"The hell am I doing here", I thought.
The air was chilly, ruffling under an obscenely short PVC skirt, teasing the thin gauze that protected me from exposing myself with every gust of wind. Reaching out from that across bare, pale, smooth thighs, suspenders kept up red-topped black seamed stockings, encased from there down by sleek black shiny thighboots. My favourite. The leather jacket JUST about covered the rest: exposing my cleavage under the gauze, but concealing the buckles and straps of the bondage body beneath.
Only bright flashes of reflected moonlight as I walked gave away the presence of ankle and wrist cuffs, and the ever present tightness at my throat of a collar.
Just for convenience, you understand. For what was about to happen. The small buttplug also made itself very known with every step.
I was aware that this was a mostly-abandoned industrial estate. And that I would be pretty much alone here. But as I leaned on a lamppost, threw back my hair, pulled up one leg into a pointed pose and took a selfie, I felt like a proper streetwalking whore.
As the shutter clicked, lights flared around the corner. I tensed, ready to sprint for the shadows if it was a cop car. I'd been assured there was no security or cameras here, but you never know what someone might have seen.
Range Rover. Blacked out windows. Expensive-looking. My "client" was here.
I gulped, closed my eyes, breathed. Absolutely still.
Popped my eyes back open, flashed a brilliant, Julia Roberts smile, and stalked towards the car, unzipping the jacket and letting it fall open, revealing the body underneath.
I leant on the sill by the driver's side, back arched, boobs in full view, butt presented to the world, as he rolled down the window.
"Looking for trouble, honey?"
I don't know how I didn't stumble over those words. Somehow, the whore in me just came out naturally.
"Are you?"
I bit my lip and grinned. "Mayyybe."
"Let's take a look at you."
He stepped out, and I caught my breath a little. Tall. Muscular. Still dressed in stained work gear that showed everything off.
He grabbed my wrist - and For one moment, I thought he might kiss me, staring into my kohl-rimmed eyes for a long moment. I felt the grip tighten and he span me around, slamming me against the back window. Kicked my legs apart and pressed my hands to the glass. I didn't dare move a muscle. But couldn't help it. Strong, rough fingers exploring my thighs, stroking up over my stomach, gripping my tits, then my bottom, violently shoving the plug in deeper, eliciting a whimper of pure need.
"You'll do."
"Thank... you?"
No sass there then.
"But you won't need that."
He took my jacket and threw it into the back seat.
"Or that."
He audibly popped the button and unzipped my skirt. I stepped out of it, suddenly feeling very, very vulnerable. And loving it.
He took a leash and clipped it to my collar, then opened the boot. With a gentle but firm push, he put me back onto the soft carpeting. Grabbed my legs and swung me round sideways. At this point, I reacted instinctively, clasping my arms tightly together behind my back and arching up to show off my breasts.. my submission.
"Good girl." He seemed pleased, a gentler, laughing tone now. He clipped my cuffs together behind me, then pulled a large, wide leather belt, completely studded with rivet holes so it could be adjusted to any size. He wrapped it behind my back, leaning in, heavy with sweat, then pulled it tight and locked under my breasts, squeezing a tiny gasp from me. A second encircled my thighs, locking them together. Then he motioned for me to lie down, and put a third one just under my knees. Finally, he locked my ankles together, and with a short chain, pulled them up to lock to my wrists. Helpless. I should have been terrified. Instead, I was suddenly filled with the kind of brazen lust I never allow myself. Bondage, for me, is release: absolved of guilt and choices, I become the slut I truly want to be.
Finally, I obligingly opened my mouth as he pushed the ball gag I'd brought deep between my teeth, locked it, and stood back, admiring his handywork. He pulled out a camera and took several shots: I'd asked for everything to be chronicled so I'd be able to relive it later.
"Oh. Wait. One thing first."
Before I knew it he was kneeling over me. Half unlocking, half ripping the gag from me, while unzipping himself with the other hand. My nose instantly knew the delicious scent and before I could react my mouth was filled with warm, hard, luscious cock. I sucked and licked eagerly, drawing moans from us both, before he grabbed the back of my head and started to pump, choking me, still desperately sucking whenever he allowed me to, but otherwise opening myself to use. He began twisting my buttplug before pulling it out with a pop and a yelp, and thrust two fingers in deep, violating my pussy in time with my throat, muttering "good whore. That's my girl. Open those fucking holes for me."
I'm not sure how long it was before his breathing quickened and a choking growl came from his chest, and my throat and mouth were flooded with cum, salty, thick, as delicious as you could want it to be.
"Don't swallow. Keep it in your mouth as long as you can," he ordered, as he shoved the gag back into my mouth and locked it, then secured my belts to cargo rings.
Then, with a smile, he shut the back door, and for the first time I noticed the dog cage bars all around me. No-one would see me: no-one would help. No going back.
I heard him walk away, and the thud of his door closing. And everything went black as the interior lights shut off. Just glints of moonlight on my buckles and thighs. The crunch of tarmac as we peeled away.
Time passed. Flickering light from road lights and the odd passing car. Sudden fit of terror as blue lights from a police car approached, then relaxed as they sped on their way, none the wiser about the abduction in progress.
The car slowed. Turned off. Loose gravel. Bumps. Not offroad, but... farm track?
The car ground to a halt. Darkness all around, but the moon burst through the back window, illuminating my skin and flaring in my eyes. I whimpered just a little as the driver's door opened, and footsteps crunched towards the back.
Then a second set of steps from somewhere else. Three. Four? I was too frenzied by this point to tell, wriggling helplessly.
All I knew at that point was the boot opened, and that man was silhouetted against the moonlight. And I was ready. Open. Wanton. Desperate to be touched. Would do anything he wanted. Anything. Just please, PLEASE... use me. |
