Sarah, Slave of Sex

A day out

The day was hot, and Sarah, was dressed accordingly, but now rather regretted the choice of clothes she had made. The skirt was too short, and, in the back of the car, it was difficult to stop it from riding up to show rather more of her thighs than was decent, and the blouse, which was loose and cut away at the top, fell away every time she bent forward, revealing rather more of her breasts than she thought proper. Now, sandwiched in the back of the car with George as she was, she felt rather vulnerable.

Add to this the fact that Arthur Lancaster, her lover for the past six months, had insisted on leaving her something to remember him by before he departed for England. He had taken her to a jewellers shop, where he had bought a ring, then paid to have her clitoris pierced, and the ring fitted. Three small silver chains which hung down over her sex completed the purchase.

The device now irritated her constantly, occasionally causing her sharp pains, which, she realised, was probably the intention. She had come to understand that Arthur Lancaster was a sadist, a man who enjoyed not only giving you pain, but also humiliating you for his own pleasure.

She recalled their first encounter. He was sitting at his desk and she was standing next to him, probably a bit provocatively if she admitted the truth, bending over and looking at a little diagram he had drawn for her showing the relationship between Dickens the writer and the Romantic poets, and he had taken the opportunity to slide his hand up her skirt. At first she had tried to get him to stop. He was, after all, more than twice her age, and by no means handsome, but, somehow, with his hand between her legs, that no longer seemed to matter. In fact, it seemed that his age and his unattractiveness just served to excite her more.

'Someone might come,' she had objected, as he stood up and pulled her closer to him.

'Yes,' he replied, putting his hand on her backside and pulling her towards him. 'You.' His hand moved round, then up between her thighs, pulling impatiently at the fabric of her panties, eager to feel her naked flesh between his fingers, and, once he had got hold of her sex, her resistance ceased completely. Desire flooded her body, and she realised that she was going to allow him to do whatever he wanted with her.

He positioned her facing him with her backside against the edge of his desk, then knelt down in front of her. She had an idea what he was going to do, but somehow, inexperienced as she was, couldn't quite believe it. He slid his hands underneath her skirt and pulled down her panties, then lifted her skirt, took her sex in his hands, rubbed it a little with his thumbs, and brought his mouth into contact with her, finding her clitoris with his tongue. The feelings were overwhelming. She was his. After stimulating her for a while in this manner, he stood up, unbuttoned her blouse, pulled her breasts out of her bra, and fondled them briefly, massaging the nipples. He then brought his mouth up onto one of her breasts, and began flicking her nipple with his tongue, at the same time dropping one of his hands to caress her sex again. He raised her head until their eyes met. 'Very pretty,' he said, sliding his finger up into her vagina until it reached her unperforated hymen. He seemed amused. 'You're a virgin,' he said. She nodded. 'Never mind,' he said. 'We'll soon fix that.' He told her to turn around. When she didn't move, he took hold of her, turned her, and pushed her head down onto the desk, then lifted her skirt, and told her to spread her legs. It was hardly romantic, but there was something in being treated in this way that she found irresistibly exciting. After teasing her for a while by repeatedly rubbing the tip of his penis along her slit, he had fully penetrated her, breaking her hymen, and, soon afterwards, shot his load deep inside her body, in response to which she had come uncontrollably.

'Truth is stranger than fiction,' said Emily, pulling on the steering wheel and moving forward in her seat so that she could see more clearly what was happening on the road ahead. She was a dark-haired woman in her early forties, somewhat overweight, with the confident, capable air of somebody who usually got what she wanted, sooner or later.

'Depends what fiction you read,' said George, who was sitting behind her. In his late thirties, with a broad, handsome face, bronzed complexion and dark hair, he was what people generally consider to be a handsome man, though there was something in his demeanour that Sarah found slightly repulsive. He was a man who had 'been around', probably a bit too long if truth were told, and while he gave an outward impression of confidence, there was something hesitant in his character, something that indicated that he had known hard times, which was definitely not the case with Emily. He carelessly let his knee fall against Sarah's leg as the car hit some bumps in the road. Sarah demurely changed her position so that her leg was no longer in contact with his, and was reminded again of the little attachment between her legs by a sharp pain.

'By the way,' said Frederick, half turning to look at George from his position in the front passenger seat, 'did you know that Lancaster is moving back to England?' Frederick was the youngest of the four with an open face, curly hair, and freckles. He would have been at home in a Harry Potter film.

'That's strange,' said George.

'And true,' confirmed Sarah. 'He left last week. He's going to live in Cornwall.'

'Cornwall!' exclaimed George expressing a level of disdain for the place which hardly seemed justified. 'What the hell's he going to do down there?'

'Write fiction?' suggested Sarah. 'He is an author after all.'

'Well,' said Frederick, turning even further in an attempt to look directly at Sarah, 'I've read some of his stuff, and I can tell you....' He hesitated.

'What can you tell us?' prompted George.

'I can tell you that it's not for kids,' continued Frederick.

'What do you mean, 'it's not for kids'?' asked Emily. 'You mean it's......'

'Pornographic is the word,' said George, glancing over at Sarah. 'Exceedingly pornographic. It's full of the most lurid descriptions of people engaging in the most perverted sex acts I've ever read. It's Frank Harris plus Casanova plus John Cleland all rolled into one.'

'John Cleland?' queried Emily. 'Who he?'

'He wrote Fanny Hill,' said George, 'while he was in a debtor's prison, apparently. It's a little masterpiece in its way. Have you read it?' he asked, turning towards Sarah, but Sarah did not feel inclined to answer. There was a short silence.

'What?' she asked finally, realising that everyone was waiting for her to reply.

'Fanny Hill,' repeated George. 'Have you read Fanny Hill?'

'No,' she said, looking over at George defensively. There was something about the insinuation that she read pornography that she did not like, no matter how well written it might be. As far as Lancaster's stories were concerned, she had read just one, the story of a young girl who had been tricked by an older lover, and sold into slavery. The story was indeed full of the most lurid sex scenes as the girl was subjected to ever more humiliating treatment, but then, she reasoned, it was only fiction, and Lancaster was a free spirit, a superior man, somebody exceptional. You could not expect him to fit neatly into your mother's idea of middle-class propriety, and, besides, if there was money in writing such stuff, which there apparently was, then why not?

'You don't know what you're missing,' said Frederick, 'it's one of the most poetic pieces of pornography I've ever read. Not a rude word to be found. Everything is handled by metaphor and simile.' Sarah looked at him, wondering briefly what other pornography he had read.

'Yes, handled is the right word,' said George. He then declaimed in a theatrical voice: ''he penetrated the red-centered cleft of flesh, whose lips vermillioning inwards, expressed a small ruby line in sweet miniature'.'

''Vermillioning'?' queried Emily. 'Is that a word?'

'I don't think it would be allowed in Scrabble,' said Frederick. ''Vermilion' isn't a verb.'

'Oh, I don't know,' countered George. 'There are a few people I wouldn't mind vermillioning.' Was it pertinent that he was looking at Sarah as he said this? She obviously thought so, and moved uncomfortably in her seat. Emily laughed.

'Me too,' she said gaily. Frederick also laughed, then stretched out his hand, and put it on Emily's bare arm. Finding that she made no objection, he decided to drop his hand onto her knee. She responded by relaxing her position. He curled his thumb around her kneecap, and squeezed. 'Shall we stop here for a bite?' she asked suddenly, as Frederick took the opportunity to slide his hand up under her skirt. 'It's almost mid-day,' she added, turning to glance behind her.

'Look,' said Frederick, leaning forward in his seat, and pointing towards a clump of trees on the edge of a wood. 'There's a place over there. You can pull over under those trees. That's it. Just up there, in the shade.' She did as he directed, bumping the car onto the verge, while his hand, taking full advantage of the licence he had been given and the motion of the car as it bumped over the rough ground, slid up further between her legs. She did nothing to protest. On the contrary, it seemed to be something that she had been expecting. She brought the car to a halt, stretched her arms above her head, arched her back, and spread her legs slightly.

'What an ideal spot,' said George, referring to the surrounding countryside.

'Yes,' agreed Emily, clearly responding more to the powerful sensations emanating from her sex as Frederick's fingers tried clumsily to find their way under the elastic of her panties, 'ideal.'

She glanced at Frederick, exchanged a smile, pulled up the handbrake and announced: 'Everybody out!' She then leaned over towards Frederick. 'As for you,' she continued, curling her right hand around his neck and pulling, so that his mouth came within reach of hers. 'Don't take too many liberties, or I might just leave you on the side of the road.' She did, however, place one brief kiss on his lips, but then, refusing his attempts to go further, pushed open the driver's door, and slid from her seat. She went round to the back of the car, and pulled open the tail-gate.

'I hope you remembered to pack everything,' she said as Sarah came towards her, pulling her skirt down for the umpteenth time.

'Well, I think so,' said Sarah, a little disconcerted by Emily's tone, in which she detected a certain authoritarian menace. No doubt it came from the fact that her father was an important banker, as she had been quick to point out as soon as they had been introduced. She was clearly used to and enjoyed ordering people around. But, whatever Sarah might think about her tone of voice now, the room she had offered her for the week was very nice, and the house, set on the side of a hill with a spectacular view of the valley below and a large swimming pool, was superb. Perhaps it wasn't too much for her to expect a few personal services in return, though, for Sarah, this did not include sharing a bed with her, as she had pointed out when Emily had tried to get in beside her at three o'clock in the morning on her first night in the house. In fact, it had been difficult to convince Emily that accepting an invitation to stay in her house did not involve agreeing to become her fuck toy. But she could not deny that Emily's attentions had left her sexually aroused. She had been unable to sleep on the second night until she had masturbated to orgasm.

'You can lay the table,' said Emily, addressing George and Frederick who were standing idly by. 'Everything's in here,' she continued, indicating the back of the vehicle. She turned to bend over and pull out a blanket. It was, of course, the perfect opportunity for the two men to look up her skirt, and they duly obliged. 'Come and take hold of this,' she said. Frederick came forward, and took the blanket from her, while George lifted out the picnic basket, and they then moved off a little to a shady place between two trees, where they began to set out the picnic, just out of sight of the road.

'Did you notice?' asked Emily.

'What?' asked Sarah.

'Frederick. He's got an erection,' announced Emily.

'Oh,' said Sarah, glancing over at the young man. 'Really?'

'I'm going to have to fuck him,' announced Emily.

'What?' asked Sarah.

'I think he's a virgin,' Emily explained further. 'I've wanted to fuck him ever since he turned up this morning. You don't mind, do you?' Sarah clearly looked perplexed. 'I mean, you don't want him yourself, do you?'

'No, no,' said Sarah. 'Not at all.'

'So, what about George?' asked Emily.

'George?' queried Sarah.

'Do you want to?' persisted Emily.

'Want to what?' asked Sarah.

'Fuck him,' said Emily, becoming a little impatient with what she saw as Sarah's feigned innocence.

'No,' said Sarah, somewhat shocked by the sudden, pornographic turn of the conversation.

'Pity,' said Emily. 'You would make a nice couple. I'd like to see you together, you with your blonde hair and innocent face, and him with his rugged good looks.' So saying, she lifted her hand to caress Sarah's hair. 'Opposites attract, you know,' she continued. 'The saint and the sinner, the rough and the smooth, hard and soft...'

Sarah pulled away. 'I don't know what you're suggesting....' she began.

'Yes you do,' said Emily, looking directly at her, and enjoying Sarah's moment of embarrassment. 'But just in case you don't, I mean I'd like to watch the two of you fucking.' She seemed amused by the expression on Sarah's face. 'What's wrong with that?' she continued. 'Two beautiful people doing what comes natural. And I can tell you: in case you're interested, he's hung like a stallion,' she confided. 'And the way he's been looking at you....' she continued.'The way he's been looking at you, you wouldn't have to ask him twice,' she concluded, then, almost as an afterthought, she brought her hand up between Sarah's legs, underneath her skirt. Sarah brushed the hand away, then glanced over at the two men. George, who was facing towards them, had clearly noticed the gesture. Frederick, sensing something was going on behind his back, turned to look. They watched as Emily brought her hand up, and patted Sarah's cheek. 'Don't let it wait too long,' she advised.

With this, she left Sarah standing by the car, looking back just once as she made her way over to the two men. After a brief moment of conversation with them, she went off in the direction of the woods with Frederick.

Sarah was left wondering. Could such an intimate transaction be concluded so easily and so quickly? Were they really going to fuck in the woods, then return and have lunch as though nothing had happened? And, what's more, were they expecting her to do the same with George?

Her sex was still responding to Emily's brief caress. Somehow it acted as the thread into her sexual desires, pulling out her forbidden emotions from their hiding places. She found the idea of being used like that, as a sexual object, irresistibly appealing. Emily, like Arthur, seemed to know exactly what to do and when to do it for maximum effect, pulling Sarah's sexual response from the depths of her being. In fact, there was something in Emily's approach to sex that she found remarkably similar to that of Arthur Lancaster. She had the same sort of pushy, masculine quality, and a lack of concern for the feelings and opinions of others that enabled her to do and say things that other people shied away from.

She glanced over at George, and found herself debating which one of the three she would prefer to fuck, George, Emily, or Frederick, and she realised that, of the three, it was Emily who attracted her most. Politeness was not in her repertoire, and, though Sarah was reluctant to admit it, she liked to be taken, as Arthur had taken her, without asking, as though she had no will of her own.

What's more, the idea of having a woman as a lover had always carried a certain forbidden frisson with it, and she often fantasised on the theme while masturbating, though, apart from a couple of schoolfriend intimacies and a teacher who had introduced her to the relationship between pain and sex, she had little experience. She tried to block this memory from resurfacing, but she could not. She remembered the pain that sadistic woman had inflicted. It only served to inflame her desires further.

She glanced over at George again, who had stretched out on the blanket, and was now supporting his head on his hand, looking back over towards her. The words 'hung like a stallion' continued to echo in her head.

'Come on over,' he shouted. 'Don't be frightened. Nobody's going to eat you.' Something in the ambiguity of the words clearly amused him, and she was not so uninformed as to not realise that the word 'eat' could have multiple connotations. She could not stop her imagination taking up the idea of letting herself be 'eaten' by George while they waited for the other two to return.

Not a car had passed since they had pulled up, but now, hearing the noise of an engine at high revs, she turned to see an old, battered Citroen van coming towards her at speed. The driver began to blow his horn. Sarah, who was standing on the road, stepped back onto the verge. George quickly got to his feet, and came towards her. The van passed, its horn still blaring, and disappeared around the next bend.

'Bloody French,' said George. 'Are you alright?'

'Yes,' said Sarah. 'Did you see? The driver. He only had one eye.'

'That might explain a lot,' said George. 'The way he was driving...' He left the sentence unfinished. He was clearly wondering whether it was the moment to put his arm around her, pull her towards him, and take the first kiss from her lips, when she turned and went over towards the blanket. He followed.

'Do you think he lives around here?' she asked, settling onto her knees in front of the dishes and plates that the two men had spread out for their meal.

'Who?' asked George, taking a position close to her.

'The driver,' she replied. 'He was such an animal,' she added after a moment, remembering his low forehead, dark hair, heavy build, and dark complexion. And the way he had looked at her. It made her shiver.

'I suppose so,' said George, allowing his eyes to wander over her body, evidently wondering what it was like underneath her loose blouse, and what she would do if he actually tried to pull it apart and take a look. 'He probably works at the chateau,' he said.

'The chateau?' she queried.

'Yes,' confirmed George. 'Over there. The chateau of Fontenay.' He stretched out his arm to point towards a distant building, almost hidden by the surrounding trees, a building with white walls, two round towers and a grey, slate roof. At first she could not believe her eyes. It was like something from a fairy tale. Such things didn't actually exist, did they? She looked at George, then back at the chateau.

'Wow!' she exclaimed. 'Is that for real?' He looked again, as though to check that it had not disappeared, clearly wondering a little at her reaction.

'They're not so uncommon here,' he said. 'Chateaux and maniac drivers,' he continued. 'It's what the French do best.' She looked at him. There was something tiresome in his pedantic insistence on the superiority of the English.

'I want to go there,' she said.

'Where?' he asked.

'To the chateau,' she said. He looked again at the building.

'I'm not sure that it's open to the general public,' he said. She turned to look at him.

'I'm not the general public,' she said.

It was true, he thought, there was something out of the ordinary about her, not just the fact that she was good looking, almost too good looking, in fact. And, somehow, her good looks aroused in him the desire to ruffle her feathers, find out what was really beneath that perfect exterior. He realised that he was wasting time. He glanced round to see if Emily and Frederick were returning. He could easily push her back, bring his hand up under her skirt, between her legs, take hold of her sex....