Twister -- #BDSM #Romance #FreeReadingFest #prizes

Image by Sunrae from Pixabay

Sally came running into the barn. The tractor was acting up again, and I was on my knees in the straw, surrounded by greasy parts.

"There's a tornado coming, Joe. Heard it just now on the North Platte radio station."

I looked her over. Her hair had half-escaped from her barrette and was floating in red-brown wisps around her ears. Her apron was damp; she must have been washing the lunch dishes. She was breathing hard from her run, ample breasts rising and falling under her print dress. I saw worry in her eyes, justifiable worry.

Twisters are no joke. When one comes roaring across the corn fields, all you can do is hide. In '96 we lost a barn and two horses, while we shivered together in the crawl space, holding each other tight and listening to the wind scream. After that, I built a proper cellar. I might not be able to save our property, but our lives were a different story.

I nodded to her, already covering the parts with a tarp and weighting it down. "Open the house windows, lock the door, and meet me in the cellar. I'll just be a few minutes." Without another word she went to follow my instructions.

Already I could feel that weird electricity in the air, that heaviness that makes it hard to draw breath. The horses were restless. I opened their stalls, so that they would have a chance if the building collapsed. They huddled nervously in the corners. Leaving the upper windows open wide to equalize the pressure, I locked the doors and headed for the bulkhead.

The sky was a sickly green. A mass of inky thunderheads sat ominously on the horizon. It was perfectly still, no hint of a breeze stirring the July afternoon, as I swung open the doors and headed down the concrete stairs.

I was mighty proud of the storm cellar. It stood some distance from the house, just east of Sally's kitchen garden. I had heard of folks who survived a twister in their cellar but who were trapped when the house collapsed on top of it. My cellar was spacious, twelve feet by fourteen, with a ceiling high enough to accomodate my six foot frame.

It was well-equipped. It had a little refrigerator (which I kept stocked with beer) that ran off a car battery, a good supply of canned goods and fresh water, a comfortable double mattress and some directors chairs, plenty of battery-powered lights and candles. Not to mention the flogging bench and the bondage frame that I had built in my spare time, and a reasonable assortment of home-crafted floggers, paddles and dildos.

Sally waited for me, sitting in one of the chairs with her hands folded in her lap. She had lit several of the candles and they cast a kind light on her weathered face. I was amazed, as always, how we changed when we entered this space together. Her practical, bossy ways slipped from her and she became hesitant and needy.

Meanwhile, my farmer's drawl faded, replaced by the arrogant, intellectual voice of my college years, when I wrote poetry and thought that I would rule the world. Those years in Lincoln, majoring in literature and bridge, had shaped me in ways I was still discovering. That was when I first read de Sade and Reage; that was when I realized the desires that filled me with shame were common and even accepted in some society.

Her eyes followed me anxiously as I ducked to avoid banging my head on the door frame and then stood tall. I was an imposing presence, I knew, especially in this confined space. It did not matter that I was wearing greasy overalls and work boots. Dominance begins in the mind.

"Stand up, Sally," I said quietly. "Remove your dress."

Immediately she moved to obey me, fluid and graceful as she pulled the cotton garment over her head. I was somewhat surprised to discover that she was naked underneath. Clearly she had made some preparations before running out to warn me about the twister. I would make the most of this.

"You are not wearing any underclothes, Sally. What a sluttish thing to do!"

She hung her head, but I knew she could tell that I was not really angry.

"Well, what have you to say for yourself, miss?"

Her voice was nearly inaudible. "Nothing."

"What? You know better than to address me improperly."

"Nothing, sir. I have no excuse, except that I thought it might please you."

It did please me. Though Sally is closer to fifty then forty, she still has a fine body, full but not flabby. Her breasts are luxurious, capped with tawny nipples big as pencil erasers. Her belly and thighs curve invitingly, and though there are streaks of gray on her head, a lively mass of pure auburn curls adorns her mound. Her legs are nicely sculpted from all the physical work she does around the farm.

"Come here, girl, and kneel in front of me." I admired her promptness in responding to this command as much as the grace with which she executed it.

"You are a nasty girl, aren't you, Sally?"

She nodded, inwardly delighted to know that I found her sexually appealing.

"You know what I do with nasty girls?"

"You punish them, sir."

"Yes, indeed I do." I reached behind me and picked up a pair of clamps from the shelf. One advantage of this enclosed space was that everything was close at hand. "Place your hands behind your head."

Almost before the words were out of my mouth, she had complied. Her position elevated her breasts, offering her gorgeous tits to my attention. I resisted the urge to sink down and suckle them. Instead, I pressed open the spring-loaded jaws of one of the clamps and positioned it around her swollen left nipple. For long moments I held it there, surrounding but not touching her delicate flesh, while she watched me anxiously. "Breathe," I murmured, finally, and let the jaws close on her.

She moaned softly as the pain shot through her body. Her eyes fluttered shut. I reached down and quickly swept one finger through her slit. She was drenched already.

"How's that, my sweet slut?" She nodded, her eyes still closed. "Can you bear more?" She nodded again. I swiftly fastened the other clamp on her right tit. She gasped, and her body slumped for a moment. Then she straightened her back, and opened her eyes, looking up at me in expectant adoration. "You look lovely, my little one." Despite the pain that I knew she was feeling, her face brightened at my praise. "I have something new for you today," I continued, "an innovation that I think you will enjoy. I copied it from something that I saw on the Internet."

I rummaged in one of the built-in drawers and came up with a harness of leather straps reminiscent of a horse's tack. "Fortunate that the weather has been so cooperative. I have been looking for an opportunity to try this out."

At my slight gesture, she rose and stood before me. Gently I removed the nipple clamps. Her flesh looked raw. I pulled each nipple in turn into my mouth, laving it with soothing saliva. Sally writhed in spite of herself, spreading her thighs in invitation.

"Still acting the slut? Turn around!" I landed a hard spank on each of her butt cheeks, and watch the pink imprint of my hand bloom. Sally was having a hard time stifling her grin. We both knew that she loved to be spanked.

"Spread your legs," I ordered. When she complied, I slipped one wide stretch of leather around each thigh, and buckled it. I had carefully lined the straps with soft felt, so that the edges would not chafe her.

"Now, hands over head." The next item was a network of leather strips about one inch wide that encased her torso. One wrapped around her chest just above her breasts, below her armpits. The other encircled her ribs just below, so that her breasts spilled over the leather. Crosswise strips, affixed every four inches or so, attached these two main straps. Two of these subsidiary pieces of leather ran between her tits, separating them nicely.

Next I fastened a broad band, also felt-lined, around her waist, suppressing my immediate desire to dabble my fingers in her moist curls. "Wrists." That was all I needed to say. She held them out to me, watching me with anxious excitement in her eyes. I snapped on the homemade cuffs (tooled leather lined with rabbit fur from our own hutch), and then clipped them together.

I stood back for a moment to admire my handiwork. Sally stood proudly, adorned in the bonds I had fashioned for her. My heart was full of love.

There were sturdy rings fixed to the thigh cuffs, waist belt, and breast band. Now I took two plastic-covered steel cables. I clipped the ends to the bands on her thighs, ran them through the rings at her waist and chest and on her cuffs. Finally, I twisted the two cables together and ran them through the pulley that I had installed in the main ceiling beam, using a heavy-duty swivel bolt.

"Are you ready?" I asked her. She nodded, her eyes wide and her lips half-open, beginning to understand how the contraption worked. I was about to begin hauling on the cables, when I had an inspiration. Why not increase her disorientation? I pulled a black silk scarf from the drawer behind me, and blindfolded her. The jet silk was, I found, a delightful contrast against her auburn hair.

"How are you?"

"Very well, sir." Without warning I reached down between her legs and sank two fingers deep into her pussy. She moaned as I pulled them out, dripping with her juices. I waved my hand just below her nose, and she opened her mouth, seeking my fingers with her tongue.

"Such a perverted little girl! You like to be tied up, you like to taste your own pussy... whatever shall I do with you?"

"Whatever you wish, sir," she answered, with complete sincerity. She did not have to answer; we both knew that she was mine, without reservation. But her offering made it doubly sweet.

I began to pull the cables through the pulley. Her arms were quickly stretched above her head. Then the bands around her thighs began to move upward. She was on tiptoe, struggling to maintain her position as the harness settled around her limbs, trying to lift her.

"Relax into your bonds, Sally. Don't struggle. You won't fall."

Immediately she did as I recommended. Her feet left the floor and her thighs swung wide, exposing her rosy, glistening folds. Excellent! Just as I had imagined.

The harness was designed to hold her basically upright, with both front and rear accessible, and legs spread. I was impressed at how well my ad hoc engineering had succeeded. The cables hung more or less vertically, aligning her wrists, chest, waist, and hips. Most of her weight rested comfortably on the broad thigh supports, as if she were in a swing.

When she was suspended about six inches above the concrete floor of the cellar, I clipped the cables firmly to the eye bolt in the wall. Now I could turn my full attention to her charms.

It was just then that the twister hit. Even through four feet of dirt and concrete, we could hear the shriek of the wind. The whole place trembled, as if from an earthquake.

Sally gave a little whimper, whether of fear or excitement I couldn't tell. I brushed the stray locks away from her blindfold and lightly tongued her earlobe. "Don't worry, baby. I won't let anything or anyone hurt you. Except me."

I gave her body a little push. She began to swing back and forth. I added a hint of torque, and her trussed form began to rotate slowly. Picking up the flogger I had pulled out of storage, I snapped it through the air two or three times. Sally cringed at each report, knowing what was coming.

Her body swung round so that her back was to me. I landed two quick strokes, one on each butt cheek, and was rewarded by her cries and the symmetric scarlet trails across her tender flesh. When the course of her rotation presented her breasts, I flicked the leather tongues across their fullness, careful to avoid her already-punished nipples. As she turned again, exposing her ass, I lashed her again, this time at the sensitive crease where her cheeks met her thighs. Each time my whip kissed her skin, she moaned a little louder, in a voice increasingly husky with arousal.

The volume of the wind swelled suddenly. I wondered if the tornado was stripping away the protective layers of earth above us. Pushing the thought away, I returned my attention to my helpless darling.

She was breathing heavily, very close, I knew, to her climax. Meanwhile, my cock was straining in my boxers, pressing uncomfortably against the stiff denim of my overalls. I stripped as quickly as I could. Then I reached out and caught hold of her arm, stilling the movement of her body. She gasped when I touched her.

Standing between her splayed thighs, my penis jutting toward the ceiling, I ran my tongue over her lips. When she blindly tried to return my caress, I pulled away, teasing her. "How are you, my love?"

"Dizzy," she replied softly. "Sore. Horny."

"Horny, are you? Well, I think we can do something about that." With this, I grabbed her buttocks and pulled her towards me, onto my swollen cock.

She was hotter and wetter than I could remember her being, in all our twenty six years of marriage. It took every iota of my control not to come immediately. Even in her bonds, she writhed like a serpent around me, clutching my cock with her inner muscles, hooking her legs behind my back and holding fast despite the contrary pull of the harness. All the while the earth vibrated around us, trembling with the force of the storm. Our own quiverings and throbbings seemed like echoes of those primal tremors.

Within seconds of my entrance, my Sally-slut climaxed, screaming so loudly that, for a moment, she drowned out the din of the twister. She came again when I emptied myself into her depths, but this time, it was my voice that obliterated the screaming wind.

Later, we lay holding each other on the mattress. The candles had burned low. The wind had died and all was quiet.

"Sounds like the twister's passed, Sally," I said, stroking her sweat-damp hair tenderly. "Maybe we should go up soon."

Sally lay back on the mattress and stretched provocatively. She arched her back and spread her thighs, deliberately displaying herself.

"I don't know, Joe. Twisters often come in bunches. I think we should stay down here awhile longer."

Knowing her as I do, I could hardly disagree.

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