Nine

I MADE A hasty, and drunken, plan, intending to tell Earle I was going out for a breath of fresh air and then sneaking across to the dormitory block. Rhiannon had been on duty for at least six hours, maybe longer, so surely had to get off soon. I’d meet her and her friends in the courtyard as if by accident, get her alone in her room, tease her out of her clothes, suck her pretty little breasts, spank her gorgeous bottom, have her return the favour, go down on her and finish off queened on her face with her tongue well in up my bumhole . . .

‘How about an early night, Natasha?’

It was Earle, breaking into my fantasy and destroying it with a single remark. I could hardly refuse, and as I was led from the room I tried to console myself that at least I was going to get a good fucking. We passed a group of which Anton Yoshida was part and I stuck my nose in the air, but there was no escaping the amused disdain of his expression and I found myself blushing as we climbed the stairs. He knew Earle and I were going to bed, and it was pretty obvious we’d be having sex too. I could imagine what he’d be thinking, about me getting it the way he’d suggested, with my tits out while I milked Earle all over them – my fat, white, Anglo-Saxon breasts, as he’d called them. Exhausted, Earle would fall asleep, and I would sneak over to the Louis Quatorze suite, where I’d be made to strip nude, tied up in some awkward and humiliating position, beaten, penetrated and spunked on, before he went to fetch M. Blanquefort and a few others for the real show.

It wasn’t going to happen, it just couldn’t, and yet I wanted it, all of it, too drunk and vulnerable to pretend otherwise. I told myself I’d go to Rhiannon instead, but suddenly the thought of her sweet, inexperienced caresses seemed inadequate beside the horrible fantasy Anton Yoshida had planted in my mind. My only hope was that Earle would keep me busy, and he was at least eager, fumbling for his fly even as he closed the door of our suite behind him. I bounced down on the bed, watching as he produced his cock and balls, just the way he had done earlier, with everything hanging out but his trousers still done up.

‘How would you like me?’ I teased, hoping to slow him down a little and make it last at least long enough to let me come and get some of the awful thoughts out of my head.

‘Wide open, honey,’ he told me, pushing his cock at my mouth.

‘OK, but not for too long,’ I replied.

Just in time, I stopped myself explaining, realising that he almost certainly wasn’t the sort of man who would get off on knowing that the girl who was about to take his precious cock in her mouth had sucked so many men off during the last week that her jaw still ached. He knew I was no angel, but like most of his sex he appreciated experience while wanting innocence. I took him in as deep as I could, trying to concentrate on the cock in my mouth instead of imagining myself in tight bondage as I was mounted from the rear, with a dozen Oriental businessmen laughing at my plight and placing bets on which of my two well-lubricated holes would be used.

‘That’s good,’ Earle sighed, rescuing me from my nightmare. ‘You are one beautiful little cocksucker.’

Earlier in the day, when we’d parked in the woods, his remark would have worked on me well, making me feel small and dirty at the same time; a compliment, in a sense, and yet implying that all I’m good for is my looks and my ability to get men off in my mouth. Now it was wholly inadequate, because Anton Yoshida had already made me feel tiny, while what he’d threatened me with went far beyond merely sucking cock, which just about everybody does after all. Earle was nearly stiff anyway, and I was going to get fucked, hard and rough, but it just wouldn’t be enough, or so I thought until Earle rescued me with a single question.

‘OK, I’m ready. On your knees with you, and tell me how your uncle spanks you while we do it.’

It was as if he’d flicked a switch. Suddenly what Percy had said came back to me, and the full extent of my filthy fantasies earlier that day, so dirty it made me choke to think of it. Now I could get off the way I like to, over something truly filthy: not some tepid piece of sex anybody might have, but something that would make my supposedly liberated friends go pale. I bounced over on the bed, exhibiting my bottom beneath the deep red satin of my evening dress, with my back pulled in tight and my knees a little apart to make myself as enticing as possible for him.

‘You’re a bastard, Earle, but OK, I will, if that’s what you want. First . . . first he tells me off, when I’ve been naughty, and . . . and if I complain and tell him it’s not right he always says the same thing. He says he’s my uncle, and he has a right to spank me, and that it doesn’t matter that I’m grown up, because I’m still a naughty girl and I still need to be spanked, spanked regularly, and spanked on my bare bottom. He always get me bare-bottom, always. He bends me across his knee and he pulls down my trousers or lifts up my dress. Like this, Earle, watch.’

He didn’t need telling, his eyes bulging as I reached back, raising one knee at a time to lift my dress, showing my nylon-clad thighs and the soft ring of flesh above my stocking tops, my straining suspender straps and the seat of my red satin knickers pulled taut over my bulging cheeks. His hand was on his cock, wanking furiously as I exposed myself.

‘Always bare-bottom,’ I repeated, my voice now husky with my own emotion. ‘He always gets me bare-bottom. It doesn’t matter now much I plead. It doesn’t matter how much I kick and wriggle and howl. It doesn’t even matter if I cry. He says bad girls have to go bare-bottom, so my knickers come down, every time . . . every time, Earle, at my age, a grown woman, and this is what he shows off, Earle.’

I’d put my thumbs in the waistband of my panties and, as I spoke, I’d begun to ease them down, ever so slowly exposing my bottom, the top of my crease, the fullness of my cheeks, the rude, dark star of my bumhole, the pouted shape of my pussy lips and the wetness between, and, of course, my cane welts.

‘Jesus!’ he breathed.

‘I know,’ I sobbed. ‘The last time he caned me. He took me across his knee and pulled my panties down the way he always does, and spanked me, spanked my bare bottom until I was all pink and hot, and crying too. But he still said it wasn’t enough, so he made me touch my toes, still with my bottom all bare, and he caned me, my own uncle.’

I burst into tears, overcome by my own story, for all that it was completely made up. He should have felt guilty, maybe he did, but that didn’t stop him. He was growling curses as he climbed on to the bed, his cock in his hand as he got into position behind me. I felt his helmet push at my flesh, against one thigh, then on target and up me. The breath was driven from my body as my pussy filled and he began to pump into me, furiously hard, and as he rode me he slapped my bottom.

‘Christ, what a bastard!’ he gasped. ‘What a bastard, but you know . . . you know, I can’t say I blame him, not with a niece like you, ’cause if ever a girl needed spanking it’s you, Natasha . . . spanking and fucking, and, by God, am I the man to do it!’

All the while he’d been pushing into me so hard that it took all my concentration to brace myself and take it, but I needed to come and what he’d said was just right. If I’d been his niece he’d have spanked me and fucked me, which was exactly what he was doing. I imagined myself as before, his innocent niece, only not seduced into taking his cock in her hand and then fucked when he got carried away, but spanked for being a naughty girl and then mounted on her hot bottom because he couldn’t resist her.

It was perfect, or it would have been if he hadn’t suddenly paused to grab his hat from the side table where he’d put it earlier. He began to beat me with it, slapping my hip and bottom as he thrust into me, breaking my fantasy of a hand-spanking over his knee followed by a rough, uncontrolled fucking. I’d still have made it, as soon as I’d got my hand to my pussy, but he went off at a tangent, shrieking and slapping my bottom with his hat as he fucked me.

‘Ride ’em cowboy!’ he yelled. ‘Oh yeah, this is the way, on your knees and whupped like some crazy bronco!’

My fantasy disintegrated, and I’d have burst into giggles if he hadn’t been jamming himself in and out of me so hard I was fighting for breath. I reached back, still determined to try and get myself off, but his next thrust knocked me sideways. His cock slipped out, was very nearly jammed up my unlubricated bottom hole, slid between my cheeks instead and erupted a fountain of spunk all over my expensive satin evening dress. I collapsed on the bed, feeling thoroughly put upon as he finished himself off over my bottom and into my knickers, still whooping with delight and gibbering about cowboys and broncos.

I suppose I should have found it thoroughly humiliating, both to be referred to as a horse and to have my clothes spunked all over, but I’d been too focused on my own fantasy. Unfortunately, he was straddling my legs, pinning me to the bed, making it impossible for me to masturbate. By the time he got off I’d given up, intending to wait until he’d recovered and have him spank me while I brought myself off.

He wasn’t going to do that while my bottom was sticky with spunk, and I was keen to save my dress, so I skipped into the bathroom and quickly cleaned up. As I did so I was sorting out my fantasy in my head, wondering if it would be best to carry on as before or try and mix in his cowboy fetish, perhaps imagining myself as a girl spanked by her uncle at a rodeo, perhaps in front of the men she’d been flirting with to earn her punishment.

It would have worked too, but when I came out of the bathroom Earle was in bed, snoring gently. I threw my dirty knickers at him in frustration, but they fell short, leaving me standing there boiling with frustration and rising worry. Earle had come over me and immediately fallen asleep, just as Anton Yoshida had predicted, except that it was my bum rather than my tits he’d spunked over. Now all I had to do was walk across the passage to the Louis Quatorze suite and I’d get what I needed: roped, abused, fucked . . .

I was not going to do it, but I was going to get my fun, with Rhiannon. With my jaw set firm I pulled on a fresh pair of panties and my coat and slipped my mobile into my pocket in case I was locked out. Then I let myself into the passage. People were still up and I could hear a faint buzz of voices and laughter coming from the direction of the stairs. I had no wish to be seen, especially by Yoshida, who for all I knew was still up, and going into his room to wait for him would have been even more humiliating than finding him ready. I went the other way instead, along the passage to where a smaller staircase led me down to the ground floor. I came out near the kitchens, and let myself out of the scullery door into the main courtyard.

The night was cold, and my breath showed in the air where an old-fashioned lamp illuminated the back door. My shoes crunched on the frosted gravel. Doubts had begun to assail me. Maybe she didn’t want me at all, at least not sexually, and while she had told me where she was staying she hadn’t actually invited me to come over, especially not around midnight. If she did want me, maybe she’d be horrified by the sort of filthy fantasies I need to explore in order to get off. Yet I had to try.

Her dormitory block was easy to locate, a modern two-storey building next to the château’s cellars, or chai, and half hidden by trees. Some of the lights were still on, but as I approached the door I saw that not only was it covered by a CCTV camera but it opened to a code pressed into an intercom panel. I hesitated, wondering if a late-night visit from a guest would get her into trouble. On the one hand they’d had her running around half the night showing her legs off to a load of middle-aged businessmen, who were sure to make passes at her, and she had invited me to come over. On the other, Southern and Allied seemed to be pretty strict with their employees and I knew she wasn’t supposed to talk to guests while at work. More importantly, if I was caught on camera M. Blanquefort might find out, and possibly even Anton Yoshida or Earle.

I decided not to risk it and went around the back, carefully avoiding the camera. The windows were quite high, out of my reach, the curtains closed, so I couldn’t see in at all. She’d said she was in room two, which was probably the first window on the right, so once again I hesitated, before deciding that if I got the wrong girl I’d just have to ask. I picked up some gravel and threw it at the window, and after a moment of agonising suspense the curtain was drawn back and a face appeared. Rhiannon.

‘Hi,’ I whispered, my voice thick with embarrassment. ‘It’s me, Natasha. Can I come in, please?’

She glanced down, more nervous and shy than ever, then shook her head. A rush of disappointment hit me, so strong it made me feel sick, but then she spoke, in an urgent hiss.

‘I wish you could.’

She wanted me. I tried not to giggle as my sick disappointment vanished under a wave of euphoria.

‘We’re not allowed visitors after six,’ she explained, ‘and there’s CCTV over the front door and in the passage.’

‘What is this, Colditz?’

‘Something like that, and my contract says I’m not to do anything that might bring Southern and Allied into disrepute, which includes shagging.’

‘I’m not going to shag you, although I would if I had the equipment.’

She giggled, removing the last shred of doubt from my mind.

‘Help me up,’ I demanded, reaching up.

‘I can’t, I share my room! Evaline’s in the bathroom.’

‘Will she mind?’

Rhiannon burst into giggles.

‘Of course she’ll mind!’

I shrugged, more than happy to accommodate Evaline, who was presumably one of the other waitresses. Rhiannon spoke again.

‘I’ll come down. She won’t tell on me.’

I was going to object, but she was already climbing out and I saw that she was still in her waitress outfit, allowing me to see all the way up her skirt as she swung one pretty leg out of the window. I tried to help, and the thrill as I touched her flesh made my throat tight with desire, especially when I tried to take her weight and her thigh and the curve of her bottom pressed to my face. At that moment she lost her grip and dropped the last couple of feet. I tried to catch her, fell over and we collapsed in a giggling heap on the frost-covered grass. The feel of her in my arms was too much and I kissed her, my hand slipping down under her tiny skirt to cup one resilient bottom cheek as our mouths opened together. I would have had her, right there, but she pulled away, speaking in a hoarse whisper.

‘We’ll get caught, Natasha, and it’s bloody freezing!’

‘Well, if you were dressed properly,’ I joked and slapped her bottom.

She gave a little purr, and after that I’d have had her even if Anton Yoshida, M. Blanquefort and the Great Dane had all turned up together. I tugged her bodice down, baring small upturned breasts, her nipples straining to erection in the cold air. She squeaked and giggled but pulled away once more, protesting.

‘Natasha, not here! Let’s go to your room.’

‘We can’t . . . unless you fancy letting Earle Hayes join in?’

‘You’re with a man?’

‘Yes,’ I began, and stopped, embarrassed to admit my companion was almost twice my age. ‘Never mind him, though, it’s you I want. I don’t know, maybe he won’t wake up, or maybe he can watch?’

She gave me her shy smile and shook her head. Like me she was drunk and horny, but not enough to go for what might be her first lesbian encounter in front of a strange man.

‘We have to go somewhere,’ I pointed out.

Her response was an urgent nod and to set off along the side of the dormitory block, beckoning me to follow. We came to a gateway, let into the high stone wall of the chai. The rusty gate stood open, and a pathway led among old stone buildings, creating a confusing patchwork of angular shadows and splashes of dim light. Rhiannon took my hand and drew me to one of the buildings and in at a door. As it closed behind us she switched on a light, revealing a windowless room, evidently a disused part of the chai, to judge by the rusty, cobwebbed wine-making equipment at one end. Nearer to us were chairs and a table with an empty mug, a used ashtray and a French magazine on it. An old-fashioned gas stove warmed the room.

‘Some of us come here to cadge cigarettes off the lorry drivers,’ Rhiannon explained in a whisper. ‘And other things.’

I could well imagine it. The air was warm and smelt of strong cigarettes and male sweat. No doubt the drivers were more than happy to entertain the girls from the dormitory, and to keep their indiscretions secret. I was already picturing the two of us kneeling on chairs, kissing and playing with each other as half a dozen men took turns with us from behind, something I very much doubted she could have coped with.

‘What if they come back?’ I asked.

‘No lorries, no drivers,’ she pointed out.

I was going to ask why the stove was on, but she was smiling and beckoning me forward again. At the other end of the room, half concealed by the old machinery, there was a door, and beyond it a storeroom, empty except for some old bottles and cans and a big, stained mattress. She closed the door, slid a bolt home and we were alone.

‘Neat, huh?’ she giggled. ‘A lot of the girls come here to . . .’

She went suddenly quiet and looked down, once more unsure of herself. All we had to see by was the faint light coming in through a big keyhole and under the door, but I could imagine her pretty face and the shy look that turned me on so much. I took her in my arms to guide her gently down on to the mattress, kissing her and stroking her skin. She responded as before, unsure what to do but making no effort to stop me as I gently eased her bodice down over her breasts and tucked up her skirt to get her bare behind. I could feel her shivering, no longer with cold but with apprehension, but her mouth was open under mine and she had allowed one hand to sneak down to the curve of my bottom.

I needed more, far more – urgent, rude, filthy sex, with fingers and tongues up pussies and in bumholes – but I forced myself to hold back, kissing and exploring until she’d begun to sigh and cling to me in her rising pleasure. Only then did I take down her knickers, easing her out of them and gently spreading her thighs. She gave a little, abandoned sob as her legs parted, perhaps as much in surrender as in pleasure, but there was no doubting the ecstasy of her sigh as my tongue found her pussy. I added a pair of fingers, meaning to penetrate her while I licked her out, but she went suddenly stiff.

‘No,’ she gasped, ‘not that. I . . . I’ve never been—’

She broke off, but I knew what she meant and suddenly everything about her made a lot more sense. I touched her and felt the tight arc of skin around the mouth of her pussy. She was a virgin, a discovery that sent a delicious thrill through me. I’d seduced a virgin, introducing her to lesbian sex before she’d ever had a man, making her my own sweet playmate, who’d be licking me in turn just as soon as I’d brought her off.

I needed it desperately, but didn’t dare push her too hard, so I licked her gently and stroked her thighs until her hand found my hair and pulled me in more firmly. Now I had her, and I began to lick harder and allow my hands to stray down to her bottom, teasing her cheeks, and between. She gave a little mew of protest when I found her bumhole, but she didn’t try to stop me. I couldn’t see, but her hole felt tight and sweetly formed, making me want to lick it and see how far in I could get my tongue, but she was already starting to flex her thighs and push herself into my face, obviously close to orgasm. Her bumhole began to squeeze and I slipped my finger in a little way, feeling her tiny ring tighten to the contractions of her muscles, her virgin pussy too, as she came against my face, sobbing out my name over and over again in what might even have been her first-ever climax.

When she was done I moved up to take her in my arms, kissing her once more and cuddling her close. She was shaking and sobbing, maybe struggling to come to terms with having come under another woman’s tongue, maybe just overwhelmed by her orgasm, but in any case needing to be held. It took all my self-control just to let her cling to me, because the feel of her body in my arms was both frustrating and arousing, but I knew I had to let her take things at her own pace. What I wanted was her bottom in my face, to savour her sweet little bumhole and virgin pussy while she licked me to ecstasy, but I knew I couldn’t just lie down and ask her to climb on top. She need cajoling into it, slowly and carefully.

‘My turn, yes?’ I said, speaking very softly and stroking her hair.

She nodded and her trembling abruptly increased.

‘How would you like me?’ I offered.

‘I . . . I don’t know. You choose.’

‘Head to tail? That’s nice, and your body is so lovely.’

‘If you like,’ she answered, so sweet and shy and nervous that her words alone made my tummy tighten.

She was going to do it, to lick me to ecstasy with her pretty little bottom right in my face. I was shaking as much as she was as I hitched my dress up to get at my panties, only to stop, realising how much more fun it would be to have her pull them down for me. She’d seen me tied up, she knew I was kinky, so maybe I could even persuade her to spank me before we went head to toe. I had to ask.

‘Rhiannon? Would you mind doing me a little favour?’

‘What’s that?’

‘Would you . . . do you mind spanking my bottom first?’

My words had come out in an embarrassed rush, but she burst into giggles immediately. I knew I was going to get it, and I could hold back no longer.

‘Over your knee please,’ I asked, twisting myself into position. ‘Lift my dress, and take my knickers down, and spank me hard, even if I kick and squeal, even if I cry.’

‘Naughty Natasha!’ she giggled.

I was across her lap, my bottom lifted to let her bare me, in such ecstasy I couldn’t stop myself squeezing my thighs and bum cheeks in anticipation of what I was about to get: a good, firm spanking across my lovely new playmate’s lap, followed by her bum in my face as she brought me off.

‘Very naughty,’ she said as she began to turn up my dress, ‘very, very naughty. You need spanking, Natasha.’

She was playing, but her every word brought me a fresh jolt of pleasure. Once my dress was up, her hands found my panties and eased them down. As I was stripped I was sobbing with ecstasy, and I couldn’t help but push my bottom up, drawing the satin tight against my cheeks as it drew slowly across my skin, exposing me to the cool night air – my cheeks, my bumhole, my pussy, all bare, ready to be smacked and teased and touched while she told me off in her soft Irish lilt.

‘Naughty, naughty Natasha. You do like to be spanked, don’t you, you bad girl? Bad, bad girl, and now . . .’

She lifted her hand, ready to bring it down on my bare, quivering bum cheeks, and I broke completely, gasping out my words as I begged for punishment.

‘Please, yes, Rhiannon, like that. Tell me off while you spank me. Tell me what a bad, naughty girl I am while you smack my bare bottom, smack me . . . spank me . . . spank me like the naughty little girl I am . . . oh, please . . . fuck!’

Her hand had come down on my bottom, hard, but that wasn’t why I’d sworn. The building was shivering to the low rumble of a powerful engine and it could only be one thing, a lorry. We both froze, Rhiannon with her hand lifted to apply the second smack to my bare cheeks, me with my hips still stuck high to receive my spanking. From outside we heard the crunch of gravel, a grinding noise and the hiss of released pressure. The lorry had parked directly outside our hiding place. I scrambled up, cursing, but not as bitterly as Rhiannon, who seemed scared.

‘It’s one of the drivers, Natasha! If he finds us he’ll—’

‘No he won’t,’ I assured her, ‘but what the fuck does he think he’s doing at this time of night?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said, and now there was no mistaking the fear in her voice, ‘but they’re really rough men. Martine came in here with one of them and he made her do his mate as well, in her mouth while she got it from behind!’

It sounded fun, but Rhiannon obviously didn’t think so. I gave her a hug and lowered my voice to a whisper as we caught the sound of the lorry door slamming shut.

‘Don’t worry, darling. I’ll cope with him, and as soon as we’re gone you nip back to the dormitory. I’ll see you tomorrow, OK?’

She nodded immediately, happily allowing me to abandon myself to my fate, but then, she was genuinely scared and I didn’t mind. I also needed to come, with a desperation I’d seldom experienced, and if that meant sucking off a French lorry driver while I played with myself it was a scene straight out of my fantasies. It was also something I’d done, more or less, altogether too often in recent days, and licking Rhiannon hadn’t helped; I was rubbing my jaw as I put my eye to the keyhole.

The driver had just come in, a short, burly man in bleu de travail, the clothes baggy save for where his paunch pushed out the front. He had a thick black moustache and greasy hair with a curl, a big Roman nose but quite dark skin. I was sure I could handle him by flirting a little until he thought he was going to get it, then releasing Rhiannon and returning to the dormitory with her, but that was not what I wanted.

I quickly adjusted my knickers and dress, then stepped through the door. He looked up in surprise, but his broad, weather-beaten face immediately split into a grin. I smiled back, letting my hips do the talking as I came close. He greeted me, his Catalan accent so thick I struggled to understand. Not that it mattered, because we weren’t going to need instructions. Seeing no reason to beat about the bush, I sat down on his lap and put an arm around his shoulder, then bent close to whisper my proposition into his ear.

He was surprised, to say the least, and hesitated, perhaps wondering if I had some peculiar ulterior motive. I did, in a sense, but nothing he needed to worry about, so to encourage him I pushed up under my bodice to pop my boobs out, right in his face. That got his attention, and after a mumbled exclamation and a glance at the door he fastened himself to my tit. He was rough, biting at my nipple, while his moustache tickled dreadfully, but I shut my eyes and clenched my teeth, concentrating on the thought of having my tits bare for a man whose name I didn’t even know rather than on the physical sensation. I was also aware that Rhiannon almost certainly had her eye to the keyhole and I was keen to show that I was making a sacrifice for her rather than simply playing the slut.

I did want it, though, and I knew that if I went down on him I’d soon be masturbating, and that if he fucked me over the table I’d be unable to hide my pleasure. Right now I had to let her escape. So I pulled back but left my breasts bare as I stood up, beckoning him with one crooked finger as I suggested that the cab of his lorry might be a better place to have me. He agreed and we hurried outside to where a big silver tanker stood parked.

As I’d already guessed, it was a proper long-distance rig, with a sleeping compartment in the cab, into which he led me, boosting me up with a hand on my bottom. I shrugged my coat off and crawled up, my nose wrinkling at the thick masculine scent. The interior light came on, revealing an unmade bed and several tacky posters of busty girls showing off their tits or spread-legged to expose both their breasts and the pink of their cunts. He grinned as he saw what I was looking at and made what was supposed to be a flattering comparison of my own breasts with those of the girls he liked to wank over. I forced myself to smile and bounced them in my hands, showing off to him as he climbed up to join me.

He took me then and there, no kissing, no conversation, just a one-handed grope of my boobs while he unzipped and fumbled his cock free, tugged my dress up, removed my panties and shoved his cock unceremoniously up my hole. I let him have his way, knowing my turn would come, although it was impossible not to feel a certain conflict, even with him thrusting in and out of me: I was supposed to be with Rhiannon, spanked and then licked to heaven while I enjoyed her lovely bottom, not on my back with my thighs spread to a hulking French lorry driver.

I thought he’d do a jack-rabbit on me, a moment of furious pumping, his load up my pussy and me left to take the pleasure of my fingers while his mess dribbled down between my cheeks. Fortunately he wasn’t that bad, or maybe he’d had a wank earlier during a rest stop, enjoying his busty French tarts while he tugged on his cock. That set me off, imagining myself on a beach somewhere in southern France, my bikini pulled up to show off my boobs to a photographer for a few euros so that hundreds of men could masturbate over my naked body.

He pulled out with a sudden grunt and for a moment I thought he’d come, only to be ordered brusquely to roll over. I obeyed happily, scrambling on to my knees with my bum stuck up for rear entry and my boobs lolling down under my chest. He got on top, clambering on to my back, doggy-style, with his big, sweaty hands cupping my tits. Now I could come, and I was fighting to get my dress out of the way even as he probed for my cunt. I grabbed his cock, guided him in, squeezed his balls as he slid himself back up me, and began to masturbate.

I had a lot to come over, not least imagining myself as a soft porn model, tits out for men to toss off over, then caught by one of the men for a doggy-style fucking with those same big tits in his great grubby hands. Men like me that way, kneeling with my bum stuck up to show it all off and my boobs dangling bare and heavy under my chest. Earle had done me the same way, making me tell him how Percy liked to spank my bare bottom while he rode me cowboy style. All that was good, and as I rubbed at my clit and the driver’s thrusts grew harder and deeper my mind was flicking between them, only for my concentration to go at the last instant. My mind slipped to what Anton Yoshida had threatened to do to me: tie me kneeling in his room and have me mounted in front of his business friends.

Suddenly the scene was crystal-clear in my head: me kneeling on the floor, my dress up, my boobs flopped out, my wrists tied to my legs to leave me utterly unable to defend myself. There’d be ten – no, twenty, forty businessmen watching me, Japanese, Chinese, Taiwanese, M. Blanquefort too, and Earle, and the staff, even a few random peasants they’d picked up, all laughing at my plight as I was prepared for my fucking, my panties pulled down, my bumhole and cunt lubricated. Anton would be behind me, sneering down at my helpless body, and I’d get mounted, the audience jeering and clapping, taking photographs and filming me too as my slippery cunt filled with fat red cock.

How I screamed, again and again as my orgasm tore through me, and just at the perfect moment the lorry driver spunked inside me. I felt his mess squash out of my hole as he thrust himself deep once more, and imagined that same filthy sight recorded on camera as I was given a public fucking in tight bondage, with the man who’d done it to me crowing with delight.