Crescendo

The Boatswain unlocked and removed the cuffs from Denise's wrists. The two men then led her over to straddle the small wooden bench in front of the wooden frame. They each strapped one of her wrists to the base of the frame, causing her arms to be stretched out behind her. On the top of the frame was a variable speed electric motor with a crank and slider to convert rotary motion into reciprocating movement. The shaft on the end of the slider had a flat metal disc covered with leather. Two straps were attached to the leather covering. Number One wrapped the top strap across Denise's forehead, buckling it in place. Then he secured the chin strap beneath her mouth, also buckling it securely. This lower strap he was careful to make sure was snug, as it would prevent her from closing her mouth.

While he was doing that, the Boatswain was bringing two short, rectangular boxes to place in front of the frame. By stepping up on those, his cock would be aligned with her mouth. Double-checking that all was proper, the Boatswain flipped the switch.

The whirling sound of the motor filled the basement and Denise's head and shoulders were **** back and forth by the plunger moving in and out. Adjusting the speed somewhat, making it go a little faster, he stepped up on the boxes and shoved his cock into Denise's mouth.

"Hey, I like this," the Boatswain said to Number One. "Looks like the little bitch has a head on her shoulders after all."

"In more ways than one," Number One replied, referring to Denise's bobbing head. A bobbing that she had absolutely no control over.

"I might want to borrow this sometime," the Boatswain remarked as the machine **** Denise to use her mouth on him.

As before, the men took turns. When Number One's dick entered her mouth, she experienced difficulties. He was longer than the Boatswain but the length of the connecting rod was a constant. Meaning that not only did the machine **** her mouth to move repeatedly back and forth on that black slab of meat, but it shoved her so far forward as to cause that anaconda to enter her throat. She was repeatedly gagging and ****, and tears ran down her face.

About twenty minutes into the machine-assisted face-fucking with the frequent changes of partners, the Boatswain asked her if she was alright. She made the mistake of answering, "Y-yes, A-Abram. Just a little . . ."

She did not get to finish saying 'out of breath' for the Boatswain quickly flicked off the power switch and leaned forward, shoving his cock as far into her mouth as he could. Into her mouth and partway down her throat. Cutting off her airway.

"How did I tell you to address me during these sessions!" he snarled. Denise tried to answer, but with her mouth full of dick, it was impossible to talk. The Boatswain growled again, "Answer me!"

Denise continued to struggle. First to speak, but then to breathe. The disc and rod assembly at the back of her skull prevented her from pulling her head away, and the brackets on her wrists kept her from rising. Although she strained to do both.

"I still can't hear you," the Boatswain said, watching Denise's face turn red and her eyes bulge. Repeatedly she tried to speak, but all that came out was a muffled, "Ouu old eee awl ou oasum."

Even Hammer (a.k.a. Number One) was starting to get worried, but as he took a step forward, the Boatswain twisted his neck to look at him. With the eye on the side of his face that Denise could not see, he winked.

At long last, just when Denise feared she was going to pass out from lack of oxygen, the Boatswain stepped back. Air rushed into her burning lungs. She repetitively took deep, much needed breaths, coughing all the time. At last she looked back up at him and said, "I'm . . . I'm sorry, Boatswain. It . . . it won't happen again."

"It had better not," he answered, putting his cock back inside her mouth. "Now get back to blowing me."

He turned the machine on again and as before her head and shoulders were moving back and forth, while her cheeks were caved in from sucking.

When it was Number One's turn to replace the Boatswain, he was still a little rattled by what had transpired between the other two. However, after a minute or so of Denise trying to get him off with her mouth, the incident faded from his mind and all he could think of was that blonde head lurching forward and backward. Those lips milking his dick. That tongue swirling around his glans.

After another twenty minutes of non-stop, non-controllable fellatio on Denise's part, the Boatswain adjusted the speed again, craning it up even faster. "I think I'm going to dump my load into this bitch's mouth," he said to Number One who nodded in agreement. Like the Boatswain, he was ready to get his nut as well.

Denise's eyes widen as she felt her head being snatched around like a rag doll. Drool was dribbling down from her mouth and she was making loud gurgling noises. Rocking back and forth on his heels, the Boatswain matched the movements of the machine as he exploded inside Denise's mouth, shooting out his pent up cum. The Professor could do nothing but swallow. And swallow. And swallow.

When the Boatswain's balls were empty, he stepped back and was immediately replaced by Number One. It only took a few quick strokes of the machine before he was cradling Denise's head, his hips moving along with her mouth, and his cock ejaculating down her throat.

Even though both men were now drained, the woman continued to have her head pushed and pulled back and forth. It took the Boatswain a few moments to realize this and once he did, he killed the power switch. Denise took the opportunity to catch her breath and regain control of herself. As she thought about what had just happened, she wondered when they were going to remove the head harness and release her wrists. But she did not ask. She had the feeling that in these sessions, she was not supposed to speak unless spoken to.

She began to feel a certain pride that she had made it through the ordeal.

But the session was not over.

The Boatswain was busy digging through his leather overnight bag. Finding what he was looking for, he held it aloft in triumph then passed the item to Number One. It was the vibrator he had used on Linda last night. Or one like it.

Inserting the plug into the same outlet the blowjob machine was connected to, he uncoiled the cord and moved around to the front of Denise. Her blue eyes stared transfixed at the object. She knew exactly what it was. And what he was going to do with it.

Pushing the switch to the 'on' position, Number One sat down on one of the boxes he and the Boatswain had stood on. As the device came noisily to life, he moved it towards Denise's pussy. A pussy that was glistening with wetness. He had to smile at that.

"Oh, sweet blessed water!" she cried out using a Martian idiom when the buzzing rubberized head made contact. Her fingers curled into claws and she tried to lean forward but was restrained by her head harness. Her thighs quivered violently and she half-lifted her bottom from the small bench.

"Fuck-fuck-fuck," she sobbed, trying to shake her restrained head as her orgasm hit her. Even the Boatswain was impressed by the speed of her first orgasm. He walked over, reaching down to grab a handful of one large breast, squeezing into the heavy globe as Denise's body shook and convulsed.

When she had calmed down and sat there panting, the Boatswain stepped away, leaving Number One to work on her alone. Once Number One had judged Denise to be back to normal, he waited until she looked up into his eyes before bringing the vibrator forward to touch her nether regions.

"OH YES!" she yelled, trying to throw her head back but unable to do so. Although her head and hands were restrained, the rest of her body was not and it looked as if she was having a seizure. Every muscle was tense and she again partially lifted her buttocks from the bench.

The Boatswain strolled over to the drink tray. His martini was warm by now, of course, but he belted it back anyway. Then poured another one from the pitcher coated with condensation. Sipping the clear liquid, he calmly watched as Professor Sandstorm of the prestigious Asimov University had one orgasm after another.

By the time Number One concluded that she had about reached her limit, Denise was a shaking, sweat-drenched, quivering mass of frayed nerves and exhaustion.