Aunt Monica - Chapter 2 Author's note: this story is heavily inspired by one from a few years ago titled Summer Slave. One scene in particular is lifted almost completely: this is meant as nothing less than flattery. Please send any comments to Goddess_Agony at yahoo.com Ff Ff+ fsolo D/s sad tort teen best fist Chapter 2 - One Month Later Angela twisted under her sheets, rolling back and forth on the enormous bed. Earlier that night she'd found herself thinking about her mother again; she no longer spent every day wrapped up in misery and memories, but the pain still ached deep inside her. She twisted around to stare out of the windows, craning her neck to find the moon in the sky. She'd begun to make a hobby out of estimating the time from the moon outside when she woke up in the middle of the night, which was often. She awkwardly sat up against the back of the bed and stripped her pajama top off, her breasts falling free, her nipples hard and aching. She pushed her pajama pants off as well, before reaching over to awkwardly slide the window open, letting the cool night air wash over her sweaty skin. As she flopped back in her bed her thoughts drifted to Jayson. Her luggage had ended up being lost forever, but when Aunt Monica took her out shopping again one of the first thing she had bought was an enormous poster with him on it, and it sat plastered against the opposite wall, his perfect face smiling, seemingly looking directly at her. She squirmed, rubbing her thighs together slightly, feeling herself beginning to get warm and funny down between her legs. As she stared at his deep eyes one hand crept down between her legs, fingers running through her thin hair, rubbing along her hot slit. She could feel herself blushing even in the darkness. The funny feelings had started just before Mom's...accident, and for months afterwards they hadn't been back, but ever since moving in with Aunt Monica they'd been returning. She groaned slightly, rolling over onto her belly. One hand grasped for one of her pillows and she slid it down underneath her, squeezing her thighs tightly around it. Her hips began to buck as she ground her slit into it. It felt so strangely good, so unlike anything she was used to, any time she did this, and she always felt embarrassed later when she had to smuggle the stained pillowcases into the laundry without anyone noticing. She lay there for almost five minutes, slowly humping against the pillow, before stopping, flopping back onto the bedspread. Sometimes it felt like she was working towards something greater, but she had no idea what. She stared out the window listlessly, trying to fall asleep again, before realizing that sleep wasn't going to come again. She spun her legs off of the side of the bed and grabbed her pajama pants, pulling them up and feeling them stick slightly against her thighs, her face burning at the thought. Still topless she crept to her door, very careful not to make a sound, having spent the last few weeks learning which floorboards squeaked and where. Poking her head out into the dark hallway she checked that it was clear, and then began to pad carefully down to the kitchen. Halfway down she became very self conscious of her bare breasts and suddenly wished she'd thought to grab her top as well, but decided to press ahead and just hurry back. In the dark kitchen her hands instinctively found the right cabinets, pulling down the peanut butter and the white bread. She slid over to where moonlight streaming through the windows illuminated the countertop and spread the peanut butter liberally along the thick bread, licking the knife blade clean before gently placing it into the sink to avoid making any noise. She ate the sandwich there, leaning against the counter, staring up at the moon, brushing a few crumbs off her chest. On her way back she paused at the foot of the stairs. Something was unusual, something had caught her attention. She stepped back and looked around, trying to figure out what it might be. After a few seconds she realized: one of the locked doors was cracked open! Her heart pounding with excitement she tiptoed over to it, and pushed it open gently, wincing inside waiting for the door to loudly squeak. But it glided open on oiled hinges, and her eager eyes peered around the edge. Beyond another hallway stretched down towards the end of the house. A flash of disappointment hit her; it was just another hallway? But she stepped inside softly and began to creep down the hallway. On the left a pair of large double doors stood, alone, but when she tried the handle she was unable to open it. The first door on the right was half open though, and she poked her head inside, eyes creeping around the door. The curtains were drawn over the window, as they always were, thwarting any of her efforts to look into this part of the house from the outside. But cracks of moonlight crept in around the edges, and her eyes were well adjusted to the dark by now. What was inside the room appeared to be...a workout rom or something. At least it looked like exercise equipment. Lots of steel frames that looked like the equipment at her old high-school. She pushed the door open wider and crept inside, looking around, and began to realize that this wasn't any workout equipment she'd ever seen before. There were no weights of any kind, to start with. Just metal frames, with things attached to them at different points, usually the corners. Leaning closer she realized that one of the things appeared to be like a thick leather loop, and she had a sudden flash of insight, picturing someone with their arm locked in it, unable to get away. An unusual glint caught her eye and she stepped back suddenly as she realized there were chains hanging from some of the frames. Her ass bumped into something hard, causing her to spin around and almost fall down. Behind her was a wooden rack. She recognized it instantly from her schoolbooks, a medieval torture device. A large wooden X shape, big enough for a person, with those same leather shackles at the top and bottom. A tremor of fear ran through her, but just beneath it...a tremor of something else. Suddenly everything in here took on a much more sinister light. Everything began to look like torture equipment, she stumbled over to the curtains and pulled them wide, trying to let more light into the room. But the moonlight just caused all of the wood and metal to cast terrifying shadows across the walls and floor, like enormous black spiders filling up the room, and she stifled a yelp as she yanked the curtains closed again. Her night vision was ruined though. The room was pitch dark now, except for tiny slivers of moonlight, and she bumped painfully into the wooden rack as she tried to find her way back to the door. Wincing each time she hit something else at the noise she slowly made her way back to the hall, closing the door softly behind her before leaning against it, breathing heavily, trying to understand what she had seen in there. She panted for almost a minute, but her mind couldn't find anything to latch onto. She just kept coming back to an image of someone laid out on the rack, spread arms and legs wide, struggling against the shackles. Suddenly the person on the rack was her and she raised her hand to her mouth with a whimper at the thought. She stumbled down the hall towards the main door, almost oblivious to the noise she was making now. At the very end she finally caught her breath, slowing herself down. She had to make sure she wasn't caught. She inched the hallway door open until she could look outside. The entry hall seemed as clear and empty as it was when she came in. Pulling her head back, another glint caught her eye. Just inside the door a key rack was affixed to the wall, and a couple of silver keys were hanging from it. She reached up, two fingers tapping one lightly, and then almost on instinct snatched it from the hook, clenching it in her palm. She slipped out through the door, keeping it as closed as she could, jumping slightly when her nipples scraped against the corner od the door as she squeezed out, before closing it as softly as she could behind her. Her heart felt like it was going to pound out through her chest as she forced herself to slowly, calmly walk back upstairs and creep into her room. As she slipped back into bed she slid the key under her pillow, pulling her covers back over herself. She rolled over, squeezing her eyes shut, and tried to get to sleep. But sleep wouldn't come. All she could think about was that mental image of herself, spread out on that rack. And the fear in her stomach burned with something else she couldn't identify. The next day she struggled to keep her voice level at breakfast. When Aunt Monica noticed how tired and nervous she seemed, she complained that she was starting to feel sick, and earned an appropriate amount of sympathetic affection from both her aunt and her cousins. She spent the day sitting outside under a tree, pretending to read one of the books from the library while Sasha and Sandra kicked a large, inflatable ball around the yard for hours, seemingly endlessly entertained. But she couldn't read even a single page; every time her eyes started to scan over a sentence her thoughts went back to that strange, moon-lit room and she found herself squirming. That night she lay awake again, one hand under her pillow, clutching at the key. She twisted and turned for hours, rolling over and back, unable to get comfortable, until finally she realized she wasn't going to be able to sleep now either. As she crept towards the door to her room she barely even noticed that she was completely naked; the hard, sharp feeling of the key in her small palm was the only sensation that registered. Down the hall and down the stairs she slipped, unlocking the door and wincing at the click it made when the tumbler caught. She closed the door carefully behind her and in the pitch darkness fumbled her way down to the door, pushing it open quickly...becoming more brazen and less afraid the closer she got. The room was just as fstrange as before. She crept among the equipment slowly, her breath catching in her throat every time she another leather shackle now. Picturing herself hanging from one assembly, picturing herself bent over another. Was that really what all of this was for? Was it some kind of museum? Did her Aunt...use this stuff? She found herself back at the rack again, leaning against it, staring at the large metal frame opposite. There was a bar, resting in a set of notches, and the notches ran up and down two vertical metal shafts, like a limbo stick. Two of those leather shackles hung from the bar, and two more were on the floor, hooked to something she didn't understand, a pair of bars and notches that did...something. As she stared at it and imagined herself hanging there one hand crept down between her thighs, where she was getting hot and funny again. She was rubbing at her slit for almost a minute before realizing with a start what was happening and yanking her hand back, shocked. What was she doing!? A soft whimper escaped her lips as she realized that she was rubbing her thighs together again, feeling sticky and hot, and her nipples were aching, standing up off of her breasts. She ran out of the room, barely remembering to close the door, and stumbled back up to her bedroom, her mind swirling with confusion. This time, when she got into bed, she couldn't stop herself from squirming with that needy feeling and stuffed her pillow between her thighs until she was able to calm down and eventually drift off into a troubled sleep. On the third night she found the cabinet. It was almost hidden, but she'd been trying to avoid looking at that vertical frame and her eyes had fallen on it. Inside, on the shelves, were things that baffled her at first. On the top shelf there were what appeared to be a large set of thick rubber sticks. She stared at them in confusion, until she realized one on the end looked...looked...looked like the picture of a man's penis she'd seen in a book that one of her friends had shown her years ago. Mortified she shifted her gaze down to the next shelf. There was a set of things on leather straps, difficult to recognize. She reached out for one; it appeared to be a large soft red ball with a strap on either side, and a buckle on the ends. She turned it over and began looking over the rest of the shelf. Her gaze fell back to the one in her hand and like a bolt it hit her. Its so you can't scream. They stuff it in your mouth so you can't scream. A shiver ran down her spine as she let out an involuntary moan, intensely aware of how...sensitive and strange her body felt, and she shoved it hurriedly back onto the shelf, closing the door. On the fourth night she sat down on the floor. The wood felt cold against her bare ass, and she carefully lifted one of her legs, slipping her ankle into one of the leather cuffs of the vertical frame. With shaking hands she reached forward and buckled it shut, before slipping her other ankle into its partner. Her whole body was trembling as she sat like that, on the floor, rubbing between her legs for almost five minutes, one hand slipping up to run along her nipples, sending new spasms of sensation down her spine before the thought of getting caught sent her quickly freeing herself and scrambling back to her room. On the fifth night she had a plan. She waited until even later, until almost three in the morning. As always her heart was pounding as she approached the room, but this time she thought she could literally feel it thudding against her ribs. She had been thinking about the room again all day, staring off into space, prompting more concern about how sick she seemed. But she kept returning to the way that rod fell into the notches, like a limbo stick, and she had an idea. She stood in front of it. She worked her legs wide, and stretched her arms above her head, the slivers of moonlight hitting her naked body. She tried to imagine herself stretched out. Vulnerable. Helpless. A deep longing rose inside her. Stepping forward, she turned around and bent down, slipping one of her ankles into the shackle and belting it closed. As she straightened up, her gaze caught the cabinet again, and she suddenly realized that it would be completely wrong if she could scream. Frustrated, she crouched down again and undid the cuff, walking over to the cabinet and pulling it open. Her hand grabbed for the big red ball gag first, but she ran her eyes along the shelf one more time, and another one caught her eye. It was another one that looked like a...penis, big and rubbery and hooked to two straps of its own. Putting the ball back, she pulled it down and ran one hand along its shaft. Suddenly she imagined it was Jaysons, and she groaned out loud, going weak at the knees before catching herself and clamping her mouth shut, unreasonably paranoid that this deep in the house someone might hear her moans up in their bedrooms. She held the penis gag up, and slowly pulled it close to her lips, sticking her tongue out to lick the tip. It tasted...like rubber. Slightly disappointed she began to push it slowly between her lips, and another tremor came over her. As she pushed it deeper, her tongue running along it, she realized that it was going to hit the back of her mouth before it was all the way in. She pulled it out again, taking deep breaths, looking at it. God, it was large. With trembling hands she began to slip it in again, and this time when it hit the back of her throat she kept pushing. Her throat convulsed and gagged at the intrusion, but she fought down her bile and slammed it home, the base flush with her stretched lips. Breathing deeply through her nose she reached back and tried to affix the buckle behind her head, groaning as her throat convulsed against the shaft, a feeling unlike anything she'd experienced before. She fumbled several times with the buckle before slipping it through and tightening it, feeling it wrap against the back of her head. On weak knees she stepped back into the frame, reaching down to secure her ankles in the cuffs, her hands steadying by the time she reached the second one. She pulled at her legs slightly, and thrilling at how immobile she was, and then turned her head up to look at the bar above. The previous night she'd noticed that the cuffs above weren't bolted to the bar, but were hanging from a pair of hooks themselves. That's when she'd had the idea, when she realized that she could get herself out of them if she put herself in them. Reaching up and unhooking them, she affixed each thick leather shackle to one of her slim wrists, tightening them until she was sure she couldn't pull her arms out. Than she stretched herself up and hooked each cuff over bar, until she was hanging slack on the frame, her soles flat to the floor, her arms and lets spread wide. Another deep groan tried to escape her lips, muffled by the thick gag, as her sticky thighs tried to rub together. But she wasn't satisfied yet. She still felt loose in the frame, it was too easy to jump slightly on her toes and unhook the cuffs. The next notch was only an inch up, and if she could jump the bar up to there she'd be stretched really tight, but still be able to struggle to get the cuffs unhooked. Tensing her legs, she crouched as much as she could and then made a short jump up, pushing the bar with her wrists until it slipped up the frame and landed in the next notch, her young muscles taught, her naked body splayed wide, balancing precariously on the front of her feet. Another groan rippled up Angela's plugged throat as she hung there, helpless and exposed. Her body felt like it was on fire. Her nipples were aching, feeling like small pebbles on her chest, and she was powerless to touch them. She tried desperately to rub her thighs together, and the impossibility only sent her more wild, her slit glistening with juice. She lost track of how much time she spent hanging there, writhing in exotic pleasure, before finally coming down slightly and realizing that she needed to get down and get back to bed. Her wrists were beginning to hurt, the ache cutting through the haze of sensation, and with a sigh she tried to shift her weight slightly, getting a more stable footing in preparation to jump and unhook one of her wrists. She braced herself and then jumped slightly, trying to force one cuff over the hook. Her jump didn't quite make it, but as her body recoiled back down a loud click suddenly echoed throughout the space and her legs suddenly ratcheted three inches wider. Looking down in confusion she squinted to make out what had happened in the darkness, but she could only get an impression of some sliding bars. She felt around with her feet and realized with a sudden dread that her toes were more precariously balanced on the floor and her body was stretched tighter in the frame. A bad feeling began to sink through her as she braced herself and jumped up again, but she barely even got the cuff ring to jiggle and her legs clicked two more notches apart, spreading her even wider. She was trapped. Truly trapped. The realization hit her and she began to squirm more violently, desperately trying to free herself. But her thrashing only sent the leg cuffs clicking further and further apart, until finally she was spread as far as her body would allow, truly stretched taught, like a guitar string. Her toes didn't even touch the ground now, and most of her weight was now on her thin wrists, which were really starting to ache and burn. With tears in the corners of her eyes, Angela began to try and scream for help, but behind the thick gag she'd stuffed in her mouth only a muffled cry could be heard, barely even penetrating the walls of the room. Panic overtook her as she wriggled and twisted in the frame, taking a deep breath through her nose before screaming each time. But her screams were useless and before long she quieted down into a mixture of whimpering and crying, staring ahead at the curtains as the moonlight crept lower and lower. One of two things would happen. Either her aunt would find her in here, stretched out naked like this, and she would die of shame. Or no-one would find her, and she would die of starvation, strung up like a side of meat. Tears continued to roll down her cheeks as she tried to twist her wrists to get any relief, while her toes curled up and her legs clenched, trying to pull them back together. "Shouldn't she be down by now?" Sasha asked, sitting with her legs folded under her in the breakfast nook, holding tight to her sister's hand "She normally comes down right away." Sandra was too busy eating her cereal to comment, but as Monica sat down opposite them, a piece of plain toast and half of a grapefruit on her plate, she reassuringly said "she has been feeling a bit sick lately. Maybe it was the stomach flu afterall", before biting into the toast. "I guess..." Sasha said reluctantly before digging into her own breakfast, a nagging feeling at the back of her head. Which is why it was almost noon before Sasha finally became impatient enough to barge into Angela's room yelling "wake up sleepyhead!" at the top of her lungs, only to discover wrinkled and tossed sheets and an empty bedroom. Her eyes went wide at the sight, and she ran out and grabbed Sandra, dragging her back in. "Where did she go? Did you see her anywhere?" Sasha asked in hushed tones, but Sandra just shook her head. "No, I haven't seen her since yesterday." "Okay, okay lets go find her" "Yeah...but...don't tell mom yet. I'm sure we just missed her" Sandra warned as they stepped back, and began to systemically search through the house, splitting up to check every room. When they met up half an hour later they were both much more worried. "She wouldn't have gone out?" Sasha asked, but Sandra just shook her head "no, she never goes anywhere without us. There's nowhere that's fun by yourself!" The same thought hit both of them. As one they slowly turned, and looked at the locked door. "You don't think..." Sandra murmured. "How would she even..." Sasha wondered. "Get the key" Sandra patted her sisters shoulder urgently. Inside the hallway they looked around carefully, checking for any sign of her. "Do you think she's in the big room?" Sandra asked. "Maybe, but lets check the small ones first." Sasha said as she crept down towards the first door, pushing it gently in, poking her head around the doorframe. The first thing she saw was a bare wrist suspended from a cuff, high over the mass of equipment. She gestured urgently for her sister to follow and then pushed the door open wider, her own heart pounding as she rounded one of the frames and got a good look. Her jaw opened slightly as she saw her cousin suspended there, head hanging, bleary eyed, naked and pale. Sandra joined her with a similar expression, the two of them looking at her. Angela didn't even hear them enter at first, and it wasn't until their bare feet entered her field of vision that she realized who was in the room, raising her had weakly, tear streaked eyes pleading for release, moaning almost inaudibly behind the gag. The twins were only dumbstruck at the sight for a moment. "Do you think mom strung her up?" Sasha asked in a hoarse whisper. "No way," Sandra answered, "mom said no touching her period." She stepped forward, and traced two fingers down one of her cousin's wonderful tits. She'd never seen them naked before, and now she marveled. They weren't just large for her age, DD cups at least, but they were beautifully round, like melons, hanging from her slowly rising chest. "I think she did it to herself..." she continued, observing how the girl responded to her touch, groaning slightly and shifting in the frame, her thighs flexing. "Go...go get mom now" "No," Sasha said, a slow grin spreading across her face. "We're not getting mom. Not yet" she continued as she strode up to stand alongside her sister, smiling into her cousin's bleary eyes. "Did you do this to yourself?" she asked, their faces only inches apart. Angela nodded limply, confused. Why weren't they letting her down? Her wrists had gone mostly numb from the pain, reduced to little more than a dull ache after a few hours of agony in the middle of the night, but her body felt worn out all over. Sasha turned to look at Sandra, who was also starting to smile. "Yeah...yeah we don't need to get mom yet" she said, as she ran her fingers down one of the fat tits again, and then leaned in and slowly ran her tongue around the nipple. The effect was electric. Angela's eyes jolted wide and she groaned, jerking in the frame. Sasha was kneeling down between her splayed legs, her own blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, leaning in as she said "holy fuck, she was horny as hell last night. She was really fucking into it!". Shuffling forward slightly on her knees, Sandra slipped her face between Angela's legs and ran her tongue along her slit. Angela bucked against the restraints at this, her hips jerking forward towards Sasha's tongue, as the girl began to eagerly lap and tickle between the bound girls thighs, one hand sliding up to massage her own small tits through the fabric of her t-shirt. Angela's eyes almost rolled back into her head as one of the twins ran her tongue along her puffy slit. With a rippling feeling like electricity the pleasure from last night was back, and she felt herself begin to heat up again, her hips jerking and her nipples starting to ache again. The other twin had one of her nipples in her mouth and it was sending waves of pure pleasure into her addled, sleep deprived brain. Suddenly Sandra bit down, just gently on the nipple, and Angela shrieked as the sensation jolted straight through her. She began to beg for them to stop, beg for them to let her down, but behind the gag it was completely inaudible. "Look at how horny she gets!" Sasha said as she straightened up, the taste of Angela's juice sweet on her tongue. Both twins had a similar glowing expression as they stepped back to regard her once more, now twitching slightly in her bonds. "What do we do with her, do you think?" Sasha asked. "I think...we get mom. But first...I think we get the zither." Sandra answered. The two of them looked at each other, and identical grins split their faces. Sasha ran out, almost tripping in her excitement, while Sandra stood back and examined her in greater detail, eyes landing on the patch of hair above her pussy. Angela's eyes still held nothing but desperation for freedom and confusion at her cousin's actions, swaying slightly in her restraints, her legs bent in at the knees. Sasha came back in carrying the zither in both hands, her own cunt damp just looking at it. She set it up between Angela's spread thighs, positioning it between her thighs, and then crouched down to adjust the height, ratcheting it up until its upper surface was pressed firmly against the sopping slit. The entire thing resembled a loaf of French bread on stilts, with an upper surface that was covered in a hundred small bumpy ridges, running along it in the short direction. It was powerful to grind against even normally, as Sasha and Sandra were intimately familiar with, but when Sandra flicked a switch on the side the entire thing began to vibrate Angela thought she was about to lose her mind. As the buzz filled up the room the vibrations sent feelings unlike anything Angela had ever imagined ripping up her nerves and straight into her hindbrain. Her hips began to involuntarily buck and grind, her body trying to force itself down onto the vibrating surface. She ground her clit against one of the ridges, mashing down on it in her animal movement, and a shriek of pleasure and pain was heard behind the gag as she threw her head back. Her jerking motions began to speed up rapidly as the sensations became more and more intense, overwhelming her young mind, shorting out her thoughts. Her chest began to heave, her tits almost bouncing, snorting like an animal through her nose, gasping for breath. Her toes were curling and uncurling, her fingers clenched and her nails digging into her palms as she bucked and ground herself down against the buzzing surface, the ridges digging into her moist flesh. Suddenly, without warning something crashed over her; a wave of pure, intense, raw pleasure that flooded through her mind, washing everything else away. She screamed as her mind went blank, the vibrations causing a cascading effect, each new wave building to the next, as orgasm after orgasm was ripped from the fourteen year old's body, her juice streaking the sides of the zither, her thighs doing their best to clamp shut on it. Her head was thrown back and her back arched forward, her muscles straining and tense, and her sweat soaked hair clung to her scalp. With each new wave of pleasure a shuddering cry tried to erupt out of her stuffed throat, muffled and indistinct. The vibrations stopped. Her hips did not. Even as the buzz cut out and the device stilled Angela found herself trying to ride back and forth on the rough surface. She felt the energy draining out of her. She felt herself emptying, and for the first time she realized how hollow she really felt. The memories of that pleasure hung like ghosts in her mind, and with something like a sob she began to furiously try to hump back to that blissful state, but it was futile. Drained and exhausted her young body could take no more, and further rubbing of her slit against the thing only began to cause pain. Her head slumped forward and he forced herself to open her eyes , to where her twin cousins stood, stunned expressions on their faces. "Okay," Sandra said. "Now we get mom."