Breakdown Service

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A journey of sexual discovery for a submissive female.
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pandsal
pandsal
223 Followers

Erratic steering told its own story: a puncture. Thirty miles from home, late on a chill night after a business dinner as unproductive as it had been boring. When I called the breakdown service they were sympathetic to the plight of a woman alone but said the best they could predict was forty-five minutes.

It was a surprise to see a vehicle pulling in behind me less than fifteen minutes later; an even bigger surprise to discover that it was a Bentley. A rear window was lowered and a voice, cultured, polite but with a slight accent I couldn’t define, enquired if I had a problem. I pointed to the flat tyre, explained that I waiting for the breakdown man.

“No need,” said the voice from car’s dark interior. “Call your service and tell them it is fixed. Stavros will deal with it.”

Seconds later. a uniformed chauffeur stepped out, asked for my keys, opened the boot and set to work.

“This will not detain you long,” said my rescuer. “But would you care to sit inside for the moment?” Seeing my hesitation, he went on, “I understand your reluctance but I can assure you that you will not come to harm. And it is warmer inside, or will be once I close the window.”

It would have been churlish to decline, and the presence nearby of the chauffeur was reassuring. As my eyes grew accustomed to the interior, I was able to discern that I was sitting next to a man of about sixty with a lean face, silver hair, intense dark eyes and a full, sensuous mouth. He asked how I came to be driving alone at night. I told him about the dinner but felt entitled to ask him a similar question. While he was explaining he had been picked up at the airport after a transatlantic flight I became aware of his hand resting on the top of my thigh. The gesture could have been threatening but somehow it was almost paternal. In any case, it would have been at the very least ungrateful to have turned prudish without further provocation. My instinct was justified. He made no further move before the chauffeur opened the door and handed me my keys.

I thanked my saviour profusely and shook his hand. “Let me give you my card,” he said, taking out a silver case. “My name is Nikos. There are details here of how you can contact me if you wish. Perhaps we may meet again? I would be delighted to offer you dinner, a chance to talk in more congenial surroundings.”

“You’re very kind,” I replied. “I’ll think about it.”

“Drive carefully - no more punctures.” The chauffeur closed the passenger door, saluted me and returned to his place behind the wheel. I watched the Bentley purr smoothly away before resuming my own journey in thoughtful mood. But no matter how deeply I pondered, I could never have foreseen that soon I would have embarked upon a journey into a sexual world previously closed to me.

My marriage to Jeremy had been a mistake. We met as young recruits to a firm of city financiers, thought we had fallen in love at first sight and delighted our respective parents with a grand white wedding. I wasn’t a virgin (though by no means experienced); Jeremy was an absolute novice. We might have found our way through that if the will to do so had been the same on both sides, but what I soon recognised as my own powerful sex drive was in no way matched. When we fucked, it was missionary style and in silence. Jeremy was horrified when I suggested different positions and the possibility of some verbal encouragement during the procedure. I offered him oral and he flatly refused, saying it was an unhygienic perversion.

Had we come from a less conventional lower middle class background, an early divorce would have been the solution but the very word sent Jeremy into uncommunicative shock. I contemplated trying an affair but the practicalities were difficult. From time to time Jeremy seemed to consider sex his duty and we would go through the motions of a joyless fuck. If I wanted an orgasm I was more likely to achieve it by masturbating.

Outside the bedroom we coexisted uncomfortably. Mirroring our sex life, our work attitudes diverged. Jeremy left the firm saying he didn’t like the pressurised atmosphere and joined a bank where he has the possibility of becoming an assistant manager sometime in the next ten years or so. Meanwhile, I relished the challenges and after a series of promotions was put in charge of corporate finance.

That was the situation when a puncture brought Nikos into my life. Some instinct led me not to tell Jeremy, but I did nothing for more than a week. Then, one morning after Jeremy had come with a satisfied grunt while I had been still some way short of release, I took out the card and rang. It proved to be a direct line to Nikos.

“Do you remember a damsel in distress?” I asked.

“Sandra,” he said. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

Not only did he remember me, he remembered my name. As before, I was immediately at ease, responding to his charm. When I asked if I was interrupting anything important, he insisted that talking to me was preferable. Had I remembered his invitation to dinner? Of course. Hesitantly, I said that choosing a date might be complicated.

“I noticed you were wearing a wedding ring,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Is that something you would like to talk about?”

The question was so direct, leading us into tricky territory when we scarcely knew each other, I had no idea how to reply. After a pause I said, “Yes. Well, it might be.”

“I think I understand. It would be wrong of me to press you. For the moment, let me just say I am in this country for the next twelve days. If you would care for dinner in that time, please telephone. Will you do that?”

“Would any evening suit you?”

“I will ensure that I am free.”

“You are very kind,” I said. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you. Drive very carefully.” The line went dead.

That evening I invented a corporate affairs dinner for Jeremy’s benefit. I couldn’t guess what I was getting into with a man who was probably thirty years my senior but I had to find out. When I telephoned to fix the date, Nikos mentioned a time and named a restaurant my firm avoided because of the prices.

We sat at a secluded table where a discreet head waiter took our orders, served and melted quietly away. We made small talk until the main course arrived. Then Nikos said, “Forgive me - but do you wish to tell me about your husband?”

In the light of our earlier telephone conversation, I was no longer surprised. I had already formulated an edited account of our relationship to which Nikos listened in silence.

“And sex?” he asked. “Is that a problem, too?”

“Yes. It’s a problem.”

“I suggest,” said Nikos, “ that if you agree we will not have dessert, just coffee and brandy. Then I should like to take you to bed.” He smiled gently.

I suppose I should have been shocked, startled at least. But there was an inevitability about this development, almost as though I had wished it. Nikos had sensed my need and had seen no need to walk round it. Unable to trust my voice, I nodded agreement.

When the coffee and brandy had been served, Nikos dropped a coffee spoon. “Excuse me,” he said and bent under the table. I felt a hand on my knee, widening my legs, easing my skirt higher on my thighs. Nikos reappeared with the spoon. He said, “Very pretty. I expected to approve but you exceed my anticipation. I hope you didn’t mind.”

As it was one of the most erotic moments I had ever experienced, I was far from minding. “No,” I said, “It was - nice. Exciting.”

“You are aroused?”

“Yes. I think I should go to the ladies’ room, if you will excuse me.”

“Of course.” As i rose, he touched my hand. “I am pleased. About the arousal. Don’t do anything about it yet. Wait.”

I nodded and retreated in a daze. Seated in a cubicle with the door locked, I wondered if it had been my intention to masturbate, as Nikos had intimated. I was in such a state that I realised that might have been in my mind. Now I must not. I used a tissue to mop up some of the wetness that had leaked on to my inner thigh. There was nothing to be done about my wet knickers.

I repaired my make-up and rejoined Nikos. I said, “I’m sure you were right, so I waited. But it wasn’t easy. Can we go now, please?” Such incredible intimacy with a man I had really only met for the first time, but it was undeniably thrilling.

We drove to his apartment in my car; Stavros had been given a free evening. The apartment was huge with picture windows overlooking the park six floors below. Once inside, Nikos took me by the arm and led me directly to a bedroom with a large double bed. He pressed a button. The curtains closed silently. Another press brought soft lighting round the walls and a brighter spotlight on the bed.

“Please,” said Nikos, “Remove your dress.” They were the first words he had spoken since parking my car next to the Bentley in his underground garage area. His voice was soft, the accent only occasionally audible, drawing me into an almost hypnotic desire to please

Undressing required assistance from Nikos with the back of my dress. He dealt smoothly with the zip but made no move to touch me. Instead, he sat in an armchair, unzipped himself, drew out his penis and cupped it in his hand. Although still limp, his member was clearly above average size, circumcised, not too thick.

I had never been in such a situation - Jeremy flitted through my mind until I dismissed the thought as irrelevant - but instinctively I caught Nikos’s mood, reading his wishes. I Iet the dress slide slowly down my body so that first he saw my breasts, which needed only minimal support, then the suspender belt, knickers and stockings, all black. I stepped out of the dress and drew my arms behind my back to emphasise the thrust of my bosom.

“The breasts are good,” he remarked without inflection. “Please remove the brassière.” When I did so, he said, “The nipples, please.”

With the flat of my palm, I let my hand circle across each breast in turn. Contact with the nipples was minimal: the sexual temperature in the bedroom was already so intense they needed little physical stimulation. I turned in profile for him to see how they protruded.

Nikos was still handling his penis with slow deliberation, bringing it to its full extension. I wanted to kneel and take it into my mouth, to let Nikos know how badly I wanted it inside me somewhere, anywhere. But something unspoken had happened between us from the moment we sat across the restaurant table from each other, something that established that Nikos was in control and that I would do whatever he wished. So now, when he said, “Next, the knickers,” I stayed silent and obeyed.

“Give them to me, please.” He took them and held them to his nose, stroked his penis with them a few times and then set them to one side. “Now bend.”

Determined by now to do everything possible to bring Nikos to the point where he would be compelled to add actions to words, I tuned my back to him, straddled my legs wide and, leaning forward with my forehead resting on the bed, reached behind me and opened my buttock cheeks with my hands. I held the pose until he said, “Good. Very good. There has been no penetration there?”

Nikos had not lost his ability to surprise me. “No,” I replied, “Never.”

“Now turn.”

This time I lay back on the bed, spread my legs and used my hands to open my vagina lips for his inspection. “Stay for a moment,” said Nikos, rising from his chair. Methodically, he undressed himself, carefully folding each item of clothing and placing it on the chair. When he was completely naked, he came close to me and, without speaking, inserted two fingers in my vagina. Apparently satisfied with the wetness he found, he withdrew his fingers and gripped his penis again.

“Move on to the bed, please. Stay wide. Touch yourself. Show me.”

We both recognised that he would demand and I would comply. Although for me it was a totally new experience, I had neither the will nor the wish to object. This was sex as I had never contemplated it and I was drawn by it, relishing the tension between my increasing desire and his power to delay its fulfilment. Nikos wanted to watch me masturbate, and I realised I wanted to let him see. While he knelt beside me on the bed, i began to caress my clitoris. I was so aroused, I would have liked to apply the rapid friction that would have brought on my orgasm in seconds, but more importantly I wanted to give him a proper demonstration. Accordingly, I fastened my eyes on the way he handled himself and tried to match the tempo of my stroking to his. It was good but it couldn’t last indefinitely. Despite biting my lip and taking in deep breaths, I was nearing the point where I would no longer be in control. Nikos said, “Enough. Stop now, please.” I noticed with pleasure that his own manipulation had grown faster but he pinched the base of his penis between thumb and forefinger for a few moments, and that seemed to retard any possible ejaculation without having any effect on his erection.

“Next we will try fellatio. Please do not touch yourself again.” Kneeling across my body, Nikos pressed the end of his penis against each of my breasts a few times, then squeezed them together and moved himself backward and forward between them before lifting himself to direct the rampant member into my open mouth. At last I had him inside me, admittedly not yet in my aching vagina but that would surely follow.

Nikos was in no hurry, savouring every variation I could provide with tongue and lips. His own contribution was to manoeuvre his penis so that sometimes I was able to work on the knob, at others I was taking in almost half the length of the shaft. Clearly he approved for he began talking to me in a new way, still directing, insisting, but encouraging, too. “Good, Sandra ... tight lips while I move ... open wide ... yes, like that ... wait a moment ... now lick ... faster ... that’s better ... you can learn if you want to ... suck hard - but slowly ... very good.”

When he finally withdrew, he knelt at my side, penis in hand, looking down at my heaving breasts. “You want to touch yourself - yes?”

“Nikos, I need to come.”

“In time you shall. I will tell you when.”

“Why not now?” I knew the answer. He didn’t need to tell me. I was completely under his spell, unable to deal with the urgent demands of my body and mind until he gave the word. It was agonisingly delicious and a large part of me wanted it to continue. This was a sexual high I had never even dreamed of and I had to find out how much further it could go.

“Turn on to your knees, please. I will fuck you now.” This was Nikos resuming control. No discussion, a statement not a request.

If I expected him to mount me at once, I was mistaken. He spent several moments arranging my position, hips high, feet wide apart. Next he explored with his fingers, a very gentle circling of my anus but no attempt at penetration, then a thorough probing of my vagina. I was so wet he was able to insert two fingers without difficulty, apparently to his satisfaction for he muttered a few words in Greek. Again he surprised me. Instead of taking advantage of his preparation immediately, he knelt behind me, slid his fingers between my open lips again and then applied his tongue to my anus. Never invasive, it was a subtle, tantalising stimulation, fingers and tongue working in harmony. The only sounds were the moans of pleasure I could no longer stifle.

When the moment came, Nikos moved me back to the edge of the bed, checked once more that he had the angle of access to my innermost body he was seeking. Satisfied, he stood behind me, guided his penis into me with his hand in one smooth movement before gripping my hips and pulling me back on to him. When I felt his balls against me, evidence that his rigid shaft was buried inside me, he paused.

“That’s well done, Sandra. You wondered if I would be too big for you?”

“I wanted it all.”

“You have it. Take care not to lose your position. Do not be tempted to touch your clitoris. You have done too much good work to spoil it. You understand me?”

“Yes, Nikos.:

“Then I will fuck you.”

His stamina was incredible. Just as he had with my mouth, he penetrated my vagina with infinite skill and imagination. For a while he would thrust with long, deliberate strokes, filling me and gradually increasing speed. Then he would pause, withdraw until only the head was inside me. That allowed him to lean back slightly and administer a series of slaps to my buttocks, first one side, then the other, never hard enough to be painful but sufficiently firm to add a new dimension to my arousal. His own control regained, he resumed pistoning me, grunting quietly each time his pubis rammed against my bottom.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, when the rhythm we had established seemed so instinctive we could have continued for ever without going over the edge, he stopped and withdrew.

“It is time,” he said. “For our first time together you have done almost as much as I could have expected. I hope we may go forward in the future. For now, I will give you your orgasm. Once that is achieved, I will take mine in your mouth. You understand me?”

I heard myself say, “Yes, Nikos. Do everything you want.”

The final act was as prolonged and even more ecstatic than the preliminaries. Nikos seemed to have brought me to a plateau where I could, to my surprise, relish indefinitely the deep thrusts of his penis into my permanently lubricated sanctum and the friction against my clitoris. It was the most wonderful moment in my sexual life until then. The more I widened my legs, the more I urged my pelvis to meet his clever changes of angle, pressure and tempo, the more Nikos encouraged me.

The moment came when I was on my back, vagina open and welcoming. Nikos lifted my left leg until it was almost vertical, my ankle on his shoulder, while he knelt on one knee and drove into me, saying, “Come now, Sandra, come. Let me feel it. Give it to me. Don’t touch yourself - I will do it.”

He used his thumb, applying only the slightest movement on the slippery bud until my eyes closed and the longed-for feeling permeated my body, starting between my legs and spreading through every fibre. I was limp. gasping for breath when I felt Nikos withdraw. Remembering the duty I had promised, I opened my eyes to see Nikos kneeling beside me. He was pinching the base of his penis, his whole body taut. I opened my mouth, he pointed the knob between my lips and, with a deep sigh of pleasure, released a warm, gelatinous stream into my throat.

It was over.

For the first time, Nikos kissed me, softly on the lips. Then he rose, left the bedroom and returned with champagne and two glasses. He poured and we drank, and then he said, “My dear Sandra, I hope you don’t need me to tell you that you were very, very good. But did you discover something about yourself?”

“Something. I think so.”

“I think you have discovered that by nature you are submissive, that you need to be controlled. Isn’t that so?”

Even then, while recognising the truth, I was reluctant to admit it. “Perhaps.” I said.

“No, not perhaps. It is so. I saw it in you almost from the moment we met, and I knew I was right from the way you responded in the restaurant.”

I nodded.

“So, we must consider. I want you to understand that for me the way we have been tonight is important. If we are to continue, that will always be the basis of our sexual relationship. But outside that, you will find me generous, supportive, courteous. Loving, if you will allow me to say that. The choice is yours.”

“But how can we continue?”

“Very easily. You do not need Jeremy. You do not need your work. Come with me. I can support us both. We will travel - I have interests in many parts of the world. And we will explore our - relationship. It has many possibilities you may not yet realise.”

pandsal
pandsal
223 Followers
12