lorna mmm
02-16-2010, 12:13 PM
Next time Stevie was able to come around and see me on my day off, I was on my period. Frustrating yes, but I was looking on the bright side, as in about a week, he'd be coming inside me, yippee ! I'd been doing some ironing when he came around, and after spending an age kissing and cuddling, he told me to get back to my 'womans work'. I chided him for being a chauvinist bastard, but I was happy enough to do it, what with him hugging me from behind and that big cock pressing into my bum. He was teasing me, telling me how much he enjoyed watching a woman doing 'her chores'. His hands were up around my breasts, stroking them softly through the little white top I was wearing. It's got a very plunging neckline and is just right for a hot day and showing off my tanned cleavage. Underneath, I was wearing one of the new bras I'd bought for him, I told you that he likes nice bras. A pretty, lacy number from La Senza; a lime green lace padded, plunging number; it really helps to push my boobs out and up. My periods are mostly pretty light, so I had on the matching brazilian thong underneath; even though I wouldn't be shagging him today, I knew he'd be seeing it. Tan tights, short black skirt and black heels were the rest. The top was being eased up above my boobs as he kissed my neck, and lifted them out. He gave my nipples a quick tweak, and started to squeeze my tits, slow and firm. I was finding it more difficult now to keep my mind on the shirt I was trying to iron, and Stevie was teasing me still, playing with my mind; he said that I'd soon be doing this for him, so I'd have to make a better job of it, or else I'd be getting a spanking. I didn't want to ruin the moment by asking about Rosie, so I let it slide.
"You've already spanked me really hard, you made my bum really sore, and I hadn't even done anything." I said.
"Au contraire." He replied.
"I had to punish you for casting that spell on me. A beautiful white witch, who's been entrancing me for years. That's why you had to get a spanking. And that's why there'll be more to come.".
A hand was now down below my hemline, pulling my skirt up, and cupping my pussy; as he pushed himself into my back.
"I can't help that," I said,
"I cant be blamed just 'cos you can't control yourself. It's not my fault that you're a big, rough animal."
I was beginning to become unsteady on my feet, what with his weight pushing into me, and me trying to support myself against the ironing board. I still had the hot iron in my hand, and was trying not to burn Wullies shirt. Stevie grrrr'd slow and softly into my neck, his breath so sweet on my skin. The flat of his hand was pressing into my mound, and that cock into my ass cheeks.
"Beautiful, sexy witch.".
He let go of his hold on me, but only long enough to unzip my skirt, and fish open the hook. It landed on the floor and I kicked it aside. Stevie undid himself and put his fat cock between my thighs, the hardness of it pushing right up against my pussy. He held me close again and began to rock back and forth, rubbing up against my undies. Kissing my neck and whispering,
"Beautiful, sexy witch, this is all your fault. All your fault. Aren't you ashamed of yourself ?"
"No.".
He tut tut'd, and told me that being so shameless and brazen was reason enough for punishment of itself. He said that if he spared the rod, it might just spoil the slut; and that would never do. Shame, he said, as he was so enjoying the feeling of my thighs, squeezed tight together around his meat, and the extra scratch of my nylons. I don't think he realized how much I liked it too, but you can't back down all the time, and let them always know the truth; where would the fun be in that ?
Stevie asked me where my vibrator was. Since he'd given it to me, I'd kept it in my bag, wrapped up in a tampon box. My bag is a cheap, shiny, pink backpack, with black flashing, the name is so naff that I took the label off it over a year ago, as soon as I bought it; but it's light, large enough for anything, and strangely funky. I love it. Wullie would never go near it, and being in the tampon box makes the toy ten times more safe. Stevie went, shuffling out of his clothes on the way, to get my bag, and I felt a wee bit violated that he was looking around inside it. I was still at the ironing board, where he'd told me to stay, Wullies shirt, and a pile of clothes beside me. My now naked lover came back behind me, and dropped the bag at our feet. He switched the vibro on, and slipped it between my thighs, where his lovely cock had been. Pushing it up, hard into me, shoving my tights and knickers up, oohh. Plenty of girls I know, including Rosie, have a hard time on their period; but me, when I've got the painters in, I'm pretty much fine. And as randy as normal, if anything, even more so. Still though, I didn't want to have spots on my new knicks, so I was trying to wriggle away, only Stevie wouldn't let me. His arm was around me, pulling me close to him so that his body was touching mine from my head to my feet. Again he told me to continue with my chores, again he was kissing my neck, and talking, not whispering now. Telling me about a recurring fantasy he had of me. He told me that he'd dreamed about raping me, that every time Rosie would give him a blow job. He would lie back and imagine one of our foursome nights out; we would be sitting around a table in a busy restaurant, when out of nowhere, he would grab my arms and drag me over the table, rip my clothes open, and my underwear away and pour wine over me. That he would take me, hard and aggressive, in front of Wullie, Rosie, the whole damn place; and then he told me how, in his fantasy, the crowd would gather round, shouting and cheering. In my mind I could see and hear them already, leering and screaming for him to fuck me, to rape me, to take me and put me in my place. The place were he wants me to be, at his pleasure. All the time, my little silver vibrator was being pushed up into my pussy; buzzing away and helping him to shove my undies up into my crack. Whilst, in my mind, all the men gathered round would have their cocks in their hands wanking, and every woman would be silent; wondering, fearing, hoping that she'd be next.
Stevie leaned over to his jacket, and pulled something from the pocket, telling me that he'd bought me a small token of his affection, the bastard. It was a black, satin blindfold, with the word “slut” written on the front in red. He placed it over my head, tied it tight and led me away from the ironing board; turning me around as we went, so that I'd lost my bearings in an instant. He moved away from me, and was silent. The anticipation was delightful, when, suddenly, my phone went off; it's only my phone, but what a shock it gave me. Stevie picked it up, and said
“It's Rosie. You will answer, and you will talk to her.”
He clicked the phone into life and put it in my hand. What could I do ?
“Hi babe.”
I'm a bitch, and he's a bastard, sure enough. Rosie started blabbing on about this, that and the next thing; as her husbands hands took control of my boobs, stroking and squeezing. He was in front of me, I thought; and I thought for sure that Rosie would be able to hear the vibro buzzing away, somewhere close to me. His breath and then his lips on my nipples; licking and suckling, his hands still working me. Then, ooohh, the vibro was pushed up against my sex again, and lips were swapped for teeth, as he began to bite down on my teats. Thank goodness Rosie was in fine chatty form, as I was already struggling to keep it together; what with all this going on at one time. My head was swirling; our cheating feeling all the more real with my lovers wife on the phone, me like putty in his hands, and my nipples now starting to really hurt under his bite, and he was doing all this on purpose, pushing me farther. I was wriggling, and trying to shove him away as best I could, but to no avail.
Stevie let my breasts free at last, just as I thought I must scream like a banshee, but I was not to be given an easier time. He was now behind me again, one arm holding me in place, as his cock pressed once more into my bum. The phone was in my left hand, so Stevie was kissing the right side of my neck, and he was whispering in my ear; telling me that I was his, all his, and he couldn't wait to breed me, to have me, to own me. With his free hand, he tugged my tights and panties away from my pussy; I tried to stop him, but my wrist was grabbed and held firm as his arm went tighter around me. He tented my undies open again, and the buzzing moved down to my hole; how Rosie didn't hear it, I still can't understand. Click, the vibrator was turned up to max, and he placed it directly against my clitty, and then slowly withdrew his hand, leaving my own underwear to trap me this way. I wondered what it would look like to have this metal lump, sticking out of my crotch, but for all his strength; his free hand gently encircling my belly, and his lips on my neck and ear lobe so soft, it felt delightful to be owned this way. How long Rosie was on the phone, I couldn't say, nor how many times Stevie told me that I was so beautiful that he was going to own me forever. And each time he slowly whispered that he was going to make me pregnant, I thought I might die. All I remember for sure, is that I came twice, while talking [more listening] to my best mate on the telephone, and she didn't know a thing about it. Thank goodness she can talk so much. When, at last she hung up, I let go of as loud a scream as I could, as though that would release my tension; then we were hugging, and kissing, and laughing like idiots. For a moment then, it felt that we were so close to each other that I wanted to curl up in his arms and cry for joy, but I didn't. Stevie's like most men, tears make him want to run away.
It wasn't yet over though, oh no. I was led, still blindfolded, through to the living room, and pretty much frog marched up to the window. Now this wasn't exciting, this was getting scary; but no matter what I said or tried to do, he was still calling the shots. We , Wullie and I, live in an ex council semi-detached house with a lounge/living room, and the kitchen downstairs, the hallway and stairs at the front door. Upstairs are three bedrooms and the bathroom. I was pressed up against the front window, at ground floor level obviously, in my half naked way, and I squealed as my tits felt the cold glass. This was worrying, very worrying, as any of the neighbours would be able to see, and I wouldn't even know. The toy was still buzzing away on my clit, as Stevie began to tell me what the view was like! He started describing the street, the parked cars, the houses opposite; all the while his strength was too much for me to fight. I was begging, pleading; no, no, this is bloody crazy; but would he listen? Then he started to describe the passers by, and I was cringing, panicking that we'd be caught for sure. I remember thinking, for an instant, that it'd be better if we were seen by someone I know, 'cos at least that'd force the issue I'd been dodging in my mind, and the truth about Stevie and I would come out. Then I realised, it'd come out all right, in the bloody Sunday papers:
“Edinburgh housewife cheats in public !”, “Parading around like an Amsterdam whore.”,
““We always knew she was a tart”, say neighbours”.
What headlines that would make, Love story? More like “Me love you long time, baby”. Shite! The more I struggled, the more Stevie seemed to enjoy my discomfort, laughing while I panicked. I thought I'd faint with fear when he began to describe an older lady, and I jumped in my mind, convinced that it was the nosey old bag from next door, Christine. She's not all that old, 60, but she looks older; she's pretty fat, with not a pound of her hanging the right way. She comes from a family with some money, and she's never worked since we've been there; and her entire life has been dedicated to snooping, spying and causing trouble for anyone she can. Honestly, she can find fault in someone quicker than I can find my shoes. Christ, she rips my knitting, really.
Stevie was still chuckling away, telling me that she hadn't seen us yet, but who cared if she did? He was laughing, it was as though none of it meant any difference to him, whilst it meant a hell of a lot to me. For one, there was the real possibility that our affair would be exposed, with all the attendant aggro which that would entail, good or bad. And then there was the straight forward element of peer pressure shame. Whilst what people think isn't ultimately painful, you still don't want all and sundry to think that you're an old slapper. Stevie kept talking about this woman, telling me that she was looking this way, then looking that way, I didn't know, couldn't tell; I was nervous, horny, and annoyed.
“She nearly saw you there.... Is she looking at you now....etc.”
The guy was driving me daft. Now that, of itself, is okay by me. I'm happy that he puts the hours in, to keep me on my toes; that just shows that he cares more. My problem comes because I know that he enjoys the game so much, so how do I know where any type of reality lives or dies ? Was she looking at me ? Was the whole street ? The whole town ? And all the time, that vibrator was buzzing away at my clit. My own underwear holding it in place, as it inched me closer to insanity, and with my whorish body pressed hard against the cold glass for all to see, bar myself....For me to be the only one who couldn't see what was the
“Best show in town.”
As Stevie told me it was. He thought that he'd have to start selling tickets; and asked me if that would make him a pimp ? Of course not. Though, when pressed on weather that would qualify me as a whore, then he's less certain; as am I. His thick hard-on was growling at the gap between my thighs again, and he talked about us being arrested. All my fault, he told me; all my own fault. I'd go down on charges of indecency, while he would be regarded as a victim. His big cock rubbing back and forth over my undies, as he told me that I was this, that and every other kind of whore; that I was the living embodiment of the word “Slut.” He told me that I was wanton to the core, and if I didn't smarten my act up, then I'd be spanked every day, until he finally, eventually 'Trained' me.
The cold of the glass on my skin, mixed with the fear and humiliation, had me wriggling desperately to escape, but it was no use. Stevie was too big, and too powerful, and I was tottering helplessly in my heels; if he had let me go, I'd only have fallen to the floor. I was pleading, practically begging him to show me some pity, but he was only interested in his pleasure. He was now fucking the gap between my legs, loving the feel of my tights on his hard-on. And he was carrying on with the running commentary from outside; he said that he could see two girls, about fifteen or sixteen, pretty little things, he said, coming our way.
“Wouldn't it be something, if they were the same two girls from that time when I had you in the changing room cubicle ? I wonder if they could tell it was you ?” he said, then
“Hey, maybe they know you, maybe we'll find out, I wonder if they live on your street ?”
My mind scanned the faces of every one I'd ever seen outside, and I was really starting to panic. Stevie's fat dick was pumping away at me, and every stroke it pushed forward, it nudged the vibrator still being pressed against my clit, causing another little shiver to confuse me more. His hand moved to cover my mouth, and I could plead and beg no more. He told me that the girls were right there now, standing just a few yards away; and,
“What if they look up? What will they see, what will they do ? Who will they tell ?”
He was really getting into this now, and as his pace picked up, his thumb pinched my nose; so now I could neither see, speak, nor even be allowed to breathe. And he went on,
“Who will they tell, who will they tell, who will they tell ?”
I was as close to passing out as I ever want to be, when Stevie, at last, stopped. He let go of my breathing, and I gasped in the air, feeling a head-rush of relief to mix in with my fright. His cock had stopped pumping at my thighs, though he still held me tight; then he said,
“It's time to open your eyes. Time now to meet your audience, my love.”
I was a wreck. He pulled the blindfold away in one movement, and the light, mixed with my expectation, made me start. Eh ? What ? I found my voice,
“Bastard, bastard, bastard, fucking bastard.” I found myself laughing like a maniac in his arms; as I surveyed our reflections in the hallway mirror. I'd never been on display at all. So disoriented and dependent had he got me, that I'd accepted every word he'd said. He had marched me, not to the front window, but to the hallway, just behind the front door. That's where we have this full length mirror, where I stared so thankfully at myself. I dug my elbow into his ribs, as hard as I could. He spun me around and kissed me, deeply, as my tongue responded before my pride; I wanted to scratch him to pieces for so frightening me, but found myself melting for him instead. Stevie turned me around again, to see ourselves in the mirror, before I was pushed down, his big hands on my shoulders, to my knees. Forward we moved, until my face was against the glass, he stood beside me, wanking that lovely big tool; until, splat, three long jets of spunk shot out, so much spunk, all over the mirror. Some landed on my cheek, but mostly it was the mirror. He sighed, and said
“Look at what you've done, what you've made me do. Look at the mess you've made.”
I felt such a glow of pride as he went on,
“It's all your fault. Everything we've done, everything we'll go on to do. It's all your fault. It's your fault that I feel this way, like I can't control myself when I'm around you. You're the one to blame.”
With his words, I could almost feel empowered in my submission; tingling all over, and that vibrator was STILL buzzing on my clitty. He told me to,
“Now, lick it up, lick it up, and clean up all that mess you've made. Lap up my spunk, like a kitty laps her cream.”.
I was on it like a rash, licking, and lapping, and worshipping the man who'd found this woman inside of me. So, so happy to please him, to keep him coming back for more.
When he left, Stevie gave me my orders, to prepare for 'Our family'. And he was very specific. He was taking Rosie and the boys away on holiday, as planned, in a few weeks. I knew all about this. What I hadn't counted on, was that he would have to spend some more time working, for extra spending money; so that would severely curtail our chances to meet up, for a while, at least. The next time we would be able to spend the day together, I would be coming to the most fertile time of my cycle. It coincided with my day off, and just before they were to fly out. Laters, xx.
"You've already spanked me really hard, you made my bum really sore, and I hadn't even done anything." I said.
"Au contraire." He replied.
"I had to punish you for casting that spell on me. A beautiful white witch, who's been entrancing me for years. That's why you had to get a spanking. And that's why there'll be more to come.".
A hand was now down below my hemline, pulling my skirt up, and cupping my pussy; as he pushed himself into my back.
"I can't help that," I said,
"I cant be blamed just 'cos you can't control yourself. It's not my fault that you're a big, rough animal."
I was beginning to become unsteady on my feet, what with his weight pushing into me, and me trying to support myself against the ironing board. I still had the hot iron in my hand, and was trying not to burn Wullies shirt. Stevie grrrr'd slow and softly into my neck, his breath so sweet on my skin. The flat of his hand was pressing into my mound, and that cock into my ass cheeks.
"Beautiful, sexy witch.".
He let go of his hold on me, but only long enough to unzip my skirt, and fish open the hook. It landed on the floor and I kicked it aside. Stevie undid himself and put his fat cock between my thighs, the hardness of it pushing right up against my pussy. He held me close again and began to rock back and forth, rubbing up against my undies. Kissing my neck and whispering,
"Beautiful, sexy witch, this is all your fault. All your fault. Aren't you ashamed of yourself ?"
"No.".
He tut tut'd, and told me that being so shameless and brazen was reason enough for punishment of itself. He said that if he spared the rod, it might just spoil the slut; and that would never do. Shame, he said, as he was so enjoying the feeling of my thighs, squeezed tight together around his meat, and the extra scratch of my nylons. I don't think he realized how much I liked it too, but you can't back down all the time, and let them always know the truth; where would the fun be in that ?
Stevie asked me where my vibrator was. Since he'd given it to me, I'd kept it in my bag, wrapped up in a tampon box. My bag is a cheap, shiny, pink backpack, with black flashing, the name is so naff that I took the label off it over a year ago, as soon as I bought it; but it's light, large enough for anything, and strangely funky. I love it. Wullie would never go near it, and being in the tampon box makes the toy ten times more safe. Stevie went, shuffling out of his clothes on the way, to get my bag, and I felt a wee bit violated that he was looking around inside it. I was still at the ironing board, where he'd told me to stay, Wullies shirt, and a pile of clothes beside me. My now naked lover came back behind me, and dropped the bag at our feet. He switched the vibro on, and slipped it between my thighs, where his lovely cock had been. Pushing it up, hard into me, shoving my tights and knickers up, oohh. Plenty of girls I know, including Rosie, have a hard time on their period; but me, when I've got the painters in, I'm pretty much fine. And as randy as normal, if anything, even more so. Still though, I didn't want to have spots on my new knicks, so I was trying to wriggle away, only Stevie wouldn't let me. His arm was around me, pulling me close to him so that his body was touching mine from my head to my feet. Again he told me to continue with my chores, again he was kissing my neck, and talking, not whispering now. Telling me about a recurring fantasy he had of me. He told me that he'd dreamed about raping me, that every time Rosie would give him a blow job. He would lie back and imagine one of our foursome nights out; we would be sitting around a table in a busy restaurant, when out of nowhere, he would grab my arms and drag me over the table, rip my clothes open, and my underwear away and pour wine over me. That he would take me, hard and aggressive, in front of Wullie, Rosie, the whole damn place; and then he told me how, in his fantasy, the crowd would gather round, shouting and cheering. In my mind I could see and hear them already, leering and screaming for him to fuck me, to rape me, to take me and put me in my place. The place were he wants me to be, at his pleasure. All the time, my little silver vibrator was being pushed up into my pussy; buzzing away and helping him to shove my undies up into my crack. Whilst, in my mind, all the men gathered round would have their cocks in their hands wanking, and every woman would be silent; wondering, fearing, hoping that she'd be next.
Stevie leaned over to his jacket, and pulled something from the pocket, telling me that he'd bought me a small token of his affection, the bastard. It was a black, satin blindfold, with the word “slut” written on the front in red. He placed it over my head, tied it tight and led me away from the ironing board; turning me around as we went, so that I'd lost my bearings in an instant. He moved away from me, and was silent. The anticipation was delightful, when, suddenly, my phone went off; it's only my phone, but what a shock it gave me. Stevie picked it up, and said
“It's Rosie. You will answer, and you will talk to her.”
He clicked the phone into life and put it in my hand. What could I do ?
“Hi babe.”
I'm a bitch, and he's a bastard, sure enough. Rosie started blabbing on about this, that and the next thing; as her husbands hands took control of my boobs, stroking and squeezing. He was in front of me, I thought; and I thought for sure that Rosie would be able to hear the vibro buzzing away, somewhere close to me. His breath and then his lips on my nipples; licking and suckling, his hands still working me. Then, ooohh, the vibro was pushed up against my sex again, and lips were swapped for teeth, as he began to bite down on my teats. Thank goodness Rosie was in fine chatty form, as I was already struggling to keep it together; what with all this going on at one time. My head was swirling; our cheating feeling all the more real with my lovers wife on the phone, me like putty in his hands, and my nipples now starting to really hurt under his bite, and he was doing all this on purpose, pushing me farther. I was wriggling, and trying to shove him away as best I could, but to no avail.
Stevie let my breasts free at last, just as I thought I must scream like a banshee, but I was not to be given an easier time. He was now behind me again, one arm holding me in place, as his cock pressed once more into my bum. The phone was in my left hand, so Stevie was kissing the right side of my neck, and he was whispering in my ear; telling me that I was his, all his, and he couldn't wait to breed me, to have me, to own me. With his free hand, he tugged my tights and panties away from my pussy; I tried to stop him, but my wrist was grabbed and held firm as his arm went tighter around me. He tented my undies open again, and the buzzing moved down to my hole; how Rosie didn't hear it, I still can't understand. Click, the vibrator was turned up to max, and he placed it directly against my clitty, and then slowly withdrew his hand, leaving my own underwear to trap me this way. I wondered what it would look like to have this metal lump, sticking out of my crotch, but for all his strength; his free hand gently encircling my belly, and his lips on my neck and ear lobe so soft, it felt delightful to be owned this way. How long Rosie was on the phone, I couldn't say, nor how many times Stevie told me that I was so beautiful that he was going to own me forever. And each time he slowly whispered that he was going to make me pregnant, I thought I might die. All I remember for sure, is that I came twice, while talking [more listening] to my best mate on the telephone, and she didn't know a thing about it. Thank goodness she can talk so much. When, at last she hung up, I let go of as loud a scream as I could, as though that would release my tension; then we were hugging, and kissing, and laughing like idiots. For a moment then, it felt that we were so close to each other that I wanted to curl up in his arms and cry for joy, but I didn't. Stevie's like most men, tears make him want to run away.
It wasn't yet over though, oh no. I was led, still blindfolded, through to the living room, and pretty much frog marched up to the window. Now this wasn't exciting, this was getting scary; but no matter what I said or tried to do, he was still calling the shots. We , Wullie and I, live in an ex council semi-detached house with a lounge/living room, and the kitchen downstairs, the hallway and stairs at the front door. Upstairs are three bedrooms and the bathroom. I was pressed up against the front window, at ground floor level obviously, in my half naked way, and I squealed as my tits felt the cold glass. This was worrying, very worrying, as any of the neighbours would be able to see, and I wouldn't even know. The toy was still buzzing away on my clit, as Stevie began to tell me what the view was like! He started describing the street, the parked cars, the houses opposite; all the while his strength was too much for me to fight. I was begging, pleading; no, no, this is bloody crazy; but would he listen? Then he started to describe the passers by, and I was cringing, panicking that we'd be caught for sure. I remember thinking, for an instant, that it'd be better if we were seen by someone I know, 'cos at least that'd force the issue I'd been dodging in my mind, and the truth about Stevie and I would come out. Then I realised, it'd come out all right, in the bloody Sunday papers:
“Edinburgh housewife cheats in public !”, “Parading around like an Amsterdam whore.”,
““We always knew she was a tart”, say neighbours”.
What headlines that would make, Love story? More like “Me love you long time, baby”. Shite! The more I struggled, the more Stevie seemed to enjoy my discomfort, laughing while I panicked. I thought I'd faint with fear when he began to describe an older lady, and I jumped in my mind, convinced that it was the nosey old bag from next door, Christine. She's not all that old, 60, but she looks older; she's pretty fat, with not a pound of her hanging the right way. She comes from a family with some money, and she's never worked since we've been there; and her entire life has been dedicated to snooping, spying and causing trouble for anyone she can. Honestly, she can find fault in someone quicker than I can find my shoes. Christ, she rips my knitting, really.
Stevie was still chuckling away, telling me that she hadn't seen us yet, but who cared if she did? He was laughing, it was as though none of it meant any difference to him, whilst it meant a hell of a lot to me. For one, there was the real possibility that our affair would be exposed, with all the attendant aggro which that would entail, good or bad. And then there was the straight forward element of peer pressure shame. Whilst what people think isn't ultimately painful, you still don't want all and sundry to think that you're an old slapper. Stevie kept talking about this woman, telling me that she was looking this way, then looking that way, I didn't know, couldn't tell; I was nervous, horny, and annoyed.
“She nearly saw you there.... Is she looking at you now....etc.”
The guy was driving me daft. Now that, of itself, is okay by me. I'm happy that he puts the hours in, to keep me on my toes; that just shows that he cares more. My problem comes because I know that he enjoys the game so much, so how do I know where any type of reality lives or dies ? Was she looking at me ? Was the whole street ? The whole town ? And all the time, that vibrator was buzzing away at my clit. My own underwear holding it in place, as it inched me closer to insanity, and with my whorish body pressed hard against the cold glass for all to see, bar myself....For me to be the only one who couldn't see what was the
“Best show in town.”
As Stevie told me it was. He thought that he'd have to start selling tickets; and asked me if that would make him a pimp ? Of course not. Though, when pressed on weather that would qualify me as a whore, then he's less certain; as am I. His thick hard-on was growling at the gap between my thighs again, and he talked about us being arrested. All my fault, he told me; all my own fault. I'd go down on charges of indecency, while he would be regarded as a victim. His big cock rubbing back and forth over my undies, as he told me that I was this, that and every other kind of whore; that I was the living embodiment of the word “Slut.” He told me that I was wanton to the core, and if I didn't smarten my act up, then I'd be spanked every day, until he finally, eventually 'Trained' me.
The cold of the glass on my skin, mixed with the fear and humiliation, had me wriggling desperately to escape, but it was no use. Stevie was too big, and too powerful, and I was tottering helplessly in my heels; if he had let me go, I'd only have fallen to the floor. I was pleading, practically begging him to show me some pity, but he was only interested in his pleasure. He was now fucking the gap between my legs, loving the feel of my tights on his hard-on. And he was carrying on with the running commentary from outside; he said that he could see two girls, about fifteen or sixteen, pretty little things, he said, coming our way.
“Wouldn't it be something, if they were the same two girls from that time when I had you in the changing room cubicle ? I wonder if they could tell it was you ?” he said, then
“Hey, maybe they know you, maybe we'll find out, I wonder if they live on your street ?”
My mind scanned the faces of every one I'd ever seen outside, and I was really starting to panic. Stevie's fat dick was pumping away at me, and every stroke it pushed forward, it nudged the vibrator still being pressed against my clit, causing another little shiver to confuse me more. His hand moved to cover my mouth, and I could plead and beg no more. He told me that the girls were right there now, standing just a few yards away; and,
“What if they look up? What will they see, what will they do ? Who will they tell ?”
He was really getting into this now, and as his pace picked up, his thumb pinched my nose; so now I could neither see, speak, nor even be allowed to breathe. And he went on,
“Who will they tell, who will they tell, who will they tell ?”
I was as close to passing out as I ever want to be, when Stevie, at last, stopped. He let go of my breathing, and I gasped in the air, feeling a head-rush of relief to mix in with my fright. His cock had stopped pumping at my thighs, though he still held me tight; then he said,
“It's time to open your eyes. Time now to meet your audience, my love.”
I was a wreck. He pulled the blindfold away in one movement, and the light, mixed with my expectation, made me start. Eh ? What ? I found my voice,
“Bastard, bastard, bastard, fucking bastard.” I found myself laughing like a maniac in his arms; as I surveyed our reflections in the hallway mirror. I'd never been on display at all. So disoriented and dependent had he got me, that I'd accepted every word he'd said. He had marched me, not to the front window, but to the hallway, just behind the front door. That's where we have this full length mirror, where I stared so thankfully at myself. I dug my elbow into his ribs, as hard as I could. He spun me around and kissed me, deeply, as my tongue responded before my pride; I wanted to scratch him to pieces for so frightening me, but found myself melting for him instead. Stevie turned me around again, to see ourselves in the mirror, before I was pushed down, his big hands on my shoulders, to my knees. Forward we moved, until my face was against the glass, he stood beside me, wanking that lovely big tool; until, splat, three long jets of spunk shot out, so much spunk, all over the mirror. Some landed on my cheek, but mostly it was the mirror. He sighed, and said
“Look at what you've done, what you've made me do. Look at the mess you've made.”
I felt such a glow of pride as he went on,
“It's all your fault. Everything we've done, everything we'll go on to do. It's all your fault. It's your fault that I feel this way, like I can't control myself when I'm around you. You're the one to blame.”
With his words, I could almost feel empowered in my submission; tingling all over, and that vibrator was STILL buzzing on my clitty. He told me to,
“Now, lick it up, lick it up, and clean up all that mess you've made. Lap up my spunk, like a kitty laps her cream.”.
I was on it like a rash, licking, and lapping, and worshipping the man who'd found this woman inside of me. So, so happy to please him, to keep him coming back for more.
When he left, Stevie gave me my orders, to prepare for 'Our family'. And he was very specific. He was taking Rosie and the boys away on holiday, as planned, in a few weeks. I knew all about this. What I hadn't counted on, was that he would have to spend some more time working, for extra spending money; so that would severely curtail our chances to meet up, for a while, at least. The next time we would be able to spend the day together, I would be coming to the most fertile time of my cycle. It coincided with my day off, and just before they were to fly out. Laters, xx.