Collaboration



She liked that quite a bit, but expressed her fantasy of showing her body to many men. Many men in person. Again I quickly penned a story that combined both our dark urges and suggested a boyfriend who wanted to please her so much that he would hire actors to fill a room and portray a white slave auction scene where her clothes would be shed from her while she was displayed to a roomful of men bidding on owning her charms. I told her to pick a friend of hers to share this fantasy with for realism. I told her that I could vividly picture her on a stage. A man holding a chain connected to a collar around her neck. He demands she strip....watching her do so and her trying to hide how excited she is at following her instructions. Men waving cards...festive...a selected group called to the stage to get a closer look...fondling her...probing. Money exchanging hands...the actors playing their roles very well.
Of course it is now my turn to contribute my twisted passion into the story whereas the ropes that the auctioneer is now binding his merchandise with is very tight. She and her friend demand that he stop. That the scene is now over. But he continues without hesitation and stuffs a wadded cloth in her mouth and gags her with a piece of duct tape as routinely as if he has done it several times before. Her and her friend now realize that the action on the bidding floor was quite real as foreign men drag their squirming bodies to awaiting transport.

When I signed off she was teasing me. Telling me she would be waiting. I would have loved to see the expression on her face when I knocked on her door. She asked who it was...her voice trembling. In her mind she must have thought a visitor was pure coincidence. However, I told her it was her favourite author. The silence was deafening...but I'll be damned she opened the door. I dreamed of this moment far too long to not be very efficient gagging and binding my curvy little exhibitionist. The read scarf gag was in her mouth quickly and I tied her wrists behind her back with the same expertise. She was twisting and fighting her restraints on her living room couch. She twisted and faught as I bound her ankles, her struggles had shifted the sheer fabric of her night gown to reveal a glimpse of the delightful curves she so advertised. She did not scream, but I best can describe it as purred as I played with her nipples through her sheer clothing and told her that it should not take me too long to rustle up some friends to witness me stripping her of that gown.
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