Mister Samson's Cellar

It started when I sat on Mister Samson's hand and it ended when I sat on Mister Samson's machine. Both times I had soul crushing orgasms.

When I sat on his hand it was my first time feeling that cramping rush through my core and when I sat on his machine ... well, I'm still feeling that and I want to never stop feeling it but I know it will end very soon. I can already feel all the swallowed cum burbling up my gullet.

I watched the video of when it ended for Cindy as she humped Mister Samson's special machine and her orgasm was gut-wrenching and went on for so long before she gagged and flopped onto her belly while the machine kept on buzzing inside her.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Mister Samson is a strange but friendly man who lives in the building next door. He is the only one who lives there but he has many visitors, especially late at night. On some nights I hear loud sexy noises from his cellar. Noises girls make when they are having incredible orgasms.

Mister Samson knows a lot about giving girls orgasms. I know because he'd end up giving me lots.

I was curious about the girls I could hear in his cellar when I left my bedroom window open on warm nights. I live on the first floor of our building with my mom, and she works a lot to pay our rent and feed us, so I'm home alone most times.

Though I'd never had sex with anyone other than myself, hearing those girls at night while mom was at work made me horny and I'd rub my button as I lay in bed listening to them. Most of those girls in Mister Samson's cellar made desperate, exciting sounds so I knew they were even hornier than I got listening to them and they always had orgasms that made them scream. Especially when I heard Mister Samson's machine humming.

Sometimes I forced myself to stay awake until dawn so I could watch the girls leave in the morning. Not all of them left, but those who did walked on trembling legs and looked sweaty and exhausted.

I wanted orgasms that made my legs tremble and left me sweaty and exhausted, and because those girls left Mister Samson's cellar just as the sun started to come up I knew I could be back in my own bed before mom got home from her night shift.

One night I watched my friend Cindy go into Mister Samson's building late one night and she was like those other girls when she left hours later; sweaty and exhausted walking on weak, shaky legs.

So I asked her what happens in Mister Samson's cellar as we sat on my front stoop one afternoon. I noticed she had a little potbelly that she palpated and as she did her sex smell grew strong and her eyes got dreamy.

"You don't want to know." she told me and I wondered why she looked scared despite being horny.

"But I do want to know." I told her, "I heard you having orgasms when you were there two nights ago. They made you scream."

"That's not all that makes girls scream in that cellar." she said, "All us girls take turns doing things until we can't anymore."

"I don't understand."

"You don't want to." she said, then looked up into my eyes as tears flowed down her pale cheeks, "I can't stop, Megan. I tried, but I just can't stop."

"It feels that good?"

"God help me, yes." she said, wiping snot from her upper lip with the back of her hand, "It feels so good you'd rather die than stop. And that's what he wants."

"Mister Samson makes you want to die?"

Cindy tensed up then and looked away.

"Don't ask me anymore questions." she said standing up, "Just stay away from Mister Samson's cellar." and she was gone, her hand massaging her little potbelly.

I never saw her again and the neighbourhood gossips said she was pregnant and ran away from home with a boy she'd met.

But no matter what Cindy said, I still wanted to know what went on in that cellar and one day I saw Mister Samson sitting on a bench between his building and the one I lived in. It was a private little bench under an awning that no one could see from above. Beside it was the narrow stairwell that led to his cellar.

"Hi Mister Samson." I greeted him, dressed in a short skirt and tight top I wore because I was feeling naughty.

"Hello Megan." he said, his eyes rising from my feet, up my long legs, my tight belly, breasts and face. It felt good him looking at me like that as the orgasmic screams I heard from his cellar the night before still echoed in my mind.

"How are you?" I asked.

"I'm well." he said, "More important; how are you?"

"I'm good too."

"Cindy told me you were curious before she left us." he said as he stroked his knuckles softly up my thigh.

"She told you?"

"Yes. She said you wanted to know what went on in my cellar."

"She said it was so good she couldn't stop doing it."

"That's true, none of the girls can stop once they start."

"How many girls are there?"

"Over the years, dozens and dozens, but only three or four at a time."

"But Cindy said none of them can stop."

"Everything comes to an end eventually" Mister Samson smiled, "But all my girls crave that ending. That final, spectacular, orgasmic end that carries each girl through the remainder of her life."

"A life long orgasm?"

"A very long one that's more precious than life itself." Mister Samson said softly, lovingly, "Have you ever had an orgasm, Megan?"

I blushed and looked down at my sneakers and shrugged.

"You try though don't you?"

I shrugged again.

"Come now, Megan, tell the truth." he looked up into my eyes, "I've watched you try so hard in your little lonely bed, but it just won't happen, will it?"

"I want it to, so much."

"Of course you do." he said, sliding his hand up the side of my leg under my skirt, "Do you want it to happen right now?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat, feeling excitement building low inside my belly.

"... yes ..." I whispered.

He lifted his other hand and held a tablet between his finger and thumb.

"Let this melt under your tongue." he said.

I was nervous, but I opened my mouth and lifted my tongue, then closed it as I felt it start to dissolve.

Mister Samson hooked a hand behind my upper thigh as he rose, turning me toward the stairwell.

"Come with me, sweet Megan." he said softly, "I want to give you orgasms that will make you scream."

"I'm scared." I whimpered as I looked down into that deep stairwell.

"All the girls are scared the first time." he said, "But they always come back. They never stop coming back."

I let him guide me down the steep stairs and opened a steel door into the cellar, half like a kitchen and the other half with a packed clay floor. His cellar smelled of dirt and pee and sweat and sex and those smells were exotic and arousing all blended together. He sat on a chair and pulled me close.

"Peel off your underpants." he said as he laid his right hand palm up on his thigh, and I slid my underpants down my legs and stepped out of them.

"Now sit down on my hand." and I did that too, stepping my feet apart and lowering my crotch onto his warm, soft hand. Whatever had dissolved under my tongue was flowing through my body, making my nipples pucker and tighten, making my skin dimple with shiver-bumps, and making the sex meat cradled low in my pelvis awaken and throb nicely.

I felt his fingers moving, then sliding inside me; tight inside my puss, stretching my opening sweetly. Then I felt them curl and begin to move and as they did I felt my lower belly loosening around his fingers, felt myself opening, my belly hungry for what that hand could do inside me.

I was growing so horny, so wet and slick, his fingers working deeper inside me, and I wanted to feel more.

"Let it happen, Megan." he whispered in my ear, his breath warm and thrilling, "You know you want it, just open your body and let me inside."

It was like I was being hypnotized; not just my mind, but my body as well. My crotch was expanding around his fingers and I knew what he wanted to do to me and knew that I wanted him to do it. I'd never heard of such a thing happening before, but I knew babies stretched pregnant girls open wider than a man's hand ever could so I knew I could do it.

"Was Cindy really pregnant?" I gasped as I ground myself on his hand.

"No."

"And she did this before?"

"She did it lots of times even after her belly started to swell." Mister Samson whispered in my ear, "It's just one of the wonderful things that makes girls scream in my cellar."

"I want it." I gasped, "I want it all."

"Then take it, Megan."

And I did.

I felt my puss open like a miracle and felt his knuckles squeeze inside me. I felt my opening close down on his wrist as he made a fist in my lower belly and began to move it, curling it, grinding against something that had never been touched before.

"Oh Mister Samson." I moaned.

"It's going to happen now Megan." he told me, "Just let it happen."

And it did happen.

It was like a slow wet explosion of pleasure in the pit of my lower belly. I felt myself humping his fist and crying out like an animal as my first orgasm ever swelled large inside me. It felt like my belly was loose and pliable as I humped and cried out, lost in an overwhelming ecstasy that I had never imagined. I don't know how much time passed as that frantic storm raged inside me but in the middle of it I curled forward and Mister Samson kept working inside me as I sicked-up on the floor and even that felt better than anything had ever before; it felt like an orgasm gurgling up my gullet as I spewed. I rode his fist until darkness swallowed me.

I awoke in his arms, sobbing weakly, trembling and feeling deliciously loose and empty.

"... I threw up ..." I whimpered.

"Shh, sweet Megan." he soothed me, "Most girls throw up their first time and some during their last time. It's a shock to the body to feel such intense pleasure. It felt good?"

"... yes ... oh yes ..."

"Do you want to feel it again?"

I nodded, my forehead against his shoulder.

"Do you want to feel more and more?"

"I do." I sighed, beginning to understand what Cindy meant when she said she couldn't stop.

It's been six months; six months of bliss in Mister Samson's cellar, each visit delivering more and more pleasure. There are always other girls there and other men as well and we all do things to each other and have things done to our bodies that I never would have known about on my own.

After that first visit, instead of tablets, Mister Samson used a needle to inject me deep in my lower belly like the other girls. I could feel it hot inside my baby pocket and I got hornier than I'd ever been each time, and came harder than I ever had before, and when I walked home on trembling legs in the morning I had a growing potbelly that felt good when I pressed on it.

I wanted more.

The bellies of all us girls who come to the cellar grow larger over time. It's a side effect of the injections Mister Samson gives us that make us so horny. The injections he gives us in the core of our sex send our lust into hyperdrive make the sex organs inside us swell more and more. My own baby pocket is a heavy ball in the cradle of my belly the size of a melon now and I haven't had my period since I started this.

I wear loose dresses so my mom doesn't notice.

One day Mister Samson showed me a video.

It was Cindy riding Mister Samson's machine.

Cindy begged Mister Samson to let her ride it with her potbelly large and firm.

What I saw in that video sent chills up my back but made me horny at the same time; Cindy was being played with by two other girls as she took her orgasmic ride on the buzzing machine. Claire was the girl leaning over her and playing with her nipples from behind, and Marcie the girl who worked the controls and triggered the thing that shocked Cindy into her final spectacular orgasm; an orgasm that gripped her so tightly she couldn't scream anymore.

It seemed like Cindy's ecstasy would never end, but at last I watched her flop forward like she was having a seizure and she never woke up.

"Cindy felt things unimaginable." Mister Samson told me.

"I know." I said, already trembling.

"Do you want to ride the machine, Megan?"

"I want to, but I'm scared."

"You won't be scared when it's inside you." he said as he massaged my firm, round lower belly, "You'll want it to happen."

His belly massage was making me so horny, but the vision of what happened to Cindy played on in my mind.

"Your belly is so full, so tight." his voice was becoming hypnotic as he pressed deep on my lump, "So much pressure."

"Yes." I whimpered.

"Imagine that as the best orgasm you've ever had makes your belly swell even more and you feel all that sweet pressure release."

I can still see Cindy's expression of frantic ecstasy when Marcie triggered the machine and her final orgasm took her.

"Yes!" I gasp as my pelvis curls and I cum and pee myself.

"When you want to feel what Cindy felt, you just tell me." Mister Samson said, "Marcie told me she wants it, so tonight she's going to ride the machine."

That night it was a full house in Mister Samson's cellar, us girls got played with by his men visitors and we all sucked cocks down our gullets until we choked on cum until Mister Samson said the main event was about to start.

I watched Marcie straddle the machine and Mister Samson turned it on. It was loud and shook like hell as Marcie lowered herself on a large knob that looked way too big to fit inside her but she managed it and smiled as her puss closed over the peg that held it. I watched her belly swallow it as it hammered her insides and she got all desperate and wide-eyed. We could tell she was cumming right from the start and she rode the machine as long as she could stand. When she got desperate and leaned forward like she was supposed to she started cumming like a wild thing and cried out; "DO IT!" and Mister Samson did it and she came as hard as Cindy did. I listened to her scream and shudder at the sudden release of pressure from her swollen belly and flopped forward like Cindy did, still twitching and cumming as she gurgled up the cum she'd swallowed, then slumped and Mister Samson turned the machine off as she kept leaking.

After that night no one saw Marcie again, but we all knew where she went.

As I was leaving Mister Samson's cellar this morning on wobbly legs I told him I wanted to ride his machine tonight after all.

God help me, I want to ride it like Cindy, like Marcie, like all the girls before and those to come.

And now it's nighttime I'm lifting my left leg over the saddle of the machine and letting my sex press down on the fat hard knob. I'm wet and slippery because like all the other girls I let the men play with me for hours and let them all fuck me, their thrusting exciting my swollen belly and let them finish in my throat so I could fill my stomach with their cum. I had lots of nice orgasms tonight.

Mister Samson gave me a second injection before we got started on the machine so now I'm wanting to ride it more than anything. I want to feel that knob hammering inside me, feel that gushing relief as I have the biggest orgasm of my life.

The knob feels twice the size of Mister Samson's fist but as I let my weight settle I feel myself opening around it, stretching me wider than I've ever been stretched, but even that pain feels good. My sex feels like it should be squeaking as I sink down on the knob and all of a sudden it sinks deep and the pressure in my belly increases while my hole closes on the peg like it once did on his wrist.

Mister Samson turns the machine on then and I start to lose my mind.

The knob is hammering inside me, my belly bump and my insides jiggling madly as waves of orgasm flow through my body like fat thunderheads storming inside me. The pressure in my belly is growing tighter and making me want more and more and more. I don't need another girl to play with my tits and nipples, they tingle with pleasure all on their own. My thighs are quivering and my toes curling with sweet cramps.

I'm so aware of being watched; the men staring at me with eyes filled with hunger; the girls with envy and lust. I've learned to love being watched in my time in Mister Samson's cellar and if that makes me a slut I don't care; sharing this sexual insanity makes it feel all the better.

I know that Cindy didn't run away with a boy because she was pregnant, like I know what Mister Samson did with Marcie after she rode this machine. I watched him do it while one of the men fist-fucked me to orgasm over and over.

Neither of them left this cellar after they rode Mister Samson's machine and neither will I because my grave has already been dug in the packed clay floor on the other side of the cellar. Now as I scream with building orgasms I imagine that sudden orgasmic release of the pressure building inside me and how cozy my little grave will feel when it's over. He buries us all curled up, naked like innocent little girls.

Mister Samson was right when he said I wouldn't be scared when my time came and I'm not; It's time, and I'm ready.

I lean forward, pressing my rounded belly against the top of the saddle, steadying my weight on my trembling arms and Mister Samson lets my anticipation build a moment before he activates the final trigger.

The blade is honed so sharp and so smooth that as it flashes across the top of the saddle between my wide spread legs there is no pain, no tugging, just the sudden gush of all that pressure in my belly, and with it an explosive orgasm as everything slithers wetly out of me.

This orgasm makes me scream louder than ever, crying out; "Uh-huh! Uh-huh! Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!"

I feel the heavy wetness of my entrails slithering over my inner thighs. I feel my swollen sex organs heavy on the vibrating saddle. I feel my cum bloated stomach twitching as it hangs from gullet and I know when I flop forward I'm going to gurgle it all up as this orgasmic storm carries me away; sicking up like Cindy did; like Marcie did. A final gush of orgasmic ecstasy up my quivering gullet and past my flaccid lips

I'm never leaving Mister Samson's cellar.

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