Indulgence

The jam started before I even reached the motorway. There was no turning back; I had been fined for reversing off the slip road on a previous occasion. I turned the radio on to hear that; "We are getting reports of an accident on the M60 clockwise." I should have turned it on earlier, but the alternative routes were through the outskirts of the city, I would have to sit it out. The broadcast moved on to the usual banal mix of banter and pop. I switched to CD. Another mistake, the whole thing went off, no display, nothing. An inauspicious start to my 'Indulgence break.'

My divorce had become final at midnight. I was single again. I had booked two nights in a five star hotel in a town about 50 miles away. A luxury department store had just opened a branch there, that was phase one of my indulgence break; some retail therapy. Phase two? I intended to get myself well and truly fucked.

No progress. No music to distract me. A police car, blues and twos at full bore, nudged its way past on the hard shoulder. I shuddered slightly; it reminded me of the circumstances that had brought me here.

My marriage had lasted two years, including the five-month wait for the divorce. I was completely smitten by the man I married and it was good while it lasted. We were both sexually active and experienced when we met, but it was lust at first sight for both of us, we could not get enough of each other, time spent away from each other was unbearable. Marriage had been his idea and I had agreed. We were both well paid, so we could buy a good house in a good suburb, the sex was spectacular. What could go wrong?

Two things marred our otherwise perfect life together, one of them I will come back to. The other? Ben (my ex) was subject to unpredictable spells of depression when things did not go to plan. His plan.

The way he found to overcome the moods was both exciting and dangerous; he would take me to pubs and clubs known for trouble, having encouraged me to dress provocatively; low cut dresses that threatened to spill tit, or deeply plunging necklines, or if the dress had a high neck, no bra, so that my nipples were on show. I had to be 'on show' below the waist too; very short skirts that showed the tops of my stockings when I sat.

I enjoyed being on display, it was the reverse of how I behaved in my job, a paragon of business-suited efficiency. But if another man did anything other than look, Ben would confront him, leading to some nasty, and unnecessary, incidents. Ben always 'won' these duels. He would be so pumped up that he seemed to radiate evil. A sensitive opponent soon backed down, less sensitive ones usually retreated bloody. These primitive encounters not only restored his self-confidence, but also resulted in a surge of his male hormones, ending in me being fucked vigorously and repeatedly when we got home. In this condition, Ben could come two or three times in rapid succession. I was not about to complain about that, our fucking was normally gentle and loving, but I soon found that I liked it rough now and again.

It was obvious to me that Ben would eventually meet his match. And if I was the prize... Salvation came in the form of his boss, Derek. Derek owned the prestige car dealership where Ben was head salesman. We were invited to a party at Derek's house. Not a special occasion, just drinks and conversation with friends. Derek's friends. And their wives. Six couples in all. Not knowing what to expect, Ben wore a suit but no tie, and I wore a pretty, but non-revealing, cocktail dress. The suit was the right choice, but not the dress. Far too sober. The other women wore clothes that would get them arrested if worn in public; either see-through or revealing by the way they were draped. Mine was the only bra in the room, and probably the only knickers. As the evening wore on and the alcohol took hold, things became flirty, but nothing more.

Before we left for home, it was agreed that we should repeat the experience, this time at a different house, in about a month's time. We discussed the event in the taxi home, agreeing that we would opt out if there was any suggestion of it becoming a partner-swapping event. Ben came home from work the following Monday, with the news that the hosts for the next party had decided that it should be fancy dress, or more correctly, 'themed'. The theme chosen was 'Forties'.

Rather than hire fancy dress, Ben and I decided that we would try to find genuine forties clothes. It would be more fun that way. We were soon reminded that for most of the forties, clothing was rationed, so if we insisted on keeping true to the period, our garb would be drab to say the least. Ben found a Royal Air Force uniform in excellent condition, complete with underwear. But I struggled. My vision was something like Rachel in 'Blade Runner', probably inaccurate, but very sexy. I eventually found the dress, black, pencil skirted and with padded shoulders. Genuine undies were just as unavailable. I had to settle for 'in the style of.' Silk cami-knickers in bright red. Gorgeous! I even had my hair done 'Rachel style'.

As we dressed for the party, and feeling horny, I showed Ben that the crotch of the pants was closed by press-studs, for easy access.

"No need," he said, "I could fuck you up the leg of them."

A nod is as good as a wink, as they say. Our first fuck of the evening was against the bedroom wall, with one of my legs raised and hooked over his hip while he rooted deep into my dripping cunt up the wide leg of the garment. Echoes of Blade Runner!

At the party, it turned out that dressing up was an excuse for inhibitions to be discarded, and couples started to get amorous. Between partners - there was no suggestion of swapping. Our host for that evening, Alan, had already declared that the bedrooms were available, should we feel the need. Nick and Gemma, another couple, obviously felt the need. We did not see them slip away, but the rhythmic creaking of the bed in the room above, closely followed by their orgasmic cries, needed no explaining.

They returned looking slightly guilty. Derek, a rather brash man, asked loudly;

"Did you enjoy that?"

Someone else said; "We all did!"

"We will sell tickets next time," retorted Gemma defensively.

Derek said that he would hold her to that, someone else offered to buy tickets in advance. It all added to the general, uninhibited horniness of the event. And we were all just a bit tipsy by then.

By the time we got home I was gagging for it. And Ben did not disappoint. We did not make it to the bedroom, or even upstairs. He fucked me from behind on the stairs. This time with the poppers undone. And twice more when we did get to the bed!

The parties became a much safer substitute for the bar brawls; Ben could show me off in safety. I was younger and according to Ben, significantly more attractive than the other wives. Ben was the winner just by 'owning' the most desirable partner. The depressions stopped.

The themes became more adventurous, costumes became skimpier and eventually, during a 'roaring twenties' party, one of the men pulled up his partners skirt and fucked her from behind in full view of all the guests. Nobody objected. Things had simply escalated.

We expected that the next party would be rather wild, and we were right. The theme was ancient Rome. Ben went as a senator and I was a serving wench. My tunic could be adjusted to leave one breast exposed, but I was to keep it hidden unless any of the other women showed theirs. Of course they did. There was more tit on display than at a strip club. Jill, Derek's partner, came as Cleopatra. Cleo of course is reputed to have spent much of the time topless. Jill was true to the legend, her fine, full breasts fully on display.

Late in the evening, Derek, in the guise of Mark Anthony in full armour, and who was well drunk by then, said loudly;

"You all know that Cleopatra liked to show off her tits, but did you know that she was famous for sucking cocks?"

He lifted the skirt of his tunic, revealing a long, thin, very erect one. Turning to Jill, he said;

"Get sucking."

The room fell silent. Jill shook her head. Derek grabbed her wrist and said;

"Suck it, or I'll find someone who will."

He forced her to her knees in front of him, wound his hand in her hair and pulled her face to his stalk. Jill had little choice; she took him into her mouth and sucked. Derek held her head in both hands and pulled her back and forth on his cock. When he came, he pulled her away by her hair and spat his generous load into her face.

With spunk dripping down onto her bare tits, Jill stood up and hurried out of the room. If Jill had been willing, it might have been erotic. As it was, it was just embarrassing. Someone broke the tension by quipping;

"That was a bit of a blow."

There were a few sniggers, but the party was over.

We talked it over in the taxi, agreeing that Derek had gone too far. Ben said that we would see what happened next, Derek had been roaring drunk after all.

What happened next was that the following day, Jill walked. Would that mean an end to the parties? Derek insisted not. The next party would be at his house and he would find a replacement for Jill. No problem.

It was a bondage party. We discussed for a long time whether we should bow out, but Ben pointed out that Derek was still his boss and that refusal could well jeopardise a very good job. We agreed to go. I wore just a cupless leather basque, which supported black seamed stockings, a leather mask and a minute thong. A leather collar completed the outfit. Ben wore a mediaeval torturers outfit and held a dog lead attached to my collar. Word had gone round that Derek's 'replacement' was in fact, a professional, paid to do anything that Derek wanted.

Things went normally to begin with, the costumes were amazing, like a sale at a fetish shop. Once again, late in the evening and fuelled by booze, Derek took centre stage.

"Marylyn will now demonstrate how a sex slave is supposed to behave."

Marylyn was his 'date'. He had chosen well, she was quite stunning. In her twenties, tall and spectacularly proportioned. She wore a bondage harness; an affair of metal rings and leather straps, strategically placed to conceal nothing. Some of the other females wore similar, all had large metal rings through which their breasts protruded, but Marylyn's was skimpier, with very thin straps, and whereas the other women all wore some kind of knickers, however brief, Marylyn wore none, her shaven mound on view to all, outer lips pouting when she parted her legs, which she did often. I suspect that most of the men in the room, and some of the women too, would have changed places with Derek, whatever Marylyn had cost.

During the evening she had mixed with the other guests, circulating, flirting outrageously and pushing her big, firm tits against both men and women, even contriving to brush nipples with some. Ben had kept my lead very short. Now she knelt before Derek, untied the tiny black leather loincloth that just about concealed his equipment, and went to work with her skilful mouth. Derek's cock expanded to fill her mouth. Unlike Derek's 'mouth rape' of Jill, this was erotic. It was consensual and she was an expert.

She did not make him come with her mouth; she released him, rolled a condom onto his straining tool with her mouth, and deftly rolled it down his shaft with her fingers. Where she had been hiding the sheath remains a mystery, certainly there were no pockets in her costume.

Still on her knees, she shuffled round and moved into the all fours position, head down, offering her shapely arse for our inspection and Derek's pleasure. Derek also knelt and brought his face close to her fundament, sniffing it like a dog before pushing out his tongue and brushing it up her crack, from clit to anus. He moved forward and Marylyn reached back to take his prick and guide it to her entrance. Derek slowly slid full length into her. There were several groans from the entranced audience.

He fucked her with long, slow strokes, withdrawing almost completely so that his shining shaft was repeatedly on view. A demonstration fuck. Suddenly he stopped, embedded deep inside his paramour. I thought that he had come. But he reached between their conjoined bodies and, holding the condom in place to stop it from coming off, slowly pulled out of her. He had not come. He was just changing lanes. He lodged his knob at the puckered ring of Marylyn's anus and pushed in. Marylyn gasped at the intrusion as her insides adjusted, but made no objection. Clearly, this had all been agreed previously. It really was a show fuck.

This was what was missing from Ben's and my sex life; I like it up the bum.

When I was single and playing the field, I had developed a liking for it. I don't understand why, but it gave me the most intense pleasure, although I had never achieved orgasm this way, either it was not possible, or my sodomisers did not have the skill. With simultaneous clit stimulation however, I would come like an avalanche. Derek had never suggested this variation and it seemed wrong for me to demand it, our life together was matchless. I could live without it.

But the sight of Marylyn being penetrated in this way made my knees buckle. I gushed juice into my already wet knickers. Ben's arm tightened around my waist; surely he must have been aroused by the act? I dragged my attention away from the rutting couple and looked at the audience. Every eye was on the performance. And I was not the only one to be very aroused, several of the others were having to adjust their clothing, either to shift a rigid prick into a more comfortable position, or to peel a wet gusset from a copiously juicing slit, according to gender.

Derek buggered Marylyn vigorously, hard and fast. Her tits bounced wildly to his pounding, she gave a little yelp at each brutal upthrust. There was no mistaking when Derek did come, he roared triumphantly as he pumped his load into the condom. Again he held the rubber in place as he pulled out, softened already, the end of the cum-filled condom drooping from his tip. Marylyn retrieved it, using a tissue. Again, where from?

Ben gave my lead a tug and murmured; "Time to go."

Ben was silent for the taxi ride home, hopefully because he was aroused as I was. I wasn't just hot, I was on fire. With the sort of heat that could only be doused in one way; I needed cock. In my mouth, in my cunt, but most of all, in my arse. Tonight I would ask for it, beg, if I had to. I wanted to be buggered hard, as Marylyn had been.

When we at last got to bed, I started on Ben's lovely prick with my mouth, knowing that he would let me know when he was about to come. He always did, even though he knew that I liked him to fill my mouth with his spunk. When he warned me of his impending climax, I released him and crawled up his firm body. Putting my lips to his ear, I dropped my bombshell:

"Fuck me in the arse."

I dropped the bomb, he exploded it. It took several seconds for my demand to sink in, then he erupted; what I had asked for was disgusting, unnatural, and immoral. It was what queers did. Sodomites should be flogged. He stormed from the room, slamming the door. I had not expected that. In my experience men jumped at the opportunity to use the road less travelled.

He spent the night in the spare room and left the house early next morning. I was woken by the sound of his car leaving. He returned very late and headed straight to the spare room without speaking. The next day he again left early, without a word.

It was a bank holiday, but he was on duty at the showroom anyway. I spent another day alone and worrying. I would apologise, tell him that I had been drunk; I did not really want anal sex. He came home early, carrying a large paper bag. He kissed me lightly on the mouth. From the bag he took a box, handed it to me and said;

"Put this on and come to the garage."

The box contained a harness similar to the one Marylyn had worn. A little frisson ran through me, but he had kissed me!

It was a Judas kiss.

I went to the bedroom and inspected the garment, then put it on. It was like wearing a net. I put on my highest heels and went downstairs. Why the garage? The house had a large double garage that had never been used. Lazily, we always left our cars on the driveway. I think that apart from when we had viewed the house, this was the first time that I had been in it, garages are men-caves. There was a door from the house into the garage, what the estate agent had called; 'The personal door', as opposed to the car door. Ben was waiting, wearing the fancy dress torturer's outfit. He nodded his approval, then told me to hold out both my hands. He snapped handcuffs onto my wrists. That frisson again. He pulled me to the centre of the room and raised my cuffed hands above my head and over a hook in the ceiling. He took another device from the brown bag, a spreader bar, and quickly fastened it to my ankles, roughly pulling my legs apart. Now I was almost hanging from the hook, just able to support some of my weight on my feet. Next, he produced a ball-gag and fitted it to my face. Finally, he drew out a short leather whip. A riding crop. He stood before me and slapped the whip onto the palm of his hand a couple of times, then swished it through the air, testing it. Now I was scared.

He walked behind me and without warning, the whip slashed across my near naked backside. I screamed into the gag. More lashes followed, on my buttocks, my thighs and my back, becoming more vicious with each blow. He moved to the front. No, surely not my tits? He started at my thighs and worked his way up, sparing nothing, saving his most savage blows for my sensitive tits. My body was burning with pain, tears streamed from my eyes and I screamed continuously, silently into the gag.

Exhausted, Ben eventually threw the whip into a corner. Despite the pain and my abhorrence of what he had just done to me, I was running with juice. I desperately needed cock. Any cock. Any except his that is. He pulled off his costume and stood in front of me, his cock rigid, he brandished it saying;

"Is this what you want? Do you want it up the arse, bitch?"

He moved behind me again and roughly pushed two fingers into my cunt.

"You're sopping! You like it you slut." he growled.

He drew out the fingers and pushed one up my arse, causing me to scream again. I was dry there. He pushed up against me, his length was hard against my buttock cleft. He stooped and I felt his tip press against my underside, searching for a hole.

"Not in my arse," I screamed into the gag, "I'm too dry."

He would tear me apart if he entered me there. I felt his fingers guide himself to his target, then he was up my cunt hard, in one brutal thrust. He reached around and grasped my already painful tits, squeezing them hard. He put his mouth to my ear and said quietly;

"You'll take it in the cunt where it belongs, if you want cock up your arse, go and find another."

And with that he started to fuck me hard, hanging on to my tits all the time, ramming relentlessly into me until he came, pumping cum into me with several wild thrusts.

He pulled out immediately and left the room, turning out the lights as he left. The door slammed behind him. Alone in the dark, I felt very exposed. I was helpless. I felt our combined juices run down the inside of one leg. I waited, expecting him to return and release me. I was horrified when I heard his car drive away, tyres screeching.

Hanging from my restraints, hurting all over, cold now, I thought about how I could escape. I could not reach high enough to unhook the 'cuffs, but the spreader bar was strapped to my ankles using Velcro. Strong, but less so than the metal handcuff chain. It was my only hope. I performed what must have looked like star jumps, if anybody had been watching, each time pushing my legs either out or in against the straps. I wore the skin off both ankles, but eventually one strap gave. Now I could reach high enough to unhook myself. I tore out the gag and removed the spreader from the other leg. I was untethered but far from free, there were still the handcuffs. I found the light switch by groping, the door to the house had locked as it closed and I had no clue how to open the electric garage door from the inside. Naked and helpless, I would have to get help from outside.