Sarah Burden: Eight out of ten

by Albion

(Written originally for the entertainment of the lady)

I hand the first of a small bundle of full-colour photos to the boy sat next to me on the front seat of
the car.  The boy, no more than 12, takes the photo silently and with eyes open wide, stares at it.  It
shows a woman sat on a chair, legs apart and skirt hitched back.

"Is this her?" asks the boy, his voice a little cracked from the excitement of seeing such a
provocative pose.

"Of course," I reply, glancing down to see if the image has had the right effect.  It has: I can see the
distinct bulge at the front of his trousers.  "That's who you will be fucking, if you want her," I add.

"Yeah, sure!" gasps the boy.  He is staring at the image of you sat on a chair with her legs apart and
knickers in full view, the light gleaming on the way the satin is stretched over your sex.  Your
well-shaped legs and high heels are obvious, as indeed are your stocking tops.  It is a good picture,
well-lit and leaving little to the imagination.

"Cool," says the boy, eyeing the bundle of photos I am holding.  "You got any more of her?"

"Of course," I say as I hand over the next one.  This one shows the same view, but you no longer have the
purple silk panties on: instead they appear to be stuffed in your mouth.  Your cheeks bulge and there is
a hint of the satin between your red lips.  Your pussy is clearly on view and the boy gasps as he sees it. 
He wriggles in his seat as his cock has clearly stiffened to the point he is uncomfortable.

"I can see her... you know."  The boy colours up a little.

"Pussy,"  I say.  "It's shaved so you can see it clearly."

The boy nods and strokes the picture, right over the part of the picture which shows your parted legs, as
if somehow he could feel the lips and folds of your sex.  "So... I can do what I want to her?"  He asks,
disbelief in his voice.  "You said that, right?"

I assure the boy he can.  He gulps a little.  "Where is she?"  The boy sounds even more excited.

I smile and say: "You'll see soon enough," as I hand over the third picture in the series.  The boy gasps
in delight.  This one shows you bound to the chair, legs tied even wider apart, secured to the outside of
the chair legs, and your shaved snatch is more on show.  The lips of your sex look slightly puffy, as if
excited and there is a faint glistening of moisture on them.  You have your eyes closed in the way people do
when enjoying something.  Perhaps here enjoying being so open.

The boy studies the way the ropes are bound round you: they look tight and dig in across your body, creasing
the smooth satin blouse you are wearing.  The ridges caused by the tight ropes catch the light.  "Can she
move?" the boy asks.

"No," I tell him.  "She can't. The ropes are tied very well. I know because I did it to her."

"She likes being tied up?"

"She likes a lot of things."  At this I chuckle and hand over the fourth image.  In this one you are bound
as before, but two things are different: a strip of cloth is bound round your lower face, clearly holding
the panties tightly in your mouth, and the blouse has been opened and dragged aside.  Your bra – a black
lace bra – is on show and hardened nipples can be seen through the thin lace.  In this one you are looking at
the camera, almost smiling beneath the gag.

"Wow," breathes the boy.  "She looks... hot. Her bra... does it come off?"

I simply hand the last picture to the boy for him to see.  Your bra in this one hasn't come off but the two
bra cups have been pulled down and your boobs are on show, lifted up and together by the bra cups.  Your
nipples are large and clearly excited and thrusting forward as if on offer.

"I want to see her," the boy manages to say after staring at the picture for a few minutes, drinking in
the wonderful sight of you exposed and bound, happy and gagged.

"Okay," I say, "but there is a condition.  She won't be like that when I take you to her: she will be bound
in a different way.  You can do what you want to her in the next three hours.  Anything at all.  But when
you have finished with her she must be tied up like this, on a chair with her legs apart.  Understand?"

The boy is trembling but nods.  "And she won't mind what I do to her?"

"She won't be in a position to object, if that's what you mean."

The boy grins, his small dick even harder in his pants: I can see the fabric of his chinos being pushed
upwards. "'You got any more pictures of her?"  He asks me.

"No," I say as I start the car engine.  "The next image you see of her will be the real one. Let's go."

---

Do you remember when you came out of the bathroom, all ready for this?  You looked, Sarah, every bit as
beautiful and sexy as anyone could wish.  Your superb legs were encased in almost black stockings, your
black lace suspender belt sat provocatively on your hips, your black lace bra enhancing your boobs.  You
had high heels on, polished black high heels that almost made you teeter on the balls of your feet.  As
always your face was perfectly made up and your hair immaculate.

Even your shaved pussy had a hint of rouge around your pussy lips.  I could have thrown you on the bed and
fucked you then and there, pinning you down while I gave you the climax of your life.  But although my
cock was about as hard as it was possible to get, seeing you like this, you weren't for me today.

Today you were to be fucked by a twelve year old boy, not me.  I can have you another time.  Probably
tonight when we talk about what he did to you, how you enjoyed it.  It's always good to talk then, me with my
cock inside you, you telling me how the boy screwed you.  What he did to you.  How much you enjoyed his
thin, young body heaving on you as he fucked you as hard as he could.

In a way you looked too good for what was about to happen to you shortly.  I don't know if the boy would
appreciate your elegance and sexiness, whether he would drink in your perfume.  Probably he'd just
plough his small, hard cock into you in unrestrained eagerness, not caring how much trouble you'd gone to. 
He might not even fully appreciate the way you would be made ready for him.

But my job now was to make you ready to be fucked by the youngster.  My turn would come, as we joke about it.

You asked, as you usually do, if you looked good.  As I usually do I smile and tell you that you look
wonderful.  Fuckable I say, and you laugh.  You looked at me, remember, and said "I love you, Steve," and I
said "I love you, Sarah."  At another time it would have triggered wild sex between us, but the next few
hours were for you and the boy.

I told you to lie face down on the double bed, arms and legs spread wide.  There was a pile of pillows in
the middle of the bed and you position yourself so they are under your belly, forcing your wonderful rear
up in the air.  I have already arranged ropes at the corners of the bed and it takes me only a few minutes
to tie your wrists and ankles so you are spread-eagled, held face down and bum up on offer.

I tell you I love you one more time, but before you can reply I slip a ball gag into your mouth.  We had
talked about you being panty-gagged but the ball gag seems more brutal and therefore better for your
afternoon of abuse.  I fasten the ball gag tight and you groan.  Already your position is a little
uncomfortable and the feeling will grow.

With you in this position I have a real job not to fuck you then and there.  But your pussy (and rear) is
for the delight of the boy who will soon be here: I will take advantage of you another time.  You twist
your head towards me and I lean down and kiss yourball-gagged lips as best I can.  You grunt as if if
telling me you love me.

I smile, give that superb bottom of yours a more than playful slap and let myself of the room.  The boy will
be along soon and while I want you to suffer in your awkward position I don't want to hang around even to
enjoy the view.  (You may recall that I love your sexy bottom so much you even have a special skirt with the
back removed so I can watch those delightful cheeks move and grind as you walk round the house)

I am on my way out of the hotel, leaving you waiting while I collect the boy from the meeting place and bring him back.

---

Several hours later I ease the hotel bedroom door open and smile at what I can see.  The boy has done what he
was told to do, tying you to the chair in the middle of the room, just like in the picture.  For a pre-teen
he has done a remarkably good job binding you and the ropes look properly tight.

You look exhausted but happy: where your legs are tied apart, the boy's cum is dribbling out of your sore
looking, gaping pussy and on to the seat, leaving a large wet patch.  You are of course naked, and I can
see where the boy (cheekily) has written "well fucked" on your chest in your lipstick.  he has, as I asked
him to, gagged you well but I can still see traces of his cum on your face.

I walk round you and inspect the ropes.  they are so good, and your gag so efficient, that i decide to
leave you there while I take a good look at the bed.  It is of course a mess but I am looking for evidence
of cum stains, and there are plenty.  I return to you and ask you to nod or shake your head in reply to my
questions as I am not going to ungag you yet.

"So tell me Sarah, did the boy fuck you twice?"  You shake your head.

"Three times?"  Another shake of the head.  "Four times."  A hesitant shake.

"Okay, four times in your pussy?"  You nod, and appear to smile behind the gag.

"And did the boy screw you in your bum?"

You nod at this, and nod again when I ask did he screw you more than once in your rear hole.  We establish
that he fucked you three times in the bum and also came once in your mouth.  He even managed, before he
gagged you, to find a little cum left to spurt in your face.  A remarkable performance indeed.  It takes a
while to establish this by question and answer but you are happy and so am I.  To reward the boy, I take some
pictures of you which I will send to the kid, so he can show his mates what he did to you.  I make sure
the photos clearly show your open and sore-looking slit, the cum, the lip-sticked message on your chest,
and how well you are bound and gagged.

I go and lie on the bed and leave you tied and silent. Your underwear is on the edge of the bed so I toy
with it round my stiff cock (seeing you so well bound and gagged after a fucking always excites me).  You
can see what I am doing in the mirror: I am wanking in your underwear, which I like to do.

Perhaps you want me to cum in your mouth, or free you so I can fuck you in either hole, but after a boy has
screwed you I prefer that you linger on the memory of him in you.  It isn't that I don't want to enjoy you:
quite the opposite as I am desperate to bend you over and fuck you.  But our agreement is I have my time and
this is the young boy's time.  Anyway, I get a huge kick from seeing you humiliated like this.

Sex between us is a delicate balance of fulfilment and denial, pleasure and pain on all sorts of levels.

When I have come in your panties I bring them over to you and force them over your head, sopping wet crotch
at your nose, sealing them in place (not that you could remove them, bound as you are) with one of your
stockings.  You have my cum squashed to your face and are finding it hard to breath through the gag, the wet
satin and the nylon mesh, and you will find it harder in a second as I wind the other nylon round your
throat.  I use one hand to tighten it (though I am certainly not going to throttle you) but I want to
apply enough pressure so you are gasping for breath.  I reach down between your legs with my free hand and
rub your sticky, dripping wet pussy, manipulating your clit as I do so.  It makes a delightful squishing sound
and more boy cum leaks out and I work my fingers in it as well as in you.

I imagine you are going somewhat blue in the face under the panties and stocking but I merely want you
to come as soon as possible.  You are wriggling in your bonds as I play with you, struggling as my hand
tightens the neck stocking that little more.  You are desperate to climax, and as I carry on fingering you
and denying you oxygen I whisper the boy told me he rated you eight out of ten.  Good, but can do better. 
You are making strange noises as I continue with you, perhaps trying to plead that you did your best, trying
to tell me you did everything he wanted and did it willingly and eagerly.

I tell you that you need more practice with small boys, learning how to give them total and complete
pleasure.  You are moaning, something like "Yes! Yes!" and as I tell you that I have an eleven-year old boy
ready for you to practice on soon, you come with a muffled shout.

I whisper that I love you and relax the stocking on your throat, but you are lost in the delights of a
wonderful climax so I leave you slumped even more exhausted in your ropes and I go and get some dinner.

I will be back, when I am good and ready.