Forums » Uncategorized

• Strict_Susan

  
   

  30. augusta 2006 16:07:16 CEST

  "The Interview" is a full-length femdom story by Tanya Snegirova. Full details on http://www.strictsusan.com/publish/interview.htm
  
  ****************************************
  
  She gripped the fabric of her skirt on each side of it, and started to pull upwards. Being as tight as it was, it was reluctant to slide up over her powerful thighs and her shapely buttocks, so the girl had to shake herself to and fro, liberating the bottom part of a body from the captivity of her clothes.
  
  Cent looked up at her. Now he saw that he was right about what he thought he had seen when she sat in the armchair in front of him – the girl wore nothing under the short skirt. Light curly hair covered her perfect form, with the gentle bulge of her mound under her flat young stomach and mighty buttocks slowly moved apart as he stared up at her. She was wet. Large drops of lust hung on each curly strand that almost obscured her sexual lips. The smooth fabric of her stockings shone with reflected light as if guiding the way for him, although he knew had no choice of which way to go. The girl’s breasts, constricted by her tight jacket, from here, from below her as he was, seemed small. At last the girl had rolled up her skirt to no more than a belt. She knelt above him, overshadowing him and blocking the light completely. No longer could he see the ceiling. For the first time Cent was close to that femaleness between her legs, seeing the dense hair overhanging and, finally, the deep, moist crevice. He stared, hardly able to think, and it seemed that the crevice stared back at him, full of passion and hiding its terrible bloody secrets.
  
  “My God,” thought Cent unhappily, “How many innocent people have died a horrible death under this creature?”
  .
  The girl, her breathing deep and rasping, with the leather of the chair creaking under her weight, slowly eased her knees together near his head, trying to find the best position for the first facesitting of the new slave.
  
  “Lick!” The order came down to him from above. Cent lay without moving, transfixed by the hairy vulva that dripped moisture along its whole length. At that moment she slapped him across the face with all her strength.
  .
  “I told you to lick.” Cent blinked, reminded of his position, and immediately put out the tip of his tongue.
  
  “Put it out all the way,” ordered the girl, pressing slightly on her own stomach to tighten her skin so that the lips beneath her opened wider above his probing tongue. As though the wet crevice were capable of human language all on its on, there was a slight sigh from it, no more than a little air passing through the wetness, but giving Cent a most peculiar feeling as if the crevice itself was now his mistress. He must obey, no matter how selfish, greedy, passionate, ruthless and thirsting for extreme pleasures it might be, its fleshy edges talking incessantly to him as the girl lowered herself onto him. It seemed to take his tongue right into it, swallowing it into its belly and clasping around it to find its root and to devour it entirely.
  
  Sometimes the girl did not move at all, just breathing fast and deeply, and her whole body tensing with pleasure. At these times Cent waited obediently, keeping his tongue outstretched into her and mindlessly staring upwards from below through thickets of curly and golden pubic hair at the distant pale woman with the scarlet open lips far above him. Those lips and that mouth were more than just open, slightly flecked with saliva, much as the mouth of a lioness as she devours her live victim, and yet Cent was being devoured far from that mouth, a devouring accompanied by uterine rumblings, as if the extraction of the final remnants of goodness in him was happening directly into her in spasms of a champing and continuously chewing mouth.
  
  In this room, this office, there was a silence broken by only hoarse breathing of the girl. Tthe luminescent lamps emitted a light that was both bright and deathly pale, giving a feel of unreality to the events taking place beneath them. Cent under her, was crushed, covered and deprived of any free will of his own. He felt nothing but a painful desire, and that desire ended rapidly as he was left alone, it seemed, inside her hot vulva with nothing but the heavy, rhythmical rumble of her hot blood and the slow, viscous stream of her juices slowly pulsing in streams down his cheeks, his ears, and onto the back of the armchair.
  
  At last the girl moved her whole body again in a rapid short motion, settling wetly on his face. His tongue and his whole face seemed to be pressed even more deeply into her, even though just a few moments ago it had not seemed possible that he could have been any deeper. His tongue felt as though it was being squeezed and sucked right to its very roots, compressed by the muscles of her vagina with her body leaning forward just a little now. To Cent, underneath her lower regions, it was as though the walls of a dungeon had cut him off from the outside world. Those walls pressed fearfully onto him as her body overhung him and her firm, slippery clitoris used the whole length of his tongue for its pleasure. In fact, she pressed and moved with such force that the end of his tongue was flattened and stretched against his lower lip and his chin, and the underneath of it near the root pressed against his own sharp teeth. At once Cent was fearful, remembering very well that the underside of a tongue is a mass of thin, dark blue veins which this girl was pressing with all the strength of her young body against those of his teeth most designed for cutting and tearing. Cent became terrified as the sharp, biting pain increased. His whole consciousness focused on his tongue, and he was quite certain that at any minute the veins would burst under the pressure and that the weight and force on it would cut his tongue clean out of his mouth. In despair he tried to cry to her to beg her to have pity on him. She did not hear him. Only low, weak, muffled groans could be heard from underneath her as her hard, wet under-parts engulfed him, sprawling over his face as if it were some huge hot toad clamped onto him mercilessly.
  
  “Yes, yes, you’re choking,” the girl’s hoarse voice came from above. “Groan, cry, fight under me, try to get out, it is more than groans and cries I want to have underneath me. The more you struggle the better it feels, oh … oh … cry, shout!”
  
  With a howling sound like an animal he managed to suck air deeply into lungs and to recover a little.
  
  “Yes!” she encouraged him, “Try to shout!“
  
  Now she was moving rhythmically on top of him, and still her hard, rubber-like clitoris squeezed his tongue against his chin and against his teeth. He was being shaken. It was as though at one minute doors above him swung open for him to see the whitish light that burned his eyes for an instant even though it was obscured by his tears, and then the doors closed again to bury him in darkness as complete as the dark of a tomb. Dimly he saw her flat, wide, muscular stomach towering up above him like a solid wall, sometimes seeing it through only one eye as if he were a Cyclops or viewing everything through the single supernatural eye of a dead man. He heard the furious scratching on the leather armchair under the silk covered columns of her legs near his face, but muffled beneath her sighs and groans amplified to him through her flesh and broken from time to time by nothing less than a squeal of pleasure.
  
  Cent continued to groan and to cry, his thoughts held by the mortal horror of truly understanding his position. Sweet pleasure had turned to terrible, infinite and painful torture for him, and he remembered every word she had said about how he would forced to endure this from another and then another new girl continuously. He could see no way that he was going to stand it for already it was too much for him to bear, more than anyone could possibly bear, and by the time this one first girl had finished he would be half dead. She had assured him that she was no worse than any of the others, but surely no one else could be like this... then suddenly it changed.
  
  She was no longer moving rhythmically on him. She had stopped, blocking his breathing completely. There was no longer any friction, any scratching, and her body shuddered in little ripples all over before rocking sharply and briefly before pressing down onto his tongue and onto his face with twice as much force as before.
  
  Cent felt it with his tongue, the convulsive shudder of her orgasm, staring no more violently and no louder than the fluttering of a butterfly before the force of it hit her and him like a hammer-blow, and all at once they were both covered in perspiration.
  
  She sat on him, breathing heavily and from time to time shuddering deeply. With each shudder that went right through her the muscles underneath her convulsed on him, feeling like a mouth sucking at him. Each shudder was less violent than the last, fading and becoming weaker and weaker. It seemed as though his suffering was at last coming to an end, although still Cent’s mouth and tongue were completely buried in her wet flesh without any access to oxygen. He quivered with hope, his nose just managing to draw air through her dense thickets of pubic hair and anxiously trying to make her out through the small gap open between her thighs, to see this person looming as pale as a vampire somewhere high and inaccessible above him
  
  Her body started to cool, the perspiration on the lower part of her stomach just visible to him had stated to dry. She had unbuttoned her jacket and pulled it wide open so now the newly qualified slave saw way above him the two huge hills of her breasts, and now he knew that he had been mistaken in thinking them to be small when her tight jacket covered them. The shudders and convulsions of the girl now came less frequently, and her breathing had slowed almost to normal. Cent could feel her heart beating, relayed to him by the blood pulsing through her lower lips, booming deeply, steadily and distantly within her like that of an athlete recovering from a run. At last she gave a deep, contented sigh and she relaxed, continuing to sit on him majestically and with the calmness of self-satisfaction. The lighter clicked, and cigarette smoke filled the air around her...