Claimed: A Forced Submission Romance (7 page)

“Well,” Sandy chirped at last, hoisting herself onto one elbow, and smiling mischievously at the splayed, limp figure beside her. “Was that worth a drive to the coast?”

“Ohhhh,” he groaned histrionically, then, swinging his legs off the bed, he replied, his eyes twinkling, “That was worth ‘way more than that. The coast? The world!”

“Well, Aberdeen will be just fine, for now,” Sandy said, reaching down for her clothes. “...’way more than that, eh?” she pondered, filing that remark for future consideration. Aloud she said, “Well, I guess we’d better get going,” and she leaned over to give Damon a kiss as she wandered off to locate the bathroom.

Hours later, as they buzzed along the motorway, Sandy could feel herself still glowing. There had been something special in that – that midday romp. “Oh, no,” she scolded herself, “this is not love, not even close.” She looked over at Damon, concentrating on the road, or at least staring intently out the windscreen. Maybe he, too, was revisiting their earlier activities. He was cute, she decided; even lovable, perhaps, but lovable like a puppy is lovable. “No, it’s not love. More like lust – or the power of lust – or, more accurately, the power conferred by lust.” The afternoon sun played across her secret smile, as she reclined contentedly in the speeding car.

As they approached Aberdeen, a wicked thought occurred to Sandy. “Damon,” she said, as coyly as she could, “how would you like another shot at me?”

Damon’s head swiveled on his neck like it was on bearings. “What?” His wide eyes had left the road, to stare fixedly on Sandy’s cherubic smile.

“Watch where you’re going, dear,” she said, benignly. His gaze snapped back ahead. Sandy could almost feel the intensity with which he was listening as she asked, “Would you like another go ‘round – with me?”

She smiled at his almost frenetically nodding head. “Would I?” he repeated, incredulously, “Ab-so-fucking-lutely!”

“Why don’t you get us a room for the night? Then we can spend all the time we want – doing just exactly what we want.”

“But I gotta be a work in the morning,” Damon complained, not believing his bad luck.

However, Sandy just blew it off, pointing out, “You don’t have to stay the whole night. You could leave me there whenever you needed to, eh?”

Damon’s eyes lit up as he acquiesced. Their clothes didn’t stay on much after the closing of the door, and Damon was already filling Sandy’s snatch before dark. Donning clothes afterwards, they went out to get something to eat – Damon’s treat, of course; and, before they’d finished eating, Sandy said, a hint of sadness in her voice, “You don’t have to leave yet, do you?”

“Well,” Damon allowed, “I could stay another hour or so.”

“Oh, goody,” Sandy chirped, seeming genuinely pleased, which she maybe was, but wheels were turning in her head. He seemed more than willing to meet her demands. As much as she enjoyed the sex – and she really, truly did, there was no question of that – she should make it worth as much as she could. Sandy had idly looked at a map during the drive, so, picking a destination out of the air as much as anything, she asked, timidly, “Do you think you could give me bus fare – coach fare to Blackpool?” Cocking her head slightly, and batting her eyes, she added, coyly, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Damon hesitated only briefly – they determined the cost from the desk clerk at the hotel – before he handed the necessary cash to Sandy, lust streaming from his glazed eyes. Ascending back to the room for another quick roll in the hay before heading back home, Damon marveled at his luck.

Later, he held her hands as they stood staring at one another. It had been very good, again. Damon’s gaze was glassy-eyed, and he felt he was wandering a dream. Sandy wondered how she had, so quickly, got to this. “Thanks, Sandy,” he said, holding her hands and giving her a kiss in the lobby of the hotel. “That was wonderful – better than wonderful. I can’t believe that I won’t see you again. Please come back, sometime.” Sandy could feel the sincerity in his hug, and she felt almost sad leaving him like that, but...

The next morning Damon was gone – history, and Sandy, breakfasting alone, was filled with ambivalence. What had she done? She had prostituted herself, manipulating an innocent. Her actions yesterday, she argued, were as bad as the ordeal to which she’d been subjected the day before. Her emotions swirled, having seemingly found another rollercoaster to ride – one moment, she felt guilty and awful and wicked – yet, the next, she felt empowered and free and in control. Despite her upbringing, and her morals, for what they were worth, she decided she liked the latter feeling better – much, much better. And there was a little voice in her head – whether it was the voice of reason, or depravity – that urged her forward. “Go on! Go for it!”

She smiled, looking around her hotel dining room. “I can do this,” she declared aloud, finally feeling a hunger for the breakfast at which she had only toyed. After eating, over her morning coffee, Sandy scanned a free map of the city she had picked up from the desk. Puzzling and deducing she finally figured out her objective.

Every big city has its sleaze – a ‘red light’, sex trade district – if you know where to look. Sandy determined that, in Aberdeen, it would probably be the harbour area, starting around Virginia Street, running down along all the narrow ways – Water Lane, Mearns Street, or James Street – to Regent Quay and along to Waterloo Quay. So, making her way into the harbourside labyrinth, Sandy browsed the local sleaze shops she, indeed, found there, picking up a few items, before heading to the depot to board her coach for Blackpool.

She amazed herself at how calm she felt – how empowered. She had almost no idea what to expect in Blackpool, but that just added to the adventure. Changing in the station washroom, she emerged looking rather less innocent than she had been a mere three days earlier, arriving on a different bus at a small Scottish town. Now, instead of jeans, she wore a short, stretchy skirt; and her new tee-shirt sexily revealed a not insubstantial cleavage.

G
iving her best come-on to the fellow passenger ogling her from across the aisle of the bus, Sandy wondered what she could get from him. She certainly knew what she could give him, and the thought of what that might entail sparked a warmth deep inside her. Fluttering her eyelids, and licking her lips, her tits pressed out to fill her tee, she could feel her pussy beginning to moisten at the prospect of what might ensue. It didn’t take long before the fellow stood up and came over to her. “This seat taken?” he asked, and when she made no response but to raise an eyebrow and look at the empty place next to her, as if surprised, he added, “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” she whispered, flashing him a charming smile. As soon as he was seated, Sandy surprised herself by grasping his arm and snuggling into his shoulder. “I’m Sandy,” she whispered, “Lonely Sandy.”

“Hi,” he replied succinctly, blatant in his refusal to identify himself, but, snaking an arm, nevertheless, around her shoulder to palm her boob.

“Mmmmm,” Sandy cooed contentedly, as he gave her tit a squeeze.

Nuzzling into his chest, Sandy allowed one hand to explore the access his shirt provided, while she dropped the other hand to his crotch to boldly fondle the growing package she found there. “It’s odd,” she thought, luxuriating in the liquid feelings that bubbled within her. “It’s almost like a high,” – not that she had ever been high on anything except alcohol – “Almost like I’m becoming addicted to exceptional naughtiness.” She pondered this, as she managed to unbutton the shirt of her anonymous admirer, and find his nipples with her fingers and tongue. There was something sinfully seductive in what she was doing; the effects of her magic were becoming obvious in the rising stiffness beneath the zipper she struggled to open. Her nameless partner’s breath was becoming increasingly ragged, when she looked up and said, very matter-of-factly, “I need a nice place to stay tonight in Blackpool.” He nodded slightly as if to say, “And...?” so, without skipping a beat Sandy asked, “Is there a toilet on this bus – er – coach?”

Without a word, her mysterious lover pushed her away, pulled his clothes together, then pulled her from the seat to lead her to the back of the coach. A few of the other passengers eyed them as they passed, but nobody seemed to actually watch as they both entered the closet-sized lavatory. As soon as the door closed Sandy pushed her companion into a half-sit against the sink and, crouched between his legs, squishing in beside the commode, fished his erection out into the open with more grace, she thought, than she had a right to. Rounding her lips, she pushed the straining pole deep into the back of her throat before pausing to accommodate his impressive girth. Then she began a slow withdrawal, applying suction to the tool, while caressing the underside with her tongue and squeezing its length with her cheeks. Catching his flanged helmet gently with her teeth she held him still a moment, resisting the pressure of his hands at her ears, to swirl her tongue on his glans and poke briefly into his pee-hole before pushing back onto him. Taking her time she engulfed his now quivering cock, pushing the tip well past the end of her mouth and into her throat, until her face pressed against his pubic hair.

Sandy danced her fingers up under his shirt to tickle at his nipples, as she reached her apogee and paused, before beginning her inevitable withdrawal once more. She could hear her partner fighting to keep quiet in the cramped cabinet, his hips jolting spasmodically as she brought him nearer and nearer to climax. Speeding up, then slowing down, she could feel his arousal echoing in the sparkles of her own sex. She could feel her wetness starting to run down her legs, and the thin material of her panties rub against her gaping lips. It was becoming a matter of self-perpetuating arousal. And while she could see nothing but the tails of his shirt, his pubic beard, and his glistening hardness as it disappeared once more into her face, the objective vision of the tableau that she drew in her head was erotic beyond reason.

Suddenly twitching and jerking, Sandy allowed the disembodied hands to pull her impossibly tight onto the swollen rod. Puffing through her nose she gasped and gagged and swallowed, again and again, as the paroxysm of climax spat and spurted deep into her gullet. “Had he held on just a little longer,” she thought with disappointment, while struggling to maintain her vacuum-like hold on him and breathe at the same time, “I could have joined him in orgasm.”

When at last he withdrew, finding the continued caressing stroke of her tongue just too intense, Sandy gathered with a finger the overflowing juices from around her mouth, and, sitting back on her haunches, asked, smiling up impishly at him, “Well, was that good enough for a room?”

The look of disgust the he gave her in response, shocked and chilled her. No one had ever looked at her with such repugnance. Reaching into his pocket he dropped a ten-pound note and spat out, “Get a hostel.” Then he turned and fled, striding up the aisle of the coach, leaving her crouched in the stall with the door swinging. Mortified, Sandy reached for the door as she stood, straightening her clothes. She stared a long time at the bill in her hand, then, finally stuffed it in her pocket. She felt awful. “How am I going to walk out of this room and back to my seat?” she wondered, almost frozen with shame, but as she pushed the door open again and stepped out, a hand closed on her arm.

“Hey,” a voice whispered, the hand pulling her toward it, “won’t you join me?” A young man was sitting alone in the very back seat of the coach. “Don’t worry,” he offered, flashing her a wide smile, “I’m mostly harmless.”

“Where have I heard that before,” she thought, wryly, though she couldn’t help but return his earnest smile. Yielding to the insistent tugging, Sandy sat down beside him and let him gather her back onto the seat, somewhat out of sight behind the next seat-back.

“You need some help?” he asked, in a seemingly guileless voice.

A plethora of answers flew into her head – “I need an orgasm; I need help regaining my equilibrium after the crushing blow of that asshole’s disgust; I need someone to appreciate me; I need someone to succumb to my fledgling powers; I need sex and lust and plenty of it; I need...” – but all she said, quietly was, “I kinda need a place to stay tonight, you know what I mean?” and she looked at him hopefully.

“Oh, I can probably get you someplace to stay, all right,” he replied in a voice thick with emotion and hidden meanings. And if there was a note of danger in what he said, it was the kind of lustful, erotic danger that Sandy was rapidly coming to relish.

“That’s really kind of you,” Sandy said sweetly, turning in the seat to face him, throwing her chest out as if offering her tightly encased breasts for his approval. “How can I – what can I do to thank you?”

“Judging on what my admittedly wild imagination believes just happened in there,” he said, nodding toward the lavatory, “I think you’ll think of something.

Although Sandy lowered her face in shame, blushing to a deep crimson, she was amazed had how quickly her quim had responded, oozing warm lubricants through the already wet crotch of her panties, onto the material of the seat. Could he smell her feminine arousal, she wondered, curling up around them like smoke from a smouldering fire?

Leaning over to plant a kiss on his lips, Sandy was gratified by the hunger and vivacity with which he returned her lingual caress. Almost instantly they were engaged in a full-contact contest of sucking-face. Pulling one another close with one hand each, his free hand immediately settled on Sandy’s boob, squeezing and mashing with a frantic urgency. Sandy’s free hand dropped to his crotch, where she found the big-top already raised. Precious moments wasted fiddling with the snap and zip, Sandy was pleased to discover the absence of briefs. Pulling the proud lance free, she stroked it lovingly while dueling with his tongue. The heat emanating from the throbbing erection as she glided her hand up and down, and the energy being generated by his wonderful tit manipulation, taken with the intensity of their tonsil hockey, mashed lips and tangled tongues was almost too much for both of them.