Under Water - Part Two

Aug 31, 2018
12
14
3
#1
Under Water - Part Two - Chapter 1

Continuing from within the engine room:

It is dark. My nose has been flattened, and there is no relief from the weight crushing
down on my head. I try to remember Ilse's last words, "I don't even know your name, but
today you stuck your nose in my pussy, your face up my arse, you lied to me about being a
refugee, you lied to me about speaking English, you pushed me around, and now you are
trying to disable the ships I work on. I hate you! You're a despicable loser! You are
the lowest of the low. I see you have found your place in this world, under a woman's
arse. I'm going to make sure you never get up. You're going to stay down there forever,
and if one arse can't keep you down, maybe two will". She's right, of course, and has
every reason to be angry. But sitting on Natalya's lap and putting me into a double
facesit is an odd way to express that anger.

I think about Natalya's last words, "Plans Change! Greenpeace showed me things. Things I didn't know. Things you don't know. We are working for the wrong side!". I am encouraged
by the "we", as it still implies some connection, some loyalty, or even perhaps pity
towards me. She could have killed me at any time, and could do so now, which means that
she has a new "Plan" of some kind.

'Sven, you're awake!', shouts Ilse, 'Are you hurt?' 'I'm an better', replies the man I
assume is I knocked out earlier.

'Is this the guy?', asks Sven. 'He's not going anywhere', says Ilse. 'Hmmmmmmfff', is the
best I can do, as a shoe slams into my side. It must be Sven. My entire lower body is
unprotected.

'Go get some rope so we can tie him up!', orders Natalya. I hear heavy footsteps on the
nearby companionway, then Ilse asks 'What are we going to do with him?'.

'We have to get him to tell us what he did to the ship', says Natalya. 'After that we can
turn him over to the authorities and collect the reward', squeezing her gluteal muscles
together to let me know whom she is directing that option. 'Or, we could kill him and dump
his body in the harbour', another squeeze marking that option. 'Or, we could keep him as a
prisoner', no squeeze followed that, so I assume this is Natalya's preferred choice for
now.

I hear footsteps again, and hear Sven say, 'Got it'. 'Get his feet first', orders Natalya.
My feet are squeezed together by one of Sven's large hands, a coarse rope is wrapped
tightly around both and is then secured. 'I use the same knot I learn on father's
fishing boat when I am 10 years old. It never fail and nothing ever slip out',
says Sven. Oh great, Sven doesn't know much about hand-to-hand combat, but he sounds very
skilled with ropes and nautical knots. With my feet tied together, and 3-to-1 odds against
me, I am not going to be able to escape from here, so I'll bide my time and wait for a
better opportunity.

'Ilse, you'll have to get up', orders Natalya, 'then help me turn him onto his side. Sven,
when we do that, tie his hands together.' I am grateful when Ilse backs away and gets off,
and even more so when Natalya pulls back, freeing my head and letting blood rush to my
face. I reach up and massage my face, feeling the indents from the seams of Natalya's Tomb
Raider shorts. Three pairs of hands roll me onto my side, as if I were an oversized cod.
I try to keep my hands in front of me to improve my escape chances, but Natalya realizes
this and pushes them behind my back where Sven wastes no time securing them. As they roll
me onto my back, my shoulders, arms and hands silently scream in protest. I look up and
see all three standing above me.

Natalya speaks first, 'Tell us what you did to the ship!'. 'Figure it out yourself!', I
yell back. 'Your mission has already failed!', says Natalya. 'You're wrong. It will take
months to figure out what I have done all over the ship', I lied. The only place I did
anything was in the engine room, but they don't need to know that. 'Tell us!', yells Ilse.
'No!', I yell back. Natalya pulls Ilse and Sven back a few steps and speaks to them in
Dutch. At least my head is free, which allows me to see Sven hurry up the companionway.
With both my hands and feet tied, I still cannot escape even with 2-to-1 odds.

Natalya walks above me and stands with her feet on either side of my head. I tilt my head
back to watch her, and watch as she undoes the belt on her Tomb Raider shorts and pulls
them down. I have already survived a double facesit, so I am surprised by this. How much
more can they do? Standing above me, Natalya is wearing wide black bikini style
undergarment, cut fairly wide on the sides and through the crotch. There is nothing frilly
or sexy, except the wearer herself. Natalya turns around, assumes a kneeling position with
her feet on either side of my body, and lowers her arse onto my mouth and nose, but leaving
my eyes free. I feel the dampness of her sweaty crotch against my face, and once again
contort my face and lips in order to open a channel through which to breathe.

I see Ilse come and stand, facing Natalya, then hear footsteps on the companionway steps,
which I assume are Sven's. Natalya shifts her bum slightly, exposing my nose and allowing
me a deep breath of musky air, before adjusting and ending up with my nose lightly touching
her fabric covering her pussy. I see Sven hand Natalya a bottle of water. I am thirsty
but not parched, so watching Natalya drink the water will have no effect on me. But
instead, Natalya removes the cap and pours some of the water right onto my nose. As the
water runs down both sides of my nose, I snort outward through my nose to prevent inhaling
any. Natalya's left hand comes down, grabs her bikini underwear, and pulls the top band
away from her body and slightly downward, giving me a view of her magnificent bush. The
top of her pussy lips are visible. I have never seen this part of Natalya before, well, at
least not from this close. The water bottle comes down in her right hand, and I watch as
she pours some into her bush. The water quickly runs down through her pubic hair, down the
crack in her pussy and disappears from my view, before filtering through her bikini fabric
and arriving at my nose. As I breathe, I draw in a much stronger smell of urine and sweat,
along with small spits of moisture.

I recognize this. It's not waterboarding, but close. Natalya is using her bikini
underwear instead of covering my face with a cloth! Natalya uses her left hand to lift the
bottom of her tank top up, exposing her stomach. I cannot help but admire her abdominal muscles, her constant exercise and conditioning clearly showing. Natalya then pours more water against her abdominal muscles. I watch it trickle down, one horizontal muscle at a time, into the valleys between, emerging to flow over the next lower muscle. I try to time
the descent of the water so I can draw in a breath before it reaches my nose. I am successful, but the fabric of her bikini is now saturated. Natalya looks down at me, then
away, conveying the feeling that she is not in a hurry. I draw in shallow breaths through my nose, but blow them back out as I feel water being drawn into my sinuses.

Natalya repeats, and I watch the water trickle down the front of her stomach before disappearing into the fabric of her bikini shorts, only to feel the moisture spread out a
moment later when it reaches my nose. With Natalya's thighs pressed against my facial
cheeks, the water is trapped and has no place to go. Natalya brings the water bottle down and holds it above my nose. Guessing the reason, I respond by holding my breath, but when forced to inhale Natalya pours water directly onto my nose. I inhale enough to
produce the effect of drowning that makes waterboarding so effective. The water trickles into my trachea and my cough reflex responds. But with Natalya's bum covering my mouth, there is no place for the water to go, no way for me to expel anything.

This must be what it feels like to be - UNDER WATER! I quickly realize the fatal flaw in what Natalya is doing. In waterboarding, the victim is placed onto a board with
their head lower than feet. This prevents the victim from actually drowning. The head fills with water, but the lungs do not. I am not at an angle, I am laying flat on my back,
so the water will be able to reach my lungs. Rather than the feeling of drowning, I can actually drown! I try to cough again, and manage to spit out, 'OK, I'll tell you.' It is
not time to be a martyr.

Natalya stands up, and I break into a coughing fit. After recovering, I know that I am beaten, so while laying there I describe everything I did, including how I had only gotten
to the engine room and nowhere else on the ship. I describe every connector I installed and where to find them. I told them the truth, that I had no time to apply the acid or glue, nor to sabotague and metal or rubber parts. With her Tomb Raider shorts back on, Natalya seems pleased with her triumph.

But suddenly, Ilse walks over and stands above me. She kneels in a similar position to Natalya and lowers her bum onto my face. I meet the familiar blue fabric of her swimsuit once again. 'How do we know he is telling the truth?', she asks. Ilse's bum and thighs are much softer than Natalya's and conform tightly to my face. I watch as she grabs the water bottle sitting near my head, and promptly pours some water onto and down the front of her swimsuit, and as the fabric of her swimsuit absorbs that water, it reveals the details of the cameltoe pushing against the tip of my nose. Unlike Natalya, who paused between pours, Ilse is pouring almost continously, the water laying around my nose, trapped by her pussy and thighs.

I exhale slowly to prevent the water from draining in, and watch as small bubbles of my air cling to the crotch of Ilse's swimsuit. My lungs finally override my brain and I am forced to breathe in through my nose. The liquid is drawn into my sinuses and from there trickles down the back of my throat. I cough violently, but with Ilse weighing more than Natalya my spasms offer little relief, only pressing my face tighter into her crotch. Ilse repositions, which at
least allows the water drain down either side of my face, but once back into position she pours more water directly onto my nose.

Ilse doesn't know what she is doing and might actually kill me!

I spit out, 'Please stop! I told you the truth! Stop! I'm drowning! I beg you! Please!'.

My efforts have no effect on Ilse, who stares down at me with a wild look in her eyes. I am relieved to see Natalya grab the water bottle away from her. 'He might still be
lying', yells Ilse. 'No Ilse, he's telling the truth', says Natalya, 'I've seen him beg many times before. I believe him.' Natalya reaches a hand out to Ilse, she takes it, and
Natalya helps Ilse get off my face. I immediately roll onto my side, and as my legs spasm, I cough violently trying to clear my lungs and nasal passages. As I look up
from the corner of my eyes, I see Ilse staring down at me. She turns to Natalya and says, ‘I liked that. It felt empowering.'
 
Last edited:
Likes: crapgolem123
Aug 31, 2018
12
14
3
#4
Under Water - Part Two - Chapter 2

'We're going to have to move him', says Natalya, 'we can't keep him here.'

'My sister has a room where we could keep him', replies Ilse, 'Sven, do you have
your car nearby?'

'Ya'

'Ilse, go ahead of us and distract the Nightwatchers while Sven and I carry him
off the ship', orders Natalya.

I watch as Ilse heads up the companionway steps, and see Sven and Natalya
approach. Sven grabs me under my arms while Natalya lifts my feet. Neither
seem to have any trouble lifting me, and as we reach the steps, Natalya is in
the lead. Natalya is climbing the steps backwards, one at a time. As they move
up the steps my head is much lower than my feet, allowing blood to rush to my
head. They move without talking, apparently Natalya knows the way as she leads.
I remain silent, fearing that discovery by other crew members could force
Natalya to turn me over to the authorities. We maneuver through the
companionways, encountering no one, and eventually reach the gangway ramp where
the descent is much smoother than the steps going up from the engine room. I am
dumped in between some crates on the dock and pushed out of sight.

'Sven, go get your car', directs Natalya. After several minutes of silence,
Ilse joins Natalya, and a few moments later they greet the return of Sven. 'Be
careful. Let's get him to the car', says Natalya. Three pairs of hands lift me
and I am carried a short distance to a surprisingly small car, which makes me
wonder how Sven can even fit inside. 'He won't fit into the boot, so put him on
the back seat', orders Natalya. From the passenger side I am loaded feet first
across the back seat, but I am too tall to fit in the small car. 'Bend your
knees!', commands Natalya. I comply, and now lay on my back across the
backseat, my feet and knees behind the driver's seat and my head behind the
passenger's seat.

'I need to report back to our employer that the mission failed. Can you two get
him to your sister's?', asks Natalya, 'I will meet your there later'. 'I will
call ahead. Sven and I can handle this', replies Ilse. 'He may be tied up, but
he's still dangerous. Ilse, you should sit in the back seat and watch him',
says Natalya. 'Where can I sit?', asks Ilse. 'Sit on his stomach', directs
Natalya.

Ilse awkwardly climbs into the car from the passenger's side, unsure of how to
reach the middle of the car. One hand holds onto the front passenger seat,
while the other reaches across to the top of the back seat. She rotates her
body into the car, swinging her bum over my face, then quickly releases her hold
on the back seat and grabs the driver's seat with her left hand. She slides her
feet across the floor, and I tense my stomach muscles as she lowers her bum onto
my torso. With my bent knees pointing upward, Ilse ends up with one bum cheek
on my stomach, and the other against my lower rib cage. Natalya closes the rear
door and after Sven climbs into the driver's seat, Ilse converses with him in
Dutch. The car is started and we begin moving.

With Natalya out of the way, this is a good time to try an escape, 'Ilse, let me
go, I promise you'll never see me again.' 'I don't believe you. You've already
lied several times. You could come back and try again', she harshly replies.
Pity isn't working with Ilse. The car hits a bump, lifting Ilse up and back
down again, her bum giving me a firm punch to my stomach with her entire body
weight. 'Ilse, I have some money saved up. I will give you 25,000 Euro if you
let me go', trying a bribe instead. 'No!', she says. Ilse slides over, higher
onto my chest and places her right hand over my mouth, firmly pressing down, 'Be
Quiet'. Through her fingers, I blurt out, 'I can pay 50,000 Euro to both you
and Sven.' Ilse lifts her right hand off my mouth. There is hope. She places
it onto the handrest on the side of the door, and her left hand grabs the front
passenger seat. She lifts her bum from my chest and I take a deep breath.
Then, in a quick motion, Ilse slides her bum over my face and sits down in a
sideways facesit! 'I said, BE QUIET!'.

Her left thigh rests upon my neck, her right laying atop my nose and mouth.
Because of the differences in height, her pussy is pressed against my chin at an
angle. With the unexpected move, I did not have time to draw in a breath, and
now I wonder where my next breath will come from, as the soft tissue of her
thigh settles over my nose and mouth. With my mouth covered, I have no choice
but to be quiet, but words are not the issue, air is! There are no channels or
cracks or anything else to let me sneak a breath, only skin. Ilse's weight is
more concentrated on her lower thigh, but the slight reduction against my face
is not a reason to rejoice. In the confined space of the backseat, unable to
twist or roll, I need to do a sit-up and lift Ilse's entire weight with my neck
muscles? Impossible. 'Hhhhhhmmmmmmpppppphhhhhh', is the best I can do.
'That's better!', says Ilse.

My head is pressed deep into the seat cushion my Ilse's thighs, but at least
this isn't one of Natalya's wrestling head locks. I try to turn my head toward
the front of the car, and my nose pressed flat and to the left as it rubs
against the flesh on the underside of Ilse's thighs. A hand grabs the hair on
the top of my head as Ilse feels my move. 'Bad boy!', shouts Ilse. She lifts
her bum and twists my head back to its original position, once again sealing my
nose under the flesh of her thighs. But I am thankful for the quick breath I
was able to grab when she lifted up. My bribes are backfiring on me. Ilse
thinks she is sealing off my mouth to keep me from talking, but instead she is
suffocating me!

Ilse's weight shifts side-to-side as the car turns to the left or right. As we
pass over small bumps, her entire weight bounces up and down with the movement
of the car seat springs, my head trapped in between. I try to draw in small
breaths when I can, but we are now on a smooth road and my lungs are crying out
for air. Instead of turning toward the front of the car, I decide to turn my
head slowly toward the rear of the car. It is working, so far at least. No
reaction from Ilse. My nose is now flattened in the opposite direction, toward
my right. Slowly I continue to turn my head, and as the pressure on my nose
lessens, I purse my lips and pull in a welcome breath of air. My nose and mouth
must be in the small horizontal crease between Ilse's bum and her thigh. The
air is warm and unpleasant, but at least I can breathe. I feel the warm
softness of Ilse's bum cheek pressing lightly against the left side of my nose,
an almost welcome feeling compared to the weight and firmness of her upper thigh
pressing against the right side of my nose.

I hear Ilse say, 'That's it, we are here'. The car stops and I hear Sven get
out. Ilse opens the back door and pivots her legs to get out of the car. Her
bum follows her legs, and as it rotates on my face my nose once again encounters
the blue fabric of her swimsuit. Ilse begins to get up, rocking slightly
backward and pressing her bum down against my face, the same as if I weren't
even there. But as Ilse lifts her bum from my face, her thighs and crack are
bathed in red light. I tilt my neck and look back over my head for the source
and see red light coming from two windows, each containing a scantily clad woman
making suggestive poses toward Sven. A brothel?

'Hurry, let's get him inside', yells Ilse.
 
Likes: crapgolem123
Aug 31, 2018
12
14
3
#5
Under Water - Part Two - Chapter 3

Sven reaches in and pulls me from the car. My bound feet slip off the car seat and rudely hit the
ground. Ilse moves around and picks up my feet but is struggling. Via a combination of carrying
and dragging. we enter the brothel.

'Ilse Dear, nice to see you again. You should come by more often, and bring this tall strong man
with you', says a strange woman's voice, 'and I see you brought your own slave too.' Ilse lowers
my feet, but Sven maintains his grip. I look up and to my right toward the voice, and see an
attractive woman dressed in a skin tight black cat suit. Although somewhat older, I notice the
family resemblance to Ilse. 'He's not, I mean, we just need to keep him here for a while, unseen',
replies Ilse, apparently unable to come up for a better explanation why she is carrying in a man
bound hand and foot.

'I go back to ship now. Clean up', says Sven, who seems rather uncomfortable being here in a
brothel.

'Do you still have that room in the basement, the one with the chains?', asks Ilse. 'Sorry dear,
the dungeon is in use tonight. But if you don't want him to be seen, I have the perfect place.'
She claps her hands twice, 'Slaves! Carry this new slave to Room 3 and secure him.' Sven lowers
me to the ground, and two nearly naked muscular men lift me up and carry me down the hall.

I am deposited in a large box, or at least part of a box. It resembles a coffin, with fabric lined
walls to me left and right, however, there is no wall above my head or below my feet. The fabric
continues beneath me, overlaying a layer of foam across the entire bottom of the box. Outlining
the interior base of the box are additional foam pieces, perhaps 30 cm high, which extend across
all four sides. The two men move swiftly and carefully, first cutting the ropes that bind my feet,
then my hands, but as they work they immediately clamp any loose appendage into a shackle, never
leaving my limbs free enough to attempt an escape. They slide a portable section of fabric covered
wall into the opening at my feet, then another midway in the box, above my waist. This box is
feeling more and more like a coffin.

Both men move around to my head and pull out a pair of goggles. These are unlike any I have seen
before, as the lenses are a soft, gel-like material. The men lift my head, pressing the lenses
against my eyes, and pull the elastic strap beind my head. As I watch the men, the lenses act like
a magnifying glass, restricting my peripheral vision but magnifying anything directly in front of
me. I see a large pink ball with straps come toward me, and a set of hands grabs my face, pulling
my mouth open. The soft pink ball is inserted into my mouth, then the hands release my head, and
secure the two straps. Another shackle is placed across my neck, and too late, I realize I should
have tried attempted an escape earlier, rather than letting them secure me in this coffin.

The two men continue to work around my head, and I see them bring out square pieces of foam,
perhaps 5 cm thick. They position a piece next to my head, then lift it up, where I see them pull
off small rectangles of the foam. I know what this is. It is Pick and Pluck foam, used in high
end shipping crates for guns, cameras, and other gear. Is that the plan? Instead of a coffin, is
this a packing crate? Am I going to be sealed inside a packing crate and shipped to some unknown
location? The men continue adding layers of the Pick and Pluck foam, acheiving a perfect contour
of my head and upper torso. The men add another layer of foam, rising about 3 cm above my head,
then stop. I pull tightly against each of the shackles, but find no weakness in them. Unable to
move and unable to talk, I am thankful that I can both see and breathe, but wonder what will happen
to me.

The two men return, with additional foam, not quite as thick, but of a similar kind, and place that
over my face, obscuring my vision. I feel them work around the outer edges, then two fingers and a
thumb break through the foam immediately above my eyes. They pinch together and pull that section
of foam away. I can see! The foam over my other eye is removed, then over my nose. These three
openings are the only portion of my head and upper torso that are not covered by foam. With the
exception of my nose, anyone looking into the box will be unable to tell that there is a human
beneath the foam. The men then lay a large piece of roughly textured gray fabric over the foam,
removing even that clue. Surprisingly, I can see through the fabric as if looking through a
screen. I feel the box being moved, it must be on wheels, and see quick images pass above me, then
darkness. The table stops and I am left in a dark room. Am I to be shipped out of the port
Amsterdam, like a crate of car parts?

A few minutes later, a light is turned on. The men must be coming back add the last sections of
the packing crate to completely seal me in. Then, I hear Ilse's voice, 'Are you sure he won't be
seen?' 'Absolutely my dear sister. No one will ever know he was here', was the response, 'Come
in, sit down, and tell me all about your life.' I look up and see Ilse towering above me. She
turns and begins to lower her bum, preparing to sit. Sit? This isn't a packing crate, it's a
chair! And I'm inside!

My face is once again re-united with Ilse's blue swimsuit, as it stretches within the crack of her
descending bum. Ilse has a lean, athletic body, so I am surprised at how large her bum and hips
and thighs appear as they spread out above me. Could it be these lenses? Is that why they put
them on me? Contact! Ilse's sister said I would never be seen here. She is right. My head is
pressed down into the foam beneath it. The Pick and Pluck foam surrounding my head squeezes inward
as it conforms to the shape of Ilse's thighs and bum. I cannot feel any gaps or cracks as the foam
is compressed both down and together to gently support Ilse's bum. It must feel perfectly smooth
to her. One of my eyes is uncovered, looking straight up between Isle's legs, while the other is
covered in the darkness below her bare thigh. My nose is pressed down slightly, maintaining its
relative position with the surrounding foam. It is slightly offset from the gap between her legs,
nestled into the small crease between Ilse's cameltoe and her left thigh.

I look up with my uncovered left eye. It is easy to make out the location of Ilse's breasts,
though all detail is obscured by her loose fitting top. Ilse and her sister have switched to
Dutch, leaving me lost in translation. I watch the bottom of Ilse's chin move as she talks. It is
nice to hear her laugh every so often, and speak in a pleasant tone. I recognize a few words
similar to English, but the arrhythmic cadence of Dutch and my limited vocabulary render their
meaning my comprehension. Instead, I concentrate on Ilse's head movements, a slight tilt, a hand
reaching up to tuck a loose hair behind her ear, and the occasional glint in her eyes. Ilse shifts
slighly on the chair, but gives no notice to what, or whom, lay beneath her bum.

Ilse switches back to English, 'Most of your rooms have beds in them, but this one doesn't. What
is this room used for?'. 'A number of clients pay to have a woman sit on their face. We don't
allow oral sex, for obvious reasons, but some some of those clients like to fantasize that they are
an object, for example, a chair or a sofa, and have a woman sit on them', replies Ilse's sister.

'I don't understand. These men actually WANT to be sat on?', asks Ilse. 'Oh, my dear, we have all
types of clients with all kinds of desires.', is the response. My cock begins to stiffen from the
nature of this conversation, along with the gentle pressure of Ilse's bum against my face, the
bottom of her cameltoe pressing against my nose, and the view looking up from between her thighs.
From my present position, I see Ilse really is a very beautiful woman.

'What does it feel like for the men? Doesn't it hurt?', asks Ilse. 'Some men want to be dominated
by a woman, each has their own reason. Pain is part of their pleasure. So, yes, it can hurt, a
little or a lot, depending on what each client wants.' The same conversation seems to be affecting
Ilse. I breathe deeply and sense either her arousal, or the odor from the blue swimsuit she has
worn all day.

'The man I brought in today, I pulled his face into my crotch while paddling a kayak, I helped do a
double facesit on him aboard our ship, I waterboarded him though the crotch of my swimsuit, and I
just got done sitting on his face in a bouncing car. Do you think he is the kind of man that wants
to be dominated?, asks Ilse. The response begins with laughter, 'If you want your answer, just
lift the cover off the chair you are sitting on, and ASK him!'.

Ilse rocks back a bit, her bum pressing down on my face as she hurredly pushes herself up from the
chair as if it were on fire, 'He's not... He can't... I mean, I don't feel anything...'. I see
Ilse lean over and reach toward the sides of the chair, then the fabric cover is lifted. I look
back up over my head at Ilse. Other than my eyes and nose, I'm not sure what she can see. 'Is
that really him?', asks Ilse. There is a knock at the door, and I hear a man's voice, 'Sorry to
disturb you Mistress Malou, but there is a woman here asking for you. She says her name is
Natalya.' 'Bring her back, slave', is the command.

'Do you want to leave the cover off for your friend to see?', asks Mistress Malou. 'No, I want
Natalya to sit on him too!', is the reply. Ilse lowers the fabric seat cover, tucks in the loose
fabric at the edges, and disappears from my view.

I hear the door open and a man's voice says, 'This way, Mistress Natalya'. I hear,
'Oooooommmmmffffff', a sound I know well. I make the identical sound during sparring matches with
Natalya, when she lands a solid punch to my stomach. 'I am not a Mistress', yells Natalya. 'Thank
you for the... ummmpphh... punch to.... ummmphhh... my stomach... Miss Natalya....', as the door
closes.

'Please do come in and sit down dear', invites Mistress Malou, 'that's a nice outfit you have. We
could use a Tomb Raider here, with your looks and that outfit, you would be quite popular'. 'Not
interested', replies Natalya, 'I have other plans right now'.

I see Ilse pass by, then Natalya, who turns and stands immediately in front of the chair, her bum
towards me. 'Where is the guy that Ilse brought in?', asks Natalya. 'Oh, he's close by', giggles
Ilse.

Somewhat warily, Natalya lowers her bum onto the chair. The fabric of her Tomb Raider shorts
stretches against her well muscled bum cheeks, clearly outlining their flawless shape. She settles
near the front of the chair, her weight pressing against my forehead. My eyes are only partially
covered, there is a small pinpoint of light reaching between her cheeks, the brightness
backlighting the rounded curves on each side of my nose. 'Comfortable chair', says Natalya. Ilse
giggles again. Ilse knows I am inside the chair, undetectable by Natalya. Why is she enjoying it
this much?

My face is separated from Natalya's crotch by the thin fabric cover, which is about as "close by"
as you can get, but I cannot tell Natalya that, nor even move my head to signal her. 'Despite his
appearance, he is very dangerous', states Natalya. Mistress Malou responds, 'My Dear Natalya, many
dangerous men enter my brothel, but few leave that way.' Natalya shifts in the chair, either
uncomfortable with the answer, or with someone calling her a "Dear".

'I've ordered my father's yacht to meet us here in Amsterdam, but it is still several hours away.
When it arrives, we need to get the guy aboard unseen', says Natalya. So, another Plan Change?.
Natalya wants to get me aboard her father's yacht? Why? Natalya crosses her left leg over her
right, lessening the pressure on the right side of my face, while increasing it on the other.

Mistress Malou responds to Natalya, 'If you do not wish someone to be seen, the best place to hide
is in plain sight. I have a permanent spot at a dock near here, paid for by one of our wealthy
clients, but it is vacant now. Tell your captain to arrive promptly at 10:00 in the morning and we
will meet you there. Hang out every flag and banner aboard, and blow every whistle, horn or siren
as loudly as possible while docking. But for now, my slaves have prepared a light meal and
refreshments, I hope you will enjoy. Kindly follow me to the dining room and I will provide you
with the full details.'

The three woman get up and walk past the chair in which I am hidden The light is turned off, the
door closes, and I am in the dark, literally and figuratively. Am I to be loaded aboard the yacht
tomorrow, enclosed in a box, as if I were nothing but a crate full of tampons? Or will they leave
me inside the chair, and load me as a piece of furniture?
 
Likes: crapgolem123
Dec 1, 2007
206
0
16
#6
What an incredible and detailed story. The amazing detailed explanation of the protagonist and the unique various fetishes connected to this thread makes it a truly must read. Thank you so much.
 
Aug 31, 2018
12
14
3
#7
Thanks snowpresto. After writing Part One I had a few ideas in my head for Part Two, but nothing solid. I spent about an hour and half in an airplane, and fit those ideas together along with some others and came up with the storyboard outline for Part Two. As the next chapter will reveal in greater detail, this is actually a story of the transformation of both the male protagonist and Ilse.
 
Aug 31, 2018
12
14
3
#8
Under Water - Part Two - Chapter 4

The light flicks on. It has been a restless night for me shackled inside this chair. While the foam below me is not uncomfortable, my muscles are sore due to my inability to turn or shift position. The wheeled chair is rolled feet first, passing through several doorways and a hallway. I stop in a brightly lit room, and as the fabric cover is lifted I look up and see the same two male slaves. They move around the exterior of the chair, lifting up and removing the fabric covered wall sections and setting them aside, then they remove all of the foam pieces. Next, they take off my soft goggles and ball gag, but still leave me shackled.

One of them says, 'Mistress Malou has asked us to clean you up and make you presentable. Within this room there is food and drink on the sidebar, and attached is a small loo with a toilet and shower. If you cooperate you will be allowed privacy. If you choose not to cooperate, I will return with additional slaves and you may find that less pleasant.' My bladder is bursting and I am both hungry and thirsty, but those are secondary to my main goal of escape, nonetheless I respond, 'I'll cooperate.' My real intention is to be released from the shackles and then left alone so I can look for objects to fashion into weapons for my escape.

As the shackles are released, I stretch the associated muscles, and think about whether to risk fighting my way out once the last shackle is removed. But I don't know exactly where I am, how many other slaves I would have to fight my way through, or even if the door is unlocked. I opt to try words, 'If you let me escape, I can take you two with me. You will be free.' One of them responds, 'Free? Free from what? If we leave our Mistress, where would we go? We live to serve our Mistress, to please her. We want to be here.' I am stunned. Why would anyone want to do this? While I consider this, the last shackle is released, and the two slaves step to the door. After two taps, it opens, and as they leave, one of them says, 'We will be back in 30 minutes.'

My bladder wins the lottery and I take care of that first, then move to the refreshments. I wonder if they might be drugged, but to what effect? They already had me laid out on my back and shackled. I still have 25 minutes before they return, so I opt for a quick shower. I peel off my clothes and drop them onto a chair, then step into the shower. After laying in the bottom of a kayak, taking a nap at a construction site, and wrestling on the floor of a ship's engine room, it feels really good. I turn off the water and step back out into the main room. My clothes! They're gone! In their place is a small pair of white male swim trunks, similar to what the two male slaves are wearing. Other than my towel, I see no other clothes, so I put on the swim trunks and repeat to myself, I am not a slave like them, I am not a slave like them, I am not a slave like them.

I explore the rest of the room looking for potential weapons. They left a metal spoon but there is no time to sharpen it into a shiv. There are several cabinets but all are locked. I turn the chair onto its side, looking underneath, but cannot pull free any springs or parts. I hear voices outside the door, so I reposition the chair and turn toward the door. Four slaves enter, one carrying a chain and some unidentified black leather objects. 'Mistress Malou says you are dangerous, so there are four more slaves waiting outside this door. You can show your wisdom by cooperating, or not. Either way, you will be taken to Miss Natalya's yacht', says the strongest looking slave. After considering the one against eight odds, I respond, 'I will cooperate'.

My arms are grabbed and pinned behind my back, then a black leather mask is slipped over my head. There are small openings for my eyes, and the bridge of my nose is covered, except for two small holes beneath the nostrils. The leather covers the corners of my lips, but I can open my mouth at least 4 cm. It strikes me as an odd shape, but I cannot picture the reason for it. A leather collar is secured around my neck, and the chain I saw earlier gets hooked to an eyelet on the side of the collar. I think back to the conversation I overheard last night from inside the chair, and match it up with what the slave just said. I think I see Mistress Malou's plan, so rather than fight, I decide to play along, waiting for a better escape opportunity.

The four slaves walk me out to the main entry room, where I see Mistress Malou dressed in her skin tight black leather catsuit, wearing very tall black stilletos, and holding a whip. Laying on his stomach, flat on the floor, is a slave dressed as I am, complete with a chain attached to his neck collar. The four slaves surrounding me each drop to their knees, leaving me standing. Mistress Malou says, 'Sister, we are ready.' From a side room, I see Ilse walk out, dressed in a short, tight fitting leather dress, barely reaching her crotch. She is wearing tall shiny leather stilleto boots, extending mid-way up her thighs, and above them are the tops of lacy silk stockings. Her hair is pulled back tightly, such that no hair would dare come loose or be out of its place, and she is wearing heavy dark make-up, especially around her eyes. She is looks amazing, like a character from a fantasy. 'Ilse?', I ask, stunned.

Mistress Malou steps forward and whacks me across my right side with her whip. "Owwwcccchhhh!" 'Slave, you will call her Mistress Ilse!', she commands, 'now on your knees!'. For a moment, I consider fighting back, but Mistress Malou gives me a quick backhanded whack with her whip across my stomach, "Uuuunnnnnnhhhh". 'Get Down Faster, slave!', she yells. I immediately drop to my knees. 'Why are you doing this?', I ask. My words immediately draw a backhanded lashing across my left side from Mistress Malou, 'Slaves do not speak unless spoken to by a Mistress'. Not wishing to violate another unknown rule, I opt to remain silent.

Mistress Malou speaks, 'Sister, let me go over things one more time. De Wallen is fairly quiet in the morning, but there will still be some tourists. While it is illegal for them to photograph women in the brothel windows, they are free to photograph us as we walk to the yacht. Prostitution is also illegal on the street, so do not let anyone proposition either you or your slave. Hold your head up high, be proud and strong. You must look and act like a Mistress. Your only equal is another Mistress. You are superior to each and every male. If your slave misbehaves, use your whip'.

So this is the plan? I've seen better. I hope the yacht is nearby.

Mistress Malou walks over the slave laying on the floor and kicks him in the side with her pointed shoes. He flinches, but makes no effort to defend himself against another blow. The red mark is immediately visible. 'Slave! Chain!', she commands. The slave grabs the chain attached to his neck collar and holds it up. Mistress Malou grabs the end, and my mind pictures an image of a woman walking her dog. Ilse walks over and the slave holding my chain reaches his hand up to present it to her. 'Rise, slave!', says Ilse. I stand up, but decide against barking. 'Nicely done, sister', says Mistress Malou.

The procession forms up, with two slaves in front, Mistress Malou and her chained slave next, Ilse and I next, and two slaves in the rear. We head out onto the street, and every head turns immediately to watch, fortunately there are only a few people out. The visibility from within my hood is poor, the eye holes somewhat small, so I alternately look around, then down, trying to avoid tripping on the bricks. Is this a street or an alley or a walkway? Or all three? It is narrow. On one side are buildings, on the other is a canal. My bare feet try to step directly onto each brick, rather than on the uneven spaces in between. The bricks are not rough, but neither are they smooth, and I am not used to walking on such surfaces without shoes.

Immediately in front of me is Mistress Malou. Her black cat suit leaves little to the imagination, especially from the rear. Her portions are perfect, a family blessing she shares with Ilse. She is walking slowly, but is taking long strides, exaggerating the swing of her sexy hips, and I am mezmerized by the movement of her bum cheeks. I cannot tell if she is having trouble with her tall stilletos on the bricks, or if that is just the way a Mistress walks in public. I see her pull the chain to her left, and her slave responds by turning left, as if he were the lead horse pulling a wagon. I feel Ilse pull on my chain in a similar manner. She must be watching and learning. The two slaves in front miss the turn, until they hear Misstress Malou crack her whip, then they scurry to get back in front.

I see Mistress Malou pull back on the neck chain of her slave, bringing him to a stop. She turns and says to Ilse, 'Come along side sister, this alley is wider.' I walk ahead and move adjacent to and jsut to the right of Mistress Malou's slave. Out of the corner of my eye I see the slave next to me flinch and hear the crack of a whip, 'Forward, slave', yells Mistress Malou. "Owwwww"! The sting of a whip hits me across my bare back, and I hear Ilse yell, "Forward, Slave!'. Ilse is learning too well, I fear.

I catch up with the other slave and the procession walks another two blocks. I have no idea of direction as we walk through the old buildings and narrow alleys. Each of the historic buildings is unique, yet in total, they are so much alike. We pass a large group of Japanese tourists, mostly women, who hold out their cell phones taking video. We pass by lesbians, some hard lonely looking men, a few families, and several couples as we walk. Suddenly, I stumble on a loose brick and drop to my knees. I should have watched my footing, rather than the people. A whip cracks on my left side, then another immediately follows on my right. 'Up slave', shouts Mistress Malou and Ilse in unison. Surprisingly, the hit to my right side, delivered by Ilse, stings worse. Did she really whip me harder than Mistress Malou, or is just the mental pain that is deeper?

A few more blocks and turns, and I hear sea birds. I hope we are getting close to Natalya's yacht. The sound of the birds increases, then I hear a loud horn. Then a loud whistle. Then an electronic song played using a three toned horn. The cacophony grows even louder, and we round the corner of a building in time to see Natalya's yacht approaching the dock. It is still several minutes out, but I can see it is large, well over 25 meters, and indeed, it is colorfully decorated. I am relieved to see Natalya standing at the rail, as anything aboard the yacht will have to be an improvement over my current situation.

Mistress Malou yells, 'Slave! Chair!'. Her slave kneels down, extending his body forward, placing both hands onto the ground, then locks his elbows. Mistress Malou does what I expect, and sits down, on his back. The slave sags slightly as the weight hits, but then arches his back to level himself into a flat seat. Ilse yells, 'Slave! Chair!', and following the lead of the first slave I assume the usual hands and knees position. Ilse sits down, and I am surprised by her unxpected weight. My own back sags down, but I dare not go down to the ground, so I fight to lift Ilse back up to level. Once back in her original position, I shift my hands slightly to better support her. Ilse's short dress has ridden up and I feel both of her bare bum cheeks pressing against my back. She is either not wearing any undergarments, or is wearing only a thong. The skin-to-skin contact feels warm in the cool morning air, not that I mind in my current attire.

Toward Ilse's back, the edge of the stiff leather fabric of her dress is pressing down into my skin. Rather than comforming to her body, the contact with my body is simply riding her dress even higher onto her torso. I wish I were standing and could see her from the side. On her front side, I feel the very tops of her silk stockings pressed softly into my skin by her thighs, and wonder if they will leave their pattern behind when she stands. The yacht continues its noisy approach, drawing the attention of everyone on the dock, including Ilse. She nonchalantly crosses her left leg over her right while watching the yacht, oblivious to my presence, as if she were sitting on a real chair.

As the yacht nudges gently against the dock, Ilse uncrosses her legs, stands up, and walks toward the yacht. She is still holding the chain, and as I see her get further away, I furiously crawl after her on my hands and knees. 'Greetings, Mistress Ilse', shouts Natalya. 'Ahoy, Natalya', replies Ilse. A woman crew member from the yacht hops off and secures the mooring lines. Another two women lower the gangway, and moments later Natalya walks down to meet us on the dock. 'I trust that all went well?', asks Natalya. 'Quite', says Ilse.

'Your outfit is, uh, interesting', Natalya says to Ilse. Natalya then turns to Mistress Malou and says, 'Thank you Mistress, I trust he was unseen?'. 'Unseen, but hidden in plain sight, as planned. If you look down you will see him.', is the response. Taking the verbal queue, I stand up.

Mistress Malou sees me and turns to Ilse, 'Mistress Ilse, I have one more task for your slave before you board the ship, do you mind?' 'Not at all', says Ilse. Perhaps standing up and getting noticed was not a very smart thing to do.

Mistress Malou looks at me and commands, 'On your knees slave!'. I hesitate, wondering what is going to happen, when Natalya steps forward, and I cough out, "Uuuuummmmmmppppphhhhhhh!" as she lands an unexpected fist into my stomach. 'On your knees slave!', shouts Natalya. I drop to my knees in pain, wondering if I am surrounded now by three Mistresses!

Mistress Malou continues, 'Slave, you made me walk in these filthy streets, and now my shoes are dirty. Lick them clean!'. She pushes her right foot forward, her toe elevated slightly as she balances her shoe on the point of her heel. I look up at Natalya, who stares back with a stern look on her face, then I look up at Ilse, who brings her whip up and joins both hands together in front of her body. I see no relief in any of their eyes.

I lower my face to shoe level and examine Mistress Malou's stilletos. The shiny metal heels are at least 12 cm high, and match the small rounded metal strip across the toe. No wonder the other slave flinched when she kicked him back at the brothel. There is a layer of street dust across the tops of her toes and along the lower sides, but I image it could have been worse, much worse. After several licks across the top of her toe section, the leather glistens and the metal shines. Other than a gritty texture, I do not pick up any noticeable flavors. As I continue to lick, I admire the closeup view of the exposed flesh on top of her foot. I repeat the cleaning on the sides of her shoe, tracing the shape of her big toe with my tongue. Apparently pleased, Mistress Malou shifts and presents me with her other shoe. I repeat the cleaning. While licking the leather on top of her toes, I purposely make a single lick that is too long, allowing my tongue to briefly pass against her bare skin. After I finish with this shoe, she lifts her other foot up and scrapes the bottom sole against my bare shoulder. I feel the grit coming off her shoe and embedding itself into my skin. She repeats with her other shoe.

'Now, clean Mistress Ilse's boots!', shouts Mistress Malou. Hoping this experience will end soon, I crawl over to Ilse, and look at her legs. The heels on her shiny leather boots are a bit over 10 cm. My eyes follow the zipper from her foot, up the inside of her calf, curving gently past her knee, and ending halfway up her thigh. Amid the various creases and wrinkles in the leather are smooth patches, their mirror-like finish clearly reflecting the backlit shape of the yacht and even people standing nearby. I shift my head slightly, catching brief glimpses of both Natalya and Mistress Malou in the reflections. There is a similar layer of dust upon the lower reaches of Ilse's boots, but she is either reluctant or unsure of how to present her boots to me for cleaning. From my knees, I reach out my hands to grab one of her boots in order to lift it up off the ground, similar to what Mistress Malou did. Whack! A whip comes down on my bare back. 'Never touch a Mistress unless you are told to do so', shouts Mistress Malou, 'Stand still Ilse, and let him figure it out how to do it.'

I begin by licking the top of the toes on Ilse's left boot, but even though I turn my head I cannot adequately reach the lower front of her toes or the lower sides, which are resting flat upon the dock. I drop down to my stomach and lay the side of my face against the dock. Ilse, Mistress Malou, and Natalya begin a conversation in Dutch, ignoring me as if I were nothing but an automatic boot cleaning machine. After cleaning the inner side of Ilse's left boot I shift to the outer side, and as I run my tongue against the leather, I feel her two outer toes. Ilse shifts her boot slightly, pressing it outward against my tongue. Is she enjoying this? Or is she ticklish? I continue to run my tongue along these same two toes, pressing harder, and Ilse continues to react as if we are playing a rather odd game together.

Not wanting to overstay, I stop and move to her right boot. I work on the tips of her toes, then along the inside of her boot, concentrating on her big toe, pushing in strongly with my tongue, trying for a reaction. There is none. I lean forward to extend my head further back between her legs and begin licking her instep, then her ankle. There is no dust here, I just want her notice me. Ilse lifts her right foot several centimeters, slowly and seductively dragging the leather against my lips, before settling her boot back down. Ilse brings her opposite boot inward, pushing against my head, and fearing that my head will be trapped in a boot squeeze, I rotate my head and pull it slightly back out. I glance up and see Mistress Malou looking down at me. She seems pleased with herself, and her bright red lips form into a cruel smile. 'That is enough, slave!', she orders.

Mistress Malou looks at Ilse and says, 'Ilse, I enjoyed our visit, and wish you the best on your journey. Please stay in touch and let me know how your adventure goes.' Journey? Adventure? On the yacht?

'Thank you for your help, Malou. I've learned so much!', says Ilse. Whack! Another crack of the whip on my back. 'Up the gangway slave, we're going on a cruise.'

I stand, barefoot, the leather collar still attached to my neck, and Ilse still holding the chain, watching Natalya walk up the gangway. We walk onto the yacht, and an older, wiry woman approaches, carrying what looks like a sawed off shotgun. She is perhaps 50 years old with skin made leathery by years of sun and sea. She begins speaking, 'I'm Captain Solodnikov and this is my ship. Has been for last 15 years, most with Natalya's father. You call me Cappy, everyone does. I have heard about you, so I give you three rules. Touch anything on ship, I kill you. Try to escape, I kill you. Hurt me or my crew, I kill you'. I nod my head once. Turning to Natalya, Cappy says, 'Natalya, get him below to cabin 1 and lock him up good.'

After the brothel and the parade through de Wallen I thought that anything aboard the yacht would be an improvement. How can things get any worse? Crrrrr-aaaack! Ilse's whip lands firmly across my back and and I hear, 'Move Slave!'. Things just got worse.
 
Aug 31, 2018
12
14
3
#10
All is not as it seems.

Under Water - Part Two - Chapter 5


Natalya is in the lead, with Ilse following behind me, still holding the chain attached to

my neck collar. I try to process the events of the last 30 minutes in my mind as we leave

the deck of Natalya's yacht and pass through a companionway door. Natalya heads down

companionway steps to a lower level, then opens the door to a cabin marked "1". As we

enter, the interior is larger than I expect and is quite well appointed. The mental

pricetag I placed upon the yacht at first glance just doubled.


Natalya turns and orders me to "Sit there", pointing to an cushy looking ottoman. I

comply, then watch as Natalya turns to Ilse, 'We did it! You did it! I had my doubts,

but we're all here'.


Natalya turns to Ilse and says, 'You can unlock him now'. I watch as Ilse reaches down

and in between her breasts, pulling out a small key from a place concealing little else.

She walks behind me and releases the lock, freeing my neck collar. Taking the cue, I

reach up and remove the leather mask covering my head, glad for the fresh air against my

skin.


Natalya looks at Ilse and asks, 'Did he give you any problems at the brothel?' She

replies, 'None. My sister and her slaves handled everything. Her plan worked to

perfection'.


Natalya turns to me, 'You almost got yourself killed on the dock. My punch to your

stomach may have saved your life.'


'What?', I ask, 'Why are you treating me like this?'.


Natalya responds, 'I told you in the engine room that we are working for the wrong side,

but I won't go into why right now. I had to stop you from disabling the Greenpeace ships,

and once we had you tied up, Ilse and I needed a plan to get you off the ship. We

couldn't keep you there, if discovered, they would turn you over to the police. We had to

keep you hidden, but in a place you could not escape from. Ilse suggested her sister's

brothel, and seeing no better alternative, I agreed. While Ilse and Sven took you to the

brothel, I reported back to our employer that the mission was a failure and that you

refused to carry it out. That may have been a mistake. They are opened a contract on

you, and every operative, including myself, is authorized to terminate you on sight.'


Natalya paused to let that sink in, then continued, 'I met Ilse at the brothel late last

night and we discussed how to get you safely out of Amsterdam. We couldn't very well use

public transportation, you would be identified by the police, or worse. Mistress Malou

came up with a plan to get you to my yacht without being recognized, but it required you

to look, act, and be treated like one of her slaves. I had no better plan. It's not like

we could turn you into a piece of furniture and just load you aboard.' Ilse giggled. I

did not. Apparently it wasn't part of the plan to inform Natalya that Mistress Malou hid

me inside a chair, or that Ilse allowed Natalya to unknowingly sit on that chair.


'We thought about telling you the plan, but feared your actions and movements would look

rehearsed. We needed you to react as a slave, rather than pause to think what a slave

should do. You must have made a convincing slave to get this far. I was told there

already is a team here in Amsterdam looking for you, and they might have been near the

dock watching. It would be suspicious for a slave to simply walk onto my yacht, so Ilse

agreed to play the part of a Mistress'. Natalya looks at Ilse, who says, 'It was fun, I

actually enjoyed it.'


Turning back to me, Natalya continues, 'Cappy wants to keep you locked up, but I don't

think it is necessary. You are safe here, as long as you remain below decks. In a few

hours, we will be too far away from land for you to swim. You have no money, no passport,

and no identity card. The police are looking for you, but so are others, and encountering

them will be deadly. I want seven days to show you why we are working for the wrong

employer. Rather than tell you, you need to see for yourself. After that, if you aren't

convinced, I will drop you off at the port of your choice and provide you with whatever

resources you require'.


This is alot to consider. It explains why I was treated like a slave, indeed, it was a

clever plan. I have no idea what Natalya's plan is or where she is taking me. Not fully

trusting that I will be released in seven days, at least I will have freedom of movement

while I look for an opportunity to escape. 'I'll be good. I agree to your terms. I give

you seven days'.


Natalya takes charge, announcing, 'I am going up to the bridge to talk with Cappy and

discuss our route'. Ilse, you are in cabin 2, next door. There are clothes for each of

you in the closets. I apologize for the fit, but I had to guess when I told Cappy what to

buy. While her choices will be functional, they may be a bit less stylish than you are

used to.'


Natalya exits the cabin and I am left alone with Ilse, who says, 'I'm sorry about whipping

you so many times, but I had to follow what my sister did in order to be convincing'.

Looking at Ilse standing there in her Mistress clothes, I reply, 'You had me convinced.

You certainly look like a Mistress, and the whole time I thought you really were'.


'Did I hurt you with the whip?', asks Ilse. I reply, 'It stung a bit, especially when

unexpected, but it wasn't bad. When we first started, I felt embarrassed dressed like

this, but with the mask on I began to feel like an actor. People were looking at my

portrayal of a slave, not really at me, so I felt more comfortable as we walked'.


Ilse smiles, then says, 'Help me get these boots off, they are hurting my feet. It took

two slaves to put them on.' 'I'm only one, but I will try', I reply.


Ilse moves over to the couch and sits, 'Did you like cleaning them, I mean, with your

tongue? They really do shine now.' I found it disgusting to lick Mistress Malou's shoes,

and while it was no better licking Ilse's boots, I did enjoy our foot-to-tongue games on

the dock. 'It was a new experience for me', I reply. 'And me too', says Ilse.


I make my way over to the couch, then drop to my knees in front of her. She spreads her

legs to allow me access to the zips on the top inner part of her thighs, and I am once

again presented with a magnificent view of her cameltoe. Rather than the blue swimsuit I

encountered some many times yesterday, Ilse is wearing a black thong, much too small for

any modesty. I reach my left arm up and across my body, placing my hand atop her left

thigh, hoping to obscure her view of my right hand, which is making a wardrobe adjustment

for my enlarging penis. Afterward, I slide my left hand down her inner thigh to search

for the zip tab on her boot. The tab is buried between two folds of leather, which nearly

overlap and run the length of the boot to conceal the zip. My large fingers and short

fingernails are unable to lift the embedded tab.


Maybe I can push the tab out from inside the boot. I run my left finger along the top

edge of her boot, looking for an opening, but find none. Undeterred, I insert my finger

under the leather near the zip, pressing inward against her skin, sliding my finger

between her silk stocking and the boot. My finger moves over to the inside of the zip,

then penetrates another one to two centimeters. Ilse reacts with a soft coo while pulling

her leg outward and away from me. She realizes her movement is also pulling my trapped

finger along, so returns her leg to its original position.


I use the fingers on my right hand to pry away one folds of the leather covering the zip,

and push from the inside with my left finger. Aha! The zip tab pops out and I quickly

pinch it with my right hand. I leave my left finger inside the boot, but not because it

is necessary. As I pull down on the zip, the top of her boot opens up, and I run my

finger along her inner thigh. The dampness is noticeable to both of us. 'Leather boots

don't breathe very well', she says.


I unzip the boot down to just above her knee, then stop. The zip is stuck! Upon closer

inspection, the teeth of the zip have been damaged, and it is impossible to unzip them

further. I announce my findings, 'The zip is stuck. We'll have to try pulling the boot

off'.


I move back slightly and grip the foot section of the boot, uncertain how best to proceed

with such a tall boot. I lift up her left boot, one hand grabbing the back of her heel,

the other the sole, just ahead of her instep. I straighten her leg outward and pull. A

small movement, but basically nothing. 'Let me push with my other leg', says Ilse. Ilse

lifts her right leg up and straightens it, placing the sole onto my left collarbone.

'I'll push, you pull', she orders. She presses her right foot against me, the discomfort

from my collarbone quickly ovewhelmed by the pain of her metal tipped stiletto heel

digging into my chest. I look down so she cannot see me wince, and notice a drop of blood

forming where the tip of her heel is digging into my flesh. It is not working!


I look up and am puzzled to see her smiling at our lack of success, 'We'll have to try

something else. Maybe if you stand we can roll it down below your knee', hoping gravity

will be my friend. Ilse gets up and takes a step away from the couch. Not wanting my

face to encounter her pussy, I move behind her and grab her left boot above her knee. I

pull downward but it still won't slip below her knee. The problem is not the top of the

boot, but rather the narrow tailoring right above her knee, a problem that wouldn't exist

if the zip worked. I look for a way to get more leverage and the answer is right in front

of me. I press my right facial cheek against the bare flesh at the base of Ilse's right

bum cheek while pulling down on the boot. The boot moves a little. I am encouraged.


'Lift your left leg a little and point your toe in front of you', I suggest, 'You can push

against me if you need help keeping your balance'. Ilse raises her leg, her bum pressing

strongly against my face and right shoulder. I pull down hard and the boot suddenly gives

way, sliding down below her knee. Ilse loses her balance and she falls backwards toward

the couch. I release her boot but have no time to bring my hands up as she falls back

against me. I turn my face only to have it slip between her twin orbs as we land together

on the couch. My head is partially driven into a gap between two cushions as Ilse's body

weight collapses onto my face. With our momentum arrested, the cushions rebound slightly,

pushing upward against the back of my head, keeping my my face firmly in Ilse's bum crack.


My knees are pointed away from the couch, my body leaning backwards, my spine in a

painful, unnatural arc. I instinctively try to straighten up, but her weight of Ilse's

bum prevents that. The skin-to-skin contact reveals no evidence of her thong, the thin

strip likely buried even deeper than my face. I move both hands up and place them on the

back side of Ilse's hips, waiting to assist her in getting up. I wait, but she is not

moving.


I call out, 'Ilse, can you get up now?'. She replies, 'I think I sprained my ankle, I am

going to sit here a little longer.'. I balance her request with the pain in my spine and

my need for air. My nose is just above her rosebud, so there is no danger of being cut

off from air, even if it is heavy with her scent. The pain in my spine is no worse than a

chiropractor visit I made after sparring with Natalya. I reply, 'I can handle it'.


'I want to take off my boot and check', says Ilse. She leans forward, the back hem of her

short leather dress riding higher and exposing her entire bum immediately in front of me.

Her bum cheeks separate, offering me a quick glimpse of the narrow strap of her black

thong. The pressure against my chin increases, is that her pussy pressing against it?

Her bum slides forward, her crotch grinding against my face. More of her weight falls

onto my chest, and my chin nestles between her cheeks, her rosebud hovering directly over

it. She positions her right boot in between my knees, pressing it backwards against my

crotch. Can she feel my cock through her boot leather?


'I think it is sprained, but I want to take off my silk stocking to be sure', cautions

Ilse. She leans forward again, this time lifting her bum a few centimeters off my chest.

I glance through her crack, catching a glimpse of her dangling breasts as she reaches

down. She straightens up again, lifting her bum, and moves further back onto the sofa,

settling her pussy down atop my nose. This is not happenstance, it must be intentional.

Her re-positioned weight forces my head deeper into the cushions and I struggle to inhale.

I push up against her hips, lifting her slightly and say, 'I can't breathe. Please get

off.'


Rather than stand, Ilse lifts her bum slightly sliding to her right. She slowly drags her

left bum cheek over my nose, before settling onto the adjacent cushion. I immediately

spring forward, straightening my spine, then turn to face Ilse, 'How is your ankle?'.


'It hursts. Since you are down there, you can massage it', she replies. This isn't

right. Ilse is still acting like a Mistress and treating me like a slave. We're not

supposed to be pretending any more. But I wonder about all the odd coincidences the past

two days. I feel like a moth, trapped in a sticky web, being circled by a spider named

Ilse. Or is the spider named Natalya? Or both? My desire to escape is strong, but I

need to find out Ilse's intentions, so I cautiously play along. I massage her ankle, not

feeling any swelling, but I am carefuly to avoid any tickling of her foot. I help her

remove her other boot and stocking without incident.


'Help me to my cabin', she orders. 'What do you need me to do?', I ask. 'Support my left

side so I can keep weight off that ankle.' I hold her by the elbow and we hobble into her

cabin.


'One more thing', she asks, 'undo the zip on my leather dress, I can't reach it'. I

reply, 'I will'. I partially undo the zip, then quickly turn and exit her cabin before

she can react, closing the door behind me.


As I enter my own cabin, I wonder whether I have just passed up glorius sex with a

beautiful woman, or whether I have avoided becoming the meal for a hungry spider. I pick

up her boots and set them aside, then lift her still damp silk stockings to my nose and

inhale deeply.
 
Dec 1, 2007
206
0
16
#11
That is a twist. Ilse makes quite the spider as he is getting caught up in her very attractive web. Truly a very well written and very unique type of story.