by Penny Birch
It was that which really brought what I was doing home to me. I could change my panties, I could go pantiless easily enough, but not without my dress, and it was soaking, making it quite obvious that I’d wet myself, exactly the way Monty wanted it. I let it come anyway, all of it, revelling in the dirty, helpless feeling, wetting myself in the full knowledge that people were going to see.
I was sobbing by the time it stopped, and breathing really heavily, so excited, and so humiliated. The whole front of my dress was wet, with a big patch spreading out from below my pussy. The back was wet too, a little, where it had soaked back through my panties, with the wet material clinging to my skin. It was all down my legs as well, and I could smell myself in the air.
Monty was grinning, walking around me as he inspected the mess I’d made of myself. My dress had gone see-through where it was wet, and my panties showed, back and front, the blue material quiet clear through the white. It was obvious what I’d done, so painfully obvious, and he was going to make me show it.
‘Dirty bitch!’ he said, with immense satisfaction. ‘Come on, I want people to see this, lots of them. Try and look sorry for yourself.’
‘That won’t be hard,’ I assured him.
He held out his hand and I took it, letting him lead me along the path. I did feel sorry for myself, very sorry indeed. I was nearly crying with humiliation, and turned on with it, to the point where I wanted him to fuck me with my wet panties pulled aside, right in the middle of the path.
I was going to ask, but at that moment I heard a bird call from behind us. I turned to find the grey-haired man coming towards me. He hadn’t seen, but he was going to, and I felt a moment of panic, with a desperate urge to run into the woods and hide myself from his awful, disapproving gaze. Then it was too late. He had seen, smiling in greeting, only for his expression to turn to surprise and disgust as he saw what I’d done.
The shame was agonising, really burning in my head. My tears had started, running freely down my face, and I wanted to fall to my knees and masturbate through the soggy cotton of my gusset, or have Monty fuck me, with my pee-soaked panties squelching against my skin as his fat gut slammed into my bottom. It was too much to bear, and I was pulling his hand, trying to drag him up out of the cutting, in among the trees where he could fuck me at leisure, but he wouldn’t come.
‘I want it!’ I pleaded. ‘Now!’
‘No,’ he answered, ‘you’re going to be seen by some more people. Come on.’
He had a firm hold on my hand, pulling me along the path, towards the lay-by. I went, thinking of how I must look with my tear-streaked face and my pee-soaked dress, a truly sorry state. I’d done it on purpose too, I knew that, and I wanted to be punished for it, spanked with my soggy panties pulled down, or stuffed in my mouth so that I could taste my own pee while I was beaten.
We reached the lay-by, and a car passed almost immediately, another behind it. I was sure both had seen, but neither slowed. The third one did, an old white Fiat, and I caught the driver’s eyes, staring right at me, his mouth slightly open. He’d been old, grey haired and roughly dressed, a retired farm labourer perhaps, or something like that.
‘Now bend down,’ Monty ordered. ‘Show the next one the wet patch on your bum.’
I did it, trembling as I waited for the sound of an engine, then bent, pretending to adjust my shoe, my wet bottom stuck out in full view. The car passed, fast, but slowing fractionally and I knew that one more person had been given an eyeful of my wet seat.
‘There’s a really good outline.’ Monty laughed as he came around behind me. ‘Both your bumcheeks show, and it is really obvious what you’ve done.’
‘I know,’ I managed, ‘but enough showing off. Take me in the woods. Fuck me, from behind, with my wet panties still on.’
‘One more,’ he said. ‘Press your knees together, stick your bum out. Pretend you’re doing it. Quickly, there’s one coming.’
‘I could, a little,’ I promised him, getting into the rude pose he’d suggested. ‘I’m going to do it! Here goes!’
I felt the pee spurt out as I strained, between my thighs, spattering the back of my dress. The car had passed, and I didn’t know if the people in it had seen or not, but it had felt so good, and I was wishing I had more, or worse, to really make a mess of myself.
‘Right,’ Monty said, ‘now for your fucking . . . No, hang on.’
Another car was coming, and as I looked round I saw that it was the old Fiat we’d seen before, only this time he was slowing right down.
‘I think we’ve got one!’ Monty said as the car pulled into the lay-by.
‘No, Monty, not in this state,’ I begged. ‘This is for you . . .’
‘Shut up and do as you’re told,’ he answered me. ‘He’s got to be a dirty old man. Yes he is. I’ve seen him here before.’
The old man had got out of the car and was trying to be nonchalant, watching me from the side of his eye as he bent, pretending to check the pressure of a tyre. Monty was already walking towards him, and I realised that I had a choice: play along or run back to the pub in my wet clothes. Really it was no choice at all, because I needed Monty to go to the car for my clothes, and into the pub for some water.
He’d reached the man, and was speaking to him, quietly. I’d stayed back, and I watched the man’s face, caution turning to interest, and amusement, not the slightest concern. Monty turned, beckoning to me.
‘I told him you did it on purpose,’ Monty said. ‘Take off your panties.’
‘Here?’
‘Yeah, here. Go on.’
I glanced quickly along the road, then reached up, struggling my panties down under my dress, and off. The man watched, grinning.
‘Now take him in the bushes and wank him off, with the panties,’ Monty ordered.
I nodded, swallowing once more. The man got up and I took his hand, leading him into the wood, far enough to be sure we weren’t seen from the lay-by. I was trembling inside, and he seemed a little nervous, but no more, seating himself on a fallen tree and calmly pulling down his fly. He took his cock out, a stubby, wrinkled thing, very dark-skinned.
‘Come on, love,’ he said as I hesitated. ‘Get wanking.’
‘You do it,’ I said, still not sure of myself. ‘I’ll . . . I’ll show you my boobs.’
‘Make it your bum,’ he said. ‘I’m a bum man, me.’
I was holding out my wet panties and he took them. He folded them around his cock, really lovingly, and squeezed, making the piddle squirt out from between his fingers. I just watched as he started to wank, pulling at his little cock with my pee running down over his balls. It was mesmerising, so dirty, so open, and I found myself wanting to do what he had demanded. I turned, pushing my bottom out, for all the world like one of the girls in the porn mag, posing myself just so that some dirty old bastard could get his rocks off over the sight of my bare bum.
He leered at me as I looked back, pulling harder at his rapidly stiffening cock. My hands went down, to the hem of my dress and it was coming up, the wet material sticking to my legs as I lifted it, just as I had in front of the businessman, only now I had no panties. The back of my thighs came on show, the tuck of my bottom, everything. I was showing it, my bare bum, stuck out, my cheeks parted to show the rear view of my pussy, wet with piddle, my bumhole too. I could picture myself, so easily, from thinking of the way the girls looked in the magazine, my dress high, my bottom spread, my bare pink pussy lips on show, with the fleshy folds of my inner lips peeping out between them, my bumhole too, with its ring of light-brown flesh around a rose-pink centre. He was staring at me, really intent, while he jerked at his cock, drops of piddle spraying out as he wanked in my little blue panties.
I did it, unable to stop myself, turning and sinking down on the ground, grabbing for his cock and pushing his hand away. I took hold of him, wrapping the panties around his erection, jerking at him, aiming it at my face, with my bare bum stuck out behind so that he could see. He gave a s
atisfied grunt and reached down, taking my dress and pulling it up, high over my boobs. They came out, but he still pulled, and I had to let go of his cock to let him strip me, peeling it over my head to leave me nude except for my shoes.
Again I folded the wet panties around his erection, tugging at him with one hand as I slid the other back between my thighs. As I found my sex I leaned forwards, taking his cock in my mouth, still wanking, with the wet panty material slapping against my face. I could taste him, the taste of cock, but mixed with that of pee, my own pee, which I had done in my panties, on purpose. He took me by the hair as I sucked, forcing his cock deeper, and I began to rub more firmly, sure he would soon come.
I was going to come myself, at any moment, and then Monty was there, to one side, his cock in his hand, wanking over the sight of me sucking the dirty old man off. He dropped down, behind me, his belly pressing to my bottom, his cock nudging between my cheeks, again, and up my pussy in one smooth motion. He began to fuck me, rhythmically, rocking my body back and forth on the old man’s cock, helping me closer and closer towards orgasm, only to slip out and slide up the crease of my bottom, leaving a slimy trail. I slowed my masturbation, waiting for him to put it back inside, only to feel the fat, greasy head push to my bumhole.
The old man had my head down, right on his cock, pressing my face to the sodden panties. Monty was going to bugger me, and I could do nothing to stop him – not that I really wanted to – and was letting my anus go slack even as he pushed. It went in, a little way, my own pussy cream greasing my passage. He pushed again, and for a moment it hurt, with my bumhole straining to accommodate the head of his cock. Then the head was in, and more, forced inch by inch up my bum as I began to gag on the cock that was being forced deep into my mouth.
He got it in, all of it, his fat guts pressing to my naked bottom and lower back, his thighs supporting mine. Again they began to rock me, between them, only now Monty was up my bum, in public, buggering me as I sucked on a dirty old man’s cock and masturbated, nude, my body wet with pee, my sodden panties pushed into my face . . .
I came, my bumhole clenching hard on the fat shaft inside it, my pussy closing on empty air, struggling to get as much of the cock in my mouth down my throat as I could. I was shaking my head too, and wiggling my bottom, totally abandoned to them, lewd, wanton, a dirty, eager little slut, being used the way I so badly wanted, the way I needed. It held, wonderfully, with my bumhole locked on Monty’s cock and the old man jerking away at my head, fucking it, wrenching at my hair, jerking me up and down and at last grunting in pleasure as he ejaculated down my throat.
The old man held my head while Monty finished off up my bum. He was panting, hard, and jamming it right in, until it had begun to hurt, making me cry out and knocking the breath from my body with each push. His hand came forward, grabbing the soiled panties and shoving them in my face, hard, and with that he came, up my bottom, giving a last deep grunt and holding himself deep inside me until he had drained the full load of his sperm into my back passage.
I just collapsed even as he began to pull out of me, filthy and sore, but really too far gone to care. The bastard cleaned his cock on my panties, in front of my face, so that I could see, then hung them from a tree, as I had with my pink ones.
At last I found the energy to sit up, and it was only then that I realised that there were two other men, watching, well back among the trees, both younger, with guilty, lascivious grins on their faces. They melted away among the foliage when they saw me looking at them, but I knew they’d watched, and that was what mattered.
The old man left, barely saying a word, nodding to Monty as he gave a curt goodbye, and ignoring me completely. I was in a fine mess, but Monty said that there was a stream at the far edge of the wood, and we went there, with me still nude. Nobody saw and, after washing myself and my dress, I sat down on a wellsheltered bit of grass, with Monty keeping watch.
It was only then, with the excitement gone, that I began to wonder about the way the old man had behaved, and other things as well. Monty had said it was a good place, but it all seemed to have gone a bit too smoothly. It was almost as if the men had expected me to perform. Certainly they hadn’t showed any great surprise at my behaviour, and that wasn’t normal. On the other hand, they had been particularly intrusive, personally, the way dirty old men often are. They’d been more impersonal, in fact, as if I’d been provided for them. In a sense I had, but they couldn’t have known that, or shouldn’t have, especially the old man.
‘You seem to know this place very well,’ I remarked to Monty. ‘How often do you come here?’
‘Now and then,’ he admitted.
‘You said you’d seen both of them before, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘More than once?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not sure.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Monty. They knew who you were, didn’t they?’
‘No.’
‘You’re lying. I can tell.’
‘I’m not!’
‘Yes you are. That was no accident, two of them so close. And why weren’t they more surprised? Come on, out with it. How does it work?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’
His voice had become really high pitched, and I was sure he was lying.
‘Look, Monty,’ I went on, ‘you know what I’m like. If you tell me the truth I’ll probably be all right about it. I enjoyed what we did, OK? Don’t tell me, and I’m going back to London.’
‘Yeah, all right. I know the old guy.’
‘He’s a regular here, right, and so are you? I didn’t think perverts talked to each other.’
‘He a cleaner where I work.’
‘He is? Explain, now!’
‘Oh, OK. We have this deal, right, at work. I work in Reigate. The guys who’re in on it all put a tenner into the pot at the start of the month. We try and bring girls out here for sex, usually in the backs of our cars. The guy who puts on the best show gets the pot.’
His voice had gone low, really sulky, and it was obvious he expected me to be angry. In fact what he was saying was still sinking in as he went on.
‘Some of the guys are married, others bring their regular girlfriends. One guy manages to bring a new girl here almost every week. I never have anyone. That was part of the reason I made a move on you in Brighton. We were great though, hey? Two suck-offs, and nobody’s ever buggered a girl!’
‘That’s why you buggered me?’
‘Mainly, yeah.’
‘Run that past me again, Monty. You’re saying that you buggered me to show off to your friends? You buggered me to show off to your friends!?’
Eight
It was a hell of a row, but I knew I was going to lose from the start. It was impossible for me to justify how I felt all right about being made to have sex with complete strangers purely to humiliate me, but not so that he could show his workmates what a big man he was. His argument was that it should be even more humiliating, and it was, so I couldn’t really dispute his logic. I still felt used.
In the end my only recourse was to sulk, but even then I was half-hoping he’d put a stop to it with a spanking, the way Percy does. He didn’t and, once my dress was dry, we walked back to the car in silence, with me thinking black thoughts and trying to understand my own feelings.
He had no respect for me whatsoever, that much was obvious. To him I was just somebody to use for his fun, a fuck-dolly, to use a particularly crude expression. No, that was wrong, I wasn’t somebody to use, but something, like the robot he had spoken about. He worshipped my body, yes, but my humanity was not an issue to him.
Unfortunately, it was addictive. He’d made me suck off a guy who made his living sweeping the floor, with my pissy panties in my face, and then buggered me. It was perfect, just the sort of thing I love done to me, utterly filthy and utterly humiliating. Percy might have done the same, but ultimately his loyalty would have been to me, and that was what mattered
.
Back at the car I was tempted to tell Monty to piss off and just drive home. I might even have done it, had it not been for the prospect of spending the rest of my weekend dodging Damon and moping in my flat. As it was I drove west, with the radio turned up and no particular destination in mind. Before too long I was feeling better, and telling myself that if Monty was using me, then I could easily be accused of using him. Just because I was the one who got abused didn’t change it, after all, that’s how I like my sex. In fact it was quite neat, because his behaviour excused mine.
I’d hit the A3 so that I could drive fast, which always soothes my feelings, and it was the look of sheer terror on Monty’s face that finally made me forgive him. He was trying to be cool, but his hand was clutching the door handle, and his knuckles were showing white. It just looked so funny, comical really, which restored my image of him as someone safe.
I even began to try and see it from his point of view, and I had to admit that it would have been hard to resist. His workmates undoubtedly took the piss out of him for being so fat, and it would be worse because he was no good with girls. The chance to show me off must have been irresistible, and on the Monday he was going to be cock of the walk, thanks to me. Not only that, but he hadn’t forced me to do anything I didn’t want to. It was time to make up.
‘Don’t you know how to deal with a sulky brat?’ I asked.
‘Eh?’ He looked puzzled.
‘I said, don’t you know how to deal with a sulky brat?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What I say. Come on, Monty, show some gumption.’
