Access Denied

The naive daughter of society. The lascivious politician from Washington. Who might gain access to whom?

 

(MF, bond, nc, preg)

By: Seasick

 

Newport, Rhode Island, 1947

“Senator, I’d like you to meet my lovely daughter Melissa,” my father said as he introduced me to the prominent politician. I extended my hand and felt him kiss the top of my hand in a show of chivalry.

“I’m really impressed with your home. Of the Victorian period isn’t it?”

“Why yes, yes it is. I take it you are interested in architecture Melissa?”

“I’m thinking about majoring in it. I have an affinity for Victorian 'painted ladies' in particular, but most aren’t as well restored as this one.”

“I could give you a tour if you’d like?”

“I would love one, but you have a party to host. Another time perhaps?”

“Please Melissa, you would be doing me a favor. I would rather give you a tour of this house than listen to all those stuffy lobbyists trying to sway me into voting for their cause.” We both laughed at the statement and then began the tour.

I felt like I had been transported back in time as we surveyed the house, feeling like a damsel as he escorted me to each room, explaining to me every architectural feature and how it all blended impeccably into the Victorian theme. Wide crown moldings, elaborately decorative plastered walls and tinned ceilings were all elements he had incorporated seamlessly into the homes stylish design.

“So what’s this?” I asked when we reached the upstairs of the home and pointed to a heavy wooden door that looked as if it had not been opened in years. A small wooden sign hung just above the wrought iron locking mechanism and matched the accompanying heavy hinges by looking as if it had been carved by hand. Access Denied it read in flowing calligraphic letters.

“Oh that. It’s just a stairwell that leads up to the widow walk.”

“A widow walk? Wow, you don’t see many of them anymore. Oh I've got to see that,” I exclaimed, in my haste forgetting my manners.

“I wish I could show you that, but we haven't got around to renovating that room yet.”

“That’s okay, it would be great to see a room before you renovated it,” I said and gripped the doorknob. My host quickly put his hand on mine and pulled it away.

“I’m sorry Melissa, I can’t let you go up there. The stairway is very steep and narrow. There are cobwebs and a ton of dust as well. In those shoes you would probably twist and ankle and ruin your dress. Perhaps you could see it at another time?”

I looked down at my outfit and had to concur with him that I was not dressed to be exploring the confines of an antique attic. The party was very formal and for it I wore a black satin dress that was as risqué as it was appropriate. It had a plunging V neckline, tight fitting bodice, and a long flowing skirt that swept the floor around my feet. A long slit up one side was high enough to make it risqué and showed the wide band of my garter stockings on my left leg as I walked. A pair of black high heels added to the formal look but would increase the danger of falling on the typically steep staircases they had built a many decades ago. I knew the Senator was right in his hesitation of taking me there, but noticed the Senator was looking down at my outfit as he said it.

“You promise?”

“Of course Melissa,” he grinned and in short order we returned to the party.

However, after an hour of drinking champagne and dancing with men twice my age who pawed me at every opportunity, my curiosity got the better of me. Returning from a trip to the ladies room, I made a detour and returned to the heavy oak door. Feeling like a cat burglar, I pulled the door open and heard it squeak on its hinges. True to the Senator’s word, I faced the aged and steeply angled stairs he said lay behind the door.

Wishing to avoid detection, I shut the door behind me and slipped off my high heels. I knew there was no safe way to climb the steep stairs with them on, and didn’t want the sounds of my stiletto heels to click loudly on the widow walk's floor. The next decision was harder, but I knew if I were going to complete my snooping undetected, I would have to return to the party wearing a flawless dress. With trepidation, I pulled the two thin spaghetti straps of my dress off my shoulders and lifted the black dress over my head. I carefully placed it in a puddle of black satin on the first step and began to ascend the steep stairs in only my panties, bra, and stockings.

I felt like a teenager again sneaking up to my bedroom after violating my evening curfew. Being half-undressed added to the thrill, along with the fear of being discovered snooping around inside a prominent Senator’s house. Of course the price for getting caught was going to be tremendous, but I just intended to get a quick peek inside the unique architectural feature of the house and then return to the party unnoticed.

I gasped though, after I padded up the worn stair treads and stepped into the window walk that broke through the plane of the roof. Most widow walks were glorious roof vestibules that looked out to the sea and derived their name from women of the days of sail, looking out to sea in the desperate hope of seeing their husband’s ship out on the horizon. The Senator’s widow walk was more sinister in nature, and I understood immediately why the door was off limits to any kind of tour.

It was a small room, but one of domination. It looked even smaller with all but one window painted black, its inside walls painted the same color and an array of bondage restraints lying about the room. I took a few steps forward as if what I was seeing was a mirage. The cold wrought iron on my hand indicated it was indeed authentic, with the whiff of raw leather confirming my fears that the restraints were not merely there for a passive fantasy.

A rack lay along another wall with every conceivable type of whip possible hanging there for immediate use. Long ones were coiled up over the handles while shorter ones hung down loosely, their many tendrils cut from raw leather and teeming with potential savagery. As I reached out to touch the frayed leather tips, I was suddenly startled by a man’s voice.

“I don’t know whether to be glad you’re in my secret room or infuriated,” the Senator stated as he looked at me coldly.

“Oh, Senator, you startled me. I didn’t expect anyone to find me here.”

“I see that,” he said holding up my black dress and matching high heels. I made a few steps forward to grab my clothing, but he pulled it out of reach just as I neared them. “You took them off Melissa, but I’ll tell when you can put them back on.”

“I took them off because I didn’t want to fall down the stairs or ruin my dress, that’s all.”

“But I’m a prominent politician Melissa, I can’t have anyone knowing about this.”

“I’m not going to say anything,” I said as he stepped towards me and I stepped back in fear. “I promise,” I added, hoping to win his confidence as he continued to step forward as I continued to step back. When I stepped into the back wall I realized I had traversed the short room and realized I was trapped.

I shuddered when he reached out and touched me. I knew there was no recourse, no way out of the trap I had set for myself, and felt him place his hands onto my arms and hold them above my head. Before I had time to realize what was happening, wrought iron bonds snapped around my wrists as he hung my hands over my head from the thick rafters.

“I’ll scream,” I warned him.

“Go ahead, no one will hear you. This place was designed for that.”

“Then please don’t do this. I know you told me not to come up here and I still did. I’m sorry, but I won’t tell a soul. I promise!”

“I know you won’t, but you still have to be punished....”

“Punished?” I gasped and looked out around the small room and the number of punishment devices he had at his disposal. The number was appalling as I hastily brought my stare back to him.

“You seemed to have an affinity for those whips. Hell, you were touching them when I came up here. Now tell me, which do you want used on you?”

“None, please Senator!” I begged.

“Pick one Melissa.”

“No…never. I couldn’t possibly…”

“Pick one, damn it.”

“The short one,” I begged, remembering how its suede tentacles felt soft onto my hand. It seemed the most bearable, the least sinister.

“A common mistake,” he said picking up the whip I had selected with an ominous voice. “You girls always pick the short ones, thinking the shorter length won’t hurt as bad, but the strands are thin and there are nine of them. Nine of them,” he repeated. “They cut even more into your back, your bottom, even your thighs.”

“Oh, God, no. Not my thighs,” I cried, knowing the pain would be incredible there.

With a disturbing grin, the Senator walked over to me with an uneasy gait and reached out to grasp my white push up bra. I looked down in time to see his hands grip the delicate material and watched it rip to shreds in his skilful hands. Hanging by my wrists, I had no way to hide my shame of being made topless for the man that was twice my own age.

“Not bad, Melissa,” he said with a grin as his hands palmed my fleshy globes and then flicked at the nipples with the tip of his finger. I writhed in my bonds to move away from his invading hands, but he only gripped them with more firmness. Kneading them like dough, he dipped his head only to capture my left nipple in his mouth and sucked at the nipple for far too long.

“Please Senator, I really don’t want this.”

“This,” he asked, placing his hands on the waistband of my panties, then whisked away my panties as the dainty fabric easily tore from around my waist. A quiet dread overtook me as my cheeks flushed red out of embarrassment of having such a renowned man having an unobstructed view of my freshly shaven sex.

“That’s a surprise,” he said at the sight of my smooth vagina, feeling powerless now as his hand reached out to touch the visible lips and folds. As his hand continued to explore, I let out a little shriek as his finger was inserted inside me.

“Melissa please, there’s more to come,” he said as if reciting a pun from a cheap pornographic magazine rather than someone that created elegant speeches for the leaders of the free world. He grinned at his own joke as he worked his finger into me even deeper. I squirmed under the invasion, but knew having his fingers inside me was better than the alternative, even as he adding a second finger. I accepted both, and in turn, my fate as well.

“Have you ever tasted yourself,” he asked, withdrawing his fingers from within me and bringing them close to my mouth? Mere inches from my nose and touching my lips, I could smell the fragrance of my sex and feel the sticky fluid on my lips. I tossed my head away in defiance, but knew such action was going to be short lived.

The Senator grabbed my chin, his fingernails digging into my skin and forced me to face him. A moment later he smeared my lips with my own vaginal fluids, pressing his fingers roughly over my lips in indignation. Wanting to appease the man, I opened my mouth and sucked the fluid from his fingers with vigor.

“Whore,” he said, just to add to my degradation.

I had never tasted myself in such a way before, but I did not give him that impression as I savored the strong flavor and lapped the sticky fluid. Getting past the strong smell, I found that I was not repulsed by the act.  I even found the flavor to be sweet and tasteful which explained why so many men enjoyed giving me head. The Senator’s intentions were not so amicable however as his hands withdrew from my mouth and picked up the cat-of-nine tails.

“Turn around Melissa.”

It was only a simple twist, but it was with trepidation and fortitude that I spun around for the man, twisting in my bonds so that my back, bottom and thighs were fodder for his whip.

“By the looks of your cute little bottom here, I would bet your father never spanked you growing up, did he” he asked as he ran his hand along my ass cheeks? I jumped from his touch, but answered his question if only to set the record straight.

“I was spoiled, but my parents still taught me wrong from right.”

“Well apparently not Melissa since I caught you sneaking around up here. How old are you anyway?”

“Eighteen,” I countered, falling straight into his ambush.

“Good then, you’ll get eighteen lashes Melissa. Eighteen.”

“No,” I begged. “There’s no way I can take that many,” and tried desperately to remove my hands from the shackles as I felt the cat-of-nine-tails being drawn across my right buttocks.

As I rattled my shackles, the whip struck; all nine of its leather tentacles making a whizzing sound as they flew through the air and then collided onto my bare ass cheek. I screamed in pain as each leather strip cut into my flash with a slap and a sting. It was only one lash, and yet I could feel where all nine had seared my skin from the friction of leather on flesh.

I writhed in my bonds, but my darting body still made an easy target as another zinging sound whistling through the air. Before I had time to prepare myself for a second lashing, it landed, but this time on my other ass cheek, and with just as much savagery. Three more landed in quick succession, leaving my bottom raw and crisscrossed with dozens of thin red welts before he spoke to me.

“You know I like you in those stockings Melissa,” he said, now using the whip more erotically than maliciously, as he trailed the ends just above the wide bands of my black seemed stockings? “Those little lines are like arrows and show me just where to land this whip,” he said and then drew back and unfurled the whip. I heard the report, and then felt the searing pain of leather against skin once again.

“Please Senator, not quite so hard,” I implored as a single tear ran down my left cheek. I did not expect him to heed my words, and in fact, cowered in fear suspecting the next lashing would be exceptionally harsh. Instead, it came down with less force against my bottom.

“Some girls like this you know Melissa? Being bound up, being whipped,” he asked as he got into a routine of slow anticipatable lashes? I only nodded at his question, not wanting to unclench my gritting teeth as my punishment was carried out.

 In reality, I could see where some girls would enjoy the submissiveness of the situation; even enjoy the whipping as the endorphins in my body now tempered the pain. If the circumstances had been consensual I might have been one of those girls, enjoying the feeling of being completely submissive for a boyfriend or husband. This however, was being done just to humiliate me. I was merely captive that was vulnerable to his power and prestige.

“I think you’re lying. I think you like this,” he said as the last lash with the cat-of-nine-tails fell across my buttocks for the final time. I squirmed just as I had with the other seventeen lashes, but nodded my head.

“Yes. Yes I liked it,” I lied as his hand slid along both of my ass cheeks in unison. I could feel his hand run across the numerous ridges and valleys the lines of the whip had created and felt his cools hands on my warmed up crimson flesh. Then he suddenly spun me around in my bonds so that I was facing him, dropped to the waistband of his pants as he did so. I did not have time to register the importance of the movement until he thrust down the front of his trousers, taking his underwear with it as the clothing sank to his knees.

“Oh God no,” I cried when I saw his erection pulsing and curling up in a hardened arch.

I thought I knew what to expect next and waited for my cast iron bonds to be released. Being thrown to the floor would be next and then I would be taken with force there. I never expected to be raped where I was; to have my back pinned against the wall, my arms held high above my head in shackles as he forced himself into me while standing up. My high heels were the key, and he slid them over to me with a kick.

“Put your shoes on.”

Toeing my way into them, I stood them upright and then twisted my foot into them one at a time. Once I had them on, I was three inches taller, making me hang more comfortably from the ceiling, but my comfort was not what he had in mind as I donned the sexy shoes. It made for the perfect height as I felt his uncircumcised shaft press up against my labia and my back press against the plastered horsehair wall.

“Please Senator, it’s not consensual,” I said, hoping my clarification would jostle him to repentance.

“I know, that’s what I like,” he said and made a hard lunge into me.

I made a loud cry as his blunt ended shaft sunk into me a few inches. I was not sure if it was his untapered shaft, or if he was actually bigger than most of the men I had ever slept with, but his finger had not adequately opened me for what I was going to take. Tears began to stream down my face from the pain, but my capture was not about to let my reluctance stop him from getting his pleasure.

“I like tight girls Melissa,” he said, and I knew he must have been on cloud nine as he forced his way inside my snug vagina.

I felt like I was tearing inside, an intense burning coming from the friction of having him forcing his way within me. As he opened me up millimeter by millimeter, I fought to maintain my balance. I was on a precarious perch, teetering on high heels and hanging from wrist irons. Only the wall against my back kept me immobile enough for him to shove his raging hard on the rest of the way into me.

“I think you’re the tightest girl I’ve ever had.”

“That’s because I don’t want this!”

“Right, like you didn’t want to be ogled at wearing an outfit like that?”

“I only dressed for the formal occasion,” now too upset to continue talking to the man as tears streamed down my face.

He was not bothered by that fact, or the fact that I cringed every time he placed a kiss around my neck, shoulders or breasts. When he stooped down to suck on my nipples, it did have the effect of making me slicker inside, though it was his full kiss to the lips that allowed him to plunge within me.

“Kiss me Melissa.”

I appeased him by giving him a quick kiss to the cheek, but the man was not about to let me get off the hook so easily.

“Kiss me Melissa,” he demanded again. “Like a real lover”.

“But I’m being raped,” I started to say, but I never had time to finish my sentence. A second later he was covering my lips, toying at my teeth with his tongue and silently asking me to open my mouth. When I did, the intimate kiss we shared was worse than having his cock shoved deeply inside of me. I felt degraded and cheap, but still let him break the ten seconds of tongue swapping I was forced to endure from the sixty year old man.

“You’re a good kisser,” he lamented, and plunged his cock in and out of me quicker and quicker. The kiss helped in that regard, confusing my body into thinking that this was something I actually wanted and let my pussy ease around his prick.

He quickly moved inside of me, banging me into the back wall that I had to keep in check so that our noises would not be radiated to the party rampant below. The whole ordeal was never pleasurable for me, even if I relaxed somewhat and slickened internally from his intimate kisses. The same held true for his own release, and it was only pleasurable in the sense that my ordeal was finally over as I felt him tense up and make a final plunge.

With an audible groan, he pounded me against the wall and let loose with a torrent of semen. I could feel spurt after powerful spurt jettison inside my aching vagina, the hot sticky batter giving me lubricating respite from my sore, dry rubbed walls. His final act was to force another kiss on me; his tongue entering my mouth and lashing at my teeth again as he slowly went soft within me.

“Thank you,” he finally said, the meager words being the only kind words he had ever spoken to me throughout the entire ordeal. “That was pretty good Melissa.”

“For you I guess.”

“It could be for a few others too if you don’t keep this to yourself. I assume you don’t want others from the party coming up here and doing the same?”

“No, I won’t say anything,” I said fearing a gang bang by a dozen of his friends.

“Then why don’t you get dressed and I’ll see you back at the party,” he said as he released my hands and handed me my black dress.

Of course I knew I could not face him again as I put on my dress without the modesty of a bra and panty set. No one would notice there absence I was sure, but after my latest ordeal I felt frail and vulnerable. I excused myself from the party, and feigned being nauseous as I had my parent’s chauffeur take me home.

 

It was two years before I met the Senator again, and eerily at my father’s retirement party. I was still haunted by the rape, but politics demanded that we invite the prominent man. As my formal black dress swept the floor around my feet, the Senator approached my father and me.

“You remember my lovely daughter Melissa, don’t you, Senator,” my father asked?

“Of course I remember Melissa. In fact I was hoping she would be gracious enough to give me a tour of your home,” he asked with a wink? It took all my effort to keep from bolting from the deplorable reference, but I agreed, shocking him with a lusty smile. “Maybe even your bedroom,” he said once my father had left?

“I could show you my bedroom; as well as other things,” I inferred as I wore a wicked smile and escorted him straight to my bedroom.

“Such as these,” he said thrusting his hand over my right breast and giving it a squeeze?

“Such as your son,” I said as I opened up the door to the nursery and for the first time let him look at his fifteen month old son.

“I got you pregnant?” he stammered.

“And I assume you would not want your boy to go without, or have the details of his birth leaked to the press.  I’ll be expecting a hefty check in the mail every month for his upbringing.”