by Laurie Mann
Soon we were hidden behind a derelict shop and, as he undid his fly, he pulled my head down to his lap. He stank of stale sex. Without his hand in my hair I would have run, but forced onto his rancid prick, I resolved to make it as quick as possible, fighting the need to be sick. Madam’s exercises proved their worth and within a couple of minutes my throat was filled with his revolting slime. Gasping for breath, I pulled my head from his grasp. He opened the door and pushed me out before driving off.
I was left on the ground, sick to the pit of my stomach and penniless. Next time it’s money up front, I thought as with a gut wrenching heave I emptied my stomach onto the ground.
‘Sod Madam, I’m going home. But where is home and what with? I’ve no money! I was at a desperate low as I walked unsteadily back to the avenue.
So, why did my pussy find it all so exciting?
The other girls’ eyes seemed to burn into me as a large estate car stopped.
“How much?”
“Twenty five.” I hoped I’d learned from last time. “In advance.”
“I’ll double it for some bondage.”
Common sense said refuse, but it would put me half way to my target and in the end my pussy ruled my brain. I agreed as I slipped into his car, cramming the notes into the small and only pocket of my skirt.
We drove to a small trading estate of modern factory units, strangely desolate and lonely in its weekend emptiness. He took me into the offices of ‘Better Plastics’, a slightly more prosperous firm than those on the estate where I began the evening’s adventures, leading me through the offices to the warehouse. There was a forklift truck, its tines spread wide about four feet from the floor. Leather cuffs on short chains hung from the end of each one. He had hardly spoken, my new ‘client’, there seemed no need. Cuffs were self explanatory. Once I had been secured, the forks were raised until I was standing on my toes, frightened but excited beyond my wildest dreams. Helpless with a complete stranger; I didn’t even know his name. Thoughts tumbled as they had been doing so often lately:
Would he just have his way with me and then leave me there to die?
Would he beat me?
Would he rape me?
Is it really rape if he’s paid for it?
My pussy enjoyed my thoughts more than I did, my hips were beginning to grind gently.
He began fondling me beneath my scant clothes with an unexpected gentleness and murmured his pleasure as he found my soaking wet sex. As my breathing quickened with my growing excitement, so did his interest and he was soon thrusting his rampant eight inches into my eager snatch. Violent passionate kisses distributed the cherry red lipstick all over his face but he didn’t seem to care. Would I recognise him again, this nondescript middle aged ordinary man with set ideas of what he wanted in the way of sex, and did it matter anyway ... losing myself in passion, I decided it didn’t.
It was over all too soon and I rocked with the explosion of climax as his hot seed gushed into the depths of my womb, before hanging, limp and exhausted, from the cuffs, wrists aching, toes beginning to shout their strain of my weight. He left me there while he made coffee and I reflected that life on the street could have its good side as well. After he released me, while we drank coffee, he tried to make another date but I insisted that he’d have to pick me up in the usual way. I would have loved to meet him again but I’ve enough trouble in my life at present without introducing more. But then, would I? He didn’t give me the pain I seek at times, he didn’t really dominate, he just paid for and got a willing submissive. I did say the truth and nothing but the truth in this journal, so no, I wouldn’t have loved to meet him again, not really. He wasn’t what I was looking for.
I hope Rock is.
He took me back to the avenue and I felt better, more confident, standing waiting for my next punter. I still didn’t like it but the fifty pounds in my pocket helped ease the pain. At least I was half way to Madam’s target.
I wondered about the time as some of the other girls drifted away to be replaced by others and what had been a steady flow of kerb crawlers ebbed, so I guessed it might be lunchtime. The time began to drag and I became utterly bored and my feet ached. The onset of hunger didn’t help, I hoped for another punter to stop the time dragging and let me to reach Madam’s target as soon as possible so my ordeal could end.
A huge white limousine drew up alongside the kerb, creating a buzz of excitement among the other girls. It was a car which oozed money and it was obvious from their reaction it wasn’t often such a car was seen in the area. The window smoothly opened and the driver, who was on the nearside, subjected me a searching inspection.
“You’ll do. Get in.”
The rear door opened and I stepped in, feeling it inappropriate to discuss terms. The interior was cavernous and as the car accelerated I lost my balance and toppled headlong onto the rich, deep pile carpet, nose inches from slender ankles. Surprised, I let my eyes follow shapely calves to the knee length black dress with class written all over it. Upwards, admiring the dress and expensive jewellery until I met her eyes. Beautiful green eyes surveying me from head to toe. Her face had a beauty only ladies of later years can have and suggested that in her prime she must have looked quite exquisite. Her blonde hair was styled to her shoulders and only its hint of grey suggested her age to be mid fifties rather than the forty she looked.
“My husband uses sluts like you, so I’m going to have some revenge.” Her voice was gentle, almost creamy as she spoke but at the same time left no room for argument. Her face was soft and gentle but her eyes were steely hard.
Who is she? What does she intend to do? As ever, fear fought lust.
She grabbed a handful of hair and forced me across her legs, my bottom raised high over her thighs. Her free hand lifted my skirt, exposing bare skin and I hoped that nobody could see into the car as it drove around.
A blazing head spread across my cheeks and I screamed and twisted my head just in time to see her hand raised, holding a short tawse about twelve inches long, ready for the next stroke. It landed; spreading more fire just as I tensed and she held my hair tighter, preventing me twisting again. On and on the blows rained, stoking the fire to raging agony. The more I wriggled the harder she hit, the harder she hit the more I wriggled. It was as though she was using my bottom to release years of pent-up frustration, her breathing grew heavy as her frenzied attack continued unabated. The pain was intolerable, far worse than any inflicted by Madam for it went on much much longer, and it wasn’t until I was sure I was going to faint that she finally stopped. She kept hold of my hair as I writhed and sobbed on her lap, while her breathing slowly returned to normal.
Something hard pressed against the lips of my pussy, prising them open.
“Like it hard, do you? Like my husband’s, is it, you dirty little whore? Well, try it like this.”
Suddenly it was viciously rammed in, stretching me and forcing a cry from my lips. She rammed it in and out, plunging it deeper and deeper, bruising my cervix with every thrust. Her anger gave her strength beyond her slender build. Every thrust made me beg her to stop ... but made my hips rise to meet it. I wept with humiliation.
My pussy welcomed the abuse, pleasure rising with every sickening, squelching thrust until, with a mocking chuckle, she inflicted the final indignity. She stopped, the phallus planted deep into my womb. I felt the onset of the climax my body craved, but which my mind found abhorrent, held on the very brink. Uncontrollably my hips bucked and jerked as my pussy demanded relief. I felt sick and humiliated by my body’s total betrayal of my wishes and the display of wanton lust that I’d given my assailant, a woman whose name I didn’t even know.
The after tremors that rippled through me were testament to the violence of my body’s treachery. I lay prone, unable to move from her lap. When her voice broke through the foggy isolation protecting me from further
humiliation, it was with new harsh tones that instantly re-awakened my senses to the reality.
“So, the slut enjoys a pussy full, does she? No wonder you’re walking the streets. Just remember that’s all you’ll be good for if you don’t come up to expectations. I’ll take the fifty pounds in your pocket.”
The car was slowing along with my thoughts. It was Madam! Too late to look, I was tossed out, catching only a glimpse of her blonde mane and the back of the car speeding into the distance.
It took a couple of minutes for my confusion to clear and to get my bearings. I had been so close to Madam, but still could not picture clearly what she looked like. I worried as I staggered home with legs barely able to support me. Madam had demanded one hundred pounds but she’d only taken fifty from me. Worse, she’d not left instructions for my next meeting.
What would she do now that I’d failed her? When would she tell me my fate?
How did she know I had fifty pounds in my pocket?
Did she know how that savage beating inflamed me?
Madam must have arranged my punters. I slowly realised. She even used her car to drop me near to home. The feeling of complete control was overwhelming.
The evening passed in abject misery, as I feared the worst and the sense of inadequacy caused by failing Madam grew deeper. Even as a common street whore I failed. It didn’t help when the problems at work, particularly with Rock and Lisa, began to invade. It seemed that even business problems, which had never proved difficult before, now seemed impossible.
My self-esteem has plummeted as I bitterly regret ever writing a journal, rue the day Madam entered and destroyed my life.
I desperately long for normality to return.
I yearn for no more Madam, no more Rock and no more changes of plans from Lisa.
I just want the clock turned back and this crazy episode in my life to go away forever.
So why the hell is it so good and exciting when I’m serving Madam?
I went to bed, hoping against hope that the week at work would improve, but somehow knew it wouldn’t. After all. Rock had failed me in finding the solution he’d promised just as much as I’d failed Madam.
***
Monday morning I felt miserable. Even the weather seemed to share my lack of enthusiasm for the coming week. By the time I reached work I was at a very low ebb, lower than I could ever remember, reduced to searching the mail for any problem big enough to engross myself in and drag me from my depression. I was disappointed, everything. Except for Madam, Rock and Lisa, life was running smoothly, as it should of course. I checked my messages; nothing from Rock, one from Lisa, requesting a meeting later that morning.
I telephoned Rock but got no reply. My last hope of knowing what to do about Lisa before meeting with her was dashed. He’d let me down, after I’d built him up to be the pillar of strength I could depend on. I felt dejected and alone in the world, which now seemed so alien and unfair.
The temptation to run away and hide until the whole sorry mess I’d made my life into resolved itself was certainly powerful. For the first time ever I was looking at a huge mountain to climb, one which seemed to be getting more insurmountable by the day.
The coffee cup held my gaze, my mind stared blankly at my life and my brain refused to confront my problems, let alone seek any solutions. Even the minutes passing by seemed to ignore me until Lisa’s knock awakened my senses.
“Hello, Lisa.”
“Hi, Frankie. Good weekend, was it?” She quipped at my unenthusiastic welcome which, I knew was unfair, but could do nothing about.
I pressed the intercom and ordered more coffee, “No, I’m just a bit off colour, that’s all.” I blushed as I remembered selling myself on the streets and wondered what Lisa would have thought had she known what I’d been doing.
“That’s been happening a lot lately, you need to see someone.”
Lisa sounded genuinely concerned and I thought it is seeing someone that’s the problem and seeing someone else won’t solve it.
“Yes, I know, but I’m all right really. Now, what have you got for me, how are all your plans working out?”
“The plans are going well, Frankie and I’ve done a lot of work on them this weekend, which is why I needed to see you now.” Her eyes were sparkling, as though she’d changed up a gear, such was her enthusiasm, which pleased me. It was less infectious than I’d expected, though.
“Oh?”
“Yes, basically nothing’s changed very much but there are some detail changes that I need to discuss with you.”
“It’s not anything too serious is it? I’m not keen on selling one idea to everybody else and then re-vamping it to something they don’t recognise.” I had a feeling she’d played down the detail changes, that worried me.
“No. No. The principle is still the same, but I’ve given some thought to the lorries. The small ones I’m happy with but you know the two big ones for the distance work, well, instead of the big five hundred engines I think a three eighty for the U.K. work will be best and a four thirty for the European work.”
“Hey, slow down a bit Lisa, you’ll leave me behind.” Her enthusiasm was carrying her along too fast and I needed time to think. “You were so certain before and your arguments convincing, so why the change? And what are these five hundreds, three hundreds and four hundreds anyway?”
“Sorry, Frankie. The numbers are engine size, brake horsepower. A three eighty will be more than adequate for the U.K., in fact a three forty would do but the resale value could be a problem so on balance it’s best to go for the bigger one. For the European work, the extra power of the four thirty will cope with the more arduous conditions and greater distances better. We won’t be running at full weight at all, so there won’t really be any additional benefit by having five hundreds and we’ll save twenty five thousand pounds on the initial cost between the two, together with an ongoing running costs saving.” All said with breathless breakneck speed, as if memorised and thrown out in an exam.
“That’s all very well but what about the flagship? I thought it was unanimous that it was worth any extra cost in advertising and image value?”
“Ah, yes. I was coming to that. The U.K. one will be the flagship.”
“But that’s the smaller one, isn’t it? I thought flagships were the biggest and best, the pride of the fleet, so shouldn’t it be the European one?”
“Yes, when you look at it that way, but our customer base is here, the European one will never be seen by customers or potential customers, so it’ll be wasted. It’s only the livery that’ll be noticed, nobody will know it’s not the real flagship. Besides, the European one won’t even have a name on it, so nobody will know it’s ours anyway.”
“I’m sorry, Lisa but you’ve lost me. Surely we have to make as much use of the advertising potential of the trailer sides as possible?” Her comment took me by surprise and made no sense, but I suspected she’d have the answer. The rest of her changes made perfect sense when she explained them. I also began to suspect somebody else was the driving force behind Lisa’s change of plan. I don’t know how he’d done it but I had a feeling that Rock hadn’t let me down after all.
“Yes, but not Europe. We’re carrying high value goods. Remember there’s a huge black market anxious to sell them on our behalf but cut us out of the equation. Putting our name on the side will only increase the risk of losing a load, so it’s best to be as incognito as possible.”
“That’s clever thinking, Lisa. Why am I getting the feeling that not all these changes are your thinking alone?”
“I admit I’ve been talking to someone but there’s more yet. Instead of using fuel cards for the U.K. we’ll use bunkering cards or open accounts with garages on regular routes, which will save money. We’ll run the smaller one on three axles on both unit and trailer which will save us
road tax, but we’ll only be able to have small fuel tanks fitted and we’ll need re-fuelling facilities. The European one we’ll run with just two axles on the unit, which will cost more in tax but allow for bigger fuel tanks and we’ll save more on fuel than the extra tax will cost, so we’ll actually be better off. In Europe we’ll keep the charge card we’d agreed on for emergencies, but it’s expensive so we’ll need a fuel card as well.” Once again the headlong rush into explanation, as if memorised. My suspicions were confirmed.
“I’m very impressed, Lisa, but tell me more about where these ideas came from.” I couldn’t work out how Rock, if it really was him, had won her over so completely, considering how she’d reacted to him at first.
“Not yet. The most important bit is still to come. I think Rock will be a great asset. I want him taken on as the European driver.”
“And who is Rock, may I ask?”
“Oh, yes I forgot, you don’t know him, do you?” Her eyes positively lit up. “Mr Hudson, you remember, you liked his application and said you thought he’d be ideal. Well, I agree.”
“That’s a big change from before, Lisa. Look, it’s lunchtime. How about if we go next door and eat? You can tell me all about Mr Hudson then.” I was pleased that Rock had apparently solved the problem so successfully but worried about Lisa’s obvious enthusiasm for him.
I remembered his comment about seeing the same look in both our eyes. Surely she was too young to be of interest to him, or was she? The possibility that Lisa might have upstaged me would be hard to live with. To lose the first man in my life who I genuinely thought could own me was bad enough, but to lose him to an employee would make it even harder. On top of all my other problems, it seemed tantamount to disaster.
“Tell me about this Mr Hudson. What’s he done to change your opinion so much?” I asked after we’d ordered our food.
“He phoned last week, said he’d like to talk with me and offered to by me dinner.”
Her words were like a dagger through my heart. I’d had to buy him dinner when I wanted to talk; now he’d offered to buy Lisa dinner. “Go on.”
