Twisting on the Gallows Pole

by Belinda LaPage

Caution: This Erotic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Consensual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Size, Teacher/Student, Slow, School, .

Desc: Erotic Sex Story: Belinda needs a favor. She'd be happy to ask Mr Gallows for just about any favor - and he would do just about anything for his favorite student - but this is a big one. Fortunately she has a plan: a sex game to satisfy his every need, his deepest fantasies. With nothing more than an old, faded game of Twister, $300 worth of lingerie and a spoonful of courage she is ready to play for what she needs

Prologue

It's possible I'm not Mr Gallows' favourite person at the moment. It's equally possible that I am in fact his number one favourite person ... OK, top five, whatever. It very much depends on what is happening right now in the gym.

My two minute biography – in case you need catching up – is this: I'm in my final year at a posh boarding school in Sydney. At the beginning of the school year, I accidentally seduced the headmaster (that's Mr Gallows – very tall, cute, little bit nerdy, wonderful lover) and we have been seeing each other secretly ever since. Not long after, I was seduced (that's my story, and I'm sticking to it) by my roommate (that's Rupali – very tall, sexy, little bit funny, wonderful lover) and we have also been seeing each other ever since.

Now here's the tricky bit, so pay attention: Rupali and Mr Gallows had complimentary sexual fantasies. I took it as my solemn duty to put them together and as a result Mr Gallows knows about me and Rupali, but Rupali only knew that I was sleeping with a mystery man. She thought it was one of the boy boarders and I was protecting his identity; she had no idea it was a faculty member, let alone the headmaster. This was a good thing because if news gets out then he's out of a job: forever probably.

The reason I might not be so popular with Mr Gallows is because Rupali found out. From me, no less! But it wasn't my fault. The reason why I might be very popular is because Rupali wants to share him with me ... and she can be pretty persuasive. And it's all happening right now.

Anyway, that's a story for another day. For now, here's the first part of the story of how she found out about us. Enjoy.

Love,

Belinda.

P.S. One more thing you need to know in case you missed my earlier stories: Mr Gallows invents and modifies sex toys as a hobby. I told you he's a bit nerdy. Love, B.


I may only be 18 (well 19 next month) but I know how the world works. If you need a favour, a big favour, then you're wise to catch your target when they're grateful for your company – or in a moment of weakness – but ideally both. I needed a favour from Mr Gallows; I needed him to make me a sex toy.

Rupali recently bought me a gift: a strapless strap-on dildo. Our relationship is not especially lesbian – or even bi-sexual – we're just curious girls and we have sex the way we would with guys. It's more convenient this way because we don't get many opportunities to go out with guys in the senior girls' dorm, so tongues and strap-ons make a lot of sense.

The dildo was a gift for me – not for her – because of its size; I mean I could wear it to make love to her (yes, I've tried), but it's too small to make her come. She can climax with my tongue or my fingers, but the only other times have been using nine inches of Silver (the famous Senior Girls' Dorm double-ended dildo) and with Mr Gallows (also nine inches). Try as I might (and yes, again, I've tried), I can't find a nine inch strapless strap-on online.

Why strapless? Nobody who had tried both a strapless and a strappy (is that even a word?) dildo would ask. There is no comparison. Spike – that's our name for the strapless dildo - is ready to go in seconds; no mucking about with straps and buckles and tightening and blah, blah, blah; just slip it in and get to work. But that's not the main thing: a girl with a strappy looks ... well ... a little ridiculous. I'm not sure why; she just does. Even a beautiful girl like Rupali – it just detracts. But a strapless looks like it belongs; I wouldn't exactly say it looks real – unless you get the light just right – but it looks right ... purposeful ... sexy.

Mr Gallows has made us some stunningly impressive sex toys and I promised Rupali that I would ask my mystery man for a nine inch strapless. After I agreed to ask, then she dropped the bomb: she wanted the dildo modelled on his cock. I tried to imagine his cock – with all of its familiar curves and contours – on my body while I made love to Rupali. Weird? Maybe a little. Sexy? Oh my goodness, yes! Would I ask him? Oh, please!


I was going to have to pull out all stops for this favour; he was going to need some serious softening up. I love an erotic game and the people I involve usually approve; Mr Gallows is no exception. I figured that a new game – one tailored especially for him – was a sure bet to curry favour.

All this happened last month. Mr Gallows and I always time our meetings so that we can come and go undetected, but that makes it difficult when I share a room with Rupali; more so these days when we share a single bed. As a result, it had been a fortnight since we had last met and our texts to each other were getting a little desperate.

I considered that the best approach was to come clean with Rupali and let her know what I was planning; otherwise I would never get the chance to pull it off.

"Sweetie," I began, choosing a vulnerable moment when we were changing out of our uniforms after school. "Would it be OK if I snuck out tonight after lights-out? On my own?"

"Why?" she asked, turning around to smile at me in her bra and panties. "Got a special delivery coming from your mystery man?"

"Kind of, yeah," I said tentatively, looking down at my feet. "It's been a while."

"What's in it for me?" she asked, grinning.

"Well its funny you ask," I answered brightly. "Because tonight I'm going to ask him for that favour: the new toy."

"Ooooh goody!" she laughed, eyes flashing with excitement. "And he'll model it on himself, right? I only ask because you won't let me have the real thing again."

"I'm sorry Sweetie," I apologised sincerely. "I can't tell you why, but you have to trust me: it's not because I don't want to; I just can't."

"No I'm sorry," she sighed, coming over for a hug. I felt a now familiar tingle as her firm breasts pressed into my cheek (she is thirteen inches taller than me, so that's as high as I reach). "I shouldn't give you a hard time about it. But it's really hard not to feel just a little jealous. In some ways I almost wish you didn't orchestrate that Fantasy Night; then I wouldn't know what I was missing."

I felt bad about that too. Mr Gallows and I aren't exclusive and I would love nothing more than to share him with Rupali – preferably at the same time – but he was immovable on the subject. The risks we took on that one night were bad enough and he reckons I was lucky to pull it off without him being discovered. Maybe he's right, but I do hate to keep these two halves of my sex life separate.

So that was Ruplai sorted: I had my leave-pass. The next step was a text to Mr Gallows:

"New game :-D CU 2nite?"

I got a reply back within about thirty seconds; I like that about him: he's not concerned about appearing too keen like boys my age.

"11pm Teachers' Lounge. Can't wait."

And yes, I shit you not, he uses grammatically correct apostrophes in his texts.


Rupali and I went to our own beds that night and when I turned on my torch to get dressed again she opened her eyes to watch me sneak out.

"Why're you wearing that?" she whispered.

"Insurance," I hissed. "Go to sleep, you're making me feel all guilty for leaving you."

"I can't sleep," she said in her best guilt-inducing voice. "Tell me a bedtime story." Then seeing the frustration and urgency on my face: "Please? Just a little one and then I can go to sleep."

"Mmmmm," I grumbled. "OK. Shove over." She knows I'm a sucker for story-telling and she's not above manipulating me to entertain her. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it. She rolled away from me, facing the wall, and I slipped into bed behind her, reaching around under her armpit to cup one large, full breast. She wriggled back contentedly against my body.

"Who's it about?" she asked.

"This is a story I haven't finished writing yet, so I may need to make bits of it up as I go," I said. "It's about a guy called Bob."

"Is this Bob your Physics lab partner?" she sighed complainingly.

"No-oo!" I said in my most convincing As-If voice.

"Cos you've got such a schoolgirl crush on him," she teased.

"What? Do not!" I defended myself vehemently.

"OK then, what's this Bob like," she said resignedly, giving up the chase.

"Handsome. But in a geeky-cute kind of way. Way shy with girls."

"Oh my God," she giggled. "It is so Bob from Physics. You are so in denial!"

"So it seems you don't want a story... ," I said coolly, belying the blush on my cheeks.

"I apologise Blinny," she said primly, following it with a little snort of laughter. "Please continue."

"OK. So Bob's on a plane. And today he's B.O.B – that's flight-attendant code for Best On Board – the cutest guy on the plane..."

I went on with the story, stroking her breast through the slippy satin of her nightie, lifting my head and whispering hotly in her ear as I got to the sexy bits. I could tell Rupali had a hand under her nightie and was stroking herself to the cadence of my voice and my hand on her breast. As I reached the climax, with a beautiful flight attendant impaled and coming on Bob's hard shaft in the airplane bathroom, Rupali stiffened and reached her own quiet orgasm in my arms.

I quickly closed out the story, leaving an opening for the next instalment in the best tradition of 1001 Arabian Nights, then kissed her and slipped silently out the door, through the dorm and downstairs to the teachers' lounge at the foot of the stairs. Sometimes I meet Mr Gallows in sick-bay so that we can use the recovery cot, but it means I have to sneak all the way out of the building, so I prefer the lounge even without something comfortable to lie on.

Mr Gallows was already there; sitting on the couch drinking a glass of wine. My usual greeting is to run and launch myself into his arms, but with the bag of tricks I was carrying and the awkward possibility of upending his wine glass, I just padded over, left my bag on the coffee table and gently straddled his lap with my knees, leaning my whole body close and kissing him softly on the lips.

"I missed you, Sir," I breathed, kissing him again, a little harder this time.

"Me too," he said through my kisses, adjusting himself inside his pants. "Wine?"

"Are you allowed to offer me alcohol?" I quizzed him. "I thought there was a rule about that."

"Are you serious?" he asked, pulling back and looking at me with his brows knitted together. In fairness, he was deeply conflicted about having sex with a student, but he has long since rationalised it to himself.

"No, I'm fucking with you again," I smiled. "I'll just sip yours; I don't want you getting me drunk and taking advantage of me." I took his glass and did exactly that.

"I think the opposite is a much more distinct possibility," he laughed. "Exactly what do you have in store for me? Oh, and nice dress, by the way, Belinda."

It was tradition for me to wear my old summer school dress when we met privately. I bought it before my boobs grew in and hemmed it to a racy length. It was what I was wearing the first time we made love. It's either borderline obscene or incredibly sexy, depending on your mindset, and Mr Gallows was very firmly in the second camp.

"Well," I began. "You know how you love my games?"

"Hmmmm. Yeeeeees?" he said suspiciously.

"Well I've made one just for you," I chirped.

"How thoughtful," he smiled. "What makes it so special that it's especially for me?"

"OK," I said, getting off his lap and picking up my bag with a smile. "So I Googled the 1980's and according to several impeccable sources you guys practically spent the entire decade playing... ," I paused for dramatic effect, reaching into my bag. "Strip Twister!" I sang, pulling out an ancient Twister game that I rescued from a cupboard in the dorm. I gave him my sunniest smile: "So whaddaya think?"

He laughed, deeply and genuinely; I could see tears standing out in the corners of his eyes. "OK," he said, getting himself under control. "Just a point of interest. No, two points."

"If you know what's good for you then they'd both better be about how good this idea is," I scowled, smiling at the same time.

"That goes without saying," he said. "Your ideas are always wonderful and this one is no exception. But... , " he paused, then sensing he was out of trouble: "You do realise I was a child in the 1980s; I wasn't playing strip-anything. I'm Generation X; you're thinking about the tail end of the baby-boomers, and even then it was only the ones who were too stoned to realize that free love was over and they missed out."

"Will this history lesson take long, Sir? I'm horny."

"No. But even though Twister was known as Sex in a Box, kids played it too. A lot! But we followed the rules in the box, not the strip version," he went on. "The thing you really ought to know before you get into this is that I... , " then he stood up to his full 6'4" with his arms spread to a similar span and one eyebrow raised: " ... have Go-Go-Gadget arms! I ... am ... a Twister ... Rock Star!"

"What's a Go-Go-Gadget?" I said.

"I thought you said you Googled the '80's," he laughed.

"Well there was some stuff there that wasn't about Twister," I defended myself. "I had to skim it."

"Clearly!"

"Well," I said, circling him and trailing my fingers over his groin as I looked up into his face. "You sound pretty ... cocky, Sir! Are you prepared to defend your Twister title?"

"Bring it," he smiled, stopping me and bending down for a kiss. "So tell me, what are the rules of Strip Twister?"

"Simple," I said. "Play like normal, but when you foul you remove a piece of clothing."

"So what constitutes a foul?"

"We'll play by ear," I grinned, laying out the mat. "Don't worry, I'll tell you if you do anything wrong."

"Uh oh. I sense trouble."

"No. You sense fun," I said. "Trust me. How many pieces of clothing are you wearing?"

He had already taken off his tie and shoes. He did a quick tally: "Five."

"Hmmm. I have three," I said, watching his face carefully to make sure I caught the disappointment when he realised I was actually wearing panties, which are not part of our tradition with this school dress. "I'll have to put on some socks," I said reaching back into my bag and bringing out the next part of my master plan to soften him up.

I had them already pre-rolled and ready to go: sheer white stockings with elasticised lacy tops that don't need suspenders. I sat on the couch and rolled them slowly over my feet and up my legs while he watched. They finished about half way up my thighs; just a few inches below the hem of my dress.

I stood up again, smoothing out my dress and looked down at the stockings. "Will these do?"

"Socks?" he said, sensing that I might have more surprises in store.

"These old things? Don't you like them? You could always just take your socks off and we could both start with three," I said innocently. "You know Google says your prudey old 1980's people started with eight or more"

"No," he said, resignedly. "I have no objection to the socks." His eyes hadn't stopped flipping between the sheer white nylon and the strip of bare thigh above. "No objection at all."

"Good," I smiled, standing on my two dots at one end of the game mat, wiggling my hips to make my dress sway enticingly above the stockings. "I'm glad that's settled. Get set Gadget man."

"Who's running the spinner?" he asked.

"Oh, you poor Luddite," I giggled, getting out my phone and opening the voice-activated Twister app. "There's an app for that, Grandad! Spin!" I called.

"Left foot ... yellow," said the phone. His right foot was already on yellow so he quickly moved his other foot over to the adjacent dot. Rather than staying on my end of the mat, I stretched all the way to the next yellow in front of him to trap him at that end. My legs were spread pretty wide, but low-centre-of-gravity is my thing. I wasn't worried.

After a few moves we were both crouched down at his end of the mat and I had him penned. We already had two limbs on yellow and when it came up again I quickly snagged the nearest vacant dot, leaving only the very far end for him. He touched me as he reached behind me with one of those long arms and I bumped him back, knocking him on his ass.

"Foul for sitting," I piped in as soon as he touched down. "And another foul for touching me. Lose the socks, Sir."

He looked at me with a scowl and a smile all in one. "Am I to understand that bumping is permitted, Belinda?"

"Who bumped?" I said innocently. "I was just getting set to reposition my weight when you touched me. You were clearly at fault."

He scowled back, trying not to smile and failing.

"Don't forget those socks ... Sir," I said, deadpan.

He took off the socks and visibly steeled himself to go on without complaint. He was going to get harder to trick after that one.

We played for a few more minutes and between my speed and his reach there were no more fouls. Finally I was blocked, unable to spread my arms to opposite sides of the mat; he called my foul gleefully.

I looked at him with big, innocent, schoolgirl eyes, batting my lashes. "What do you want me take off, Sir?" I asked breathily. "I could start with the stockings ... unless ... you know ... you want me to leave them on? They are part of a matching set ... but, you know, it's your choice."

"Well," he considered. "They do look very nice ... and part of a matching set, you say?"

"Yes, Sir," I said, looking away and smiling, pretending to be shy. "A four piece set. I bought it specially."

"Oh? I see," he mused. "Specially, huh? So really, it would be ungrateful of me not to let you show them all off together."

"Well I didn't say that, Sir," I said. "But sure, that's one way to look at it."

"Oh, I wouldn't like to seem ungrateful," he shook his head. "What else could you take off instead, do you think?"

"There's really only this, Sir," I said softly, looking up at him through my eyelashes as I fingered the collar of my school dress. I deftly popped the top button and then ran a finger slowly down past the remaining buttons. "Do you think you could give me a hand with it?"

With that I stood up in front of him, looking at him crouched in front of me and giving him the whole my-hero and maiden-in-distress routine. He knelt in front of me – our faces level and eyes locked. Yep, he liked this game. Very slowly, he undid the buttons over my breasts where the fabric stretched a bit too tight; the edges gaped a little but didn't expose anything more than a bit of cleavage. The next button below my breasts exposed the white underwire frame of my bra. I drew a quivering breath, but I wasn't play-acting like before; I was getting seriously aroused now, anxious for him to unbutton me further and discover the special bra and panties I wore just for him.

He continued to the last button at about my navel and then stopped to look at me for a moment: dress unbuttoned and hanging loosely, knowing that with little more that a shrug of my shoulders, it would fall to the floor leaving me standing only in my bra, panties, and those long, sheer stockings.

With very slow, deliberate movements, he moved his fingers under the dress at my shoulders, sliding them slowly up and under the fabric, relishing the touch of my bare skin as he watched the front lift and then open wider as he pushed over my shoulders.

As his hands rounded my shoulders, gravity final took over and the entire dress fell to the floor and pooled around my ankles. His surprise was exactly as I had hoped; he expected a sexy, lacy bra; but not this. It was a quarter-cup; nothing more than strip of lace and underwire separating and lifting my breasts without covering any more than the undersides. It rounded and swelled the tops and sides, leaving the nipples fully exposed; like the stockings and the panties – which he hadn't noticed yet – they were part of a set that is designed to be left on for lovemaking.

"Oh good lord," he whispered, his hands still on my shoulders, but his eyes now greedily drinking in the full curves of my breasts with the nipples hardening and standing proud as I anticipated the thrill of his touch. "You are extraordinary."

"That's nice," I smiled. "Shirt and pants, Sir."

"Huh?" his gaze returned reluctantly to my eyes.

"You abandoned your spots and you touched me. Two fouls. Shirt and pants."

He hadn't yet noticed that my panties were crotchless, but it was starting register that having me in my underwear was actually a preferred scenario to being naked – and the sooner he was naked, the sooner he could enjoy the new pleasures that my underwear offered.

I watched him remove his trousers first as I kicked my dress aside, his cock long and hard and straining uncomfortably halfway down the leg of his lycra shorts. I resumed my position on the Twister mat as he opened his shirt and pulled it back from the hard, ropy muscles of his chest. I crouched down on the Twister mat with my knees apart, waiting for him to notice my pussy peeking out through the window in my panties. They weren't the French-knickers style, with loose legs and a long slit that always reminds me of men's Y-front briefs; they were bikini style, close fitting and curve-hugging. The crotch wasn't slitted; it was an open oval shape, embroidered around the edge to frame and display the vagina. Everything about this ensemble was designed not to cover and hide, but to present and enhance the female form so that it can be enjoyed both physically and visually.

As he crouched back down, his eyes registered the contrast between my shaved labia and the white lace. They flicked downwards, blinked and widened as he hitched another breath. I was pleased to see his cock throb and strain under his shorts as a small dark stain of pre-cum formed on the leg.

"Problem," I asked, smiling at him.

"You've put a lot of thought into this, haven't you," he said, very seriously.

"Of course," I replied, touched that he noticed. "Maybe we can find a way for you to return the favour. Spin!"

"Left hand, yellow," said the phone.


The game had changed to one of cat and mouse; he spent the next dozen or so moves chasing me around the mat, trying to engineer positions that brought us into erotic contact. As part of the game, I tried to keep away from him, but finally I was forced into taking a spot that placed a breast right in front of his lips. Without hesitation, he took the hard nipple between his lips, kissing it and softly sucking it, lighting up little sparks of excitement as I felt his tongue glide over the sensitive tip and explore the little bumps of the areole.

"That was a lovely foul, Sir. Thank you," I breathed.

"Oh dear, did I just lose my last piece of clothing?" he said disingenuously.

"Mmm hmmm," I confirmed, my eyes locked on the thick contours of his cock beneath the tight lycra. It had been two weeks since I had had him inside me, and I was literally quivering with anticipation. I couldn't wait to see it again; every time I do – no matter how often – I can never quite grasp the physics of how something so long and thick can possibly enter something as tiny and tight as my vagina. I know in my head that I cannot take it all; my eyes always mark the invisible line seven inches from the tip and I wonder anew what those last two inches would feel like inside me, what it would be like to have his groin pressed into mine as we ground against each other.

"Would you like to do the honours?" he asked.

I nodded, swallowing hard, my heart hammering in my chest. I turned my eyes up to him. "No more fouls, OK? We're just playing for position."

He agreed and I got up on my knees in front of him, my face inches away from that straining bulge. I wanted to rip his shorts off, but I moved slowly and savoured the excitement building inside me, making my hands shake as I smoothed them over his covered thighs at the sides, around to his buttocks to squeeze the hard flesh there, and then slowly back around to the front. My left hand ran harmlessly over his thigh, but my right closed over the hardness of his cock that ran halfway down the leg of his shorts. I stroked its length, testing the firmness with the tips of my fingers.

Wanting to prolong my rediscovery of his cock, I got to my feet and walked behind him, my hand never leaving that wonderful hardness which would soon open me up and pin me to the floor. From behind I closed my eyes and moved both hands up over his stomach; fingers splayed, tracing the hard contours of his abdominal muscles. Standing close with my nipples pressed lightly against his back, I moved further up to his chest, feeling his strong pectorals and lightly brushing his own nipples with my fingertips, making them harden like mine.

Back down again, just a few breathless seconds away from my first handful of cock for a fortnight, my fingers reached his waistband and passed beneath without pause. Finally I closed my fingers around the root of his manhood; thumb curling over the top and fingers exploring underneath, touching his balls and stroking along that thick cum-carrying vein. I wanted to release him from his shorts before I explored the rest of his shaft, so I reluctantly brought both hands back up, hooked my thumbs into the waistband and slid them down over his hips. As I got to his thighs, I reached around and gently released his erection from the pants leg before lowering them down to the floor.

From my position behind him I still couldn't see my prize, but I wanted to feel it first; measure it with my hands before I did with my eyes. With my arms reaching around his body, I wrapped both hands around the base and held it like a sword, tilted up to the ceiling. For one perverse moment I almost made light-sabre sounds: humming and striking ... You can't win, Darth. If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you could possibly imagine. Maybe next time.

Now came the bit I loved: I shut my eyes again to concentrate and – holding my right hand at the base – I stroked ever so slowly upwards with the left, trying to guess when I would reach the end ... now ... no, now ... my hand was still moving ... no now ... oh my God, I still wasn't there! Finally I reached the head; my hands now so far apart that I was unable to comprehend that I was still holding two ends of the same extraordinary cock. Lord have mercy on me, it couldn't have grown since last time, could it?

My knees were shaking. Anticipation? Desire? Fear? I couldn't tell. On legs of jelly I circled back in front of him, still maintaining a grip on the base. I came in close – my head only coming up to his chest – and released his erection, allowing it rest against my cleavage. The quarter-cup bra lifted my breasts and held them about an inch apart; his cock was thicker than that so it rested on top rather than nestling between them. This made for an irresistible opportunity to tease him so I rose up on tip-toes to get the swell of my breasts higher than his knob – I was just tall enough – then as it fell back against the lace-covered underwire, I lowered back down, his thickness forcing my breasts apart, sliding between them as they pressed back against the incursion. Bending my knees, I continued lower, bringing the head to my mouth and greedily licking the drop of pre-cum from the tip. With my hands on his hips and his shaft trapped between my swelling breasts, I took him into my mouth, just the head, and tasted him, tracing the shape of his knob with my tongue, sucking and compressing it only for it to swell back twice as large between my lips as he pumped his cock-muscles.

I almost ruined our game by losing control; it would have been so easy to just give in to temptation and slide that monster down my throat. Reluctantly, I straightened my knees and took hold of him in my hand again, withdrawing him from the warm channel between my breasts. To my delight – and his – the bra did its job and snapped them back into position with a delicious wobble.

"Spin!" I called with a waver in my voice, and without bothering to resume our previous positions (I know I couldn't remember them) we began the final phase of Strip Twister. All previous rules were now utterly forgotten; this game had one goal only: to get as much erotic contact as possible. With each new move he tried to bring his cock to my mouth or breasts, and I tried to bring my breasts or pussy to his mouth. One or both of us would ignore directions from the spinner; we freely repositioned our hands and we placed knees and bottoms on the mat when we got tired. I don't know whether anyone really called Twister "Sex in a Box" in the 1980's, but I'm pretty sure this is not what Milton Bradley had in mind when they created the game.

Over the course of the next ten minutes we discovered that the most satisfying positions had me crab-like, on hands and feet with my body arched backwards, offering easy access to my pussy, breasts and mouth. In this position, he managed to wedge his cock between my breasts; first from below where I could crane forward and lick the bulging head; and then from above where I could take his balls in my mouth and suck and juggle them.

From here we conspired to interpret the next direction of the spinner as one that brought his face to my pussy. Still wearing the crotchless panties, my slit was gaping wide open and taking up the entire width of the embroidered window in the white lace. He kissed me there; lapping at the juices that were now running freely, his tongue probing gently at my entrance at first, but becoming more insistent, pressing deeper and opening me up.

Arched over me on his long arms and legs, his cock was frustratingly out of reach of my mouth. From my inside-out backwards-arched position, I stretched my neck up to try to reach but it was just too far away. I could feel the heat building in my vagina, his tongue bringing me to the next level of arousal. I still had plenty left in the tank before I came, but that swirling and probing was making my pussy throb with pleasure and I realised that soon I would need to stop the game just to satisfy my desires.

"Sir, I can't reach," I breathed.

Without taking his tongue from its important business between my legs, he lowered to his knees as I watched his cock come closer. I tipped my head back to catch the tip in my mouth and ended up chasing it all over the place as it swung left and right, sometimes laying along the length of my face and sometimes slipping off my cheek altogether. After five unsuccessful attempts he balanced on three limbs and – still tonguing me lovingly – brought a free hand back to hold his cock still while I wrapped my lips around it.

With my head tipped back, my mouth and open throat were perfectly aligned. Mr Gallows knows that I have no trouble swallowing his full length, having trained in the dorm with the much longer double-ended dildo Silver. With any other woman he would never dream of having her swallow his enormous cock; he had never encouraged me either, but I love the feeling of his long shaft sliding all the way into me. Even though it's a standard feature of our lovemaking, he always leaves me in control; he just tries to hold still for fear of hurting or choking me.

Like I said, I love him inside me – the deeper the better – so I usually just take a deep breath and swallow him all the way down, sucking and massaging his balls until I run out of air. It never occurred to me that he would want to do it any differently.

This time I was powerless; bent over backwards as I was, I couldn't move forwards or back. If he wanted to be swallowed then he was going to have to push it down there. He had only given me a few inches and I was desperately trying for more, imagining that if I sucked hard enough I could bring him to me. Letting out a muffled cry of frustration, I arched further, swaying back on my hands and toes to get a little more cock in my mouth. Still working on my pussy, now in a side-to-side action across my open lips, he finally got the message, pushing forward a little way to bring the head to the back of my throat.

I moaned positive encouragement so he would know I was ready for him. As he pressed a little harder, I swallowed, opening up my throat for him to slide tightly inside. He pushed slowly forward, entering me inch by inch as I sucked and lubricated the hot flesh passing between my lips to make it ready to swallow. I released a deep but muffled moan of satisfaction as his groin finally pressed into my lips, then without warning he started sliding back out.

Pulling free of the confines of my throat, I was able to take a breath and cried out for more. I thought he was just being extra careful, not wanting to suffocate me; but for fuck's sake he was only down there a couple of seconds. To my great and vocal relief he stroked back into me, slowly and deeply burying his nine inches balls-deep in my mouth before pulling all the way out again. I was about to moan a complaint when he pushed back down and I had to quickly swallow to allow him passage. All the way down again, he then braced my body from the other end with his face in my pussy and pushed his groin hard against my face, pumping his cock so that it swelled and bulged erotically in the tight confines of my throat.

When he pulled out again, only to plunge back down without giving me time to breathe, I finally worked out what was going on: I was getting throat-fucked. Oh my God! Had he wanted to do this all these months and never asked? Had he just let me call the shots as I held him in my throat while I sucked, all the while wanting to pull out and then thrust back inside? Hell, he'd probably wanted to do this his entire life! After all, I was the first and only one ever to swallow him.

He set up a rhythm of three or four short strokes; pulling out just enough for my throat to close so that he could open me back up again. Then he would go deep and push hard at the end, pumping and swelling inside me as I swallowed, massaging the length of his tool with my throat and tongue before he pulled out further, giving me a moment to breathe.

The feeling of all that flesh passing through my yawning jaws was electrifying. I could tell by the nervous spasms in his cock that he was just on the edge of control; this was surely a fantasy never seriously contemplated suddenly coming true. Knowing that I was fucking him as he had never dared to dream – as no other woman had before – just added to my excitement. He now set to work sucking my clitoris and I could feel the beginnings of an orgasm building. Part of me wanted to complete this act; to have him cum down my throat while I exploded with my own climax. Another part of me (the part that hadn't had any cock for two weeks) just wanted him to flip me over drive deep into my pussy.

Not without some regret, I stopped him the next time he withdrew to let me breathe by gently touching my teeth to his erection (a sure-fire attention-getter if ever there was one) and a muffled negative: "Huh-uh." Never one to outstay a welcome, he straightened his arms and legs, pulling out of my pussy and my mouth at the same wistful instant.

"I need to slow down," I apologised. "I'm not ready to finish with you just yet, Sir."

He looked at me through the gap between our bodies; a look of pure gratitude on his face for the amazing acts of oral gymnastics that I had performed on his manhood. "A few more spins, then Belinda?"

"Just a couple. Spin!"

"Left foot, red," said the phone.

Completely ignoring this direction, I gladly gave up my inside-out crab-walking position and flopped onto the mat on my back. Towering over me on all-fours, his cock was above and behind my head and pointing straight down at me. Target acquired. Rolling backwards on my shoulders, I raised my legs and bottom in the air and propped with my elbows to hold there, stockinged legs spread wide and straight around his body and – with a little positioning – the tip of his erection touching my open pussy lips.

"Left foot red?" he questioned.

"Red, pink, whatever," I said. "Don't feel constrained by rules. Just put something somewhere." I didn't get a response, then: "Please, Sir."

And with that he rocked forward a little, changing the angle of his cock to point straight down and seating his knob in my entrance. Then in one long, slow thrust he pushed all the way into me – or at least as much as would fit before he bottomed out. This was rare for us; usually he has to painstakingly work his thick cock into me inch by inch, allowing me to stretch to accommodate his girth. I don't know what was different this time; certainly I was dripping wet from all the foreplay, maybe it was just the angle.

Whatever it was, it felt heavenly: my pussy pointed straight up in the air and his thick cock pistoning downwards into me. His first stoke bottomed out at six inches, but with each powerful thrust he was stretching my pussy and driving a little deeper, and each time I stretched – instead of feeling pain – I felt a little mini-orgasm explosion of pleasure. I have had him missionary, doggy, scissors, I've ridden him both forwards and backwards – there was even that one magical time – our first time – when he picked me up and lowered me helplessly onto his shaft until I was impaled; but never has it felt like this. It was as if being upside down had moved all my innards further up to make room for more cock. Much more cock! He was seven inches in now – which is as much as I have ever taken and still walked upright the next day – and although he was pressing hard against my cervix with every thrust – I still felt no pain.

Propped up on my shoulders with my neck and head on the floor, I was folded like a pocket knife and with my pussy right above my face, I could see everything he did to me in extreme close-up. I watched entranced as his thick erection drove powerfully through the soft white lace of my crotchless panties. With every downward stroke I watched him go a tiny bit deeper and fire off another wonderful eruption of pleasure in the depths of my womanhood. My wetness glistened on his cock and with every withdrawal I could see that shining high-water mark moving ever closer to his balls.

The thrill and excitement of being filled so completely – over seven and half inches – was building inside me. The little earthquakes of ecstasy each time he filled me were not completely waning after each thrust and as they merged into one, they built in intensity and I felt myself enter the beginnings of an orgasm that could no longer be held at bay. My leg muscles wanted to close in with the rising climax and I held them open with a force of will so that he could keep driving into me as I came.

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