The Pool House

The apartment complex is quiet at 8:30 in the morning, since most of those with 9-to-5 day jobs and kids have already headed out, and the retail workers haven't yet had breakfast. And the party boys aren't even feeling their hangovers yet. Most mornings there's a cool sting in the air, which perks up my sore nipples and feels refreshing on my burning ass.

That's because at 8:30, I'm on my way back from what my apartment manager euphemistically calls my "daily rent payment." This started a few months ago, when I just could not put together enough money for the comfy but tiny studio I live in. He decided I could work it off, doing all those things his wife refuses to do. He likes to face fuck, and he loves the look of nipple clamps and reddened ass cheeks. But no intercourse. He wants me to beg for release, for a sweet climax, and I do. The blows to my ass and pussy, and the clamps on my tits, arouse me to the point of bursting. So, of course, I beg.

Only he never says yes. And he tells me if I do, he'll stop the play and I'll have to go back to paying in cash.

Ah, the choices we make.

So I leave, my clit tight and swollen, and my own juices slipping between my thighs as I ease back through the cool morning.

Today, I walk by the pool, glancing over at the glistening water. So inviting...wonder if it's warm enough for a swim yet. Two of the maintenance men are skimming the leaves out, so I call out, "How's the water? Warm enough?"

They glance at each other, then the taller one, Greg, motions toward the gate of the iron fence surrounding the pool. The sign hanging there reads, "Pool closed," but he calls out, "C'mon in! See for yourself."

Lovely. I pop the latch and step in, letting the gate swing shut. I slip off my sandals and dip a toe in the edge. It's brisk, with just enough edge to make it a terrific swim. "It still opens at 9, right?"

Greg nods, then motions toward the pool house. "There's a suit in there, if you want to go ahead. Someone must have left it."

I shake my head. "Thanks, but I don't think I could wear someone else's. Not safe."

The other man, shorter but with the build of a former football player, shrugs. "No one's claimed it since last summer. You could take it off our hands and wash it later."

I thought about it. I could use a new suit. "Okay."

He puts down the pole and heads for the pool house. Paul has always seemed a bit shy to me, throwing up a hand in greeting when he sees me but almost never meeting my eyes. I follow him in. The pool house is a solid structure, built to look like the rest of the complex. But it's definitely a workspace, with wooden tables, shelves of tools and chemicals, life preservers and the ropes that go with them. Paul goes all the way to the back of the room and digs through a bag.

Behind us, the door swings shut, and I glance around, just in time to see Greg padlock the door from the inside. I face him fully, an odd twinge of fear simmering in my stomach. "What are you doing?"

He smiles. "What we're going to do is the same thing the bossman has been doing for six months."

"I don't think—"

My voice is cut off as Paul wraps his arm around my neck, pulling my sharply backwards, almost lifting me off the ground. I kick out with my feet, but Greg is ready for that response and grabs both ankles, lifting them high and removing any leverage I had. The fear races through me, and I lash out with my hands, trying to grab Paul's face. "You little slut," he hisses, and tightens his grip. Spots dance before my eyes as they lift me and slide me onto a low bench. Paul releases my throat, and as I gasp for air, he shoves a rag into my throat, then clenches both wrists, pulling my arms straight back and over my head.

Trembling, I dimly realized they must have planned this. Ropes were waiting near the bench; two with nooses tied on the end, which Greg quickly slipped over my ankles. A similar loop went around each wrist, and Paul tied the other ends to support beams, pulling my arms wide and tight. Greg fought my kicking legs until Paul was finished, then Paul helped him, as they pulled my legs up and high, so that my knees were up beside my ribs. Two more ropes encircled my thighs, to be tied to posts on the outer walls of the pool house.

Greg stood back, admiring the work. My dress rode high, exposing my pussy to the air. "I like it," Greg said. "Perfect position."

Paul made a low growl of agreement, then reached for a work knife. My eyes widened, and I tried to struggle against the inevitable as Paul cut my sundress, hem to neckline. Greg stroked my right leg. "Bossman said you never wear panties. Said you had a pretty pussy, too."

And that's where his hand went, stroking, exploring my still swollen clit and labia.

He chuckled, a low, wicked sound. "He said you'd probably still be wet. Right about that, too. Said he made you so horny you could barely walk."

My body trembled. I hated this! The fear was like an animal in me, out of control and terrified of what they would do. But, damn, did his fingers feel good. Cool and firm as he pushed through the folds of flesh. I fought back a moan.

"Damn, you're a slut!" Greg's grinned widened. "Look at this, Paul, she's almost sucking my finger right into her cunt!"

"I'd rather her suck something else."

My head jerked back as his hand entwined in my hair, pulling down hard, stretching my throat taut as my head leaned down off the bench. He was already unzipped, a thick cock almost purple from the blood within. He yanked the gag out, but before I could scream, he shoved his cock deep into my mouth. I choked.

"Don't you bite me, bitch. You'll regret it." He pulled my hair harder, and I tried to gasp from the pain. The gasp only pulled him in.

"I think such a slut needs punishing." Greg's hand then landed with a harsh slap on my swollen pussy.

I jerked, yelping, or trying to, against Paul's cock, which was close to cutting off my air. He began fucking my mouth in earnest then, deep blows that went down my throat as I fought to breath through my nose.

Greg's blows on my pussy, thighs, and ass increased, heating my skin and making every nerve raw with pain. Then, just as Paul's cock was beginning to throb toward his climax, Greg stopped, changing blows to caresses. I whimpered as he stroked me, rolling the clit between his fingers, stretching it, pinching it. My back arched, and he inserted a finger in my wet pussy.

"That's it, little slut. You like it, don't you? Like being treated like the slut you are." His fingers dipped in and out, and a fiery pleasure shot through me. "Bossman got you ready, but we're going to finish the job."

Paul pulled out and I gagged and choked, spitting as he shot semen all over my face and breasts, slicking my tits and neck with it. He wiped some off with the cloth, then stuck it back in my mouth. "Taste my cum, bitch," he said, as he pinched my nipples, twisting one, then the other, until they were hard peaks that added to the arousal surging through me.

He paused to reach behind him, pulling two flat clamps from the bench. He positioned each on a nipple, then let the small chain and weight slip down my sides, pulling my breasts wide, and a constant tug on my nipple. I writhed in my bounds, and I could feel a new surge of juices in my pussy.

Greg stepped back, reaching for a small vibrator, which he slipped into the flowing juices of my vagina. I moaned as he set it on low, and jerked in the ropes. He followed that with a dildo, which he moistened by rubbing the tip around...and around my labia. Then, with a sudden move, he rammed it into my ass.

I screamed into the gag as he stood back, watching me. "What do you think?" he asked Paul.

The stockier man shrugged again. "That she'll be begging for it by the time we get back."

Huh? I stared at them, but they simply turned and left. I heard the padlock click on the outside.

I squirmed, trying to get more comfortable, but the ropes dug deeper into my skin, and only a few minutes had passed before I realized how right Paul was. The vibrator was on low enough that it never stimulated me to climax...it just kept the temperature on high, making me almost pant with the need to have an orgasm. The weight on my nipples was a continual, stimulating tug. I struggled to swallow without choking, and I could taste Paul's semen—a sensation that only pushed me higher into arousal. I stayed on the edge, trembling, shuddering.

I tried to grind my hips, making the dildo and vibrator finish the job, but never quite making it. I whimpered, my clit so tight I thought I'd explode if someone breathed on it.

Finally, I heard the lock open, and they returned. Paul tugged on the weights as Greg eased the dildo out of my ass. The groan that escaped around the gag was almost a plea, and they both laughed. "God, you're such a whore!" Greg pulled the vibrator out as Paul removed the gag.

"What do you want, bitch?" Paul murmured in my ear.

It was out before I could stop it. "I want to cum!"

"How?"

"Fuck me!"

Greg slid a finger up and down my slit. "Beg."

I did, my body thrashing against the ropes. "Please. PLEASE! Fuck me!"

Greg pulled his cock from his pants, hard as a pipe and almost as thick as a tin can. He caressed my slit with the tip and I almost bounced off the table. "Please."

"Oh, I like you like this."

"Just fuck her."

And he did, shoving that cock deep within me. I squealed, climaxing almost immediately from the pressure and pain, and Paul released the clamps, the sudden rush of blood an extra shot of pleasure shooting through me.

Greg slammed deep, a hard, driving fuck that soon had me on the edge again, but not over, as he came, pulling out in time to shoot white streams over my belly and thighs. He stepped away, and Paul moved up between my legs, rubbing his cock over the wetness there. Then he spread my cheeks, and before I could cry out a protest, inserted the tip into my ass.

It hurt. I was tight; he was big. I tried to clench, but his large hands grabbed my ass cheeks, his broad fingers digging in to the flesh, spreading me. He worked it, in and out, deeper each time. I was too out of breath to protest, then Greg leaned over, pinching my clit.

I gasped, astonished. His thumbnail dug into the hard bud as two fingers slipped into my pussy. Finger fucking me, he stirred the juices, arousing me and sending the flow down over my ass and Paul's penis.

Paul's eyes were bright as his speed increased. Between his cock and Greg's fingers, I was over the top in minutes, begging for more, my body bucking in the ropes. Paul made a low, thunderous groan, then pulled out, adding to the collection of semen on my body.

My muscles went slack and I looked at them. "Let me go now?"

Both dropped to a nearby bench, catching their breath. "Oh, no, our little slut," Greg whispered. "We're just getting started..."