Part 1 - Schoolgirls?

Little Celia and tall, dark, Natasha could do nothing without instruction from the grey haired, seemingly genial old man they had so foolishly taken to be a teacher. Celia desperately needed to wee but could say nothing - neither ask permission nor release the pressure in her bladder. Did Natasha perhaps feel the same?

It was not as if she and Natasha had been bosom buddies or even friends. Natasha was in her class at uni. Celia certainly spoke to her, admired the way the tall girl moved, spoke and dressed, they had been at the same parties but they were not close. They were not intimate.

Not 'bosom buddies' - that was just so the wrong phrase and now simply not true. 'Not intimate?' It was absurd to say they were not that... now.

It had all happened so suddenly. Perhaps it had not been planned. Perhaps she had been caught up in something she should not have been involved in; perhaps it was another girl they had been after and not her: or was it Natasha that had been accidently involved?

The university had seemed so secure. Uniformed security personnel patrolling the grounds, CCTV cameras watching, yet one moment walking through a familiar short cut between buildings, one she had used many times before, the next...

The next, the next indeed. She had come from a lecture with Melia and Rollo but they had peeled off for a different class and Natasha had caught her up. Not, as she remembered, to speak but simply because her legs were longer. They had turned as one into the short alley; they had started talking a little before and had been walking together and to one side, to pass a white Transit van just at the end when...

The only other person in the passage - and it was not as if it was a narrow passage - was a grey haired old man whom she had taken to be a teacher, a lecturer, just standing holding a walking stick. What had been odd, so strange in retrospect was the way he seemed to be half looking beyond them, perhaps looking for others as he had smiled pleasantly and then tapped on the van door... Perhaps it had been the smile that had fixed him in her mind or what happened next - and of course later.

Celia knew about chloroform. Had seen it 'used' in the movies. The pad over the mouth, the brief struggle and then the collapse into oblivion.

It had been rather like that. The doors banging open, the pads and then... nothing. Presumably she had collapsed. She did not remember anything after the brief, the very brief struggle.

Celia had woken, groggy at first. Unsure where she was, disorientated. A nurse, she thought it was a nurse had asked her if she was "OK." Celia had answered in the affirmative. Again looking back it was hardly likely she would have said anything else. Not at that point. Not just when coming to her senses.

It was the nurse opening her mouth, dropping in what she took to be a pill - only it was too big, applying what she took to be toothpaste - only who squeezed toothpaste all along the teeth and not on the brush, followed by a feeling of something being tied around her wrists, perhaps a hospital name band - only that would be only to one wrist. It all helped to rather focus her still befuddled mind.

Even so, it took Celia a little time to realise she was not in hospital, was not wearing her own clothes and things were most definitely not right. Not right at all, not with the thing in her mouth seeming to be getting even larger and finding she was unable to spit it out. It was not that her jaw was not working or her tongue but she could not separate her teeth.

The long white socks, the sensible shoes, the pleated maroon skirt, the white blouse, neat tie and woollen jacket was not at all what she had been wearing. Not the sort of thing she had worn since sixteen at school. As her eyes cleared there too was Natasha in a matching uniform smiling in a rather toothy way at her. Her long hair no longer free but tied in plaits either side of her face.

What was she saying? Celia tried to ask but found it was surprisingly difficult to talk with teeth glued together and something rather large in her mouth. It came to her that Natasha was not so much smiling in a pleasant way as trying to talk with stuck together teeth.

Celia made to get up but the ropes around her wrists which were tied to the bed prevented her and as she tried to kick her legs she realised there were ropes around her long white socks, tied around her ankles holding her down.

Her next conscious thought was being on a train. She could not remember how she got there but there she was, sitting with her hands neatly folded in her lap, sitting next to Natasha, both in their mock school uniforms. Celia tried to rise but realised she was tied. Her hands were not so much resting on her lap but bound together under a coat, seemingly, casually thrown across Natasha and her laps. Her feet were neatly together - yet, again, she could not move them apart. She could not see if they were bound or perhaps in some way the shoes were hooked together.

Again Celia tried to rise but was gently pushed back into her seat by the very same old man she had seen in the alley way at the university.

"Sit still, my dear, we have a long journey ahead of us. You can't need to go again already."

He turned to the man sitting next to him. A man smartly dressed, clearly a businessman.

"I don't know. Have you daughters? These are my two granddaughters... yes I know - don't ask - it was, how might I put it? A mixed marriage. They do so like their drinks, their Cokes and 7-UPs but these fizzy drinks do go through them so."

The old man's chatter caused the man's eyes to flick from Celia's face to Natasha and back again.

"Don't they look so smart in their school uniforms?"

To Celia it seemed the business man had been given permission to cast his eyes all over the girls and he did. Celia had the distinct feeling of being mentally undressed.

"I'm taking them south for the holiday. Their parents take time away and they come to stay at my old beach house. Have done for years. They do so love it there. The sand and the sea you know. I'm fortunate. It's such a lovely place and so private. Such happy days on the beach. Every year; I do so look forward to it and I know the girls do. Sand and sea - they have a lovely time.

You know, I'll tell you a bit of a secret, I don't think it will embarrass the girls if I say the place is so private we've never had to bother with swimming costumes. It all makes it so much easier than having to pull things on under towels and so on. Don't you think?"

The business man looked surprised, more than surprised.

"Of course they are getting bigger but I can't imagine they will want the bother. Would you?"

The man seemed almost tongue tied. Celia rather thought he was imagining running after a naked Natasha and herself across the sands to the sea. Playing with the girls and not with a bucket and spade either. Bother? No, he probably would rather not 'bother.' She could barely move but she did not miss movement in his trousers. The man's thoughts betrayed. But could he not see they were not schoolgirls?

Celia thought it a good time to really try and move but again a firm push from the old man.

"Emily-Sue! Sit still or it'll be the hairbrush on your backside later."

He turned back to the business man. "You have to be firm you know. There's no point in being lax. Don't you think?"

"Oh, um, no," replied the man, staring at Celia, "no a firm hand is the best policy."

'Or a firm something else,' thought Celia. It was just so obvious what the man was thinking - a firm spanking and then a firm... She turned to Natasha who was now seeming a bit more animated as if waking from some sort of stupor. She looked into Natasha's eyes and smiled, a rather toothy smile but there was nothing else she could do.

Surely the man must realise they were not schoolgirls but, instead, young women dressed as schoolgirls, or did he just think girls grew up rather fast these days?

Why were they on a train? Why such a public place if they were being - or rather had been - abducted? Why were they not travelling in a car or locked up in the back of a van? Why the strange pretence of them being schoolgirls on the way to the beach and apparently expected as 15, 16 or was it 17 or 18 year old schoolgirls to be happy to frolic naked whilst building sandcastles and swimming with their aged grandfather?

And was it not so risky with the two girls however tightly bound and gagged to be in a public place - just him and them? It was then Celia noticed the two big men dressed in identical dark suits sitting very close by and seeming to be watching Natasha and herself through dark glasses. Were they in on the act or just men interested in observing rather well built schoolgirls?

The old man seemed happy to engage any one in conversation. Even the ticket collector who seemed a little unsure whether really Celia and Natasha should be half price fares.

A young woman sitting nearby was quizzed on her own school days having, Celia thought, made the mistake of commenting on the neat uniforms. The old man seemed to take a surprising delight in finding out what the young woman had worn at school and was more than delighted to find she had been in the forces until recently. Her army uniform was asked about. Celia was amazed, and the woman clearly a little put out, when the old man began discussing under garments. How the girls wore matching maroon knickers and asking whether she had worn matching navy blue knickers at school and whether the army issued khaki panties for the women service personnel. He had even made a rather excruciating joke about privates for privates. It had rather terminated the conversation but not before he had elicited the information that there had indeed been navy blue knickers.

"Not too long girls. Emily-Sue and Tabitha, you sit still now. We'll soon be there and you can go to your room and change and visit the bathroom. Yes, it's still the big old bed."

He turned to the man sitting next to him. "They do like sleeping in that big old bed together unless... Sometimes if it gets stormy and there is thunder and lightning when they do come to my room and creep into bed with me. They get a little frightened and want a cuddle."

The man's eyes bulged and the young woman looked most disapproving.

Celia could not really believe the strange perverted pleasure the old man seemed to get from discussing Natasha and herself. Could the man or the woman really believe she and Natasha would get into bed with the old man in a thunderstorm and cuddle up to him? The business man, surely, would be imagining what it would be like - the difficulty with one girl perhaps either side of avoiding either girl realising there was something very firm and unusual in his pyjamas! She could imagine he would so like them to find the hard thing and play with it.

All of a sudden both Natasha and she gave a start - in unison.

"Now sit still now."

That was not at all easy. With all the tying up, the thing in her mouth and the stuck together teeth, Celia had not noticed there was something intimately within her. She was now very aware of it. Something had been inserted in her vagina whilst she had been unconscious, something that was now vibrating away to itself in a very teasing, stimulating way. It was evident Natasha was similarly installed. Her eyes, her movement, her wriggling gave it away.

Celia could not help herself; her hips seemed to have a mind of their own; they just would not stay still. If only she could extract the little machine, or for its batteries to run down, but with her hands tied there was nothing she could do. Onwards the train rattled and she just had to sit there feeling the little machine doing its worst - and all the time the old man was watching, watching the movements she and Natasha were making. The little squirming movements in their smart school uniforms. And he was not the only one watching.

"Sit still girls. You are annoying the other passengers!"

She knew she was not. Far from it. Men were looking at Natasha and Celia with undisguised lust. She knew for a certainty; could not see it being any other way that all the men - the old man, the man sitting next to him, the probable minders and a few others - were erect within their trousers; just loving the sight of the squirming schoolgirls.

"Girls!" The old man's voice was cross now. "We are nearly there. You are not to wet your panties!"

Celia could not help it. It was as if the phrase. 'wet your panties' had just pushed her over the edge. Her orgasm came strongly and, remarkably, it seemed the same thing happened to Natasha as well.

"Girls I told you not to. I really did. Too many fizzy drinks. I do hope you haven't..."

His hand under her skirt; his hand forcing itself between her thighs; his hand inside her skirt whilst the man and, indeed, other passengers watched in disbelief; the old man's hand touching her, touching her so intimately. Celia realised she was not in fact wearing panties - maroon or otherwise.

"Look. Look!" He said, holding up his hand and waggling his fingers. They were wet. "Look what the naughty girl has done. It'll be the hair brush for you, young lady, as soon as we are in. Both of you, indeed. As soon as we are in, it's up to your room, those wet things off and the two of you bending over the tailboard of the bed. It'll be a sound thrashing I can tell you!"

Could the business man not see it was not wee? Could he not know the scent in the air, the scent of an aroused young woman? He did seem very flustered.

Natasha and Celia sat still. The buzzing had ceased as quickly as it had started. The train rattled over points and began to slow.

"Well, it's been nice talking to you. I think this is the end of the line."

The business man said some pleasantries as he stood up but he was clearly unsettled. Another glance - no more than that at Natasha and herself - perhaps trying to fix their image in his mind. She could not miss - at her eye level - the bulge in his trousers. So obvious to her that he was strongly erect.

The old man seemed happy to let the other passengers get off first.

"Come girls..."

But Celia's last image was of the two dark suited men standing and moving towards them.

Celia awoke. Slowly she came to her senses. No longer in uniform, no longer in any clothes but tied. Just lying on a bed next to Natasha. Next to tall, beautiful, naked Natasha. Tall, beautiful, naked Natasha and the old man - the old man from the train - also naked and crouched over her. Such a creepy thing to awake to: but the worse for Natasha.

The man was literally dragging it. He was not holding his sexual organ at all, just letting it rub gently against her flawless brown skin - the silk of her skin against the smoothness of his knob. Crouched over her he let the organ just hang away from his body. Not at all as you usually saw the penis, neat against the pubic hair. The tidy model of the classical statue. No, this was the unusual view when it was hanging, as if both penis and balls were suspended on a stalk beneath the man. He was on all fours over Natasha, his penis hanging like an animal's and he was just gently stroking her with it.

The penis did, though, rub very softly because the skin was so very smooth.

It was not as if it was erect or even anything like it but there was no question his action was sexual. His flaccid penis, his flaccid uncut penis, was gently, ever so gently being rubbed over Natasha. None of her skin was exempt. It seemed all must be touched.

There appeared to be no hurry on his part. The man just moving slowly, pulling his penis over Natasha's body. There was nothing else for Celia to do but watch. She seemed to have no volition over her own body. She was sure Natasha was the same.

Celia stared at the little trail the penis had begun to make as if a snail had slid over the so brown skin. The contrast of the white penis and the black skin. The trail so clearly made. Would it be her turn next? The man was literally dragging it.

There was nothing Celia could do but watch. She could not move without permission, even if she had been untied. She knew that. Could feel something had been done to her mind.

It was only then, as she watched the old man's slow progress across Natasha's smooth skin, that Celia realised the true import of the man's actions. He was not impotent in the true sense of the word but was unable to maintain or achieve an erection. His pleasure was in a flaccid sex. Not vaginal intercourse for him but an epidermal intercourse - an intercourse between himself and the whole woman. The snail's trail the indication: the man evidently fully capable of producing seminal fluid.

He was a patient man; there was no hurry in his action; seemingly as happy to rub his penis across Natasha's shoulder as her bottom. He moved everywhere leaving his little trails of silver.

Celia watched with fascination the way the old man rubbed himself against Natasha's breasts, the careful circuit his soft glans made of the areolae, the evident excitement he got from wrapping, no, rolling his long foreskin over each of her nipples in turn, taking them into its folds. Such an intimacy, such a wrong, a so wrong, yet so delicate an act. The soft touch seemed to have an effect on the nipples. He left them wet and sticky with his oozing semen but standing nonetheless.

It was no surprise the old man left Natasha's sex until last. No surprise when he took the ropes securing her ankles and eased her legs gently but firmly apart. Not roughly, not in a violent way: yet it was just so obscene the way he opened her but, at the same time, fascinating and arousing. Yes, arousing! Celia could not believe the sudden surge of wetness between her legs at the very moment Natasha was so visibly exposed. Celia had never really had much to do with Natasha but now was seeing the tall black girl not simply naked but with her sex open, exposed and seemingly wet. What a pretty mons! Celia was surprised at herself. She had never thought of the sex of a woman in such terms but now, seeing Natasha's, her thoughts were different; the dark, dark hair lying flat across the flawless skin of her pubis - not curly but just so straight. It ran to left and right from her slit forming a dark triangle and it was almost as if someone had combed it and given it a parting right where her slit was. Perhaps someone had. A stronger growth at the slit and then running on downwards on her labia major. Peeking out through the slightly swollen lips was her little brown clitoral hood and the soft fold of her labia minora; the pulling apart of her legs had slightly parted these and between them it looked more than a little damp. Celia noted the detail.

The man's silver trail, his snail trail up Natasha's soft brown thigh fascinated Celia. She watched his snail - no, his pink slug - making its way closer and closer to Natasha's exposed femininity. Natasha was struggling, her body and head shaking from side to side, despite the bindings, but still the pink slug slipped gently over her brown skin. Was it in protest or in pleasure? Celia watched fascinated. She would have thought protest, but the touch of the man's penis was so gentle, might well be so teasing. Celia wanted to touch Natasha. Touch her sex.

Celia could not see how the old man could penetrate, how he could finish the act. But still closer he came until, finally, he was rubbing, rubbing his penis against Natasha's outer lips, rubbing, making a slow circuit, crossing the valley twice. And then he was sort of 'in,' with his penis pushing aside the dark fringed labia minora, first one and then the other, and exposing that oyster shell of soft wetness girls have. The man was not in her vagina but in the soft wetness of her sex.
Celia watched, wishing she too could touch Natasha there - it looked, and would be, so soft and delicate - how would it feel compared to her own sex?

The man was moving his penis head within the lips, pushing against her entrance and then rubbing where her clit would be - was it perhaps standing? Could the old man feel its hardness through his softness. Was the little button giving a little extra pleasure to him?

Celia could hear the delicate wet sounds the man was making as he flicked his penis head faster and faster against her, clearly taking the greatest pleasure in the delicate sensations. After a little while it proved not just a pleasure but proved a sufficient pleasure. Finally the old man gave a grunt of satisfaction and the white of his semen began to appear, running out of his soft penis head and onto Natasha's sex, mixing with her own secretions. A strange flaccid ejaculation but seemingly very enjoyable to the old man. It, the white semen, was not inconsiderable.

Celia was relieved. She had been spared the old man's ministrations.

Spared the old man's attentions but not his semen. Celia had not noticed the two dark suited men in the background who had been watching the whole proceedings. A nod from the old man and Celia was lifted and her legs too spread and she was brought not face to face, nor breast to breast with Natasha but quite the other way around as an 'X,' at right angles to the girl, sex to sex, not simply their mons touching but really together, her wet pudenda pushed right up against Natasha's, their bodies at 180 degrees to each other. The touch intimate, the connection intimate. The two open sexes pressed together.

A smile from the old man. "You can move now."

Both Natasha and she registered protest. Their heads shaking but then they were tied closely. Never had Celia been so close to another woman, the intimacy closer than she could have imagined. Their struggling was moving them against each other; their sexes being intimate; their sexual entrances facing and touching each other; as intimate as a man and woman could be but Natasha and she were women; Celia could feel Natasha's soft wetness on her own and she knew the wetness was not just from Natasha but the old man's semen was being rubbed from Natasha to herself and back again.

What made it even worse was Celia was liking the intimacy, was finding the touch of the other woman exciting, the feel of Natasha's wet sex on her own surprisingly pleasant - no erotic. She could feel her own clitoris brushing against Natasha's soft wetness. It was standing. It was erect.

Their struggles and protests were to no avail. They were ignored. The lights were turned off and the girls left to their own devices in pitch darkness.

Celia stopped struggling and lay quietly, still with the feel of Natasha's long smooth legs against her - one to her back, one to her front. Beneath her own naked feet, Natasha's back and her soft breasts. She could feel the girl so warm, so alive against her. She could hear Natasha's breathing, even feel her pulse through her own skin.

They lay still for a time and then it started. Celia was never sure if it was she who started the movement, or Natasha, or both: but there was movement. Almost imperceptible at first but a gentle or tentative rubbing together of wet pudenda nonetheless - and it got stronger. And as it got stronger the wetter they seemed to become. Celia could not help it. She had not wanted to become aroused, did not think that she could become aroused in such a situation, still less with a woman but she had - big time.

The girls' rubbing became desperate, a remarkably intimate and wet rubbing; lips caressing lips, clits perhaps even stroking together. In the silence of the room there were little wet sounds from their rubbing sexes. Moans from the two girls. Their bodies becoming damp with their excitement; an added tactility to their skin.

Natasha came first; Celia could feel the shuddering pleasure of her orgasm but Natasha did not stop rubbing, did not deny Celia her pleasure. She too felt the build and overflow of orgasm.

Moaning together, their bodies sweaty, the scent of girl strong in the air - the girls had truly come - and then they lay still, Celia rather appalled at what she had done, what they had done: perhaps Natasha felt the same. It was not like her - not one little bit. She had never... It was a shock. Not just their present predicament but now - this!

A low chuckling revealed to the girls they were not, after all, alone in the darkness. Celia had thought the men had left; had been sure they had left; there had surely been no one but Natasha and herself when the door had closed.

The sudden stab of torchlight in their eyes, an undoing and redoing of ropes leaving the girls as helpless as before but not now tied intimately together: in fact quite the opposite, tied separately but with their legs very spread. The stab of the torchlight moving now from their faces to their sex; their glistening, no doubt messy pudenda floodlit for the delectation, no doubt, of the men. The torches illuminating and highlighting. Fingers touching.

Celia realised it was about to happen; what she had been expecting since her awaking from her abduction. The old man had not touched her - not like that - but now...

The room light switched on and there the two minders in their dark identical suits. One of them carefully wiping his fingers on his handkerchief.

"Mr Levinson has had his pleasure, you have had yours and now..." Again the chuckle, "it is our turn!" A shared smile between the two.

There was nothing Natasha and she could do. No longer paralysed but so tightly bound; bound in a way giving the man full and easy access - access to female sexes running with the wetness produced by their own actions; vaginas so slippery and so ready prepared for coitus. The men would have no difficulty slipping into them. Celia knew what an enticing sight they would look to men - two young women bound and prepared for intercourse.

Like their master the two men did not rush their pleasure. No zipping down of flies and a quick penetration. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am. No, a careful removal of clothes. Jackets not simply cast aside but carefully laid down; ties removed and neatly curled; shirts carefully unbuttoned and folded; shoes untied, socks removed. It was the removal of the trousers which gave Natasha and Celia a very clear indication that the sex was going to be different from that with the old man. There was no flaccidity of penes in their pants: quite the opposite.

As one, the pants came down and, as one, the penes released from the material sprung into the air. They were not small.

These were not puny men but well built men; strongly muscled and toned. Their bodies not feminine in any way; not the modern slightly androgynous look of the over well groomed, soft skinned and depilated male; rather the men were hairy and muscular. And their penes rose strongly from thickets of wiry curls. Each perhaps a good eight inches long, upwards pointing and both with big acorn shaped knobs. It was clear they meant business. Semen was about to be spilt or, more than a little likely, injected.

Celia just stared. There was nothing she could do; nothing she could do to prevent the men doing things to Natasha and herself. She just looked up at them from her spread-eagled position as they stood erect, so very male and completely in control over Natasha and herself.

If only they would get on with it. Seeing the men staring down at the girls, guessing at their thoughts but them not doing anything seemed torture. The hardness of the penes clearly indicated their thoughts were sexual; the girls' position was sexual - sex was going to happen. There was no let up in their hardness: their thoughts were clearly pleasurable.

It was actually a relief to be touched. The waiting had been worse. Fingers on breasts, fingers toying with nipples, fingers pulling and pinching. Fingers touching other parts of their bodies. Fingers between their legs, fingers in their sexes, each man with fingers in each vagina at the same time. Men enjoying touching girls, men enjoying free access to young bodies, men enjoying playing together with aroused women.

Like the old man they crouched over the girls, their penes hanging free but not to drag their glans, snail or slug like, over the skin. No, they were brought to hang over the girls' faces. It was obvious the men wanted the girls to take them into their mouths, to fellate them.

The girls were unable to move, unable to prevent the men hanging their genitalia over them, unable to prevent them bringing their knobs to touch and bang against the girls' mouths but they were able to prevent access. Celia's lips were firmly closed. The man or the men might be about to insert their large penes in her vagina, one after the other - and there was nothing she could do about that - but she was not going to suck them. No!

She turned her head away towards Natasha as she did the same and they just stared at each other trying to ignore the hanging penes. Difficult to ignore - they were very big.

"Silly, silly girls," said the man hanging over Natasha, "come on Tabitha, you need to suck."

"My name's not Tabitha and I don't want to..."

Celia's eyes grew round as Natasha's full lips, pursed to say the last word slowly widened and closed around the man's knob.. It was not that the man had pushed in: rather Natasha had positively sought the penis and was now actively moving her lips - her so pretty lips on the organ. Natasha's lips looked just so good wrapped around a big penis. Such kissable sweet but full lips - pretty even whilst sucking on a penis. Celia had never seen another woman suck a cock before. Why had Natasha voluntarily done that?

"You too, Emily-Sue."

Celia turned from Natasha having watched what her pretty mouth was doing. There, hanging inches from Celia's mouth, was a penis bigger than she had ever seen or handled before. Engorged and with skin stripped back to show the bulbous head. She was surprised - surprised at her reaction, at how simply lovely it looked: the big soft acorn head with its bifurcation; its eye, the little slit which produced that lovely cream, seemed to be watching her - it all looked just so suckable - there on the end of its long stalk. She could not help herself. With a deep sigh Celia's head moved forward and her lips closed on the wonderful big plum.

"Mmmm." It was lovely.

And so there they were, the two girls, sucking away. Two girls who had just made each other come, Celia surprised at her reaction to Natasha and now her reaction to the penis - the big thing in her mouth. What had the old man done to her? One moment rejecting the penis and trying to avoid it, the next...

Celia sucked away happily. Lovely to feel the big knob in her mouth, so smooth, so rounded. Her tongue explored, her lips moved, her cheeks hollowed. Wouldn't it be so nice if it came, if it ejaculated the man's cream and she could let it slip, silkily, down her throat. Sort of like a warm oyster - delicious and salty. Even with the penis in her mouth she shook her head as if to clear it. What was she thinking? Her eyes again glanced at Natasha; such a pretty girl and so nice to see her thick lips sucking away.

The men pulled away.

"Phew! Mr Levinson does choose 'em! I nearly..."

"Me too."

They grinned at each other and waggled their erections at each other. It was obvious to Celia they were used to working together - working on girls.

The men moved down the bed and once more stood looking down at the girls. The girls bound, just lay and looked up at the men, the naked and erect men: the men looked down at them, at the two helpless girls, the naked and spread girls.

With the removal of the penis from her mouth Celia had come a little back to her senses. She did not want to be fucked by one of the men - she did not want to be fucked by both of the men. She was wet from her intimacy with Natasha, she was wet from her pleasure in penis sucking - there would be no difficulty for the men but she did not want to do that. It was clear Natasha did not want to be fucked either.

"Leave us alone."

It was just such a pointless command and the men so knew it. They were in total control.

"Quiet Tabitha. Little girls should wait until they are spoken to. And my colleague is hardly going to leave you alone, is he now? Hardly! You just need to look at him. Big and swollen isn't he? He clearly needs a girl or the special bit of a girl." The two men looked at each other's erections and smiled.

The other man moved forward, once more climbing onto the girl but it was obvious to Celia watching that, this time, his penis was not going into Natasha's mouth: no, it was going to go in where Celia had so recently been rubbing.

Natasha turned to her and they stared into each other's eyes. Celia could not see down to Natasha's sex; could not see the moment the big knob pushed against her soft and wet folds and entered her body but she knew the moment, saw Natasha wince and her eyes widen. It could not have hurt her. It was a big, thick penis with a lot of diameter to it but the knob was properly rounded and, wet as she knew Natasha to be, the act of penetration could not have been uncomfortable, or even painful. It was just unwanted.

Celia tried to show sympathy. "It won't last long," she whispered.

A chuckle from the men. "How do you know?"

How did she know? And then she felt it. The second man's penis against her own sex. It was about to happen. Spread as she was, wet as she was, defenceless as she was - there was just no difficulty in entry but it was undoubtedly the thickest penis that she had taken. It simply felt big as the knob pushed into her. A despairing look at Natasha and then she turned. And there was the man with his face, his lips close to hers. Of course he was there. He was a man lying on her body in the classic missionary position and as his penis slid up into her he had the effrontery to kiss her on the lips.

"Oh - that is nice!"

"Fuck you," Celia hissed.

"Yes," he said.

Both Natasha and Celia wriggled, fought against their bonds but to no avail. Bound to the bed and speared by the men. They were completely helpless. The men just rode the sudden passion; held on and simply enjoyed the wriggling; they were both fully engaged and, with their members so far up into the girls, the male/female connection so thoroughly made, they were not going to be dislodged.

The girls lay back, panting and exhausted and the men took it as their cue to begin to fuck. The traditional bottom rising and falling movement as the girls lay still and unresisting.

But they did not leave the girls alone: they did not simply come and then go, letting the girls sleep. Instead, after a time, they withdrew and swopped over. The slippery withdrawal from her vagina and then hearing the words:

"You try Tabitha now."

But not straightway back into their vaginas; once more the men came up the bed, their penes hanging, just as firm as before but this time to a different girl; and this time the penes were not dry, not a bit of it. They were fresh from a vagina - not from the particular girl's vagina but her friend's.

Hanging before Celia's face, clear in all its detail was the other man's genitalia; not the man whom she had sucked and been fucked by but the other man. There was his knob with its bifurcation, perhaps already leaking but that was difficult to see because it was covered both by Natasha's secretions and traces of the old man's semen. Inches from her mouth, the big plum on its stalk and, beyond, hanging rather pendulously his balls. If only she was free, if only she could knee him or worse: but she couldn't and as she stared at the genitalia in front of her face once again the desire to suck came.

The man seemed happy to wait for her, wait as she found her lips parting, her tongue running over her lips, her desire to suck on the thing growing and growing. Celia glanced sideways. Natasha had already lost the fight. She was sucking with gusto on the other man's penis, sucking on the penis that had so recently been deep inside Celia. Celia stopped fighting and with a sigh of satisfaction sucked the sticky plum into her mouth. It smelt delightfully of girl, it tasted of man and girl - but it was very male!

There was more swopping, the men seeming happy to spend a lot of time enjoying the girls' bodies but not actually coming. Eventually the men decided to finish it. It was a discussion between them. A discussion about which girl. A discussion about their different attributes. A discussion which was personal and intimate but completely ignored the presence of the girls - even that they might have a say in it.

Perhaps she could avoid the final thing - "Please don't come inside me."

The men turned to her and chuckled.

"Sssh, don't talk." And like Natasha she no longer could.

The bottoms rose and fell. It was not to be in the girls' mouths. Incredibly the girls had actually liked that; would have been very happy to accept and enjoy the twin ejaculations - at least whilst the penes were in the mouths. They did not want the men coming in their vaginas but more than clearly that was what would happen.

The bottoms rose and fell and the thick penes slid to and fro - squelching, sucking noises in the quiet of the room. Celia could do nothing as she felt the man at work on her. All she could do was lie there, a captive, an abducted student. Where was she? It was so quiet but for the men's breathing and the sexual noises they were making. Who were these people? What was to happen to Natasha and herself? Why had she been so accepting of the penes in her mouth? What had been done to her mind?

The men's motion was getting faster and then a sharp stabbing motion from her 'rider.' Inside her she could feel the sudden spurting. The man was completing the sexual act. It was the emission of seed.

There was neither a 'thank you' nor a 'good night.' The men just got off the girls, picked up their clothes, switched the light off and left them tied down, spread-eagled and freshly fucked. Sleep actually came quite easily.