Car Show Slut Ch. 06

I can hardly remember the drive home. I must have been operating on some kind of autopilot. My mind was in a daze, barely comprehending what had just happened. I showered and went to bed.

In the morning everything seemed normal. Apart from the ache in my left nipple and nether regions. I could barely bring myself to look at my piercings in the mirror as I changed to get ready for work. I felt like taking a day off, I just wanted to curl up in bed with the curtains draw and retreat from life for a day, retreat almost from myself, but there was too much going on in the office.

Actually I was thankful for the fact that we were busy, but even then, at any idle moment during the day my mind drifted towards the awful events of last night. What on earth had I been thinking? What possessed me? To allow that old biker dude to pierce my nipple, when I'd gone there for no such thing? All because I didn't have the guts to look him in the eye and say the word 'clitoris'! I had sat there like a helpless child while he pierced my nipple! And, oh God, that was just the tip of the iceberg!

He fucked me! And I let him! But what could I do? I was strapped to the table. Oh no, it wasn't like that. He said, 'do you want me to fuck you', and I said 'yes'! And he did it! Well, why wouldn't he? What's more, he could see I was wet. He knew it, and he knew that I knew. Lying there, legs open, exposed, wet, ready to be fucked. That was how it was. What was I thinking? And even when he did it, when he rammed that big cock inside me, I just lay there accepting it. I didn't protest, didn't do anything. But I had said 'yes'. And I didn't even know his name – I still don't! The pungent smell of his body, the stench of beer and cigarettes, all of that came flooding back as I agonized over my shameful actions. How unbelievably horrible to be taken like that by a stinking old tattoo artist! He had tricked me. But that didn't mean I had to say yes. I said yes and, what's more, I meant it. As painful as it was to admit, I wanted it. I wanted him to fuck me. And even worse, it wasn't horrible. He didn't make me cum; mainly, I realized, because I was too worried that he would cum inside me and get me pregnant – oh God, pregnant carrying a fat old tattooist's baby! He didn't bring me to orgasm, but he had fucked me and fucked me hard. He had taken me like a slut, as if I was his plaything, and fucked me like an animal, a bitch in heat. It's not as though I hadn't been with my share of men, but I'd never experienced anything so hedonistic – the way he grunted like a beast, fucking me hard and then, after he had sprayed his seed all over my face, and even in my mouth, just climbed off me and walked away. After he had speared my most private regions not just with his cock, but also his handiwork, with the grotesque ring and pin in my clit and nipple that now nestled under my silky underwear, hidden from view but which were a constant reminder to me of what had happened. Kelly was right, it did hurt, but it was a dull ache, bearable, though always there.

Oh, but even that wasn't the end of it. I had licked the cum off his finger! I was paying the man for the piercings, and he wiped a glob of cum off my blouse and made me lick it off! How disgusting! But did he really force me? He was pushing his finger into my mouth! I remember feeling his sticky cum coating onto my lips, the pressure of his finger, almost forcing my lips apart, the cold, steely look in his eye as he waited to see what I was going to do. But that look in his eye wasn't one of waiting for me to make up my mind; it was like an implicit instruction to do it. And I did it, I opened my mouth and sucked in his cum. And then he said, 'there's a good girl'... No, he hadn't forced me, had he? I could have just stepped back – for God's sake, he was standing on the other side of the counter; all I needed to do was step back. But no, I let my lips open and took his finger into my mouth... No, he didn't force me. He didn't force me to do anything. Everything that happened to me, I either asked for, or I wanted it. Yes, I wanted him to fuck me. And yes, it was good. It was more than good.

Paradoxically, I suddenly realized, it was my very act of submission that made it what it was, allowed me to let go, to let him take me, possess me. For that's what it was – he owned me. I was his slut plaything. He was like a troll in a fairytale, and I was like a princess, captured by him like a glittering prize and dragged into his stinking cave to be consumed.

No one, I had to admit, had taken me like that before. My body even tingled at the thought of how good is big cock felt; the physical memory of him fucking me remained in my body, real and powerful. But then, how long had it been since I had had sex at all? Well, there had been Kelly, but that was sex with a girl. It had been months and months since I had had been with a man. That had been my previous boyfriend. But sex with him I could almost hardly remember. Our sexual compatibility, or lack thereof, had always bothered me, although we had gone our separate ways for reasons other than that. A steady boyfriend was what I needed, I thought to myself. Or maybe just a casual fling. No wonder I had enjoyed being taken by the old guy – I'm a woman in her prime and it had been too long!

That thought lifted me out of my despair. A boyfriend. That's what I need in my life. It was high time I started dating again. I decided to run a search of internet dating websites. I nice lawyer or executive, perhaps? I knew I was a 'good catch', as they say. It wasn't an arrogant conceit to know that I was attractive. And I'm well off and have a job with an income few women my age could dream of. And I've got a pierced clit, I joked to myself, almost laughing inside at the absurdity of it. That made me feel better. Life needn't be so serious all the time. You had sex with the tattoo guy – so what? It'll be something to, well, maybe not something to tell your grandchildren, but something to remember when you're old and past your time – a life well lived. I was feeling better already.

I spent a few hours at home that night on the internet. Among the hundreds of guys on the dating site, there seemed quite a few prospects. One guy, Julian, looked particularly good. Nice tall blond, just like I like them, 30 years old, a junior partner at a legal firm in town. Interests include cycling, jogging, meeting new people, reading, candle lit dinners etc.... Mmm, like the sound of that one. I forwarded him my profile. He must have been on line, because he responded within 10 minutes. Seeing the little message icon flash to show I had mail gave me a little thrill. Gee, I was enjoying this!

We messaged each other a few times with some mindless flirty banter, and soon enough he offered me his phone number. I rang him.

"Is that Julian?"

"Yes, you must be Anne."

"Yes, it is. Hi. I feel a little funny doing this; it's my first time with this internet thing."

"Yeah, it can take a while to get used to it, but everyone's doing it now."

We chatted for a short while. He seemed nice enough, and I liked the sound of his voice. Yes, I thought to myself, he does seem nice. We agreed to meet for a drink that Thursday night. I hung up, feeling much better about things. This was it – get backing into the dating scene. This was what had been missing from my life.

I skipped through the next few work days with renewed vigor. The episode with the tattoo man, though less than a week ago, seemed thankfully to be receding rapidly into the past as I looked forward to a pleasant evening in the company of Julian.

In a sense this was a blind date, which was something I had never done before. As a precautionary measure I decided to let Kelly know what was going on. After all, I didn't know this man. What if he turned out to be an axe murderer or rapist? And I had to admit, recalling the experience with Jem, my antennae when it comes to men doesn't seem to be all that well attuned. I would give Kelly all the details that I had of him, and where we were meeting, in the unlikely event that something untoward was to happen.

On Thursday I arranged to lunch with Kelly. It was a lovely day, and I took a table in the outside area. I sat down and scanned the morning papers as I waited for her. Soon I saw her coming out of the building as she spotted my table.

Hiya sexy!" she said as she strolled past the table alongside as she made her way towards me. God, anyone could have heard her!

Kel, keep it down!" I whispered, almost under my breath. "Someone might hear!"

"Oh just relax Anne. No one's going to suspect anything if a girl greets another girl with 'hi sexy'. But with you being so jumpy like that, they might."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

And she was. For such a young girl she seemed so much more worldly than me. I could be so uptight at times. And as for being sexy, I was nothing compared with her. God, she looked so hot in that short light blue skirt suit. I'd have reached across to kiss her, were we in private.

"Kel, I'm going on a date with a guy I met on the internet."

"Ooh, sounds exciting! Do tell."

"Well, who knows? I haven't even met the guy yet. We're meeting after work for a drink, but I just want you to know the details, you know, in case he turns out to be something unexpected. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah, but I'm sure it'll be fine."

"More than likely, but this is just in case."

I gave her all the info I had, on him, where we were meeting etc. We chatted for a while over lunch before it was time to get back to work. I watched her saunter off back into the building, watching in surreptitious fascination the gentle, sensual sway of her hips in that tight-fitting short skirt.

I was pleased that I could get off work at a reasonable hour so as to shower and properly make myself up for my date. Stepping out of the shower, having freshly shaved my pussy – I was finding it could get so itchy if you let it grow back even a little – I checked myself in the mirror. My body looked good. The peircings looked, well, good wasn't the word, but sexy, wild, daring. I liked that. The clit ring just seemed so... such a vulgar and shocking accessory to be wearing. And somehow I like that too. Best of all, the pain had virtually gone away. I was getting used to them now. I still found myself becoming aware of them during the day, but more and more they were becoming a part of me.

For my outfit I decided to go for broke – the short skirt and black boots, with a simple dark blouse and jacket top. Stylish, sexy, if bordering on 'come fuck me'. Well, I wasn't at work now, and this wasn't anything more revealing than most girls wear. Even so, I grabbed a long coat to go over the top for when I was out on the street.

Meeting a guy I had only once spoken to on the phone, and in the context of a possible romance, I had to admit carried with it a certain thrill. I imagined myself as the heroine in a classic film noir, sitting alone in a smoky bar awaiting an interview with an impeccably dressed and ice-cool Bogart. Yes, this was going to be fun...

I arrived at the appointed time. He said he would ring my cell when he got there, and we'd locate each other by that means. We each must have arrived at about the same time, because I had barely stepped through the bar when the phone rang.

"Hello, Anne speaking."

"Hi, it's Julian."

I turned around and saw him over in the other corner. We waved at each other and he headed my way. Mmm, he was a very good looking guy.

"Hi Anne, pleased to meet you," he said, studying my body very intently as I slipped off my coat to reveal my short skirt and boots. Well, I couldn't blame him, I guess. He was definitely cute. Tall, well built, with a nice round smile and soft, kind blue eyes. His suit was smart, nothing special, but not flashy either. All round, I liked his presence.

He ordered drinks and we chatted for a while about the joys and otherwise of modern professional life, and how tough it is to meet people when you're so busy. On this point I had to embellish a little, because it wasn't as though I'd actually been looking for a partner at all in ages. But then, more and more as the conversation continued, I found I didn't need to embellish anything because, I began to notice, I could hardly get a word in. I wouldn't say that he seemed nervous and thus couldn't shut up, nor did he seem that kind of guy who's so full of himself that he feel the need to tell the world about himself non-stop all night, but Julian certainly knew how to talk about Julian. It's fun for a while to listen to someone talk about their life, but I found myself getting progressively more bored as the evening and his endless monologues dragged on about his work, sporting achievements, funny things that had happened to him, bla, bla, bla. He seemed almost uninterested in anything I had to say, interrupting me with a tale of his own whenever I began to speak on some topic or another. I sat there watching him during one of his spiels, and it occurred to me that yes, he was a very good looking guy, really rather sexy. Physically he was just my type; I could seriously imagine making love to this guy, at least in a theoretical sense. I actually seriously thought about asking him back to my place, but I realized that part of the motivation for that would have simply have been to shut him up. That wasn't a good enough reason. Because the reality was that, as attractive as he was, and as much in needed of physical comfort as I was, the man was just simply boring me to sleep.

After a while it was simply getting too much, so I decided to put an end to it – but even then I had to butt in just to tell him I was leaving! He seemed surprised when I told him I had had a lovely time but was tired, and seeing it was a work night I best be off home. God, what is it with some guys? If he had simply sat there and at least let me get a word in even for a short while, like normal people do, just let me into the conversation for God's sake, he could easily have had me in his bed later that night. If only he had known. As it was, I went home rather annoyed with him, and with little interest in seeing him again at all.

Well, plenty more fish in the sea, I thought to myself. No need to be discouraged if the first one didn't work out.

The weekend was wonderful, a welcome respite. Saturday I threw myself into cleaning the apartment, ending the day with a lovely risotto and a night on the couch watching a dvd. Sunday I joined Wendy and Roger for a picnic in the country. It was a lovely day. They had brought along her young nephew, Steven, a nice young kid, and it was just great to relax in the woods with some great food, a bottle of wine and some great company. They had set a date for their wedding, Wendy told me. I was very pleased for them. They did make a good couple. But my shameful actions of the recent past exposing myself to Roger still haunted me. I felt awful about it. What had I been thinking? I mean, the episode over the pool table in the bar, well that was just something that happened. But exposing myself to Roger in the car while Wendy dozed off in the front seat? Nothing short of shameful. A disgrace. I wanted to talk to Roger about it, and as Wendy took young Steven off to play in the swings, I seized the moment.

"Rog, I want to apologize for my recent behavior," I said. He looked worried.

"The things I have done lately, it was shameful and unacceptable, and I'm very sorry about it. But those little episodes, I want you to know that that's not me, I guess it was just a stage I was going through. Anyway, I'm really sorry about it."

"Hey, it's OK," he said, his voice tender. "Really, don't worry about it. I guess everyone does a few wild things in their lives - I know I have - so there's no harm done."

"Thanks. Since you're getting married, I guess I can't really expect you not to tell Wendy about it, but I'll leave that up to you. If it hurts my friendship with her, then I've only got myself to blame."

"I'm not going to tell her," he said. "I love her, but she can be very possessive, and I don't think she'd take it well at all. I just think, what's done is done, what's past is past, and there's no real reason she ever needs to know about it. So as far as I'm concerned, it never happened."

"Thanks Rog, let's just put the past behind us."

I felt so much better. Like an ugly chapter in my life had been closed.

A new day and a new week dawned. Monday morning and the sun was shinning, the birds were singing in the trees outside. Time for my morning yoga, which I had been neglecting somewhat over the past few days. I grabbed my mat and went out onto the patio. I was naked. I liked doing yoga in the nude now, and part of the reason I hadn't been doing it lately was because I had been self conscious of my piercings. But now they felt a part of me and, in any case, it wasn't as though I was doing yoga nude to expose myself. As usual, there were few people about at this time of the morning, and certainly no one in a position to spy on my naked form.

Another hot day, I decided to wear one of my shorter outfits, though certainly not with the slightly sheer blouse this time. I looked in the mirror. Yes, I looked good. A bit sexy, yet only in an incidental way. There was nothing overt in the way I was dressed, and no reason for anyone to think of me in that way. I reached down and rubbed the clit ring through my clothing. You could actually feel it under the skirt and panties, and I had noticed myself doing this almost without thinking on more than one occasion – not when anyone was around, of course. But it gave me a thrill to know that under my proper exterior it was there, this so slutty piece of jewelry, along with the pin in my left nipple. It's funny how I was even more aware of the nipple pin than the clit ring. It was odd also, it occurred to me as I arrived at work and stepped out of the BMW, that I was as conscious of the unpierced nipple as I was of the pierced one. I realized as I walked toward the office how it almost made me feel slightly out of balance. Kind of like when your hands aren't quite properly aligned in certain yoga poses. Very odd.

Monday was a fairly light day. There was some fine tuning to be done on the washing powder job before Brad, Pete and myself presented it to Luca. I had also been given a couple of new clients, both of which were promising in terms of the potential size of the business they might agree to with us, but these were not on deadline at all. I had time to do a bit of research and come up with something creative. I thought about getting Brad and Pete in on this one, but then I thought better of it. Actually, Kelly would be better than both of them; I wonder if I can help her move up the corporate ladder a little? She's wasted downstairs where she is now.

Late in the afternoon at my desk as I poured over the new accounts, I found my hand straying down between my legs to feel the ring through my clothing. It was like returning to an itch, even though you knew that every time you scratched it, it just made it itchier. Well, maybe not an itch, because it wasn't a matter of arousal; it just felt good to feel it. I was glad I got these piercings. The way they felt, they way they made me feel, was even better than I had hoped.

I thought about my piercings on the drive home. How the fact that my right nipple remained unpierced - a 'virgin', as I now liked to laughingly think of it, as opposed to the left one, and the surprising fact that having just one pierced nipple did make my body feel somehow out of alignment. What if I got the right one done as well? I had the sense that I would feel somehow complete, balanced. Either that or take the left one out. But I liked the way it felt now. Every now and then it would kind of get caught against the fabric of my bra, giving the nipple the gentlest of tweaks. And that felt so delightfully naughty!