Gromet's PlazaErotic Stories

Laurens Life

by Leticcia

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© Copyright 2007 - Leticcia - Used by permission

Storycodes: Solo-F; mast; fantasy; discovery; insertion; first; climax; reluct/cons; X


Again she screamed...

The water pounded her sensitive skin, sending the hot waves rushing through her.

Her mind reeled, flitting in and out of coherency, drifting through the past and present, drowning in sensation. As the torrent stopped her mind came to rest on the shore of her beginnings into this crazy lifestyle. Back when the waters were calmer and smoother.

She hung against her ropes, semi conscious, praying it was over but knowing it wasn't yet. Her grip on reality faltering like her grip on the wet rope holding her up. Her head slowly bent, drool escaping from around the gag to hang down in strands and mix with the water pooling round her knees.

And so she drifted lazily and exhausted, just drifting....

Chapter 1 - Penny Drop.

She had often thought about when it started, tried to pick a point, but with anything as complex as a human life, if that’s what she was leading, there was no such thing. Every action was in some small way pre-ordained by another. Her first jaunt into the realms of bondage was certainly not the beginning, nor a jaunt. The reason for it, the wonder and amazement at finding out about the lifestyle, may also not have happened if she had not been driven into such solitude. And of course the solitude would have never come about if she had not been finally disowned by her foster parents. But back at the beginning, back when she decided it was the beginning and added that mark to her memory that had come to define her was an afternoon.

The afternoon was taking place inside, in an attic room, or what was styled to be an attic with its sloping ceiling and predominance of wooden cladding. On this afternoon Lauren was there in that room. As she stood and paced from one end to the other she reflected on her situation. She was eighteen now, doing well at school, but not really caring for great mental accomplishment that would be shown on a few bits of cardboard. Her long legs easily carried her from one end of the room to the other; long strides accompanied her athletic physique, and 5'10" frame. As she swung round she was aware of the sensation of her 28B breasts rising and shifting against gravity and rubbing into her bra. The turn also threw her dirty blond hair around in a dramatic arc before coming to rest again flowing don to just below her shoulders.

At the other end of the room she turned again and paced back, long confident strides were powered by the ire within her, her jeans clung to her legs and were cropped short displaying her feet, covered as they were in a pair of white socks, small pink and blue frills adorning there tops. Clinging to her top was a faded green sun top vest, ending before her jeans began, hanging just off of her hips.

Again she ran out of room, and again she pivoted on the ball of her foot, before launching off on another crossing to the other side of the room, seven or eight steps was all it to propel herself across the space and sum up her life so far. A strange mix of misfortune and detachment, with a few lucky mitigations. At only five years of age her true parents had died of carbon monoxide poisoning in their holiday home on the shore of Lake Michigan. Lauren at the time was in the company of her doting grandparents, who passed away only two years after burying their own children.

So it was left to her uncle and aunt, from her brothers’ side to care for her. They did, after a fashion. But treated her like some kind of Barbie doll, just an object to be dressed up and paraded around, no more loved than the DVD player or microwave. Fortunately, lawyers and legal advisors had meant that she was well provisioned for, and now her uncle realised they could not discard her like last years fashion accessory they did what they could to make her disappear. So she had a separate house, actually a converted barn on their expansive grounds and a nanny to pop in and watch over her. Her parents had been rich, her father owning a paper mill industry with his brother. She had been their only child and as such they left all to her, although it was controlled by the lawyers and only partially hers till she was 21.

So she had lived in her mini palace on her own, not left wanting, going to school like any other teenager, and being copiously ignored by her family. Never making many friends at school, mainly because of living in such strange circumstances, she drifted to the internet, a whole world of people who could not talk easily to others except through the veil this medium provided. And that was how she met Lucy.

At school Lauren was noticing things, how boys were changing. Their parading and macho acts of near stupidity. She saw all this and was drawn to it, not for them or the acrid smell that seemed to follow them, but for the other girls that followed them. When she was looking at the current, "hottest boy in the school" all she could admire was the form and blossoming shape of the girl hanging onto him. She was not stirred by the power and masculinity, but rather the suppleness and grace of whatever female caught her eye. She knew what this meant, she was a freak and even more of an outcast than before, but she managed to subdue this feeling and tell herself this was not so, until one assembly.

They all sat on the floor of the big gym, cross legged, in a large circle around a central stage area where the teacher preached their doctrines of citizenship and conformity. One morning as Lauren sat there her gazed drifted across the circle to a girl sitting across the other side. It was a large school and although she looked the same age, Lauren did not know her. But that did not matter, she was sitting there and leaning back, hands on the floor behind her arching her back to take away some of the stiffness of sitting on the hard floor as the teachers droned on. As she did so her skirt, a black wrap around shifted open a bit.

Ideally placed Lauren’s eyes followed the girls smooth legs up from the white cotton socks and chunky heeled shoes right up to where she could now see the girls equally white cotton panties. She was transfixed unable to control her minds wandering as she pictured the dark pubic hair on the other side of the fabric and imagined the feel of the warm soft flesh beneath it. With effort she drew her gaze away, petrified that the other girl would have noticed and called her for it. But she had not and was still stretching, head back. Lauren tried to be relieved, but a line had been crossed, dictated not so much by her staring, but at her realisation of the heat and dampness in her own crotch.

When she was finally able to escape from the cloying press of bodies that was school she fled back to her sanctuary and onto the anonymity of the online world, but she was so ashamed and ended up confessing to a friend online. Instead of the mocking, name-calling and brutal segregation she expected from the schoolyard the chat rooms were accepting, made no judgments and comforted her, opening her eyes up to a whole world of people just like her. For a time she reveled in this sense of community and openly chatted and shared, never lewdly or graphically but in a sense of comfort and happiness. One of these friends was Lucy.

Lucy was stunning, 22 years old and her profile pic was of her in her bikini, Lauren hadn't been that brave and hers was only in her jeans and a t shirt. They talked long and often. Lucy told Lauren of what it was like being a lesbian and different ways in which she could learn to pleasure herself, although Lauren never tried she looked at Lucy's picture and felt the warmth grow in her crotch and experienced the longing as her eyes drank in the figure on the screen before her. More than once a change of underwear was necessary after a long chat with the previous coming off soaked. As time passed though the longing grew more, Lauren couldn't visit Lucy she knew, she said she lived too far away, but her longing in her crotch grew every time they talked and Lucy told her about pleasuring herself even without one of the toys you could get from a sex shop. Eventually Lauren was seriously considering Lucy's suggestions for the use of a hairbrush.

Then another of life’s twists savagely tore through her. While looking at a web site for underwear she made an unsettling discovery. She was looking to move on from her stock collection of white bras and panties, feeling more adventurous and tired of her current wardrobe she looked through the sites drinking in the colours and shapes, feeling sexier just thinking about wearing the garments. It was then she came across the picture. Lucy was there, in her bikini, and several others down the page. Lauren didn’t know what to think. She saved the picture she had so often fantasised over and opened it next to her own treasured copy of Lucy. Looking at the pictures side by side erased any hopeful doubt she harbored. The pictures were almost exactly the same. Only the one she had just downloaded had a small ledged over the very bottom professing it to be property of the website. Lauren's own copy only had a white stripe here, which now stood out as a glaring band of falsehood.

Lauren was gutted. She had heard of men pretending to be women to gain their confidences, she had rebuffed a fair amount that had tried it with her, they were always easy to spot, but the level of this deception was more than she had ever known. Over a year now of talking and sharing secrets, she felt defiled. A small part of her though wanted confirmation, didn’t want to believe. So she waited until Lucy came online. Confronting her brought forth denials and claims that her photo had been stolen, when Lauren would not accept that she/he fell back into a story that it was her and she had modeled for it, she just didn’t like to advertise that fact as, surprise surprise, it made people distrust her. But distrust her Lauren now did. Holes that she had glossed over before were now gaping rents in the fiction she had been embracing and finally Lucy, or whatever his name really was just disappeared, "offline" announced the harsh end of that relationship.

She pushed the chair back from her desk and left the chat room running. A few people were still talking to her, but now they were talking to an empty seat as the anger pushed her into stalking up and down the room. Emotions welled up in her one after another, anger, embarrassment and frustration. There was a lot of frustration. She had thought that she had been close to some breakthrough in her life, some better understanding. Now to find out it was all a deception a ruse while some spotty geek jerked off on her emotion and feeling. In spite of all this her inner being cried for release, that last few months her wanting and needing had grown, frustrating her and pushing at her taboo's and what she thought she could do.

Damn it she thought as she dropped onto her bed, lying there on her back. Then wondered why she had not come up with a better expletive that was more in line with the injustice of what had happened. She laid there with her head on one side watching the computer screen filling up with massages as people talked, a few "you there??" aimed at her, but she had neither the inclination or the composure to answer their pleas right now.

She laid there as if her body was too heavy to move, feeling the blood pump around her and how part of her clothing had pulled tight against her skin due to the way she had just dropped. As she lay on her back, head resting to one side, her eyes slowly relaxed their grip on the monitor and her focus changed. The computer screen grew fuzzy and distant and the desk moved into sharp relief. Pens, paper and various knick knacks passed through but her vision was snagged by a handle. Half hidden by a tin that had held some sort of traditional biscuit variety from Switzerland was one of her hairbrushes. She laid there paralyzed by the possibilities and there meanings. The tension inside her needed release and begged for her to give in. She held back though, disturbed by the thought that it was this that the bastard imitator had wanted her to do. Would it be giving in to him??

A hot wave of need erupting from her decided it. He wasn’t what was making her do this; he would get nothing from it and would not even know. No, it was her choice and privilege; she would not let him stop her from having what was hers.

She lifted herself from the bed and grabbed the brush. The whole thing was about eight inches long with plastic bristles, each one ending in a small plastic blob. She felt the handle yield under her grip as she lay back onto her bed and pillows. The handle was about half the length of the brush, slightly curved and cover for the most part with a ribbed rubber grip. As she lay on the bed she examined the mass of hair caught in it and pulled chunks out. What now... The purpose that had filled her moments ago was draining as she was confronted with the act.

She placed the handle between her legs, gripping it tightly so the brush end pointed out like some alien phallus. It felt good, the hard object pressed through her jeans and against her skin. Slowly she pulled it out reveling in the sensation caused by the friction as it rubbed over her crotch. Once it was out she pushed it back into the crevice formed by her legs and crotch. Once it was back in-between her legs she relaxed them, letting her knees fall apart and opening up her groin. Although it was only a brush she felt as if she was relinquishing to it as if she was giving in to is control over her.

Rubbing the handle over her slit through her jeans she realised she was getting very wet. She could just feel the ribs on the brush teasing her lips. Her breath was coming a bit faster and she could feel the heat growing in her. She needed more though; it was building up but was still held in by her inhibitions. While on hand kept up the rubbing she fumbled open the buttons on the front of her jeans, and arching her back she peeled them off in one swift movement. Exposing her long pale legs and white cotton briefs. She cursed as in the same movement she knocked the brush from the bed, making her have to twist and reach for it. Grabbing it like a lifeline and pulling herself back onto the bed she realised she couldn’t stop now, she was at the mercy of the feelings, and as she pushed it back against her swollen lips and began slowly drawing the handle back and forth again she groaned at the increase in feeling, she felt every rib on the handle push into her flesh as it passed, soaking her further and pushing her to rub harder and faster.

Laying back images flashed into her mind of long smooth legs running up to equally smooth hips and waiting crotches. She could feel the pleasure building at a faster rate, knew that it would explode soon, and part of her feared that. Was uncertain of what was ahead and if she could bear it. Part of her wanted to stop, but none of her could. The power the brush had over her was too great and it almost snuck up on her. Suddenly, her body was not her own. Her back arched of its own accord and her hips bucked as if they were possessed. White hot pleasure erupted from her vagina making her thoughts turn and flee.

Gradually she regained reality. Lying on her back panting. She looked down and realised she was still holding the brush tightly against her crotch, not wanting to relinquish the contact. With effort she pulled away and released the brush. Her hand was cramped from holding it so tightly and its bristles had dug into her hands.

As she lay there, the heat subsided and she was aware of the sweat soaked into her top. She pulled her top off dropping it beside the bed exposing her pure white bra and taut stomach. She felt great relief as the top fell away, as if it was constricting her. Then she realised, she still felt the need for release. The earth shattering experience was not enough; her body wanted more and was bending her mind to it. She had felt the pleasure just from rubbing the handle against her, but her body craved something more. The feeling of something filling her inside. Her hand drifted down to her soaked panties, she could feel her swollen lips part, feel the void between them, wanting it filled. But what if she did, would it hurt, would she be ok with it in her, what if it got stuck??

Almost trembling she removed her white panties, now soiled with her juices and cum. They were wet she told herself, she should change them. But after they left her legs she could make no move to get up and find fresh ones. The brush was back in her hand again, she couldn’t remember picking it up again, but there it was. She laid there very still in just her white bra and socks, panting. The hand with the brush was moving slowly to the soft mound of fuzz that shrouded her crotch. She was afraid but wanted it badly. She needed to feel what it was like. She felt the tip of the handle dip between her lips; pause on the edge of her. She held it there for what seemed an eternity, quivering in the anticipation. Slowly she let it enter, it didn't go far easily, and she was loath to relax. It only went in an inch before she withdrew it. It felt amazing.

Slowly she opened her legs wider, the brush re-entered. It did not slip in easily, but slowly she parted for it, her vagina holding it tight. She was worried it was stuck, but it came slowly, each rib, pushing past her clitoris and sending a ping of pleasure each time. As it went back in it went further, pushing to her core. This time she held it in, reveling in the feeling. She pulled it out faster and gasped at the sensation. It was then like a switch had been thrown, she had no more control as she fucked herself with the brush handle, hips lifting in time with it, her socked feet loosing grip as she arched her back but she did not have the power to stop and remove them. The brush was going in easier but her tight pussy still held it firmly magnifying the sensation of the individual ribs.

She could feel it building up again, knew it was coming more than before, wondered if her body could contain another explosion like that. Whatever worries she had she could not stop, one hand thrusting the brush in, the other holding onto the headboard, her feet scrabbling for purchase as her chest heaved. The orgasm rocked over her and her whole body tensed shoving the brush hard into her, she cried out as she thrashed about in the throws of pleasure.

As the world came back to her, she lay sprawled on the bed, legs at random angles. Her mind slowly emerged from the blanket of fuzzyness surounding her and the world came back into focus. She was spent and could not move, did not want to move. As she recovered slowly her eyes came to rest upon the desk again. The brush wasn't there of course, she was not sure where it was, probably on the floor after that. After a time she got up and removed her bra and socks, she had not managed to remove them during her possesed state.

She intended to shower, but instead drew back to her bed where she rested on her back, legs parted to the cooling air. As she drifted on the edge of sleep a noise drew her briefly back to her senses. It was a small penny drop. Somehow she must have disturbed the bag on her desk and one had rolled off onto the floor during her orgasams. She grinned at the irony. She knew life would never be the same again now. Now she knew what was hers to be had and experienced. She wanted to know more, but felt the heavyness of her eyelids overpowering her.

Life really would never be the same again....


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