0 comments/ 63023 views/ 25 favorites The Chastity Sack By: dowd_elwood_p *** Breaking Down *** I understood his point, but I didn't necessarily agree with his vision. "Don't let their looks fool ya. Those Tannerites have a fortune socked away somewhere," my boss had lectured me. "They're shrewd and resourceful, and they have no overhead. Go in and sniff it out. There's a market there, and it's untapped. I can feel it." And so there I was, driving down a deserted country lane on a dark, rainy night in the middle of the Canadian prairies, attempting to find the little-known Mennonite splinter colony, and trying to keep a low profile at the same time. Well ... low profile ... it became obvious to me almost immediately that, in a farming community that exclusively embraces an 18th century way of life, shuns technology and rides in horse-and-buggies, my driving a car did not exactly contribute to me maintaining a low profile, which was why I was travelling at night. Like the Amish and Hutterites, the Tannerites had split away from their Mennonite roots over 300 years ago but still maintained their conservative customs, Anabaptist beliefs and Dutch-German language. They wear plain clothes, do not use electricity and reject modernity, despite pressures from the outside world. They are pacifistic and self-sufficient, and they maintain strict conformity to colony rules through corporal discipline. But what had my boss's attention was that they follow the practice of "shared community goods," which led him to believe that, though the individual members might look impoverished, the colony as a whole could be very well off. So far, I didn't see it. In fact, in the dark, featureless middle-of-nowhere, I didn't see much at all. And I certainly didn't see the road I was on shown on the map. Unfortunately, I was beginning to realize that a consequence of the Tannerites' reclusiveness was that a lot of their territory is not detailed on the map, and I now suspected that I had lost my bearings a couple of turns back. I decided that the smart move would be to turn around and drive back until I could re-orient myself again. Well, I thought that would be the smart move until halfway through my three-point turn when my rear wheels lost their traction on the soggy shoulder of the road. I tried spinning my wheels for a bit. That was fun – mud flew everywhere – but I got a sinking feeling in my stomach as my car's rear end got a sinking feeling in the ground. Drat! So I checked my cell phone, but of course, with no potential subscribers for miles around, there was no signal. Finally, I decided to hoof it back to the farm house I had just past, and it was at about that point in time when the rain started to really come down. Great! Well that would teach me for not bringing a coat. In the dark and wet, I trudged down the road, steeling myself against the elements. Cripes, it was cold! Rounding a corner, I headed across the farm yard and approached what appeared to be the only house for miles around. It was a small, simple building of rough-hewn, wooden planks, but it was an oasis to me at that point. A flickering light through one of the front windows gave me hope that I might at least get warmth and shelter, if not extrication, that night. As I raised my arm to knock on the door, a curious thought crossed my mind. Did these people just avoid outside contact or did they actively repel it? Would they open the door to let me in or to let the dogs out? I shivered, braced myself and knocked. I had no other option, but I tensed my legs to spring to a hasty retreat just in case. The latch twitched up, and the door creaked opened. A dark figure loomed in the opening. ... FLASH! BANG!! Rrrrumbumbumble ... Lightening illuminated my greeter, and thunder announced his presence. It was like a cheesy scene from a bad, 1950s' horror movie. Nevertheless, I jumped and yelped in surprised, "Aaa-uhhh!!" The old man looked exactly as I thought a Tannerite farmer would, in a Boris Karloff sort of way. He seemed thin and gnarly and, at the same time, rugged and sturdy. He had rough, weathered skin, a scraggly, chin-curtain beard, and a wart on the side of his nose. His dark eyes stared at me impassively. "Sorry," I apologized when I recovered from my startle, "Um ... Good evening. My name is Harvey Davis. My car is stuck in the mud on the road back there, and I was wondering if I could get some help." He continued to stare at me silently, and I wondered if there was going to be a language problem. Then he said, "Ye are vet." There was a long pause. Finally, I broke the silence, "Yes I am." "Kom," he commanded and held the door open for me. "Thank you," I said, as I stepped inside and removed my muddy shoes. He led me towards the glow. As we traversed the main room, I noticed that the house had relatively few belongings and the furniture all looked hand-made. A modest fire burned in the flagstone hearth, and I almost climbed into it to get warm. "Moeder, ist auslander," he called out to someone behind me, "Get towels and prepare dee room." "Ya, Vadder," a younger-sounding female voice responded. I glanced behind me and noticed a woman in a plain, dark, floor-length dress and a white, close-fitting, cotton hair bonnet leave the room. At the edge of the door she went through, the faces of two surprisingly beautiful young girls peeked around the corner. The younger one, who appeared to be about 18, had her long blonde hair braided in a ponytail, and the older one, who appeared to be in her early 20s, had her blonde hair cut close with a little bit of a natural wave. Both girls had grins that stretched from ear to ear and eyes that sparkled with novel excitement. The father turned on them sternly when he noticed their presence. "Aus!" he commanded, "Get thee to bed. There ist nicht for thee here!" Two sets of light feet pattered quickly down the hallway, accompanied by some muted giggling. Finally, the woman returned to the main room with a lit oil lamp in hand. She gave her husband a single nod. "Goede," he said, "My frau vill care for thee now. There ist nicht to do dis nacht. In morgen, I vill take horses and pull out dee machine." The instructions were expressed very clearly and sternly, and at the end, he added for emphasis, "Then ye vill go." "Well, thank you," I offered. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate your assistance." He stared at me for an uncomfortable moment without expression and then departed. As he passed his wife, he looked at her side-long and said, as if to remind her, "Kuisheid zak." "Ya, Vadder. Kuisheid zak," she repeated back to him in acknowledgement, and then, as he clomped out of the room and presumably off to bed, she turned to me, smiled and beckoned, "Kom." *** Washing Up *** My goodness, as I got a good look at her, I was struck with how beautiful she was. She couldn't have been more than 40. She had high cheekbones, tight, clear skin and dark, piercing eyes. I couldn't help but to stare, and when she noticed me gawking, she grinned in embarrassment and averted her eyes. Her lips pursed together in a coy effort to not smile, but when she turned her head back to me, she looked through the corner of her eyes and yielded a tooth-filled, little-girl grin. "Kom," she repeated coyly. ... I could have melted. I followed her out of the room and down the hall. In the distance, I thought that I saw the pale reflection of a face zip out of view and into the recess of a room on the right, but when we reached the end of the corridor, that room was dark and still. We, instead, turned left and entered the room across from it, which appeared to be a small, minimally appointed bedroom. The glow of the oil lamp revealed a wash basin filled with steamy water on a washstand, and a pile of towels and linens on the bed. It suddenly struck me as strange that, in all the times I had seen antique washstands in houses I had visited, I had never actually seen one used for washing ... until now. The woman closed the bedroom door, placed the lamp on the washstand and returned to where I was standing in the middle of the room. Then she started unbuttoning my shirt. "I can do that," I offered in deference to her modesty, but her fingers were working so quickly and diligently that I wasn't sure I could have helped the situation much. "Ney," she responded distractedly and continued her work, "I am to do." My soggy clothes plopped loudly on the floor as she took off my shirt and undershirt. When my chest was bare, she lingered with her glance a bit and then nervously got down onto her knees in front of me. She undid my belt and then delicately held the tongue of my zipper out from my body, perhaps to avoid touching my private parts. She ran it down its track, marvelling at its operation. I inferred by her reaction that the community did not use them. She zipped it back up and softly ran one of her fingers over the closed teeth. I felt a certain amount of perverted joy watching her do that, and when she realized what she appeared to be doing, she stopped and re-opened my zipper in a more business-like fashion. Grabbing the sides of my pants, she pulled them down. As I stepped out of them, I noticed that she had her head turned deliberately away from me in order to not look at anything she was not supposed to see. She threw the pants onto the pile and slipped off my socks, which followed. She turned back to me and reached up for the waistband of my shorts. As my bulge came into her eye-line, she couldn't help but to stare, and I think that I saw her eyes widen a bit, but once she had a hold of the sides of my underpants, she snapped her head away again, yanked them down and pulled them off my feet. All of this intimate attention was starting to have an effect on me. I know the group's religious piety and unspoilt innocence should have filled me with reverential respect, but a gorgeous woman's face was inches away from my naked penis, and so I ... and my penis ... couldn't help but get a bit enthused. Although my cock was not firm yet, it hung down a little more heavily than usual. In fact, when I shifted my feet, it had a bit of a sway in it, which I kind of liked, but I prayed that it wouldn't come much more to life and embarrass me. I tried to get my mind off of what was unfolding here. "I take clothes to dee fire," she said as she gathered them up. "I kom back." She opened the door and left with her armload. It seemed strange standing totally naked in the middle of the dimly lit room. I felt very vulnerable, even though the house was still and quiet. Well, not entirely quiet. A floorboard creaked in the distance ... outside my door ... in the hallway ... no, in the room across the hall. I stared into the darkness. I could barely make out a figure standing back from the room's doorway. I could see the paleness of a long white nightgown or something. It stayed perfectly still ... no, wait, it was approaching the door. A face appeared at the door jamb; it was the older of the two girls. She stared at me, bit her lower lip and scanned my body up and down. A more prudent man would have covered himself, stepped out of her eye-line or closed the door, but I just stood there, squinting into the darkness trying to figure out what she was doing. It became a moot point in any case when the woman returned to the room and the face withdrew immediately. She hustled in with the air of getting back to her chores, but when she incidentally caught sight of my cock again, it seemed to throw her. She looked away from me and towards the linens on the bed. Picking up a small hand towel, she came over and draped it at my waist. It only reached across my front, and she had to pin it on my hips with her hands. Its material hung down to just under my balls. I replaced her hands with mine and held it in place. It wasn't much cover, but she seemed to relax when the challenge to her modesty was out of view. I began to think, however, that this was going to be only a temporary solution, because I felt some stiffness coming on and I feared that my penis might "raise the curtain" for a peek around. ... Think about something else; think about something else. ... "What is your name?" I asked, hoping that I could distract myself. She had moved to the washstand, and I heard water squishing out of a sponge in the basin. "Klara," she answered behind me. "Klara, my name is Harvey." "Har-vey," she repeated. A wonderfully warm slop of water hit my upper back, and she began to rinse off the chill of the rain. The sponge felt decadently wet and soft and soothing as it travelled all over my back to my backside. She returned to the basin and squished in a new supply. "So, how long have you lived here?" All right, a stupid question I'll admit. All her life, no doubt, but I wanted to get her talking. She did not answer immediately. The sponge brushed all over my ass cheeks and the back of my legs. Then when she returned to the basin, she finally spoke, "I am nicht to speak mit thee." "Sorry," I offered. All right, I would shut up. Next came a soapy washcloth – uh oh! That felt a bit too good. The cloth glided slickly over my skin. It was very comforting and sensuous and erotic and ... No! Mind out of the gutter. ... It was very ... um ... cleansing. It felt very pure and sanitizing and massaging and rubbing and stroking and ... No, no, no!! Oh drat, my little pole was starting to rise. The washcloth ran over my butt and legs and then returned to my rear cleavage. It pushed between my cheeks slowly but firmly. The material scoured along the length of the channel, and then a hand on my back encouraged me to bend forward. The cloth re-entered my crack, and a cloth-wrapped finger probed around my pucker. It touched and prodded and tickled, and then a fingertip entered slightly. I inhaled as the pressure sent a shudder through my body. Across the hall, a face leaned forward into the doorway and then pulled back quickly. A splashing in the basin indicated to me that she was through down there, and so I righted myself. Looking down, I saw that my little guy had really committed himself to becoming firm, and the hand towel was pushing out noticeably. I didn't know what to do about it. If I held the towel out away from my body, the protrusion would not be as obvious, but then I would leave an indiscreet gap at my waist that would show too much. When I held the towel close to my body, it looked like a half-opened beach umbrella lying on its side. Klara rinsed off my back with the wet sponge and then brought it around to my front. As she spied the tenting material before me, she inhaled in surprise. In the low light, it was hard to tell if she was blushing, but as she wetted my front down, she definitely focused on her work and did not allow her eyes to stray below my waist. She scrubbed my chest and arms and then turned her head to the side as she dropped down to her knees. She blindly rinsed the tops of my feet and the front of my legs. When she had finished everything below the towel, she gingerly pinched its lower hem and, still without looking, lifted the cloth up and away from me. Freed from its light covering, my hard-on seemed to stretch out into the open air and extend toward her sideways-turned face, although I don't think it really grew in size in the process. She blindly dabbed the sponge up and towards me, compressing its soft material on my cock and balls. The wet smushing of the warm sponge felt very, very naughty. Klara stood up and let the towel fall back into place. My erection was now almost completely vertical, and the towel folded over my cock's length as if it had been hung over a towel rod. Klara returned with ... uh, oh ... with the soapy washcloth. Her progress was painfully measured – my chest, my stomach, my sides, my arms, then my feet, my shins, my knees, my lower thighs, my upper thighs, my gawd, my gawd, my gawd, ... Finally, she invaded above the towel line, but this time without lifting the towel out of the way. Klara's head was again to the side, and under the towel, the washcloth slowly felt around unguided. Like a soapy snail, the cloth-covered hand crawled and slimed around my lower area – stretching, sliding and gripping; stretching, sliding and gripping – slithering between my legs, over each ball and finally along my shaft. I was in squishy, sudsy heaven, and when I looked down at her, I saw her swallow nervously. Then I heard something wet hit the floor, but I couldn't figure out what it could have been, because the soaping continued. ... Wait a minute! Those were fingers that I felt, not the cloth. She was now cleaning my private parts very, very directly. I looked down and saw her face turned towards the towel. Her hand gently caressed and pulled on each ball, and then it wrapped around my penis and travelled up and down its length. Her eyes looked unfocused, and her breathing seemed very shallow, as she played and explored ... I mean, as she soaped and cleaned. Gawd, it felt fantastic! Snapping back to reality, she jolted when she looked up to see me watching her. She jumped to her feet and withdrew behind me. Her movements were forced and awkward, and I think she swore once when her hand hit the basin, but I didn't understand the word she used – "kak" or something. When she returned to my front, she thrust the sponge at me. "Here," she exclaimed, "Ye must rinse. I am to get sewing kit for dee kuisheid zak." In order to grab the sponge, I had to let go of one end of the towel, and it swung off my body revealing all. She glanced down at my exposed pole, turned abruptly on her heels in shock and exitted the room quickly. I stood for a moment in disbelief at the weird situation I found myself in, and then I dropped the other end of the towel and began rinsing my front. Hey, I had offered to do this in the first place. Kuisheid zak? What the heck was a kuisheid zak? And why was it ripped already that she needed to sew it? Out of the corner of my eye, a white blur crossed the doorway on the other side of the hall, but when I looked up, nothing was visible. When I finished rinsing myself off, I picked up the washcloth and plopped both it and the sponge back into the basin. Then I retrieved my towel and covered myself again. *** Sewing In *** Klara carefully peeked around the corner of the door and, seeing that I was covered, entered the room with a sewing kit under her arm. She crossed over to the bed and set it down. Then she fluffed out a sheet and smoothed it on top of the already made bed. Beckoning me with her hand by patting it on top of the sheet, she said, "Kom, ye must lie here." ... Hey, maybe I was going to get a massage. Perhaps, these Tannerites were pretty hospitable people after all ... in an archaic, rural, Aryan sort of way. I crossed over to the bed and climbed face-down onto the middle of the sheet, keeping the towel discreetly in position as I went. When I was in place, Klara moved my arms to my sides and yanked the towel out from under me ... which felt delicious ... and then she grabbed the far end of the sheet and folded it over my body. She got up on the bed and knelt by my side. ... Here we go. I get it – an all-over body massage done discretely through a sheet. Kind of kinky when you think about it. I settled in for the rubbing. Matching the two upper corners of the sheet, Klara started sewing. ... Sewing? ... Huh. ... I had to think about that for a minute. I turned my head. ... Yup, she was sewing the two parts of the sheet together. Her hands worked feverishly, and the stitching was quickly approaching my neck. ... Huh. ... "Um ... Klara?" I asked, "What ... um ... what are you doing?" "Kuisheid zak," she replied briefly. "Oh ... kuisheid zak." Huh. That explained nothing. "Uh, Klara?" I returned to the point, "I hate to be a bother, but what is 'kuisheid zak'?" The Chastity Sack She kept sewing. When she reached my neck, she leaned over my body and started sewing the top edges of the sheet on the other side of my head. "Klara?" I reminded her that she hadn't answered me. "Kuisheid zak. I don't know in auslander vords," she responded but sounded a little exasperated. "It ist zak to sleep in." "A sleeping bag?" "Maybe. I know nicht 'sleeping bag.' It ist ... It ist ... Ve have young daughters here. It ist tradition. Ye must nicht sleep here mit-aus dee zak," she finally ran through her explanation abruptly. She reached my neck on the other side and moved to begin sewing down the open side. She pulled the sides together and stitched very close to my arm, causing the "bag" to press tightly in against my body. Obviously, my arms were not meant to be on the outside. "Kuisheid is ven ye have nicht sex," she tried to clarify. Well that pretty much summed up my life. Maybe I should really pay attention to this; it seemed pretty appropriate. ... Hmmm ... What about ... "Virginity?" I offered. "Ney, I know dis vord. It ist nicht dat. It ist ven ye must have nicht sex." Okay then, marriage? No, too cynical. ... Oh! "Chastity," I said triumphantly. "Maybe, I know nicht dis vord." She kept sewing. Well, wasn't this quaint? The material got continually snugger around my body as her stitching moved further down. I began to wonder if ... "Hey!" I had a realization. "You don't need to do this," I informed her. "I'm not going to have sex with your daughters. I'm not some kind of pervert or predator, you know." She kept sewing. After a while, she eventually got to the bottom and finished sealing the lower edges of the sheet. Boy, this was a lot of trouble to go through. Maybe this is why the Tannerites don't have hotels. When she finished, she repacked her sewing kit and placed it on the washstand, and then she grabbed my arms and rolled me onto my back. I felt like a mummy. ... No, I felt like a shroud-swaddled body about to be committed to the sea for burial – slipped from the aft deck into the murky, churning waters ... churning ... water ... splashing ... soaking ... Uh, oh! I had a problem. "Klara?" Klara sat down on the bed beside me and placed her hand gently on my chest. I think she felt comforted that I was now covered and under control, although the sheet was sewn so tight to me that the outline of my penis was clearly profiled under it. "It ist tight, but ye vill sleep goede," she re-assured me. "Klara? I have a problem." "Ya. Vat ist dee problem?" "I have to pee," I informed her. She scrunched up her nose to indicate that she didn't understand. "I have to urinate," I clarified. She looked at me again blankly, and then her eyes widened with comprehension. "Ye must pass wasser?" she asked with some foreboding. I nodded my head. She rose slowly from the bed, surveyed her handiwork and assessed the implications of my statement. Then she went to her sewing basket, got out a pair of scissors and slowly sauntered back to the bed, somewhat dismayed but also lost in thought. When she arrived back, her eyes widened. "Kein problem. Kom." She rolled me onto my side and climbed onto the bed over my body. She pulled sideways on the sheet. It resisted her effort, but with more pulling, it slowly slid around my body. She pulled again until the stitching was mid-line of my front, and then she stopped. Inserting an arm under my neck, she helped me to sit up, and then she swung my legs over the side. Jumping off the bed, she stood in front of me, towering over my seated cocooned body, with scissors in her hand. ... Boy, this was a trust situation if I had ever seen one. She got down on her knees and reached into my lap for a piece of the seam. Pulling it away from my body, she snipped at the stitches with the scissors. A small hole appeared, which she carefully widened, but she seemed reluctant to start ripping the sheet apart. I thought that she was just trying to avoid the inevitability of it. Surely, this bag would have to come off, if I was going to relieve myself. ... Come on, sister, grit your teeth and start ripping. However, when she had made a shot-glass-sized hole, she stopped, and then she reached under the bed and pulled out a large bowl – a bedpan actually – which she placed on the bed beside me. Well, I wasn't understanding this. What contortions did she think I was capable of to relieve myself through that little hole into that pan over there without the use of my hands or legs. I couldn't even slide my arm inside the bag to get at my penis in order to push it out through the hole. But Klara wasn't through. She jumped up onto the bed and moved around behind me. Then she reached around my side and ... oh my goodness ... pushed a thumb and finger into the hole. She fished around a bit and finally found my fleshy hose. Pinching its base, she drew it out through the hole. ... Mmmm, that felt good. ... Then, she grabbed it with her hand and pulled along it a few times to ensure it was fully deployed. ... Mmmm! ... It felt great sliding through her hand, and I thought that she should consider checking it for a while longer so that I could really relieve myself. Leaning over and grabbing the bedpan with her other hand, she positioned it in my lap and then adjusted the angle of my penis as if she were elevating a mortar to fire over the rim of the pan. This clearly was not going to work. When she thought that she had is right, she looked at me for concurrence, but I just shook my head. "I think I need to be standing," I offered. Klara put the pan back down and helped me to my feet. I teetered a bit because my bound legs did not offer me a very wide stance, but I settled into position. She got off the bed and stood beside me. Holding the pan about thigh level with one hand, she pointed my penis towards it with the other hand ... and waited. Damn it. She had me thinking about it too much, and now I was pee shy. And how awkward was this, standing like a mummy with my dick pushed through a hole and a woman holding it at a bedpan? I feared that I might not be able to do it at all now. We waited. ... She held the penis with a thumb and two fingers. It was curious that she was not too timid to touch it now. I guessed that she was rationalizing it as some kind of first aid or something. ... We waited. ... Her hand started to pull gently along my penis's length. Oh, don't do that. Did she think she was milking a cow? It felt great, but if I got hard, we would be there all night. Of course, that might not be such a bad idea. My cock jumped at the thought, and she stopped her milking immediately. ... We waited. ... Running water, running water, running water, ... Finally, I felt the cue. I bore down on my bladder to get things going, just as ... no, don't ... just as she moved the bowl away to adjust her stance. No, no, no, don't do that. I was beyond the point of aborting the operation. "The bowl!" I cried out to warn her, but it was too late. The stream hit her sleeve. She yelped and brought the bedpan over in a split second. Focusing on the spraying hose, she positioned it to hit its mark. She had recovered well after that initial shot. It felt strange and exciting to have her little fingers holding onto my penis as pee streamed through it. She was moving it ever so slightly from side to side, and I suspected that she was playing with it a bit. I shouldn't have been thinking those things, because it made me firmer to do so. Finally, I was done, and she shook the last drops off the tip. And then she shook it again. And then she shook it again. And then ... mmmmm ... she squeezed her fingers together and pushed them up my shaft. ... Wow! Good ending. Klara set the bedpan down and pulled on my sheet at the hole so that my penis retracted back inside. Then she helped me sit back down on the edge of the bed. As I swung my legs up and reclined, I watched her hurry over to the basin and rinse out her sleeve. She seemed pretty concerned about it. She dipped the stain in the wash water and rubbed frantically, but she didn't seem satisfied with the outcome. Eventually, she grabbed the sewing kit and bedpan in a huff and hustled out of the room. In her haste, she left the oil lamp lit – I guess she was pretty distracted. *** Sneaking In *** Lying on my back in my mummy wrap, I stared up at the ceiling and listened, as the silence of the house pressed in around me. With the lamp left burning, I was not likely to drift off to sleep easily. I speculated whether she would be coming back and doubted the possibility. That exit had had a lot of finality to it. If not, I wondered when I was going to be freed from my binding ... emerging from my cocoon, transformed metaphorically into my more evolved butterfly self ... Sorry, got carried away there. ... And what if I had to go to the bathroom again? I got the impression that she would not be as likely to help me out a second time. I puffed my body out to see how strong the material and stitching were. ... Pretty strong. ... Unfortunately, being so tightly bound, I couldn't get any leverage, and so I concluded that I wasn't going anywhere. I exhaled in exasperation, "Whooooofff ..." "Whooooofff," came an echo from across the room. An echo? I looked quickly over at the door. Leaning against the frame was the older daughter. With her mouth widened into a huge, toothy grin and her eyes wrinkled into a giggly squint, she seemed pretty pleased with herself at mimicking me. What a sweetie! Her arms were casually crossed behind her back, and just beneath the hem of her long white nightgown, one of her bare feet was casually rubbing up and down the inside of her other calf. Pushing off the door frame, she took a long look down the hall and then, convinced that no one was about, entered the room and closed the door. She skipped across the room and sat down on the bed beside me, giving me another "aren't I adorable" grin. And in fact, she was. She acted younger and more spritely than I would have expected for her age, and her skin was rosy, flawless and glowing. As great a fantasy as this was becoming, a visual image of her father skewering me on his pitchfork flashed in my mind. Time to nip this little adventure in the bud. "What are you doing in here?" I asked, trying to sound stern. "Shhh ..." the girl replied, bringing an index finger to her lips. Boy, she looked pretty cute doing that, and her fingers looked so thin and delicate for a farm girl, and her lips looked so soft when they pressed against her finger, and her eyes ... No! Pitchfork, pitchfork, pitchfork ... "You shouldn't be in here," I suggested strongly. This time, she pressed her finger against my lips, and with her eyebrows arched up innocently, she shook her head from side to side to insist on my silence. I gave in. Her hand moved from my mouth to my cheek, where it slid lightly across my skin, almost adoringly. At my ear, a fingertip traced delicately around its sensitive outer edge and then followed the chin back to my mouth. The very end of a fingernail followed the ticklish outline of my lips, and then the finger gently compressed against the lips until it pushed between them and withdrew with a light smack. The girl was mesmerized by her exploration. She turned her head and scanned down my encased body, noting the profile of the growing bulge midway. Then she looked back at me and bit her lower lip impishly – she had evil on her mind. ... Not good, not good. Her hand started just under my throat and glided across my chest. It explored for my left nipple and, finding a sensitive area, rubbed it through the sheet until the hardened bud pushed up firmly under the material. A fingertip fiddled with it over and over until an electric, ticklish sensation seared into my breast and caused me to squirm. This encouraged her to do the same thing to the other side. Her finger vibrated rapidly above my other erect little nub, continually grazing it with a fingertip until another sizzling jolt penetrated me. She seemed to enjoy making me squirm without fear of retaliation or escape. Her hand moved slowly down my centerline to my stomach and then my abdomen and then my waist and then ... it stopped. We both knew where it was headed. Looking down at my face, she nodded her head and raised her eyebrows questioningly, as if to ask for permission to proceed. I shook my head vigorously – this was getting out of control, and she needed to stop. She moved her hand down anyways until a finger touched the head of my cock and stopped. She looked back at me and again nodded her request to continue, and again, I shook my denial of permission. She pouted and shook her head to mimic me but moved her hand down nevertheless so that another finger rested on my penis. She lowered her face close to mine and nodded again, but before I could even futilely respond, she had lowered her hand and gained further access. Then she coyly opened her mouth in a mock "oh-no" gesture and slid her hand fully over my cock. Geez, this was a tease! I squirmed my lower body out of the way and rolled onto my side away from her. I wasn't going anywhere, but I had to take a stand. Eventually, her face loomed over my shoulder and presented itself to my sideways turned face. She let out a fake little sigh of exasperation and, with very little effort, rolled me onto my back again. Then, she waggled her finger at me and shook her head in mock disapproval. Her hand and her attention returned to my cock, and she started to feel all over it and my balls. I didn't think she was trying to arouse me; instead, I thought that she just wanted to take the opportunity to explore – and explore she did. Fingers travelled up and down the sides of my shaft and along its underside and over my head and around my balls. It was getting too stimulating, and I was growing by the minute. Little thrills were occasionally running down my cock and into my spine, and I feared that she might accidentally find an especially erogenous location that would send me out of control. I tried to move a hand over to cover myself, but I couldn't make any headway against the tight sheet. I suddenly felt very restrained and claustrophobic ... and helpless. Her fingers danced lightly over my increasingly sensitive member, and my arousal kept building and building. Finally, a little moan escaped from the back of my throat. I couldn't help it, and it was a tactical error on my part. On hearing my moan, she looked at me in surprise, suddenly realizing that she had been stimulating me. With a little boost of energy, she hopped up onto her knees on the bed beside me and leaned over my face. Her nose was only a few inches from my nose, and her eyes stared intently into mine. Then she returned her hand to its previous activity, tracing and tickling and caressing and rubbing, trying to recreate my reaction. She ran a finger and thumb down either side of my shaft, and then squeezed and toyed with my balls, and then ran a fingertip up the underside of my cock to trace a few laps around the tip, and then lay her palm on top of my penis and pushed a long, steady stroke down its length. I tried ... I really tried to show no emotion, but that last stroke was too much. I moaned throughout its push, and she inhaled sharply in surprise as soon as she heard me. The corners of her mouth went up, and she tried the stroke again and then again. Oh my gawd, what would happen in the morning if I were to make a mess in the sheet tonight? This was getting dangerous. "Hmmmphfff!!!" I groaned on the last stroke, and when I opened my eyes, I saw a bright twinkle in her eyes and a huge grin on her lips. I was totally in her control. I thought it was all over at that point. She had my number. A few more well-applied strokes and I'd be cumming like a spitting cobra. In the morning, the mother would find me wallowing in the cum-soaked evidence and would run around the house madly shrieking some Dutch-German alarm. The father would burst in, pitchfork already in hand, and impale me with a single, well-practised thrust, using the cum stain as an improvised bull's-eye. Then, with my corpse conveniently pre-bound in a body bag, the family would casually toss me in the back of their horse-and-buggy like a sack of potatoes, trot me out to some open-faced pit down the lane, and roll me down its side to fall amongst the other bags of unfortunate auslanders who had also violated their customs. The film loop ran over and over in my mind – cum, scream, stab, toss ... cum, scream, stab, toss, ... but all of a sudden she stopped. I unclenched my eyes and looked into her face. She was still staring at me, and she still had that devilish sparkle in her eyes, but she seemed to be pondering something. Her features softened, and she bent forward slowly. The tip of her nose slid down the side of my nose as her mouth approached mine. Her lips sucked in a bit of my upper lip and then released it. Then they grabbed the side of my lower lip and then let it go. She moved more over top of me and pressed both her lips onto mine. They were smooth and soft and pliable. She kissed me slowly several more times, experimenting with pressure and wetness and openness. She breathed into my mouth as she became more aroused. At least if we were kissing, I would be less likely to make a life-threatening accident, so I relaxed and allowed myself to enjoy her. I stuck the tip of my tongue between her lips on one occasion, and it made her giggle. She must have thought I was fooling around. When I tried it a second time, she nipped it playfully with her front teeth and giggled again. She kissed me more forcefully for a few more minutes, and then, just as I was getting into it, she raised herself up and flashed me a big smirk. Bending to give me one last smacky kiss, she jumped off the bed and scurried out of the room. Huh ... Well, that had been fun. But as much as I had wanted to stop the inappropriate intimacy earlier, I was now aroused and hard and unsatisfied. I couldn't win, but at least I stood a good chance of waking up unperforated in the morning. *** Playing Around *** Or did I speak too soon? Hearing a commotion, I looked up to see the younger daughter in the doorway. She was looking at me somewhat timidly but with wide eyes. Pushed from behind, she lurched into the room and then turned to flee just as quickly but was stopped by her sister at the door. She tussled with her a bit to try and escape but failed, so she planted her back against her door guard and pushed, either to back them both out of the room or to minimize her presence there. She giggled with the effort and was shushed by her sibling, who whispered something in her ear. The younger girl's eyes widened, and she shook her head very definitely against the suggestion ... but the older girl seemed undeterred. The older girl shoved her sister again, and despite the resistance of her feet scuttering on the floor, the two worked their way over to the bed. The younger one's mouth and eyes kept flashing signs of playful fear or nervous excitement as they neared. At the edge of the bed, she received one last shove and toppled on top of me, her ponytail whipping around and hitting me in the face. She quickly rolled over to the far side of the bed, uncomfortable with our sudden close contact, and then raised herself up on her elbow. The older girl laid down calmly on the nearer side of the bed and leaned on her arm next to my head. I was now surrounded. If the situation had been nearly out of control with the older girl's solo visit before, it seemed hopelessly dangerous with the two-some in attendance now. I looked fretfully from one sister to the other. The older girl gave a "get on with it" nod in my direction to her sister, who shook her head in refusal. Undeterred, the older one, as if to encourage her, leaned down and gave me a soft sensual kiss on the lips, which smucked audibly at the end. She turned her head to check her sister for a reaction and saw that she was gaping in disbelief. The Chastity Sack The demonstration continued. The older girl turned her head back and gave me another long kiss, followed by a trail of nibbles that moved across my cheek to my ear. ... Oh gawd, not my ear. A tingle vibrated down my spine and re-invigorated my hard-on. When she finished, the older girl moved her head down next to mine until our cheeks were touching. Together, we were looked up at her sister. She brought her hand up in front of our tandem faces and wiggled a "come hither" gesture to the young girl with her finger. This was, indeed, getting dangerous. I wanted to roll out of the way, but I was hemmed in by the two bodies. I wanted to push them away or at least hold them off, but my arms couldn't budge against the binding. I was at their mercy. The younger sister's resistance melted. She looked down at us longingly. Her face started down towards us and then hesitated, too timid to continue. Her sister reached up, placed a hand gently on the back of her neck and drew her down to us. The younger one's mouth gently floated onto mine. Her velvety lips gave me the essence of a kiss. It existed and then dissolved like a film of alcohol exposed to air, leaving me with a tingle on my lips and a warm glow in my chest. She raised her head and examined me, and seeing nothing distressful, she leaned in and gave me another fairy kiss – sweet and ephemeral. Then her sister joined in, and they took turns nibbling and pecking and bussing. I was floating on a cloud, and my hard-on pushed firmly up against the restraining sheet. Eventually, the older one whispered something in her sister's ear that caused her to rear back. Initially, her face expressed shocked, but then it took on more a look of disbelief. The older one rose onto her elbow and nodded her head up and down very deliberately to reinforce her view that her suggestion was, indeed, going to happen. The younger girl bolted. She jerked up onto her knees and tried to lunge off the bed but was caught by her sister in mid flight. A tussle ensued, and over top of my immobile body, arms tangled and entwined. The younger girl tried to break free of her sister, but grappling hands and flailing arms prevented her escape. And then suddenly in the melee, a hand clasped tightly on her nightgown collar, tugged downwards and exposed two soft, pale and innocent little breasts. The young girl reflexively gasped and cupped her hands quickly over her uncovered treasures, but the manoeuvre left her precariously unbalanced. Giggling, the older girl pulled down further on the gown, eliciting a helpless plea of, "ney, ney, ney, ney, ney, ..." from her sister, and then she pushed against her unstable stance, toppling her onto me. The younger girl thrust out her arms on either side of my head to break her fall, causing one breast to smack against my cheek. The older girl continued to yank her sister's nightgown off her, and the younger girl wiggled her body to counter, inadvertently wobbling her small breasts against my mouth. Soft gelatine mounds dabbed and mushed and slapped against my lips. Finally – because I am only human – I let loose a flurry of licks and sucks and kisses. Tender, pliant, perfectly formed flesh entered my mouth and became moist with my saliva. Then, a little bud landed on my tongue, was assaulted by my lips and withdrew slowly from my sucking grip. Almost immediately, another one presented itself. I opened my eyes to see the young victim no longer struggling against her disrobing. Instead, she was concentrating on alternating her nipples into my devouring mouth. One nipple would barely pull up from its wet service, when another would rotate into position behind it. The older girl, having deposited the nightgown onto the floor, moved up to my face to watch the servicing more closely. Her sister looked down at her with an expression of helpless abandonment and began to whine with pleasure. A left nipple, a right nipple and then back again. I licked and sucked and kissed. The older girl stared at us with intense curiosity until the young one took her turn at tugging at her sister's nightgown, inviting her to join in. She took the hint. Pulling her nightie down to her waist, the older girl set free two full, perfectly proportioned, teardrop breasts that swayed seductively with her movement. She leaned towards my face and was given access by her sister. A fleshy bulb quivered down onto my mouth and pushed inside. I tongued and sucked on the offering, causing the older girl to rear back in surprise. Her sister brought a hand up to her own mouth and giggled at the reaction. The older girl, recomposed, lowered herself back onto my welcoming mouth and reacted, this time, by murmuring with pleasure. Her sister moved in next, and soon, I lost track of whose fleshy mound was pushing against my conforming lips and whose bullet-hard nipple was quivering at the tip of my vibrating tongue. One soft, young breast was replaced immediately with another, all the time accompanied by the sustained whimpering of two excited, high-pitched whines. Oh, why was my body bound in the face of this unrepeatable opportunity? I wanted so much to leap up immediately and violate either of the girls ... or both of them, for that matter. I guess that was the answer to my question right there. In frustration, I began to hump the sheet that was tightly pressing against my hard-on. Then, with a breast pushed into my mouth and a nipple vibrating stiffly against the tip of my tongue, the older girl suddenly sucked in an audible lungful of air, gripped the back of my head with her hand and pressed her chest forcefully against my mouth. From deep inside her, a low, muffled moan reverberated strongly up her throat and out her mouth. "Ohmmuughphh!!!" Her whole body spasmed, and her breast convulsed against my tongue. Afterwards, little trembling eddies travelled up and down her body, and eventually she collapsed on her side, breathing heavily. The younger girl stared down at us, her eyes wide in amazement, or perhaps even fear, at the unrestrained reaction she had witnessed. The older girl smiled at her sister's worrisome expression, reached up and petted her cheek reassuringly. The younger girl took solace from the gesture and laid down on my other side, and together, the three of us took a breather. ... It suddenly became quiet and still in the room. *** Going Further *** The older girl blindly traced little patterns on my chest with her fingertips. Her fingers looked like the legs of a figure skater on the snowy white sheet covering my body. A circle, a figure eight, a diagonal line – the two-finger performer skated across my chest, around my stomach, back up, then down again, then ... it ran into my bulge. The older girl rose onto her elbow and cast her eyes down the sheet, suddenly reminded that more fun was at hand. She reached over, took hold of her sister's hand and, smiling, placed it gently on my chest. Then she pulled it slowly down my front, over my stomach, over my waist, and up onto my bulge. The younger girl whipped her hand away in shock and sat upright to see what she had just touched. The older girl traced around the outline of my penis and balls, and then up over top of them and down both sides. Her light touch tickled as she went. She reached over and took her sister's hand again, which this time was a more willing participant. Together, the hands explored my sack and shaft and head – touching, squeezing, feeling and rubbing through the sheet as they went. It felt fantastic. My breathing became noticeably faster and louder. Then, the older girl developed a huge, evil grin. With her hand, she turned her sister's face towards mine and then guided her into making a long, slow, firm stroke with her palm down my shaft, as she had remembered from her previous session with me. I squinched my face and took in a long deep breath. The younger girl's mouth grinned broadly and her eyes twinkled brightly as she saw the effect she had caused. She stroked me again, this time on her own. I couldn't keep quiet. The long stroke along my hard-on felt like a long stroke along the nerves of my spine. I squirmed and expelled an "Errounmphh ..." The two girls looked at each other and giggled. She stroked again. "Errmunphh ..." "Stop," I tried to whisper to them, "You have to stop." I was not going to be able to hold out if this continued. It felt great, but we were definitely entering pitchfork territory ... as good as the ride was getting there. The older girl leaned over my face to shush me, and then another stroke was administered. I squinted my eyes and moaned, which prompted my silencer to begin kissing me. I don't know if she wanted to share my experience orally or just quieten my protestations, but her lips worked energetically. Wet smooching, wet smooching, firm stroke; wet smooching, wet smooching, firm stroke; ... I was beginning to plateau. I clenched my loins to prevent the pending release. Then the stroking ceased, and with a tap on the older girl's shoulder, so did the kissing. When I opened my eyes, I noticed the girls hovering over my waist. The younger one was occupied with something on the sheet. I hoped that it wasn't a wet spot or a stain. The older girl extended a finger to investigate, and then all off a sudden, I felt ... oh heavens! ... I felt her a fingertip touching the skin of my penis. ... Oh gawd!!! They had found the hole in the bag!! The older girl poked around the hole to see what she could get access to. Fingers prodded at my hard cock and worked it towards the hole. She was figuring it out. "Don't!" I tried to stop the developing situation, but she merely looked up and smiled at me. The smile implied, "It's cute that you think I would stop," and her excavating continued. Finally, geometries aligned, and my shaft pushed vertically through the opening like a retractable car antenna being engaged. The two girls watched in amazement, and for a moment, the exposed pole became the focus of all our silent attention. The older girl was the first to budge. She ran a finger lightly along the skin from top to bottom. I felt a corresponding tingle travel down my shaft. She then engaged her whole hand, touching and squeezing and sliding. Eventually, I couldn't help but to squirm my hips, and the two girls looked at each other with large smiles. The older girl grabbed her sister's hand and drew it into service. There was a little bit of resistance, but curiosity facilitated her participation. A creamy soft hand wrapped around my eager erection; the thin digits and little joints made a couple of exploratory slides. Then, holding the pole erect at the base, she brought her other hand up and scrutinized the head with a fingertip. She seemed especially captivated by the slit. The tip of a fingernail poked at the hole and managed to rub across the sensitize inside skin, causing a jolt to shoot down my urinary tract and my hips to flinch. The younger girl must have thought that she had hurt me because she leaned in and gave the head a little ... a cute little ... a tender little ... kiss. ... Ohhhh ... I groaned appreciatively, and so the older girl placed her hand on the back of her sister's neck and encouraged her to keep at it. The kissing continued. I hadn't anticipated oral attention, and I knew that I would have little resistance to it. Without thinking, I jerked my arms uselessly to intercede; they didn't move an inch. Warm, wet lips were molding themselves around my cock head and drawing slowly over its tender surface. I tried to rock my body out of the way, as I moaned with the dangerously building pleasure. The older girl flung her body onto my chest to settle me down and whispered to me, "Ney, ney, ney, ney, ... shh, shh, shh, shh, ...," but my moaning continued. The older girl knew that she was on to something and pushed down on her sister's head to get her to take more of me in. Then she leaned back and began kissing me aggressively to muffle my protestations. I couldn't move, I couldn't struggle, I couldn't cry out, but I sure could feel the warmth and wetness of the young girl's mouth bearing down on my helpless shaft and the nervous feeling gripping and twinging my balls. I tried to object – to warn them – but my throaty words were caught by my upper molester's mouth and turned into a muffled murmur. I bucked my hips, but my lower molester kept a grip on her oral project and renewed her activity. My balls gripped, my thighs cramped, and suddenly, a contraction in my abdomen sent cum rushing through my cock and into the unexpecting mouth beyond. The younger girl tried to reel back in surprise, but a hand still on the back of her head kept her engaged. I shot and shot and shot, filling her virginal mouth. Finally, she pulled off and sat straight up, a look of incredulity on her face. Her sister glanced over to check on the after-effects. The younger girl's eyes were wide with shock, and her sister asked her, "Vas?" with concern. The young girl's lower jaw opened slowly, and a creamy mixture of cum and saliva drooled down her chin and dripped onto her innocent, white breasts. She looked like she was going to cry, and then she started coughing. She clamped a hand over her mouth, leaped off the bed and ran from the room. Her sister bolted out behind her. The room was quiet and empty again. As flush faded from my brain, a wave of pleasant exhaustion washed over me. I lay still. *** Coming Back *** A thin trickle of cum residue ran down my abandoned pole. I was concerned that a stain would develop and glanced down to check. I suddenly realized that, regardless of a stain, having my penis on the outside of the bag was probably more of a give-away and was therefore definitely pitchfork material. I scrunched my hips to draw the little indiscretion back inside but couldn't get enough movement on it. I grew worried. It had, however, moved a bit when I tried, and so I theorized that, with enough attempts, I might be able to work it back in. I scrunched my hips again and achieved some success, but the tension on the sheet caused the hole to grip my penis and pull along it, resisting my effort. I tried again, and again, it gripped and pulled ... and felt kind of good in doing so. ... Focus! ... Scrunch – slip, grab, puullll, ummm ... No, try again. Scrunch – slip, grab, puullll, ummm ... Arghhh! This was frustrating! Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch – pull, pull, pull ... Ummm!! ... Well, it was pointless now; I had succeeded in pulling on it enough to turn it into a substantial hard-on again. I laid my head back and closed my eyes. What now? What were the chances that a single pitchfork blow could miss all major arteries and vital organs? If I swung my legs off the bed, how far could I get by hopping in my bag? If I pleaded that my penis had become overheated in the middle of the night, would my exposure be excused? The creak of a floorboard ended my positing. I opened my eyes and noticed the older sister bending beside the bed to retrieve the discarded nightgowns. When she stood up, our eyes met. I saw that she intended to just gather and run, but I needed her to help me out. "Please," I whispered to her, "Tuck me back in." She stared at me blankly and then shushed me. What was with all the shushing? My exposed member would get me in trouble whether her parents woke up now or later. I guessed that we were having communication problems, and so I bounced my hips up and down to draw her attention to my predicament. When she looked down at my signal, her eyes fixed on my hard-on and bugged out. Oh, no. She had misunderstood. She looked back at me, smiled and nodded her head. ... No, no, no. Just adjust it ... She bent over my waist ... just ... Awww, she took me into her mouth. I was back on dangerous ground. She had been an attentive learner of her sister. My cock slipped soothingly into her mouth like a bather's leg sliding into a warm bath. After her first suck, she looked back at me warily, checking my reaction. I took it that she wanted to avoid replicating "everything" that her sister had experienced. When she saw that I was not on the verge of exploding, she went down again ... Jeeezzz, that felt good. Way too good. Maybe she would get the whole treatment after all. ... No! If she bolted, then I continued to risk exposure and a potential stain. I had to get her to quit and cover me up. "Stop," I pleaded, but she just grinned and continued. The nightgowns slid out of her hand and flopped back onto the floor as she lost herself in her task. She dropped her hand, now free, to between her legs and rubbed herself rhythmically. Soon, a low whining sound mixed with her light slurping. I was having trouble controlling myself, but she seemed to be having an even harder time. As the motion of her hand increased, her head pulled away from its bobbing and dropped sideways onto my stomach, lost in concentration. Her breathing was loud and laboured. She rose and looked back at me pleadingly through squinting eyes. She needed relief. Her hand continued to swipe furiously, and a low anxious moan vibrated from her throat. "Ooohh!!" Maybe I should have shushed her. Facing the bottom of the bag, she climbed up on the bed and straddled my chest. Then she started riding me. Propped on her knees, she rocked her hips forward, dragging her vagina down my torso on top of the sheet; then she rocked her hips back, bearing down again as she recoiled. Back and forth, back and forth ... As I watched her ass cheeks separate and clench with the movement, I imagined her crack mouthing the moans she was uttering. Her rubbing soaked the sheet with her juices along the track of friction. Back and forth, back and forth ... The sheet pulled and pushed over my body in synchronicity with her bucking, causing the hole to flip and flop my cock up and down. Each time my penis whipped up toward my abdomen, it slapped against the sheet, reminding the girl of her abandoned duty. She leaned down to take me back in her mouth, but she was too far down my body, so she wiggled her hips towards my face, causing her to cease her grinding. An engulfing warmth told me that she had returned to her sucking. Her vagina hovered tantalizingly over my face. Despite my concern for the situation, I felt compelled to return her favours, and I reached up with my tongue and licked her pussy. ... She froze immediately. I licked again. It was a slow lingering lick that started at the top of her slit and pushed her lips gently apart as it travelled down. She moved her hips slightly in reaction. I licked again – slow and wet and mushy. In a quick, deliberate motion, she moved around on top of me and re-straddled my head. Now visible, her face looked anxious, eager and determined. She reached down, spread her pussy lips apart with her fingers and lowered herself onto my mouth. We were now working to her agenda; I was not required to be consulted. My entire field of view was taken up by smooth, pink flesh and soft, curly hair. A moist fold of skin grazed my mouth. ... "Ohnnunhh," she moaned. ... It had a pleasant, pungent scent that seemed to exude erotic anticipation. I licked what was offered, ... "Ohnnunhh" ... and the taste provided the same indication. The girl manoeuvred herself over me with precision – up ... "Ohnnunhh" ... to the left ... "Ohnnunhh" ... down a bit ... "Ohnnunhh" ... over ... "Ohnnunhh" ... smushed in ... "Ohnnunhh!!" ... I just licked, and she oriented the places on her pussy that needed my tongue's attention. Then, she focused on rocking into my mouth, and her movements became very forceful. Smush, smush, smush ... "Ohnnunhh! Ohnnunhh! Ohnnunhh!" Juices trickled down my chin and cheeks, and I found it hard to take a breath. Suddenly, she grabbed the sides of my head and bore down. I couldn't breathe at all, and my arms fought vainly against the tight bag as they instinctively tried to reach up and push her off.