Handcuffed at Dawn

The urgent sound of the hooter reverberated through the open window as Yvonne's tongue and lips worked slavishly on my cock. "The taxi's here," I clarified in hoarse tones, catching the look as my fiancée glanced up momentarily.

It was a look that said: you're not going anywhere in a hurry – and she was right of course. Steadying myself on her head, stroking the golden mane, I began to buck against her mouth, thrusting into the pursed lips in much the same way I'd fuck a pretty little pussy. Honk honk, the reminder rang out from the road as I upped the tempo, taking the pigtail in hand and slamming forcefully into my fiancée's throat. She took the oral pounding willingly, saliva pooling at each corner of her mouth.

With my stag do imminent, this was Yvonne's inimitable way of reminding me what would be waiting on my return home, perhaps the greatest little cocksucker in London. As the orgasm took hold I gave a grunt of pleasure, immersing the whole shaft in the warm recess and shooting hard. Throwing back her head Yvonne swallowed lovingly.

Outside, as the hooting became ever more urgent, I allowed Yvonne to finish the job by cleaning up the cum-stained head, before quickly concealing my cock in the three-quarter length beach shorts bought specially for the weekend in Ibiza. "Be good," she said, half-joke, half-warning.

As if I'd mess about...

A peck on the cheek and I was gone, arriving outside to a barracking. "About time," observed Dave as I slid the hatch door of the taxibus open, case in hand.

"Let's party," I bawled, the words met by a rousing cheer.

* * *

It started out like any other stag do, the hotel located quickly, cases dumped and on the lash with a vengeance. By early evening we were pretty trashed and in need of a few hours rest and recuperation before the main event.

Batteries recharged from our naps, we were raring to go, joining the hordes of bar hounds for the midnight stroll down The Strip. Mouths dry from too much lager we graduated onto fruit flavoured alcopops and traffic light coloured shots.

Nearby, a group of attractive looking hens sucked on straws, emptying a blue concoction from a fishbowl. Imbued with alcoholic verve we flirted with them – as you do – and they flirted back, as much through a sense of a shared English heritage as anything. Their accents northern, ours southern, we'd heard all about Geordie girls and they'd heard all about London lads.

Being the player he was, my best mate and best man Dave had soon wormed his way in amongst them and in no time the twelve of us were heading off clubbing. It helped to ease my mind a little having the girls around: less chance of the guys getting up to mischief at my expense. For the least I could expect was a stripper covering me in foam and shaving from head to toe. That or being tied naked to a lamppost until the sun came up. Or being chatted up by some convincing looking ladyboy the lads had arranged. Or all three...or worse... A little good humoured fun I could handle, humiliation I could do without.

Just starting to mellow, I entered into the festivities as a groom-to-be should: leading the dancing and swilling down anything passed my way. The hen, a quiet girl, was of similar age, I assessed, 28, a pleasant sort of age for getting hitched these days. A decade of partying behind, it was time to settle down and take life's responsibilities more seriously.

Statuesque for a girl, easily reaching my nose, she was tall and willowy. Her breasts weren't large but then again she wasn't flat-chested either, what Dave might describe as a nice handful. Her hair had a healthy mahogany sheen, perfectly symmetrical and short to the chin, framing a pretty face. Dressed in a low cut black top with spaghetti strips and a short grey skirt, there was a familiarity about her I couldn't quite put my finger on.

An hour passed, shot after shot downed in one, as the seven of us took to shielding their group of five like unofficial bodyguards, fending off any potential competition that happened to demonstrate a passing interest. Outnumbering them, I turned to Dave: "If you guys want to...I'd be happy grabbing an early night."

Three weeks away from the wedding, frankly I had no interest in bedding other girls and cheating on Yvonne, whilst another of the guys, Charlie, was a month into an intense relationship and not likely to stray. Thus the other five could have their pick. Dave just smiled silently, the feeling of unease returning. Another fifteen minutes passed, marked by drinking, gentle flirting and uncoordinated dancing as I wondered what Dave had up his sleeve.

Then, before I even realised what was going on, it happened. SNAP.

I'd been swaying close to the hen at the time. Another snap and I looked down to see we were connected at the wrist by a pair of handcuffs. My senses numbed by alcohol, it took a moment to sink in. "Awww, come on guys," I protested as the others looked on, exhibiting cheesy drunken grins.

Yet, whilst I was mildly put out, my unwitting partner was livid. She spat a tirade of expletives Dave's way and made to throw a punch. But the chain tightened and she was pulled back, left swinging at fresh air, yelping as the cold metal bit her slender wrist. I winced too as my arm was almost yanked from its socket. "Fucking arsehole, let me go," she screamed and it was at that moment I realised she wasn't a Geordie like her four friends.

"No key till morning," replied Dave, and with that the group dispersed to leave the hen and I staring at one another in a mix of surprise and anger.

Worse was to come, however, a crowd having gathered around us, amused at our predicament. I felt myself reddening before being tugged away as she pushed through the wall of sinew and muscle to escape the catcalls. "Easy," I appealed, my wrist aching.

"The sooner we can get this off the better," she said coldly, dragging me away.

A hopeful request at the cloakroom brought wry looks but no hacksaw or other such tool that might free us. At the same time bemused looks continued to come from other clubbers as we moved past like a pair of Siamese twins. Guiding me to a sofa, she threw herself down, yanking my arm as she raised her hands to her face. "This is my worst nightmare," she sobbed.

"Oh, don't cry," I offered clumsily, reaching instinctively to her hair with my free hand.

"Don't touch me," she spat, exhibiting a violent look.

I reared back. "Look I'm sorry, but there isn't an awful lot we can do."

She curled up her lip. "Your friend is so dead when I get hold of him."

I concurred with the sentiment, adding: "At least morning isn't far off."

She wasn't appeased, her lip curling. I wasn't sure what to say next so I voiced the first thing that came into my head. "What's your name?"

The look she gave me couldn't have been any blacker if I'd asked her for a blowjob. It was going to be a long night.

Actually it was nearly four in the morning but I didn't suppose my best man was in a benevolent mood. Morning probably meant lunchtime and already this was as tiresome as hell. Considering the amount of alcohol I'd put away it was amazing how sober I'd become. As more onlookers shot more unsubtle glances our way, the girl moved our conjoined wrists out of sight, down by our sides. "Dawn," she said.

I turned. "What about it?"

"My name."

"Oh, right, um, hi Dawn, I'm Chris."

She pursed her lips in a forced show of greeting, clearly as frustrated as I was by the turn of events. "Some hen party this has turned out to be."

Yeah, and my stag do too, I thought, though I held my tongue in deference. It was my mate, after all, who'd orchestrated the stunt and I couldn't help but feel complicit. As more cruel smiles were issued our way, she stood, dragging me up with her. "Come on, we're leaving."

"Okay, well I suppose it would be a bit awkward if one of us pulled," I observed wryly, trying to lighten the tense mood a little and receiving a scowl for my trouble.

"Maybe there's a police station around here somewhere," she suggested as we passed the grinning bouncers before running the gauntlet of the baying queue, still drifting in despite the advanced hour.

"Just one sec," I said, pulling up sharp to remove the phone from my pocket.

Dawn had no choice but to obey.

Unsurprisingly the call went straight to voice. Nonetheless I left a message, more in hope than confidence. "Dave, this is Chris. Funny joke mate but let us go, hey. We're outside the club. Cheers mate."

Five minutes turned to ten and, when a further message went unheeded, we ambled away wounded. From the look on her face I wouldn't want to be in Dave's shoes when Dawn caught up with him. A paramedic van close by, waiting for the drunks to come piling out, could offer no assistance to our plight whilst the ten-minute walk to the police station saw it shrouded in deathly darkness. We were, it seemed, at Dave's mercy, locked together for as long as it took. "You know in years to come we'll laugh about this," I offered.

"You and your friends might," she replied defensively, turning on her heels.

I followed – not that I had much choice – away from the bright lights and prying eyes of clubland to the beach, its sand as soft as a bed of chick feathers. A large wooden jetty before us, Dawn led the way up. "At least up here no one can make fun of us, right?" she suggested.

Wrong, a couple of Spanish fishermen coming in the opposite direction grinned toothlessly as they passed. Dawn cowered at my side, cursing Dave and the handcuffs. A hundred yards of silence later we were at the very end, overlooking a calm sea in direct contrast to our turbulent moods. Dawn sat down, her legs overhanging and I of course had no option other than to do likewise, gazing out across the endless swell.

We sat in prevailing silence for what seemed ages, staring at the moon-rippled surface and reflecting on a good night turned bad. It was Dawn that broke the silence but only to start weeping.

"Oh, don't cry," I comforted. "It'll be over before you know it."

Indeed, in the short time we'd been sitting on the edge, the sky had begun to lighten perceivably. Dawn was close – in more ways than one. "So you're a southern girl," I observed. "Only your friends..."

Dawn sighed as if she really didn't want to make conversation. But finally she relented. "We all met at uni in Newcastle and became pals. I'm from London originally," she clarified.

"Me too," I replied matter-of-factly. "Born and raised in Shepherd's Bush."

Just visible in the semi-dark, her eyes slanted. "You're joking, right? This is some kind of sick wind-up."

"How so?"

"I lived in Shepherd's Bush for eighteen years."

"Wow, really? Phew. Small world."

"On the Dean Estate," she added.

It was my turn to show wonderment. "Blimey, me too."

"Get out of here," she gasped.

"Hand on heart," I confirmed, remembering that she'd seemed vaguely familiar and assuming I must have seen her as a younger version around the estate.

"So, how old are you?" she enquired.

"28."

She took a breath. "Me too, God this is spooky."

It was, but if nothing else, at least we were speaking. Otherwise, the hours would just drag by. "You're telling me. Did you go to Dean Secondary School as well?"

She nodded and I blew. "We'd have been in the same year then."

"We would. So what's your surname?"

"Matthews, Chris Matthews."

She rubbed her chin with the free hand. "The name rings a bell. I'm Bell, Dawn Bell."

"Didn't we...? Ages ago..."

"I think we did...though only the one date when we were about twelve," she clarified, half- smiling, the first time she'd shown any emotion other than anger or surprise since we'd first been cuffed together. "Didn't you also go out with Yvonne Sullivan?"

"Um yes...and...in three weeks I'm marrying her."

Dawn exhaled hard. "Wow, you two have been going out for fifteen-odd years?"

"Nah," I laughed. "We got back together three years ago. Friends Reunited."

The girl at my side seemed to soften noticeably, back in England in mind if not body. "Me too, that website has a lot to answer for. Do you remember Andrew Crawley from school?"

"Creepy Crawley! Yeah of course I do."

"We're getting married in three weeks too."

"You're getting married to Creepy Crawley? Ha ha ha," I replied, before biting my tongue, the good work suddenly undone as she sulked once more.

"And you're marrying Yvonne Sullivan!"

"And?"

"People always used to say the 'Y' of her name stood for the Y-shaped coffin she'd need."

My eyes narrowed. "Are you inferring my fiancée's a slut?"

"Oh, come on Chris."

"She's changed completely since she met me a second time," I pleaded. "A one-man woman and all that..."

"Yeah, whatever."

The silence returned, this time broken by me. "It'll soon be morning," I reiterated, having come to accept my fate, unlike Little Miss Tetchy by my side. "Are you going to make any more insults about my fiancé?"

"Are you?"

"Well she was a slut."

"And HE was creepy."

"He's changed."

"Yeah, whatever," I mimicked.

Dawn sniffed. "How much do you earn, Chris?"

I exhaled. "I dunno, about 25k, why?"

"Andrew earns three times that."

"Good for him."

The frustration finding its way deep beneath my skin, I went to stand, but Dawn stayed steadfastly rooted to the spot. Being so far out, it was starting to get cold. "Can we walk back?" I asked, teeth chattering.

Dawn huffed but consented and we wandered back up the jetty, passing the edge of the tide sweeping the soft sand. Suddenly Dawn pulled up sharp, alerted by voices nearby. "That sounds like Dave," I observed in a hushed tone.

"And that sounds like Karen," she whispered back.

Our mutual friends had, it seemed, got things on in our absence, judging by the smacking of lips laced with heavy panting just below us beneath the jetty. Unlike us, at least two of our group were making the most of their time away. "Oh go on baby, just a little BJ," I heard my friend plead.

"Nar," Karen protested in that sexy Geordie accent of hers. "I'm not that sorta gal, ye knar."

Now why hadn't Dave cuffed me to her instead?

"Pretty please," my best man begged.

There was a moment's silence before Karen shot back: "Okay, but urnly if ye eat us cunt oot first."

I looked over at Dawn who, like me she was rooted to the spot. We dared not breathe, let alone move. Seconds later the first peal of lips and tongue on willing pussy was vibrating up through the rafters and though we couldn't see, we were treated to a pretty intense running commentary. "Ooh, that's it pet, higher. Get ya fucking tongue oop thar. Oh yeah, lick ma dirty cunt oot."

Dave's cunnilingual skills were tested to the full by the wanton Geordie lass evidently glorying in every moment. "Ooh that's it pet, shove ya finger oop wor arse, ya filthy fucker."

Dawn shuffled embarrassedly as the slurping upped a notch and, presumably with a finger ravaging her tight knot, Karen began to whimper. "Ooh fuck Ah'm cumming," she cried. "Ah'm a squirter mind."

I could have sworn I heard her pussy spray its scent in my mate's face like a squeeze from a soda dispenser. And clearly Dave was impressed by her squirting skills. "Fuck's sake you are one hell of a squirter," he concurred, wiping a backhand across his damp features. "In fact, you are one hell of a dirty little northern slut. Now get down on your knees and suck my big hard cock."

A moment's silence elapsed. "Nah, Ah've lost interest now," Karen replied.

"You've what?" Dave spluttered and next to me I heard Dawn stifle a giggle.

With that Karen was gone, emerging from beneath like a greyhound from a trap, leaving a hapless Dave to hop along in vain pursuit as he wrestled up his jeans, toppling head over heels into the sand.

"Oi," shouted Dawn from the jetty as he hauled himself up. "I want a word with you."

I found myself being dragged off unwillingly in pursuit of Dave and the key that would set us free. "Oi," repeated Dawn, prompting Dave to turn.

The disappointment from Karen's rebuff and the surprise from being confronted like this was evident on his face. "You make a lovely couple," he observed with barbed sarcasm.

"Gimme gimme gimme," ordered Dawn, gesturing with one of her free fingers.

"Oh this you mean," my pal replied, waving the little key under our noses, a glint returning to his eye.

As Dawn went to snatch it he took a step back. "Uh-oh, not just yet."

"Give!" Dawn commanded. "Or you are dead."

"Yeah, come on mate," I added. "This is no longer funny."

Dave addressed Dawn with the words: "Tell you what, I'll give you the key if you do something in return."

Her eyes slanted as Dave continued. "Give my friend here a blowjob and I'll set you free."

Dawn jerked forward, our wrists locking painfully. "Fuck you," she spat, raising a middle finger.

"Yeah, come on," I appealed. "Can't you see you've handcuffed me the most frigid bird in Ibiza?"

Dawn shot daggers my way but held her tongue, prompting Dave to laugh. "Yeah, sorry about that. Oh well, a few more hours in each other's company and who knows...?"

With that he turned to leave, nudging Dawn into action. "Wait. A blowjob and you'll let us go?" she enquired to all our surprise, including her own, it seemed.

Dave raised his eyebrows.

"Not here though, not in front of you, that's just gross."

She led us down the beach in the half-light to where an abandoned windbreak shivered gently in the cool breeze. "Stay that side," she ordered, leading me round and whispering in my ear. "Don't even think about it," she hissed beneath her breath.

Just our shoulders and heads were visible to Dave as he stood idly the other side, toying with the key. Dawn dipped down and out of sight. "Mmm, such a lovely cock," she simulated.

To be brutally honest, I wasn't in the least bit disappointed. The selfish bitch had pissed me off from the moment we'd been chained together with her bad attitude. She was devoid of fun, sly and totally money orientated and frankly I'd be glad when we were apart. "Oh yeah, that's it baby," I drooled, trying to inject some authenticity into the proceedings, though only a fool could have been convinced.

Dawn added some slurping sound effects and I started to growl under my breath as the first unwelcome stirring of arousal tingled in my loins. Gratefully Dawn didn't seem to notice. Closing my eyes I started to gasp. "Oh fuck that's it, yeah. Mmm, cup my balls."

From her position below, Dawn shot a look of disdain my way. "Oh fuck I'm cummmmmmming..."

Opening my eyes I glanced aside for Dave's approval, only to see that he'd disappeared. "Shit, he's gone."

Quickly Dawn elevated, shaking her free fist. "Your friend is so dead."

I stifled the urge to chuckle. Seeing her annoyed was rather satisfying, even if it was at my expense too. "Looks like we're staying together a bit longer after all," I added, just to rub it in.

Dawn growled.

"And at least we're out of the spotlight out here," I asserted, only to be proven wrong as a gaggle of naked teenagers came hurtling past, intent on skinny-dipping in the fresh morning ocean.

It was some sight to behold with tits, cocks and arses everywhere as they hit the tide with a huge splash. Soon they were coupling off, splashing playfully and drunkenly. Dawn lay back in the shade of the windbreak and I of course had to do likewise, our wrists locked. "Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves but me," she observed dolefully.

"Well life's what you make it," I replied, quasi-philosophically.

It was the wrong thing again. But then whatever I said caused her to snap. "By which presumably you mean that if I fucked you as your friend planned everything would be jussssssst fine."

Jeez she was a tough cookie. "Um, no..."