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Home » Erotic Stories » BDSM Stories
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prize winner suffers
Congratulations! The letter began. It then went on to tell them they had won just over £12,000, no strings attached, no time-share sales to endure. However, they would be expected to go along to a certain hotel/restaurant complex for the publicity photos and presentation of the cheque.
So they walked across the car park toward the hotel door, arms around each other like young lovers. Lovers they were, young they were not. She was 40, her husband 7 years younger. That seven years was important and she had always felt it deeply so she had looked after herself, eating a healthy diet, exercising regularly; walking, cycling and aerobics at the local gym, and finally, colouring her hair when the first strands of grey had begun to show through.
It had paid off. Her figure, although not quite hour-glass was trim, her small breasts firm and her waist curving in above the swell of her hips and bottom. He belly was slightly rounded after two pregnancies but it was counterbalanced by the firm rounded buttocks that topped her slender legs. Her body was a combination of soft flesh and firm muscle that had kept her husband’s attention so that, even after eight years of marriage she did not worry about him looking for a younger lover. She wore a close fitting top, accentuating her breasts and an ankle length, loose fitting cotton skirt that hung close over her bottom.
As they left the car she had felt her husband’s eyes resting on her, inspecting her, caressing her and she experienced that first shiver of arousal that added delightfully to the expectation of the prize they had won. His fingertips had brushed across her buttocks when he put his arm around her, adding to her excitement and she had responded, pressing in to his side, nestling under his arm where she had always fit perfectly.
He held the door open for her and they crossed to the desk, explained their business and were directed toward a door on the left of the lobby. It was opened for them and when they had given their names, they were led along a carpeted corridor to a small area with tables and seating which branched off from the hallway. There was no-one else sitting there but they were ushered to seats and ordered drinks.
Something odd was going on. They sat, sipping their drinks and watched as, now and then uniformed waiters passed in the hallway, walking closely with a variety of men, some around their age, most younger. In a way that wasn’t odd but the way the men walked was. It was although the waiters were leading or even forcing the men to walk with them. Suddenly a door opposite them opened, some kind of service door, and a man stood there. He was tall with reddish hair and beard and in his hand he held a dagger, a sharp double-edged knife! He strode toward them and they noticed the look on his face, a demonic, savage look. His lips curled back in a smile that was more a grimace as he moved around the table toward the husband.
Her husband was on his feet in a moment, his dinner knife gripped in his hand, ready to defend them. She cried out, fearful, and in that instant the dagger flashed down. In the moment of silence that followed she heard the clatter as the dinner knife fell from her husband’s grasp and clattered on the arm of the chair. She saw the blood beginning to flow from the gash on her husband’s hand and she got up to go to his aid. The man moved quickly, pulling the husband toward him, the dagger up against his throat. “Sit down lady, and don’t move from that chair”, he commanded, then, knife at the ready he led her husband away, drops of blood falling silently to the carpet.
A few moments passed while her heart hammered and her breathing gradually slowed. What could she do? She was a brave woman but there was nothing her against which to direct her bravery. Then a waiter appeared and spoke to her, “Come with me, your husband needs you”.
She got up and went with the man, stepping quickly in her high heels along the carpeted corridor. What had they done to him? Had he tried to fight and been hurt worse? The thoughts rushed through her head as she followed the waiter through a set of fire doors. There they stopped, he because he waiter for her, she because her gaze was caught by the body of a man lying, sprawled half on his back against the wall. The man lay, peaceful, eyes and mouth open, unmoving, the front of his shirt soaked with blood. She realised he was dead.
The waiter stepped closer to her and spoke quietly, urgently in her ear. “Through that door some men are waiting for you,” he gestured toward another set of fire doors a few metres ahead. “If you want to see your husband alive and well you must do whatever they want you to do.”
You must do whatever they want you to do – men waiting for her? The words spun in her head setting her heart pounding. Her husband had been kidnapped, injured, and she would have to do something if she wanted to get him back! She wanted to ask questions, seek some comfort, but the waiter was already walking ahead of her toward the second set of doors.
The doors opened and they entered another seating area. Directly ahead was a bar along which men were standing. Every one of them turned to look at her, eyes roving over her, examining her. She shuddered as unpleasant thoughts crossed her mind. One man looked at his companions, said something she could not hear, then started across the carpet toward her, a cigarette smoking between his fingers.
She went with him – along a long hallway, silent, deserted. He said nothing. She wanted to scream, to cry out for help but the thought of her husband drove her on. She loved him, she must save him, whatever the cost. They stopped outside a hotel room door which the man opened with a key from his pocket, ushering her ahead of him, past the en-suite bathroom, into the room proper. There was a dresser, a desk and a double bed with a bed-spread covering it. The man walked past her and stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray on the desk.
She needed to pee. In her nervous state the drinks they’d had earlier had worked through her. The man directed her to the bathroom and sat down to wait for her. In the bathroom she urinated then stopped to think. She could get out of there, run down the corridor, escape from this man. They had passed a fire exit on the way along the corridor. But what drove her back through that door was her love for her husband.
“Get undressed! Take off your skirt and your top.”
She stood there, irresolute for a moment, her subconscious screaming a warning while another voice inside argued that surely such a thing could not be happening to her. He kept looking at her, waiting for her to obey and the seconds ticked by as they stood there, waiting for the future to begin.
In the end, she broke. “Do whatever these men want”, she had been told and the thought of her husband, captive, wounded, made up her mind. She reached down to the waistband of her skirt and eased it down over her hips, letting it drop to the floor, stepping out of it, suddenly feeling dreadfully naked and vulnerable. She straightened up, met his eyes for a second, and knew she had to do more. Now she grasped the hem of her top and eased it up, over her breasts, up around her head, then she was easing her arms out of the sleeves and shaking the hair out of her eyes.
She stood there in the strange room, in front of this complete stranger, wearing only a black bra and the tiniest slip of black thong, not because she wanted to but because she had no choice. She kept her head down, unable to look up and meet his eyes but still she could feel his eyes on her body, examining her, resting on her breasts, travelling over her legs, focusing on her groin. Suddenly she was absurdly grateful that her bikini line was well trimmed and her legs smooth and hair free.
In fact, it had only been the night before that her husband had taken care of her, ‘grooming her’ as they jokingly called it. Early on in their relationship her husband had suggested she should keep her pubic hair trimmed rather more than she had up until then and, one thing had led to another until he was now in charge of keeping her bikini line in order. In fact, when he had suggested that the quick, convenient electric lady shaver she used left her legs too rough, he had also been made responsible for depilating her legs as well. The whole procedure had become something they looked forward to, an act of love. She, naked on the bed, passive in the presence of the man she most loved and respected, while he worked on her with cream and cloth, leaving her legs smooth and soft before turning his attention to her more private parts, working with care and attention to remove every trace of hair from her body except for a well trimmed, narrow fringe along the lips of her vagina.
After a trim to the bathroom to wash away all traces of the cream she had returned to the bedroom feeling, as always, slightly exposed and embarrassed without even her natural hair to cover her most intimate parts. Despite the years of marriage, she still felt uneasy about her sex, preferring to keep her legs together during foreplay to avoid her man seeing a part of her she could never be proud of. She had opened the bedroom door to find that the lights had been dimmed and the next part of the ritual was about to begin. On the pretence that her newly depilated skin might become sore, her husband had massaged her with moisturising cream, starting with her legs then moving to her upper body before the last stage of the ritual was enacted.
Last night, as always, her husband, her lover, had massaged copious quantities of cream into her genitals before gently penetrating her. As the love making progressed he broke off frequently to rub yet more cream into her, stimulating her to orgasm over and over before finally climaxing himself. Afterward they had laid together, his body over hers, and whispered their love to each other. And now she stood, motionless, almost naked in the presence of a stranger.
She broke out of her reverie as he spoke, “very nice, very nice indeed”, he murmured, speaking to himself rather than for her benefit. She looked up, but his eyes didn’t meet hers, his gaze was directed exactly as she had expected – at her groin. Suddenly the suspense was too much for her. “What do you want me to do?” she cried, her voice cracking with nervousness.
He looked up at her, a smile crossing his face. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He undid his belt and pulled off his trousers. She dared not look at him but stared at the pattern of the carpet while he unbuttoned his shirt. As the shirt joined his trousers on the floor she glanced up, just in time to see him hook his fingers into his underpants and pull them down exposing himself fully to her. She felt suddenly cold yet at the same time hot, her heart pounding as all doubt was swept from her mind. She could no longer avoid facing up to exactly what this man intended to do to her.
He crossed to the bed and sat down on it, his back against the headboard, one leg hanging over the side of the bed, the other spread wide so that his penis stood up alone. He said nothing but simply beckoned to her. Numbly she walked toward the bed and her execution. He patted the bedspread between his thighs and she, interpreting the sign, climbed shakily onto the bed.
“You just suck on this, pretty lady,” he said, manipulating his penis with one had so that it jutted toward her. “I want to see what kind of blow job you give”!
“No”, she gasped. She had never even done that for her husband, certainly not for anyone else.
“Oh dear”, he swung his legs past her and got up from the bed. He crossed to the phone and dialled a number. She heard the tone as it rang then an indistinct voice as the call was answered. “Room 107 here, how is the lady’s husband?”
“I’ll do it”, she cried, her voice catching in her throat. She understood fully the threat implied in that phone call.
“Wait a sec,” he looked across at her for a long moment then replaced the receiver without saying anything more. “Sure you will”, he drawled, “but a lady needs a little discipline at times like these”.
He bent down, lifted his trousers and began to pull the leather belt from the belt loops. He doubled it, gripping the free ends in his huge hand. “Get yourself face down on that bed”, he commanded and she obeyed. He pulled her arms up above her head, telling her to grip on to the lower edge of the headboard and not to let go. She had pressed her legs together instinctively but now he pulled them apart so that her body made an inverted letter Y on the bed. Then he lifted the doubled belt and brought it down across her trembling buttocks.
She cried out, first with the shock of the blow, then with pain. A second blow landed but she buried her face in the pillow, biting down onto the fabric and did not cry out again while he whipped her. She did not count how many times he struck her but at last it ended and she lay, trembling, her body heaving as she gasped for breath.
He caught hold of her hip, almost gently, and rolled her over so that she lay on her side then he resumed his original position on the bed spread, legs wide apart and penis jutting toward the roof, only now that penis was swollen and hard, much larger than before and much larger than what her husband usually presented her with, she thought as she crawled across the bed toward it.
She paused, frozen for a moment, not only had she never done this before, she didn’t even have any idea what to do. He seemed to read her mind as she looked up at him, panic stricken. “Just get it in your mouth and suck on it”, he advised.
She leaned forward and opened her mouth wide. A moment later his hand was on the back of her head, fingers twisted into her hair, forcing her down onto himself. She felt the head of it slip between her lips and registered that it really wasn’t so bad, no taste, no real sensation, she could have been opening her mouth to bite off a piece of sausage.
“Move your tongue, lick it like ice-cream”, he directed her, his hand in her hair keeping her head moving around his swollen tool. Once or twice he forced her down too far and she feared she would choke but overall she was not really in any distress. Suddenly he relaxed his grip on her head and she felt his penis thrust up toward her then gagged as his emission spurted into her mouth.
She pulled back, off him, but not before receiving a mouthful. As she pulled away more of his juices sprayed onto her face while the rest spattered onto the bedspread. She reached up and wiped away what was on her face but what had gone into her mouth she had instinctively swallowed and now she felt sick.
She sat back on her feet, her buttocks throbbing, gasping for breath with the foul taste of him in her mouth. One though rang through her head – perhaps it was over now, they could go home safe.
He was smiling: looking at her and smiling. “You sure are a quick learner lady, you sure are”. He broke off and laughed at his own joke then leaned toward her. Before she could react he had his hands behind her and with one quick movement had unclipped her bra. She pressed her arms against her sides but then thought about the phone call he had made when she last displeased him, and instead let her arms hang limply as he slid the shoulder straps of the bra forward over her shoulders.
She kept her eyes down as he examined her, reaching out to lift her breast, squeezing it gently between fingers and thumb. “Oh”, he said, “that’s are a bit of a disappointment. I guess the secret is in the padding.” He was looking at the bra lying on the bed between them. She felt mortified.
“Still”, he continued, “lets have a look at the rest of you. Get out of those pretty panties will you”.
She had no choice she knew, so, face reddening with embarrassment she slipped the waistband of the panties, the thong her husband had bought her as a present, down over her buttocks then eased the scrap of fabric down her legs and off. He took them from her and lifted them to his face, straightening out the crumpled fabric and twisted straps before pressing the garment to his nose and taking a long sniff. “Oh yes”, he murmured.
He pushed her gently away from him so that she fell back onto the bed then, slipping his hands between her knees, he parted her legs and gazed at her vagina. “Oh yes”, he repeated, “forget the tits, that is lovely. Nothing better than a woman who looks after herself!”
She looked down between her legs at his large but flaccid penis and wondered what on earth was going to happen next.
He stood up and walked over to a cupboard by the wall. She moved to the edge of the bed and sat shivering slightly, legs pressed together, arms hugging her breasts, while he took a cigarette from the packet and lit it with a silver lighter. He turned back toward her, exhaling smoke as he looked at her sitting there. Neither of them spoke.
She jumped when the door opened and was on her feet in an instant as another large man stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. She glanced back at the first man and saw him smile. Dread filled her as the two exchanged greetings.
“How is she?” Man number two asked. His crass accent identified him as another American.
“An excellent choice”, the first man replied.
“You wish you’d held out for something younger?”
“No way, age don’t matter, it’s condition that counts! Look at this!”
Man one stepped toward her and with a shove pushed her back so that she lay with her buttocks on the edge of the bed and her feet in the floor. He gestured toward her groin with his cigarette and she watched mesmerized as flecks of ash drifted down and settled on her legs.
“Nice,” the second man opined, “lets get busy then”.
He pulled off his trousers and pants in a second, exposing a penis that grew larger as she watched until it stood, long and thick as the man looked down at her naked and vulnerable body. The first man handed him a condom and she watched, heart pounding as he tore off the packet and rolled it down over his penis. Then he moved toward her and caught her hips in powerful hands, tossing her into the centre of the bed before climbing after her. He forced her legs apart, covering her with his body. She reached down and, in an act of desperate self-preservation, opened herself and guided him in as he thrust.
She cried out in pain and disbelief at that first thrust: Pain as he filled her and stretched her wider than she was used to and disbelief that his thrust could go on so long as he drove deeper and deeper into her. She closed her eyes as he thrust again and again, driving shafts of pain deep into her abdomen. She tried to focus her mind elsewhere, to pretend this wasn’t happening but every thrust brought her back to this room, this man, and his powerful body covering her, overpowering her, raping her.
At last the man above her began to slow his pace, breathing deeply, sweating, and then it was over, him gasping and leaning heavily on her thighs, her legs jack-knifed back over her body, then the last two or three powerful stabs and he was still.
He pulled himself out of her body slowly and she gradually relaxed. She opened her eyes and was shocked to see not one other man in the room watching but two. The new man was also tall and well built, and naked, but unlike the first two men his penis stood tall and broad and ready for action. Her mind reeled, another man to satisfy, when would it end?
“Turn her over”, the new man commanded. They did so. Man one and man two, one of each side of the bed pulled her over and into a keeling position, tucking her legs up under her body and pulling her arms out wide so that she lay on her face, breasts pressed into the rough fabric of the bedspread, bottom raised. She tried to catch her breath, dreading what was to come but then the thought of her husband as she had last seen him flashed into her mind; frightened, bleeding, being led away to his unknown fate, a fate which seemed to depend on whether or not she could accept whatever these men wanted to do to her.
She heard the tearing of the packet, the faint sounds as the new man rolled on a condom and prepared to enter her. She felt the mattress sink under her knees as he climbed onto the bed behind her then started in surprise as something cold dripped onto the cleft of her buttocks. The man behind her began to work the cold, slippery substance down between her buttocks, worming his fingers around her anus, pressing, invading, and suddenly she guessed what was in store for her. “No”, she gasped, and at once the fingers were withdrawn.
The men each side of her were suddenly pulling, moving her, hands on her shoulders pressing her down, hands on her calves lifting her legs back, forcing her bottom up higher, then holding her still. She heard the faint metallic sound of a belt buckle and knew what was going to happen.
The whipping went on longer this time and hurt far more. Partly because her buttocks were already sore from the earlier punishment and partly because when they lifted her bottom they drew her legs apart so now the strap, as well as cracking across the tender curve of her buttocks, found out those intimate and sensitive places below and between. When the punishment ceased she was sobbing uncontrollably, any pretence of bravery gone, the bedspread under her face wet with her tears.
Nothing was said, but again she felt the mattress sink under her as the man took his place on the bed behind her. Once again the other two pushed and pulled her into position and once again cold, slippery fluid was poured over her anus and rubbed in. She felt something hard being pushed inside her and was powerless to resist it. Now the cold liquid was squirted inside her, then the hard nozzle was withdrawn.
The man behind her pressed the blunt end of his penis against the cleft of her buttocks then grasped her hips in his large, strong hands. On either side of her the men each gripped one of her buttocks and pulled, dragging her open while the man behind pressed harder and harder against her anus. She cried out in dread as the pressure increased, her cry ending in a groan as her sphincter gave way and the man was insider her.
He paused there, his shaft stretching her wide, the head of his penis snugly inside her, then he withdrew. She kept perfectly still, gasping in air, fighting the waves of pain and fear that swept through her. More lubricant was being worked into her, the penis pressed against her once more and pushed into her. Again she felt her anus stretched wide, felt the change in diameter as the head of his penis pushed past her ring, then felt pain as he pushed slowly but inexorably deeper inside of her.
The pain peaked deep inside her, spreading out across her belly and lower back then decreased as he drew back. Over and over he pierced her, moving slowly up inside her to the point of maximum pain then equally slowly withdrawing until the head of his penis was only just inside her. The men each side of her now changed position, reaching with one hand under her to grasp her breasts and the other hand behind her and up onto her genitals. As the man behind thrust and pulled, holding her against him with his grip on her hips, the hands on her breasts squeezed, sometimes gently sometimes harder and the fingers on the lips of her vagina stroked and teased her moist flesh, moving, circling, stimulating her.
The hands on her breasts squeezed harder, nipples grasped between strong fingers, twisting and pinching. The pain radiated through her, meeting up with the pain from her throbbing bottom and the shafts of pain spearing her lower torso. Her whole body was filled, on fire with the pain, but the fingers below her continued to caress and circle wetly, stimulating her until she felt, against all expectation, an orgasm beginning to build.
Her climax when it came was without doubt the most powerful she had ever experienced. The pain in her breasts and anus merged with the intense sensations from her genitals and joined to drive a glow of ecstasy throughout her body. She threw her head back, gasping for air, close to passing out as the sensation overwhelmed her. Her head spun and everything seemed to go dark as every sense focussed on the all-surpassing sensation within her.
The height of sensation passed and she came back down to reality, a reality of aching bottom and bruised breasts, of the rise and fall of agony as the man behind her continued to drive his huge penis into her agonised bowels. Several times the man behind her withdrew and applied further lubricant, but too soon the momentary relief provided by the cold gel was replaced by a fresh stab of pain as he re-entered her.
The abuse went on and on, the hard shaft driven into her anus, the vicious squeezing of her breasts and pinching of her nipples. Throughout all of this the men each side of her continued to stimulate her so that only a few minutes after her first orgasm she felt another peaking inside her. She fought against it, revolted by the idea that she could find such brutal physical treatment erotic and yet her mind could not control her body and the sensation grew.
The second orgasm was even more powerful than the first and seemed to go on and on. For what seemed like an eternity the world spun around her in darkness and she seemed to be drowning, sinking in a sea of overpowering sensation, gasping for breath, unaware of anything around her, every fibre of her being suffused by the intensity of her climax. The sensation waned and she hung from the grip on her hips, unable to consciously control her body, groaning, sobbing as she felt a third orgasm build. It came, sweeping over her like a wave over a shipwrecked sailor. Her body spasmed, every muscle tensing violently then relaxing and she was dimly aware that as she did so the man behind her reached his climax as well.
She lay abandoned on the bed, face down, immobile. Gradually physical sensation returned, first pain, then sight and hearing. Two of the three men were in the room with her, chatting while from the bathroom came the sound of running water. She smelled cigarette smoke and guessed at least one of them had lit up again. The man in the bathroom came out and one of the others went in. Finally the third man went for his shower and all the while she lay there, emotionally and physically exhausted. What was to become of her? Had they finished with her now or not?
Strong male hands turned her over then helped her off the bed and to her feet. She stood, trembling, struggling to control her fatigued and battered muscles.
“Time for you to get cleaned up lady”, man one supported her and led her toward the bathroom.
By the time she was in the bathroom she was almost in control of her body again. The door closed and she was alone except for the sound of their voices in the next room. She sat on the toilet and defecated, excreting blood along with her waste. Urinating was difficult and painful as her swollen vagina slowed the egress of fluid. She cleaned herself gingerly then stood up. On the wall above the bath there was a full-length mirror in which she could see herself from the knees up. Her breasts were bruised. Already heavily discoloured with the nipples dark and elongated. She turned slightly and saw that her bottom was likewise darkening with bruises, each stroke she had received was defined by a red welt where the edge of the belt had cut into her skin. She turned back to face the mirror and looked down at her groin. Her genitals were grossly swollen, the inner lips protruding, dark and slick with her own fluids.
She climbed into the bath and, although she would have loved to take a long, relaxing bath, a sense of urgency, a desire to get this whole thing over and done with, prompted her to shower instead. Still, it was delightful to feel the hot water running over her abused body. She washed carefully, ensuring every crease and crevice of her body was fully cleansed, trying to rinse away the memory of what they had forced her to do. She began to tremble, not from cold but from reaction to what had been done to her. Somehow when it was going on each action had been guided by a sense of necessity but now, momentarily safe from their eyes and their bodies, the full horror of what had happened flooded over her. And yet, in just a few moments she would have to go out there again and face their stares and who knew what else.
She turned off the water and took a towel from the rack beside the bath. Rubbing herself dry she became aware of yet more aches and pains resulting from her recent experiences. Suddenly the door opened and man one stood there.
“You ready yet lady?” he asked, grinning as he ran his eyes over her still damp, naked body.
She froze, something in the way he asked the question suggested he was not intending to finish the evening just yet. “Ready for what?” she asked.
“Ready for the second course”, he answered with a chuckle.
She was about to protest, to beg even, to ask him to look at her battered body. Wasn’t it enough? Hadn’t they had their fun with her? Couldn’t she go now – please? But the throbbing of her bottom and her love for her husband made her drop the towel over the side of the bath and follow the man back into the room.
The other two men, who quickly stood up from where they had been lounging, greeted her entrance with rapidly stiffening erections and it was with a sense of fatality that she crossed to the bed, from which the spread and top sheet had been drawn back, and laid down where they directed her.
The two men who had risen at her entrance crossed to her, one of them, she thought it was the one who had buggered her, guided her up onto her knees again while his companion knelt on the bed behind her. Again came the sounds of a condom being donned and then the man behind her gripped her hips, ready to enter her.
“Gently now” counselled the first man, “she’s likely not so slick after a good wash”.
The two men on the bed guffawed but the one behind her took his hands off her hips and began instead to stroke her, running his finger tips up the inside of her thighs and along the narrow band of hair on her outer lips. Meanwhile the man kneeling near her head began to caress her, his fingers tracing a line up her spine then teasing the back of her neck, ears and hair. She didn’t know what was worse, the pain and brutality of their earlier assault on her or this. As their fingers worked on her she felt pleasure begin to mount and that made her feel guilty. How could she, a married woman, a mother of two children, dare to feel pleasure here in this strange room with these three men around her?
Nevertheless, the stroking and caressing worked. When the man behind her slid his fingers into her he found her moist and, quickly transferring his grip back to her hips he slid gently but purposefully into her, setting her shuddering with intense sensation as she stretched once more to accommodate his size.
While the man behind her rhythmically thrust his engorged penis into her the man at her head left off his caressing and, lifting her head, positioned himself in front of her so that her face was mere centimetres from his erect member. He held the back of her head and gently but firmly directed her mouth down onto the red, swollen head of his cock. She opened wide to accept him, afraid for a moment that she would taste her own filth there but he smelled only of soap and warm flesh.
She set to work to stimulate him, using what she had learned earlier that same evening but it was difficult because as the man behind her thrust into her, her body swung forward, forcing her to accept this new intrusion more and more deeply. The man at her head gasped and started to climax, his thick, salty emission stinging her throat. She tried to pull away but could not because the thrusts of the man behind her drove her forward and she had no choice but to swallow or choke.
When she had sucked out every drop and the penis in her mouth had softened and shrunk the man at her head cradled her in his lap, caressing her hair, neck and back while his companion continued to pound her more frantically from behind. At last even he was satisfied and they pulled away from her, leaving her lying face down, even more exhausted, while they pulled on their clothes, laughing and joking, then left the room.
As the door closed behind them she raised her head wearily and looked around. Only the first man was still present and from her position on the bed the most noticeable thing about him was his erection.
“You sure are one sexy lady” he said, walking toward the bed from where he had been standing observing the whole episode.
He climbed onto the bed beside her, gently rolling her over onto her back before lying down beside her. “Just one more little task for you then your work here is done” he stated, glancing down at his erect penis.
She nodded, too tired and overcome to even speak. The taste of semen was still in her mouth and her lips felt bruised. The whole area of her hips and pelvis was a sea of pain, her bottom bruised, her anus violated and her vagina swollen and over used. Could this really be her last task, she wondered? Would he really let her go? Until this moment she hadn’t really considered what would happen when they had finished with her.
He began to caress her, gently, from knees to breasts, his touch light and careful, especially in those areas where her body had been most abused. He reached down and eased her legs apart so his caresses could reach more easily her sensitive inner thighs. She lay, unresponsive, eyes closed, but could not avoid the shivers of exquisite sensation that ran through her as his gentle fingers continued to stroke and circle. He leaned over her and began to tease her nipples with his tongue, moving up over her chest to kiss and lick her neck. She caught her breath as the sensation mounted then gasped as his lips brushed hers. She pulled away, somehow despite the violation of every part of her body, she still felt her lips, her kisses were for her husband only.
The instant she did so fear forced her to turn her mouth back toward him but as their eyes met he was smiling. He returned to kissing her breasts, silently acknowledging the boundary she had set. As his fingertips continued to stroke and stimulate and his lips to move over her she once again felt arousal mounting. On top of that feeling guilt returned. How could she? What sort of woman was she to feel aroused, excited by this man, a man who was not her husband.
He eased her legs further apart then climbed over her, covering her with his body. Against the size of him she felt tiny, weak, powerless and yet, somehow that added to her state of arousal now that he seemed to be willing to be gentle with her. She watched as he knelt to pull on a condom, stretching it down over the immense length and breadth of his penis. For a moment her bruised, abused genitals rebelled at the thought of accommodating that size but when he slid between her thighs and gently, slowly opened her lips, spreading her moisture with the fingers of one hand, she knew she could take him – indeed she wanted him. Wanted to feel his size, his hardness, his weight on top of her.
She wasn’t denied. He eased into her and again a sense of wonder flooded her, wonder that the first thrust could stretch her so wide and go on so long. Despite, or perhaps because of, all that had happened that evening, she was very wet and although she was unaccustomed to his size she felt no real pain, merely discomfort which quickly turned to increase her arousal! As he continued to thrust into her with steady even strokes she actually began to lift herself against him, tilting her hips to receive him, them back again to force the pressure of his swollen head just where she needed it most. The movement brought aches of protest from the abused muscles of her bottom but this, along with the other pain in her body heightened her arousal until she felt the now familiar orgasm building in her. She moaned, turning her head to one side, stabbing her hips up against his downward thrust until the climax overwhelmed her and her groin contracted over and over again, carrying away the bliss of the moment. As her vagina contracted against his penis the man came too, pounding carelessly into her, both of them mindless of her pain.
They lay there, side by side, both satisfied, satiated, thinking of nothing but the experience they had just shared, the sensations they had enjoyed. At length he looked at his watch – it was nearly twenty past eleven. She looked where he was looking and was amazed. For almost than four hours she had been here in this room, a slave to the desires of her captors.
“We’d better get you out of here”, the man said, “your husband will be waiting”.
Her husband. In the excitement of the last minutes or hours she had all but forgotten why she was there. She sat up, her body protesting. How nice it would have been to have laid there and fallen asleep, to have slept away the excesses and awoken fresh in the morning. The man climbed off the bed and quickly dressed then helped her up. Once she was on her feet he passed items of clothing to her, her bra then her top, her skirt but not her thong. This he held up and, pressing it to his nose once more said he wanted to keep a trophy, a small thing to remember her by.
She straightened her hair, staring at her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. Fully dressed now there was no evidence of what she had been through that evening. Although her body ached with every movement and her crotch was wet with her orgasmic secretions, all that was under her skirt and outwardly she could have passed as entirely innocent of any erotic activity.
He opened the door and, for the first time since her ordeal began, she looked out to the corridor and freedom. She walked out onto the long hallway and paused while he closed the door. He put his arm around her and supported her, leading her down the corridor, back the way they had come hours earlier. At the end of the hallway the fire-doors were closed and they paused for a moment. His had dropped to her waist, lingered there for a moment before his fingertips brushed across the curve of her bottom, stroking her through the thin fabric of her skirt as her husband had done at the start of the evening. “You are one hell of a lady”, he said, “I hope your husband knows what a lucky man he is to have you”.
And then as he pushed the door open for her she looked across the foyer beyond and saw her husband there, sitting, waiting, his bandaged hand resting in his lap. She started forward, half running on tired, aching, unsteady legs and at the same time he was out of his chair, coming toward her, throwing his arms around her, pulling her tight against his body, his familiar body. She hugged him back, pressing the length of her body against him, crushing her face to his chest, crying now, out of control with relief and gratitude. Her sacrifice had been accepted, the price she paid deemed valuable enough. They walked out of the restaurant hand in hand like two young lovers and headed for the car park and home.
tricky D,
uk
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