Claimed: A Forced Submission Romance

by J. Jackson

  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.

  Part 3

  Giving 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.

  While staying pressed forward to keep their mouths in full contact, Sandy heaved herself to her knees on the bench seat. Then she reached under her skirt to tear out the crotch of her skimpy panties with a single sudden yank. Placing her hands on the bewildered fellow’s shoulders, she swung a knee across his lap to straddle him, chest-to-chest. And he just sat there, not quite passively receiving her oral attentions – his tongue swirling across her teeth and mixing it up with hers – his hands now each in full possession of soft, yet firm and swollen breasts, manipulating them like a pilot maneuvering his plane through the storm.

  Steadying herself against him she positioned her dripping bush over his straining member, locating him by Braille – like the expert she really was not – then, slowly and deliberately, mewing gently into his mouth, Sandy lowered herself onto his pole, pushing herself down until their pubic hairs entwined and they could come together no more.

  “Oh, my fucking God!” her mount moaned, pulling his mouth away for a moment, before Sandy chased him down to pierce his lips and parry her tongue with his once again.

  “Ah! Ah!” they both complained, their sighs and moans mutually swallowed. Holding herself still and deep for a long moment, Sandy slowly began to lift her weight from his lap, dragging her dripping labia against the induced suction, her stretched pinkness conforming seamlessly to the veiny surface of his iron shank. Slowly, she raised herself until only his plum remained insinuated, her vagina gasping about him, vainly trying to suck, or pull, or coax him back inside. Sandy could feel the imminence of her orgasm, building in pressure, pushing up her spine to arc in flashes behind her eyes. She could feel the sap rising in the anonymous colossus between her legs, and could hear the urgency in the ragged breath of her partner. Slowly, deliberately, resisting the terrific need to push past the apex to her climax, Sandy lowered her loins inexorably down, down to the very bottom.

  She could feel the body beneath her beginning to shake as its tenuous control began to crumble. Then the sequence began. Pulling herself suddenly back up his column of stone to the very tip, Sandy felt the electricity surge along her spine, whipping her into a frenzy. Pounding herself into his lap she began bouncing on his spurting pole with wild abandon, slapping her bottom against his thrusting hips and biting his lips to keep herself from screaming. Their violent conjunction, squeaking the seat and rocking the one in front, went on at length.

  When their mutually muffled moans finally ceased, their breath coming in panting gasps, and they finally held still, their genitals seeming to be suddenly fused, they slowly became aware, once more of their surroundings. “’Ere, ‘ere, you two,” the driver called back, trying to see what the commotion was in his rearview mirror. The only response, though, was a few quiet giggles and a smattering of light applause from some of the more appreciative passengers.

  Holding tight until the ensuing quiet once again left nothing but the noise of the road and the wind, Sandy pulled her lips away and said, “Hi. I’m Sandy.” An open dreamy smile covered her face. “My God,” she thought staring vacantly into the strangers face and marveling at how much she’d enjoyed her naughtiness.

  “I’m Mikael,” he whispered, leaning forward to peck at her lips. Sandy could feel him wilting inside her and gripped at his slippery appendage with her vaginal walls – to no avail. Shifting her weight with her knees, the flaccid tool finally slipped from its slick glove. Pungent juices flowed in a gush over Mikael’s hairy balls and into his gaping pants. “Guess I’d better clean that up,” Mikael whispered, his voice still hoarse and thick with sexual energy. They both looked around futilely for a moment before Sandy hoisted herself off Mikael’s lap and, standing bent kneed, cramped between the seats, wrenched off the remains of her panties and used them to wipe her own crotch.

  Looking down affectionately on the limp, glistening penis, Sandy muttered, “Don’t worry, you poor thing. Sandy’ll fix you up.” Hands on his thighs, Sandy gently lowered herself between his knees. Mikael watched, unbelieving, as this beautiful foreign vixen slurped at his slimy slug and began to wash him with her tongue. In fact, he could feel his ardour rising again, but he could wait. He’d have her home in a while. “Have her at home,” he silently corrected himself, smiling down on her bobbing head.

  Presently, hopping a cab from the depot, they arrived in front of his place. Sandy studied the building critically. Helping her out of the taxi, Mikael ushered her through the door of his flat, mumbling apologetically, “It’s not much, but....”

  Still Sandy couldn’t help turning up her nose. “It’s a little seedy,” she observed, trying not to be too brutal, but inside, she decided definitely “No! There’s no way I’m staying in this grotty little cave.” She looked around again, to indicate that she was weighing the options, then settling a grim smile on Mikael, Sandy said sweetly, “If you get me a hotel room, Mikael, we could make love all night in comfort.” Flexing her feminine powers of persuasion, she found that she didn’t even need to resort to pleading; her coaxing, she realized, much pleased with herself, could be very, very subtle. A delightfully warm glow of satisfaction, very much like the prelude to another climax, tickled her nervous system as Mikael acceded to her wishes, and hired them a modest hotel room for the evening.

  The room, only minutes from Mikael’s flat, was neat and clean, and the bed more than adequate for their calisthenics. After the heat of their passion on the bus, their sex that evening was calm and gentle. Mikael was, in fact, a thoughtful lover, and Sandy felt warm and safe, sitting with him eating the room service meal she let him think was his idea. Their urgencies both dissipated, the last intercourse of the night was nearly laconic in comparison. Sandy gently and insistently wrung a final ejaculation from her exhausted mate, then she laid back basking in the easy companionship his warm body offered next to hers.

  Much later, Mikael quietly rose from the bed and gathered his clothes, trying to dress without waking the slumbering beauty before him. When Sandy opened her eyes and propped her head up in her hand, Mikael said, awkwardly, “I really should get back to my own place. You know, stuff to do, people
to see, and all.” Sandy smiled at him, understandingly. He wasn’t even going to ask for her number, but that was all right.

  “D’ya know anybody who might be going into London tomorrow? Who could give me a lift?” Without really knowing why, Sandy added, “for fair exchange.” Maybe she was just trying it out. How would this new idiom she was cultivating, really feel?

  “You won’t be leaving here too early, will you?” The question was so neutral, Mikael’s voice so mundane, for a moment Sandy thought, as she silently shook her head, she might just have to turn on the charm again, but, on second thought, why? What they’d had was obviously already over. “I’ll call around, see what I can find,” Mikael said, giving her a friendly wink.

  “At least he doesn’t despise me,” she thought, remembering, with a shiver, the other guy on the bus. Then Mikael leaned over and kissed her – on the cheek, as a friend might.

  “Thanks,” he said, almost sadly, as he reached for the door. “See you sometime,” although they both knew how unlikely that was. Still just as he gently closed the door, he called back in, “I’ll see what I can do about a ride,” and he was gone.

  Sandy sat in bed nibbling on the breakfast she’d had sent up, when the ringing house phone made her jump. A voice on the other end introduced itself as Brandon, an acquaintance of Mikael’s, calling her from the lobby. “I hear you’re looking for a ride to London.”

  Sandy smiled. “Thank you, Mikael, you dear, dear man,” she said silently, but aloud she answered with an eager, “Yes, I am.” One part of her realized what a chance she was taking, and smiling at the doorman as she got into the flashy old sports car, a very chilling thought struck Sandy. “He may just be the last person to ever see me alive.” A shiver ran the length of her spine, but she shook it off. Mikael had been a really nice guy, and Brandon looked okay – just on his way to London for a dear friend’s wedding, he’d said – and hadn’t it been chance that had brought her this far along. “After all, you can’t have life without risk,” she rationalized.