Horizontal, face down

You hear the girls whispering in that catty, teeny way with the obligatory glances that makes it clear that you're the topic of conversation, stirring deep-rooted dread from your own awkward youth. Any fight or flight instinct triggered however are denied by the dark oak wood blocks restraining your hands and feet. The only body parts this device permits you to move are your hips, and then the leather seat behind your back and rear only barely allows you to buckle forward. From what you've gathered that is very much intended; thrusting into the female user while preventing the detainee from pulling out.

As if they've spotted your train of thought, the girls have finished plotting and both move to each of your side. Minxy kneels and reaches behind the seat to pull out two leather belts, using them to fasten your upper thighs to the bench. Big Lindsey has similarly pulled a wider belt across your torso and in no time you're completely and utterly helpless. You're fortunately distracted from initial rush of claustrophobia when Minxy starts running her hands possessively, manically up and down your body, her eyes glowing with eagerness. You get the sense that she has been fantasizing about this exact moment for a while.

Nearly skipping giddily Minxy pulls her attention from you to a book on the antique dresser. A manual, you realize as she instructs Big Lindsey on which levers to turn. The contraption groans and shudders and then you're overwhelmed with vertigo as the bench behind your back suddenly lurches backwards. For a moment you feel like the back of your head is about to hit the floor, but instead you continue spinning until you finally come to a halt staring into the carpeted floor. As the disorientation abates, you realize you're suspended horizontally face down at waist height.

The girls squeal, cheer and clap with delight as they walk around you inspecting your exposed position. As Big Lindsey reaches through the brass cogwork to grasp your cock, you can barely suppress the moan. The position seems to all about presenting you for milking, and the height lets her comfortably work her hand in downward squeezes. Despite recently coming, your cock seems to take well to the treatment, pulsing eagerly in her hand with each pleasurable pull. The amazonic girl doesn't seem to need any encouragement but quickly finds a moderate rhythm -- fast enough that you can actively feel the orgasm building, but slow enough that it perpetually feels way off. Grip strength is never something you've considered in a sexual context, but as her warm fist continues its unrelenting milking, you could swear that you can map her well built built lower arms just through her strong fingers. As she goes on, the split second between your dick springs free of her grip and gets grab again grows only more unbearable. You find yourself waiting timing your breathing to the rhythm of the hand job, with a relieved groan each time your feel her fingers reattach to the base, worried that any second she will leave you dangling.

Just as you're wondering how this could grow any more intense, any more pleasurable, any more deliciously humiliating, your eyes focus and you're realize that you're staring down into Minxy's beaming face. You blink. Her smile is impish, her eyes are devouring your exposed form and blissed out expression. To your surprise, you realize that the lower part of the bench and what was the foot rest has remained in place, providing a seat that lets the short stack sexbomb recline comfortably below you, but you can tell from the glint in her eye that she won't be satisfied with watching for long.