Polly Weenie had put away her spell crop as they came down the stone steps after the
kitchen wall had closed automatically behind them.  Now, it was in her hand again. 
Peter’s protests went unheeded, and with no more than a twitch of her fingers, Peter’s
clothes flew from him and across the room.  They hovered briefly over a wooden trunk that
opened to receive them, folded themselves neatly and then settled into the trunk.  It
closed, and a solid metal band sprung around the trunk to lock it securely.

“Hey!”  Peter tried to cover himself with his hands.

“Don’t be a silly boy,” Mrs Weenie admonished him, and with another flick of her spell
crop, Peter’s arms and legs were spread out, star-like as though he were already tied
spread-eagled to one of the restraining points or devices in her dungeon.  He was unable
to move.

Mrs Weenie walked towards him, looking him up and down.  “You’ll have to do better than
that,” she told him.

“What?” asked Peter weakly.

“That,” said Mrs Weenie again, and this time she flicked the end of his limp penis with
her spell crop.

“I don’t think...  I mean, I can’t...  I mean it’s not...

Mrs Weenie raised her eyebrows.  “Perhaps you need a little stimulation,” she suggested. 
“Now, I wonder what would work best?”

“It’s not that,” stuttered Peter, completely at a loss for what to say.  “It’s only that
I...”

“You’re still tired from the battle in Asfixi-by-Mooning?” suggested Mrs Weenie.

“Yes, I am rather,” agreed Peter, relieved to have a reasonable explanation.

“That’s not a problem,” she told him.  “We’ll just carry on, and see what comes up
later.”  She smiled affectionately at him.

Peter stifled a groan, but Mrs Weenie did not seem to notice.  With another flick of her
spell crop, Peter felt himself being pulled across the room, lifted into the air, and then
lowered gently onto one of the low padded tables, still in a spread-eagled position. 
Strong leather cuffs buckled around his wrists and ankles, holding him in place.

Mrs Weenie gazed intently at his still limp penis.  “What a pity,” she mused.  “Still, I
do like this.  It’s what makes you unique, Peter.”

She reached towards him.  Peter thought for a moment she was going to grasp his limp
penis, but instead she pressed her fingers into the clump of green hair just to the right
of his genitals shaped exactly like a peacock and stroked it for a few seconds before
stepping back.

“We’ll start with something you know all about,” said Mrs Weenie happily.  “I’ll add a
little extra, just so you have a taste of some of the real excitement.”

She went over to the wall and selected a small, complicated metal device from among the
dozens of instruments and contraptions hanging there.  Peter was unable to see it clearly,
although the moment she returned he had no doubt about which part of his anatomy it was
designed to fit.  Deftly, she attached it around his genitals, tightened it, and snapped
the enclosure shut to encase his parts securely.

“Excellent,” she declared.  “By the time we take that off, you’ll be absolutely
desperate.  It will stop any stiffness quite effectively until I’m ready for you.  You’d
be surprised how much more potent you’ll be when you’ve been denied it for a few hours.”

“A few hours!”  Peter struggled against the straps that held him firmly.

“Absolutely perfect,” Mrs Weenie smiled cheerfully.  “I’m so ready to start, Peter.  You
have no idea how much I’ve missed our little sessions while you were away at Fessewarts. 
Now we’re down here, we don’t need to worry about anyone hearing us or interrupting us. 
There’s no need to hurry anything.  No one will bother us.  No one except Wally even knows
about it, and he certainly won’t want to spoil my fun!”

She clambered up onto the padded table, lifted her long dark skirt a little to give
herself more freedom of movement, and knelt astride him.  She twisted for a moment, and
tapped the device locked onto him smartly with her spell crop.  At once, Peter felt a deep
tingling as though electricity was running through his groin.  At the same time, he felt
the beginnings of an erection, prevented from growing to full arousal by the metal cage
encasing it.  He groaned in discomfort.

Mrs Weenie raised her skirt much higher.  Peter was not surprised to see that she wore
nothing underneath.  He knew what was coming.  She moved forward until she was kneeling
astride his face, and slowly she descended onto him.

It was far from being the first time that Mrs Weenie had sat on Peter, but never had it
been anything like Peter now experienced.  Her thighs closed around the sides of his face,
feeling as though he was being swallowed up.  She moved forward a little further, and what
remained of Peter’s face as yet unobscured by the flesh of her thighs, was plunged into a
yielding, damp mass that seemed to suck at him to draw him more deeply into her.  Within
seconds, the dampness became wetness.  Peter was already holding his breath, knowing the
hopelessness of trying to breathe while she was on top of him like this.  If he had tried
to breathe at this point, he would have been choking and spluttering on the streams of
moisture that flowed from her.

Mrs Weenie gave a deep sigh of pleasure.  She shifted her position and pressed down,
although without putting any additional pressure on Peter her weight alone was enough to
make him feel that the bones in his face would break at any moment.  The padded table was
far less yielding than the beds on which Mrs Weenie had previously conducted such
activities on top of him.  He struggled as much as the straps holding his wrists and
ankles would allow, trying desperately to move his head enough to relieve the pressure on
his face and, most of all, to breathe.

It was a mistake.  Had he remained motionless, Mrs Weenie would undoubtedly have started
her usual up-and-down or back-and-forth movement that would eventually take her to climax.
 Peter knew that during those movements he would be able to snatch quick breaths of air
but, by pure chance, something quite different happened as he struggled.

“Oh Peter!” Mrs Weenie groaned.  “You are such a wonderful young wizard.  Where did you
ever learn to do that?”

Peter would have replied that he had never learned to do anything, and that he was quite
sure that anything he might have done was entirely unintentional.  No words escaped the
clinging flesh over and around him.

“Oh Peter!” said Mrs Weenie again, and this time it was more of a squeal than a groan. 
She reached down and grasped the back of his head in both hands, pulling with all her
strength and pushing down with her body.  The pressure on Peter’s face was intense, and he
felt as though he was being consumed totally into her.  He could not see, nor speak, nor
breathe, and Mrs Weenie was now flexing her body back and forth without relaxing her grip
on him…