Message-ID: <26698asstr$970870228@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: mrledft@aol.com (MR LEDFT)
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Subject: {ASSM} A Very Long Night by Ladyvet: m/f, noncon; D/s
Date: Fri, 6 Oct 2000 18:10:28 -0400
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WARNING: This story is a work of fiction not intended to be read by
persons under the age of 21. By continuing on, you attest that you
are 21 or over and will not convey the story to minors. This work,
having been posted to the newsgroup, is copyrighted by the author.
Please do not republish, copy, or post without prior consent of the
author. Copyright Ladyvet, 2000.
More of her stories can be found at this
site:http://www.egroups.com/group/MastrKink
A Very Long Night
He parks the car at the far end of the lot so no one will know we're
a couple.
"It's show time, Bitch!" he exclaims. "Are you ready to do your
thing?" My heart sinks.
"Yes, Master," I reply to my husband of eight years. We've engaged in
this many times. I try not to think about how many. He removes the
key he wears on a chain around his neck. I raise my skirt and pull it
out from under me. The leather is cold against my bare skin. He
fumbles with the locks in front and back. The crotch shield of the
chastity belt I've worn continually for over a month slips loose. The
tight waistband remains. He never takes that off. The cold air stings
my newly liberated flesh. I pull the shield out from between my legs
and hand it to him. He rubs his fingertips over the warm, smooth
metal that held me captive and will again. I'm glad to be free of it
for the night. Perhaps I'll even get to cum.
I get out of the car to walk through the frigid night air. Someone
opens the door to leave. Music from the jukebox blares. He pushes
past without bothering to hold the door for me. It's not that kind of
place.
I sit at a small table near the rear. My husband enters a few minutes
after I begin to sip my first drink. We don't acknowledge each other.
He chooses a table against the wall from which we can see each other
as well as everyone who enters the bar. He'll choose a man for me and
signal his choice. We haven't been to this particular bar before but
the crowd is familiar. A few cheap looking working girls loll at the
bar, caging drinks, maneuvering for the cleaner looking johns. Most
of the other patrons are blue-collar men searching for a lot of beer
and if they're unusually lucky, a little romance for which they won't
have to pay. There are a few affluent customers, too. Perhaps they're
slumming or maybe they're urban pioneers who live in the neighborhood
in old, expensively remodeled apartments. Gentrification is slowly
changing the neighborhood. Unlike the working girls, I'm dressed
conservatively and expensively in a dark business suit and sheer
white silk blouse with nothing underneath. I'll keep my jacket
buttoned until my husband signals me to remove it and display myself.
My breasts aren't large but they're high and nicely shaped. My
nipples are dark and prominent; a gift from my children, so to
speak.
One of the yuppies notices me. He smiles and lifts his drink in
salutation. I glance at my husband. He indicates approval. I return
the man's smile. Perhaps he's the one I'll go to bed with tonight.
The man carries his drink to my table and asks if he can join me. I
nod. He sits across from me. He's in his mid-thirties, expensively
dressed, his hair nicely styled, teeth white and straight. I've been
with much worse. He looks like a lawyer or accountant. He asks my
name.
"Mary," I lie. He says his is Kevin, probably also a lie. People
don't come to places like this to meet people they ever want to see
again.
Kevin asks what I'm drinking and offers to buy a refill. I accept. I
need a few drinks to calm my nerves and make myself ready. We make
small talk. He seems nice; not the type to hurt a woman but looks can
be deceiving. Some of the nicer looking ones have been the meanest.
We talk for about twenty minutes. I'm comfortable with him, hoping my
husband will choose him. I want to get it over with. My husband nods
surreptitiously. I slip my jacket off. Kevin watches me, trying
unsuccessfully not to be obvious ogling my breasts. Several other men
notice, too. I cringe inside. I hate to be put on display for
strangers. Kevin approves of what he sees. I can see it in his eyes.
His gaze tracks over my breasts and the valley between them. He's
already planning how to get me out of here and into his bed. We talk
about nothing for a few minutes. I glance at my husband. He licks his
lips and walks to the men's room. I dread that signal. Kevin will
have a little treat but he won't be the one going home with me.
Perhaps he's too genteel or well mannered. My husband never explains
why he chooses or rejects men.
My husband doesn't reappear. That means the men's room is empty. I
touch the back of Kevin's hand, toy with the top button of my blouse
and tell him I have something to show him. He follows me toward the
rear of the bar. He's surprised when I enter the men's room. He
hesitates at first, then follows me in. He looks around suspiciously.
I know what he's wondering. Is it a trap? Am I going to rob him? Is
it some kind of sex sting operation? The stall is closed and locked.
My husband put an "out of order" sign on it before he perched on the
toilet, making the stall appear empty. Kevin bolts the door. Now it's
my turn to worry. He'll have time to hurt me before my husband can
intervene, if he even wants to. He's let a few men beat me. One
burned me with a cigarette.
Kevin pulls me to him and kisses me. He fumbles under my blouse and
squeezes my breast. He smells of fresh shampoo and expensive after-
shave. I return his kiss. I wish he were the chosen one but it
wouldn't matter. I'm not allowed to make love in men's rooms. There
are no cameras to record the act or props to make it kinky. Perhaps
my husband is punishing me for showing too much interest in Kevin. He
won't allow me to have sex with someone I choose. That wouldn't be
punishment. Kevin's tongue probes my mouth while his hand slides away
from my breast to lift my skirt. He finds what he's looking for. I'm
not wearing panties. He toys with my thick, curly pubic hair then he
cups me. I move on his hand and pant into his mouth. I want Kevin as
hot as possible so he'll finish quickly. I'm not as excited as I make
believe I am but I'm enjoying being touched. My husband never leaves
me alone for a moment without the chastity belt. It's a masterpiece
of engineering. It renders me totally incapable of masturbating to
orgasm. He's never made love to me or even touched me sexually since
he caught me with my lover over three years ago. He refuses to
satisfy me or let me satisfy myself except as he directs and
commands. I'd divorce him and make a life for myself if it weren't
for the children. I can't leave them and he'd never let me take them.
I'll be his slave until they're grown, a very long time.
I need to get this over with quickly. I can't let Kevin penetrate me.
I hug him and turn us so my husband's view won't be obstructed. He'd
punish me for it. I'm here to satisfy my husband's lust and
incidentally, Kevin's; not my own. I touch him through his pants.
He's hard. I fumble with his zipper. He springs into my hand. His
middle finger finds its way between my labia and slides inside me. I
want to move on it but I know my husband will punish me severely if I
do. I'm not allowed to have pleasure except at home, in the special
room set aside for it and then only mixed with as much pain and
degradation as he can devise.
I push his hand gently aside and sink to my knees on the cold cement
floor. Kevin's cock bounces in front of my face. He's large and
natural. I wrap my left arm around the backs of his thighs, take him
in my right hand and work his tight foreskin back, exposing his
scarlet head. He sighs and touches the top of my head. My lover was
the only other uncut man I've ever been with. Kevin reminds me a
little of him. He's clean and pleasant, unlike most of the men with
whom I have sex. I lick his head. The ridge behind it is prominent. I
imagine how nice he'd feel moving back and forth against my G-Spot. I
tongue his little slit. He trembles with pleasure. A clear drop of
pre-cum squeezes onto my tongue. I guide him between my lips. I
continue to hold the base of his cock while he's in my mouth to keep
him from thrusting too and gagging me. I also hold him because I
wouldn't be able to suppress the urge to touch myself if I let go.
Kevin takes my cheeks between his hands and thrusts in and out of my
mouth. The floor hurts my knees. I squeeze his shaft and suck hard to
make him finish. I know my husband is masturbating while he watches
us from a few feet away. He and Kevin will have orgasms to enjoy.
I'll have a mouth full of cum to choke down to keep it from staining
my blouse.
Kevin grunts and tries to force himself deeper into my mouth. I let
go of his shaft. It's almost over. My nose touches the wiry hair at
the base of his cock. It smells of the same shampoo as his hair. He
gushes against the back of my throat, then pulls partway out so he
can feel my tongue against the head. I swirl it around while he
thrusts and fills my mouth. It must have been quite a while since he
had a date. He's very salty and thick. He ejaculates at least a dozen
times. I can hardly swallow fast enough to keep up with him. He
softens. I hold his last volley in my mouth while he zips up,
straightens his clothes and leaves. No goodbye kiss. No word of
endearment. I no longer exist now that he's satisfied. I lock the
door behind him. My husband opens the stall and leers at me. He's
still hard.
"Are you hot?" he demands. "Do you like sucking off strangers in
public toilets?" He inspects my nipples through my blouse then slaps
my breasts because there're hard. The room is cool. They might be
hard from that. He doesn't care. He commands me to raise my skirt. He
touches my labia. I'm moist. He forces my thighs apart and plunges
two fingers into me.
"Oh, you ARE hot!" he exclaims. "You don't care who fucks or fingers
you as long as you get your little cum, do you?" He moves his thick
fingers roughly in and out and rubs my clit hard with his thumb,
scratching it with his nail to make it harder to reach my peak. He
watches my eyes. I try not to react but I can't help myself. It's
been a long time since I had an orgasm. I need one badly. He
masturbates me until my breath starts to hiss between my lips and my
hips take up the rhythm of his hand. Maybe he'll actually let me have
a climax in this dirty, foul smelling little room. I clamp down on
his fingers. He pulls them out of me with a wet, sucking sound. My
need aches and burns.
"I didn't give you permission to cum!" he snarls. "You don't deserve
to cum." He puts his hands on my shoulders and forces me down on my
knees. I know what he wants. I raise my face and open my mouth. He
peers in, then pushes two fingers inside to feel the last of Kevin's
cum. He withdraws his sticky fingers and holds them in front of my
face.
"Did you like having that man fuck your mouth, you little whore?" he
demands. He'll punish me whether I answer yes or no. If I answer yes,
I'll admit to taking pleasure without permission. If no, I'll insult
him by telling him following his commands is not pleasurable. I
mentally flip a coin, hoping to give him the response he wants.
"Yes, Master," I reply. "Thank you for letting me suck his cock." He
slaps my cheek so hard I see stars. Perhaps he would have done it if
I had answered no. It doesn't matter.
"Is his cum as sweet as mine?" Another opportunity to be punished.
"No, Master." No slap follows. I've guessed right. He smiles and
holds his fingers in front of my mouth. I lick them clean of Kevin's
mess. He shakes his cock at me.
"Rinse your mouth, Bitch!" he commands. I start to take him between
my lips. He slaps me again.
"Don't put your filthy mouth on my clean cock!" he hisses. "You don't
know what that bastard is carrying!" He's right. Kevin may have
syphilis, gonorrhea or even AIDS. My husband doesn't want to get
sick. I take him in my hand, move my face close, open my mouth wide,
extend my tongue and masturbate him. He smiles down at me, hands on
hips until he squirts into my mouth several times, mixing his sweet,
watery cum with what's left of Kevin's. He softens. I wait for
permission to swallow. He puts his cock back in his pants and combs
his hair before he lets me. I swallow. The drinks and excitement are
working on me. I ask permission to use the ladies' room.
"Go ahead and piss," he says, pointing to the stall. I push the
filthy seat up with my foot and turn to close the door. He blocks the
doorway. I squat over the bowl. The urine-splashed, discolored
porcelain is cold against my legs. I have trouble starting. He leans
in, slaps my face and commands me to hurry. I somehow manage to relax
enough to urinate. He watches, enjoying my humiliation. I leave the
room first and return to my table. He waits a few seconds, then walks
back to his. If anyone saw me come out of the men's room, they're not
making an issue of it.
My husband scans the crowd. A lot more customers have arrived. It
must be shift change at one of the factories. Kevin's drink sits half-
finished on the table. He got what he wanted. He's gone. I finish my
drink, swirling it around in my mouth before each swallow. I finish
his, too. The taste of their cum gradually leaves my mouth.
A large, heavyset black man in a worn leather jacket looks me over.
My husband gives the signal. I smile seductively and move my
shoulders back ever so slightly to accentuate my breasts. I wonder
why he couldn't have chosen Kevin or one of the other clean cut ones.
I pray silently that the man won't want anything to do with me. Maybe
he'll think I'm out of his league. Maybe he doesn't like white women.
He buys another beer and caries it toward my table. My husband smiles
broadly in anticipation of watching and recording this man having sex
with me. It's going to be a very long night.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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