Final Warning: This is a strong story depicting enforced watersports, scat (defecation), bondage and torture. It is not for the sensitive: if you think you might be offended you must leave now.
Tracey had been watching the house, on and off, for weeks. The car was always parked in the driveway overnight. But not tonight, a Friday. They were almost certainly away for the weekend. She rang her friend Sharon to tell her the news, to warn her to be ready to do a job, and to meet at Tracey's at around 3:30am. Everything was set.
They were an unlikely pair, thrown together by circumstances and necessity. Tracey, 19 years old, tall, world-wise and athletic, had got into thieving by receiving stolen goods from her brother and selling them on to her friends, no questions asked. He was in prison now; neither could remember their parents who had them taken into care when Tracey was only three. Life was tough, and Tracey had to do he best she could. She was determined not to go on the Game, even she had her principles. But doing the odd bit of breaking and entering seemed easy. She'd done dozens of jobs now - videos, money, anything that could be lifted - and liked having cash around.
Sharon had just turned 17 and was already a wreck. She'd been doing crack for over two years now and desperately needed money all the time to keep her habit going. Slim, blonde and petite, she was once a beauty, but not any more. She smoked pot when she could afford it, had dabbled with heroin (miraculously she didn't get hooked), and had a 2 year-old kiddie. She never knew who the father was, it could have been anyone. Tracey had taken her under her wing 6 months earlier on the condition that she helped her get rid of stuff. Gradually, Tracey wanted more and more, and now insisted she came on jobs with her as well. That way she could lift more.
They arrived at the back of the house - still no car in the drive - and everything looked quiet. It was a detached house and the back was well- shielded from the neighbouring houses by thick shrubs and trees. Just the way Tracey liked it. A quick tap on the kitchen window, a turn on the handle and they were in. This was going to be a doddle.
Dave Garrett awoke suddenly. He listened but could hear nothing. He made to shake his wife before remembering that he was on his own for the weekend; Karen had taken the car down to Kent to see her sister that afternoon. It was probably just a cat knocking a milk bottle over. He turned over, bunched the pillow up, and tried to sleep.
In the room below, Tracey already had the video out. She looked around the room and couldn't find much else worth nicking. The answerphone perhaps; and maybe some CDs. Everything else was too big. There had to be some cash somewhere. Tracey was in no great hurry - the house was empty (or so they thought) - and she even fancied having a bit of a party. There was a well-stocked drinks cabinet in the living room - why not? Sharon was getting anxious. She was still new to this and preferred to get in, grab the stuff and get out. "Aw, come on Trace, let's get out of here. I'm shit-scared", said Sharon, making no effort to keep her voice down.
Dave sat up. This time he was SURE he could hear voices downstairs. There was no doubt about it, he WAS being burgled. The phone was downstairs and all he could do was listen. But what if they came upstairs? He couldn't just stay there, surely? He decided the best plan was to get up, grab his old cricket bat from the back of the wardrobe, and wait behind the bedroom door. Armed and ready. He moved across the floor as quietly as he could, carefully took the bat out, and waited.
Within seconds he could hear footsteps coming up the stairs. They weren't man's steps at all; and only one? He was puzzled. Perhaps it was his wife? Maybe there'd been a problem on the way down, perhaps her house keys had been stolen and she had to smash a window to get in?
The footsteps approached the bedroom door and Dave's heart was pounding. He gripped the bat, his palms now sweating profusely. In the darkness he could make out a figure enter the room. He could only really see a silhouette of a small woman with a good figure, but that was enough. The long blonde hair clinched it; it had to be his wife, Karen.
"God, love, you nearly frightened the shit out of me. What the hell are you doing creeping around like that?" He dropped the cricket bat out of relief and turned to switch the bedroom light on. He wasn't the only one in the room, literally shit-scared. Sharon realised with horror that the house wasn't empty, and that she'd go down for months if the guy put the light on and saw her. She panicked.
Dave put the light on, and turned round. He thought he heard something and noticed a piece of wood touching him on the shoulder, pushing. Then the bed appeared to tip up. He looked down and the floor seemed to be coming towards him. For some reason, his head twisted around to the right. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Within seconds he was out cold on the floor in a crumpled heap. Sharon had whacked him as hard as she could on the side of the head with his own cricket bat. "Bloody hell, Sharon, what the fuck have you done?", Tracey said peering down at the 'dead' body. "You've only gone and killed the bastard. OH MY GOD!". In fact she hadn't and Tracey knew very well she hadn't, she just liked to wind Sharon up. But he was out cold and it would be nearly ten minutes before he was to come round.
"Let's get out of here!", screamed Sharon, "I think I've shit myself." "No!", said Tracey, not liking being told what to do by her prot�g�e. "There must be some cash in the house, and he'll have credit cards. Maybe we can get the PINS out of the bastard as well? He hasn't seen us, right?". Sharon nodded, almost close to tears now. "Right then", said Tracey, trying to reassure her, "Let's stay calm and get the most out of this. Leave this to me, I've got an idea". Sharon still wasn't happy. "Oh Trace, I just want to get out of here, I really have shit my panties." Tracey gave her a reassuring cuddle. "Don't cry pet, take your jeans and panties off and we'll get you cleaned up", she said, glancing down at the heap lying near her feet. He looked pathetic, in his wincyette cotton pyjamas.
Just then an evil smile played across her coarse features. "And anyway", she said to the 'body', giving it a kick, "I've got plans for YOU."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The two young women busied themselves during the next few minutes: it was like a military campaign. Tracey decided they were going to have a bit of fun. They noticed a couple of large, solid looking hoops on either side of the bed's headboard. Ironically Dave had installed them himself for some mild S&M games which Karen liked (but he wasn't really into himself, he did it to please her) in which she liked to be 'tied up' with ribbons while Dave tickled her into 'submission' on her nipples with a feather duster. But Tracey and Sharon had no games in mind.
First they stripped him naked and carried him onto the double bed. They then used the cord from the white dressing gowns marked 'His' and 'Hers' - how cute! - to firmly tie his wrists to the hoops above the bed. Next, they needed something to blindfold him with. Tracey remembered she was wearing a pantie-pad (she was near the end of her period), so they put that over his eyes - messy side in, of course - and tied it in place with an old pair of tights, from the household dirty linen basket. They found some 2" wide Elastoplast in the bathroom cabinet, so they stuck that down over his mouth. The 'body' was still out cold.
Meanwhile, Sharon had taken off her jeans and shit-filled panties, and was heading towards the bathroom to clean herself up. Tracey stopped her. "Where are you off to? You really don't have a clue do you?". Their victim was still dead to the world and helpless, so Tracey led Sharon across to the wardrobe and opened it up. There was a whole selection of very expensive looking mens' suits. Tracey took one out and looked at the label; 'Giorgio Armani'. Very nice. She took the trousers off the hanger and handed them to Sharon. "Here you are gal, wipe your arse on that. Only the best for you!" They both giggled and Sharon dutifully obliged, tossing the shit-streaked trousers in the wardrobe when she'd finished.
Time for a party, so Tracey went downstairs, while Sharon kept an eye on her charge, to find some booze. The 'body' was still breathing shallowly through his nose, which was just beneath Tracey's used pantie- pad and his wife's old tights. Perhaps this was the reason that Dave's cock slowly began to stiffen, even though he was out cold. Sharon gazed at it with wonder and giggled. She was feeling a lot better now, and was beginning to enjoy this. She leaned forward and took his cock into her mouth, and slowly began to give him a blow-job. Not for HIS benefit, of course, but for hers. She liked sucking cock far more than straight sex.
Meanwhile, Tracey was in the kitchen with the fridge door open. There was a large bottle on the middle shelf covered in coloured wrapping paper, with a label attached. "To Karen, my darling wife, on our 5th Wedding Anniversary". She unwrapped it; it was a bottle of champagne!
She reappeared upstairs to find Sharon working away furiously at Dave's cock. She'd almost done with him, and Tracey duly waited until she had before announcing the good news. "Oh darling, we simply must have some champers!". They both giggled and opened the bottle with a loud 'THONK'. The cork hit the ceiling, bounced off, and fell down onto Dave's stomach. Tracey put the frothing bottle to her mouth a took a huge swig, trying to keep pace with the rapidly expanding liquid. Eventually she handed the bottle over to Sharon who took an equally huge gulp - she'd never tasted champagne before in her life. Some came out of her nose; they both laughed and looked across at their victim, still erect but unconscious.
Tracey hadn't had a fuck for ages - not with a real non-battery operated cock anyway - so she immediately took off her clothes and leapt onto the bed. She straddled the 'body' and slowly tried to guide his cock into her moistening pussy. Seeing Sharon having a go at him had been quite a turn-on for her. But something was in the way. Then she realised: in her excitement she'd forgotten that she still had a tampon up there. She reached down and pulled the white string and the little red mouse fell out. She tossed it carelessly onto the bedside table and had another go. She slowly sat down on him and her eager pussy hungrily swallowed his cock whole. She pulled out a little, then sat on him again, and slowly starting to develop a rhythm, giving out low moans of pleasure. Meanwhile Sharon was observing all this across the room in a chair with growing excitement. She was breathing heavily now and was working her finger in and out of her equally well lubricated pussy, legs wide apart in the air. Last one to orgasm's a sissy. It was a close thing, but Sharon got there slightly sooner than Tracey!
Sharon watched Tracey from the chair, her legs still wide open and moisture dripping out of her hot, blonde pussy, as Tracey's beautiful round arse bucked up into the air, and then came slamming viciously down onto the cock. "Yes,...YES,.. YES!!... Aaaeeeooooowwwww!". With one final thrust a powerful orgasm ripped through every nerve of Tracey's body and she fell forward, tired and satisfied. Her round breasts easily engulfed his head as she lay there exhausted. It was a few moments before she realised that his nose was firmly buried in her damp, sweaty cleavage and she was actually suffocating him! That wouldn't do at all, not yet anyway: she still had plans for the 'body'.
She sat up and, after a few moments, un-straddled him and his limp cock plopped out. As usual she felt a brief but intense feeling of disappointment, as if someone had stolen her favourite toy. She skipped across to Sharon, grabbed the bottle and took another long swig of champagne. "Come on gal, we still have work to do. Let's see if we can find some money or credit cards". They opened a couple of drawers and within moments had nearly everything they wanted.
A few minutes later, Dave slowly began to regain consciousness. The blow to his head had been taken mainly on his left cheek, which was beginning to swell. His left ear-lobe was split and was still bleeding slightly. He had mild concussion and could hear a continuous ringing sound in his left ear. He couldn't see either: he was beginning to panic when he realised that something was covering his eyes, he had not gone blind after all. He could feel that his wrists were tied and there was an overwhelming feeling of pressure on his chest and legs. His cock felt like someone had rubbed the head with sandpaper. Slowly, it began to dawn on him that he had been raped. There was also a disgusting smell coming from in front of his face.
Tracey and Sharon were sitting on him. Tracey's arse was almost swallowing his face as she sat high on his chest, facing towards the foot of the bed. Sharon was facing her with her weight just above his knees. His legs were between hers, pressed tightly together so that he couldn't move. Both of them were now naked: fucking and frigging was hot work. They were using his stomach as a table, busily going through his wallet and papers looking for anything valuable. They'd found 135 pounds in cash and four credit or debit cards; not bad going! And his passport.
Sharon read out loud, "David George Garrett. British Citizen. Place of Birth: Southampton. Date of Birth: 7th August 1961". Tracey smiled. "Oh god Trace, have a look at his photo, it's hilarious!" They both burst out laughing, oblivious to their helpless victim underneath with 22 stone pressing down on top of him. Tracey's buttocks wobbled as she giggled, brushing his chin, and Dave gave out a low moan. He could hardly breathe. "Trace", said Sharon, "I think he's back. Look. . ." Tracey looked down over her shoulder and realised that he was beginning to come round. She gathered up the valuable things, turned round, and plonked her arse clumsily down onto his stomach. Dave felt her weight and let out a moan as she nearly winded him.
She peeled the Elastoplast off his mouth and stuck it to the headboard. She held up a plastic card and started to read from it, "National Westminster Cashpoint. Now then, David George, you're going to tell us the PIN number of this little card aren't you?". She lifted up her huge arse high in the air and then let it drop down cruelly, with a vicious thud onto his chest. A cracking sound pierced the air as she managed to break one of his ribs. Dave opened his mouth and cried out in pain. He shook his head and tried to tip her off, but to no avail. Tracey saw a packet of cigarettes and a lighter on the bedside table. It was quite a posh lighter, so she picked it up and tossed it over to Sharon, still sitting on his legs.
"Here you are Sharon, let's see if we can have some Great Balls of Fire!". Sharon immediately understood, took the lighter and lit it, adjusting the flame to 'full' so it was almost like a blowtorch. She brought the flame down his belly nearer, nearer to his cock: a couple of his pubic hairs caught fire. "Aargghh. Stop. PLEASE, STOP", he begged them. "We just need the number, big boy", as Sharon made the flame briefly lick the end of his glans. "AARGHH!!! STOP. ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT. 5643. For God's sake STOP!". Sharon flicked the lighter off. "5643 eh? You are telling the truth aren't you? You wouldn't be making that number up by any chance, David George?". Tracey looked back at Sharon and nodded.
Sharon lit up again and applied the flame, this time lower down. A faint burning smell wafted up into Sharon's face as his foreskin started to roast; she giggled in pleasure at his pain. Dave was in agony and let out a blood-curdling cry as his body bucked and writhed in a futile effort to make them stop. Sharon gripped his legs even harder, as a small squirt of her pussy juice dribbled out onto his leg. "STOP!! I SWEAR, I SWEAR, it's 5643 FOR CHRIST'S SAKE STOP, I'LL DO ANYTHING". Tracey nodded again and Sharon flicked the lighter off. "Mmm, you'd better be telling the truth. We know all about you now, remember that. And we wouldn't want your 'Darling' wife coming to harm would we?". Dave was sobbing now, out of agony and humiliation.
It wasn't long before they'd extracted the other two numbers they needed from him. It's amazing what intense pain can make a man do! By now they had nearly finished the champagne, and Tracey was getting a little anxious. Much as she'd like to stay longer at the party, she felt it was time for them to leave. But she didn't want him screaming out and disturbing the neighbours. He had to be properly silenced this time, the Elastoplast on its own wouldn't do. She looked around the room for something suitable. "Sharon, what did you do with your panties?". Sharon gestured into the corner of the room. Tracey ordered her to bring them over. Meanwhile Tracey's eyes fell onto her used tampon on the bedside table. Perfect!
She leaned over him, her large erect nipples brushing against his sweating face, and carefully picked up her used tampon by the string. Tracey made a scratching gesture to Sharon with her nails and nodded pointedly at his balls. Sharon nodded and passed her the panties, which still had two small brown sticky turds attached to the gusset. The smell was revolting. "Okay, Sharon get ready, I think you know what to do. . .when I say so". Everything was ready. "NOW!". Sharon took hold of his balls and squeezed hard, digging her long sharp fingernails deep into his scrotum. Dave opened his mouth and let out a terrified shriek of pain. Then Tracey quickly let go of the string and dropped the brown-red tampon into his mouth. Then she pushed the gusset of Sharon's shit-filled panties straight in afterwards. And kept on pushing relentlessly till they were completely inside his mouth. She peeled the Elastoplast off the bedstead and quickly taped the whole shitty mess in place. Dave started wretching, but knew that if he was sick, he would probably drown in his own vomit. He tried to stay calm. Tracey looked at her handiwork admiringly! Dave was nearly passing out; the taste was unbearable.
"Well done, Sharon, that was spot on. And don't be embarrassed about shitting yourself. I've done it myself. To tell you the truth, I could do with a dump now." She smiled and winked at Sharon, and then squatted over Dave's face, her backside immediately above his nose. She seemed to be concentrating hard, and pushing, pushing. Slowly, a sticky brown turd started to ooze out from her anus and she made a final adjustment to her position. It grew larger and longer and dangled menacingly over his face, almost touching the tip of his nose before plopping out of her backside. Onto Dave's face. Sharon could see the whole thing and let out a yelp of joy. It stuck to his nose before slowly sliding down his cheek onto the bed.
Sharon realised that she'd never really 'finished' herself, and so took up position over his cock. Both girls looked at each other, giggling, concentrating, and continued to dump all over their victim until they were empty. A few small, brown golf-ball sized presents plopped out in rapid succession from Sharon, and fell onto his cock before coming to rest around it. It was like a bowl of shit fruit. Tracey farted in his face and a brief squirt of diarrhea hit him on the forehead and dribbled into his hair. They both laughed! Then Sharon pushed, and a long fat sticky turd oozed out of her arse and dropped down. It lay over his cock making him look like he had two. Then it started to slide down his thighs onto the satin bedsheets.
"Pass the 'loo paper', darling!". Sharon leapt over to the wardrobe and chose another expensive hand-made suit of Dave's and tossed the trousers over to Tracey, who promptly wiped her sticky arse with it. She was almost sorry he was still 'blind', thanks to her pantie-pad blindfold, because she wanted him to see her wipe her arse on his clothes. "Mmm, much softer than Andrex, don't you think?" as they carelessly dropped the shit-stained garments onto Dave's chest.
Sharon was now standing over Dave, legs either side of his body, and was gazing down on him, helpless. She almost felt sorry for him. If only he hadn't been in the house, all this need never have happened. But she was secretly glad he had been in, his degradation had been fun! She was quite tipsy now and rubbed her pussy; she needed to pee badly. To Tracey's delight and surprise, Sharon made no effort to use the bathroom. She just stood there, took aim and 'fired'. An arc of yellow pee erupted from her beautiful, young pussy and landed on Dave's face, exactly where she wanted it to. She played it on his face a while before moving the jet down his chest and thoroughly soaking his shit- stained Armani trousers. She'd never peed on a man before and became quite aroused. Eventually the evil smelling torrent curved down before becoming a few drips which fell onto his belly. Dave knew what they were doing to him and just wanted to die. Surely there could be no more humiliation?
No sooner had Sharon finished peeing on him than Tracey took up a similar position and became even more generous. But this time she squatted down, closer to his head, positioning her pussy only inches from his face, and fired her stinking hot piss straight up his nose. "Happy Anniversary 'darling', here have some champers. It's a bit warm I'm afraid!", she said, laughing. Her cruel pussy nearly drowned him, but she saw he was in trouble and so finished off by 'only' pissing on his cock. The jet broke up some of Sharon's huge sticky turd, turning it into a yellow-brown puree of shit and piss. Meanwhile, Tracey's used tampon and the cotton gusset of Sharon's old panties, were beginning to expand and fill his mouth even more. With all the pressure, a turd was beginning to inexorably slide down the back of his throat. He was going to have to deliberately swallow it if he was going to continue to breathe.
Sharon soon found a drawer containing clean women's' panties, so she chose a pretty red silk pair and put them on. They both got dressed and picked up the cash, cards and PIN numbers. They went into the other bedrooms and found a genuine Rolex watch, some more cash and a jewellery case. Time to go. As they headed towards the stairs they glanced through the bedroom door at their victim; still firmly bound up, blindfolded, a tampon-and-used-panties gag firmly pushed into his mouth, and completely covered from head to foot in their hot stinking shit and piss. "Sorry we're leaving you like this, David George, but we've gotta split. It's been fun, we must do it again sometime!". They tossed their heads back and laughed. Dave felt wretched, and let out a barely audible moan of frustration, anger, humiliation, and terror. They had completely broken his spirit. But surely they wouldn't just leave him? Not like that?
The girls went downstairs still laughing and joking, took the video, answerphone and some of Dave's favourite CDs and left the house by the back door. Dave's wife was still not due back for nearly 40 hours. He tugged in terror and blind panic at his wrists, but couldn't move an inch. There was nothing he could do, he was just going to have to stay like that until Karen returned.
The smell of their excrement was becoming overpowering now. Underneath the panties-pad blindfold and Karen's old tights, his eyes did something they had never done before in his adult life.
He started to cry. - The End -
Copyright 1997 by John Martin. All Rights Reserved.
John Martin Stories Cascade Home