Juiced Like an Orange (FF/F)

[AlexUSA3]

Friends and Me: Juiced Like an Orange
Tuesday, August 20, 2019

Revenge is a funny thing. This is a story of funny revenge for a prank that I upended around two or three months earlier. I use past or present tense depending on which one makes the story more immersive for you as a reader, so I think this one deserves past tense. It doesn't matter what was done before. This is the Cool Girls' Club; it was but another TUG for us to enjoy in love. As the title suggests, this is going to be juicy and a bit outside my usual innocent narrations. Preferring a simpler, cleaner TUG does not mean I do not enjoy some heavy, adults-only elements. This is my first attempt at telling an adult story, so please forgive me if anything becomes awkward.

I returned from a workout totally soaked in sweat from head to toe, needing a shower without a doubt. My pink gym shorts and pink bandana headband were discolored from being so soaked in my sweat, and my purple tank top and matching canvas sneakers would have been discolored if they were not already so darkly colored. My white crew socks were gray, and my sports bra and panties were similarly colored. Now you can imagine how I looked, especially with my pale platinum blonde hair with its brown streaks in my beloved braid held by a purple scrunchie. Was I ready for what was about to happen? Certainly not. Oh, what fun awaited me though!

I'd gone to the gym for a workout with my friends Liz and Leah Ralston, the former being one of my teammates on the Minnesota Tech women's rowing team and one of my best friends. Liz and I were part of routine rowing workouts, but Leah sneaked into the gym with us and stayed out of the way. They may be twins, but they have differing personalities that earn them unique places in my life. They are a real handful when they put on their twin power but are really two bundles of love with whom I now share a flat as a trio patiently waiting for God to provide husbands for each of us, if that's His plan. He might wish for us to be single. I don't worry about it.

Just as important to me is my then landlady, Nichole Petersen. The Gangsta Queen, knowing my background of literal destitution, generously let me live in the second bedroom of the apartment that she and her husband rented. She didn't need a second bedroom; she just loved me so much that she wanted me to not have to worry about the financial burden of school housing, which my rowing and academic scholarships did not fully cover. Now you have the full setting of this tale.

I entered the bathroom and shut the door, unaware Nichole sabotaged the door so the lock would not work, taking off my sneakers and my socks and my top and had just removed my bandana at the moment the door opened to reveal the Twins standing there, also dripping in sweat from what was quite the intense workout. In Liz's hand was a squirt gun; both were barefoot; in Liz's hand were their respective ankle socks. I gulped and hid my excitement at being kidnapped by them.

"Sammy, take off the bra and briefs, too," Leah coldly ordered me, "Don't say a thing."
"OK, anything else you want me to do?" I asked while stripping my underwear.
"I told you not to talk. Now shut up!" the green-eyed girl snapped back at me, "No talking."
"You told me not to say ‘A thing,' but you never said not to talk," I quipped right back at her.
"Haaaaa haaaaaaaaaa!" Nichole cackled from the living room, "She got you there, Leah!"
"That's it! Liz, jam the briefs and as many socks in her mouth as possible!" Leah sputtered.

That was when I stood there in shock, unable to speak a word because I couldn't believe that Liz was about to attempt to stuff my underwear, my socks, her socks, and Liz's socks into my mouth all at once. I was buck naked except for my bandana and scrunchie, and Liz was now using one of the most unexpected tricks in the book: nylon rope. They wanted a dramatic kidnapping, and Liz was intelligently disregarding Leah's emotional command to increase the anxiety.

Nylon rope suddenly made me realize something: they were planning to get water involved this time. This rope doesn't stretch when it's wet and will hold its shape. Liz crushed my arms with it, tying them together behind my back at the elbows, forearms, and wrists. I started acting with some distressed panic and fear while the red-and-white striped plastic ropes imprisoned me, but for me that meant squirming and distressed squeals. Deep down inside, I was really excited.

"Liz, that is so tight!" I finally disobeyed the rule of silence, purposefully escalating tensions.
"All right, Liz, get with it!" Leah again commanded her twin to gag me, and this time she did.
"No! No! Donmph!" my panties, thankfully only worn from a shower to gym to then, filled my mouth only part way, and Liz stuffed my sweat-soaked socks in my mouth as well, "Mmmm!"
"Ours are only ankle socks. They should fit," Liz laughed while stuffing my mouth to the brim.
"Mmph!" sweat-soaked briefs and wet socks from my and both Gangsta Twin's feet tasted awful.
"Use her bandana as a cleave gag so she gets even more sweaty goodness," Leah ordered Liz.
"Nmmmmm!" I shook my head as the sweat-discolored pink headband was re-knotted as a gag.

Those socks, so soaked they had turned from white to gray, were in my mouth. The Twin's ankle socks were in there. My panties thankfully hadn't visited the restroom, but they still had a nasty, unique flavor. Bright blue vet wrap cleave gagged me five times and OTM gagged me six times for a firm seal that was also waterproof, and for security they also wrapped it around the top of my head and my chin five times. My jaw was filled to the brim with fabric yet also compressed by the vet wrap. I was totally silenced and loving every second of this intense adventure.

I saw Nichole standing there while six more wraps of the bright blue vet wrap positioned Leah's red sneaker—one she had worn to the gym with Liz and me—over my nose. Leah then expertly bound my legs at the ankles, knees, and lower thighs while Liz tied a detailed breast harness. An extremely provocative waist and crotch rope was also tied by Liz, and Leah tied my legs further at the middle and upper thighs and shins. This was all done with the red-and-white nylon rope. Finally, an equally restraining toe tie followed with a piece of bright orange paracord.

"Uk………… hp……… ng!" I was so heavily gagged only small guttural sounds came out. The Twins stood me up and studied me, looking to see if they'd forgotten anything else of importance to restrain me possibly even more thoroughly. I hopped and made more guttural sounds, and lots of sweat began beading up all over me and pouring off me. After being exhausted by workouts, I was now being pushed beyond that. Then they aggressively jerked on the crotch rope. I promise I won't get into graphic descriptions of sexuality, but the moments were plenteous.

"Let's juice Sammy like an orange," Leah said with a wicked cackle concerning my fate.

"Gppp!" I groaned at first, but a shriek of "Gmmmm!" came out when binder clips were applied to each nipple and twisted. I am going to apologize right here because the pain and humiliation are the parts most strongly craved, so much will be said about both of those things. I groaned in my first time reaching a climax. Really, they were juicing me like an orange. That metaphor is a good one because I am a girl who can repeatedly climax with little to no break between each one. They've set me off, and they're going to keep doing it and taking advantage of it.

"She likes it," Nichole said with a smile just before the Twins each twisted a binder clip to evoke a loud howl of pain from me. She was right, watching my reactions. But was it moral? I battled with myself with this question for years before concluding that dominantly forced climaxes were distinct from mutually agreed climaxes. But, that only scratches the surface. We'll get there.

For Nichole, it is a biological response. She was also not raised Christian like Liz, Leah, and I were raised. More than that, I was raised Orthodox, was Orthodox, and still am Orthodox. With my mother, I speak in Russian most of the time. For Nichole, climax is a part of the game, like a gag, and is merely an element because female orgasm doesn't affect fertility. When you're raised with the kind of morality Liz, Leah, and I had, this is no longer so simple. The question flips to "Doesn't this mean I can only climax from sexual relations with my husband?" It becomes more complicated when you then ask "Could a husband do to me what the Twins are doing if each part is a build-up to procreative sex or follows after it?" See how complicated this has become?

"Uk! Mmmmmmmmm!" I howled as loudly as possible because that climax hurt me so much on top of the pain caused by the Twins onslaught against my boobs and my crotch. It was perfectly theatrical. That's why they didn't blindfold me. A captive who can see struggles stronger than a captive who cannot see. The red nylon ropes had no stretch to them whatsoever, firmly holding me in a tight bondage. Even jamming my mouth full of panties and six socks was pure theater to push my buttons, as was using my bandana to cleave gag me. Beautifully, we played TUGs with a strong respect for each other's limits; neither Twin would approve of being in my position.

"You should up the ante," Nichole mischievously handed a wooden spoon to Liz.
"Oh, wow, ummmmm, yeah… Leah, keep jerking and twisting," Liz wiggled her eyebrows.
"On it!" Leah positioned me with my belly on the toilet and my head on the tub.
"Ukkkkkkk! Mmmmmmmmm!" I managed to let out some defiant howls of despondent joy.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
"Auuuukkkk!" I hopped even with Liz sitting on my back and arms to hold me in place.
"Suffer, Sammy! Suffer! This is for stealing our brownie three months ago!" Leah laughed.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"Nnnmmm!" I climaxed again because of being both blessed and cursed to react so energetically in nearly continuous fashion. They were juicing me like an orange and loving my thrill at being kidnapped like this. Most humiliating of all was that I could make out the individual flavors of my briefs, Leah's socks, Liz's socks, and my socks, all while breathing through Leah's sneaker as well. Barely any noise could escape because of how much fabric was forcefully jammed into my mouth, forcing my cheeks to even bulge outwards. Why did I like it? Was it immoral?

There are two priests to whom I confess and one to whom I entrust my very soul. My confessor did not condemn TUGs, but he warned me to be careful because "while a game for you, there is much danger in it, especially for a girl like you who doubts herself." I even asked him further as to what he meant, and he noted that "many of us have a propensity towards sexual sins," and the tears flowed upon proving him right and telling him of sleeping with my ex (who had nothing to do with TUGs, to be fair). I had made the first step. I believe my faith to be true, so something had to give, and the dirty TUGs were going to lose if they genuinely were sinful.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
"Guhhh hnnnkkk! Guhhh hnnnkkk! Mmmmmmm!" I howled as loudly as I could, unable to be heard outside the bathroom, most likely, but I was already climaxing again.

Sweat poured down my body in what felt like streams. My fluids were everywhere, but the wad of fabric in my mouth absorbed a ridiculous amount of moisture. The brutal wrap sealed my jaw well. It didn't help that Liz was spanking while Leah twisted the clamps and pulled my braid in a very agitating, strong, delightful way. Alas, back then I was prideful and didn't see anything that was objectionable. There was one thing that really was wrong, but I will get to it.

"This is not why Chris and I invited her to live in the second bedroom," Nichole joked about this overkill situation while I groaned in yet another climax. My flaw was on display right here. The craving for men was my flaw, which was why I allowed crotch exposure so it would be easier to fantasize about being taken by a handsome man. I could handle such exposure from seeing girls in the athletic showers. But my mind was full of violent sexual fantasies.

"Nkkkkk! Mmmmm!" I groaned loudly—my apologies—from climaxing again so soon.

This was consensual; I had no desire to sleep with Liz or Leah nor they with me. My only desire was to be viciously bound and gagged and heavily tortured. Some would argue that my desires are disordered, but I see myself as not being self-loathing. I enjoy being humiliated and unable to defend myself. The gag, my nudity, the spanking, and the binder clip twisting were examples of these things. This was also about to be when their new vibrator made its debut. Oh, boy.

"Time to go in the tub," Leah fastened the vibrator and turned it on to low, "Water proof."
"Ukkk…… mmbb…… ngggg!" I shook my head and fought them… giving them my consent.
"Time for the drowning of Sammy Räänta," Liz laughed, helping to force me into the bathtub.
"Ukkk!" I lost myself again just at the thought, being juiced like an orange through this game.
"That's it!" Leah tied me into an ankles to elbows hogtie to ensure there was no escaping.
"Poooooorrrrrrr Sammmmmyyyyyyy," Nichole watched with a loving gaze especially for me.
"Time to really make her suffer," Liz grabbed another length of twine.

I looked around my surroundings while twine was inextricably tied into my braid before being used to attach my hair to my big toes. Every breath was an assault on my nostrils because of the sneaker; every attempt to speak or move my tongue was an assault of toe cheese and panty goop. I still don't know how I could differentiate the flavors of my panties, my socks, Leah's socks, and Liz's socks. It was all worsened by how the hogtie rope was attached to my crotch rope. When I heard the water start flowing, I instantly climaxed from my intense excitement at the prospect. I then heard the sound of the drain being plugged and climaxed again despite the short interval.

"Gnnggg……………… ukkkkkk………………bpffff!" I helplessly gurgled into my gag. Still, I wickedly fantasized of something horrible… of a man doing all this to me, forcing me to consent to his desires through force and terror, and using either my front or my rear for his pleasure. The thought aroused me so much that the climax again came before I turned and saw Nichole. I had been caught; she knew that look; she shook her head so the Twins wouldn't see; she disapproved of it because she knew my spiritual struggles and prayed for me daily to conquer my desires. For a moment, I squirmed a little in a slightly different way, but she held up a hand to approve of my continuation. We were going to have a stern conversation over a hot drink afterwards.

Being hogtied meant I was on my belly with my breasts also resting on the floor of the tub. This put a constant torquing stress on my nipples, causing searing pain at first that eventually became a dull ache. The vibrator, the crotch rope, and the hogtie tortured my crotch, and they fueled the bulk of my fantasy, taking the place of my imaginary male violator. Everything worked towards that same purpose, my arousal. I was now constantly climaxing and groaning because of them. I knew that Liz and Leah would be horrified if they knew of my perverted, deplorable thoughts. I had a good friend who had been really violated. How could I do this to her especially? Why did God make me enjoy these things naturally? Why was I such a… such a… a… a monster?

"Gmmmmm!" I finally let out my most intelligible groan yet, but it was still gibberish. I looked and saw Nichole run her hands through her hair; the Gangsta Queen watched me with a kind and protective gaze. She wasn't Orthodox, but she was spiritually suffering and with me; even as the water lapped up and around my breasts, I felt her concern and realized that indeed something had gone awry. My priest was right. I had found the danger, the dangers of fantasy and pleasure. In my zeal to avoid my weakness of men, I had instead found the men through my own mind. This was way, way worse than engaging in these actions with a real man. Why did I crave it?

I took something that was genuinely fun for me and turned it into perversion. I loved TUGs and being tested like this, but this ruined it all for myself. This was my own doing. Thankfully, we caught it early. I had to finish this game for the sake of Liz and Leah and let Nichole handle me after they'd left. I was constantly, strongly, explosively climaxing, and they never knew the truth until the writing of this tale and their proofreading it before I let you read it. It was an admission of past behavior for me. While the water lapped up around me, I polluted it with my fluids.

"I'm sorry, Nichole," I said two hours later, "I have a problematic relationship with bondage."
"I'm glad you see it," she said in a friendly tone, "I wish I'd seen it sooner. Sammy, I'm hurt."
"I betrayed your trust. No one knows my spiritual battles the way you do even if my confessor is the one who hears my soul's cries," I groaned with a deep breath, "Nichole, please help me."
"Would hubby and I have taken you in if we didn't want to help?" she asked me and smiled.
"Liz and Leah would be upset if they knew," I admitted the hardest truth of all, in my opinion.
"We all have our flaws, Samanatha. All of us. They love you more than they tell you."

We agreed that I needed a break from all bondage and TUGs. I decided to take a time away so I could regroup, and then we slowly reintroduced friendlier, more childish TUGs, like the games I played at home with my mother. Some call them PG-13, but I call them kid friendly. This was a beginning, and by the end of the semester, Nichole and I were experimenting, albeit only a little bit, with one or two climaxes in a game, with us splitting the roles of captor and captive. Things changed for me, and it was the year Nichole became my soul sister. By the end of the academic year, I again had a healthy relationship with men and was able to play controlled games.

Nichole, Leah, and Liz, I love you.

THE END

[LunaDog]

'Oranges and lemons said the bells of St Clement's.' Well, this superb story was almost as sharp as a lemon!

[Danny]

Nice story I like the detail of the visuals