Force Me To Obey
Page 16
Still, it had been weeks since anything so stimulating had been required of me.
Even in the bar, there was no suggestion that he had something in mind for the night, until he insisted on following me to the ladies room.
At the restroom door, he steered me toward the men’s room, saying, “You can use this one.” I was instantly alarmed but did what I was told. Inside the men’s room, there were several vacant stalls in addition to the urinals. He shoved me into one of those stalls, which I quickly used. “Now remove your clothes,” he ordered as I finished peeing.
Forgetting myself, I almost questioned him… but luckily, I remembered myself before I committed the heinous act of balking. It was summer again. I was wearing a short skirt, no panties, a pair of high-heeled sandals and a tightly fitting tee shirt. At work, I’d worn a jacket, but was told to remove it when we entered the bar. I was used to being the focus of sexual attention—and in this place I was hardly the only woman showing off a pair of voluptuous tits. Point was, it took just seconds to shrug off my clothes and show myself naked for Preston’s rather steamy gaze.
“Your deeper exhibitionist passions feeling neglected?” How did he know? I hadn’t uttered word. “You can get your full measure tonight.”
He proceeded to bind my wrists together with rope and throw the free end over the top of the stall, tying it off tight so it wouldn’t come loose. I wouldn’t be going anywhere for sometime. Then, just to make the scene a little nastier, he took a dark lipstick out of my purse and wrote on my back…
Take me!
Use me!
Fuck my ass!
He whispered the words in my ear as he wrote them, making me believe that Fuck my ass! appeared just above my ass cheeks.
“Enjoy yourself, slut,” he said, brusquely leaving me to the wolves that followed.
They came in waves… the guys that just looked at me, while I hung my head… not in shame, but embarrassment… the guys who took the hints and fooled with my body… and the guys who took the bold message seriously.
Not too many actually screwed my ass. Some were too drunk. Others just not brave enough. But there were three who took the lipstick come-on seriously. They mauled me in rough play that was every bit as painful as any spanking or whipping or dungeon scene. Their crude caresses inspired my lust, driving it another notch higher. I had no shame by the time they worked me into a frenzy. I didn’t care what happened, or who took, I only wanted more.
Toward the end of my stint in the restroom, there was one long wild show before dozens—a sexless, ageless crowd playing audience—while a round robin of three cocks fucked themselves to ecstasy inside my ass. There was a big guy, lots of hair and a wide toothy grin… a little wiry fellow I didn’t think could reach my ass, but he managed, and a third, a good-looking one with dark hair, a cowboy’s ruddy face and steamy eyes. My cunt flooded with juice as he worked me over, and was kind enough to help me come with some delightfully playful strokes of my pussy. I grunted hard getting screwed, battered and mangled. And then I was left on my own when the sport had lost some of its excitement. No one else had the balls to have me and the crowd finally drifted away.
Shortly after the men left, Preston returned, and led me naked across the parking lot to the car, while I stumbled along in my high heels. I suppose it didn’t matter by that time. Everyone had already seen me naked, and no one would be calling the cops for my public indecency. I was beyond blushing.
I rode in the back of Preston’s truck—yeah, he had a truck just so he had greater latitude for exposing me—laying out on the flat bed tied with legs spread and my arms over my head. We went at least as far as the first highway rest stop before he finally pulled over, let me out and into the cab beside him. I have no idea how many truckers saw that show. Oblivion had descended on me some time before, and I was riding high on endorphins and euphoria, coming in multiples every time Preston’s hand moved between my thighs. We got to his apartment building, when he remembered that he had forgotten to allow me to dress. He put his suit jacket over my shoulders, but did nothing to button it. My wrists were still tied in front of me. It was late, and the only people around were just a security guard and a guy coming home from a long night at another bar. He was a little stunned to see me and I’m sure in the morning he’d swear I was just a drunken wet dream.
I always wondered if Preston actually knew the guys that fucked me in the rest room. But I never found out. That was not the sort of question I was supposed to ask.
***
This is not the end of my story… there is no appropriate epilogue; just a graphic illustration of how my life has been for the last five years. I don’t expect it to change, and I wouldn’t want it to. Outrageous sex acts fuel our passionate life. He is my master, I am his slave. It is not an easy life. And yet, the raw arousal that dwells in me every day makes it worth the pain, the humiliating sessions of public rebuke and the exacting attention to detail required of me. It’s also worth it for the love. We don’t talk about that much, but I know it’s there. Preston as much said so once. And he says it often without words. Every time I’m ordered to follow his command, and I obligingly obey. I see the look in his eyes, the cool satisfaction he gains from my obedience, and then feel the passionate warmth that follows as the evidence of his love.
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