The collage of agony and ecstasy part eight
"Good boy," Madeleine murmured approvingly, her fingers tracing a welt.
"And you won’t regret the taste."
Her promise hung thickly in the air, layered with an unsettling intimacy that made Montagne shiver despite the cooling cream.
Madeleine’s fingers, slick with tallow, dug into the bruised flesh of Montagne’s buttocks with possessive pressure. She knew the stories – the locker room boasts, the crude jokes traded by boys treating girls like trophies. It repulsed her. Yet, feeling Montagne tremble beneath her touch, seeing the raw vulnerability etched across his exposed skin, ignited a fierce, rebellious thrill. *This* was different. *He* was different. Not a conquest to be bragged about, but a fragile prize to be claimed quietly, utterly hers in this stolen moment. His shyness, his obedience, his utter lack of guile – they weren't weaknesses to exploit like those other boys did; they were exquisite qualities that invited her dominance. Controlling him wasn't about mimicking their crudeness; it was about savoring the exquisite power of his complete surrender, a delicious secret rebellion against the very system she despised. Her touch became deliberate, almost reverent, marking territory Stella had scorched but *she* now soothed and claimed.
When the last trace of peppermint cream vanished, Madeleine leaned in, burying her nose against the smooth, oiled swell of Montagne’s left cheek. She inhaled deeply, the mingled scents of kiwi-lime, peppermint, and his own clean, warm skin flooding her senses. "Mmm... smells like victory," she murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction. She then pressed her flushed cheek firmly against the cool, lotion-slicked skin, rubbing gently. "Feels like silk," she breathed, her eyes closing for a second. Montagne gasped sharply, a tremor running through him at the unexpected intimacy. Madeleine hooked her hands under his arms, lifting him off her lap with deliberate slowness. As she did, her knuckles brushed firmly against his exposed genitals. Another choked gasp escaped him, his body jerking involuntarily at the startling contact. Madeleine just smiled, setting him on his feet, her gaze lingering possessively.
"Alright, mushroom boy," Lilith declared, stepping forward and nudging Madeleine aside. She settled onto the worn swivel chair, her posture radiating playful command. "My turn. Time to *annoint* this masterpiece." Montagne hesitated, the phantom sting warring with the cooling relief, but shuffled back towards Lilith’s waiting lap. He bent over, bracing himself. Her outfit consisted of khaki pants that had two lines stocking through the grass in overhead body shot designed on both the legs, and a flannel shirt with green and white squares in a chessboard style. Lilith uncapped the bottle of avocado-lavender oil, its rich, herbal scent instantly mingling with the others. With theatrical flair, she poured a generous stream directly onto the center of his reddened buttocks. The cool oil cascaded down, pooling heavily into the cleft between his cheeks. Montagne gasped loudly, arching his back instinctively as the unexpected, slick sensation flooded the sensitive crevice. Lilith chuckled, low and throaty, as she began vigorously rubbing the oil into his skin, her fingers delving deep into the cleft, spreading the soothing liquid everywhere.
"Your butt is mine," Lilith sang softly, echoing Michael Jackson's famous line with a grin, her fingers tracing the welts Stella had left.
"Gonna tell you right... just show your face in broad daylight..." Her voice was teasing, rhythmic, matching the circular motions of her hands as she worked the oil into every inch of his inflamed skin. Montagne trembled, the combination of the intimate massage, the lingering pain, and the absurdity of the serenade overwhelming him. Lilith leaned closer, her breath warm on his oiled skin.
“Yeah, Miss Seoid lit the fire," she murmured, her voice dropping conspiratorially, "but *I'm* putting it out."
Her hands pressed firmly, possessively, claiming the territory Stella had scorched. Montagne could only whimper softly, submitting to the unexpected ministrations.
Once Lilith finished, she patted his butt gently and said, "There we go," lifting him by the waist with surprising tenderness. Before Montagne could catch his breath, Helmi seized his wrist with startling force.
"Now it’s *my* turn!" she declared, her Finnish accent sharpening the command. She yanked him unceremoniously across her lap, ignoring his gasp of surprise. A predatory smirk played on her lips as she pulled a translucent bottle from her pocket—white-capped, filled with a thick blend of aloe vera and olive oil shampoo. Helmi was wearing cotton 12 baggy pants that had the leaves and flowers of the national plant of Finland, the lily of the valley, designed onto it. Her shirt, made of nylon and cotton, was designed with a mother brown bear and her 2 cubs walking in front of snow-covered evergreen trees and across the snowy path. She flipped it upside down and squeezed a cold, generous dollop directly onto the center of his welted cheeks. Montagne shivered violently as the chill bit into his heated skin.
"Aloe cools," Helmi murmured, rubbing the slippery mixture in firm circles, "and olive oil heals. Together? Magic. Like honey-lemon tea for your bruises." Her fingers dug deep, purposeful and unyielding.
Montagne gasped as the shampoo's chill intensified, his hips jerking involuntarily against her lap.
“I-It f-feels s-so weird and g-gooey H-Helmi!” He stuttered.
Helmi chuckled softly, her fingers pressing deeper into the cool, slippery mixture coating Montagne’s welted skin.
“That’s great,” she murmured, her voice a low, satisfied hum.
“I *like* making someone feel comfort and discomfort at the same time.”
Her palm smoothed the shampoo across the hottest welts, the aloe’s icy sting clashing sharply with the olive oil’s soothing warmth. Montagne whimpered, his body tensing then relaxing in helpless waves beneath her touch. Helmi watched his reactions intently savoring the way his breath hitched each time fingers found a particularly tender spot – the duality of relief and pain was delicious.
“See?” she whispered, kneading the cleft firmly, making him gasp. “The sting tells you it’s working, and the softness tells you it’s healing.” She worked diligently until the bottle was empty, leaving his skin gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Helmi leaned back, surveying her handiwork. His buttocks, striped with Stella’s crimson welts against his dark skin, glistened with the oily sheen. “Look at that,” she breathed, her Finnish accent softening. “Like chocolate-covered bread rolls… rich brown dough, and these welts?” Her finger traced a swollen ridge. “Like swirls of sugar frosting, or maybe bright red fruit jam smeared on top.” A hungry glint sparked in her eyes. “It looks so delicious, Montagne. I wish I could just… eat it up.”
Before he could react, Helmi dipped her head swiftly and pressed her lips against the plump curve of his left cheek, giving it a playful, sharp little nibble. Montagne’s reaction was instantaneous and startling. A high-pitched, resonant moan burst from his lips – a sound that soared unexpectedly, pure and trembling like an opera singer hitting a dramatic high note. “OooooOOOOOHHHH!” It echoed off the classroom walls.
The other three girls froze for a split second, stunned by the sheer operatic volume and pitch, before exploding into uncontrollable laughter. Sarai doubled over, clutching her stomach, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Oh my god, Helmi!” she gasped between peals of laughter. “You are *so* naughty!” Lilith slapped her knee, wheezing, while Madeline covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking silently with mirth.
Helmi straightened up, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she looked down at Montagne’s mortified expression.
“You think *that* was naughty?” she purred, her Finnish accent sharpening the challenge.
“Watch this.” She stepped confidently in front of him, fingers hooking into the waistband of her Lily-of-the-Valley pants. With deliberate slowness, she pushed them down past her hips, revealing Hello Kitty panties in hot pink. She peeled them down too, letting both garments pool around her ankles. Montagne gasped at the sudden expanse of flawless, pale skin – her buttocks were round, smooth, and unexpectedly beautiful under the harsh classroom lights. Helmi glanced over her shoulder, a smirk playing on her lips.
“Go ahead, baby,” she commanded softly.
“Kiss it.”
Montagne dropped to his knees, heart pounding. The other girls erupted into rhythmic chanting: “Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!”
He hesitated, frozen for five agonizing seconds, his face burning hotter than Stella’s spanks. Helmi’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and teasing.
“What’s wrong, sweetie? You don’t have the guts?”
Pride flared in his chest, overriding his shyness. He leaned forward, pressing his lips firmly against her left cheek in a lingering, ten-second kiss, then shifted to the right one. The girls cheered wildly, Madeline laughing, “Looks like he isn’t so shy after all!”
Without hesitation, the other three bent over. Madeline’s sky-blue panties with fluffy white clouds, Sarai’s bright sunflower print, and Lilith’s faded pink sheep-adorned pair were all tugged down, revealing smooth, flawless skin. They wiggled their bare buttocks tauntingly in front of him.
Montagne moved on autopilot this time. He stepped forward and pressed fervent kisses to each girl’s cheeks—lingering on Madeline’s plump curves, Sarai’s firm mounds, and Lilith’s athletic globes. Their giggles crescendoed into delighted shrieks as his lips traveled.
Panting, Montagne turned to Helmi. "You remember grabbing my crotch?" he whispered urgently. "You promised it'd be worth my while if I told them about Miss Seoid." Helmi’s smirk widened like a predator scenting prey. Lilith snorted, "Looks like somebody’s eager!"
"Of course I remember," Helmi purred, snapping her fingers.
"Girls? Hold him steady. Wouldn't want him collapsing when I rev his engine."
Madeline instantly wrapped strong arms around Montagne’s waist, while Lilith and Sarai each gripped awrist, pinning him upright. Helmi closed the distance until their noses almost touched.
"By the time I’m done," she breathed, "you’ll feel like you just survived a rollercoaster backwards." Her fingers flew to his belt buckle, undoing it with frantic speed before yanking down his shorts and underwear in one rough motion.
Helmi dropped to her knees instantly, her hot breath washing over Montagne’s exposed genitals. She leaned in, exhaling a slow, deliberate stream of warm air directly onto his balls, making him gasp sharply. Then, with shocking precision, her tongue darted out, tracing a wet, swirling path along the sensitive slit of his urethra. The sensation was electric, alien—Montagne’s back arched violently as a high-pitched, feline mewl tore from his throat: "*Meeeee-OW!*"
The girls erupted into raucous laughter, Lilith crowing, "Do it again, Helmi! Make him sing!" Obligingly, Helmi flicked her tongue across the tip once more, eliciting another desperate, trembling "*Meeee-OW!*" from Montagne, his legs shaking uncontrollably and his arms, twisting in their grip.
Helmi didn't tease further. She engulfed him completely, her mouth hot and wet. Her head began a relentless rhythm, bobbing fast, then agonizingly slow. Her tongue lashed like a whip against his sensitive underside while her teeth scraped lightly, dangerously, sending jolts of pleasure-pain through his core. Montagne moaned loudly, his hips bucking wildly against Madeline’s restraining arms. "Oh god... Helmi!" he choked out, his voice ragged. The Finnish girl was deeply pleased to hear her name drop from his lips, and in such an ecstatic manner. The other girls tightened their hold, Sarai giggling, "Hold still, kitty!"
The abrupt shift from frantic to glacial pace was Helmi’s cruelest trick—it let Montagne cling to the edge far longer than he ever could’ve endured otherwise. But after forty-five seconds, she began making loud, wet slurping noises deep in her throat. The vibrations traveled straight up his cock, making him squeal—a raw, piggish sound of utter torment. The girls roared with laughter again. Montagne clenched every muscle, teeth grinding, desperate to last just seconds more. Fifteen ticks later—one minute total—he erupted violently into her mouth. Helmi moaned around him like she was savoring ambrosia, her tongue swirling and teeth scraping to prolong the eruption. His orgasm lasted twenty-five brutal seconds, leaving him trembling and gasping.
The girls released his arms, though Madeline kept her grip firm around his waist. "How’d it taste?" Madeline asked, eyes gleaming. Helmi licked her lips slowly. "Salty creamy noodles," she purred. Madeline grinned and said, "I HAVE to have a taste of that!“
She hauled Montagne toward the gray swivel chair, playfully tossing him onto the soft cotton seat. She yanked his shorts and underwear completely off his ankles, then stretched the underwear taut and gagged him with it, knotting it tightly behind his head. Darting to Stella’s desk, Madeline rummaged through drawers until she found her prize: a thick roll of industrial gray duct tape. She ripped a long strip, wrenching Montagne’s arms behind the chair’s backrest, binding his wrists to the black plastic frame with savage efficiency. Leaning close, her breath hot on his ear, she hissed, "You. Are. *Mine*," each word sharp as a blade.
Madeline dropped to her knees, her fingers digging into the tender skin of his inner thighs before raking upward to scratch his testicles. Montagne jerked violently against the restraints, a muffled scream trapped behind the underwear gag. Without warning, she engulfed him whole, her head pistoning in a relentless, frantic rhythm—no teasing pauses, no mercy. Only the wet, slapping sounds of her mouth and his choked, convulsive moans filled the trailer. His body thrashed like a fish on a hook, the chair screeching against the linoleum as the girls cheered wildly, chanting, "Drain him dry, Maddie! Turn his legs to jelly! Make it so he won’t be able to stand without our help!”
Montagne’s mind screamed through the haze—*she’s ruthless, absolutely ruthless*—as sensation overloaded every nerve. Madeline’s suction tightened, her tongue a battering ram against his frenulum while her nails scraped his perineum. He arched, toes curling, vision blurring as the pressure built impossibly fast.
Thirty seconds. That’s all he lasted. A choked sob tore through the gag as he erupted—hot, violent jets hitting the back of Madeline’s throat. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she doubled down, her head bobbing faster, teeth scraping his shaft, nails digging crescent moons into his thighs. The orgasm ripped through him like barbed wire, tearing ragged cries from his chest as she milked every pulse.
A full minute passed—sixty agonizing seconds—and still she didn’t stop. Her tongue lashed the swollen head, her suction relentless even as his spasms weakened to trembling aftershocks. Montagne slumped against the duct tape, whimpering, tears streaking his cheeks. The girls watched, breathless, as Madeline sucked him dry, her cheeks hollowed with fierce determination until his cock lay limp and spent in her mouth—another thirty seconds of humiliation.
Finally, Madeline pulled back, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. Her nails dug under the duct tape binding his wrists, peeling it off with sharp, efficient tugs. She untied the underwear gag, letting it fall slack around his neck. Gripping him firmly under his armpits, she hauled him upright and laid him gently on the cool linoleum floor. Hands on her hips, she stared down at him, her gaze predatory. "I think you need to taste what you gave us," she declared, her voice thick with challenge.
Lilith giggled, stepping forward.
"My turn! I've been dreaming about savoring these delicious boy bits." Montagne weakly protested, “Please... it's too sore..." but the girls ignored him. Madeline leaned down, pressing her chest diagonally against his, and kissed him fiercely—her fiery ginger hair cascading over his ears and neck like a curtain. Lilith pulled the faded pink scrunchie from her ponytail, unleashing her dark waterfall of raven hair. Her skin was cinnamon sugary, and she was Jewish, with her name coming from the first wife of Adam before Eve, as mentioned by the midrash. She knelt between his legs and laid down, letting those silken strands brush rhythmically against his testicles. Within fifteen seconds, Montagne gasped as his abused penis stiffened painfully against Lilith’s onslaught.
He trembled, reaching instinctively to push her head away—only for Sarai to seize his wrists in an iron grip.
"Oh no you don’t!" she hissed, pinning his arms above his head. "Lie there and take it like a good boy."
Helmi joined the torture, wiggling her tongue deep into his belly button before blowing loud, wet raspberries that made his stomach convulse. The strands of her dark-chocolate mop-top hair tickled his stomach as well. Finally, she pressed her full weight onto his abdomen, immobilizing him completely as Lilith’s hair continued its maddening dance.
Montagne clenched every muscle—jaw, thighs, fists—fighting to delay the inevitable. Lilith sensed his resistance. Her slurps grew louder, wetter, as she deliberately vibrated her throat against his shaft, emitting a low, feline purr that resonated deep into his core. Her lips parted slightly around him, creating a vacuum seal that pulled relentlessly. Madeline’s kisses turned savage, her teeth nipping his lower lip while her tongue plunged deep, silencing his whimpers.
Helmi abandoned subtlety. She drove her tongue into his navel like a drill, swirling violently before sealing her mouth over the hollow and blowing raspberries with brutal force—each one a shockwave that rippled through his abdomen. Montagne bucked wildly trying to break free, tendons straining in his neck, but Sarai’s grip on his wrists was iron, her knuckles white.
“You’re not going anywhere, cutie!" she hissed, digging her nails into his pulse points.
Montagne stared up at Sarai, her golden blonde Multi braided hair, reminding him of a lion, even though she was female. He saw the same predatory focus Madeline had possessed when he was duct-taped to Stella’s chair—a cold, detached hunger. Just like Miss Seoid, these girls saw him as a toy, a pet, plaything for their amusement. A flicker of unease twisted in his gut, but he remembered: he’d walked into Helmi’s trap willingly, just as he’d submitted to Stella. He hadn’t screamed "stop," not truly, even when his cock screamed in protest. He’d made this bed; now he had to lie in it. Fifty seconds after Lilith began, agony ripped through him—a raw, searing orgasm that tore tears from his eyes. Lilith didn’t pause. Her purrs deepened, her head bobbed faster, teeth scraped deliberately, tongue lashed relentlessly. She milked him for another excruciating minute, then thirty seconds more, until he lay spent and trembling, his cock limp in her mouth.
"Need to make sure I got every drop," Lilith murmured, pulling back. Her fingers encircled the base of his swollen shaft, squeezing firmly. Slowly, agonizingly, she slid her hand up to the tip, milking out three final, glistening drops of semen into her waiting mouth. Sarai clapped her hands sharply.
“Five minutes," she announced, her lioness braids swinging. "Let him breathe. Helmi, Lilith—snack run. One stays." Madeline grinned, planting herself beside Montagne's trembling form. "I'll guard our prize." The girls scrambled—Helmi snatched the chair from the doorknob, Lilith slid it neatly under the student’s desk. They vanished in a whirl of giggles, leaving Ma
"And you won’t regret the taste."
Her promise hung thickly in the air, layered with an unsettling intimacy that made Montagne shiver despite the cooling cream.
Madeleine’s fingers, slick with tallow, dug into the bruised flesh of Montagne’s buttocks with possessive pressure. She knew the stories – the locker room boasts, the crude jokes traded by boys treating girls like trophies. It repulsed her. Yet, feeling Montagne tremble beneath her touch, seeing the raw vulnerability etched across his exposed skin, ignited a fierce, rebellious thrill. *This* was different. *He* was different. Not a conquest to be bragged about, but a fragile prize to be claimed quietly, utterly hers in this stolen moment. His shyness, his obedience, his utter lack of guile – they weren't weaknesses to exploit like those other boys did; they were exquisite qualities that invited her dominance. Controlling him wasn't about mimicking their crudeness; it was about savoring the exquisite power of his complete surrender, a delicious secret rebellion against the very system she despised. Her touch became deliberate, almost reverent, marking territory Stella had scorched but *she* now soothed and claimed.
When the last trace of peppermint cream vanished, Madeleine leaned in, burying her nose against the smooth, oiled swell of Montagne’s left cheek. She inhaled deeply, the mingled scents of kiwi-lime, peppermint, and his own clean, warm skin flooding her senses. "Mmm... smells like victory," she murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction. She then pressed her flushed cheek firmly against the cool, lotion-slicked skin, rubbing gently. "Feels like silk," she breathed, her eyes closing for a second. Montagne gasped sharply, a tremor running through him at the unexpected intimacy. Madeleine hooked her hands under his arms, lifting him off her lap with deliberate slowness. As she did, her knuckles brushed firmly against his exposed genitals. Another choked gasp escaped him, his body jerking involuntarily at the startling contact. Madeleine just smiled, setting him on his feet, her gaze lingering possessively.
"Alright, mushroom boy," Lilith declared, stepping forward and nudging Madeleine aside. She settled onto the worn swivel chair, her posture radiating playful command. "My turn. Time to *annoint* this masterpiece." Montagne hesitated, the phantom sting warring with the cooling relief, but shuffled back towards Lilith’s waiting lap. He bent over, bracing himself. Her outfit consisted of khaki pants that had two lines stocking through the grass in overhead body shot designed on both the legs, and a flannel shirt with green and white squares in a chessboard style. Lilith uncapped the bottle of avocado-lavender oil, its rich, herbal scent instantly mingling with the others. With theatrical flair, she poured a generous stream directly onto the center of his reddened buttocks. The cool oil cascaded down, pooling heavily into the cleft between his cheeks. Montagne gasped loudly, arching his back instinctively as the unexpected, slick sensation flooded the sensitive crevice. Lilith chuckled, low and throaty, as she began vigorously rubbing the oil into his skin, her fingers delving deep into the cleft, spreading the soothing liquid everywhere.
"Your butt is mine," Lilith sang softly, echoing Michael Jackson's famous line with a grin, her fingers tracing the welts Stella had left.
"Gonna tell you right... just show your face in broad daylight..." Her voice was teasing, rhythmic, matching the circular motions of her hands as she worked the oil into every inch of his inflamed skin. Montagne trembled, the combination of the intimate massage, the lingering pain, and the absurdity of the serenade overwhelming him. Lilith leaned closer, her breath warm on his oiled skin.
“Yeah, Miss Seoid lit the fire," she murmured, her voice dropping conspiratorially, "but *I'm* putting it out."
Her hands pressed firmly, possessively, claiming the territory Stella had scorched. Montagne could only whimper softly, submitting to the unexpected ministrations.
Once Lilith finished, she patted his butt gently and said, "There we go," lifting him by the waist with surprising tenderness. Before Montagne could catch his breath, Helmi seized his wrist with startling force.
"Now it’s *my* turn!" she declared, her Finnish accent sharpening the command. She yanked him unceremoniously across her lap, ignoring his gasp of surprise. A predatory smirk played on her lips as she pulled a translucent bottle from her pocket—white-capped, filled with a thick blend of aloe vera and olive oil shampoo. Helmi was wearing cotton 12 baggy pants that had the leaves and flowers of the national plant of Finland, the lily of the valley, designed onto it. Her shirt, made of nylon and cotton, was designed with a mother brown bear and her 2 cubs walking in front of snow-covered evergreen trees and across the snowy path. She flipped it upside down and squeezed a cold, generous dollop directly onto the center of his welted cheeks. Montagne shivered violently as the chill bit into his heated skin.
"Aloe cools," Helmi murmured, rubbing the slippery mixture in firm circles, "and olive oil heals. Together? Magic. Like honey-lemon tea for your bruises." Her fingers dug deep, purposeful and unyielding.
Montagne gasped as the shampoo's chill intensified, his hips jerking involuntarily against her lap.
“I-It f-feels s-so weird and g-gooey H-Helmi!” He stuttered.
Helmi chuckled softly, her fingers pressing deeper into the cool, slippery mixture coating Montagne’s welted skin.
“That’s great,” she murmured, her voice a low, satisfied hum.
“I *like* making someone feel comfort and discomfort at the same time.”
Her palm smoothed the shampoo across the hottest welts, the aloe’s icy sting clashing sharply with the olive oil’s soothing warmth. Montagne whimpered, his body tensing then relaxing in helpless waves beneath her touch. Helmi watched his reactions intently savoring the way his breath hitched each time fingers found a particularly tender spot – the duality of relief and pain was delicious.
“See?” she whispered, kneading the cleft firmly, making him gasp. “The sting tells you it’s working, and the softness tells you it’s healing.” She worked diligently until the bottle was empty, leaving his skin gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Helmi leaned back, surveying her handiwork. His buttocks, striped with Stella’s crimson welts against his dark skin, glistened with the oily sheen. “Look at that,” she breathed, her Finnish accent softening. “Like chocolate-covered bread rolls… rich brown dough, and these welts?” Her finger traced a swollen ridge. “Like swirls of sugar frosting, or maybe bright red fruit jam smeared on top.” A hungry glint sparked in her eyes. “It looks so delicious, Montagne. I wish I could just… eat it up.”
Before he could react, Helmi dipped her head swiftly and pressed her lips against the plump curve of his left cheek, giving it a playful, sharp little nibble. Montagne’s reaction was instantaneous and startling. A high-pitched, resonant moan burst from his lips – a sound that soared unexpectedly, pure and trembling like an opera singer hitting a dramatic high note. “OooooOOOOOHHHH!” It echoed off the classroom walls.
The other three girls froze for a split second, stunned by the sheer operatic volume and pitch, before exploding into uncontrollable laughter. Sarai doubled over, clutching her stomach, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Oh my god, Helmi!” she gasped between peals of laughter. “You are *so* naughty!” Lilith slapped her knee, wheezing, while Madeline covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking silently with mirth.
Helmi straightened up, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she looked down at Montagne’s mortified expression.
“You think *that* was naughty?” she purred, her Finnish accent sharpening the challenge.
“Watch this.” She stepped confidently in front of him, fingers hooking into the waistband of her Lily-of-the-Valley pants. With deliberate slowness, she pushed them down past her hips, revealing Hello Kitty panties in hot pink. She peeled them down too, letting both garments pool around her ankles. Montagne gasped at the sudden expanse of flawless, pale skin – her buttocks were round, smooth, and unexpectedly beautiful under the harsh classroom lights. Helmi glanced over her shoulder, a smirk playing on her lips.
“Go ahead, baby,” she commanded softly.
“Kiss it.”
Montagne dropped to his knees, heart pounding. The other girls erupted into rhythmic chanting: “Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!”
He hesitated, frozen for five agonizing seconds, his face burning hotter than Stella’s spanks. Helmi’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and teasing.
“What’s wrong, sweetie? You don’t have the guts?”
Pride flared in his chest, overriding his shyness. He leaned forward, pressing his lips firmly against her left cheek in a lingering, ten-second kiss, then shifted to the right one. The girls cheered wildly, Madeline laughing, “Looks like he isn’t so shy after all!”
Without hesitation, the other three bent over. Madeline’s sky-blue panties with fluffy white clouds, Sarai’s bright sunflower print, and Lilith’s faded pink sheep-adorned pair were all tugged down, revealing smooth, flawless skin. They wiggled their bare buttocks tauntingly in front of him.
Montagne moved on autopilot this time. He stepped forward and pressed fervent kisses to each girl’s cheeks—lingering on Madeline’s plump curves, Sarai’s firm mounds, and Lilith’s athletic globes. Their giggles crescendoed into delighted shrieks as his lips traveled.
Panting, Montagne turned to Helmi. "You remember grabbing my crotch?" he whispered urgently. "You promised it'd be worth my while if I told them about Miss Seoid." Helmi’s smirk widened like a predator scenting prey. Lilith snorted, "Looks like somebody’s eager!"
"Of course I remember," Helmi purred, snapping her fingers.
"Girls? Hold him steady. Wouldn't want him collapsing when I rev his engine."
Madeline instantly wrapped strong arms around Montagne’s waist, while Lilith and Sarai each gripped awrist, pinning him upright. Helmi closed the distance until their noses almost touched.
"By the time I’m done," she breathed, "you’ll feel like you just survived a rollercoaster backwards." Her fingers flew to his belt buckle, undoing it with frantic speed before yanking down his shorts and underwear in one rough motion.
Helmi dropped to her knees instantly, her hot breath washing over Montagne’s exposed genitals. She leaned in, exhaling a slow, deliberate stream of warm air directly onto his balls, making him gasp sharply. Then, with shocking precision, her tongue darted out, tracing a wet, swirling path along the sensitive slit of his urethra. The sensation was electric, alien—Montagne’s back arched violently as a high-pitched, feline mewl tore from his throat: "*Meeeee-OW!*"
The girls erupted into raucous laughter, Lilith crowing, "Do it again, Helmi! Make him sing!" Obligingly, Helmi flicked her tongue across the tip once more, eliciting another desperate, trembling "*Meeee-OW!*" from Montagne, his legs shaking uncontrollably and his arms, twisting in their grip.
Helmi didn't tease further. She engulfed him completely, her mouth hot and wet. Her head began a relentless rhythm, bobbing fast, then agonizingly slow. Her tongue lashed like a whip against his sensitive underside while her teeth scraped lightly, dangerously, sending jolts of pleasure-pain through his core. Montagne moaned loudly, his hips bucking wildly against Madeline’s restraining arms. "Oh god... Helmi!" he choked out, his voice ragged. The Finnish girl was deeply pleased to hear her name drop from his lips, and in such an ecstatic manner. The other girls tightened their hold, Sarai giggling, "Hold still, kitty!"
The abrupt shift from frantic to glacial pace was Helmi’s cruelest trick—it let Montagne cling to the edge far longer than he ever could’ve endured otherwise. But after forty-five seconds, she began making loud, wet slurping noises deep in her throat. The vibrations traveled straight up his cock, making him squeal—a raw, piggish sound of utter torment. The girls roared with laughter again. Montagne clenched every muscle, teeth grinding, desperate to last just seconds more. Fifteen ticks later—one minute total—he erupted violently into her mouth. Helmi moaned around him like she was savoring ambrosia, her tongue swirling and teeth scraping to prolong the eruption. His orgasm lasted twenty-five brutal seconds, leaving him trembling and gasping.
The girls released his arms, though Madeline kept her grip firm around his waist. "How’d it taste?" Madeline asked, eyes gleaming. Helmi licked her lips slowly. "Salty creamy noodles," she purred. Madeline grinned and said, "I HAVE to have a taste of that!“
She hauled Montagne toward the gray swivel chair, playfully tossing him onto the soft cotton seat. She yanked his shorts and underwear completely off his ankles, then stretched the underwear taut and gagged him with it, knotting it tightly behind his head. Darting to Stella’s desk, Madeline rummaged through drawers until she found her prize: a thick roll of industrial gray duct tape. She ripped a long strip, wrenching Montagne’s arms behind the chair’s backrest, binding his wrists to the black plastic frame with savage efficiency. Leaning close, her breath hot on his ear, she hissed, "You. Are. *Mine*," each word sharp as a blade.
Madeline dropped to her knees, her fingers digging into the tender skin of his inner thighs before raking upward to scratch his testicles. Montagne jerked violently against the restraints, a muffled scream trapped behind the underwear gag. Without warning, she engulfed him whole, her head pistoning in a relentless, frantic rhythm—no teasing pauses, no mercy. Only the wet, slapping sounds of her mouth and his choked, convulsive moans filled the trailer. His body thrashed like a fish on a hook, the chair screeching against the linoleum as the girls cheered wildly, chanting, "Drain him dry, Maddie! Turn his legs to jelly! Make it so he won’t be able to stand without our help!”
Montagne’s mind screamed through the haze—*she’s ruthless, absolutely ruthless*—as sensation overloaded every nerve. Madeline’s suction tightened, her tongue a battering ram against his frenulum while her nails scraped his perineum. He arched, toes curling, vision blurring as the pressure built impossibly fast.
Thirty seconds. That’s all he lasted. A choked sob tore through the gag as he erupted—hot, violent jets hitting the back of Madeline’s throat. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she doubled down, her head bobbing faster, teeth scraping his shaft, nails digging crescent moons into his thighs. The orgasm ripped through him like barbed wire, tearing ragged cries from his chest as she milked every pulse.
A full minute passed—sixty agonizing seconds—and still she didn’t stop. Her tongue lashed the swollen head, her suction relentless even as his spasms weakened to trembling aftershocks. Montagne slumped against the duct tape, whimpering, tears streaking his cheeks. The girls watched, breathless, as Madeline sucked him dry, her cheeks hollowed with fierce determination until his cock lay limp and spent in her mouth—another thirty seconds of humiliation.
Finally, Madeline pulled back, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. Her nails dug under the duct tape binding his wrists, peeling it off with sharp, efficient tugs. She untied the underwear gag, letting it fall slack around his neck. Gripping him firmly under his armpits, she hauled him upright and laid him gently on the cool linoleum floor. Hands on her hips, she stared down at him, her gaze predatory. "I think you need to taste what you gave us," she declared, her voice thick with challenge.
Lilith giggled, stepping forward.
"My turn! I've been dreaming about savoring these delicious boy bits." Montagne weakly protested, “Please... it's too sore..." but the girls ignored him. Madeline leaned down, pressing her chest diagonally against his, and kissed him fiercely—her fiery ginger hair cascading over his ears and neck like a curtain. Lilith pulled the faded pink scrunchie from her ponytail, unleashing her dark waterfall of raven hair. Her skin was cinnamon sugary, and she was Jewish, with her name coming from the first wife of Adam before Eve, as mentioned by the midrash. She knelt between his legs and laid down, letting those silken strands brush rhythmically against his testicles. Within fifteen seconds, Montagne gasped as his abused penis stiffened painfully against Lilith’s onslaught.
He trembled, reaching instinctively to push her head away—only for Sarai to seize his wrists in an iron grip.
"Oh no you don’t!" she hissed, pinning his arms above his head. "Lie there and take it like a good boy."
Helmi joined the torture, wiggling her tongue deep into his belly button before blowing loud, wet raspberries that made his stomach convulse. The strands of her dark-chocolate mop-top hair tickled his stomach as well. Finally, she pressed her full weight onto his abdomen, immobilizing him completely as Lilith’s hair continued its maddening dance.
Montagne clenched every muscle—jaw, thighs, fists—fighting to delay the inevitable. Lilith sensed his resistance. Her slurps grew louder, wetter, as she deliberately vibrated her throat against his shaft, emitting a low, feline purr that resonated deep into his core. Her lips parted slightly around him, creating a vacuum seal that pulled relentlessly. Madeline’s kisses turned savage, her teeth nipping his lower lip while her tongue plunged deep, silencing his whimpers.
Helmi abandoned subtlety. She drove her tongue into his navel like a drill, swirling violently before sealing her mouth over the hollow and blowing raspberries with brutal force—each one a shockwave that rippled through his abdomen. Montagne bucked wildly trying to break free, tendons straining in his neck, but Sarai’s grip on his wrists was iron, her knuckles white.
“You’re not going anywhere, cutie!" she hissed, digging her nails into his pulse points.
Montagne stared up at Sarai, her golden blonde Multi braided hair, reminding him of a lion, even though she was female. He saw the same predatory focus Madeline had possessed when he was duct-taped to Stella’s chair—a cold, detached hunger. Just like Miss Seoid, these girls saw him as a toy, a pet, plaything for their amusement. A flicker of unease twisted in his gut, but he remembered: he’d walked into Helmi’s trap willingly, just as he’d submitted to Stella. He hadn’t screamed "stop," not truly, even when his cock screamed in protest. He’d made this bed; now he had to lie in it. Fifty seconds after Lilith began, agony ripped through him—a raw, searing orgasm that tore tears from his eyes. Lilith didn’t pause. Her purrs deepened, her head bobbed faster, teeth scraped deliberately, tongue lashed relentlessly. She milked him for another excruciating minute, then thirty seconds more, until he lay spent and trembling, his cock limp in her mouth.
"Need to make sure I got every drop," Lilith murmured, pulling back. Her fingers encircled the base of his swollen shaft, squeezing firmly. Slowly, agonizingly, she slid her hand up to the tip, milking out three final, glistening drops of semen into her waiting mouth. Sarai clapped her hands sharply.
“Five minutes," she announced, her lioness braids swinging. "Let him breathe. Helmi, Lilith—snack run. One stays." Madeline grinned, planting herself beside Montagne's trembling form. "I'll guard our prize." The girls scrambled—Helmi snatched the chair from the doorknob, Lilith slid it neatly under the student’s desk. They vanished in a whirl of giggles, leaving Ma
31-35, M
