The whisper strokes my ear.  Warm breath and firm words spoken in a soft tone that beguiles and controls.  That voice out of the darkness, in the unknown world beyond the blindfold, makes me stiller, quieter, preparing for what is to come.

    I had waited for his arrival with the familiar pulsing flutter in my belly, joined this time by a knotted ball of anticipatory fear.  What lay in store I had not known, but the promise was one of a new scene of acute humiliation, and the e-mailed instructions had me attired as ordered in filmy, frothy underclothes and a thin white shift that descended to just below my stocking tops.  Too little clothing to leave me feeling anything other than exposed, almost naked.

    His arrival was prompt, his eyes as they surveyed me mingling pleasure with command.  Required to stand, I complied swiftly and submitted myself, eyes downcast and arms held at my sides, to a critical inspection of my appearance.   I couldn't help but blush when told to raise my dress above my waist and to stand still while he looked, stroked and then probed beneath the white French knickers that provided such easy access to what hid within them. 

    "Wet already." A statement, not a question. "Such a naughty girl, aren't you?"

    "Yes, Sir," the answer coming with genuine reluctance, sensing an impending spanking.

    "Well, miss, I am not going to spank you just yet. Not until you have earned it properly."

    So this soon he had me disorientated, hovering on the brink of submissive uncertainty, wondering, wondering, and trying to read his expression, but the effort had yielded nothing but the stern determination there.  I dropped my eyes to the floor.

    Out in the car, with no preamble, he blindfolded me and then "Slip your panties down to your ankles and spread your knees as wide as you can."

    I demonstrated my obedience with speed, resting my heels on the front of the seat and pressing my knees against my arms; feeling cool leather against my bare buttocks, and his hands arranging my clothes to leave my obviously aroused cunt on display to him.... and anyone else looking.  The effort to keep my legs open was considerable, as I imagined the car waiting at traffic lights, curious eyes peering in, raised eyebrows, smiles and lips licked at the spectacle I presented.  Every time we slowed or stopped I clenched my eyes tight shut behind the blindfold, and focussed every muscle on performing for his pleasure.  Even if someone else was looking.

    We drove in silence.  No words, or questions or small talk would come to me.  My mind was casting forward into the what-was-to-come, simultaneously fretting at and relishing my ignorance.  And he was giving nothing away.  I could almost feel him smiling that evil smile and reading my scrambled thoughts as we got closer to my fate.

    The car turned off tarmac and onto bumpy ground.  Distances expand in a blindfold.  We seemed to have been driving for an age.  But now the car stopped, the engine was stilled, and my breath struggled to come evenly.  He got out of the car, closed his door, and abruptly appeared to open my door.  Taking my arm he guided me out of the car, my panties disentangled from my ankles and discarded.

    Laying his arm over mine and grasping my wrist he led me forward, keeping me upright as I stumbled on uneven, rutted ground.  I could hear trees, leaves snickering in the breeze.  I could smell the night, damp earth, wet grass, exhaust fumes.  We halted and I waited, suspense flourishing, wetness blossoming, all my resistance and reluctance withering.

    He lifted my dress and pulled it off over my head and arms.  A quiet pause, a soft slithering sound, and my wrists were caught and securely bound over my head, leaving me stretched and standing on the balls of my feet.  I gasped, caught by surprise, and realised that my body was there to be played with, toyed with, punished, beyond any control of mine.

    And then the whisper comes. "We have a little surprise for you. And however much you try to struggle, you are helpless to resist us."

    The "we" and the "us" have only just snagged on my brain when he removes the blindfold.

    I am dangling from a tree branch in the middle of a wood, clad only in my underwear.  The little clearing is harshly illuminated by the headlights of three cars pulled up in a semicircle.  And I have an audience. two, no, three men are stood around, grinning broadly at the entertainment presented to them, staring with undisguised interest at my body.  I raise pleading eyes to the one who brought me here.

    "Please.  No.  Not this."

    He frowns. "You are here to be exhibited and enjoyed by an invited audience.  Because it pleases me.  Reconcile yourself to what is to come.  However hard you beg, it's going to happen anyway."

    I hang my head, shutting my eyes tightly, fighting my shame, pushing down my reluctance at this humiliation.  My body relaxes and I look back again at him, smiling a small smile of submission.  He nods his approval, nothing more.

    Behind me hands, stranger's hands, slowly, lingeringly, undo and slide off my bra.  The straps are cut through and one of my tiny defences tossed aside.  The stranger's hands explore what they have bared, roughly kneading my breasts, squeezing and pinching my nipples until they are stiffly erect, sore, bruised, aching for more.  He moves round to stand before me and continues his punishing handling of my tits, while they bounce and sway as I writhe under the irresistible arousal of his cruel touch.  Behind me I feel another's hand run its palm down my back and then begin to fondle, in slow caressing strokes, my bare bottom.  He parts the cheeks widely and I can feel his hot breath on my exposed cleft as he bends to closely examine me.  I bite down the spontaneous "Please, don't," and permit his gaze and then his probing fingers without murmur.  But I am burning with shame and struggling against every urge to fight, resist, refuse.  He teases my anus with slow, circular motions of his thumb, and then begins to sneak the tip of a finger inside.  I feel myself being opened remorselessly by one finger pushing deeper, to be replaced by the wider girth of his thumb.  He chuckles as I squirm to get away, squirm to impale myself more, and proceeds to fuck my arse with agonising slowness.

    I am abandoning myself to their twin attentions, aching for a hand to find my pussy, longing to be brought to the climax building and building in me.   As pleasure washes away almost all sense of shame and exposure, the hands abruptly depart and the first stinging stripe of a leather strap descends on my bottom, making me squeal.  A dozen strokes are expertly laid on, covering both cheeks with biting heat, and, as I can picture all too well in my mind, with colour.  The strapping stops and I hang there, breathing hard, limp, absorbing the fire.

    And then I open my eyes and glance up.  Directly before me one stranger stands with a video camera trained on my exposed, punished body.  Hands grasp my hips and turn me so that my reddened arse too is recorded on film.  I am released and sway helplessly as my feet claw for the ground.  I have nowhere to hide, I know this now.

    As I know they are not finished with me yet.   I am lifted, hard hands gripping my thighs and forcing me into a kind of seated position, with my legs widely spread.  And all my pink, wet swollen flesh is presented to their appraising stares.  And to the strap, which delivers with steady and relentless precision six thudding strokes full on my engorged clitoris.  With each stroke pleasure and submission are driven into me, and I cum, loudly, lewdly, riding the breaking wave of pain and pleasure.

    I am untied, lowered gently to the ground, and lie there moaning softly, lost inside the sensation.  And he who I want places me on my back, pushes my legs back and apart, and buries his cock in me.  His fucking is hard, slow and then ever quicker, riding me to another deep, astonishing climax, before he shudders and groans to his own orgasm, pumping me full of sweet cum I will soon lick from his softening cock.

    At the edges of perception I hear engines start and the other cars melt away into the night.  We are alone, and hold one another tightly, beginning to giggle and wallowing in wet memory.

    In just a little while I will ask him what he intends for the video film.  But I can wait for that humiliation.  Just for a while.

subeditor - August 2000