Glass Des

If you're under 18, don't read these stories. Skip or erase the file. If you're over 18, you can officially decide for yourself.

The following is a work of fiction containing scenes of graphic nc sex. This story includes elements of restraint and non-technical bondage.

Content is my own (Monocle), copyright 1999-2003, (as are the typos, and spelling & grammar errors), and any resemblance to persons or events living or dead or stories already written is purely coincidence.

Hope you like it.

Monocle

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Mrs. Smith awakens enclosed in a dark glass box. Her chest lays on a padded surface almost as wide as her waist, which comes up to just under her breasts. A two inch wide extension passes up between them. Her full, round breasts hang unclothed and free on either side. Her wrists are secured to each other with a soft but unyielding binding behind her back. The pad is tilted slightly forward, so her head is below her raised rear. Her lower thighs and knees are strapped and cradled on their own curved pads, and splayed wide apart. A wide belt around her stomach secures her lower back to the cool, smooth top surface of the box, while another firm strap wraps around her back, and under her arms to attach to the small pad extension near her sternum. Her bound hands rest in the wedge formed by her back and the glass top. Her lower legs are almost horizontal on their pads, so she is almost kneeling, but bent far forward. She tries to move her limbs and finds that every part of her body is secured snugly to the contoured pads. Her struggles also make her realize that the various surfaces are touching naked skin. Now she becomes aware of air currents blowing on her exposed upper thighs, ass, and pussy.

Lights come on, and she can see through the smoked glass of the box wall and top. She is in a lavishly appointed office, and a leather covered stuffed chair faces her. She looks around, her neck the only part of her body with freedom of movement, and realizes she appears to be encapsulated in a large glass desk. An unfamiliar man walks in, and Mrs. Smith calls out for help. She can only see up to his suited chest, as papers and panels on the glass desktop block her view of his face. No sound seems to carry through.

The man walks around the desk and sits down behind it; behind her. With a shock she feels fingers on her pussy lips. With no preamble, they start to rub and massage her. The touch is light and gentle, but also mechanical and certainly without tenderness. She yells out in protest, but again, the sound seems not to travel. Her flexing thighs and ass only quiver against the hands' touch. The fingers are wet, spreading a warm oily substance over her lips and pushing it slowly into her cunt with one, then two, then three fingers, until the digits can plunge in and out with little friction. The sensation is base and humiliating to Mrs. Smith, but not painful. Nonetheless she cries and sobs in unheard protest. Once the lubrication is completed, there is a brief pause, and she can feel a chair sliding up behind her, between her bound and spread thighs.

She jerks again at the contact of a hot, fat cockhead at her pussy entrance. Her private muscles contract, and she screams in fear and desperation, but no sound emerges from her small prison. For a couple minutes nothing happens. The flared head rests against her opening, just pushing aside her labia majora - the hard pressure at her now wet entrance throbs, but otherwise does not move. Her sheer and absolute vulnerability make her want to disappear into herself.

Then the door opens, and in walks Mr. Smith - his wife can see him clearly through the one-way glass. This is his job interview. The executive behind the desk is his boss-to-be - hopefully. The man presses a button on his desk and the window curtains open, letting natural light into the room. He presses the one next to it as Mr. Smith sits down not two feet from his imprisoned wife. This second button causes the framework holding Mrs. Smith to slide backward within the desk. As Mr. Smith settles down for the interview, Mrs. Smith is slowly impaled on the executive's cock. It is long and thick, and stretches her pussy wide as the mechanism pushes her onto it. She screams at the first penetration, but then simply gasps and inhales raggedly as she is filled beyond all previous experience.

Beneath the increasingly stretched and stuffed sensations within her, she dimly feels the hairy legs of the man against her thighs and belly as the cock bores ever deeper into her. Her ass touches, then presses into his lower stomach, feeling the fabric of his suit coat and pressed shirt. Her breaths come in short gulps as she adjusts to the cock now completely buried in her. Her inner muscles contract spastically, unused to this serious an intrusion. She moans helplessly and calls her husband's name.

The interview begins, Mr. Smith talking about his experience and ideas for the company, as he had practiced with his wife in past evenings. He works on appearing relaxed, legs crossed, and watches the interviewer for signs and clues for leading the discussion. He's doing it just like they had practiced together over the last week. On those times she had sat behind the table, pretending to be the interviewer and grilling him, the same way the man now filling her is grilling her husband.

After the a short pause in which Mrs. Smith can feel the hard cock throb and twitch inside her full-to-bursting pussy, the desk mechanism begins rocking and sliding Mrs. Smith on the exec's cock. It moves slowly at first, sliding her almost completely off the meaty pole, then pushing her back on again balls deep. She wails as she is sunk again onto the shaft. The pace quickens as the interview continues. She is pulled off and pushed onto the stranger's cock with increasing force and speed, but there is always a short pause between motions, when she is fully fucked and pressed against the man behind her. It is as if to remind her each time how effectively she is being held for and used by this cock. The box absorbs her cries and sobs. The lubricated motions of her cunt up and down the shaft produce no sound significant enough emerge from the desk. The machine itself operates so quietly that there is nothing for Mr. Smith to notice.

As she is drawn of the invading phallus once more, through tear-blurred vision, Mrs. Smith notices one last feature of her confinement - a curiously angled mirror in front of and below her. When she is mostly withdrawn from the cock, the view shows only her torso lying on its pad and her hanging breasts. As she is drawn once again onto the interviewer's cock, her own face moves into the reflection, and she can see her own tear stained and frightened eyes. Those eyes widen when she realizes that in the reflection behind her, she can also see what can only be the face of the interviewer.

The man behind the desk is poker-faced; absolutley nothing betrays the debauch taking place below the desktop. Again and again, he disappears and reappears from view as the desk now heaves her on and off his cock. She can't help but watch mesmerized at the only available focus for her torment. She feels him shift slightly in his seat as she is drawn off him, and cries out in protest again as she is brought back onto him - his cock pressing even deeper into her now. As she gasps for air, she sees her reflection and his behind it. He is looking at her. Whether he can see though that part of the desk, or simply knows where to look, Mrs. Smith has no idea. But his eyes are cold and knowing, staring into hers. His cock flexes in her pussy, and then he looks up to ask another question of her husband. Mrs. Smith sobs and groans as the desk moves her again.

In the latter part of the interview, the desk begins to fuck Mrs. Smith onto the huge cock savagely, without stopping at any one point. The flared head spikes into her constantly, repeatedly. All the while, the man behind her betrays not even a tremor. She sees him look down at her twice more, and each time, she shudders at the gleam in his eyes.

The interview comes to a conclusion, and the desk is fucking Mrs. Smith onto the cock furiously now. Her breath comes in gasps as she is shaken back and forth. Her breasts sway and shake with the rough movement. Now the interview is over, and Mr. Smith stands to shake the exec's hand. As the interviewer raises his right hand, his left comes to rest on another button on his desk. Mrs. Smith is shoved hard onto the cock one last time and held there. As the men two shake hands firmly, locking eyes, the exec's cock swells and cums inside her, filling her with his semen. The spurts of cum throb in time to the shaking of hands - she can feel the sticky warmth slowly spread deep inside her. The glass prison swallows her desperate screams as her cunt fills with and swallows his seed.

Mr. Smith leaves, and in the next minutes the slowly deflating cock slides out of his bound wife, allowing copious cum to start trickling down her legs. She can see his face again through the mirror. He looks down and smiles at her. She shudders. A hand gently pats her exposed bottom. The exec hits an intercom button and his voice fills her small space.

"Congratulations Mrs. Smith, your husband is the right man for the job." Then, he adds, "We have a space in our company for you, too, but I'm afraid the two jobs come as a matched set. He only gets his position if you accept yours. I'll leave you to think about it while I get your husband set up with the relevant paperwork. My assistant will explain corporate policy to you, too, somewhat later."

The intercom switches off, and the face behind her disappears. After a minute, Mrs. Smith feels more motion behind her. A thick, pulsing dildo slides up her cum-slick cunt. Though slightly thinner, it is longer than the exec's cock, and the head pushes up snugly against her cervix, while the lumpy base is pressed into her labia and clit. It begins to vibrate, spreading unwanted electric feelings up her spine. She moans in her silent box. A second, lubricated dildo pokes at her rear entrance. Mrs. Smith has never even considered anal sex in her life, and screams and struggles weakly as her virgin ass is slowly invaded. This dildo is thinner, but almost as long as the first, with wider and narrower parts, like a string of small rubber balls. She moans and sobs with the feel of each bulbous section stretching her sphincter and then being pulled all the way in by her own contractions. She begins to feel like a stuffed bird. Once the flared base of the second device is nestled between her asscheeks, it too begins to vibrate. The double vibrations on within her most sensitive areas oscillate wickedly, teasing and massaging her insides as nothing ever has before.

The dildoes are locked into place behind her somehow, and before the executive leaves, he presses a last few buttons on his desk. The curtains close, the room lights dim, and one wall of the office opens up onto the executive hallway, allowing Mrs. Smith to see into several other richly appointed offices similar to the one she is in. She can see four more glass desks, three of them with men sitting at them whose faces she cannot make out. All the desks are illuminated from within, each with its own female captive. Each one of their faces is contorted in horror, or disgust, or... passion, as one of the women clearly is in the throes of intense orgasm.

Lights inside the desk-prison come on. Now she cannot see out, as it is lighter inside than out. Mrs. Smith realizes that the one-way glass must now work the other way and anyone in the other offices or hall that cares to look would be able to see her. The realization is burned into her as the desk mechanism begins moving her again, sliding her almost completely off the fake cocks, her nose almost touching the glass front of the desk, then driving her back, until both dildoes are buried to their fullest within her. She grunts sharply, then shudders. The strong vibrations buzz deep inside her. The soft protrusions at the base of her vaginal intruder transfer them directly onto her sensitive clit.

A rhythm begins: the desk fucks her, the cocks undulate and vibrate within her as she is displayed to the company's executive branch. There is no way her body can resist the intense stimulation, try as she might. She does not know how long it takes, as there is nothing with her to measure time, but the relentless fucking and vibration eventually conquers her body, and she comes violently on the dildoes. Her screams of forced passion join others broadcast over the office intercom.

As her cries die off, her spasming cunt and anal muscles can't help but continue squeezing the rubber cocks. The movements of the infernal contraption slow and stop, the dildoes coming to rest only half-in. The vibrations slacken. Mrs. Smith breaths a ragged sigh of relief. Perhaps it is over. She closes her eyes and prays it is. A slight sound draws her attention, and she opens her eyes to look down below her, where a section of the desk bottom is drawing back. Behind that section, positioned under her hanging breasts, are two funnel or plunger like devices, open upward. There is nothing she can do but wriggle and protest weakly as the cups slowly rise. Soon her tits are resting in the cups. They are slightly too small, so her flesh bulges over the edges, looking from the side like overfilled ice cream cones.

The cups are warm and wet with a slick fluid. When they press into her, they begin a mild suction. Mrs. Smith's breasts are drawn into the cups, the textured interior of them rubbing her sensitive flesh. As her nipples are drawn further in, randomly moving soft and wet objects tease them, very much like hot tongues might. Her nipples and aureoles are alternately suckled, licked and pinched.

Mrs. Smith barely has time to get used to the new sensation, for the desk is now starting up again. First the vibrations increase to previous levels - then higher. Then the desk resumes sliding. She groans incoherently as she is fucked and sucked by the machinery. Mrs. Smith's over-stimulated body trembles weakly as the assault on her sanity begins.