by Various
Once again, heart racing and pussy trickling, I strutted into the office as the slutty schoolgirl, drawing the attention away from some very jealous ghosts, werewolves and vampyra who were clearly not best pleased that I had not bothered with the Hallowe’en theme at all. I did not care, I just relished being the belle of the ball again and set about making unnecessary journeys to the printer or the photocopier to tease as many guys as possible.
Again I was the talk of the corridors and staff areas and Douglas took no time to react to the rumours. There was no email or pretence of being on other business this time, he just strode out of his office, looking serious, and approached my desk.
‘Linda, could I have a word with you in my office, please?’ he said.
I looked at my friend at the desk across from me and she gave me one of those smirks. I responded with a suppressed smile.
I stood up and, curiously, Douglas gestured for me to lead (perhaps he wanted to ogle me as he followed). I wiggled and strutted defiantly to his office.
He closed the door behind us and I turned to face him.
‘I am sorry but I find this mode of dress unacceptable,’ he stated, walking around me towards his desk.
‘Its just a bit of fun for Hallowe’en,’ I answered, turning to follow him as he paced.
‘What it is is the action of a little fucking tart,’ he snapped, walking around me again and passing behind me.
I was shocked into silence. I was pretty sure that the personnel manual did not allow staff members to be verbally abused and my mouth gaped with astonishment.
‘Yes, you heard me, you little fucking tart,’ he repeated calmly.
I turned to confront him and saw his eyes looking down on me like I was a pet or a piece of furniture, emotionless, cold. I felt a shiver of pleasure in my tummy and nipples that I fought to ignore.
‘Face the front,’ he said sternly. His voice gave no room for negotiation and my face reddened with passion. I had a mind to scream and bawl at him and demand he speak to me in a civil fashion, and threaten to report him to his superiors. But my pussy trickled with the thought of actually obeying him. I even wondered if he would grab me and shag me the way I love so much. Barely believing I was doing it, I turned to the front.
‘Good. Good little bitch. Now I cannot allow you to continue to work today dressed like that and I have arranged for you to be taken home.’
I listened to the words spoken behind me and I wondered how many other girls he had harassed and exploited in this way. I felt all sorts of distaste and pity for the dirty old man, but my pussy seeped with four months’ worth of desire for a proper, rough poling and, do you know, I did not care in the least if it was this horrible drooling little pervert that gave it to me. In fact the idea of it being him was turning me on.
‘Go and switch off your computer and then take your cheap little arse down to the car park,’ he told me.
Without a thought I obeyed him again, shuffling red-faced back to my desk to log off my PC. I fended off whispered questions from my friends about what had happened, telling them I was being sent home to get changed. The rebel in me was loving the moment: the defiant walk-out. But my mind was really on what was to come. I made my way downstairs.
My sex felt wet and gooey, and my nerves buzzed with expectancy. I speculated wildly about what Douglas had planned for me. He was waiting by the rear entrance, looking every inch the sleazy middle-aged man I had him down for, in his open-necked shirt and slacks with slip-ons. He gestured me in the direction of his car. Like a harlot I deliberately wiggled for him, showing my compliance – whatever I thought about him, the chance that he might give me my kink overrode it.
Even the little things turned me on now – my legs quivered when he didn’t bother to open the car door for me, instead climbing in his side without a word. I opened the door on my side to get in.
Douglas reached across the seat and grabbed my bushy pig-tails, gathering them into one hand, pulling my hair taut. I gasped with pleasure.
‘Lift your skirt up before you sit down, bitch.’
I did it, gasping with pleasure as I felt the cold leather of the seat against my buttocks and pussy. I became very conscious of the wet patch I was leaving there. We drove away.
‘Don’t speak, and look straight ahead,’ he ordered.
I loved being spoken to in this way, and I fought in vain to quell the urge to reply in the way that I did; it felt silly, but on saying it my stomach and loins buzzed with excitement: ‘Yes, sir,’ I said.
He drove me as I sat quietly juicing the seat. The excitement increased when, without a word, Douglas turned off the main road and the surroundings became more rural. It was only then I really believed he was going to fuck my hole, possibly even my holes, for me. The waiting was too much to bear.
Finally we pulled into a deserted gravel lay-by in a nature reserve and he stopped the car. I wondered how many other little tarts had had their hungry little pussies pummelled by Douglas here.
‘Get out of the car, whore, and walk around to my side,’ he said, without even looking at me.
‘Yes, sir,’ I answered.
By the time I had walked around, Douglas had opened his own door and was sitting with his legs out to the side, his feet now flat on the gravel. I stood by him, looking straight ahead.
He grabbed my hair again, just like before, and pulled my head down to his side until I lay face down over his knee. Again I gasped with pleasure as he lifted my hockey skirt to bare my knickerless arse to the fresh October air. I felt the skin goose on my buttocks. Douglas waited, probably admiring the sight of my legs in those kinky knee-stockings and that quivering bottom staring up at him.
I felt his rough manly hand caressing both cheeks before the spanking began. He knew what he was doing, sensitising my cheeks with soft touches before applying the force. I cried out in absolute ecstasy as the barrage of seven spanks fell on me and then once again I felt the soft caresses of his palm on my buttocks.
‘Dirty little bitches must accept their punishments,’ he whispered, barely audible over the autumn breeze.
‘Yes, sir,’ I said.
Another barrage fell upon me and the tremors ran through my pussy. I did not want them to die away.
‘Please, more, sir,’ I said.
He continued, goading me for liking it and spanking me, it seemed, endlessly as my genitals became more and more excited. The pleasure grew until it began to match the intensity felt during a fucking. I wondered if it were possible to come from being spanked like a dirty whore. I hoped so.
‘Please, sir, more,’ I begged.
He obliged. Telling me I was only good for cocks and spunk and that I had no other value to the world. It was exactly what I wanted to hear; I swear I could feel those imagined cocks and their spunk going into me as he leathered me and squeezed harder on my hair. Shamefully, but incredibly intensely, I came, screaming ‘Please no, please no, please no’ as the orgasm swept through me. I don’t know why those words came to me. I continued to sob as he again caressed my buttocks and spanked me intermittently. I tried my best to use the lull to catch my breath.
Soon, I heard the electric window on the open door being operated and followed compliantly as I was lifted by my hair through the window. My feet fought desperately to find their footing on the gravel; I am not very tall. I stole a glance back to look at my arse which was a strawberry red, with some discernible finger marks on it. He spanked me for turning around.
I lay there, draped through the car door, waiting to be entered.
‘Like you own me, like I’m worthless,’ I said, not daring this time to turn around.
My soaking wet pussy offered no resistance to his first thrust, which ran me through, ball-deep, making it clear to me that no corner of my pussy was to remain unfucked.
‘Take my cock, you little tart,’ he said calmly and coldly, again gathering my hair in his fist. I groaned with pleasure.
His fucking was frantic, despite
the calmness of his voice, and, before long, the choppy thrusts became longer and more forceful and were punctuated with spanks on my right buttock. I squeaked with pleasure at each one.
‘Are you ready for my spunk, bitch?’ he asked at last.
‘Yes, sir,’ I answered.
He asked me again
‘Yes, sir, I need it,’ I replied.
‘Yes you do, yes you do,’ he replied, before pumping me full with cream. I savoured the throbbing and the warm wash of semen up inside me. It is a wondrous sensation and I live for it.
I heard him zip up almost immediately.
‘Get back in the car, bitch,’ he said.
That was the phrase that excited me the most: even post-coital, he was still treating me like dirt. It gave a realness to the fantasy that thrilled me to the core.
I did not have to be told to lift my skirt up before sitting down, I did it without thinking. As we drove away, I felt his spunk trickling down to mingle with the wet patch I had left earlier.
– Linda, Renfrewshire, Scotland
Playing with the Computer
‘What do you think, Kate?’ Robert asked me. It was a picture of my backside, bent over and showing the tight ring of my anus and the long split of my sex lips. The cheeks of my bum were smooth and lightly tanned. The anus was a crinkled hole – but open slightly as though a finger had just been inside. The cluster of hairs was darker nearer the lips, as though they were wet. Because Robert had just installed a new TFT monitor for his PC the image filled all twenty inches of the screen and looked huge and excessive. The sight made me desperate to feel him inside me.
‘It’s impressive,’ I said. I was talking about the picture and not arrogantly boasting about how good my bottom looked. Robert’s new digital camera, and all the other computer equipment he used, always made me feel a little wondrous. I grew up in a time when photographs were taken on rolls of film over a few weeks. They were then sent away for developing and returned two months or more after the event. Nowadays, within moments of Robert pressing the shutter release on his camera, any photograph could be displayed on his PC. He could also print out a hard copy on glossy paper if he wanted, although that would take a few minutes longer. It really was impressive. And the picture on the screen really did make me desperate for some action. I rubbed my bare thighs together and implored him with my gaze. ‘It’s very impressive,’ I repeated.
‘I wonder if everyone else will be equally impressed?’ Robert asked.
I stared at him in horror. I had consented to have the private picture taken on the condition that no one else – absolutely no one else – would see it. ‘Don’t you dare,’ I told him. ‘Don’t you dare send that out to anyone.’
‘Too late,’ he chuckled. ‘It’s already been sent.’
My stomach plummeted. I felt sick, embarrassed and shamefully excited. The arousal that already held my body went into a momentary overdrive. I had to hold my breath for fear of suffering an orgasm on the spot. When we had discussed my mild interest in exhibitionism, Robert had suggested the digital camera could be the answer to the most depraved of my fantasies. I had thought he was just looking for an excuse to buy the latest boy-toy, but his arguments about anonymity and convenience had caught my interest. Ultimately my sexual fantasy was to be with another couple, experiencing another man and watching another woman having sex with Robert. But, to build up to that, I wanted to boost my confidence and assure myself I would be desired if I made myself available. Robert’s suggestion offered me the chance to secretly flash myself to selected members of our social circle. Whenever we discussed that fantasy the muscles inside my cunt twitched hungrily. However, I had never thought he would do something so bold without my permission.
I calmed down a little after Robert told me about the security measures he had taken to maintain our anonymity. He’d sent the picture from a ‘disposable email address’ that could never be linked to either of us. The photograph included no personal information or identifying marks. Assuaging my fears, he explained that a selection of our friends would simply receive an unexpected picture of an unidentified backside. ‘Some might respond,’ he laughed. ‘Most will ignore it. But, unless one of them recognises you from that particular view, your secret is safe.’
‘Who did you send it to?’ I asked.
‘Derek, Tony, Tom, Colin, Rupert, Nelson, Blakey . . .’
He continued to list names while I came close to weeping with excitement and horror. Some of them were little more than acquaintances, names from the Christmas card list who we saw maybe once or twice a year. Others were the male halves of couples whom we met with more frequently. These were mates from the pub, closer friends that we’d kept over the years, and the names of some people who lived on our street. A few of those that he mentioned were Robert’s closest work colleagues. Most distressingly, three of them were people from the office where I worked.
‘Robert!’ I gasped. ‘Why did you do it?’
He pulled me close and placed his hand between my legs. I was still naked after the impromptu photo shoot. His fingers fell against the wetness of my cunt and easily slid inside. I was stunned by the coolness of his hand, and then realised it only felt cold against the heat inside me. He pushed the fingers deeper and I gasped again. ‘That’s why I did it,’ he admitted. ‘I knew this would get you horny. But I knew you would chicken out if I allowed you the chance to back down.’
I started to protest but he stopped me with a kiss. His fingers continued to slide in and out. He had sparked my arousal so deeply I struggled to unzip him and guide his swollen cock towards my cunt. My desperate need to be filled was like a fever.
‘No,’ he said, arrogantly pushing me away.
Bewildered, I stared at him.
‘You’ve got to thank me the right way,’ he grinned. ‘And I’m sure you know how to do that.’ He spun his chair a little and pointed to the floor. As soon as I understood what he wanted I knelt over his lap and took his erection in my mouth.
The flavour heightened my arousal. I sucked on him, taking him between my lips and stroking his throbbing length with my tongue. I don’t normally find a lot of excitement in blowing my husband but, that evening, the act was exceptionally arousing. My fingers found my clitty while I sucked on him and I thought there was a chance we could come at the same time. I didn’t think it would matter that much. Robert’s arousal was as intense as mine and I was grudgingly enjoying the way he dominated the situation. Once he’d come I expected he would demand that I suck him hard again so he could come a second time inside my cunt, or somewhere else. That thought, and the pressure of my middle finger on my clitty, was enough to take me nearly to the point of climax. My need to be filled was close to being an obsession.
‘Hold that pose,’ Robert instructed.
I glanced up in time to be blinded by the flash from the camera. My shock hadn’t completely disappeared and my eyes hadn’t adjusted from the glare by the time I saw the image appear on his new TFT screen. My face was clearly visible. Robert’s cock filled my mouth. My lips were silvered with smears of his pre-come. I stared at the image aghast, and prepared to tell him it was too revealing to be sent to anyone.
‘You’ve got mail.’
The sound of his computer advising him about the email made us both glance at the screen. Robert clicked the button on his mouse twice and I watched his eyes open wide with surprise. It was good to be sharing the computer with him. We had spent too many nights apart with him sitting in solitude in front of his boy-toy while I kept myself amused in a nearby room with only the TV set or a book for companionship. This adventure in exploring our fantasies was truly exciting and I felt sure Robert would satisfy my needs before the night was over.
‘Someone was fast to respond,’ he muttered.
I glanced at the screen and saw a huge picture of a gaping vagina. There was so much pink and purple skin on show that it took me a moment to work out what I was seeing. The lips were glossy and smothered with a
lather of white semen. The liquid dripped from the dark centre of the picture and I understood I was looking at a freshly used cunt. I trembled. ‘Who the hell is that from?’ I muttered.
Robert shook his head. ‘Someone else using a disposable email address,’ he said. There was a nuance of frustration in his voice. ‘Damn! We have some sneaky friends.’
I could have pointed out that he was the sneaky one who had started using disposable and untraceable email addresses, but I knew this wasn’t the right time to antagonise Robert. He was having fun at the expense of my shame and humiliation but I always worried he might one day cross the line beyond what was acceptable. I hadn’t been wholly sure it was wise for him to send my picture out to our friends and neighbours, yet he had done it anyway. There was always the danger that, in his endeavours to show his full understanding of the technology, he would do something that transgressed my limits. I pointed at the screen and asked, ‘Why has someone sent you that picture?’
‘One of our friends is playing the game with us,’ he chuckled. He was enjoying himself but I think he was frustrated he hadn’t seen this coming. Pointing at the screen, Robert said, ‘You’re currently looking at the come-filled pussy of one of our friends or neighbours.’
I put a hand over my mouth to conceal my surprise. I was shocked and aroused. I immediately understood this response was similar to what our circle of friends would be experiencing when they saw the picture of my bare bottom. Whoever the woman was, there was no chance of guessing her identity. She had no hairs on her sex and I didn’t know any of our friends so well as to identify them from a photo like that one. If there had been blonde, brunette or auburn curls down there, it would have narrowed the options and I might have had a chance of guessing her identity. As it was, I knew I would spend the rest of my week staring at our mutual friends, while wondering if I had seen a picture of their come-filled pussy. The thought made me shiver.