It was too much. The most ****** experience of my entire life - the belly girl in the coffee house - had been immediately followed up by watching a very tight, soft belly get pummeled at a nightclub (on purpose even!). It was on my mind constantly - at work, in my car, even in my dreams. If I wasn't haunted by either High School Belly Girl or Fetish Night Girl in one night's dreams, I was haunted by both. Of course, punching them in my dreams was only half-fulfilling; I always woke up at the end.
The situation at Fetish Night had ended strangely. I knew I had to say something - but what? After seeing the redhead strapped to a wall and have a fist plunged into her oiled belly, I knew I had to make my intentions known.
That night, I walked up to the jockish-looking guy. Of course, I hadn't considered what I was going to say beforehand - the alcohol in my system suggested I just wing it. "Hey," I said. He looked up, the dazed, giddy girl still in his arms. "Hey." He smiled. Closer up, I saw that he had a very young face - masculine, but young. A real babyface. "What's up?"
"Just caught your show. That was... really something."
"Yeah? You like?"
I nodded emphatically. "You could say that. So... how did you find each other?"
The girl sat upright, looked at me with penetrating brown eyes. She held her belly with one hand, the other hanging around the guy I assumed she was dating. "We've known each other since high school." She grinned, like she had just told an inside joke. Her voice was cute and high - it added a lot to her girlish figure and face.
I couldn't stop watching her belly. It was still slick with oils; she rubbed it idly. Trying to knead away the pain? Then again, I'd never been hit that hard; I didn't know whether it still hurt. So, I asked: "Does it still hurt?"
"Nah," she explained. "My belly's pretty resilient. You could punch it all night, I might have a little tummy ache the next day." I could have exploded right there.
"You think I could take a swing sometime?" I asked - trying desperately to sound smooth.
She shook her head. "Nah, I'm done for the night. But maybe next month?" She glanced over at her friend.
"Yeah," he told me. "Come by next month."
It was a hard month. When I wasn't having dreams and nightmares of either the coffee house or the night club belly-punchers, I was having dreams of them both. It was completely unbearable - I thought I would explode before I lasted another month. Fortunately, I had a bit of a pleasant interruption...
I don't remember how I got invited, but I had heard about a house party going on and figured it would make a fine distraction. Stopping by a convenience store to grab myself a nice beer, I made my way to the address. The place seemed to be heated up - I could see a crowd of high-school and college-age kids hanging out. Most had drinks in their hands.
The crowd inside was shoulder-to-shoulder. I couldn't tell whether to lift my hands above my head and edge sideways or to press them to my sides like a square. At one end of the room a couple of kids played guitar and drums; across the dancing crowd, the sound clashed with a boom box playing dance tunes. With the crowd shouting over the clamor, it was almost impossible to hear anything.
I figured I'd edge my way toward the kitchen; safe place to hang out for a moment (and find a bottle opener). I was stopped by a really pleasant sensation on the back of my hand; smooth, and soft, like skin. Looking down, I saw that my hand had brushed up against a very, very nice belly - and, looking up, a pink and white sports bra. And the face of the belly's owner -
-Coffee House Girl!
Upon catching my eye, she lit up like Times Square on New Year's Eve. Her eyes widened, and her grin revealed that same row of sharp-looking little teeth in a cute, foxish face. She was still wearing her glasses; not a person for contact lenses, I figured. She had worn a blend of clothing I particularly liked: the aforementioned sports bra with a pair of well-worn khaki slacks and sneakers. Plenty of belly without appearing promiscuous.
She leaned over to shout in my ear. "How's it going?"
"Pretty well!" I shouted back. "How about you?"
She shook her head and mouthed something about the noise.
"This is terrible," I said into her ear. "Wanna head into the kitchen and share my beer?"
She nodded, that heart-pulling grin still on her face.
We made our way into the kitchen - a small respite to the traffic of the party. While I searched around for a bottle opener, she broke the ice. "It's good to see you out here. I was thinking that after I ran into you at that coffee shop I'd never see you again."
"Really?" I asked, popping the lid off the bottle. A pint and a half; enough beer for two, I figured, especially at a party where the alcohol seemed to flow freely for those who asked. "I was worrying the same thing."
"Yeah?" I saw her blush beautifully.
"Yeah. It's not every day that..."
"I know," she hastily interrupted.
"Well, no ****," she laughed. Then, she pulled up a fist and slapped her belly with it. Even though she flexed, it seemed like my entire life had been waiting for that moment.
"Yeah, OK... you're right," I blushed. "So when did you first figure it out?"
"Well," she started, thankfully swallowing some beer. "I guess I've known since I was about six or seven, though I had no idea what was going on. I saw bellies on everything - everything from a bass drum to the letter D. I'd say the weirdest stuff to my babysitters - 'Look at the fat belly on that d!'" She laughed, letting me rediscover her incredible smile. "So it went like that for a while - it wasn't really ******, but I remember sitting in my bathtub just staring at my belly like I was obsessed. I guess I really was - though at that time, maybe ten or eleven, I had no idea what to do with myself. It wasn't until I saw some movies with people getting punched in the belly... it hit me like a brick in the skull. After that, I wouldn't stop playing with my belly - forcing stuff in, like cordless phones and baseball bats. I remember lying on my bathroom floor, face down, with the end of a shampoo bottle in my belly - I'd lift my feet off the floor, or lift my arms off the ground, and try to balance as much of my weight on that shampoo bottle without flexing my stomach muscles. I could never get to the point where I couldn't take it any more, though - I never really got to simulate a real belly punch."
I gulped down a lump in my throat as I tried to force some words in front of the mental pictures dominating my mind. Trying to sound smooth, I let the words just pour out of my mouth. "There's a yard behind the house that nobody's seeming to use. You want me to punch you now?"
I think a moment passed in which the two of us almost simultaneously dropped our beers in surprise. Her eyes went to the back door; so did mine.
The girl, whose name I still hadn't learned, swallowed the last of her beer. "Let's go."
After we went outside, my ears were ringing like a Salvation Army bell. We were both shivering, though it couldn't have been any less than sixty degrees outside. I knew the feeling; I was shivering out of sheer arousal, like a teased puppy.
She had left her empty plastic cup inside; outside, she stood with her hands at her sides like a mannequin. With her loose hair falling around her face down to her shoulders, her glasses reflecting the few lights from nearby houses, I couldn't quite make out her face. And with the rest of her body covered in clothing save her shoulders, arms, and belly, her paleness stood out like a perfect canvas in the dark. "Where should I stand?" she asked.
I looked around. Not against the wall right there; anybody stepping out for a breath of fresh air would see us. But there was a gravel path running alongside the house... "There." I pointed to a place just around the corner where it didn't seem like we'd be disturbed.
"OK. Against the wall?" Her cuteness had been undermined by the shaky unease in her voice. I figured the same shaky unease had completely destroyed my own veneer of confidence.
"Whatever's good for you."
We stood, for a moment, like complete idiots. Neither of us had any idea what to do next. I stared at her belly; she stared at my face. Then, we locked eyes and broke down in a fit of laughter.
"Come on, don't you know what to do?" she asked, still giggling.
"Sure! But you'll flex, won't you?"
"Then go in slowly." It was the most ****** thing I had ever heard anyone say in my entire life.
She stood back upright, closed her eyes, took a deep breath. With my eyes affixed on her navel, I could see her belly move in and out softly. I looked down at my hand, looked at her tummy, and had a great thought: better give her a good first impression.
So I pulled my fist back and snapped a punch right above her navel.
"UHH!" she grunted - too much reaction for such a light punch. I couldn't help myself - I pulled it! Or had I? Her hands flashed to her belly and she bent her head toward mine a few inches. Then, I remembered the feeling.
Her belly was soft - softer than it looked. Just under the skin I could feel a layer of muscle - sort of rubbery, almost - but the rest of her tummy compacted in, like there was nothing beyond that thin layer of muscle except her spine. I practically felt faint, I was so excited. "How was that?"
She righted herself, rubbing her stomach. "Was that hard? It didn't hurt that much."
"No, it wasn't hard," I admitted.
"OK, then punch me hard! In the same place." She took another deep breath - god, that belly! - and waited.
The second punch I threw was harder - much harder. But that time, when my knuckles slapped against the skin of her belly, they bounced off that layer of muscle - not penetrating too much at all.
"Dammit!" she shouted.
"You flexed!" I said, at the same time.
"OK, you're right," she grinned. Fun game.
"All right, let me try to go in slowly this time. I don't know how... uh... deep I should go. Can I hurt you this way?"
"If you could," she answered, "I think I would have ruptured some organ with my rubber mallet a looooong time ago!" Grins all around, combined with the erection to end all others.
"All right. Just relax." And I touched my fist to her stomach and pressed in slowly.
At the initial caress of my knuckles, the first thing she did was startle - still too excited not to react. But after that, she took a deeeeep breath... and as she exhaled, she accepted my fist into her belly like a sacred offering. Her eyes closed, and as I pushed in one inch - two inches - she only said one thing: "Mmmmmm."
"Tell me when it hurts, OK?" I said, pressing in deeper... and deeper.
"It hurts.... ...now," she said - as soon as I felt a throb - maybe an artery - deep in her guts.
My fist stopped.
"But keep going," she said. "It hurts good. Go as far as you can."
My fist kept going. Looking at her belly, I could see creases appearing in her belly - I was definitely shoving some guts out of the way, like pushing into a balloon. All around my fist, I could feel the throb deep in her stomach; I pressed in slower, slower, positive I was going to hurt her. Only when she whispered, "Harder," did I place my free hand on her shoulder and lean in. I felt my knuckles touch spine. Her eyes rolled back and she gasped. The rush of air and the motion of her diaphragm pushed my fist out of her belly a couple inches; then, regaining her composure, she looked me in the eye and smiled. As she exhaled, I could feel silky folds of her guts moving aside, gurgling, accepting my fist, until I felt that solid touch of spine one more time.
"Oh... God," she whispered.
"Does it hurt?"
She was silent for a moment. "Yeah... yeah. Good."
"Good," I whispered back.
There was a moment of revered silence as someone inside shouted "Harder, harder!" through the wall. There was no window; it must have been a different conversation, but we both smiled. Coffee House Girl managed not to giggle.
Then she whispered: "Harder."
"Are you sure?"
I leaned more weight on her spine and I felt her repress a shudder. Something was different under my knuckles; I could feel something swelling out of her spine, like a bundle of nerves or a ligament or something. I focused on that; with a slight motion of my fist, I rolled it between her spine and my knuckles.
"AAHH!" Her stomach muscles tensed, firing my fist away from her belly. Her hands flashed to her stomach, and she slowly - slowly - sank down to a squatting position.
I followed her down. "Are you OK?"
"Oh, yeah!" she said, recovering almost instantly. "That was just ... almost too much."
"Almost. I think if I were ready, you might be able to do that again."
"Yeah. But gimme a second." She stood back up, still pressing her hands into her belly. "God, that was good."
"But I didn't even get to punch you."
"You're right!" she giggled. Then she pulled her hands back to behind her head, stretching her beautiful, beautiful belly out for me to slug. "Go ahead. I think I'm relaxed this time." And she exhaled.
"All right," I said. "Here we go."
But I didn't go. Instead, I watched Coffee House Girl flex her stomach muscles reflexively - her eyes still closed. A moment passed as I let her realize I had faked her out; as soon as she figured it out, she chuckled again, and took a deep breath to relax one more time.
It was at the peak of that breath that I smacked her in the belly, hard.
"Uh." The noise that came out of her mouth was serious; my fist had penetrated deep into her guts. Her hands went back to her belly, and she sank down to her knees again. "You... you got me. Oh god, my stomach..."
"Good?" I asked.
"Yeah." She seemed to be talking a lot less now; maybe regaining her breath.
"Does it hurt?"
"Yeah. Different than when you pushed your fist into my stomach, though."
"What was better?" I knew I couldn't tell from my end of things
"I don't know," she considered.
"You don't know?"
Standing back up again, she rubbed her soft, gorgeous tummy one more time - then dropped her hands to her sides. "I couldn't tell you. You'll have to try it again."
It went on until we both got scared that something bad would happen. By the time we were finished, we were both drunk with excitement; I had punched her in the belly everywhere, learning where the pit of her stomach was and how hard she could take a punch. Then again, I had never really hauled off and slugged her, nor had I really tested her limits. I wasn't sure whether I'd hurt her, after all. She'd even punched me in the belly a couple of times - after all, I wasn't going to go without discovering what I had been missing either. But since she loved to be hit in the belly so much, I wasn't going to deny her the pleasure (ha ha).
"Hey," I said, before heading back to the party. "You wanna come with me to Fetish Night in a coupla weeks? There are a couple of people there who do belly punching too."
"I can't," she said. "I'm seventeen."
Seventeen, huh? I guess I really was at a high school party. "That *****. Hey, maybe I could sneak you in."
"You think so?" she asked. It wouldn't be hard convincing her, I realized; just tricky getting her inside.
"Oh, come on," I said, stepping back in front of her. "There's a couple there... one woman, one man... young, like us..." I took her wrists in my hands, pulled them way above her head. "She's tied to restraints, just like this, revealing her soft belly for all to see. They said they'd let me punch her... maybe they could string you up, too."
I could hear her breath shorten. "They'd punch me... hard?"
"Very hard," I hoped aloud. "A tough guy, and his small punky girlfriend with pink hair and a soft belly to die for, a lot like yours."
She pulled her hands to her sides. "Pink hair? Punky girl? Did she get hit in the belly too?"
Too? "Yeah, she did."
She grinned again. "I know her! She's a high schooler like me! I think she's a senior! She's always getting pulled in for wearing belly shirts at school. I think she even wore one that said 'BELLY GIRL' on it! Does she have big eyes?"
I thought back. "Yeah, I guess..."
"Then if she can get in, I can get in! I'll meet you at that coffee shop at Fetish Night... what day?"
"Thursday night. Nineteenth."
"All right. I'll wear something nice."');
INSERT INTO phpbb_topics_posted (post_id, bbcode_uid, post_subject, post_text) VALUES('254', '641e3b7311', 'not such a teaser story (part 3)', 'I wouldn't have missed the nightclub for the world, of course. It was terrible; I was almost two hours early for our meeting. Thankfully, I'd brought a good book; unfortunately, I had almost no luck paying attention to it. I ended up nervously sipping my coffee for a couple hours before she came in.
"You are too tantalizing," I muttered as she walked in the door. I'd already given her a twice-over before she noticed where I was sitting. Red vinyl pants ended way below her waistline, and I could see a big piece of her belly showing under a black, short leather jacket - one that ended halfway down her navel. Dammit!
"You're not looking too bad yourself," she said, commenting on my own look - I figured that sprucing up in fancy clothes would get you into any nightclub.
I think I blushed, because she giggled. "What time is it?"
"Nine thirty. We could kill an hour or so, or we could head over now and try to get in early."
"Let's do that," she said. "But I think I wanna put some coffee in my tummy first."
The walk was short, and we were catcalled twice on the way there. Each time, Coffee House Girl catcalled back. I walked in stunned silence; I was going to a club with a girl I'd punched in the belly so I could possibly punch another girl in the belly - and both were to die for. Who had died and made me the luckiest guy ever?
We arrived. I went in together like we didn't know one another. I figured that if the other girl could get in, she either knew a back way or she could get past the bouncer.
"ID?" asked the doorman. He was backed up by a strange figure; about five and a half feet tall, thin, dressed head to toe in leather. It was even wearing goggles and some kind of helmet; I couldn't even tell what gender it was. Bouncer? Whatever. I handed over my ID, got the stamp, through the checkpoint in no time flat. Coffee Girl waited outside. I guess she didn't want to risk getting turned away. Fine by me; I just had to find the other belly girl and get them together. I'd hoped she'd come that night; I was screwed if she'd stayed home.
Sure enough, I couldn't find her. Not at the bar; not on the dance floor; nowhere. Curse me for coming early - of course the regulars wouldn't show up until 10 or 11! So now what could I do? Make my date wait outside for an hour and hope they showed up? No way! I was doomed. Unless I could possibly convince the bouncer to let her in on my own...
The leather-wrapped figure was still there. Since I couldn't see its mouth, I wasn't sure whether it was even talking to the doorman or just looking imposing. I decided to ignore it to the best of my ability.
"All right, man, I have a favor to ask."
"Yeah, what's that?" asked the doorman. He didn't seem too standoffish, but I didn't want to step on his toes.
"My friend with the red hair from last month?"
"There are a lot of girls with red hair here, man."
"I think you know her. She comes here with another guy - a stocky guy. Last month he wasn't really dressed down, but I think you're probably familiar with them both."
"Yeah. Unless they sneak in..."
Now he was interested. "Who's sneaking in?"
"Well, there's a young guy and a young girl, and they're both underage. I thought they were friends of yours. I wasn't sure how they were getting in."
"So who are you? From the liquor control board or something?"
"No! No, not me, man." I held out my hands as if it would prove my innocence. "I just wanted to bring my other friend in here - we all know each other. I wanted to do another belly-punching scene, like last time, but I wasn't sure of the protocol since my new friend is also... you know."
"Ah, I see." The bartender gave a sagely nod, now taking in all the information I'd presented. Then he did something strange; he looked back at Leatherface, who then looked at me - then shook its head slowly. "I don't think so, man," said the bartender. "I could get pretty screwed. I don't know you, and they crack down on this place pretty hard, y'know?"
"Yeah, I'm sure."
Dammit! "Do you know whether those two are coming by tonight? I... um... lost their number."
"No, man. Sorry."
I stepped outside - Coffee Girl was still waiting, trying to rub some heat into her exposed belly on the cold street. "I don't know whether I can-"
"Hey, Watcher!" shouted a feminine voice from behind me. It was muffled - Leatherface had come out to say something. "Come on in."
"Yes!" shouted Coffee Girl - then we both bolted inside.
"All right," said Leatherface, as soon as we'd rounded a corner. "You don't get to drink," she pointed to my friend. "And you don't use your normal name. Before the end of the night, you're getting a new name." Then, pointing to me, "...and you. Watcher. What the hell are you doing trying to blow our cover like that? You had no idea that we could get in. What would have happened if you had got us all kicked out?"
Wait a minute.
"You're her!" I said.
The figure's hands came up to its face and unzipped its neck. As the mask came away from her face, I could see the same shocking red hair and cute face from last month. "Call me Seven," she said.
"Seven?" asked Coffee Girl.
"Yeah. After the deadly sin."
"That's... wroth, right?" she asked.
"No," I interrupted. "That's from the movie. The real seventh deadly sin is... lust."
Seven grinned. "You'd be shocked how few people get that right. You win points, Watcher. Maybe I'll let you at my belly after all." Then she turned to face my date. She looked at her belly, her legs, her sneaker-clad feet, her face, framed behind those cute glasses. "And you... I recognize you. We'll call you... Mouse. What brings you here?"
"I hear you might know someone interested in these," she said, rubbing her belly enticingly.
Seven laughed. "Hah! You're right!" She strutted up to the other girl, running a finger from the low, low button of Mouse's pants up to her half-concealed navel. "I never would have guessed." As Mouse's breath quickened, Seven slipped her leather-sheathed finger up under the upper rim of Mouse's navel and pulled... pulled... and then snapped her finger out, causing a squeak to issue from Mouse's mouth and her hands to flash to her belly.
"And I suppose you want to go up tonight?" asked Seven.
"Go... up?" Mouse's breath was still short, and she was fighting back a huge blush.
"Don't worry. I'll make you famous, baby."
Time passed. Music pounded. Beer was consumed. People went to various corners of the room for whips and flogs - there was even someone on stage bound from head to toe in some kind of vinyl shrink-wrap. No belly play, however - though there were a lot of nice tummies around. Of course, I couldn't be torn away from the perfect one accompanying me.
It turned out that Mouse was a pretty fun dancer. It felt a little unnatural standing in the crowd instead of lurking at the sidelines with a drink, but I'm no square. After about half an hour of dancing with Mouse, I noticed that Seven was dancing with the other guy she'd brought last month. I wonder what his name was? Regardless, they were both pretty good dancers - the four of us made a great team. Mostly, however, my eyes stayed transfixed on Mouse's belly. As she danced, she had this habit of raising her hands up - causing her short jacket to rise high above her belly button, showing off its stretched perfection. Every time, of course, I'd look up and she'd have seen my gaze trapped at her belly, and she'd giggle and dance a little closer to me.
Once she got close enough, I put one hand on her hip - testing the waters. And luck of all luck - she only danced closer to me! My plan had worked - time for phase two. I slipped my other hand around her waist - and, with it concealed by our bodies, I pressed my thumb into her navel and squeezed gently.
Her mouth dropped open in surprise - then she smiled, and started writhing around. I could feel her belly moving under my hands as she squirmed against me, and I was intensely jealous of anyone who would get the chance to punch that beautiful belly later. Hey - maybe they'd even let me do it!
We danced for another half hour, getting in any excuse to focus on her tummy we could. Finally, I could see Seven and her friend talking in the corner and glancing our way. On stage, one of the organizers was holding a large pillar open for use. Various rings and such had been driven into the wood.
Seven vanished, and the young guy came up to greet the two of us. He smiled directly at Mouse. "I heard you were here. Funny that you share the same interests but seem so... normal, huh?"
Mouse blushed. "I guess."
A hand was offered. "Call me Fox."
Hands were shaken all around. "Mouse, I hear you've already been punched before. Watcher's been here before; I think he knows the etiquette of a scene. He can explain to you what's going on while you get comfortable with what you're about to do."
Mouse nodded, flushed.
"Oh. And you're wearing something under your coat, right?"
Mouse grinned, glanced at me, grinned wider, and nodded. "Yeah."
"All right, you two." Then, nodding to me: "Enjoy the show."
On stage, Seven had stripped out of her leather bodysuit to a large sum of cheers. Under it was an outfit that looked stunning on her - black vinyl boyshorts and a vinyl strap over her breasts which matched the color of her hair. Her girlish figure moved gracefully about the stage; standing at the pillar, she posed for a moment while Fox closed some manacles around Seven's wrists.
I had taken a seat in a comfy chair near the stage; Mouse had taken a seat on my lap. As I rubbed her belly with my fingers, I whispered in her ear: "See how he's talking to her now? She what she just mumbled back? That's her 'safeword.' It's a word she made up; like 'strawberry' or 'pantaloons.' The instant she feels like he's gone too far, she says that safeword and the scene ends immediately."
"Mmm, OK," Mouse said, placing her own hands over the ones kneading her stomach gently.
"So you'll want to think one up. What are you wearing under that jacket, anyway?"
"You'll see." She pushed my wandering hands back from under her jacket down, to cradle the almost imperceptible curve under her navel. I was more than satisfied with that answer.
Seven had been shackled to the post with her arms above her head. The music pounded along with my heart; Mouse squirmed with more and more impatience as she watched Seven's belly softly undulate on stage. Finally, Fox stepped up to his canvas of pain - and, very slowly, let his fist penetrate Seven's softly awaiting belly.
From my lap, Mouse squeaked and leaned forward to watch. "Oh," she said. "He's going so deep."
"Yeah," I agreed. "But this is just the beginning." I remembered how Fox had slugged Seven in the belly repeatedly during last month's show. Of course, that didn't temper my excitement one bit.
This time, I was watching Fox closely - finding out what he was doing to Seven to make her shudder and squirm. I could almost feel his fist in her guts - I remembered that strange little cluster of nerves nested along Mouse's spine, in the pit of her belly, and wondered whether Fox was feeling the same nerves under his own knuckles.
Seven closed her eyes, letting Fox penetrate her muscleless abdomen. From my close seat, I could watch Seven's belly expand where other parts were compacted, and she licked her lips in painful ecstasy. Then, they were thrown open wide as Fox withdrew his fist quickly - then rammed it up under her diaphragm.
The noise that was punched out of Seven exceeded even the volume of the music in the club - but not the noise that Mouse shouted in my ear. "OOH! Did you see that? Oh my god!" She rubbed her stomach deeply, sympathizing with Seven's belly. "I'm going to get closer to watch," explained Mouse. She pried my fingers out of her belly, stood up, and hustled over to the stage. I was absolutely entranced.
The show went on for about five or ten minutes, as Fox massaged, punched, and otherwise railed against Seven's helpless, stretched belly. I watched not only her body, but her face - the way she squeezed her eyes shut, or bulged them out, or gasped for breath. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mouse jumping up and down excitedly.
Finally, Fox moved in close to Seven, pushing his fist deep into her guts; then, he reached above her head to undo one of the manacles that had held her to the post. I was surprised - wasn't their last scene much longer?
The instant I realized why Seven's scene was so short, I heard a loud shriek from my left. Looking over, I saw that Mouse had vanished!
She was being hauled roughly toward the post by Seven, still in her belly-baring outfit. It seemed like she still felt pretty OK; at least, well enough to bring Mouse up on stage. As Mouse stood there, mortified, Fox came up to her front and started whispering in her ear. It seemed like Mouse was deciding on a safeword.
"We've got a volunteer tonight," mentioned Seven to one of the folks in the watching crowd. "Her name's Mouse. Let's take a look."
Seven stepped back to look Mouse up and down - then her delicate hands reached out and started unzipping and de-buckling different pieces of Mouse's jacket. By the time Seven was done, the jacket had fallen to the floor.
Mouse was wearing a fishnet bra that, if it weren't for two crosses of electrical tape covering her *******, would have bared everything. It didn't even pretend to cover up her belly.
"Hey, nice," I heard Fox say.
"All right, dearie," jeered Seven. "You ready?" She grabbed one of Mouse's wrists, clapping a furry manacle down.
"Y-yes," Mouse uttered. She looked at me, saw me staring at her soft, revealed belly, and smiled.
Fox grabbed the other hand, cuffing it, then manacled Mouse to the post - her hands at her sides. Her shoulders moved up and down with her hurried breath - I watched her ribs expanding and contracting, her navel moving up and down, and reveled in what was about to happen.
As Seven brought a bottle of massage oil to rub across Mouse's awaiting belly, she looked up at Fox and grinned.
"Let's make some noise," he said.