Pam's Lost Hours at the Shopping Centre

As the gentle one begins his oh-so-tender plundering of my delicate, sopping and over-sensitive vagina, the pressure on my neck suddenly lifts, and I feel Jean-Marie's tobacco breath on my face. He talks into my ear, and my heart skips a beat at the sound of his voice, the first time I've heard it for an inestimable length of time: "Relax, pretty English lady, you'll enjoy this. Paul is good. He's not clumsy like Franck. Nobody wants to hurt you." With that, he pulls his mouth away from my ear, lifts up my chin with his fingers, and I find myself looking for the second time today at a bulge in his shorts. That lovely big penis which had almost blown my brains and body apart hours and hours ago is at full mast again behind bermuda cotton; it looks like he's really turned on by what's happening to me. Maybe he shouldn't have got dressed so soon after banging me almost into oblivion like that.

The gentle animal intruder's rigid gristle continues sliding in and out of me from behind; it's very long and slim, but now feels almost as big as Jean-Marie's wonder tool, as though his own excitement has brought him to new dimensions. Dazed, my body burning hot now, I squeeze my cunt muscles and squeeze it like a vice, and I start to wonder ashamedly if I dare let myself go for another orgasm. I am enjoying those gentle caresses on my back and buttocks. This boy has style, I think. And he doesn't talk. If only there was someone to kiss me tenderly, make me feel important again.

I look up at Jean-Marie's bulge and in an instant the shorts descend, to release like a smooth tree branch the object of my earlier lust. It's dark, several shades of black, it's standing up high, wantonly, as hard and stiff as ever I've seen a cock, and I see it up close up for the first time. I see before me this huge, circumcised head and an enlarged, dribbling cock eye, veins throbbing before my very eyes, sparse black pubic hairs. Above is his white T-shirt and below is the tightest pair of testicles. I know what's coming next; he kneels on the edge of the mattress, and between his glistening thighs offers me a feast which I'm more than ready for. I raise my head higher, it zooms in, I open my lips wide and almost devour his big cock head. The black snake twitches in my mouth and I taste salty stuff. For just a tiny second I wonder whether I should bite it off and have my immediate revenge here and now. Maybe it would be a good idea to cut short his pathetic, unsavoury career forever.

But god, I'm so incredibly excited by the feelings I'm experiencing right at this moment, the relentless and now increasing tempo of the gentle animal's rigid cock still plunging in and out of my burning, violated, sopping cunt. How long can this boy go on? I wonder to myself. I grip onto the edge of the mattress hard with my hands, feel my fragile belly and tits sliding along the unpleasant, wet plastic as my body moves with the rhythm of his fucking me from behind. I think I might faint away with pleasure, sucking now on the head of this gorgeous love-tool in my mouth, tasting Jean-Marie's abundant pre-ejaculatory seminal juices. I suck harder and harder, I start using the increasing rhythm of my rear-end aggressor's thrusts now, to enhance the unrelenting suck-fuck motion on this Jean-Marie's immense, taut organ. I want to get this over now. All I want to do is give Jean-Marie, my one-moment-in-time lover and erstwhile pimp the blow job of his short, nasty existence. So I go at it with everything I know.

Holding on to the mattress for balance, I lick the solid head, I poke the tip of my tongue into his cock eye, making him wince and draw back with pleasure. I lean forward to recover the black snake, run my tongue along the whole length of his darling, magnificent, state-of-the-art prick. I bury my nose in his jet black pubic hairs and tug at them with my teeth, revelling in his perspiration in my nostrils. I whimper and mew. I lick under his tight, sweaty teenage balls. I enclose one testicle entirely in my mouth and run my tongue around it lasciviously and suck like it's a bonbon, before returning to lavish my attention on the gristly head of his astonishingly hard prick once more, and suck on it like it's going to be the last blow job of my hostess career. Then I raise a hand and cradle those tight, soft hairy spheres like they are fragile crystal in my palm. I caress them underneath, reaching through to touch Jean-Marie's anus hole with a probing finger, scratching it with my painted finger nail and making him wriggle his ass and groan with pleasure

He grunts with appreciation, like before. And all the time that wonderful, gentle animal cock behind is probing the depths of my welcoming vagina, sliding in and out, picking up speed, until I feel it pounding into my very core, right at the entrance to my cervix. I think I might just die with pleasure as I suck cock and get fucked masterfully at the same time, here in two separate worlds of lust. And I just know I'm going to have another mind-blowing, shameful orgasm very soon; there's no way I can stop it.

I hear a gasp from somewhere else behind me: "Allez-y! Allez-y! Baise-la!" Franck the pig's missing out on all this. Or is he standing there jerking his dwarf prick off to the sight of it all, I ask myself. I don't give a shit, I reply to myself, as long as he doesn't approach me. I'm in paradise; I want this amazing fuck-fest to go on and on. I want to come again and I want to siphon out all the sperm Jean-Marie has left in his balls. I give only a tiny passing thought to Richard and my job, as I gobble and receive in my burning cunt the two most satisfying cocks in the entire universe.

My gentle animal stud is the first to come, and I feel it start. He squeezes my ass cheeks ever so gently, almost politely and slows his pace, bends over me so that his firm young chest is pressing onto my back and his face practically alongside mine; his skin feels soft, cool, hairless, agreeable. I hear a sudden outburst of air and voice, a soft grunt close to my ear: "Putain bordel de merde!" – words I don't know at all, then he slaps his thighs hard against my rear end, forcing his long, thin cock in deep, deeper than I thought humanly possible. I imagine it coming out of my mouth and touching Jean-Marie's cock end, it's so far in. I imagine their simultaneous ejaculations colliding before my face, flooding my visage with potent sperm. He rams his rigid, wet tongue into my ear, sending a thrill of evil pleasure though me, and goes on plunging his wicked, wicked cock into me in short, rapid strokes, shuddering against my ass and my back and gasping as I welcome his young ejaculate into my depths like a powerful geyser.

I go over the top immediately. My body is suddenly wracked with extreme pleasure, and I shudder too like my aggressor, and I go over the edge one more time into a gigantic orgasm. I almost black out with joy. I can hear the pounding of my blood in my head. My legs twitch, my knees go weak and I try to scream again, but the delicious dark meat in my mouth only permits a muffled groan to escape. I remove my mouth from Jean-Marie's over-excited cock, to take breath and yelp. Still in the throes of an intense and overwhelming orgasm, shaking all over, still feeling the pumping of cock and seminal liquid in my cunt as the gentle animal finishes unloading his balls into my abused, swollen orifice, I close my fist around the head of Jean-Marie's adorable weapon and start rubbing furiously. I realise I'm howling like a cat in heat. "Vas-y! Vas-y!" I scream.

Now I want Jean-Marie to come, and I want him to come good. And I want him to spurt all his stuff into my mouth. Gripping his rigid black length just underneath the swollen head. I rub his foreskin back and forth vigorously and with total abandon. I jerk his throbbing meat until my arm aches, and as I do so, I poke out my tongue to lick around the tip of his rod and touch that dribbling cock eye again and again. I'm an expert cock sucker and licker and I know what works. In less than a minute Jean-Marie starts to shake.

Almost there, I slip my hand down his rod and ram the swollen head into my mouth again as that familiar creamy, salty liquid jets into my throat. I love it. I continue to jack his black, sweaty gristle all the time as he loses control. Keeping my barely closed lips around his cock head, I cradle his balls again in my free hand. I consider ripping them off with my claws, but squeeze them gently in my palm, as though trying to press out every last milky centilitre. I swallow as quickly as I can, I don't want to lose a single drop of this Provencal French semen. I swallow and swallow.

I hear the sound of Jean-Marie's loud exhalation of breath, then panting totally out of control. With a sudden outburst of: "putain de merde!", he wrenches his violently jerking cock from my eager mouth, spraying my lips and nose, my neck and breasts with a residue of thick, rich seminal fluid. I feel robbed again. He collapses forward, pushing my head down, his belly bearing down on my head and neck, his hot, sweaty thighs against my ears. He cuts off my air supply, as my face and breasts are flattened painfully against the slippery, sweat-soaked mattress cover.

I hear a muffled sound, a door opening I think. What's going on? Has Michelle's boss come back unexpectedly? Is this the Police? Am I to be arrested for having sex with minors? Shit! I daren't look, I daren't move. I try to hold my breath.

Straining to hear, I imagine Michelle the shop assistant tart or maybe her boss, or both, standing there, looking down at what's been going on in the stockroom, gazing at my headless, motionless, naked body with its ass in the air and a trouser less, anonymous rapist plugged into its rear end. I wish I was invisible.

My gentle animal behind finally slips away, out of me. I feel empty again, a sting of regret almost. Seminal fluid is running from my cunt and down my legs; I am soaked everywhere, I'm whacked, well and truly fucked. I can hardly breathe with the weight of Jean-Marie's sweaty, naked lower body on my head. But he quickly recovers and I feel him get off me. The mattress bounces down, then springs up, and I see a long but softening black snake, the object of my lust for an inestimable period of time past and present, swing away out of view, still oozing seminal goo profusely. I want to lick that stuff off the end of his wonder tool, tell him how good it tastes. I want him to tell me it's been the blow job to end all blow jobs. But he stays silent, except for a faint panting sound, moves away out of my range of vision. I feel abandoned.

I can breathe again, and I realise I'm still wheezing and whimpering and shaking, but I still can't move. I don't want to move from where I am, I can't bear to look up at my aggressors nor at Michelle. I close my eyes and wait for my breathing to quieten, for my guilty heart's pounding to slow down. I know that my ass is still up in the air in an undignified posture, and I wonder if my young aggressors are going to start again, or that there is now someone else waiting there, cock primed up and ready to take his turn. I keep my eyes closed, and brace myself for a potential round of assaults.

I hear Michelle saying something, again, more 'argotique' things I can't fully understand, but I guess from the tone of her voice she's decided it's time to end the party. I listen gratefully to the rustling of clothes, the clink of belt buckles (or is it jailors' keys?), the cretinous giggles of self-satisfaction coming from the pig. I imagine celebratory 'high fives' between them all, them grinning like the cats that got the milk and the cream. And the girl. Jean-Marie and the other one, Paul, don't say anything, at least they have the decency to be discreet, if that's possible, in my hour of disgrace. Not the pig though, he says again and again: "Elle est bonne! Elle est bonne! T'as bien fait cette fois. Je te dois un service, jee-em" – that's J-M in English. 'Service' in French sometimes means a favour. 'Cette fois'? This time? How many times have these thoughtless, immature savages done this rape scenario, for fuck's sake? How many unsuspecting young women have been lured into this stockroom, have suffered this humiliation, like me? How many favours do they owe Jean-Marie?

Then it's quiet, I sense the asshole has gone from the room. I'm feeling numb, I can't move.

Jean-Marie's mouth is breathing warm tobacco into my face again. "Thank you for that, Pam, it was formidable. I hope you enjoyed it as much as we did. Come and see us again, please, if you're ever passing through Nice." I can almost see his beautiful, sick smile though my closed eyelids. I say nothing; I try to control my breathing, waiting for silence to wash over me. Waiting to be alone. I hear him say to Michelle: "Merci, chérie. A très bientôt" and the pop of more French style cheek kissing.

Still not finding the strength nor the willpower to get myself up from my utterly vulnerable position, I listen and wait for my breathing to more or less normalise. I don't hear any door noises, but I feel, at least I hope, that they're all gone now, out of my life, now that they've had their fun at my expense. Forever.

Finally I manage to haul my perspiring, trembling, half-battered body up over the seamed edge of the sopping wet mattress. I wince as my nipples bounce over the rib of the mattress, and I slide down, panting, to flop on my ass onto the cool, hard tiles of the stockroom floor. I open my eyes and look over towards the door, where I see Michelle's pretty legs outlined against the bright light from the shop behind her. I don't look up at her face, and her voice is tremulous as she spits out venomously yet more unintelligible French words I don't understand – probably: 'get the fuck out of here' or similar, finishing with the word 'pute!' – whore. She spins around and slams the door, leaving me in semi-darkness again. One word, full of meaning. A label easy to hang on someone who has just fucked her cousin-boyfriend and his worthless, immature but virile and probably insatiable young pals.

I have no reply. I've been had. I'm fucked. I don't have the vocabulary. Sitting there feeling hot, deliciously abused and sexually satiated, but with all my nerve endings still on high alert, just then I have a sudden lugubrious moment of enlightenment, when I realise that I have probably revealed myself to be a sex-mad, half-crazed nymphomaniac. I know now what it's like to have exceeded the speed and quantity limits of orgasmic laws. My cunt is sore, swollen and throbbing like never before, and there is sperm and more sperm leaking abundantly onto the tiles between my thighs. I can see that my expensive airline stockings are ruined.

My ankles hurt and will soon be black and blue. My coccyx is sharply painful and probably bleeding. My neck and ribcage ache, my tit ends burn like they've had several cigarette ends stubbed out on them, are sweaty and feel rubbed flat. I have vicious red weal marks on my belly and probably the same on my bum cheeks. My mosquito legacy itches like crazy. I can still taste salty semen in my mouth, and slippery sperm residue is all over my face and breasts. I feel hot, sticky and degraded. And I'm crying, with shame and pain.

I wait for my breathing to get back to normal, if that's possible. I haven't yet come down properly. I find a packet of kleenex in my bag; I wipe my face and upper body and stuff a bundle of them against my sore, soaking pussy lips. I say a thank you in my head to the boys for not stealing a centime from my bag, and that my new underwear is still intact beside me in its designer bag. It could have been worse, I think.

I need to move, I tell myself, the party's over, I need to get my act together, my ass in gear. So I start to get up slowly, first onto my knees, onto my wiped-out stockinged knees, then leaning heavily on the mattress for support, I arrive finally on my shaky feet. Shock sets in for the first time in a big way and I realise that I ache all over. I gather together my sensible air hostess shoes, my crumpled, dirty clothes and struggle into them as best I can, except my panty, which is in tatters and useless. I remember not to leave behind my shoulder bag and new underwear.

I don't see Michelle as I walk back through the store, and there are no customers around. I check my appearance as I pass in front of a large mirror. It's dreadful, I remark, I look like a fucked up tart.

In my head I whisper, "Please don't ask, Richard, I'm fine."

I thank Michelle silently, and in French, for being discreet and for keeping out of sight, as I leave the shop and limp in an air hostess manner as dignified as I can possibly muster, towards the ladies' toilets. There's one on every floor in these places.

FIN (END)