Tricked

Note from the author: This story is more of an experiment than anything else. It's my first work using the first-person perspective to explore how such an approach might work. In this tale, the narrator reports on a rather explicit, brutal and non-consensual experience that she was subjected to, containing humiliation, heavy breast bondage, lactation, fisting, large object insertion and rape. All characters are purely fictional and of legal age. None of this actually happened and the whole plot is a product of my fantasy. Also, to my knowledge there is no user named bigtitsbuster69, and even if there is, he or she has nothing to do with this story.

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To all the busty smut authors out there,

this is an urgent warning to not fall for bigtitbuster69's schemes. He's dangerous and out for us well endowed, kink-loving ladies. I fell straight for his trap and believe I am badly traumatized ever since.

As you might know, I'm a female bigtits/bondage/noncon author and have published quite a few works on this site. But believe me, I was not prepared for what happened to me. What I went through would certainly make for a good story but it was not something anyone would want to experience for real.

My actual name is obviously not important for this report nor my exact age. And I think it's sufficient for you to know that I am the proud owner of an impressive, bouncy 34H rack and an easily excitable, bare little pussy.

So, what happened you ask? Let me tell you about the horrible nightmare I went through.

A few months ago, bigtitsbuster69 sent me a feedback note on one of my stories, praising my unique ideas and writing style. He explained how rare it is for him to find well written, female erotica focusing almost exclusively on rough breast play and that he adored my stories, especially Lara's Ordeal with its forced lactation scene.

He gushed about my descriptions of the main character's tightly bound, leaking torpedos, told me how excited he got from my descriptions of the severe bondage alone; that he could picture the scene of her tightly bound balls of flesh bursting any moment so vividly that he could almost smell the endless torrent of milk sourced by the incredible pressure put on those breasts. He commended me for my creativity, for my idea to use rubber bands and soaked leather strips to cruelly squeeze so many milk-filled funbags, yada yada yada. You get the idea. Sufficient to say that I was flattered. And of course I sent a reply, as I always do.

So we started chatting, exchanged some thoughts and told each other about some more intimate experiences. I enjoyed this exchange a lot, loved his observations, his rather unique, if brutal, ideas on how to treat a bloated set of lactating titties. He started asking more intimate questions, like what bra size I have; whether I have any kids and if I have ever been lactating myself. Stuff like that. I kept my responses vague of course, but slowly things got more personal.

Then he dropped the bomb. He told me that doctors had recently found a tumor in his brain and that he was told he would die within 9-12 months. After that, our conversation got much more intimate and I somehow was willing to disclose a bit more of myself to this poor, dying man. He shared his sexual frustration, explained that he lost his wife years ago and that he had no romantic relationships ever since. And he disclosed that digital boobs and imagination was all fine and dandy, but that he so wished that he would be allowed to play with a set of real, warm, lactating breasts at least once before he vanishes from this planet.

I somehow felt compelled to tell him the size and shape of my boobs and even sent him a picture of them, carefully making sure my head and any personal items were out of the frame. This of course made him all the more excited. I could feel his longing almost physically and suggested that he should simply look for some prostitutes with sizeable tits but that suggestion only offended him. He pointed out that these professionals usually had fake breasts, did not lactate and that it would anyway feel wrong to him to pay for such a service.

Then he prodded for information on my location. I of course tried to stay vague but somehow he still figured out in which geographic area I live. He was ecstatic as I apparently lived close enough to him and immediately made plans on how I could get my tits lactating so he can play with them as his last wish. I told him it's not going to happen but he just pointed to my stories and said that apparently I secretly fantasize about lactation play anyway, so why not try it out for real.

This is probably where I made my biggest mistake. I played along. I have to confess though that I was intrigued. The thought that I would turn myself into a lactating pair of tits just to please a poor, dying man made my excited pussy drool like a freaking waterfall. I masturbated every night thinking about my bloated, milk filled boobs being sucked empty by this stranger, even thinking that my precious produce would somehow magically heal him from his deadly illness. It won't surprise you to learn that I started to research how to induce lactation in earnest, not just the superficial stuff I had looked up before for my stories.

I gave it all, popped pills, endlessly listened to crying babies and even bought a milk pump that I religiously used on my twins several hours a day. And I reported back to bigtitsbuster69 on my progress. He encouraged me in every exchange we had and kept talking about ideas on how I could provide my soon milk-filled tits for his final play session without exposing myself to any danger.

By that time I wasn't really afraid of him anymore and would have gladly met him in person, but somehow he insisted on making everything 'safe'. I foolishly suggested a scenario I explored in some of my stories, namely those lovely tit glory holes. He was ecstatic and said he would immediately start to prepare a wooden wall where I could put my breasts through and he could then play with them from the other side without seeing the rest of my body. This is one of my all-time favorite fantasies, as you can probably tell if you read some of my works.

I was so excited, I barely managed to keep my fingers from my pussy. I must have been red and raw down there when finally my body started production. Of course I told bigtitbuster69 immediately of my success and practically begged him to milk me right there right now. But he asked for patience and said that he still needed some time to set everything up and that meanwhile I should train my beautiful twins to get them to produce even more milk. So I kept my routine up and continued to milk myself - and masturbated every free minute I could spare. My tits were rather cooperative and thanks to my ongoing efforts, and all the pills I popped, they produced more and more of the sweet white fluid.

I soon found out that lactating tits had a rather unpleasant side to them. My big, soft boobs got much harder and felt terribly bloated, and every bounce, every jiggle they experienced made me squirm from pain. The few times I forgot to milk myself they got so tender that I could barely stand it. But damn did they look hot! Like some freakishly large, round and taut melons ready to pop! I couldn't wait to show them off.

A few weeks later, bigtutsbuster69 sent me a message saying that everything was ready for me. I was thrilled that I could finally provide my milk to this poor, dying man and couldn't wait to get started. He sent me the address and asked me to be there the next day around 4pm. I was so excited I could barely sleep that night.

I arrived there at 3pm already and found a lonely wooden hut, situated on a barren tract of land. Nothing was there except rocks and sand. Must have been an old miners house or what not. As I approached the building, I found a piece of paper nailed to the door that told me to go inside.

The room looked much smaller than it should have and it was almost empty, save for a strange contraption on the far end of the room. As expected, there were two holes in the wall next to the device, holes where my tits were supposed to go through. But they looked way too small, just like in any of my stories.

More intriguing was the contraption itself, a seat of sorts with a number of restraints, some leather belts but also some spring loaded cuffs that would snap shut once triggered. It looked like straight out of Tina's Torturous Trials, one of my less popular works.

A note was taped to the seat telling me to strip naked and then bind my nipples with some of the little rubber bands so no milk would be wasted. I beamed, thinking of my precious, milky gift, even felt grateful for meeting such an appreciative man, and slipped out of my clothes. Still thinking about my valuable produce, I quickly snapped the tight bands around my leaky nubs to save all of the sweet fluid for later.

I squeaked like a little piggy.

The pain was brutal. I learned a lot on this adventure, but one of the most memorable things was just how much pain those little nipples were able to cause. I was of course determined to prepare myself and quickly got into the seat. Without much thought, I fastened the supplied straps, carefully binding my thighs and ankles, my waist and chest to the strange apparatus. Then it was time to engage the cuffs.

I only hesitated a moment before I thrust my wrists, arms, thighs and ankles into the waiting receptacles. Every single one of them clicked shut. I was trapped for good. When finally my excitement faded a bit, I started to wonder how the hell the whole thing was supposed to work, and how I would get out again in case nobody turned up. The holes were quite a bit away still and there was no way my tits could even touch the wall let alone squeeze through the openings, which I thought was the whole point of this exercise. I was baffled.

Then something unexpected happened.

Suddenly my legs were pulled out and up, almost dislocating my hips, while at the same time my arms shot forward and back. I was so stunned that I almost forgot to scream. To my utter surprise my shins were now resting behind my shoulders, pressing against my armpits from below, my bare bottom painfully thrust forward. Before I could understand any of it, this hellish device catapulted my body forward and smashed me against the wall, my bloated, hurting boobs smacking right in the center of the two waiting holes. I felt squashed like a fly, my tits squeezing partly through the inadequate openings and my exposed pussy pressed hard against the rough wood by the seat's devilish machinery.

I hung there for what felt like an eternity with my hands locked behind my back and my sex uselessly grinding against the wall, and my squashed tits hurt like never before. That contraption surely was an ingenious one, eerily similar to a device I dreamt up in Tina's Tortuous Trials, and the stress it was putting on my body was just out of this world.

Then I heard someone talk on the other side. I panicked. Wasn't my dying pervert lover supposed to be alone with me? Why was he talking with someone? Suddenly I felt rough fingers grabbing one of my exposed nipples through the hole and brutally tearing the little nub forward. I screamed but the voices on the other side just laughed. My tit was still stuck and had barely made any progress through the wood, so the fingers came back and pulled at my poor nipple again. Then the same happened on the other side. Strong, rough fingers squeezed my swollen, bound nipples hard and brutally pulled at them, slowly forcing more and more of my seemingly endless womanly flesh through the tight openings.

It seemed to go on for hours and my milk-filled, bloated breasts felt like they were put through a wringer. But somehow those relentless hands managed the impressive feat to pull my boobs through these tiny holes. Finally, my chest was tightly pressed against the rough wood and every ounce of breast flesh was sitting on the other side of the wall.

And whoever was on that other side had a great time. Countless voices were laughing and joking, probably about my obscene, swollen, milk filled udders. I felt so utterly humiliated!

Unknown hands teased my exposed treasures without end. It seemed like everyone in that room wanted to grope my hurting melons and many squeezed my breasts like they were some sort of obscene stress balls. I was moaning and bitching constantly and wished those fuckers would at least remove these damn rubber bands from my nipples so my milk could escape and the awful pressure in my boobs would lessen a bit.

But instead something changed between my horribly stretched legs. A sudden gust of air and a new feeling of relative freedom was an unmistakable sign of that. I was not able to actually see anything down there as my head was still pressed against the wall and my trapped breasts obstructed any view, but I quickly deducted that somehow some wooden panel must have been removed and that those terrible people now not only had free access to my aching tits but also to my unprotected, soaking pussy.

I panicked, screamed at the top of my lungs, demanded them to stop whatever they were planning to do. My milk-filled funbags were one thing, but my pussy had never been part of the deal!

It didn't take long and the first enterprising finger touched my wide open sex. It slid around a bit, teased my little, hard pebble and then unceremoniously entered my wet hole. I heard more laughs, louder now, probably because the gap in the wall providing access to my groin was not as airtight as the ones around my bloated tits. These horrible people were clearly enjoying themselves as they played with my slick cunt and my swollen milk bags.

And I could finally understand some of what they said.

"What a needy freak, just look at this dripping mess!"

That was a woman! There were women on the other side, too? I was torn between hope and despair. Suddenly someone pressed a humming monster straight into my nether hole. The vibrations were so strong that it felt like my poor pussy got shaken to death. I suspected it was a Hitachi. I had never used one before but had heard various stories about this devilish device.

They teased an orgasm out of my poor body in record time. I like to believe that it was the infernal sex toy and that I had simply no chance to resist, but I would never know for sure. My tits got their fair share of playtime as well, but now those punishing hands were slapping them hard instead of the gentler teasing from before. I just couldn't believe they made me come again. And again. That damn vibrator!

Spent and panting, I hoped for some rest. But my tormentors had other plans. Something replaced the hellish sex toy, something fleshy and large. The dick penetrated my aroused pussy with one brutal stroke and I almost choked from the sudden intrusion. Whoever was fucking me wasn't planning to be gentle. Like a rabbit, he drove his hard wood into my poor cunt without rest until it suddenly exploded, leaving my insides in a sticky mess.

But the others didn't seem to care the slightest about sloppy seconds. Another hard poker was shoved into me within moments and two gigantic hands grabbed my hurting breasts. The show continued.

They kept violating my pussy and slapped my melons for hours. At least that's what it felt like. And to my utter embarrassment, I came several times during the ordeal. Finally, the attackers seemed to lose steam but instead of freeing me, the women took over. That's at least how I explained the change in treatment to myself.

The cocks got replaced by hefty toys and... fists. Yes, fists. Without caring about the icky mess in my obscene hole, smaller, likely female hands started playing with my tender sex while some hungry mouths came down on my tits and sucked hungrily at my still tightly bound nipples. It felt shockingly good - until one sleek hand wormed its way into my body and balled up. First, my tormentor simply jiggled the embedded fist around a bit to get me all wet and needy. Then she started to withdraw her hand until my opening was stretched to the breaking point around her knuckles, just to jab it back into me as deep as it would go. Faster and faster she fucked me until the brutal woman was literally punching my gurgling tunnel like she wanted to beat me up inside. I was in tatters.

Laughing and giggling voices could be heard through the wall, joking about my needy moans and screams. Apparently I was providing great entertainment value to my anonymous audience.

The fist then got replaced by another, slightly larger one that continued right were the other one had left. And once that one got tired from all the pounding, another even larger one replaced it. My cunt must have looked like an oozing, gaping pit but these evil people just kept going, forcing bigger and bigger fists into my quivering body.

Then, finally, the pounding stopped. My body was still aching from the assault when I felt something snap around one if my bloated, underused tits.

Rubberbands! They put rubberbands around them! My poor titties! The milk was still trapped inside there and I so needed relief, but instead they made my tender funbags even more painful! My mind was reeling. But they didn't stop. I heard them giggle, snicker about my obscene, bloated balls of flesh entertaining them.

"Use that cream on the freak! I want to see her reaction to real pain!"

The cream. Another fantasy of mine. Did you ever try these heating creams to combat back pain? Did you by chance get a bit of it on some of the more sensitive parts of your body? Hurts like a bitch, right? In Heating up Hanna I explored the idea of first massaging that cream into the soft breasts of one of my virtual victims, then spreading it over her clit and her pussy lips, and finally using it as lube to fuck her needy sex with a massive dildo, spreading the devilish substance all over her insides. Yeah, I know, I'm cruel.

It seemed I was about to experience this specific fantasy first hand. The hotness engulfing my bloated breasts took my breath away. Every inch of them was in flames and I screamed in pain. But when they pushed their cream-coated fingers into my wet pussy the agony was on an entirely different level. I thought I would die on the spot. And the damn burning didn't stop. Worse, despite my agitations these people got bored quickly and started a new round of torments while I was still writhing in pain.

"Try the pipe clamps on her and then use those leather strings. Let's build us a fancy sprinkler!" one of the women suggested excitedly.

That's when it dawned on me. Every single torture they came up with has been explored in detail in at least one of my stories. They were putting me through my own demented fantasies! The chair that smashed me against a wall, tits squeezed through tiny holes, breasts full of milk with bound nipples, the brutal glory hole fuck, the rubberbands, the pain relief cream and now the pipe clamps with leather bands. Oh god, the leather bands... I knew exactly where this would lead and it made me feel nauseous. On the plus side, there were only a few major fantasies missing at this point. The thought that I might soon experience the worst of them made me almost throw up.

Something cold touched the bases of my terribly swollen and still burning breasts and brought me back to reality. I waited with bated breath, terrified of what they would do to my tits next. If they followed my own description, it would be an experience I would never forget.

Something electrical whirred and my boobs were nothing but pain. I assume they used some sort of adjustable metal bands garrotting my breasts at their base, bands they could make smaller with some evil mechanism. My tits must have been deep purple by now, converted to dark balls of flesh. And they still haven't opened my swollen valves.