me onto my back and reach over and RIP my bra from my trembling boobs—it frightens me when I see your eyes, have I made a BIG mistake? You don't stop there-you rip my panties to shreds before they fall to the bed—they were my husbands favorite—I guess you are about to ruin his favorite pussy so you might as well ruin his favorite lingerie too! You lean down and start to suck and lick on my swollen nipples and BITE them too! I want to stop you, but it feels sooooo gooood! You have buried two of your big fingers inside my soon to be not so tight little cunny and when you add the third I explode into a hard orgasm—it makes me jerk and shiver I cum so hard that I actually squirt a stream of juice out onto you fingers! You take your fingers to your mouth and lick them—its sooo erotic I actually think I have another small orgasm! I don't know if I can but I have to try and take your MAGNIFICENT COCK into my hot cunt NOW! I raise up on my elbows and look down—I can't believe how red and swollen I already am-I can only imagine what I'll look like when you're done with me! You get on your knees between my wide spread thighs and you huge cock is bouncing up and down like a spear about to pierce my cunt! You take it in your big hand and it still looks huge-you lean up until it touches the opening of my wet box and rub it up and down to get it covered with my juice-when you lean in I feel the pressure, at first I don't think it'll fit-but then I feel the BIG HEAD slip in—its hurts sooooo goooood! I feel my lips close around it and you press in about six inches-MY TWAT IS ON FIRE! My head is spinning from the stretching sensation, my hands are clenching the sheets and my heels are dug into the mattress, I want it so bad, but it's going to be TIGHT! You stop penetration; you are on your knees and hands hanging there waiting for me to relax! When I calm down I look at you and say "FUCK ME NOW! You pull back-it feels like you are turning me inside out! I feel the start of my orgasm as you fuck me slowly, gently and DEEPLY! I never dreamed how much PRESSURE there would be, it's unbelievable! I feel you balls touch my upturned ass-I look down and see there's still 2 to 3 inches outside me—I CAN"T BELIEVE THAT ITS NOT ALL INSIDE—I FEEL LIKE I MAY EXPLODE I'M SO FULL OF COCK! You keep fucking me and it seems that you have gone in as far as I can take it--when my orgasm hits-I cum sooo hard that I press up to you so fast you slip in til our pubic bones CRASH TOGETHER! Suddenly I feel you swell even BIGGER and explode inside my battered cunt! I count the pulses-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8 then I feel it start to run out and down my ass-I'm so full of cock that there's no room for your scalding hot cum! After we calm down you pull slowly out of me—my once tight little quim doesn't want to turn loose when you "POP" outside and I'm empty I look down at my puddy—it looks like you have ruined it—its so red and swollen and your sperm is pouring out of me—OH MY GOD—I know my hubbie will know what has happened, but right now I DON"T CARE! I HAVE TO FUCK YOU AGAIN SOON! I'll be waiting to see if this is how it was for you—my pussy is still throbbing from what you did to it! It's your pussy now Baby—anytime you want it! The Stretching The convergence of the global energy shortage with the slow rise in ocean temperatures from climate change led to geopolitical destabilization and the collapse of the world's economies. In the decades that followed, surviving humanity was relegated to religious tribal frontiers and scattered feudal city states. Those with a monopoly on precious resources exploited the poor for their own private gain. In one such instance, a gated, labyrinthine, cement complex lay burrowed into the side of a mountain close to the ruins of a large, Catholic oratory. From the nearby slums of a collapsed city, a young, eighteen year-old girl named Shana was retained for the personal indulgences of the complex's owner, known only as The Master. Having auditioned several girls for the position, The Master's assistant -- The Understudy -- chose Shana to be a display slave. Shana's indoctrination began with her processing. In the subsequent training sessions, she would learn how to display herself properly while ministering to the needs of the complex's residents and guests. The Usher had led Shana, who was dressed in her jeans, pullover and sandals, through the maze of passageways to a change facility with a shower. There, she met the Understudy for the first time since her audition. Shana was made to shower, then to shave and lotion her legs, and then finally do her hair and makeup. The Understudy's commanding voice rang in her head as she stripped off her street clothes. "Two rules to always remember, above all. First, obey everyone in this building. There is no one lower here than you. Second, no matter what, you will make no protest." The shower room was just off the change room, and had all the appeal of a surgical suite: green ceramic tiles, a spartan plastic shower curtain, and a rusty, copper drain grate. A makeup counter mediated the small space between the shower room and the change room. The change room had just a bench and a full-length mirror. A doorway on one side led back out into the hall. A doorway on the opposite side led into an airy studio beyond. When Shana emerged from the shower, she found her street clothes were gone. Instead a small bundle of green fabric lay on the bench. It was a uniform. Two pieces. A form-fitting top, and a short little mini skirt. She looked around and could see no other clothing. She took a deep breath, removed the towel, and slipped the top on over her head, wriggling it down over herself and smoothing it out. The fabric was surprisingly comfortable. It had short sleeves and a high collar encircling her throat with a large notch in the front, like a priest's. It had a crisp, professional press to it, greatly flattering her upper body. It came down to her navel. Then she slipped on the mini skirt. Its hemline was very, very short. Shana felt almost desperate for something to wear under it as she turned first one way, and then another, looking at herself in the mirror. She could only bend forward a little before her bare cheeks showed. She had only an inch, it seemed, between her modesty and her betrayal. And where were her shoes? She walked around the room, but could find nothing. She was left in her bare feet. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the studio. The studio was lined with mirrors. Shana could see herself from all directions. She could also see how short her mini skirt was from the front, back and sides. She felt so bare and exposed. The Understudy was waiting for her. "I- I'm ready, sir," she said softly. "A-are there any panties for the skirt?" she asked. The Understudy glared at her. "Come over here," he said, and he led her, somewhat haltingly, to a post in the middle of the room. It was made of wood with a collar of rope dangling from its side, attached to a handle on the opposite side. The Understudy guided Shana back against the post and pushed her against it. She gasped in surprise. "Spread your legs -- spread your legs," he said urgently. Shana was too shocked to argue and placed her legs wide apart. She could feel the cool air of the room against her bare vulva. The Understudy kept at her. "Stand on your tip toes." Shana came up on her toes, and the calves of her bare legs tautened. "Close your eyes," he commanded. She closed her eyes but they fluttered as she felt movement close to her. "W-what's going on?" she stammered nervously as the Understudy popped the rope around her neck, and walked around behind the post to the handle. "This is your inauguration procedure," he said. "And this is a garrotte." He turned the handle half a turn and Shana was pinned firmly against the post by the rope around her neck. She cried out in surprise and fear. "Why?" she protested. "What is your name?" asked the Understudy, leaning close into her from over her shoulder. "Sh- Shana," she whimpered. "Not quite," he said. "What is your name now?" "Slave Girl Shana," she said quickly. "Good," said the Understudy. "Then you understand that this is a commitment. I need to make sure you take this commitment seriously." With that, he turned the handle one full turn. The rope dug deeply into Shana's neck, her mouth popped wide open, and her eyes bulged. The Understudy stepped around in front of her and watched. A loud, long, gurgle came from deep in Shana's throat. Then silence. Her hands went to the rope and she arched her back, going right up on her tip toes. Her feet stayed arched and she lifted one knee and then the other, each time stomping down onto her bare tip toes. Every time she lifted a knee, the Understudy looked up her skirt. Shana choked in the stillness of the room. "kkgh, kkgh." Silence. "kkgh." Her eyes glazed over. The Understudy stepped back behind the post and turned the wheel back, releasing the rope around Shana's neck. Shana sucked in her breath violently. Then she burst into tears. As she sobbed, the Understudy stepped back behind the post and turned the wheel sharply again. Shana's sobbing was cut off abruptly as her head snapped back and her body arched involuntarily. Her soft mewing spiralled away into a rasp as her wide eyes searched the air above. She began her special dance again, the sound of her soft bare feet against the cement, her hands clawing at the rope. The Understudy waited for signs of her losing consciousness before he released it. Holding her up by the hair, he flipped the garotte off her neck and then let her fall forward onto the cement. She sprawled on the floor, gasping for air, her miniskirt hitched up around her upper thighs. She began to sob. "Believe me, you'll quickly come to preferring that treatment over being stretched," said the Understudy. He helped her sit up, and she pulled her miniskirt down to cover herself. Tears streamed down her face and she shook like a leaf. "What did I do wrong, sir?" she sobbed softly. "Nothing," he replied. "But I did need to do that to you as part of your initiation. Now, go fix yourself up, and you'll be shown to your chamber." The Understudy helped her up and guided her gently back toward the change room. She shuffled quickly back in, one hand on her throbbing throat, choking back sobs. Spying her streaked mascara in the mirror, she hurriedly touched up her makeup, her heart beating fast. The thought of getting the garrotte again brought her sobbing under control and focused her mind on the current task. She was just finishing when a loud voice from the corridor made her squeak in fright and drop her mascara brush. "Slave Shana!" She turned to find The Usher, standing in the doorway. He jerked his head in the direction of the corridor and started walking away down the passage. Shana hurried after him. They walked through cramped maze in silence, Shana walking gingerly in her bare feet on the cold, polished cement. At a junction, the Usher turned left, ducking through a low-cut door and descending three short steps into a narrow, claustrophobic passageway. It was like the bowels of an old nuclear submarine, dotted with berths, holes and ducts all along the passage. At the its end, The Usher gestured at a short, metal ladder on the right hand side which ascended to an opening in the wall just above head height. A dark blue, velvety curtain covered the opening. "This is your space, Slave Shana," the Usher gestured upward. "This area is for slave girls. If anyone should call on you, immediately kneel on the floor. Do not expect privacy." The Usher waited. Shana took hold of the rungs of the ladder and paused. The Usher stared stoically back down the hall. Shana swallowed hard, and then placed a bare foot gingerly on the first rung, and pulled herself up. As she climbed, she felt the Usher's eyes on her. Her face flushed with shame and she glanced behind her as she reached the top of the ladder. The Usher's eyes were fixed steadily on her behind, looking intently, but impassively, up the back of her skirt. The Usher's eyes flicked to the bottoms of her bare feet and then up again under the short hem to her bare ass and vulva. Shana pulled the curtain aside and ducked quickly into the chamber, pulling the back of her tunic against her rear as soon as she got a free hand. A kerosene lamp warmly lit a chamber big enough to hold a futon and small night table. The ceiling was so low, Shana had three inches clearance when she stood straight. A full length mirror leaned against the far wall. She collapsed on the futon, tired and disoriented. She looked at herself in the mirror and studied the uniform, how it fit her body perfectly, and how it had ridden up to expose her pussy as she lay there. She reached down and gave it a half-hearted tug to cover herself, craving her missing clothes. She stretched out her bare legs and pointed her toes. She was in the middle of dozing off when someone banged on the rungs of the ladder. Shana leapt off her mattress and quickly knelt of the floor. She tugged the skirt down over the front of her thighs to cover her pussy. As she did so, she felt it pull up in the back, and felt her bare ass kiss the soles of her bare feet as she knelt. A hand jerked the curtain aside. It was the Usher. "Slave Shana, your labour is needed in the kitchen," said the Usher. "The Caterer wants you. There are dishes to be washed." Shana rose without a word and climbed out onto the ladder. The Usher unabashedly looked up her skirt again, staring at the folds of her pussy as they poked out between the cheeks of her ass. Shana avoided his gaze and looked down at the floor. She tugged on the back of her skirt as she followed the Usher back down the narrow passageway, her bare feet softly padding on the cold cement. The kitchen was a warren of spaces further down the larger passageway. There were hanging racks of pots and pans, deep sinks, a long grill, ovens, and other stations clustered in alcoves. Shana looked around the place and wondered whether she would be allowed some more practical clothes to work in. Maybe an apron, or even something for her bare feet since the floor was dirty. Nothing was offered. The Usher left her in the hands of the Caterer. The Caterer was huge, with giant forearms and a booming voice. Shana was surprised at the comparatively more relaxed demeanour with which she was greeted. "Hey - so you're a slave girl, eh. Never seen!" The Caterer's eyes travelled up and down Shana, sizing up her pony tail, and her tiny little outfit. "Wow," the Caterer gave a low whistle. "Gorgeous legs. Bare legs, too. And bare feet?" Shana looked down at the floor. "That's quite the outfit they've made you wear. What are you wearing underneath your little skirt there? It's the shortest I've ever seen!" Shana blushed deep red and stared at the floor. The Caterer chuckled, like a cough in the back of his throat. "Whatever. With a hem that short, I'll find out soon enough. Anyway what's you're name?" "Slave Shana, sir." "Yeah call me Daniel. Help me with all these damn dishes. Everyone here eats so damn much." The Caterer gestured to a large row of sinks with a spray nozzle and stainless steel shelving above. "There's the detergent. We actually have running water here. Dry everything and stack it on the shelves above." Shana hurried over to the sink, grabbing the dish soap and the scrubber. The Caterer watched her from behind as she worked. Every time Shana leaned forward a bit or reached for a dish, her short little mini skirt would start to sneak up to just below her cheeks, giving a hint of what wasn't underneath. Then she went to put a stack of dishes away on the shelf above the sink. She stood up on her bare toes, arching her wrinkled, dirty bare soles. She reached up high as she replaced the dishes. The hemline of her tiny uniform rose past the limit and popped up over her cheeks, revealing the first inch of her smooth, bare bum. She leaned further forward, lifting a bare leg behind her and pointing her toes for balance, her calf muscles tightening, her leg straight, her bare ass showing, with the lips of her vulva barely peeking out. From the silence behind her, Shana knew she was being watched again. She wasn't sure whether the Caterer was like the Understudy - whether she was allowed to hold her hand behind her, or tug her skirt down when she leaned forward. Just the same, she glanced over her shoulder at the Caterer. The Caterer's eyes flicked up from her exposed behind and met her gaze unflinchingly. Then he slowly turned away and started wiping the grill range counter with an apron. The dishes seemed endless. She scrubbed and wiped, her hands getting irritated by the detergent and her arms getting tired. She tried to avoid reaching up as much as possible to keep herself modest. After a time, Shana smelled the sulphur as a match was struck, and the hissing flare of yellow was put to the end of a cigarette. "Hey! Slave girl, come over here and sit down a bit!" the Caterer called. She obediently came over to where he had pulled up two beaten chairs, and sat down, keeping her knees firmly together, her hands folded in her lap to weigh down the short hem. She kept her feet arched and just her toes resting on the floor, trying to keep her bare soles off the cold, dirty tile. "That looks good," he said. "Stay that way while I smoke." They sat in silence for a short while as he puffed contentedly, his eyes roaming over her body. "So how old are you?" he asked. "Eighteen," she replied softly. More silence followed. Shana noticed him looking frequently at her bare legs. Her toes hurt from keeping them just touching the floor. She kept her hem weighted down by her hands while she tried crossing her legs. The skirt hem pulled away from behind to expose a vast swath of bare thigh. The Caterer's eyes didn't miss a moment or a detail. She let her free foot arch, her bare toes pointing, to bring circulation back, but this only made the Caterer stare at her pointed toes. She looked at him, but he didn't notice, until she coughed lightly. The Caterer looked up. "Keep pointing your toes," he said. "I like that." Shana blushed. There was another awkward silence, and then the Caterer dropped his voice down and quietly asked, "So they make you go in bare feet? No shoes?" "I'm a slave. I guess I'm meant to," she answered softly. "They gave you such a short outfit with no panties, eh?" Shana blushed again and stared at her toes. "I... I don't know," she whispered. "I don't want to talk about it." The Caterer smiled slyly, and then watched her again as she uncrossed her legs and recrossed them the other way, her bare thighs softly hissing against each other. Shana could see the Caterer was trying to look up her skirt. He slowly reached down and gently took hold of the ankle of her crossed leg - the one with the bracelet. He lifted her leg up, straight out, over his lap. Shana nervously kept her hemline weighted down with her hands, but arched the toes of her outstretched leg for him. "Nice bracelet," he murmured, "This yours?" "No. The Understudy says I'm never supposed to take it off." The Caterer lightly stroked her bare, arched foot, pressing it firmly against the inside of his thigh. The tip of her toes nudged up against the bulge of his hard penis. She could feel it twitch through his trousers. He gently nudged her leg to the side to get a look up her skirt. His eyes fixed on her bare, exposed pussy and his nostrils flared. "The bottoms of your feet are dirty," he laughed. He dropped her leg suddenly and rose from his seat. His movement was so quick, she had no time to react. He was over to her in one stride and hoisting her up with powerful arms. He lifted her off the floor in a forced embrace, and she instinctively placed her hands against his chest to push away. Shana squeaked in fright. The caterer had one arm and hand around her shoulder, and the other around her tiny waist. The hem of her little skirt popped up over her bare rear as he lifted her, and she felt the cool air on her cheeks. She hung in the air. A moment passed. They both panted. "Wrap your legs around my waist and point your toes," he whispered insistently. Shana whimpered. "Do it!" he hissed. She arched her bare feet and wrapped her legs around his waist, bring her exposed pussy into contact with the hard, taut fabric of his crotch. He walked her across the room and bumped her backwards into the wall, his hand sliding down to support her under her ass. He found bare softness as his fingers grazed her pouch. She cried out but he stifled with an open, obscene kiss. A finger found her bare rectum and pushed. "Mmph! Mmmmph!" she protested as her ground into her and slid his mouth around hers greedily. His other hand had left her shoulders and was now finding its way to his belt. "Is there a problem?" said a voice. The Caterer jumped back and released Shana at the same time. Shana tumbled to the floor with a cry, her legs askew, and her pussy displayed obscenely. She writhed in pain for a moment before quickly recovering and pulling down her tunic. She knelt on the floor, trembling. "She's got quite the appetite, Understudy!" the Caterer panted loudly, running a hand quickly though his hair. "She wouldn't take no for an answer. Launched herself right onto me!" The Understudy arched an eyebrow dubiously. Shana's eyes widened. She snapped. "How dare you!" she burst out, jumping up to her feet. "How dare you! I was minding my own business when you tried to stick your greasy tongue down my throat!" The Understudy's eyebrow dropped and he whirled around on Shana, stepping forward and slapping her, hard. "Unh!" she cried and stumbled back against the wall. The Understudy wasn't finished. Before Shana had a chance to recover, he seized her by her throat and lifted. Shana grabbed his wrists reflexively. Her bare feet arched, and her pointed toes frantically brushed the dirty, tiled floor. Her skirt hitched up. "What did you say?" the Understudy hissed in her face. The Caterer quietly stepped back, smirking. "Ggggch!" she managed. The Understudy held her in place a moment, her back arched and her bare toes pointed. He let her gurgle a bit more, and then dropped her. She collapsed again, holding her throat and coughing. He waited a moment before helping Shana to her feet. "Slave Shana, I think it would be best if you better understood what sort of commitment we need from you here," the Understudy said gently. "So please. Come with me." "Can I watch?" asked the Caterer eagerly, as the Understudy led Shana from the kitchen. The Understudy threw an icy glare over his shoulder but said nothing. * * * The Understudy brought Shana to a brightly-lit room at the far end of the complex. She immediately saw the strange contraption in the middle of the room: a stainless steel table, with a large floodlight positioned overhead. At the foot of the table was a long, steel piston-shaped tube supported by spidery hydraulics. The piston rounded to a soft point at one end. Its diameter was comparable to a rolling pin.