I went on to cover them and felt a rage – or was it disgust – wash over me. ‘This man is somebody’s grandpa!’ I thought to myself. And it was for that very same reason that I couldn’t bring myself to be rude to him, so I just smiled.
I leant back into the seat and closed my eyes as the plane took off, figuring that if I slept – or at least looked like I was sleeping – he would leave me alone. The engines roared just outside my window and my ears popped, helping to tune out the sound of the voices around me. While others detest flying, I have always found the feeling of being cocooned in the cabin soothing, so it wasn’t long before I really began to drift into sleep. As the plane climbed higher, the temperature lowered in the cabin and the goose bumps began to tingle across my body. I felt something soft brush against my legs and I opened my eyes to find Raj placing a blanket on my lap. His expression was so concentrated and he was gentle as he made sure to spread it over my knees.
‘Oh – I am sorry, but you looked like you were feeling cold …’ he explained.
‘Oh no, that’s OK. Thank you – I was feeling a little cold,’ I said, feeling super guilty for my having misread the old man.
He nodded appreciatively and I closed my eyes and tried to pick up my nap where I had left off, only feeling cosier. I drifted in and out of light sleep, always aware of the fact that I was on a plane. In a place between sleep and waking I felt a familiar stir within me; a mild pleasure bringing me to a deeper state of relaxation. I went with it for a moment, letting it take me farther back into my seat and forgetting about the comfort of the person seated ahead so that I might give in to the urge to extend my legs for a good stretch. My muscles sighed in relief, glad to be drawn out of the curled-up ball of the last few minutes, which caused me to awaken, though ever so slightly. I felt something caressing my thigh under the warmth of the blanket and opened one eye to have a look.
The cabin was now dark apart from the screens flashing the film, and the few heads that I could see had fallen into sleep. Almost afraid to confirm what I suspected – or maybe afraid that my waking would bring it to an end – I glanced to my side with a barely open eye, making certain not to move, and found Raj’s arm disappearing under the cheap blue blanket.
My heart began to beat faster and I was infuriated that this old bastard would take advantage of young me in such a lewd way. Only I didn’t say a word. Instead I closed my eye and just sat there as his small hand rubbed my thigh, inching its way slowly upwards. My cunt was wet – probably had been since his hand first crept under the blanket. I flinched when I felt his hand leaving the lace edge of my stockings and beginning to explore my bare skin. His hand was hot – dirty old man – yet I found myself becoming moister with each slither in spite of my revulsion. My nipples reacted to his brazen touch and swelled to peaks and immediately he took note of my pleasure; it encouraged him to squeeze my flesh harder between his bony fingers. When he finally reached the edge of my panties I was sure he could already feel the wet. His finger teased me by sliding just under the trim and my clit began to ache to be touched, causing me to open my legs a little more for him. Even though my moves made it obvious, I didn’t dare open my eyes and admit that I wanted it and instead continued to play the sleeping beauty. I felt a finger inch its way into my panties and to my slit, but then draw quickly back out as though he was just testing the waters.
My arousal increased as did my impatience and I tilted my pelvis as if offering myself up to him. The finger found its way back in and began to explore the folds of my cunt, revelling in the warm wetness. I could feel him leaning in closer, his breath nearing my neck and then moving downwards until his breath was warming up my left breast – my dress must have opened again. He leant down, his face falling to my bosom, and I am sure that he too was pretending to be asleep and unaware of his position, for anyone who might pass by.
I was so turned on by the way he sloppily used his mouth and nose to push away at the lace demi-cup of my bra until he was suckling on my nipple like a starved baby, that I was caught off guard when his finger pushed into my hole. My whole body reacted with a series of tingles as he pushed his finger carefully in and out of me, at the same time sucking on my tit. Surprising me with his skill, he continued to pump the finger in and out of my pussy while adding a thumb to the mix. The thumb pressed against my clit, pulsing in time with my pleasure until it became overwhelming. His breathing increased and saliva began to dribble into my bra from his disgusting mouth, causing me to feel as repelled as I was excited. Tiny quakes of arousal mixed with contempt made their way through me and he sensed this and pushed his thumb harder against my swollen bud. I couldn’t contain my pleasure any longer and I began to shudder, pressing into his hand until he was using all of his fingers to rub the climax out of me. I came and the sharp pangs of pleasure and juices erupted, causing me to gasp.
His hand worked until the trembles subsided then it paused there for a second. I could sense him looking at me as if waiting for acknowledgement, but I didn’t budge. My eyes remained closed until I drifted into blissful sleep again, only to be awakened by the thump of the plane’s tyres touching down.
In the light of the new day, the entire flight felt like a dream and I addressed him and his wife no differently than before. I could see he looked perplexed, but I didn’t care. A man his age really should know better than to do what he did, so why would I justify his misbehaviour? After all, ‘I was just the innocent, sleeping victim’. I laughed to myself, adjusting my damp panties as I walked off the plane.
– Adriana, New York, USA
He Touched Me
Mistress, since we met my life has taken a definite turn for the better. If it were at all appropriate I’d broach this confession with a simile involving clouds (as in Cloud Nine) or an extended metaphor riffing on trance (as in Hypnotic) or even bliss (as in Transcendental) to describe the last three months. I love to do just that – pour my words like honey all over the Queen Bee that is You.
But it’s not appropriate, so I won’t. I’ll start with the session we had last week. Or rather, the words you spoke when it was over. You said, ‘Now, my darling girl, I’ve completely erased his touch and replaced it with my own.’ Your smile was immensely satisfied. I love it when you smile wide enough to show dimples. Your angular face softens and your fierce dark eyes fade to a delightful, dreamy grey. It fills me with pleasure. It filled me with pleasure. I smiled back and batted my lashes at you and demurely dropped my glance.
But? But I didn’t just drop my glance to be demure, as in sexily so. You know how much mutual pleasure we get from my acting demure right after an act of debauchery such as the one we had just successfully concluded? Well, it wasn’t just so I could be demure. I guess, in truth, I was hiding my confusion so I could think about it for a little bit. I know, I am not supposed to think. But we were done at that point and a return to cognitive thought is inevitable. I kept silent. I kept something from you. I have a secret.
The secret is – there remains a place he touched me that you have not. Not in my heart, my love, my Love. Nor my soul nor my mind nor my psyche. But there was something he did to me that you have not. I didn’t want to disturb you, not right then, right after you’d taken me from behind like that, so sweetly fucking me, first with your mouth and your fingers and then, when my puckered hole was loosened, with your thick hard black rubber dick. I know you are concerned with anything that has to do with me so it does affect us. I’m getting ahead of myself. May I explain?
You know how he was, a civilised man who unleashed the Beast in the bedroom. You know what that meant I had to be, a modern woman, available to be utterly vanquished at his whim. You know he showed no mercy. You know that the only way out, for me, was completely. I had no ‘safe word’ save ‘Goodbye.’
This is why I said goodbye.
He was transferring planes in town and he’d rearranged his schedule so that we could spend a night together in a hotel near the airport. As usual, I was panicky and ter
rified and excited to the point of incoherence. But I got all dolled up, groomed and perfumed, and managed to get myself to the door of his hotel room. I knocked. He took over and my mind turned off.
He gallantly got me a drink and nicely asked me to remove my dress, just to prove he really was a civilised man capable of restraint. Then he tore my panties off and threw me face down on the bed. He was fully erect. The sight of me always made him hard as steel. He took my ass in one long, painful thrust. He said what he always said at such times: ‘You haven’t been properly fucked in a while.’
If we’d had more time together I might have become shaped to suit him. But the way it was there was always that difficult first time, where he showed me no mercy and I was not at liberty to ask for it. Anyway, the pain that came with being used like that fed my obsessive adoration and resulted in my extreme pleasure.
It’s similar to the way it is now, with you, when I take a dozen stripes across my bottom, biting my lip to hold my safe word back until the pain mingles with your pride and washes over me in waves of pre-orgasmic bliss. But the knowledge that you will keep me even if I break makes me brave and weak with love, a paradox so perfect I know it must be good. I didn’t have that with him.
Still I was rather proud of myself when he roared like a caveman and filled my rear passage with the proof of his pent-up need for me. After that he gorged on my pussy until I came. The orgasm was explosive. It was a release I ached for, often for months at a time. Sometimes the relief made me cry. Not this time, though. I was pleased with myself. I’d not only endured the onslaught of his passion without protest, but I’d come in the same shuddering, major way that he had. I was like the cat that ate the canary. He saw my pride and whereas you get a little kick out of it, he always found it evidence of uppityness. He yawned. I knew I was in trouble.
He knelt between my feet and laid the palm of his right hand on my pussy. ‘Wider,’ he said. I spread wider. He fingered me. It felt good, then it hurt a little and then it hurt a lot. I inched up the bed and he said, ‘Stop moving,’ so I did. It hurt like hell. My question hung between us, sharp in contrast to the general fogginess that always seemed to shroud our bed. ‘I’m fisting your cunt,’ he said.
So now I knew what was going on and I chose not to protest. In those days I would always ask myself, ‘Would “O” submit to this?’ If the answer was yes, which it always was, I’d do it. Which I realise now is sort of asking myself, ‘Would Supergirl do it?’ and if the answer was yes, jumping off a skyscraper. But my thinking at the time, obviously, was clouded at best.
He fisted me. At first it was excruciating. Then an absolute blizzard of endorphins kicked in. I know my head lolled to one side because I heard him laugh and say, ‘You’re nodding.’
I was higher than if I’d drunk a magnum of champagne. I could have giggled, believe it or not. There was intense pressure and then the pain stopped. Just like that. He said, ‘I’m inside you up to my wrist,’ and I gingerly looked down to sort of see that it was true.
‘Lie back,’ he said.
I was full as I’d never been before. There wasn’t a breath of air left inside me. Only him. When he turned his hand his knuckles pressed against my insides. When he pumped it was like I was nothing more than my pelvis. Once again I was reduced to this thing that only existed to accommodate his fiendish desires. It freed me to soar. The euphoria was limitless.
‘Touch it,’ he said. I heard him from a long way away. I carefully reached down to touch his wrist. The rest of him was inside me. My clit was stretched; its hood was flat and wide. I touched it. A spasm shuddered through me, clenching and releasing on his fist. The tiny pressure almost made me scream.
He loved it. The truth is, I did too. I tickled my clit again, dead centre. Another delicate, agonising spasm gripped me, gripped us both. ‘Go for it, you slut,’ he whispered, so I did. He pumped his fist inside me. I rubbed my clit for maybe a minute, maybe two at the most, before I started coming all over his fist. It was fantastic. This time I did scream, with each fist-grabbing contraction I screamed and soared. I stopped rubbing myself but the orgasm continued, unabated. I’d never experienced anything like it and I never have since.
The force of my climax terrified me. I also knew that even if I could somehow stop the spasms from rocking through me to my centre and grasping his hand so that his knuckles grazed the soft, fleshy glove that was my cunt, if I could stop it I would not, because each paroxysm was immediately followed by another mind-blowing burst of endorphins.
It seemed to go on forever. I was skewered by his hand, helpless to do anything but ride the exultation to its end. Even the sure knowledge that he’d finally managed to ruin me for good made this, my last big orgasm, all the more spectacular.
He urged me on with short, intense statements like, ‘More!’ and ‘Good!’ The contractions became tremors; the bursts of endorphins weakened. At last I was motionless. Sated. Spent.
When he dislodged his hand from my body it was covered in cream, thick as Nivea. I felt emptier than I’d ever been. It was as if I, his favourite toy, had been shown to be not real or substantial, but nothing more than a cheap inflatable, now punctured and deflated.
I curled up on my side, my arms between my legs. The bliss began to fade. I ached. I felt misshapen. I wished he would say something nice. I hoped he would spoon me and we would rest. That would give me release from the thoughts that were beginning to form, the usual hot-blooded expletives I always hastened to delete. ‘Bastard.’ ‘Happy now, you prick?’ Stuff like that.
If we could just rest I knew that by the time he was ready for more I would be, too. Tomorrow he’d be gone and I’d have plenty of time to recover. I could contemplate my bruises and insanity at my leisure. I could pore over our time together in excessive detail, minute by minute, to try and decide if the end really did justify the means. To try and figure what exactly constituted ‘the end’, anyway: the part where I climax gloriously, as never before? Or the part after that, where I’m all alone with my aches and my pain?
There’s no rest for the wicked, as they say. He pressed a cream-covered fingertip to my anus. The thick hot blood that had so recently coursed with each contraction from the very pit of me to every extremity turned to ice.
‘You’re nice and open,’ he commented, slipping his finger inside me. I was supposed to thank him so I did. No need to rock the boat. I know, I know it’s pathetic; please don’t feel sorry for me. It’s not like I was a child. I entered into it all with my eyes wide open. If they were wide open with addictive, passionate shock, well, how was he to know if I never said so?
You know, Mistress, at the very beginning I told him, ‘You can do whatever you want to me.’ If I was naïve about how twisted his dark needs really were it’s not entirely his fault. Is it?
I had this faint hope that he was just engaging in a little after-play. He’d had his own massive orgasm only an hour before. But he was insatiable for me. At least that’s the way I liked to think at the time. Insatiable for it is probably more likely, but that had just begun to dawn on me.
Another finger joined the first. Even it went in easily because he’d already taken my ass. Still there was the slightest discomfort, nothing more than a little internal pressure. It hurt a little. I knew what he had in mind. I knew in a few minutes it was going to hurt a lot.
Maybe if he and I had had more time together, instead of only the odd night here and there, he might have taken more time with me. In the days that followed I liked to think that might have been true. But honestly, if he’d wanted more time with me he could have had it. I would have moved across the world for him, never mind across the country. I don’t mean to press the point, Mistress, but it needs to be said.
I must have flinched. ‘It’ll be easier this way,’ he said. ‘There’s no pelvic cradle to pass through. You’ll see, you’re going to love it.’ He was behind me, whispering in my ear, his two fingers burrowing inside me.
I didn’t look at him,
I just stayed curled up as I was, my arms still between my legs. What would “O” do? I said, ‘What if I don’t?’ My voice was what You call ‘little’. To his ears it likely sounded like a whine.
‘You will,’ he said. There was a trace of impatience in his voice.
‘And then what? After you fist my ass, what next?’ It seemed to me that his depravity was fathomless.
‘I’ll come up with something. Trust me.’
I said, ‘No.’
It didn’t take me long to get dressed and get out. I had plenty of time to repent, or not, since. Yes, there were times when I wished I’d just done what he’d wanted, just to keep the thing we had, whatever twisted, wild thing that it was, alive. But, really, what would he have done to me next? It was always going to end one of two ways, either with me in hospital, or me leaving him, either way alone.
I’ve loved him and I’ve hated him. I’ve been grateful to him for introducing me to the world of BDSM, and I’ve detested him for muddying the waters of that world to a point where I was afraid to wade back in.
In another man’s hands I might have become his happy bi-curious playmate for life. As it is, I’ve become yours and yours alone. I’m no longer curious about men, which makes me a perfect playmate for you, my Love.
Still, I feel there remains a place where he touched me and you have not. So I humbly ask that you gently ready my pussy, with your deft fingers and most delicate, softest mouth, to receive your fine hand.
I want to ride that wave again, my Love. I confess, I ache to be stretched and filled and bruised inside, just a little. The high is intoxicating, I admit. I think you’d like it, too. We both delight in the mingling of pain with pleasure and lust with love. I know I am safe in your hands, in your hand, your hand in me, I know we are safe. Also, I believe you will agree that it must be done. Erase him, please. Replace his imprint with yours. Let there be not even a breath left inside me that lingers from him.
Nexus Confessions: Volume Three Page 4
