Again I stared around the bus station, searching out anyone who looked a likely candidate for a freelance bookseller, and came up blank. It was up to him to find me, and so I stood there, feeling, and probably looking, decidedly lost. After ten minutes no one was showing the slightest inclination of approaching me and I began to wonder if I was actually in the right place. I’d assumed he’d meet me off the bus, but perhaps he’d meant us to meet outside. Picking up my bag, I made my way to the exit, casting my gaze round the bustling terminus. The place was crowded, and getting more so with every passing moment. It would be so easy to miss each other, especially as I had no idea what Paul looked like. If he was here at all.
A quarter of an hour later I was in a panic. Pacing up and down, trying to look in all directions at once, I was beginning to attract strange glances. And then, when I’d given up all hope, a hand descended on my shoulder. Startled, I swung round. “Paul?” I squeaked. Could this be my fifty-year-old bookseller? It was hard to tell his age exactly because of the beard and long hair.
He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve been watching you for the last fifteen minutes. I’ve been sitting in my lorry, on my break, and didn’t have much else to do. I take it you’re supposed to be meeting someone?”
So, not Paul? “Well, yes, I am. But I’ve got a horrible feeling I’ve been stood up.”
“A boyfriend, then?”
I blushed. “Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got the time. Fancy a coffee? You can keep an eye on here from the restaurant.”
“I – er, yeah, OK. I could do with a drink.”
Over a hot chocolate I found myself telling the stranger the whole story. Well, almost the whole story. I doubted he was interested in the real reason behind my visit. A shared fantasy that was no one else’s business but our own.
“You say you know where he lives?”
“Yes. That is, I know where he says he lives.” I opened my bag and handed over a slip of paper with Paul’s address.
“I know that area. It’s just past the delivery depot. Look, how about I give you a lift there?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t want to put you out.”
“It’s no trouble. In fact, I don’t live too far from there myself.”
“OK then. Thanks.”
A small voice whispered that this might not be the most judicious decision I had ever made, but the whole trip seemed to have bypassed my sensible side. Anyway, I was tired, confused and lost for any other solution.
“It might take a while. I have to wait at the depot for a trailer swap.”
“That’s fine. It’s not as if I have anything else planned.”
Walking out of the bus station, I looked round one last time. No one rushed to greet me. I knew it was now up to me to find Paul.
My new friend helped me up into the cab of a huge lorry. Not the most elegant of manoeuvres and my long skirt didn’t help, as it wrapped itself around my legs, depositing me with a thump in the passenger seat. An unladylike oath escaped my lips.
The trip was an interesting one. I had never seen the road from such an elevation and it was a diverting new experience. My companion was easy to talk to, and by the end of the journey I had pretty much told him my whole life story.
The wait at the depot was longer than expected and by the time we continued our journey it was already getting dark. The travelling was taking its toll and I felt my eyes closing and I drifted off. When I awoke I realized we were no longer moving. Opening my eyes I saw we were parked in a lay-by. My rescuer was staring at me with a very strange expression on his face. I smiled at him, but there was no response.
“I guess you’re having a break?” My question was received in silence. “Um, do you think we’ll be moving any time soon? I don’t want to arrive at Paul’s in the small hours.”
Again, only silence. By now I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. In fact, more than uncomfortable. His stare was so intense it frightened me. “Hello . . . er . . .” I suddenly realized I didn’t even know his name. “What do I call you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from trembling.
“You can call me ‘Sir’.”
“Sorry? What did you just say?”
“I said you can call me ‘Sir’. And from now on you’ll only talk when I require it of you.”
I stared at him in horror, my hand creeping to the door handle.
“It’s locked.”
Sure enough, however much I pushed the door wouldn’t open. By now I was terrified. What sort of idiot had I been to get into a lorry with a complete stranger?
“Take off your knickers and unbutton that blouse.”
I froze.
“Do as I say, Lynne. You will regret it if you don’t.”
Desperately I looked around for something to use as a weapon. There was nothing.
“Do it!”
Whimpering, I slowly began to unbutton my shirt. His hand reached out and pulled away the material to reveal my full breasts. His fingers closed around my nipple, tweaking it into erection. I gasped.
“And now the knickers.”
“Please, please, don’t make me do this . . .”
“You will do whatever I tell you to do. You are my property now. And didn’t I tell you to call me ‘Sir’ when addressing me?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
I knew I had no choice, terrified to think of what he would do to me if I disobeyed. “Yes, Sir.”
“That’s better. Now, take off those knickers.”
With shaking hands I did as he asked. He pulled my skirt up to reveal my shaved pubes and grunted in satisfaction. His hand travelled up my stockinged leg and his finger brushed against my clit. Automatically I clenched my thighs together, and yelped in pain as the palm of his hand descended with a resounding slap. Immediately I opened my legs to his invading finger.
“Good, Lynne. You’re learning. Now, keep that pose. I’m taking you home.” And he started the engine.
Exposed and vulnerable, I had never felt so humiliated in my life. As the street lights flashed past us, I imagined that I was on show to the world, and a single tear trickled down my cheek. So, he was taking me home. I was not fool enough to think he meant my home, and it was then I realized just how helpless I really was. God, I’d even told him that my family and friends didn’t know I’d left the country, so he knew they wouldn’t be searching for me here. He could murder me and no one would ever know. My only option was to play along with his little game and try to find a way of escaping.
By now we were slowing down at the back of a row of terraced houses. I looked for a street name board, but couldn’t see one. This could be any street, in any town, in England.
Turning off the engine he got out of the cab and opened my door. He yanked me out of the cab, his grip on my arm forestalling any attempt to run. I opened my mouth to scream and his hand closed over it. “Not a good idea, my sweet. And I shall remember that.”
What did he mean? I had no idea, but knew it meant no good.
He pulled me into the house, slamming the door behind him, and dragged me up the stairs into a bedroom. At least, technically it was a bedroom, but its furnishings were more like those of an ancient torture chamber. Ropes, whips, handcuffs and some strange objects I didn’t even recognize.
“Take off your skirt and blouse. Just leave on the stockings.”
I hesitated.
“Take them off now! Or your punishment will be that much worse.”
My punishment? Oh, my God. Hurriedly I obeyed him. Seconds later I was standing in front of him, naked except for a pair of black silk hold-up stockings.
“Now, kneel down on the bed with your hands behind your back.”
This time I did as he said straight away. I watched, trembling, as he picked up a length of rope and proceeded to fasten it around my wrists, securing the other end around the bedpost. Secure in the knowledge that I c
ouldn’t escape, he picked up a long thonged flogger. I fought to suppress a scream. I had seen a ball gag amongst the paraphernalia on the bedside cabinet, and knew he would use it if I didn’t keep quiet.
Although I knew what was coming I couldn’t possibly prepare myself for it, as he raised the flogger and brought it down with a thwack on my naked shoulders. Despite my resolution to keep quiet I couldn’t suppress the cry that rose to my lips.
“You will take your punishment in silence or I will use the gag.”
I clenched my teeth as the flogger descended again, this time even harder. The leather bit into my back and the pain was unbearable. Again and again the lash flailed my body. Finally I could take no more and I collapsed onto the bed.
“So, now you know what happens when you don’t obey me straight away. Have you learned your lesson?”
“Yes – yes, I have,” I yelled, then remembered just in time, “Sir.”
“Good. Now answer these questions. And, remember, you know the punishment if you don’t answer them correctly. Who owns you?”
“You do, Sir.”
“And what can I do to you?”
“Anything you wish, Sir.”
“And why is that?”
“I . . . er . . .” The flogger whistled through the air, this time with all his strength behind it. A flame of pure agony flared through my back, and I buried my head in the mattress to muffle the scream I could no longer suppress.
“Because you are my slave. I own you body and soul. You only exist to obey my commands. You have no will of your own. You . . . are . . . my . . . property.” The last words were emphasized by strokes of the whip. By now I would have said anything to make him stop.
“Yes, Sir. I am yours, and yours alone. I will do anything you say.”
“I like that. Anything?”
“Yes, Sir. Anything.”
“Very good. Get back on your knees, and open your mouth.”
I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I had a very good idea of what he was going to ask me to do next. My worst thought was confirmed as I watched him undo his zip.
“Suck me, slave. Make me come.” And he thrust himself into my mouth.
Knowing the consequence of refusal, I had no choice. Wrapping my lips around him, I took him deep into my mouth. My tongue flicked against him as my head moved up and down. I felt his whole body stiffen and he drove himself even deeper. Then, with a jerk, he came, his come filling my mouth.
“Thank you, Lynne. I’m very pleased with you. I think you deserve a rest. But first . . .” I watched as he picked up a camera and began to take photographs of me from every angle. “I shall enjoy viewing these when you are no longer here.”
His words sent a jolt of terror flashing through me. What did he mean by no longer here? Was he planning to kill me when he’d had his fun with me? I had to get away. But the possibility of doing so became even more remote as he picked up more rope and bound my body to the bed. From some remote corner of my brain a small part of me actually admired his handiwork. He was quite an artist, the intricate rope work reminding me of a spider’s web. Quite ironic really, considering my situation.
“I think I need some coffee. Feel free to wait for my return.” I heard him chuckle as he left the room.
“Bastard!” I muttered, but not loud enough for him to hear.
He was gone for quite a time, leaving me alone with my tortured thoughts. Desperately I attempted to escape from the ropes, and had just succeeded in loosening one or two when he returned.
“Ah, I see you’ve been busy. Now, do I punish you or reward you for your efforts? Mmm, good question. I’m feeling generous, so I think the latter.”
Approaching the bed, he clasped my breasts in his hands, his thumbs playing softly with my nipples. Then he took one in his mouth, rolling his tongue across the tip. His hand reached down between my thighs and he began to rub my clit. Despite myself I realized I was getting wet. Then his finger plunged into me. I gasped.
“Like that, did you? Well, you’re going to like this even more then.” And, after undoing the ropes that bound my legs, he stripped off his clothes. This was it then, what I’d really been dreading. He was going to rape me.
“So. And now it’s your turn to ask me to do something for you. Come now, don’t look so confused. You know what I want. You’re going to beg me to fuck you, aren’t you? I mean, I shall probably do it anyway, but I think you would appreciate it more if you do as I say, don’t you think?”
He was right. Whatever I did or said now wouldn’t stop him having my body, but I had a feeling it would be a lot less painful if I did as he said.
Gritting my teeth, I forced the words out of my mouth. “Please, Sir. Please fuck me. I want to feel you deep inside me. I want to be your true property. Please fuck me now.”
“Very good. And because you have been so good I will give you my reward.”
And then he was on top of me, his hands exploring every inch of my body. Then he took me, forcing my body into the mattress with every desperate stroke. As he came, I felt a shock reverberate through me as I reached my own climax. It was over.
“So, Lynne, my beautiful slave. Was that what you wanted?”
I smiled. “Yes, it was. It was everything I’d dreamed of, and so much more. Thank you, Sir. Or rather, thank you, Paul.”
FITTING ROOM
Greg, Cleveland
I was standing around on a typically slow Monday afternoon when a customer walked into the store. I gave him the once-over and could tell from his houndstooth jacket, black turtleneck, gabardine slacks and polished leather shoes that he obviously had good fashion sense and wasn’t afraid to spend a large sum on clothing.
“Looking for anything in particular?” I asked.
He regarded me with a pair of warm, brown eyes and smiled. “Yes. I need two or three new pairs of pants. Business-casual style pants.”
“I think I know just what you’re looking for,” I told him confidently. “Right this way.”
He followed me to the back of the store where the business-casual clothing was located, then bumped into me when I stopped short at a rack of dress pants. I felt his strong hands grip my slim waist as he steadied himself, and his considerable package pressed into my firm, round ass. “Sorry,” he said unnecessarily.
I turned around and got a good look at him. He was about my height, six feet, with a lean, athletic build – broad in the shoulders, narrow at the waist. His hair was cut short and his facial features were fine, almost delicate. He appeared to be in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. “Here you go,” I said, indicating the garments in question with a sweep of my arm.
He took some time carefully selecting four or five pairs of pants. Then I pointed him to the five closet-sized change compartments along the back wall, and he opened the door to one and walked in.
“Let me know if you need any help,” I told him, as the door closed.
A few minutes later, I was idly rearranging some sports jackets that didn’t need rearranging when a soft, muffled voice called out to me from behind, “Could you come in here a moment?”
I walked over to the cubicles, opened the door on an empty one, closed it, and then opened its neighbour and found my customer. He was standing on the narrow wooden bench against the wall. He was naked from the waist down, his huge, black cock pointing right at me!
“Hi,” he said casually. “I’m having some trouble getting these pants on with this thing –” he stroked his monster erection and smiled “– like it is. Anything you can do to help?”
My knees went weak and blood drained out of my face and into my groin. I’d never seen a bigger, or blacker, cock in all my life – except in porno magazines, of course. It must have been ten inches long – at least; and it was straight and true and as blue-black as a long, thick piece of liquorice. “Uh, sure,” I mumbled, my mouth drier than the Sahara Desert. I stumbled into the tiny change room and shut and latched the door before anyone el
se could grab an eyeful.
I moved closer to him, and he released his cock from his hand into mine. His body spasmed and he groaned as I firmly gripped his long, hard pole. He groaned again and closed his eyes when I quickly began jerking him off, pulling on his awesome length. His cock was beautiful, felt beautiful, and, amazingly, it grew even longer and thicker as my practised hand pumped it.
“Oh, yeah, that feels good,” he said, abandoning his massive cock to my worshipping hand.
“You ain’t felt nothin’ yet,” I told him, and bent down and teased the tip of his over-swollen manhood with my outstretched tongue.
His body jerked and slammed back against the wall.
“Easy, big guy,” I warned, vaguely recalling that there was a very public store beyond the thin partition of the change booth.
We’d have to keep things quiet. The sense of danger and urgency only hardened my cock further.
“Suck my dick,” he whispered fiercely.
I grunted an affirmative, held his huge rod at its base, and proceeded to tongue-flog his cock head – teasing the sensitive underside, slapping my tongue across his slit, licking him up and down in long, hard, wet strokes. He thrust his hips forwards, begging me to get with some serious cock-sucking, and I did. I took the enormous head of his cock into my mouth and sucked on it – popped it in and out until its rich, full blackness gleamed with saliva under the muted lights.
He ran his fingers through my short, blond hair, urging me to suck deeper on his prick, spurring me on, pulling my head closer. The air grew thick with the smell of man inside the cramped cubicle. I opened my mouth wide and sucked up and down his shaft, taking more and more of his humungous cock into my mouth with each head bob. My mouth was a vacuum, and when I’d consumed almost half of his magnificent meat, his hood banged up against the back of my throat. I further relaxed my throat muscles and kept right on gulping down his cock.
“Jesus Christ!” he cried out.
I spun my eyes upwards and stared meaningfully at his incredulous face. Then I refocused on the pleasurable task at hand and continued on my way down his night-shaded cock. Inch by swollen inch I sucked his cock into my mouth and throat, taking my sweet time, enjoying the sensation of deep-throating this man’s massive dick. His hands clutched desperately at my hair, and I felt sweat drip off his face and splash down onto mine – and what was left of his rapidly disappearing black battering ram.
The Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions Page 45
