Orgasm At Eleven

by Gamma


From ASSTR.org, Kristen's collection, date unknown

Story Codes: MMM/f, bdsm, n/c, tricked, captured, naked, gag, spread, stretched, fucked, whipped, exposed, public, orgasms, forced, X

Three men want justice for the pain and suffering caused a family member when a reporter smeared their family name, only to find out that she was mistaken.



The beautiful TV reporter walked slowly down the dark, abandoned alley.  She knew it was sheer madness to be out here, alone, late at night, in a rough part of town.  But she smelled a story -- a big story -- and she was determined to get the scoop.  Alone.

They'd counted on that, of course.  They knew her.  They knew her ego.  Her lust for achievement.  They dangled a tasty morsel in front of her.  An irresistible story.  One that would surely get her Prime Time exposure.  She'd taken the bait.

They didn't need to kidnap her.  They'd lured her into their trap easily.  She was voluntarily delivering herself to them.  Though, of course, she didn't know that when she entered the alley; a one way alley to her wildest fantasies and cherished nightmares.

She found the small doorway just where the note said it would be.  Carefully she opened it, stepped into the basement of the building, and shut it behind her.  Hidden in the shadows, the men heard her enter.  Their pulses quickened when they realized their quarry was so near at hand.  The long wait for revenge was almost over.  In the darkness, each man thought back a year.

They could see her now on the newscast, eyes sparkling, mane of chestnut hair framing her beautiful face.  She broadcast her story about their brother to a national audience.  Unfounded allegations, hearsay evidence taken as gospel in her rush to break a story.  Her career needed a boost.  The ratings were slipping.  She'd do anything to get that prime time exposure.

Ah yes, prime time exposure.  The opiate of news people.  The greatest of aphrodisiacs.  The most coveted of treasures.  Prime Time exposure.  She craved it as surely as the heroin addict craves his drug.  Their brother was indicted on her evidence.  She was a celebrity for breaking the story.  A national scandal ensued.  Too bad it wasn't true.

The story didn't wash, ultimately.  Nobody could prove their brother guilty of anything.  Legally, he was cleared.  But the story lingered like a dark cloud.  He was suspect.  His position of power was eroded by the lie.  In the end, it ruined him.  She'd screwed him completely in her desire to make news.

In her desire to break a hot story and get prime time exposure.  And the worst part was, when the original story turned up false, she never issued a retraction or a correction.  She ignored their brother's acquittal, discarded his plight as old news.

She made her way down the dim corridor.  Everywhere were pipes and throbbing, growling machines.  The place was hot, humid, oppressive.  She cautiously stepped forward, her legs, in their dark stockings, gleaming in the light.  In the shadows, the three men watched her.  They marveled at her athletic movements as she prowled, a leather jacket over a turtleneck sweater and charcoal colored tweed skirt.  Beautiful.  Fucking beautiful.  Even prettier than on TV, here in the flesh.  And smaller.  And alone.

"Anybody here?" she called out, fear and doubt etched in her voice.  "Hello?"

So close, they thought.

Just a few more steps.  She reached a door.  It was closed.  She slowly opened it and poked her head inside.  Quickly the three men jumped from the shadows behind her and pushed her into the room.  They followed behind, the last of them slamming and locking the door quickly.  The trap was sprung.  She was theirs.  Payback time.



Three hours later, the newswoman found herself naked, bound spread-eagle between two pipes, in the hot basement boiler room.  The heavy machinery throbbed with energy.  Even without the gag, her cries would never be heard.  But she was gagged.  With her black silk panties.  Stuffed deep in her mouth and held there with one of her stockings wrapped and tied around her head.  Her arms were spread high and wide, strapped to the posts with leather belts.

Likewise her ankles, tied so that she stood on tiptoes, her legs splayed wide, revealing the furry mound of her sex.  It thrust forward in throbbing invitation.  The boiler room was very hot.  A sheen of sweat glistened on her lean and taut body.  Her mane of hair framed her face and shoulders.

In those three hours, the men had used her mercilessly.  With their hands and lips, cocks and whips they had wrung pain and pleasure from her bound body.  They had made her pay for what she'd done to their brother.  Thin red lines crisscrossed her back, ass, belly and thighs.  A spray of marks between her legs testified that no part of the beautiful woman had been spared the kiss of the whip.

She had been whip-fucked - one man fucking hard and deep into her cunt while another laid the whip on her ass, causing her to jerk and writhe in a most stimulating manner.  They had tied her arms behind her back, then raised her wrists upwards, causing her to bend over at the waist.  In that position, her legs still splayed wide, one man had enjoyed her cunt while another had her pleasure him with her mouth.

In the hot basement, the men used the newswoman.  They reminded her of what she'd done, talked to her of "justice" even as they pumped their hard cocks into her.  Again and again they had taken her; again and again she had bucked and humped, moaned and spasmed.  For though she had at first resisted, her eyes flashing in angry defiance, the proud beauty had finally been tamed.  And mastered.  And turned on.

Slowly but surely, her moans of humiliation and anguish had become wanton groans of arousal.  The steely defiance with which she had met the early whiplashes and thrusting of their cocks had given way to a humping rhythm that said all to clearly that her own needs were inflamed.  At 10:30 the men dressed.

The moved a sturdy stanchion between her wide-spread legs and bolted it in place.  It's top was a thick rubber dildo.  Raising the pole slowly, the men penetrated the bound captive yet another time.  When the dildo was in her pussy so the rubber spikes at its base pressed hard against her cunt lips and clit, they locked it in place.  A small timer was set.  And then they set up the video equipment.

The girl watched in horrified fascination and a growing sense of doom as a bright light was aimed at her sweaty, spread body.  The camera was positioned and adjusted.  Her image flickered to life on a small monitor turned so she could see it.  There she was in all her naked glory, as she'd never before been seen by any TV audience.

Her body was beautiful, spread, sweaty, marked by the whip, her pussy hairs glistening with the juices of her earlier fucking.  When she rolled her head back in despair, one of the men tied her other stocking to her gag and then to an overhead pipe.  When he tightened the bond, her head snapped forward so she stared ahead.

"In about fifteen minutes," one man said.  "The dildo will kick-in.  Fifteen minutes after that, at 11, your newscast begins.  That's when the camera and transmitter engage.  There's enough power here to jam all TV signals within a hundred miles.  Tonight, bitch, you're the news." And then they left her.

She squirmed and struggled to no avail.  All she succeeded in doing was to make her pussy throb as she churned upon the dildo.  Sweat trickled down her face, her breasts, her thighs.  Her strained position and the hot basement made her glisten.  A trickle of her wetness slowly oozed down the inside of her thighs.

When the dildo switched on she moaned loudly and writhed crazily in her bondage.  Again to no avail.  She was trapped and she would just have to suffer whatever indignities that lay ahead.  She couldn't resist the dildo.  It was in too deep, its vibrations too powerful.  And her owned wracked position, the absolute wanton way she was exposed, naked and open, only added to her arousal, as had all the fucking she'd already endured.  And her humiliation in realizing what would soon happen only seemed to add fuel to the growing fire in her loins.  She felt herself racing towards a well-timed climax.

Meanwhile, the three men sat in a bar in the city.  They watched the end of the TV show with a hundred other men.  They watched some dumb commercials and then the introduction to the news.  Then the screen broke up for a second into snow and jagged lines.  When it focused they smiled.

There was everybody's favorite newswoman, the object of a million wet-dreams and fantasies, spread, naked, whipped and coming in her bondage.  Her hips humped the dildo, her head shook, her eyes closed tightly, her breasts heaved as she gave into the spasms that consumed her.  Beautiful.  Fucking beautiful.  The timing was perfect.

She climaxed just as the broadcast started.  In the bar and across town and in all the cities for miles around, TV audiences stared in wide-eyed amazement at the picture on their sets.  The men had gotten their revenge.

It would be hours before the authorities tracked down the source of the transmission and managed to stop the obscene live broadcast.  Hours in which the beautiful anchorwoman had writhed and squirmed and jiggled and heaved, coming to climax after climax until she slumped exhausted in her bonds.  Hours in which she finally got the one thing she'd always craved so much: prime time exposure!