Bag Over Her Head

Okay, Sam thought to himself. I can't refuse sex, and her body is smoking hot. I can still do this. Just need to do something about her face... He thought of those old cartoons, the gross locker room jokes about putting a bag over an ugly girl's head. Right now Sam wished he could do just that.

A lightbulb burst in Sam's brain. In a rush, he leaped to the closet. There, buried underneath stacks of old games was the box of costume materials from his college days...including a couple of latex masks.

Jackpot.

When Shelly emerged from the bathroom, Sam's heart skipped a beat. The dress had fit her body well, but now she wore a kind of tightly-laced bodice of leather straps, with steel rings that circled her thick, protuberant nipples. Two straps descended alongside either side of her swollen and shaven labia, making it stand out from her body even more. Once again he admired the swell of those heavy and jutting breasts, the flare of those hips, the waspish waist that was cinched tight now with three belts. The thighs looked thicker and more muscular than before...and she still wore the red, three-inch heels that showed off her muscular calves.

What he wasn't prepared for was the mask. Her wig was gone, and the latex mask hugged her head tightly, cinched about her neck with a collar. It must have been custom-made, because the eye-holes fit her uneven gaze perfectly, and the zipper over the mouthpiece extended all the way to her ear.

The black rider's crop in her hand snapped the air. She strode forward, all hint of shyness suddenly gone.

"What ish that?" She said as she stared at the masks in his hands. In his left was a Michael Myers mask, the pale, distorted human features topped by a shock of brown hair; in the left was a pink cartoonish pig mask with big white eyes.

Sam swallowed.

"I...thought...we might try a little roleplay," he said, with as much **** joviality as he could. Same met her mismatched eyes. It was somehow worse with the mask. He could see there was something profoundly wrong with the shape of her skull, something the wig had hidden but which the tight-fitting headmask accentuated. "But I see...you've...brought your own."

He couldn't tell if Shelly smiled. Not with the mouth zippered shut. But the pull of the zipper, drawn up by her missing ear, jingled like an earring for a moment. The crop came down on the pig mask.

"Sho what are you waiting for? Put it on, piggy."

Hurriedly, Sam did as he was told. The dominatrix outfit had thrown him off his game, but in truth he wasn't upset about it. The leather straps that dug into that achingly curvaceous form only accentuated its charms, and while Sam hadn't done any spanking or BDSM before, he had to admit a certain curiosity and thrill at a new experience. In seconds, he stared out at her through the pink eyeholes of the Porky Pig mask.

"Dishrobe," she ordered, the tip of the crop pressed against the sash of his robe. Hurriedly, Sam obeyed, undoing the sash and tossing the robe aside to stand naked before her. Normally he preferred to lead, but there was a first time for everything, and if it got him laid.

"What the fuck is thish shit?" Shelly half hissed in her mask. Before Sam could react, the tip of the crop had lifted up the head of his flaccid dick. Behind the mask, Sam swallowed and resisted the urge to go up on his tip-toes.

"Um...shouldn't we set up a safe word...or something?" He said.

Shelly met his eyes. It reminded him of staring through the eyeholes of Doctor Doom's mask in the comic books. The hints of a horribly scarred visage that were somehow worse than if the mask itself were removed, because imagination filled in the rest.

"Of course, Sham. Anytime you want me to shtop, shimply shay 'Shissyschlampe.'"

Sam's balls nearly crawled into his body...but he smiled, though she couldn't see it with the pig mask, and nodded. If she wanted to mix a little humiliation in, that was fine. As long as things didn't go too rough, he could take a few hits.

"Lay down on the floor," Shelly ordered. "And shpread your legsh."

Still wary, Sam did so. He wondered about the people who were into this...who did it regularly. He had a terrible vision of old married couples with secret closets full of leather gear and whips, a ticking timebomb waiting for their grandkids to find. Shelly stood over him, from this angle, he could see her shaven slit between her legs.

"I wash told that a man wash looking for a woman," Shelly said. "Instead, I shee only a pig. Pigsh don't deserve my pusshy."

The tip of her heel touched Sam's right thigh. He grimaced behind the mask as the toe of her shoe came down on his flaccid dick. Butterflies fluttered in Sam's stomach as the pressure built and built...and then her felt the tip of the crop slide against the underside of his balls.

"Do you like that, piggy? Do you think you can be a man? Let us shee if you get hard. Maybe if you are a good piggy I will let you tashte my cunny."

When Sam had seen Shelly's face at the door, he had known disgust...but had swallowed it, all in the name of sex. Now, for the first time, he knew fear. The riding crop slid up and down between his balls. A few hard strikes and that would be it for his baby factories. She could bust his balls before he ever got the safety phrase out of his lips. Within the Porky Pig mask, Sam began to sweat.

She knew it, too. The mismatched eyes stared down at him, drunk on their power. The slit between her legs was damp...and her foot pressed down on the cock, just short of crushing it...and despite himself, Sam could feel it start to engorge. As she coaxed and teased his balls, sometimes gently tapping first one and then the other, his traitorous member swelled and hardened, pushing back against her foot...and though he could not see her smile, the zipper pull jingled again...those magnificent breasts he had never managed to even touch heaved...and she started to run the riding crop down the inside of his thighs.

"Filthy piggy. You should beg me to punish your pathetic little cock. Are there really cuntsh deshparate enough to take thish pathetic pecker inshide them? Or maybe you're misshing an old girlfriend. Wash that your plan? Hide them behind a mashk and pound them while thinking of the piggy you ushed to pork so well?"

Shelly leaned forward, and Sam cried out in sudden pain. The purple head of his cock was being crushed, and the weight of her body was balanced now on his stomach. Sudden nausea ran through him.

"Well too bad, piggy. Tonight, the mashksh' off!"

With her free hand, Shelly, undid the straps at her collar, unzipped a zipper, and peeled the mask off of her head...and it was all Sam could do in that instant not to scream.

It was worse than he thought. Bare bone was showed from forehead to the crest of her skull, and a chunk of the dome on the left-hand side was actually missing, concave. Livid scar tissue showed, and fresh black stitching that suggested the surgery, or at least the latest surgery, had been recent.

Shelly laughed, a phlegmy cackle. Drool oozed from her sneering face, the lips drawn back too wide, showing too many teeth. This time Sam did give a wheezing scream like a pig's squeal...and her foot lifted up off of his tormented cock, which popped up, purple and swollen.

Immediately, before he could react, she slammed down on it, taking him to the hilt in one go. Sam tried to rise, and she pushed him back, riding cropped pressed against his chest. He struggled to rise as she planted her heels on either side of him and began to slam her ass up and down on his aching prick. Those perfect breasts flopped in their harness, but all he could see through the windows of his Porky Pig mask was her face, distorted in demoniac glee and lust.

"Shqueal piggy! Shqueal! Shqueal for me!" she shrieked as she slammed down hard over and over and over...and as he struggled to rise she began to grin into him, her crotch rubbing against his own, the protuberant labia smearing his pubic hair with her secretions, and as tears filled Sam's eyes he began to give terrible grunts and oinks of plaintive submission...

...and then her face contorted. It was almost purple now, most of it, the lower eye bulged, the upper once squeezed tightly shut, the lips of that horrible mouth outstretched...and Sam knew that the image of her face during orgasm would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.

Shelly sighed as she rocked slowly back and forth on his balls. Sam felt the warm wetness of her, and that was the only clue he'd had that he had actually ejaculated during that whole ordeal. She lowered herself down and gently kissed the snout of his mask.

"Good piggy," she said.

Tears in his eyes, gasping for breath, sullied and shaken to his core, Sam could only nod dumbly in response.