Sarah was perturbed. She had not seen anything through the train windows for a long time. Indeed, she realised, she had seen nothing during the latter part of what had been a particularly dreary and tedious train journey. Of course it was dark, it was night after all, but surely there should be some light out there – a cottage perhaps with a homely yellow window, trackside signals, the headlights of cars on a road – but there had been nothing; just the steady rumble of steel wheels on track. A monotonous regular sound. Were they crossing a particularly empty piece of moorland, were they within a long cutting, perhaps travelling through a forest or simply traversing a singularly dreary and deserted tract of country?

It was eerie, it was unearthly, it was unnerving. Sarah’s black nylon clad knees held close together and she looked up and down the railway carriage but it too was strangely deserted — deserted, that is, but for the man seated opposite.

He was not large, not small, not old, not young, not fat, not thin, not dark, not grey. The man seemed almost defined by what he was not; a man of such ordinariness that it was surprising. His voice was almost accent less but might have been Scottish.

“They’ll have to come off you know.”

The sound of his voice broke the hypnotic regularity of the steel wheels on the track. It was almost an intrusion into her thoughts.

Sarah was puzzled and looked puzzled. The ordinary man had not said a word the whole journey. Why now and what would have to come off?


“Your clothing. Your clothes will have to come off.”

It was unexpected, such a strange thing to say out of the blue. What did he mean?

“I’m sorry?”

“Your clothes. They will have to come off if I am to examine you.”

Sarah was quite taken aback. She was not in a doctor’s surgery: quite the contrary, she was in a railway carriage. Should she get up and walk away?

“I really am sorry… I thought you said… are you a doctor?”

His head bent in affirmation.

“But I’m not unwell.”

“Good. I would not know about that.”

“But you said you wanted to examine me.”

“Oh… I see, my dear, but I’m not a medical doctor.”

The conversation was bizarre. Sarah thought it better to get up and move to another carriage. Outside the window was nothing; the train trundled on, making its steady way through the blackness. Inside was silence except for the steady sound of the wheels on the rails.

Sarah pressed the button but the door to the next carriage would not open. She tugged at the door but it would not budge.

The man nodded to Sarah as she walked back past him.

Diddly dum, diddly dum, diddly dum.

The door to the other carriage did not open either.

“They really will have to come off.”

He was not close behind her, not even standing in the aisle but his voice carried down the carriage. Sarah turned,

“Why? If you’re not a doctor why do you wish to examine me?”

There was a wrinkling of his forehead as if of puzzlement. “I enjoy the feel of the flesh of young ladies, particularly the intimate flesh and the moistness.”

Perturbation! Outside the darkness slipped by. It was impossible to judge the speed of the train, all she could hear was the regular rumble of the steel wheels on the track – an almost hypnotic sound.

What he had said was so creepy and yet so true. Sarah knew it.

She knew she would have to stand as he slowly undressed her like a Barbie doll; wait patiently and permit his fingers to move carefully over her body, touching and exploring before he did other things. And all the while the train would trundle through the darkness.

So long as the wheels kept up their steady sound she was helpless. If only the driver would apply the brakes, if only she could reach the Communication Cord; not that it was a cord these days but a handle behind glass and it was quite beyond her to reach for it. She could not do that.

What had he done – or the train done – to sap her will, make her subservient to his wishes and take away the power to act on her own volition?

“Why don’t you come back here?” He had stood and was looking back down the carriage at her.

She could but comply.

“I do so like tweed,” the man said feeling the material of her jacket’s lapels. “It drapes well.” His fingers stroked down the lapels and across her breasts. “A warm material; but we are lucky – it would have been unfortunate for us if the carriage had not been well heated. It would not do for you to get cold as you undress.”

It was warm but Sarah shivered. Why did she have to let him touch her? Why was she complying when he eased the jacket over her shoulders and folded it on a seat? The care he took with it surprised her – he did not simply drop it onto the seat but shook it out and carefully folded it to ensure there was not the slightest risk of a crease. His finger tips seeming to linger on the fabric before turning again and touching her blouse.

“Ah, Egyptian two fold cotton – so soft and such a pretty pale cream. You choose your clothes well. I would take great pleasure in helping you shop for clothes. A delightful day amongst the clothes racks and fitting rooms. Choosing and trying on. Decisions, decisions, decisions. A size 10 or perhaps 12? Somewhat in between, I should think, but don’t they vary just so much between one label and another? And who is this blouse by? May I unbutton? But of course I may.”

His chatter was in strong contrast to his earlier silence.

The first button, not the one at her collar – that button had not been done up – was undone. A little of her white lacy bra revealed; his fingers eased the next button and then the blouse was truly open, her cleavage spilling into the yellow light of the carriage; the light giving a slightly tanned look to the swell of her breasts above the cupping of the white lacy bra.

Sarah had rather expected the man’s fingers to move to her breasts. She knew this would happen but it seemed the man was in no hurry as his fingers continued to carefully undo the buttons of her blouse, easing the mother of pearl through the eyelets, his nail drawing the material to one side to let a button slip through. A slight tug and the tail of one end of the blouse slipped up within her skirt followed by the other tail so the blouse swung open.

“It is surprising – perhaps – how pretty tummies and the tummy button is. Such a pointless leftover from birth but there it remains; the navel; a funny little dip perhaps useful for adorning with a jewel or drinking fine claret from – but what else? It would have been so much more sensible of nature, really, to have put the vaginal opening there rather than tucked it away between the legs don’t you think?”

That thought had never occurred to Sarah any more than permitting a stranger to undress her on a railway train would have come into her mind. Outside, the dark was impenetrable; there was nothing there, her world had shrunk to the railway carriage, the man and the rolling steel wheels with their steady rhythm.

The neat pile grew.

He seemed content to leave her bra alone as his hands moved to her skirt. The tweed matched the jacket – a suit from Jaeger he had noted with approval. His fingers eased the skirt around her waist, rotating it until the twin buttons and zip were before him.

“It is a lovely tweed. It sets off your hair so well. Did that seduce you into purchase? I wonder if your other hair will match or if it is a slightly different hue? We shall see — in good time.”

The musing was strange, was he speaking to her or himself? And disturbing; an unsettling interest in women’s clothing and her clothing in particular.

Carefully he hitched up his trousers and then knelt in front of her, his face level with her hem. The man seemed completely unhurried in the undressing, no adolescent hurry to get the new girlfriend’s clothes off. He took his time with the buttons, first one and then the second; slowly slipping the zip down before stepping back to watch the tweed skirt slide to the floor and lie around her feet. It was the matter of seconds before her slip joined it leaving her standing in white lacy bra, green panties and black pantyhose.

He seemed a little disappointed in the pantyhose, a slight down turn of the mouth. Had he been expecting stockings and garters or a suspender belt – hardly the thing for the modern business woman. His fingers stroked the fine nylon mesh down her inner thigh,

“Hmmm, 15 or perhaps 20 denier – very sheer indeed.”

Carefully he picked up the skirt, having got Sarah to step out of it, shook it out and folded it neatly. His fastidiousness did him credit. Sarah could not imagine any man she might go out with being so careful.

“Perhaps, on reflection, the pantyhose and knickers should have come off first. Aesthetically pantyhose just does not cut the mustard. The idea of a woman naked beneath a fine skirt, particularly of such a pleasing tweed, is much more the erotic idea. I am sure you think the same of the man in a kilt, knowing that beneath all that pleated wool his tackle hangs free and easy. All you need to do is reach under the heavy material and… yes I think the same about a skirt. Think how much more pleasing, how much prettier it would have appeared if instead of black pantyhose the fluttering down of your skirt had revealed your womanly charms in all their nakedness.”

Sarah swallowed. Could he really be talking to her like this, discussing not just his own thoughts but what she might or might not find erotic?

The man began to ease the hose downwards bringing Sarah’s panties into full view unobscured by the nylon.

“Let’s take this off for now.”

Diddly dum, diddly dum, diddly dum. The regular sound of the steel wheels both held and soothed her. Sarah glanced at the window. There was no change in the soft blackness.

Sarah was puzzled. The man’s odd conversation had had an unexpected effect. She had been resigned to doing his bidding but the image of the Scotsman in a kilt had been strangely pleasing. As the pantyhose slowly slipped down her legs and in her mind as she stared at the blankness of the carriage window came an image of a Scotsman, almost a caricature with red bushy beard, kilt, sgian-dubh, ghillies, sporran and strong legs but what came strongest was the knowledge he was ‘commando’ under the kilt; she imagined him leaping with a similarly Celtic fellow in a wild sword dance; both kilts flying free and perhaps, just perhaps, the chance sighting of red, hairy ‘wedding tackle’ all a swing with the promise of a more intimate association later. A late night meeting, perhaps, with the two of them; she taking the initiative and unpinning their kilts; it was pleasing to imagine them pooling around their ankles in great folds of tartan material to reveal their matching red hairy hardness – all for her. Her hands reaching to grasp and hold…

Sarah was surprised at herself. Here she was about to be raped, presumably, and she was thinking of randy Scotsmen with big, big penises and getting wet in the process. She could feel the moisture coming. It would not do. She did not want to encourage the man. When would they come to a station, why were there no lights outside the carriage, why did the rumble of the wheels not stop? All she could see now in the blackness of the windows was not erect hairy Scotsman but herself reflected there in bra and panties. Something she might see in the mirror back in her flat but not on a train. How had this happened?

She had not expected it but the man picked up her skirt again and motioned for her to step into it. Why was he re-dressing her? She could but comply; the rumble of the steel wheels told her so.

Delicately his fingers pulled up the zip and tucked the buttons through their buttonholes one after another; he even smoothed the tweed down seeming to take great pleasure in the feel of the material on her thighs.

Standing he stood looking at her, Sarah dressed in frilly white bra and tweed skirt. Still modestly dressed — just.

“I think, now, the examination.”

Sarah swallowed. What was he about to do? His hands reached out and touched her either side of her ribcage. His fingers had touched her flesh before, an inevitability in the disrobing, but this was something more – much more. His fingers travelled upwards, running over the corrugations of her ribcage, over the strap of her bra right up into her armpits. It had never occurred to her that he would do that, indeed that the feel of a man’s fingers right up under her shoulders in the often damp indentation between upper arm and body could feel a violation – an intrusion into intimate space.

Carefully he lifted her arms up until her hands were held right over her head.

“You shave,”

It was matter of fact, but with a hint of sorrow. “I had hoped but… well; let us hope your razor has not been so effective lower down.” His fingers were caressing the smooth, hairless skin. It both tickled and appalled her. How dare he! If only she had kept working at her laptop; if only she had tried harder to finish that report rather than giving up and packing it away; perhaps if she had done that then she would not have been struck by the blackness outside the window and not noticed how very cut off from the world she had become; perhaps the laptop and her work would have kept the man from speaker to her; perhaps the laptop would have been a barrier and its quiet hum a defence against the steady steely rumbling of the wheels.

Gently he turned her so she faced back up the carriage. She could not see him but the feel of his fingers on her back were clear; fingers touching firstly the nodules of her backbone right down to where her skirt began, moving to her shoulder blades and ribcage before, with just the hint of a tug, undoing the double eyelets of her bra. Released, it fell forward. Sarah glanced down – she was almost falling out of it. It was uncomfortable holding her arms above her head.

A slight pull and push at her shoulders and Sarah knew she was to rotate once more and turn and face the man. Still with arms upraised she turned.

“You can bring your arms down, if you like.”

It was a choice but not much of one. She had not been given choices before. The rumble of the wheels had not allowed that. It was uncomfortable holding her arms up: if she brought them down her bra would probably fall. Not much of a choice. Her arms fell.

Her bra slipped forward off her shoulders onto her dropped arms exposing the rounded flesh of her breasts, the pale pink areolae and her little flat nipples. Sarah did not need to look down; she knew her own breasts well enough and knew what the man was seeing. It was awful, she had not wanted to show her body to him and let him, to use his word, examine her. And she knew what form that examination would ultimately take, it was not difficult to foresee, indeed it was clear to her what he would wish to probe her with and what cervical embrocation he would prescribe.

“Very nice, very nice. May I?”

It was not really a choice: the answer ‘no’ would not have done and Sarah said nothing as he lifted the warm, white lacy garment from her arms and carefully folded it, cup against cup and set it atop the pile of her clothes. Her eyes followed his actions. A man folding her undergarments, her intimate clothing, still warm from her body.

Once more he rotated her away from him but his hands did not move straight to her breasts, instead they went to her hair, removing hairgrips and slipping off the band of her ponytail so her severely restrained hair swung freely about her shoulder and neck. Like her breasts not even her hair was going to be permitted restraint.

Sarah stared ahead as the man carefully arranged her hair before his fingers slipped onto her shoulders and downwards. She knew what was coming and her nipples responded to the anticipation. How much better, so much, much better if it had been the Scotsman in a kilt behind her, his big hands slipping down her skin to hold her breasts as he pressed his, yes, big manhood into the crack of her bottom. Instead, this stranger, this ordinary man was about to touch and fondle. The fingers slid closer and then up and over her breasts.

He was close behind her, his hands enclosing her breasts but, unlike the kilted red bearded Scotsman, he did not press himself against her rump. He was cupping her breasts, feeling their weight, lifting one against the other as if judging which was the bigger. She hated the fact, and she could feel it, that her nipples had hardened to little peas in his palms. There was no hurry in what he did. It was as if he knew he had all the time in the world… but the journey could not go on forever. There must be a station; there must be an end to the endless blackness in the carriage windows.

The man turned her again and his fingers went to her breasts but this time where he could see them – yes, examine them. Not for him a grab and rough manipulation. He was slow and deliberate, taking great interest in the minutiae; a gentle unhurried examination with his finger tips just lightly touching her areolae, at first, teasing the nipples into greater prominence.

“Slightly elliptical, how charming and what a pretty wrinkleness to the areolae and such lovely little bumps – Montgomery glands don’t you know?”

Sarah didn’t. Nor did she like the way her nipples were standing.

The man spent long minutes on his examination, his fingers stroking, his nails just lightly brushing, his occasional words admiring and then he had Sarah walk up and back down the carriage so he could see how her breasts moved as she walked. The man tried bouncing them a little in his hands to repeat the movement of her walk. He seemed pleased with what he found.

Sarah had never had such compliments paid to her breasts. She was not flattered.

Kneeling once more she felt his hands within her skirt; hands up her skirt and on the smooth skin of her legs, fingers reaching for her panties; fingers slipping under the material, not to touch her most intimate areas but to gain purchase. Slowly the fingers pulled and slowly her panties came down, sliding down her thighs until, reaching her knees, they just fluttered to the floor, leaving her sex still hidden from view but unprotected by even a scrap of silk.

Standing the man began to undress. His own disrobing was not as slow as her own but as careful. The man made a separate pile of his own clothing on a seat, even folding his socks. Clearly not for him the absurdity of wearing short socks whilst naked and engaged in intercourse. His aesthetic sensibilities were obvious to Sarah as, indeed, was his lack of morality in relation to her. Sarah had expected the man to finish with his pants but it was his shirt he left until last, retaining a semblance of being clothed right to the end. Not in fact a real semblance of modesty, for very clearly, through the hanging tails of his shirt, poked the mauve, shiny, streamlined head of his erection. It was wet at the end – just touching her had clearly excited him greatly. Her eyes seemed drawn to it. Almost examining what she could see as much as he was examining her. The smoothness of the head, the purple band at the very edge of the glans, the wrinkled foreskin on the shaft and the pink slit at the very end which was seeping – ever so slightly. Her eyes stared. She knew what it might or could or, rather, would do to her.

All she was now wearing was her skirt – and he had taken that off before.

The wheels hummed on the steel rails and the train moved on through the darkness, a darkness Sarah could not fathom. There she was in a railway carriage heading north, naked but for a tweed skirt and alone but for a near naked man displaying the sexual arousal of the male. His arousal was not something she could miss sticking out hard, potent and surprisingly large. As he moved the shirt tails parted and the shaft came into view all craggy and veined; beneath it the hanging scrotum and testes swung.

It was now Sarah’s turn to kneel and she knew why she was doing that. The wheels told her.

She hated kneeling for a man, hated fellatio that way. She was not sure sexual intercourse was any the better either. Why did men do the penetrating and not the woman? Why was it that way round, making the woman the receiver, the penetratee? It seemed to emphasise the wrong subservience of women – as if it was in some way natural that the male was dominant. It was simply that he was usually the physically stronger – and did the penetrating of course. The semen had to pass from the man to the woman.

Sarah hated kneeling but she knew she must with her bare knees on the carpet.

The soft cotton of his shirt tails brushed her face, the smooth skin of his penis head touched her cheek. Warm and soft on her skin.

It was not that she was a stranger to fellatio; not as if she had not sucked on a penis before; not as if she had not felt the sudden invasion of her mouth by the hot, thick, salty fluid of a man; not as if she had not let that slip down her throat. Oh yes, she had swallowed: but that had all been of her own volition, her own choosing, in a loving relationship with boyfriends — and not kneeling. This was completely different.

It was coming closer, the smooth skin of the penis head sliding easily on her cheek towards her mouth until it touched her lips; lips still with the pale pink lipstick she had applied back at Kings Cross in London, back where the lights were bright and it was not just blackness outside. The man pushed, just a little and almost instinctively her lips parted and the tip of her tongue slid over them, wetting them but just catching the tip of the penis. The man would have felt the sudden soft rasp across his penis: she, in her turn, tasted a wet saltiness on her tongue.

He was watching. His eyes looking down as hers looked up at him.

She subservient; there to do the unnatural act; her mouth opened and she accepted the head; her lips sliding over the smooth dome. Sarah paused. She knew how much he was enjoying this both in terms of sensation and image. She, kneeling with naked breasts before him, his penis connected to her – the knob in her mouth but the long shaft visible – and her eyes looking up at him. Such a picture of erotic subservience – not her view of eroticism but it would be his.

The man was very much watching the gradual sliding in of his penis into her mouth, millimetre by millimetre. And it just kept sliding in, deeper and deeper, until it touched the back of her throat and Sarah gagged. The man withdrew. The penis now covered in her saliva; the spittle making it drip and look like it had actually come. It hadn’t – Sarah would have known.

“Oh dear. Are you comfortable with this?” His face had the look of concern.

The wheels hummed and Sarah looked up from the spittle coated penis right before her eyes, nodded once and opened her mouth again. Why had she done that? She was inviting him in. She was anything but comfortable with what she was doing.

The man moved forward and Sarah’s lips closed around the edge of the glans, holding just the shiny bulbous head within. It was smooth to the touch of her tongue; big in her mouth; she could not fold her tongue away to avoid it. Automatically her tongue moved, the bulb of his penis was there and she had to explore. The tip of her tongue finding the fraenum, the little ridge or ribbon of skin running from the underside of the glans penis to the shaft; she could feel its shape — feel the ribbon move as she pushed at it. She knew men were sensitive there. She had done that before. Perhaps she could make the man release his semen before he moved to sexual intercourse – as he inevitably would. It seemed the better choice.

Her work became vigorous. A sliding, slurping, sucking on his cock. Action meant to produce a result.

“No, no, my dear. More daintily. That is not right at all. A very gentle toying. A lovely lingering pre-cursor to intercourse. A subtle teasing of the penis and a pleasure for you.”

Sarah stopped; her plan awry. Slowly she let her lips slide up the shaft, the knob slipping deeper as the man watched and smiled; and then, when she thought she could take no more, a slow withdrawal until the penis left her mouth. It bounced upwards, the wet head knocking against her nose.

The man stepped back and looked down at the kneeling girl. Her naked knees upon the carriage carpet, her sex modestly covered by her tweed skirt but naked from the waist up; her breasts very visible. He smiled and put out his hands to help her up.

“The rest of the examination now, I think. The table perhaps would be useful.”

Gently he turned her and she felt his hands at her waist, undoing the clasp of her skirt, easing the buttons through their holes ready to release the last vestige of modesty and leave her naked. The zip moved down and all that was protecting her were his hands holding the waist of her skirt. Not even the swell of her hips could hold it – if he released it.

His hands let go and the skirt fell, the course material slipping down her thighs. Sarah stepped out of it. She was doing his bidding. Why?

Instead of a sudden grasp of her naked buttocks, the man seemed more concerned to fold her tweed skirt and add it to the neat pile of clothes. Sarah waited and then a gentle pat on her behind propelled her forward to the table.

“If perhaps you could lie down?”

Sarah knew it was not really a request; there was no option but to settle her bottom on its edge and lie back with the top of her head touching the window glass – touching the glass which revealed nothing but blackness. It was cold on her head and she moved fractionally forward, moving her sex closer to him, and then, as she knew she must, raised her legs up until she could rest her feet on the edge of the table leaving her legs wide splayed and her sex as open for inspection as it possibly could be.

Unhurried and with his usual care the man now removed his shirt, folding it neatly on his pile of clothes before turning to look closely at her.

He had not yet touched her there, his fingers had not yet felt between her legs, had not yet stroked her intimate flesh nor slipped into her sex. Sarah braced herself for what was to come and what would follow.

Once more there was no hurry on the part of the man. He stood for a time just looking, occasionally moving in closer to examine something more closely. There was no let up in his erection. He was standing looking, completely naked and with what Sarah had to accept was a very presentable, large erection.

Sarah tried to think of anything: anything but what was happening but her mind kept slipping back to the dark windows and the steady rumble of the moving train. The sound was soothing, the blackness a comfort – no one could see her so exposed with her legs so wide.

It was not the touch of his fingers but the sudden soft hint of his breath on her sex, as he looked closely, that did it. All at once she felt a greater arousal, a feeling of real wetness coming to her sex as her body secreted lubrication, a stronger feeling in her already hard nipples. Sarah could not believe what her body was doing. It seemed a betrayal.

The man’s fingers finally touched – not her sex but the soft inner thighs; places no man should touch without permission. His fingers stroked.

“Soft, very soft.”

It was wonderful, the sensation, but the reality, the cold reality of being exposed to and touched by a stranger was quite different. Her body craved sexual gratification: her mind desperate to escape.

His fingers came up her thighs and rested in the creases between thighs and mons veneris – twixt skin and curly pubic hair. They lingered in the sensitive crack just before where her sex begun. Clearly he was examining, looking closely at her sex. She had never watched herself in a mirror but were her lips really puffing up with blood as he watched; could he really see a change in her sex as he watched; see her body involuntarily and definitely without her permission preparing itself for intercourse? He seemed to be waiting. Sarah tried her hardness not to move; not to give even the hint of a squirm; not to give any clue that she would like his fingers to touch her.

“Your curls do indeed perfectly match your hair. Unusual. So often they come a little darker though sometimes these charming little curls do come a shade lighter.” His fingers moved lightly through her thicket seeking the little divide, the slit of a girl. “Very soft too – sometimes pubic hair is just so wiry. And here is your little valley.”

Sarah knew he could see where it lead; knew he could see everything. There was no real need for his fingers to explore to discover what was there like they might in a darkened bedroom or if delving into the unzipped jeans of a girl: all was exposed and revealed and he could put his finger straight on whatever he wished. And, awfully, Sarah wished he would. Her body wanted the man to put his finger on her clit and diddle it. She knew her clit was standing – standing like his penis – all wet, red and inflamed. She wanted his fingers touching it, stroking it, pulling gently at it, rolling it between his fingers – just frigging the sodden thing.

She could not help it, her body was not quite still and her tongue kept licking her lips. He could not but see this evidence of her arousal and, of course, the man could already see her wetness and the rising scent too was unmistakeable – a woman in heat.

The man’s fingers slipped down the little divide and ventured out into the wet marshlands of her sex. The searching fingers skirted the little hillock and explored the wet folds, pulling up and out the wet slippery labia minor. His finger work was delicate, exacting and very noticeable.

“Excellent, like the wings of a butterfly, and so long. I should have examined them as you stood and when they were hanging below you but I did not know; did not imagine. Wonderful, I can actually make them flap like wings.”

And he did, holding them separately in his fingers and moving them. It was both exquisite and awful at the same time.

The man seemed like a little schoolboy playing with a new discovery – and somewhat that was what he was – though perhaps more an adult collector of adult things. Despite the shuddering pleasure of his actions, Sarah was steeling herself for what would come. Like the butterfly in the Lepidopterist’s collection she was about to be pinned, not literally with a silver pin through her breast, but with the unwelcome long pin of his penis entering her body rather lower down and pinning her to the table.

To Sarah it felt like a pool of wetness had come between her legs – as it occasionally did – was she dripping on the table? In her prone position she could not see. She was amazed and disappointed at her body’s own excitement. She was enjoying being felt so much more than she could have conceived.

“And here we have your special passage.”

It was if he was explaining, demonstrating her naked body to an audience.

His fingers circled.

“No babies yet, I think but…”

A finger slipped in. Such an intrusion.

“… hardly virginal. You have been mounted?”

It was an odd, animal husbandry term, as if she had to be lead to the stallion or bull to be served rather than being a free woman to do as she willed and choose who she did or did not sleep with.


The word escaped her. Sarah had to answer him and do what he willed.




“Four.” She hoped he would not ask about them. Not about the second.

As he talked he kept inserting more fingers. Sarah was slippery and wet and could accommodate but how awful to have this stranger doing this – how awful it would have been had it not actually felt so good? It felt almost like having a cock inside. And he moved his fingers in and out like a cock. It felt good; if only he would touch her clit as well then she might just come.

He was playing with her, playing with her sex, enjoying watching his fingers opening her, seeing how he could stretch her.

Of course he did come to her clit. Fingers withdrew from her vagina; at least the fingers of one hand withdrew whilst others stayed and, excruciatingly slowly, they moved across her sex until almost there.

“Please.” How awful. What she had been thinking had escaped from her lips. Why not go the whole hog and say, ‘please fuck me.’ It was what her body – but not her mind – wanted.

He obliged and he was expert. Perhaps it was just him examining – pulling her little button this way and that – but it was wonderful; so wonderful that Sarah’s orgasm came easily as she lay on the hard table, exposed and with a stranger manipulating her.

As she shuddered through what was an exceptional orgasm Sarah was conscious of the man watching her face. Was this actually part of his examination? An inspection of a girl in the throes of coming?

“Excellent, excellent.”

Lying on the table she looked up at him, framed between her wide splayed thighs and so plainly in view, rising above her own curly and now rather damp pubic hair, was his erection. It rather dominated her view. Sarah was sure it would now disappear – within her.

But no: he made her get up, turn around and kneel on the table with bottom raised and knees on the hard surface. Not easy as her legs felt a little jelly like from her barely completed orgasm. The man had clearly not finished his examination. Quite awfully he was inspecting her bottom and not simply the smooth roundness of her cheeks but the divide. In the position she was in her anus was totally exposed to view – was this stranger allowing her no modesty? Worse did he plan to bugger her? Would his fingers now toy with her anal sphincter and then attempt to insert his erection. Sarah felt awful but there was nothing she could do. No way she could stop him. His hands were stroking her cheeks, feeling their way across the smooth skin, she braced herself for the touch of a finger on her bottom hole. Could he actually see her clenching her muscle, would the tightening of her anal orifice be visible to his eye?

With eyes tight shut she waited but the touch never came. It was not that his stroking fingers did not come close: but not that close. Instead they once more entered her wet middle passage — not one but many. Sarah opened her eyes and looked under herself; past her hanging breasts, past her tummy to the mounding of her hair covered mons. She could see his fingers working – both see and feel them – and beyond that his erection both close and potent. Sarah was cross – the touch still felt pleasurable to her.

“Very good. My examination is almost complete. I am pleased, yes, extremely pleased with your body. It is very fine indeed, particularly the intimate flesh; that is so very tactile and moist. If, perhaps, you could lie down on the table again?”

Sarah was relieved. It was not to be her bottom after all. But was vaginal intercourse, actually, so much the better option? Once more she was flat on her back on the hard table, once more her legs were wide spread and her moist, engorged sex splayed to the stranger’s view.

The man peered closely at her sex, “Such an enchanting scent. Just two more matters to attend to and we are done. Is the taste as pleasing as the sight, touch and scent?”

Sarah shuddered. She had endured his fingers playing, had actually come with them inside her but now he was proposing to apply his lips and tongue to her sex — a further invasion she could not stop. She watched his face moving closer as the gap between it and the apex of the vee of her legs closed and his tongue made contact — the feeling electric. His tongue did not just touch but it explored and probed. If any of her boyfriends had been half as good, indeed half as ready to take their time pleasuring her that way then perhaps… Against this pleasure was the knowledge of what this strange man was doing to her; that he had not just poked his fingers into her but was now doing the same with his tongue and rolling it around in the most satisfying way

She wanted to wrap her thighs around his head and pull his tongue even closer to her. It was marvellous sex and, with his eyes unable to see her, she allowed her own fingers to play at her nipples bringing her even closer to a second orgasm.

Of course the way the man’s tongue slid around her clit, what he did to it with his lips and tongue did bring on that orgasm. Sarah was more vocal this time, she could not help herself, could not stop the long drawn out sigh.

Finally the man rose, smiling and with his tongue sliding over his lips.

“The taste is indeed pleasing and did I detect another little tremor from you, perhaps?”

It was a question. Sarah had to answer. “Yes.”

“Was it as strong as the first?”

“Stronger.” She did not like admitting that.

“Good. Now, the final matter to attend to; you do, I am sure, know what that entails?”

It was a quick nod from Sarah. She knew what that was.

“I am going to probe you a little deeper. I do not think this will cause you any discomfort. Are you ready to accept that?”

Another quick nod, though Sarah did not want this, did not want the stranger’s penis invading her body. But it was already positioned between her widely spread legs, the man could see exactly where to direct it and, wet as she was, he would hardly need to push with any effort to make the penetration.

Of course he took his time. It was never going to be a quick thrust of the pelvis. That was not the way of the man, indeed would have been completely out of character from the rest of the examination. He would watch the entry millimetre by millimetre until the mingling of the pubic hairs obscured the joining from view.

The man spent a good minute just staring at her sex, holding his erection in hand, before she felt the first invading touch; knew that already the shiny head was part within her body; and slowly more followed.

Was it really that fascinating to see the gradual absorption of the male member into the female? Sarah had never thought of looking. She almost pulled herself up to peer down between her legs. It was not that she did not know what was happening as she could feel the slow progress and the way she was being opened: the sensations were quite clear. What seemed to annoy her most – and she could not fathom that – was the very clear feeling and knowledge that this, the fifth penis to have travelled that way, was the largest. Somehow it would have been better if it had been the smallest but it was not: quite the contrary and it really did seem to Sarah that she was being expanded more than with her former lovers. To use the strange man’s word, as the erection continued its travel, she was also being probed deeper than before.

Finally the man came to rest, body pressed against body and with the stranger’s penis bulb way up inside her and, she could feel, his balls hanging against her bottom hole. The penetration was a shocking and intimate intrusion but there was one more thing to come — and ‘come,’ Sarah knew, was the word.

“Very good, very good, indeed.”

Grasping her thighs the man began the motion of intercourse, the steady piston like sliding of penis in vagina undertaken with long, steady strokes making Sarah slide a little to and fro on the table. It may have been undignified but who apart from the man, the man who had seen all, was there to see? Intercourse may not at all have been of her choosing but it was not unpleasant — far from it – Sarah’s body was, once again, responding to and enjoying the sex.

The steel wheels rumbled on, a steady metallic noise, but from the end of the table came a very different organic sound: the wet, squelching, slapping sound of human sexual intercourse. If asked about the sounds of intercourse Sarah would have thought of the creaking bed, the sound of bedsprings moving in the night, but the wet sucking sound of penis moving in and out of a vagina was really the true, intimate sound of sex.

A heat wave had its steamy hold on Texas in Mid July. It was so hot that TV reporters were frying eggs on the blacktop outside the station.

Meanwhile 3 figures walked down a well worn path from the Ranch House. They came into the clearing and he saw it for the first time.

“Wow Mike, you said this was a pond, but it’s a frigging lake where I come from!” Mark Smith said to his coworker Mike Finley.

“Well you know what we say about Texas, Mark!” Mike said with a big old grin.

“Everything is bigger!” Mark said. “This time you got that right!”

“Boy you have no idea!” Mike looked at Johnny Kevlin and winked.

Johnny just got a big shit ass eating grin on his face.

Mike and Johnny removed their khaki knee length shorts. Mark was shocked to see they had no boxers or briefs under them.

“Boy closes your mouth you are attracting flies!” Mike said.

“Skinny Dipping?” Mark asked.

“Yup, now don’t tell me you all don’t skinny dip up North? ” Mike asked.

“Oh we do but I’ve never done it in front of strangers.” Mark told them!”

“We ain’t strangers Mark; you have been here for at least 3 days, ate our food, slept in our beds and worked with us all the day.” So strip!”

Mike ordered him

So Mark took off his shorts too but kept his boxers on.

“All of it Mark!”

He turned his back to them and removed his boxers. Then he backed his way to the lake.

The three of them swan around for a bit.

They floated for a bit and then got out. Mike went over to the cooler and opened it up. He took out a gallon of ice tea.

He got some cups and poured the liquid into the cups. He handed a cup to Mark and to Johnny.

“Here’s to new friends!” Mike toasted.

“Hmm this is quite good; it has a bit of a kick to it!” Mark complimented.

Mike gave Mark another refill.

“Mmm!” Mark said I am a bit tired maybe I should take a nap on these rocks.

He was in a solid sleep and dreaming of a nice blond sucking his cock on the rocks. She knew what she was doing taking his 7 inch cock right down to the pubes.

Her head bobbed up and down on his cock. He groaned and unleashed his seeds. He went back into a deep sleep.

When he awake Mike and John were laying nearby asleep themselves

Marks stomach had trace remains of his sperm.

He dove into the water to cool himself off. When he emerged from the water he saw that Mike and John were nowhere in sight.

It wasn’t long until they were bobbing up from under the water as well.

The three of them got out and walked back to the house naked. The 3 of them had bodies that could have been in the pages of Playgirl. Six pack abs. toned bodies. The only difference was cock size and hair colors

Mike had a shaved head, cold steel blue eyes, and a 9 inch cock when hard. John had blond hair green eyes and 10 inch cock.

Mark the runt of the litter had gray hair, hazel eyes and a 6 inch cock.

They arrived at the ranch and went inside.

The Air conditioning hit their cocks and shrank them down. Their nipples perked out.

They had some cold chicken and coleslaw, along with some more iced tea. They then sat around and played poker. Around 9:30 they went to bed.

Mark got up during the night to take a piss; on the way back to his bedroom he heard some moaning.

He went by Mike’s room and peaked in the half opened door. There was John on top of Mikes cock riding it cowboy style.

“Yes Mike your cock feels so nice in my ass!”

“Fill my ass with you seed!” John moaned.

“OH yes John you got a hot ass!” I am going to breed you with my baby makers!” Mike said.

Mark stood there and watched for a couple of moments.

He went back to this room and lay on the bed.

He tried to go back to sleep but all he could think about was Mikes cock plowing Johns Hairy ass.

His cock got nice and hard and he started stroking it. It was harder than it had been in months.

He shot his hot load on his stomach.

He dreamed of that hot blond sucking his cock again but this time she slid two fingers up his tight ass. She massaged his cock and he blew another load in her mouth.

The next morning at breakfast he couldn’t look Mike and John in the eyes.

They went to the construction site. The job was almost to completion

Mark would have limited contact with John and Mike.

It finally all broke on the way home one night.

So you guys are faggots? He asked.

“No Mark, John and I are bisexual.” We still like women more, but any port in a storm as they say! Mike said to him,

“And Mark you seemed to enjoy me sucking your cock the past few days!” John chimed in.

“YOU DID WHAT?” Mark bellowed.

“Yup that was me sucking your cock!” John said.

Mike pulled his truck into the ranch compound.

“I am sucking glad that today is my last day here!” Mark said.

He stomped off and went to his room. He packed his duffel bag and laptop away. He just about to call the cab to come and get him when there was a rumbling outside. It shook the whole house. The knickknacks flew off the shelves.

He ran into the door frame. In a few moments it all stopped. He ran down the stairs outside.

This was no time to let sexual orientation stand in the way.

“What the fuck an earthquake?” He asked Mike and John when he met them out in the driveway.

“Are you okay Mark? They asked.

“Yeah I’m fine, you guys look okay? ” He said.

“Well we best look for any damages.” Mike said.

So they went off to look around, expect for a few small broken knickknacks and some minor damages to the foundation everything was fine.

They heard vehicles pull up outside and there stood Mikes crew.

“The roads are out Boss, we can’t get home.” One of the guys said.

Since there was no power, Mike decided it was time to cook everything that was in his big freezer.

Steaks, burgers, fish, chicken, hot dogs it was all cooked on the grill.

Beers were opened, as well as Mikes iced tea.

Mark ate some steak and drank some of the iced tea. He took a glass up to his room.

He tried calling to see his flight was still on but couldn’t get through.

He lay on the bed and took a nap. When he woke up he went to take a piss.

He heard lots of moaning, but this time it was from the living room down stairs.

He walked to the landing and looked down.

Mike and his crew were paired off two by two.

Some were 69ing. Some were just fucking.

His cock got good and hard. It started leaking precum.

He felt someone rubbing his ass. He moaned as the hand slide between his cheeks and teased his rosebud.

Two fingers slid in his ass and he groaned. The fingers slid in and out deeper and deeper.

Soon the fingers were replaced with one of the crew’s hard cock.

He moaned “NO, NO!”

But his cock said otherwise.

He was stroking his cock while the cock rammed his ass.

The cock filled his ass and exploded inside him. He felt the warm seed fill his tight hole.

He kept stroking his cock as the cock in his ass kept spurting.

Soon he was coming and felt so good.

He turned around and saw that it was Mikes Foreman Carl.

“I heard you didn’t like cock, I just wanted to see if this was true or not?” Carl asked. “How do you feel about it now?”

Mark took Carl’s hand and led him downstairs.

Mike looked up and saw Mark standing there.

They all got together in a train of sex. Cock in ass, cock in ass till John was at the front of the line.

“I am so glad I didn’t take the plane!” Mark joked as someone rammed a cock deep in his ass.

My friend Brittany invited me out to one of those crappy “Dinner and a Movie” theaters. I didn’t think twice about the invitation… why would I? I’d known her since high school and I didn’t have any plans.

From what I had seen of her since we had gotten back in touch she seemed like the ideal housewife, the ideal neighbor, and the ideal friend. I knew that she got up every morning and fixed her husband’s breakfast and packed him a lunch. I knew that she dutifully cleaned the house while he was away. She periodically posted photos to her social networking sites from paid shoots she modeled, but they were always very classy and tasteful. I suspected nothing out of the ordinary.

She arrived at the theater wearing short a sunflower print dress and a large floppy hat. Her stance radiated confidence. At 23 she was thin and shapely. Her breasts pushed suggestively from the plunge in the dress with no tan lines to be seen. I admired the way her brown hair had lightened with the sun to an almost golden. Any woman would be quick to envy her, and any photographer would long to snatch her up.

“Lexi!” she squealed excitedly at me, her dark eyes sparkling.

“Britt!” I said, accepting her unexpected hug. She pulled back, leaving her arms on my shoulders and quickly looked me up and down.

“I love this dress!” she remarked. Her long slender fingers held up the two tickets she had already purchased and she turned to walk inside without another word.

Only a couple other folks were there, but we were early. The seats were made like regular theater chairs and were grouped off around the building in fours. Each cluster had a slender table in front of it draped with a gaudy red table cloth. At the front of the theater, of course, was the gigantic screen.

She selected a table toward the front and against the left wall. So far there was no one around. I scooted to the innermost seat. She followed, placing her purse in the next seat out.

“So how have you been?” she asked.

“Fine, and you?” I returned. I always hated the awkward catch up conversation with past high school friends. What was there to really say?

“Fine. Are you still in school?” She asked me after a pause.

“No, I just graduated last month. I’m starting at an insurance firm as soon as I complete my training,” I replied. “Are you in school?”

“No,” she laughed, “I skipped college for the modeling thing.”

“I’ve seen,” I quickly interjected, “your photos are beautiful.”

“Thanks,” she beamed, “but it’s all small time stuff. I’m mostly just a housewife now. I notice there’s no ring on your finger – any man in the picture?”

“No,” The question normally irritated me. I was only 22, there was no law that said I needed to be married. In this instance, I was suddenly embarrassed. For some reason I desperately wanted to impress her.

She crossed her legs and the short sundress showed off perfectly tanned thighs. Did she see me looking? Crap! What if she thought I was a lesbian! Or worse, what if she though I was coming on to her and she left!

“I’m surprised,” she answered. If she had seen me looking she didn’t remark. although I thought I saw a knowing gleam in her eye. “A pretty girl like you should have a man catering to her every whim.”

A waiter in a red and white suit walked up and smiled. His face was covered in acne, he couldn’t have been more than 16. He immediately blushed at the sight of us. “Uh, Can I take your, uh, drink orders?” he asked.

“Coke,” Brittany said.

“Dr. Pepper for me,” I answered. The boy paused a moment too long before he got the message and walked away. We both snickered at his obvious infatuation.

Five or six more groups entered the theater as we chatted about various happenings and old friends. None were particularly close to us. Most people stayed near the back. There was a group of two or three boys at the next table behind us, but it was spaced out fairly well. Everyone had a pretty private movie experience.

As the previews came on, the same kid came back with the drinks and offered to take our dinner orders. He and the other waiters then disappeared and the theater darkened. Suddenly, I realized that I had never even asked what movie we were seeing.

The chatting dimmed in the theater as the opening credits started. Brittany had been leaning on the arm rest between us, and in one sudden yet elegantly smooth move her fingers were resting on my inner thigh. I jumped at the sudden touch, and looked at her with wide eyes. What the heck is going on?

Her fingers slowly traced upward, easily under the hem of my dress and straight to the crotch of my panties. Her posture hadn’t changed and I knew that no one around us could tell what was going on. What was she doing? I had never had ANY type of contact with a girl before – I had never even more-than-hugged a girl. I had never wanted to. But still, for some reason I didn’t stop her. She inserted one finger into the crotch of my panties and pulled downward.

Leaning toward me, she whispered, “You don’t want to cause a scene. No one is suspicious right now. Get these off and give them to me.” She withdrew her finger, and seemed to go back to watching the movie.

I admit, I was curious about what was going on. Why did she want my panties off? Was she playing some kind of sorority hazing type game with me? I reminded myself that she was a model – maybe they were visible through my dress. Hurredly I pulled them down where they instantly got tangled on one of my heels.

She knocked the napkins off of the table at that exact moment and bent to pick them up. She knicked my panties at the same time, stuffed them into her bag, and placed her bag back in the seat farthest away from me. It was almost as though she had planned the entire thing ahead, but surely not…

My cheeks began to burn. I wondered if her inviting me was some kind of prank. I hadn’t been that popular in high school and she, of course, had been. Just when shame was welling up in my stomach and I was ready to run out of the theater she placed her hand back on my thigh.

I instantly calmed. I knew at the time that my reactions to her were off, but I had no idea why.

She leaned over again. I leaned eagerly toward her to hear what was next.

“Good girl,” she said, “now just relax.” Her hand traced up my thigh and straight for my crotch again. I tensed, knowing that this time there would be nothing between her fingers and my pussy. “Relax!” she hissed.

I unclenched my legs apprehensively, and she traced her fingers ahead without pause. She caressed my pussy lips up and down, then slid a finger between them, but not deeply. She went up and down the crease a few times, just centimeters above my clit. I knew my pussy had started to get wet, and when I felt her delve deeper I clenched again. I knew she would find out how much I was turned on by so little.

“You are going to relax those legs, and I am going to make you fucking cum all over this seat whether you want to or not – do you understand?” she whispered harshly. My pussy instantly soaked, and I relaxed. I knew my nipples were pushing at the fabric of my dress too – if she looked over she could easily see what she was doing to me. I’d never had this reaction to anyone – but no one else had acted so “take-charge” with me. It was fucking hot.

Her fingers started working around my clit, all over my pussy, and suddenly a finger pushed inside me. I raised my hips to accept it and saw an approving smile touch the corner of her lips. She still pretended to watch the movie, always cool as a cucumber. Meanwhile, I was on fire.

She flicked at my clit over and over. I knew the assault was going to cause an orgasm to build, if she didn’t slow down it would happen quickly. I would cum all over the seat, just like she said, and there really was nothing I could do about it. So. Fucking. Hot. I suddenly realized how much I liked being ordered around by her. I would do whatever she said. If she wanted me to cum I would just… I felt my pussy tighten up around her… she withdrew her fingers.

I looked at her desperately and saw the wicked smile she was giving me in return. “Patience” she whispered. Luckily, she had seen the crater-face kid bringing our dinner and drink refills. Boy would he have gotten the view of his life!

He left the plates and he turned around to leave once more. In retrospect, I think I glared hatefully at him the whole time.

“Excuse me,” Brittany called him back.

‘NO! What are you doing?!?’ I wanted to ask.

“Where is the bathroom, sir?” She smiled innocently.

God, anyone would fall for that innocent act – and in real life she is the girl ordering me to cum all in my seat?

The kid gave her directions and then the kid left. She ducked from her seat into the floor, and then shimmied underneath the table cloth. What a genius! She had asked for the bathroom just to throw anyone off who noticed her missing.

I nervously waited, anticipating what was coming. Yes, there she was! The table cloth in front of me bulged out. Two hands ran up my shins toward the center of my thighs, and then higher. Her fingernails dug into my hips and she pulled me foward.

I slid up to the table as though I was preparing to eat. Ever so slowly, Brittany moved foward as well, licking the insides of my thighs, then my pussy lips, then delving into my hole as deeply as she could. She licked dilligently there in and out of my wet cunt. Finally she worked her way to my waitng clit. Her tongue moved in expert strokes over me, sending shivers through my body and goosebumps up my arms. Every now and then her teeth would gently grasp one of my pussy lips, or my clit, and I would try not to moan out loud.

“Brittany, fuck” I whispered. Did she know how hard it was to be quiet.

“Cum for me,” she whispered back, “right here in front of everyone.” She increased the pressure on my clit, sealing her lips around it and sucking it into her mouth. I reached down, reached for anything, and felt only her gorgeous hair beneath my fingers. There truly was nothing I could do to stop the beautiful assault on my clit.

“ohMMMFfffggod” I uttered, or somethign equally embarrassing. My back arched, and I did just what she asked. I fucking came in her mouth, my insides clenching for what seemed like hours as she lapped the aftermath like an eagerly waiting animal.

My breathing returned to normal, and I began to panic. Had anyone noticed my all too obvious orgasm? I looked around and to my relief it didn’t look like anyone had seen it. She crawled back into her seat like nothing had happened.

Once my pulse slowed my mind started racing. I didn’t pay attention to the movie at all, which turned out to be some sci-fi thing.

I kept retracing what had just happened. The beautiful girl next to me, the picture of class and sophistication, wasn’t so innocent as I had once thought. Next I kept retracing how much I liked following her ‘orders.’ I had never had an experience like that before, but I had also never cum so hard. Finally, I kept wondering what was next.

The movie ended, and the lights clicked back on.

“Brittany,” I started, but she shook her head.

“I want you to come over tomorrow. Around 11:00.”

“Okay” I said. She left the theater with my panties still in her purse.

I got up early the next morning eager for my meeting. To kill time, I baked some bread to take over to Brittany’s house. The hour couldn’t come soon enough.

Ringing her doorbell was agony, too. The anticipation killed me. Would she act normal? Like nothing happened? And finally the door swung open.

“Lexi,” She beamed, “please come in.” I stepped in, handing off the bread to her at the same time.

“This looks delicious,” she said, “although I bet not as delicious as what I had for dinner last night.”

My stomach did a little flip. She winked, she headed down the hallway.

I followed her to her kitchen where she had set out two mugs of tea, or cocoa, or something steamy. I took a seat but she almost immediately stopped me.

“Uh uh,” said waggling her index finger back and forth. She sat at the table across from me and pointed to the floor. “You sit right here.”

Was she kidding? The floor? I hesitated.

“Here.” She demanded a second time. Her voice was suddenly stern. My mind raced, but my body acted. I pounced to the floor in front of her and waited expectantly. She nodded, pleased.

She opened her bathrobe to reveal a perfectly naked body. I stared in awe of the tight-toned-no-tan-lined goddess in front of me. “Time to return the favor.” She gently placed her hand on the back of my head and guided me toward her slit.

I had, of course, never eaten anyone out before. Her pussy loomed closer as I leaned forward. She was perfectly shaven. It was already glistening. I knew I had about three seconds to make an excuse and run away. What if I didn’t like it? Couldn’t do it?

I could’ve taken the slow, anticipatory approach that she took when approaching my pussy the night before, giving myself a few more seconds to think it over. But let’s face it … I already knew I was going to eat that pussy until she begged me to stop. I dove in face first.

“Good girl,” she praised me. Had she expected resistance?

I licked hungrily against her, trying to reach as far inside of her pussy as my tongue could possibly go. Again, I felt for some reason that I needed to impress her. I licked her clit with a broad tongue several times. Then I sucked it into my mouth and released it repeatedly while simultaneously licking it. I made out with her clit like it was a lover returned from war. I was on my knees worshipping her cunt.

“That’s a good little slut,” she whispered, “good little slut. Lick that fucking pussy, ughm, yeah,” She wasn’t quite moaning but I could hear the pleasure in her voice. Just when I thought I was giving her all I had, I stepped up and gave her more. I put more pressure on her clit and raised my fingers to her cunt. I slid two inside her easily and fucked her with my fingers while I fucked her with my face. “Oh yeah you like being a dirty little girl, don’t you slut,” she moaned.

It hadn’t been a question but an accusation. I wondered if she knew how much I actually DID like it. Her hips were bucking against my face. I fingered her harder, faster.

“You are mine, you dirty little cunt,” she breathed. And then a knock at the door.

“Brit?” A man’s voice and the front door closing behind him. She jumped up, knocking me out of the way. She pointed to the stool with the extra cup of – whatever it was – and tied her robe up quickly.

“Baby!” She squealed as she ran to the door. “Come meet my friend Lexi!” I was luckily sitting at the table and had wiped the wetness off my face before he entered.

“Hi there Lexi,” he said, “I was just coming home to grab some papers from my office.”

“I made you some bread,” She cooed, handing off the bread that I had made her. I flushed, suddenly irritated. I sat silently watching the show. Did her husband think she was the innocent little thing that the rest of the world thought her to be?

“Wow! How did you have time to do all that AND clean up everything AND have a friend over? You are amazing babe.” He kissed her. I looked down into the cup I was holding.

“Well, I won’t keep you guys. Thanks for the bread!” He sprinted back to what I assume was his office and then out the door carrying my bread.

“He is always working” she said a little sadly. I didn’t respond. Suddenly, her mood changed.

“Stand up, slut!” she said sternly, grabbing a fistful of my hair.

“Ow!” I yelled accidentally.

“Don’t fucking complain you little bitch,” she said, pulling me toward the door her husband had entered. She half pushed half kicked the door open to reveal a cluttered office desk, some bookshelves, and piles of books and boxes everywhere. “Bend over the fucking desk,” She demanded, throwing me twoard it.

I quickly tried to stack papers up so they would not be beneath me. I didn’t want to ruin anything important.

“I SAID FUCKING BEND OVER ARE YOU HAVING TROUBLE LISTENING TO YOUR MISTRESS TODAY?” She shouted. Mistress? The word gave me chills. I bent over. She jerked my jeans down, and my panties.

“I thought I told you to take these off at the theater? I expect you to be without panties like the slut you are,” she growled angrily, pulling at them. “Maybe the third time is the charm.” She pulled scissors from the desk and cut my panties on both sides, removing them from the jeans that remained around my ankles. I dared not move from the desk. It was so cold and hard against my eager titties. I tried to tell myself not to think that way – or she would see my pussy getting wet.

I heard her leave the room, but she quickly returned. I heard her creeping up behind me, but she said nothing. SMACK! Something across my ass.

“That’s for not making me cum fast enough.” SMACK!

“That’s for being such a good fucking pussy eater that I was about to cum when my husband walked in.”


“That’s for wearing panties.”

I was sure my ass was red, on fire. It felt like she had a broad paddle of some kind. SMACK!

“That’s for hesitating when I told you to fucking bend over the desk!”


“That’s because your ass looks so fucking pretty…” she trailed off into a kinder voice, “so fucking pretty when it’s cherry red…” She started to carress my stinging ass, knead it in her hands.

“Let’s see how you like this, my little cunt.” I heard a little pop and then felt something ice cold all over my asshole. It was running down toward my cunt, and some of it may have even seeped down into my ass. Her fingers were on my ass next, rubbing the stuff over my hole, dipping her fingers into me gently. My pussy was so jealous.

“Tell me you want this.” She demanded.

“I want you to finger my asshole, please, mistress.”

“Good girl,” she whispered fiercely. I realized she liked this name. “Tell me you want something bigger in your asshole.”

“Please mistress, fuck my asshole,” I pleaded. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say. This seemed to do the trick.

I felt something small and hard at my back door, and then felt pressure as whatever it was entered me. I heard a couple of clicks and then I started to feel vibration. The sensation was so cruel to my aching clit. “Mmmhhmm” I moaned.

“You like that don’t you, slut?” she asked.

“Yes mistress,” I cried, “My pussy is aching mistress. It’s aching to cum.”

“You don’t get to cum!”


I almost came just then, with the vibrator deep in my asshole. Luckily, I didn’t. I knew would’ve been in so much trouble!

“I’m sorry mistress,” I said, “I will obey.”

“You didn’t make me cum in your mouth, and even though that was my ignorant husband’s fault, I will punish you. I wanted to cum on your pretty face.”

“I will be so happy to eat you again mistress,” I begged, “please let me lick your pussy!”

“No,” she said, “I think you will watch me cum, and you will not be allowed to touch.” She untied the bathrobe once again and sat back in the desk chair. Her legs were spread wide for me.

I nodded, sadly. I wanted to cum for her, in front of her, on her, anything. I wanted at least to feel her cumming for me.

She pulled a second vibrator from the pocket of her robe. I watched it carress her clit, then touching just the rim of her pussy. She circled her clit a second time. Her other hand gently squeezed her pussy and flicked at her nipples.

She was already so stimulated from my mouth that we both knew it wouldn’t take long. I was unconsciously rubbing myself against the desk watching her play with that beautiful shaved pussy but I caught myself and stopped. I knew I mustn’t cum without permission.

I watched intently as she slowly pushed the vibrator deep into her pussy and then pulled it back out. She repeated the process, a bit faster, and then started fucking herself furiously.

June 2018
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