Daddy, daughter, and the mom.
Her pale, thin legs kicked frailly from under the terrycloth robe she wore, her blameless white nightgown revealed in her struggles. I stripped the soft cloth belt from the rope and bound her skinny wrists behind her, wrenching them and wrenching a shocked cry of pain from inside her gagged mouth. Then her ankles, pinned against the floor and bound together with a strip of cloth conveniently left draped over a kitchen chair. I flipped her over-hard-onto her back again then and let her see my face-for the first time. No blindfold, she'd ordered, and when our eyes met, her look of fear and undignified helplessness was real enough to make me falter, just for a moment.
But everything was just as we had planned-to the last detail-so it continued.
I had her draped struggling over my shoulder in an instant-I must have outweighed her by a hundred pounds of more. And then I strode purposefully to where I knew her bedroom to be and threw her down on her clean, made bed, hard on her back. The knife then-unfolded to reveal a long, partly-serrated blade. Bought to her specifications. Denuding her was a hacking, brutal affair-fast, and crude, shredding her robe, her gown, the grey, unassuming panties in irregular pieces, stripped away in chunks, leaving jagged strips hanging from beneath the bonds of her wrists and ankles. She struggled throughout, subdued only by the implied threat of the knife, her mewling cries of outrage and anger steady and insistent. Once she was stripped to tatters, I stood, and surveyed my captive.
She was-a nearly sixty year old woman. Pale, thin-looking flesh, puckered with a lifetime's surgical scars and spots. Small tits slid down slackly into her armpits, her movements making their deflated little form shake piteously. Her pussy was a sparse, uncombed thatch of dingy brown. Small blue veins pulsed at her throat, her thighs. Puckers and moles, and wrinkles. I stood, stunned and as hard as I'd ever been in my life.
I'd never seen anything so moving-and arousing.
I stood and watched her struggled and listened to her moans muffled and pleading, and watched the red flush of her efforts and her humiliation spread over her chest and face. And then, deliberately, I undressed.
The sight of me undressing-and no doubt that of my relative massiveness to her-caused her to renew her struggles and her cries. I took my time, letting my size-"burly" would best describe it-fill her fear. When my cock-not enormous, but enormously engorged, finally came into her view, she began to scream. I let her-the thickness of the gag and her house's relative isolation making her protests irrelevant. And then I got to work.
Knifing away the cloth bonds at her ankles, I deftly retied them singly to the feet of her bed, my large hands fully encircling her birdlike shins. Her legs splayed open and her arms bound behind her, her utter helplessness seemingly registers in her with complete finality and she thrashes wildly, her sad, little breasts flapping against her ribs. There are tears in her eyes now as they seek mine out, the pleading therein as eloquent as they are useless. When I kneel before her prostrate little body and thrust my head an inch from the forcibly-parted pink of her cunt, she freezes.
And then I go down on her for hours.
I follow my role to the carefully-worded letter-teasing maddeningly, for so long I feel my cock will split itself with lust-until finally allowing my tongue meaningful purchase on her wrinkled little lips, inside her tiny cunt.