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Message-ID: <36110asstr$1018876202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: sweetlady@whipmail.com (Sweet Lady)
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
NNTP-Posting-Date: 15 Apr 2002 06:48:00 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Learning Life's Lessons (m/f, blackmail, oral, anal)
Date: Mon, 15 Apr 2002 09:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

I looked at the pictures and documents in front of me.

"They're fakes." I said, knowing that they weren't.

"If you really believe that, Laura, I'll publish, and you can sue the
paper - and whatever national takes it up - for everything they've
got."

"No!"

It would kill my Mother, I thought, to have Dad exposed like that.  My
Dad: Colonel Andrew Strathclyde, Falklands hero, Councillor, tireless
charitable worker, recently deceased from a heart attack.  And, it
appeared from what I was looking at, an enthusiastic and prolific
spreader of teenage male buttocks. The fact that the documents
indicated that the owners of those buttocks had been equally
enthusiastic meant nothing, since the majority of them had been
between fourteen and sixteen when Dad started buggering them, and he'd
be branded a molester of little boys, however eager the boys had been
to be molested.

I sighed, "How much?"

He laughed, "There isn't enough money in the world, Laura. If I wanted
money, I'd have taken the story straight to The Sun or The Mirror."

"Then what do you want?"

He leaned forward and put his hand on my knee.

"You, of course."

Perhaps I should have expected it, but I didn't.  I'd known Adrian
Dewfall since we were in primary school, and he was a skinny kid with
jug ears, buck teeth and glasses. Me and my gang of friends had
laughed at him throughout our teens when acne and braces had added to
the effect, and I still remember him yelling "I hate you, Laura
Strathclyde, and one day I'll get you back, you'll see," after one or
other of my many jokes at his expense.  He'd been so easy to laugh at,
back then, and I'd never been one to pass up an easy target. I'd been
popular, the inevitable consequence of being well-off, pretty, clever,
and good at sports, and being the butt of my jokes was a sure way to
be the butt of most of the rest.

Given how cruel I'd been, and how much he must have loathed me, I
wasn't expecting it at all. It wasn't as if  he'd need to blackmail
anyone to get laid these days, I thought.  He was still thin, the
glasses were still there, but the braces had done their job on the
teeth, and the ears had been pinned back.  He wasn't ever going to be
my type, but he was presentable, and successful, too,  with a
full-time job on the local paper and a column in a couple of the
nationals.

"You mean that if I sleep with you, you'll forget about this?"

Again, he laughed. "Still have the same huge opinion of yourself,
don't you Laura? Of course that isn't what I mean."

"Then what?"

"You're going to marry me, sweetie. You can move into my place this
afternoon, then we'll tell your mother and my parent, and we'll start
making plans for a lovely big wedding."

"What the fuck?!!!"

"I want you for my very own, Laura. I thought we'd have a nice long
engagement, but that's no reason for you to wait to move in now is
it?"

"I've got a boyfriend.  And a job, and a flat of my own. You can't
expect me to dump it all, just like that."

"I expect you to pick up the phone and dump the boyfriend right now. I
won't stand for my fianc e seeing other men.  Your job,  well, it's
hardly nine-to-five, is it?  You can do it from here as easily as from
London, and we'll keep the flat, for now, I think I might have a job
on The Mail soon, and we can move in there. If that falls through, we
can sell the flat and you can  commute. I can probably get you some
work with a contact of mine up here, too"

"What kind of work?"

"Lucrative work, close to home." 

"London IS my home."

"Not any more, Laura.  Not unless you want this story looking at you
from every newsstand.  It'll probably make the TV news too. I wouldn't
give shit for the chances of your modelling  or you acting career
continuing after that, would you? Your home is wherever I am, from now
on. Now, phone that ex-boyfriend of yours."

"Bastard!" 

"As a term of affection, I prefer 'Darling'. Call him, now, or I call
the Chronicle, it's that simple. Don't worry, I'll tell you what to
say."

"Please, Adrian...."

The smile he gave me was twisted and ugly.

"That's precisely what I expect you to do. Please Adrian."

I made the call. Ben didn't deserve it, he was a nice guy who was in
love with me, and who I could, in time, have been in love with too.

"I'm sorry Ben," I said, reading from the pad that Adrian put in front
of me, trying not to gag, "I thought it was all over, but then I saw
Adrian again.  I've tried to forget him, but last night, when he
touched me...  Oh God, Ben, I'm sorry, but I'm going to marry him. I
really am sorry."

I hung up.

"Now come here" he said, and patted the sofa next to him, the sofa I
used to watch TV on with my Dad, who'd got me into this situation,
even from beyond the grave.  I couldn't see what else to do, so I went
and sat there. He took my left hand and slipped a small sapphire and
diamond ring on the third finger. "There," he said, "it's official."
His hands went to the neck of my blouse and he started to unfasten the
buttons. I recoiled, but he just smiled tightly and said, "Stay still,
Laura, or I'll rip it off you."

"What if my mother comes home?"

"Good point." 

He dropped his hands and I sighed with relief. He picked up the manila
folder from the coffee table, slip the pictures and documents into it,
and locked it into his briefcase.

"Sorted. Now, why don't you sit on my lap, Laura? Facing me, I mean."

I just sat.  He waited a few moments, then spoke again. "Look, Laura,
it'll be much easier for both of us if you co-operate.  You really
don't have much of a choice, so you may as well make the best of it.
You might even get to enjoy it if you'd let yourself. Do as I say, or
I'll walk out of that door, and your father's face will be in the all
papers by tomorrow morning. Some of them might use more than his face.
 Do you understand?"

I nodded, feeling my eyes fill with tears, and did as he said. I could
feel his hard-on pushing up against me where I straddled him.

"Take your blouse off."

"Mother..."

"We're engaged, sweetie, what can your mother expect?  This really is
your last warning."

I took the blouse off. 

"Now kiss me.  Slip me some tongue too, sweetie, okay?"

I kissed him. He took my hands, and put them on his shoulders, and
just let the kiss go on. Eventually, I gave him what he wanted, and
slid my tongue into his mouth.  Immediately he grabbed it with his,
and pulled me into a tight hug, so that I was pressed against his
chest.  His hands stroked up and down my back, and then went to my
bra. He didn't stop kissing me as he pushed me away from him slightly,
slid the bra off my shoulders and then put his hands on my tits.

They were warm and dry as they fondled and squeezed at me and his
mouth tasted of breath mints.  He pinched at my nipples until they
started to stand up and then finally broke the kiss. He pushed me
away, holding me by the shoulders and looked at my breasts.  He just
sat there staring until I started to blush furiously.

He grinned at the blush and started to lick and suck at my right
breast.  It wasn't so bad, I guessed. I'd fucked men I didn't fancy
before, once or twice.  It's how I came to have a decent agent, and
how I managed to get one of the shots from my first session on the
cover of  "FashioNOW". If I closed my eyes and thought of Ben, or
Luke, the captain of the university rugby team who'd been my first
lover..
It wasn't so bad. If I wasn't exactly gagging for it, at least my
nipples managed a respectable hardness.

He unfastened my skirt, and let go of my tit long enough to pull it
over my heard. Looking down at my legs, he saw I was wearing tights
and swore.

"Fuck! Get those abominations off!  I expect you to wear stockings
from now on , and make sure the suspenders go UNDER your panties,
understand?"

I nodded as I bent to take off the tights, and my breasts swung
forward unsupported.  He held out his hands, and they seemed to drop
right in like ripe fruits. Adrian lifted them a little as if weighing
them up for purchase.

"Nice. Just about a perfect handful with a little over."

I stood, silently and was going to take my place on his lap again when
he said, "Those hideous tights have put me off my stride.  I think my
cock could do with the kiss of life."

"What!?"

He sighed. "Kneel down and suck my cock, Laura." He looked at his
watch, " In fact, I think you'd better go the whole hog and suck me
through to climax. If we're going to get the engagement into tonight's
paper, I need to go back and arrange things."

"Tonight's paper? What do you mean?"

"I'll explain while you blow me sweetie, okay?"

This was different, I thought as I knelt down, and he unzipped his
jeans and slid his prick out. I've never been fond of oral sex, and
I'd only ever blown two men - both of whom I was in love with.  And, I
thought with a small swallow, both of whom had considerably smaller
penises than the one I was, quite literally, faced with now.  Well not
smaller, perhaps, Adrian's was no longer than most, about eight inches
at a guess, but it was at least twice as thick as any other I'd ever
put in my mouth.

"Look, just get on with it. I've got a busy afternoon." His tone was
impatient, and he pushed my head into his crotch. Reluctantly, I took
the tip into my mouth.

"Mmmmmmm. That's nice. Lick it gently, sweetie, oh yeah, like that. 
Well, you see, I'm sure the paper will want to do a story on us - take
it deeper into your mouth sweetie, but don't stop licking - local girl
made good- oh yeah, that's the way - marries hometown reporter - oh
SWEET, harder, Laura, suck it harder now. They'll probably - yeah, oh
yeah - send Mandy to - deeper Laura, open wide, and let it slide on in
- interview you. Oh GOD, that's good, yeah, keep that up just like
that, your tongue feels so good."

He was pushing himself up into my mouth  with rhythmic little thrusts
and I was fending him off with frantic strokes of my tongue to stop
him choking me with that thick hardness, which seemed to turn him on
more and more. I heard his breath become shallower and faster. "Oh
yeah, oh yeah, suck it just like that, sweetie, just like that, oh
yeah, oh HOLY FUCKING CHRIST!" With that, he started to come, spurting
a thick stream of semen into my mouth, filling it with the salty
stuff.  "Swallow!" he ordered, jamming the slowly softening prick
further into my face, and holding my head onto it. I'd never swallowed
before, never.

"SWALLOW, you bitch."

I swallowed, and the patronising bastard patted my head. "Good girl.
That really wasn't bad."

He stood up, and zipped himself back into his jeans.  "As I said, I
think Mandy will probably be round to interview you in an hour. She
always asks the same kind of questions, so I've prepared some answers
for you, just in case." He dropped a couple of sheets from a shorthand
notebook on the sofa, on top of my skirt. You'd better tell your
mother about us, before the paper comes out, don't you think?" He
looked out of the window, "Here she comes now. I'll be round to
collect you after work at five, and we can move the stuff you want
from here. We'll go to your flat on Friday evening."

I was too busy scrambling into my skirt and shirt to make any reply,
as he left, with a cheery, "Hi Mrs Strathclyde," and I was still
fastening the shirt over my braless tits as Mum walked into the room.

"Wasn't that Adrian Dewfall?" she asked glancing over her shoulder,
then bringing her attention to me, my state, and the bra that was
still lying over the arm of the sofa.

"Um, yeah. Look Mum, I've got something to tell you." I had to make
this sound good, I thought. I could never, never let her get the idea
that there was anything strange about it.  Thank goodness I was an
actress.

"Do I want to know?"

"I think so.  Adrian and I, well, we're engaged."

"Oh.  Oh, right.  I didn't even know you'd been seeing him. I thought
you were still with Ben."

"It's all been a bit, um sudden, but, um, well, I've known him
forever, and..."

"I can see the 'and' Laura. The bedroom would be better for 'and' than
the sofa though."

"Sorry, Mum."

She shrugged. "You're an adult, now, I can't expect you to act like a
nun. When are you planning to get married?"

"I'm not sure.  We've agreed that I'll  move into his place tonight
though, and commute."

"Well, at least I'll see more of you.  He's always seemed a nice young
man, and if he makes you happy, that's great."

I scooped up the bra, and the papers Adrian left and said "I'll just
get us a coffee." Anything to take the taste of him out of my mouth, I
thought.  As the kettle boiled, I read what he'd prepared for me. Oh
GOD! I thought, he surely can't want me to say things like that.  She
surely won't ASK things like that! I wanted to vomit, it was so
sickly-sweet. At the bottom he'd written "This must sound sincere. Use
your acting skills. You know what will happen if anyone suspects
there's something wrong."

Mandy Winters from the Chronicle came round before eleven, and she did
ask all the questions he said she would.  He probably fed them to her
to test me.  When the paper came out at four, this was on page three:

Actress/Model Laura Strathclyde To Marry Chronicle Reporter. (Below
this was a picture of me, sitting demurely, showing off 'my ring'
*ugh!*)

It was announced today that Laura Strathclyde, daughter of the late
Colonel Andrew Strathclyde and his widow, Mary, (head of the local
WRVS) is to move back to her old home town so she can marry the
Chronicle's own Adrian Dewfall. Model Laura, (22) who has appeared on
several covers of "FashioNOW" and "Eighteen!" and who has just landed
her first West-End part in Playboy of  the Western World at Drury
Lane, looked radiant and excited when Mandy Winters interviewed her
today.

MW: Congratulations, Laura, you must be very happy.
LS: Thank you, I am, of course.
MW: Can you tell our readers how you met Adrian?
LS: Well, it's strange. I've known Adrian since we were both children,
but I never really saw him properly until he reported on my father's
funeral. He was so kind and supportive then.
MW: So, you weren't childhood sweethearts?
LS: (laughing) Not hardly! I was horrible to him. I'm surprised he
doesn't still hate me.
MW: But he doesn't, obviously.
LS: It seems not. (She smiles mistily, a picture of happiness)
MW: So how did you come to fall in love?
LS: It was all a kind of whirl. As I said, he was very kind after
Dad's funeral, and I ran into him when I came up to visit Mum once or
twice, and then a couple of evenings ago, we were having a drink, and
he leaned over and kissed me, and ... well I knew that I'd found the
man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
MW: (laughing) The sex was THAT good?
LS: Phenomenal! (She smiles) But you know what I mean, Mandy.  You can
suddenly realise that what you've wanted all your life is right there,
staring you in the face, and you never even noticed.  It was like
that.
MW: That's great. Thank you, Laura.
LS: You're welcome.
MW: Just one more thing
LS: Yes?
MW: Well, I've worked with Adrian for the last two years, so I'm just
curious to know what I've been missing out on - (laughing) is the sex
REALLY that good?
LS: (grinning and nodding enthusiastically) OH yeah. Better, even.

The Chronicle wishes Adrian and his lovely bride all the happiness
they deserve. If he loves her as much as she obviously loves him, then
we're sure they'll have a long and fruitful marriage.

Mum smiled and told me it was sweet, and the phone started ringing
every five minutes with astounded friends, but amazingly they all
seemed to believe it, even the ones from school, and they all thought
it was romantic. Romantic!

Adrian looked like the cat who got the cream when he arrived at five. 
He kissed my mother on the cheek, and she was all over him like a
rash.

"Look, Laura," he said, when he'd done his duty by mum, "let's not
bother about packing tonight. I can drop you back here in the morning,
and you can pack then, you aren't going to need anything tonight, and
I can't wait to get you home and have you to myself" he dropped his
voice, as if to stop mum hearing, but more to make her smile, and me
sweat in horror, "and have you, and have you, and have you and have
you again."

"Go on!" mum shooed us out. 

As the car door shut, he said. "Well. This is it. You're mine, and
everyone knows it."

"Yeah."

"I can do anything I want with you."

"Bastard."

"I told you, I prefer darling.  Use that, or I'll hit you until you
do. Do as I tell you Laura.  There is no point at which I can't carry
through my threat, even if it comes to a time when I have to publish
using a fake name. Understand?"

"Yes, Adrian"

"Yes, DARLING."

"Yes, Darling, I understand." It was a flat monotone, but enough to
satisfy him

He started the car.  We pulled out of my road. 

"Take your knickers off."

"What?"

"Take your knickers off, Sweetie. Then pull your skirt up and spread
your legs wide for your darling."

I obeyed, terrified that he really would hit me. I had a photo session
at the end of the week and I couldn't afford bruises.

"Stroke yourself Laura.  Get yourself all nice and wet for me."

"I'm too scared to be aroused!"

 "You'll manage."

Trembling, I lowered a hand to my pussy, and began to stroke my slit,
and gently rub my clitoris.  At first there was nothing, but as we
drove, I forced myself to concentrate only on my hand, and  the good
feelings it could give me. I shut my eyes, and imagined I was alone.
Slowly, I began to moisten, and I started to rub a little harder,
slide my fingers in longer strokes. I was still scared, but now I
couldn't see him, this was relaxing me, a little. There was music on
the stereo,  the Flower Duet from Lakme, and Kiri Te Kanawa's soaring
soprano wrapped itself around me allowing me to - almost - shut him
out completely. I was getting wetter, and my nipples hardened against
the fabric of my shirt. I wasn't aware of the car drawing to a stop.

Then he put his hand on mine, I snatched mine away and found his index
finger sliding into me, rubbing, rubbing. My eyes flew open. We were
in a driveway outside a house.

"This is my place," he murmured. "But we're not going in until you've
had a nice little orgasm for me, sweetie."

"I can't," I lied. "I can't come for someone I don't even like."

In fact, I orgasm very easily. I couldn't  remember the last time I'd
made love without climaxing even with the fat, bald, photo editor of
"FashioNOW."  If I focus on my body, I can guarantee to come, but it's
hard to focus when you're scared.

He pushed his finger in deeper, his longest finger joining it. He
pressed his thumb onto my clit. "Of course you can, Laura." His other
hand undid the buttons of my shirt, pushed it away from my tits,
leaving me exposed. Both hands began to stroke. He kissed my throat. I
could see a curtain twitch.

"You'll come because I want you to." He curled the fingers inside my
pussy forward, to touch the wall. "You'll come because I know just
where to touch you to make you come." He took a nipple into his mouth,
sucking it back to hardness. Inside me, he rubbed, while his thumb
mashed my clitoris against my pelvic bone in little circles.

I'd always thought the g-spot was a myth. I'd never found it in all my
searching and  I'd never needed it, anyway.

It's not a myth.

"Oh FUCK" I screamed, bucking my hips up as my veins filled with
molten streams of pure sexual ecstasy. There was no gradual build up,
just *pow* and wetness was dribbling out of me onto the car seat,
while I moaned like a cheap tart. He kept rubbing and laughed around
my tit as I writhed, and my inner muscles clutched at his fingers.
There were two faces behind that curtain next door - both male,
teenage and rapt with attention. He kept rubbing and rubbing and I
wondered if it was possible to die from orgasmic asphyxiation, as I
had to drag the breath into my lungs.

"Enough," I begged, finally, but he didn't stop.  

"Please... stop," he didn't.

"Adrian, please." He stopped.

"Let's go in and see your new home." He said, his tone calm and
conversational, as if  all we'd done out here was talk.  Then he
grinned.  Don't fasten your shirt, you'll be taking it off as soon as
we get inside anyway. Shivering with reaction and a sudden new rush of
fear, I just pulled it closed across me, as we walked to the door.

He unlocked it, then grabbed me lifted me up.

"Bride ... threshold." He said. 

He carried me through the door, and then turned and pinned me against
the wall. He pushed my skirt up, unzipped himself, and rammed his cock
deep into me without another word, reaching out to swing the door shut
as I gasped at the force of his thrusts.  He put his hands behind my
legs and lifted the thighs so that my feet left the ground and I had
to wrap them round him, or let them dangle uncomfortable. I was still
wet from my orgasm in the car, or it would have been agony. His thick
prick battered me and my bum bashed against the wall in rhythmic
thuds.

"Oh ... yeah... you ... can't... even... imagine... how... long...
I've... wanted... spread you ... and do ... this!"

Each word was driven home on the point of his cock, as he filled me
over and over, not caring if it hurt - probably hoping it did.

"Your... body... is mine ... now...  you ... stuck-up ... bitch ...
and ... I'm... going... to ... fuck it ... ... and ... fuck it  ...
until you ... pass out ...and then ... I'm... going... to ... wake you
up... and... fuck it... again!"

As he climaxed with an "Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh FUCK, yeah!" and I felt
my cunt fill with his come, and found myself offering up a
thanksgiving that I was, at least, on the pill. As he began to
deflate, he pulled out, and stepped away from me.

"The bathroom is at the top of the stairs on the left. Shower. There's
a robe on the door, you can put that on.  Be down in ten minutes."

And that was how it started, really.

Anyone who looked through the brightly lit windows that night - and he
left all the curtains open to ensure that they could, if they wanted
to - would have thought they saw a couple who couldn't get enough of
each other. While I chopped meat and vegetables in the kitchen, he
stood behind me, his hands inside the robe, cupping and fondling my
breasts, and as soon as the meal was in the oven, I turned, untied the
robe and let it slide to the floor, then took his hand, and brought it
to my cunt. They would have seen me move against it, as his mouth
suckled me, and they would have seen me jerk and shudder through an
orgasm, there, arching back against the kitchen bench, when his
questing fingers found that spot again.

They would have seen my hands at his belt, and on his buttocks,
pulling him onto and into me and clinging onto him while he rode me
hard through another frenzied fucking. They would have seen me reach
for the robe, and then let it lie where it fell, to spend the rest of
the evening naked, when he shook his head.

They would have seen us eat, me smiling at him when he reached idly
out to caress tit or thigh, or put his hand behind my head to pull me
into a kiss.

Later, after the meal, they would have watched me standing with my
hands in soapy water washing dishes, and seen him come into the
kitchen, lean me forward, spread my legs and enter me from behind.
They'd have seen his hands on my shoulders, and my tits bouncing up
and down from the force of his thrusts.

Later still, when I'd brought him coffee, and then whisky, like a
slave girl, they would have seen me sit on the floor at his feet, my
head resting against his thigh, while he stroked my hair, and while he
idly channel surfed with the remote control, they would have watched
me kneel, unfasten him again, and take him into my mouth, with every
appearance of eagerness.

An in the bedroom, they would have seen me walk through, clean again
after another shower. They'd have seen me shake my head, at first,
while he undressed  but still, a few minutes later, they'd have smiled
when I rolled onto my front, pulled my knees up to lift my buttocks
high, and reached my hands back to open the cheeks and give him access
to the tight hole between them. They'd have watched him use his
fingers to grease me with Vaseline, and then slide his thick cock
slowly further and further past the rosy entrance until he was
sheathed to the balls in my arse. They'd have seen him put his hands
on my hips and drive into me over and over, and they would have had no
reason to think my screams were anything other than ecstasy.

Finally, they'd have watched him gather me tight into his arms and
turn out the light, and they might have thought of the piece in the
paper, and grinned. "Phenomenal" sex indeed.

The double glazed windows would, of course,  have cut out the sound of
his voice, the cold instructions he gave me, the treats he hissed and
the gloating exclamations that filled my ears and mind while his cock
filled my cunt, my mouth or my arse. And they couldn't have seen what
the darkness obscured -- my anguished sobs as I lay locked in the
prison of his arms at the end.

"Not happy?" he whispered as I wept. "Never mind, sweetie. *I'm*
ecstatic. You're a great little lay, Laura Strathclyde, I think I
could probably fuck you on the hour, every hour, and still be hard
again for you to suck me off half way to the next fuck.  If you do
enough to satisfy me, you may well be walking bow-legged for the rest
of your life."

I struggled, suddenly angry, trying to get away from his grip, lashing
out with my hands and feet. That was stupid of me.

"Not tired yet, sweetie?" he asked. "Oh good."

This time, he rolled me onto my back, pinning my hands above my head.
It was hard to believe someone so thin was so strong, I thought, when
he took the wrists into one hand. His mouth sucked a nipple to
reluctant erection, and then he bit into it, hard, drawling blood, and
sucking on that.

He used his knees to shove my thighs widely, painfully apart, and then
his second hand took possession of my abused cunt again. His fingers
curled inside me and deftly found the place that triggered my
reluctant orgasm.

I cried "No!" as I came, but I still came and his merciless fingers
flickered and stroked back and forth inside me,  mercilessly forcing
my body to respond over and over. He would let the sensations subside,
then *flick*, and I'd buck again, gripping the invading fingers with
my cunt muscles and soaking hand and sheet with the surge of wetness
that rose instinctively.

"Adrian, please, stop."  I was exhausted, hurting, humiliated. My eyes
burned with the tears that spilled unnoticed and uncared for over my
cheeks, and ran down to make the sheet at my head as we as that
beneath my cunt.

"No." Again, he flicked, again my body burned with agonised lust.

"Please, Adrian. Darling."

"No."

"What do you *want* from me?"

I couldn't see the hard grin on his face, but I knew it was there.

"I want you to ask me nicely  to fuck you.  I want you come with my
cock inside your cunt, and to feel you ripple round it like you are
round my fingers, right now. I want you to scream my name when you
come. I want you to thank me, when I'm done, and tell me you loved it,
and you can't get enough of it.  I don't care if you mean that, but I
want you to *sound* like you mean it."

"No!"   *flick* "Oh God!"

*flick*

*flick*

*flick*

"Please... Adrian..." I forced the words out, miserably, "fuck me."

I told myself I had to bear it, as his cock filled my slick cunt
again.  I had to try to make myself *want* it, somehow, for my
mother's sake, and my father's memory, for my own sanity, because I
was going to have to take it.

I clenched my muscles tight around him, to stroke him and squeeze him.
I hoped that if he felt me trying to please him, he wouldn't demand
orgasm.  I still had foolish hope, then.

"Oh yeah, sweetie, milk me, just like that.  I knew you had it in you.
Come for Adrian, Laura."

I focused my whole mind on the movements, desperate now just to have
it end, and knowing that it wouldn't without my climax. His thrusts
were deep and hard, but without urgency, and after the frantic
activity of the night, I knew that he wouldn't need to come quickly,
this time. I tried to remove the person who owned the cock that rode
me from my thoughts, so that I was being fucked by a nameless,
faceless, but much desired lover. The pain in my body, I told myself,
was transitory, I didn't care about it, because I had the one I wanted
inside me.  I writhed, arching, to grind my clit against him, and when
he released my hands, I used them to cling to him, so that he laid
along me, and I didn't have to look at his face.

I felt it begin as I gripped his hardness with the walls of my cunt,
the tight ache at my nipples that spread through my body before the
release.

He felt it too.

"Call my name as you come," he hissed, as I tensed, "or afterwards,
I'll make you sorrier than you've ever been"

And I was back with him. Coming for HIM. Aware.

I obeyed him, of course. My tears began again with the climax, but I
cried "Adrian!" all the same, just once, before sobs choked my voice,
and he emptied his balls into me again.

He lay heavily on top of me, and kissed my lips.

"Such a good, obedient little fianc e," he crooned. "I think I'm going
to keep you forever, sweetie. Thank you for a wonderful evening."

"Thank you Adrian. I... it..." I swallowed. "It was wonderful, I loved
it. I've never known a night like it."

That last, at least was true, thank God, though I knew that I would
probably know many more from now on. I wondered if I would go mad.

His heavy breathing told me that he was asleep then, still on top of
me, his prick still sheathed inside my body, like a flag claiming me
as his possession. I don't know how long I cried after that, but
eventually, exhausted, I slept.

*******************

When I woke, he was moving inside me again, fully erect, and I could
hear my own voice, moaning in desire. My cunt, without my inhibiting
consciousness, was already slick and hot from its instinctive response
to the physical stimuli and my juices were running between my thighs.

I didn't try to fight it, what would have been the point? When he
rolled us over, so that I was astride him, I impaled myself on him
like a willing sacrifice, letting the sensations blot out pain and
misery.
We came together, and he smiled at me.

"You're learning, sweetie."

I nodded, dully.

Over breakfast, he laid out, clearly and clinically what he expected
of me, and again, I nodded.

I was trapped. There was no escape.

*******************

My life became one long stage performance. I accepted congratulations,
telling people how happy I was.

When we were out, together, he touched me constantly, stroking my
face, or my hand or my arse, and I smiled at him, as if I loved and
wanted it, and turned my face up to be kissed. We went to people's
houses and I sat on his lap with his arms around my waist, and leaned
my head onto his shoulder. We went to pubs and he stood behind me
holding me close, and I forced myself to giggle when his hand crept up
to squeeze and caress my breast.

I stopped wearing underwear, so that he could just lift my dress and
screw me against alley walls or car bonnets, or finger my cunt in the
semi dark of a cinema, while our neighbours pretended to watch the
screen and stroked their cocks. I sunk to my knees on wet park grass
and took him into my mouth, and I straddled his cock on the chair in
his office while he ripped my blouse open and sucked my tits, frosted
glass hiding details but not activity.

The wedding invitations went out, and everyone said what a perfect
couple we were, so happy, so much in love, so damn HOT for each other.

At home, he used me whenever, wherever, and however he chose.  I came,
whenever he fucked me, because that was what he wanted, and to be
honest, in the moments of climax I could forget how miserable I was.

 I was permanently exhausted. Everything I had went into my act as 
"happily engaged girl"

At Drury Lane, they replaced me, reluctantly, with my understudy. "I'm
sorry Laura, but the sparkle has gone out of your performance," the
Director said.

Modelling commissions started to dry up. "You've lost that zing you
used to have," Leo, the FashioNOW photographer told me. "Take a rest
and call me after the wedding when you're less stressed."

I had nothing left then that was mine. There was only Adrian.

*******************

The church was packed for the wedding.

My mother cried as I walked down the aisle, my uncle at my side to
give me away.

I had dreamed that he would jilt me, and leave me standing there as
his final humiliation, in front of everyone I knew, but he was
standing there at the altar waiting, with the smile on his face that
said "I'm a winner, and you lose."

We used the old service, and my voice shook when I promised to obey
him "till death us do part". As I knelt at the altar, I prayed to die,
but still, I lived.

And there we sat, at the reception. The best man got up to speak. It
was Alan Hall, another old schoolmate.

"Ade swore he'd have Laura the day she refused to go to the leaver's
dance with him," he said. "I laughed at him then, because we all knew
that Laura Strathclyde was much too good for the likes of us. She was
top of the class, captain of sports, and beautiful to boot. We were
the Jerks, Creeps and Losers Club - she'd named us herself."

My mother threw me a sharp look as the assemblage laughed.

"Now, in those days, Adrian was a spotty, ugly little git, not the
fine figure of a stud that you see before you today. He, like all of
us, grew up, but unlike most of us he was determined even then, and
he's worked like a Trojan ever since to get everything he wants - a
great job, a nice house and now, finally his perfect wife. And so, in
the end, you see him here with his lovely Laura by his side. Now,
we've all watched them together, these last few months, and it's been
obvious to everyone how much Laura adores her Adrian."

There was a chorus of "aaahs."

"I've never seen a bride so beautiful, or one who seemed to want to
make her husband as happy as Laura does, so I know she'll answer my
question now.  You see, when Ade swore he'd have her, that wasn't the
whole vow.  Now, remember, he was just seventeen at the time, and the
woman of his dreams had cut the legs out from under him."

He paused. The room was silent.

"So, Ade turned to me, and swore, 'I'll have that Laura Strathclyde
one day. She'll be mine and I swear she'll BEG me to take her.' So,
what I want to know Laura is... DO you beg? I've got fifty quid riding
on the answer, you know."

The laughter was deafening, and I was swallowed n a wave of
humiliation.  I felt my face turn scarlet, and my mother shifted
uncomfortably beside me, but sighed and whispered "Oh Laura, you know,
if you were such a cruel child, you probably deserve that."

I tried to find words to say something witty, but Adrian was there
before me. "Only if I'm too slow to satisfy her, Al. Isn't that right
sweetie?"

Furiously blushing, I nodded.

"Of course," the bastard continued, "She's so hot for me that I almost
always *am* too slow."

Even my mother laughed.  

The music started, and he guided me onto the dance floor. "I could
fuck you right here," he whispered, as he guided me around the floor,
his hand stroking my arse through the clinging white sheath of satin
he'd chosen for me to wear. "I could rip that gown right off you, lay
you on the floor, and screw you, and you wouldn't be able to do
anything about it except cry, or come for me like the slut you are."
He kissed me and pulled me tight against him.  His hard on pressed
into my belly.  "Shall I do that, Laura? Shall I send our guests home
with more than cake to remember this wedding by?"

"Please Adrian," I started, anguished, but I never got to finish.  We
were dancing next to Alan, to the strains of Barry White, and he
stopped, got out his wallet, and handed Adrian a fifty pound note.

"Well, he announced loudly to the room, grinning, "Now I've heard it,
I can only pay up. Get that wife of yours upstairs now, Adrian, for
God's sake. The poor girl NEEDS you."

I knew then, as Adrian dragged me from the room to the sound of
laughter on every side that it would never, ever be over.  That he
would never let me escape him.

In the honeymoon suite, he tore the white satin and lace underwear
from my body, and threw me on my face onto the bed. His hands lifted
my hips and he ripped into me like a dog taking his bitch.

"Mine!" he said, as he came "My wife. Mine forever, Laura Dewfall."

And as I heard that name, for the very first time, Laura Strathclyde
died. I became Laura Dewfall - wife, possession.

His.

In that moment I became resigned. There was no way back, only forward.

I lay with my head on his chest, and considered my future. Slowly,
hesitantly, I lifted myself up, leaned down and kissed him. He
stiffened.

"If I have to be your wife, I'll try to be a good one," I whispered 

"Huh?"

I straddled him, and slowly, very slowly, I slid myself onto his cock,
and began to rock. This is the first time, I told myself, it begins
here. I gave myself to him willingly, and without instruction while he
lay below me, looking up at me in confusion, seeing me without fear or
reluctance, as he'd never seen me before.

"I'm yours," I said, and I lifted his hands to my breasts. "forever."
  
"Forever."

"I can't fight any more."

I moved on him, and smiled at the lustful moan. Heat flushed in my
cunt as it rode him, and my juices began to dribble out of me and
slide hot down his balls.

"I don't want to hurt any more."

I leaned forward, and offered my breasts to his mouth, brushing the
nipples across his lips

"You won't let me go, will you? I can't make you?"

"No!" he exclaimed, and his hands tightened on my hips.

"Then," I said, sliding so that his cock was deep in me, and he
groaned. "I shall have to make you love me."

And I rode his cock to heaven, crying  his name again - but this time,
because, for the very first time *I* wanted it that way.

*******************

My husband comes to me in the dressing room.  His colleague, the
Mail's reviewer has gone back to the office to write up the play.

"He loved you." He says, as he lifts the heavy long skirts I wear to
play Katherine, The Shrew.

"Good.  Did you?"

"I always love you, Laura."

I reach for his belt and unfasten him.  I cup his hardness in my hand
and smile as he moans, "Oh God, you beautiful witch, you know I love
you"

"Then show me." I say.

We've been married for two years. I'm happier than I ever imagined
being.

On our anniversary, he burnt the folder that held all the details
about my father.

"Beg me." He grins, "like a tamed shrew should."

I smile and misquote my final scene: 

"Place your body below your husband's cock: In token of which duty, if
he please, My cunt is ready; may it do him ease."

I pull him towards me.

"Please, Adrian, darling. Love me."

And he does.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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