Rescued by a Determined Woman

He was pleading when I first heard his voice. Did he really have to do this, he asked as his friends gathered round him. He was laughing, nervously, unconvincingly.

They stood together in a pool of light from the streetlamp high above, the friends circling like scavengers.

As they flocked and parted I caught fleeting glimpses of him through my car window, snapshots of the cruelty that comes at the end of a stag party. The glare reflected off a pair of handcuffs linking his wrists in a closed loop around the post.

It was a warm night, even for late August in southern England, and I had driven down to the waterfront to escape the still air of my flat. I had waited in the car for a moment for some couples to pass, collapsing into each other as my husband and I had once done before the passion withered. I kept the windows down to welcome the breeze, trying not to think of my estranged partner, wherever he was with his other woman.

The stag party were wearing matching T-shirts, though they were about to make an exception. The cuffed man was protesting as a friend cut up the back of his shirt with a pair of scissors. The shouting grew louder, and the group's laughter too, as the ragged shirt fell away and they turned to his trousers and underpants.

He was appealing to them again. The desperation in his voice rose as they began to disperse along the promenade, shouting their farewells and tossing his clothes into the sea.

I kept my watch. The nude man flexed his cuffs, sized up the lamppost, concluding slowly that attempts to free himself without help were hopeless.

The scene gave me a small thrill. I had never seen a man so vulnerable. I wanted to wait to see how he would behave but my heart went out to him.

"Do you want some help?" I called. I opened my door and walked towards him, cocking my head unthreateningly. He was drunk, it was plain, but not shameless. He apologised. It was his stag night, he said.

"You don't say," I said. I gazed at him, wondering how best to proceed.

"Shall I get you some clothes?"

He looked so relieved.

"I'll see what I've got in my car," I said.

I thought that there would be some of my husband's work overalls in the back of the car but he had taken them to his girlfriend's place. There was another option. I poked into the bin liner of clothes I had packed for the charity shop to see if there was anything suitable. I giggled softly.

"Here," I said, striding back to him. "Let me help you on with these before I get someone to get you out of those cuffs."

I told him to lift his ankles while I held out a pair of bikini bottoms for him to step into. His pleading voice came again as I drew them up his legs. He wanted to know if I had anything different.

I replied sarcastically. "Don't you normally wear pink bikinis?"

My husband had called them ridiculous when I had tried them on at home. Mutton dressed as lamb was his cliché of choice, so I never dared to wear them in public. They had a pineapple pattern and ties on each side to fasten into a bow. "They come with a halter top, too," I said teasingly.

Well, he was definitely not wearing that, he said, sounding just like my husband. I didn't like his tone and told him so.

"I think someone in your position might be a little more grateful," I said sharply, surprised at my vehemence. I had been joking about the top but I was not going to be spoken to like that.

He tried to shy away as I looped the halter over his head but his drunken weaving was no match for my persistence. I pulled the back straps together and clipped him in.

His defiance faltered. He began to apologise again.

"That's better," I said. "There's no need to make a fuss. Just a couple more things and we're done."

I asked him where he was staying that night, guessing correctly that it was the budget hotel in the town centre. I offered him a lift as I wrapped a shimmering silver satin skirt around his waist. I fastened the side buttons for him and knotted the sash.

"It would save you a walk through town."

He thanked me, keeping still this time for a black lace blouse, also with a halterneck that fastened with poppers around the back.

He tried again to regain his dignity. He was really grateful for my help, he said, but did I have anything he could wear that was less... he searched for words, realising that it was important not to insult my clothes. I prompted him: "Sexy?"

We smiled at each other. I fancied I caught him glancing at my blouse, silky and silver like his skirt. "I do, back at my flat, but shall we try to get those cuffs off first rather than have you wait here like this while I drive home?"

I told him that I would pop along the street to a bar to find someone who could set him free. The worry returned to his face. "I'll be discreet," I promised.

He was barely alone for five minutes when I returned with some borrowed bobby pins, pleased to find him unmolested. It took a bit of fiddling to manipulate the pins into the locking mechanism but it was only a few more minutes till my damsel in distress was free from his cheap cuffs.

"Hop in, then," I said. I watched his skirted bottom wiggle as he made his way round to the passenger seat, its pleats catching the light as they swished about him. We agreed to try the hotel in the hope, on his part, that he would be able to slip in unnoticed. Even as we approached we could see that a crowd of night owls were settled in the bar next to the lobby. I pulled up so we could look inside. I recognised the T-shirts of his friends.

"Would you rather I took you home for a change first?" I asked.

He nodded meekly. I put my hand reassuringly on his knee. "Don't worry. No one has to see you like this, dressed in your sexy clothes."

I chucked him under his chin. "Only me."

I kept my hand on his knee too long before giving it a squeeze and took him to my flat.

"Ladies first," I said as I ushered him into the shared hallway. I gave him gentle pats on the bottom on the way up the stairs, prompting him to beg me to stop. When we got to my front door he gave a prim little speech. He was very much in love with his fiancée, whom he would be marrying in three weeks, and that although I was an attractive woman he could not betray her trust.

I laughed at that. "Are you telling me you're not that kind of girl? I'm only playing with you, darling. You need to learn to relax."

Once we were through the door I wasted no time in leading him to the bedroom for some "more suitable" clothes. I told him to take off his skirt. He fumbled with the sash, which I had knotted too tightly. "You need someone with fingernails," I said, intervening.

I knelt next to him as I worked the knot. "I know you don't like it, but you do look ever so gorgeous like this. Doesn't it turn you on, just a little?"

With a triumphant tug I loosened the sash and the skirt slipped to the floor. His knickers, mere inches from my face, were unmistakeably taut. "That's a big bulge for someone who doesn't want to betray his fiancee's trust," I said. "The lady doth protest too much, methinks."

He switched back to contrition. He didn't mean to, he said. It was not his fault.

"No, it's not your fault," I said as I stood, cupping him. "You can't help it, any more than you could help wiggle your bottom as you trotted daintily up my stairs.

"That's on camera, by the way, your arrival at my flat all dressed up. But don't worry, that can be our secret."

I felt him swelling still further against my hand and risked a circular caress. "I'm going to make it simple for you," I continued. "You can run back to your hotel in your bikini and blouse to an appreciative audience in town, and no doubt to the delight of your friends.

"You'll think of an explanation for that, I'm sure, just as you can explain to your fiancée how you came home with me dressed in sexy clothing.

"Or you can stop thinking about it and trust me."

He looked startled and pale, possibly faint. I guided him to my bed. "Just trust me," I repeated. "This will make you feel better." I clasped his hands together over his head. Perhaps he thought this would help his dizziness.

The ratchets of the handcuffs closed in a rasping of clicks, binding him to the bedstead. I waited for him to thrash about with his legs but the fight, if any, was a mental one. I leant over to kiss him, letting the strands of my pussy bow blouse play on his face before moving in.

His resistance to opening his mouth softened as I rubbed the front of his bikini bottoms with my palm, scratching my fingernails deep between his legs.

He asked me to stop, though his voice sounded resigned. He offered to pay me back for rescuing him in other ways. I asked him what he was offering but didn't wait for an answer. "Let's start with a kiss," I said.

I continued to fondle him as he complied. "Mm. And another one. Put a bit more passion into it."

We embraced like teenage lovers, messily, growing clammy in the heat.

"Alright," I said at last, bringing my stroking to an end. "Let's get those bottoms off."

I pulled the string at the side, suddenly releasing the strain.

It was my turn to apologise. "I'm sorry. I just can't help it." I wanted to feel him in my mouth. "Just a taste," I said. A taste was not enough.

I sighed as my lips slipped over him, hoping that he would too. It began to bother me that he wouldn't. I asked what I could do to make him, watching his face as I made suggestions. He winced as I ran a finger down to the most sensitive part of his bottom.

"Oh," I said. "I think I've found it."

I left him for a moment and returned from the bathroom with some moisturising gel. I meant only to put a small amount on my finger but the bottle squirted explosively onto my hand.

The first finger took the longest. I had to smooth the gel around the edge before dipping and probing. I kept getting distracted by my desire to have him in my mouth again, but by and by I was in as far as I could go, my second finger moistened for its turn.

The sighs came with my third, but by then a sigh wasn't enough. "I'm going to have you moaning," I said, my own breath quickening. "You'll be groaning... begging... wailing..."

I swept within him with four fingers, tucking in my thumb to complete the job. My efforts seemed to make him limp until I corrected that with my free hand.

He fulfilled my prediction despite himself. I could wait no longer.

I rolled off my knickers with my dry hand, hitched my skirt and clasped his cock with thumb and forefinger. I guided him. The delicacy of it seemed to take him by surprise. The head slipped inside in a single smooth movement, a sensation of sudden intimacy quite unlike our foreplay. He held my gaze at last.

I lowered myself as slowly as I could, prolonging the intensity of enveloping him. The mix on his face of pleasure and vulnerability made me wonder aloud. "Are you a virgin?"

He didn't answer, but closed his eyes. "Oh my," I said. "Have you been saving yourself?"

I knew I should stop. Was it already too late? He was deep within me. Surely, a little rocking wouldn't hurt.

I could feel him so clearly. "We fit perfectly," I said. I stroked his cheek tenderly. "How about that?"

I kept him deep, rocking for my own pleasure but nursing just enough of his desire to take him along with me.

"You can pretend I'm her if you like," I reassured him. I was reassuring myself, giving myself the excuse to carry on. I was feeling for the first time in a long time the tingles that held the promise of an orgasm. It would be such a waste to lose what was so close.

All I needed was to make myself come, then we could stop. I just needed a bit more. I could get there quicker if I moved him more roughly within me.

I held his shoulders at arm's length to brace myself for long thrusts. I told him not to look so scared, that it would all be over in a few minutes. I would come soon, I said, although every time I thought I was about to peak I found a new plateau more intense than the last. I cried out in yelps but still it wasn't over, still the pleasure kept coming.

I heard him crying too. At first I thought it was another protest but when I opened my eyes I could see it was something else. His eyes were wide in shock, his mouth a grimace, but while there was desperation in his voice it was less anguish than delight.

I closed my eyes again, tightening all at once as a jolt radiated through me. Even as I reeled from the bewildering force of my climax I felt him pulsing too.

It was all there at once for him: joy, betrayal, bliss, disgust, relief, despair.

I listened to his panting, hearing shades of each emotion as the tide of excitement withdrew. He needed me now, though he didn't know it, to deal with his confusion.

I kept him in me as I comforted him.

"We can contain this," I said. "We can keep this secret inside you and me, bound together like we are now. It's ours."

I rose up, laughing apologetically while spilling onto his hips and belly. "Let's get you cleaned up and out of those cuffs, again. Your friends will worry if I keep you too long."

He said nothing, his face was blank. Something had come to an end. With my help, with some careful moulding, there would be a new beginning.