The Power Between My Legs

This story happened because I read about a crazy Victorian who tunnelled under Liverpool, England and created amazing underground rooms during the late 19th Century. I was brought up there and thought back to my times in the late 60's when I had my first definitive view of a woman's cunt, thanks to Michelle, an out-and-out exhibitionist who showed her pussy off regularly as a young woman. Years later she recounted her tales of submission, but as I listened she held me captivated by her unwitting inner force. I realised that power had controlled her lovers and players. I've written this fictitious account from her perspective, using the language she used with me. It is about the power that was and is centred between her legs...

*

I'd always known that once my pussy hairs grew and my tits took shape, no male with any knowledge of female plumbing could resist a peek up my skirts. When I was 18 and in my last year of school I used to love sneaking into the toilets at the end of the day and stripping off my little white panties before heading for the bus. I was always soaking before I got them off. And no, I had not pissed myself. Golden showers were a pleasure I was to learn later. I digress.

Back to my tale. My gusset was always soaking from the thrill of knowing that in a short while men would be straining to see my pretty bush and my prominent sex lips. I loved the feeling of fear that someone might complain and the excitement that five or six people, sometimes as many as ten, would be within inches of my snatch and mesmerised by its slick wetness.

You see, what I used to do was catch an Atlantian one stop out of the depot at Liverpool. They were our new buses. The Corporation had spent millions on them and they were the latest in bus technology. I knew this because my dad used to tell me about his time bus spotting and how once these new charabancs came along that was the end of his hobby. There was no point. They were the finest buses, ever.

And I thought so too. The old Routemasters had steep stairs, which meant they were great for people to stare up the mini-skirts of the day, but it was too bloody cold to stand on them half way up with a bare cunt. Now the Atlantians had enclosed doors. I could stand in my favourite spot, above the heads of the 'boys' of the Upper Sixth and the men who crowded the alighting platform behind the driver.

I always put one foot on a step two above the other. I'd wait until George, the son of my butcher, sat on the bottom step. He always positioned himself there and no one ever jostled him out of the way. Mind you he was a big strong lad. I really liked him. He'd tip his head back and say something nice to me, his eyes unable to resist peeking under the grey pleats. I knew he was in heaven by the bulge that at first he had hidden on the earlier trips from school. Over time he became more emboldened and let me see the tent behind that satchel he strategically placed in his lap. My God! By the size of that tent his father had produced more than prize sausages. It had got me thinking, as I swayed with the rhythm of the bus, whether his dad would be worth a peek in the back of the shop. I wanted to see if he had a chipolata or a bratwurst. Whatever, I was always impressed by George's control. It must have been no mean feat to resist touching that monster and at the same time maintain a conversation with me as if he could not see my swollen clitty and sex.

Of course the others had begun to cluster around him along with, after about a month of trying this, three very swarthy but handsome men from the foundry. They were uncouth, unlike the posh young men from the private school. However, I could see through their dirty blue overalls that although more subtle in how they played the game of looking up my skirt, their cocks were huge too. I wondered at times if they had showered before they left the factory. My mind used to imagine a dirty, grit-covered cock forcing between my legs. I would be dripping just standing there thinking about it.

That particular day, which sits so well in my depraved little mind, I'd stripped off my knickers so fast I'd ripped them in my haste. Then I'd donned my mother's suspender belt and her best stockings. I knew she'd have grounded me for weeks if she had found out. She used to say you had to be over 21 and 'aware of the world' before you wore such man-enticing wear. She was right about the last bit, but I was damned if I was going to wait that long to entrap a man. And that day something more than unusual happened.

You see, I'd been teasing them all for so long that looking back I can recognise that it was inevitable. You can't send ten virile young men home every day with raging hard-ons. Like all men they need their relief but at the time I was so naïve. That was the paradox. At one level I knew precisely what I was doing to excite them, but having got them there I was essentially clueless except in knowing that pleasure was derived from putting the biggest possible thingies in my young hole. I knew that from when I put my fingers there. The more I put in the greater the pleasure I used to get. One day I'd got right up to my wrist! Nowadays I know that is called fisting. In those times I just thought if a baby can come out of it, then a hand can surely go up it. Then, it was very tight and I broke my hymen one very bloody but fulfilling night. I am now extremely practiced at relaxing to let huge cocks and other objects enter me. I love it!

Well, back to my story. My route used to take me past the park and my stop was at the end of the vast site and beside a thicket that had grown around the entrance to a subterranean banqueting hall. Yes, that may sound strange but some nutty eccentric had built under 19th century Liverpool a series of chambers and tunnels: including below a park a full dining and dancing hall. I knew about this because my father was with the surveying team that researched the Parks for historical records and had found it. This was the passion that had replaced the bus spotting. My father was obsessed with the history of this mad tunneller and I have to admit, so was I but for other reasons.

When I got off this particular day I had not noticed something. I was so wet and horny from my latest exhibitionist trip that I had missed the fact that not one of the them had got off at their usual stops. When I alighted, so did a pack of ten males, all aroused and all with dangerous weapons between their thighs who dashed off ahead of me. Oh yes those erect cocks were deadly in the wrong hands as I was soon to find out.

I walked across the park, swinging my hips self-consciously as I always did. I loved to feel the sway and know the reaction I would create in men and women who were behind me. Personally, my concentration was eventually distracted to my bare wet pussy lips that were deliciously rubbing against each other as I walked. I felt even more aroused this day, possibly aware in my sub-conscious of what could occur.

I was just passing the entrance to the subterranean hall - my father had taken me there at the weekend, so proud of the work he had done, which was close to completion. Out of the bushes sprung one of the swarthy foundry workers. I gasped as I saw he was without his shirt, the muscles rippling and shiny in the heat of the summer sun. Next to him was George, wearing the most wicked smile but looking so adorable. He had no shirt either.

"So slut, are we to get nothing but glimpses of your cunt?"

"I, I don't know what you mean," I said, panic sending a shiver down me, yet thrilled simultaneously

"Oh, come on whore!" said the swarthy man, whom later I got to know as Jack. "We've all seen your pussy and you know it. No one gets such a gushing cunny if they are not turned on by being watched."

Jack's language was beginning to turn me on. But how did I play this? I was barely legal and terribly naïve despite the games on the bus and things girls had shared at school. I began to drop my head, suddenly feeling I needed to be obedient for this man. No one had taught me, I just knew, and I liked being that way.

"Sorry, s-sir." I blurted out in a half whisper.

"Follow me!" he snapped and disappeared between a clump of Rhododendrons. I got my hair tangled in the undergrowth, letting out an all-too-loud scream. Neither of them took my hand to guide me, I was just allowed to get scratched and hack my way through.

I was taken down a long tunnel lit by an array of oil lamps. I discovered much later that they found this entrance thanks to George's uncle who was working with my dad on the survey. He had seen some shading on an aerial shot of the site. But for me at the time, I was swearing and cursing as my skirt got ripped and my blouse also torn. I had tears in my eyes and my legs were a mass of scratches too. Yet strangely, if I had listened properly to my body I'd have known I was ready to be humiliated and treated roughly by a man. And later, by a series of women too; though that is another tale for another time.

It was amazing! At the end of the tunnel was a huge ballroom. Its walls were lined with mirrors and the place was absolutely spotless if a little musty. The floor was a stained oak herringbone design and in the ceiling were chandeliers that gave an eerie glow of candlelight. It was quite dim in spite of the myriad of candles and slightly menacing but thrilling. Like nothing I'd ever seen before.

Nothing I'd ever seen was an understatement! As my eyes grew used to the subdued light I saw them. Ten strong males were standing, each in front of an old cane chair. Their cocks were rampant, erect and clearly only recently freed of clothes as they pulsed and bounced in the faintly stale air. I was immediately drawn to George. He was massive!

What was I to do? One half of my brain was seized in fear. Were they going to rape me? The other was filled with utter desire and lust for those heavy pieces of meat. Not one of them was tiny. Yes, Simon was a little shorter than the others but I could see it had such girth that it would be like my fist had been. I found myself parading up and down the line, staring, comparing, then lightly touching and caressing. And yet still the undercurrent of fear, making my skin shiver and my head race with the alarm bells my mother had planted in there. Yes, I was going to be made very aware of the world.

Jack stepped forward.

"Right, Seline isn't it?"

I was completely speechless.

"Answer me, slut!" he shouted.

I couldn't help it, I started to cry.

"Shut up you snivelling whore!"

I stopped immediately, totally obedient to his commands.

"Yes Sir, I'm Seline," I whispered in total deference to him. I'd called him 'sir' because I did not know how else to address him and not due to knowing the BDSM conventions.

And that is the moment I realised it. I was completely turned on by the subservience and reliance on Jack. I felt the trickle of juice down my thigh. A few words and I wanted him to totally control me. I was a bitch, a slut, a whore. Of course I was. I'd displayed my cunt openly to anyone who wanted to see. What more could I expect to be called?

"Follow me."

His voice was so authoritative. He was stark staring naked, his cock thick and long, slapping up against his belly as he walked. I kept my head down, instinctively obedient but also able to stare surreptitiously at the monster examples of young manhood. Now I was in deep. You see, for all my games and sex play I was a virgin. The only thing that had touched my vagina - and what a strange word I have always thought that was - was my fist and a few toys I'd fashioned from household objects, such as deodorant bottles and once a washing-up liquid bottle!

As I followed, so the group formed around me, following too. George came in to stand at my left and Frank at my right. They were leading me to the far end of the ballroom. All I could hear was my breathing and the clip-clop of my shoes on the wooden floor. My breasts, which were full and shapely, rose and fell in sharp breaths. My stomach was churning, fearful yet excited. My cunt? Well, that was on fire. It wanted something, something that it had never had before and I knew I was going to get it, here in this strange subterranean vault. Then I saw it in front of me.

It was an old school desk. Well, old style now though at the time so common. These were not like the modern ones with their separate table and chair. No, this had the seat joined to the desk by two rungs of iron. Bit like a sleigh I always thought.

"Stand in front of it," Jack said, again in that firm, authoritative voice. How could I refuse him?

"Take off your clothes."

"But..." Suddenly I was very afraid.

"Take off your clothes and give them to George."

Now the voice was silky, enticing. How could I refuse? But how could I go on too? There were ten rampant cocks behind me, no protection for me, and why this desk? OK, I would do it. I was shaking. But I was also wet as anything. The juice was running between my legs. The stockings would have to be washed or mum would smell my young musk all over them. A wicked thought came in a flash, to leave them like that and dare her to comment. In reality they were not repairable from all the cuts and scratches but my mind was playing a game. Then the prod came.

"Hurry up!" shouted one of the other factory workers. Ken was his name I came to learn. He was later to become a famous comedian, but for now he was just a man with a very hungry cock. When I turned, startled to look at him I could see the pre-cum (well, I know what it is now but I had no clue then) oozing form the tip.

So I did hurry. Off came the blouse, already ripped so a few more buttons made no difference, and down came the skirt in a trice. Ok, now I know that it was not very seductive but I was a young eighteen-year-old slut with no idea what I was up to other than that slit between my legs was hungry and needed as much feeding as their cocks needed a good plunge. However, for all that I heard the gasps. I knew I was pretty and I thought it was that. I was such an innocent! It was really my trim little bush framed by the suspender belt that was turning them on.

"Leave them on."

It was George now, pointing to the belt and stockings. Tights were rare then, which is why men of a certain age are so turned on by the expanse of thigh between hip and stocking top.

"Lose that bra," said another one of the boys. Oh, sweet Stuart. I got to know him too by name much later. He turned out to love cross-dressing. Amazingly manly but totally obsessed with women's clothing. I did more dressing up with him over the next few years than with my girlfriends, but that again is another tale for another time. I unhooked the front fasteners and let my globes spill out. I knew they were beautiful and loved this sensation as gravity took command. They bounced gently and stilled.

"And address us as 'Sirs' when you speak."

Now this order was very unusual to my young mind, even though I had automatically used it earlier. Here I was, still just a teenager, having to call others by such a formal name. I'd only done that for my teachers and visitors to my Mam's shop. I never found out who had had the idea of using domination, some of the cocks out there were only as old as me, but domme me they all did.

"Yes, er, Sirs, erm, Sir."

I was stammering and stuttering, being made to know my place. In reality I was revelling in it. My body just yearned for this type of attention. My real father had always been a disciplinarian and I had loved him to bits. My new one was a soft get with no backbone. I'd seen him sneak his looks under my skirt when I sat on the couch watching TV and I'd opened my legs to tease him, but he was too wet to do anything. Mum was the one in control even if she did appear to let him command her. For all her subservience to him, I knew she was in charge. I wanted to be like her.

And I knew that I was on my way now to be that way too. I was subservient at one level, but I was to find out years later the subbie has more power than they think. What I did not know at the time of this adventure was how to use it.

By now they had me naked, in only my suspenders and stockings and lying back against the cold oak of the desk. Jack produced some rope and I was hog-tied to the furniture with my pussy jutting out and on offer to whoever chose to have it. My back was arched and my arms tied by lengths of rope to the iron frame. My ankles had been tied too and were also attached to the frame. I reckoned that the men had modified the desk at the foundry, adding a set of loops in strategic places.

There was complete silence. All that could be heard was the sound of heavy breathing. The atmosphere was thick with lust. I could smell my cunt's sweet aroma wafting up and I knew, If I could detect it then these horny men would be intoxicated by it. I felt more juice dribble from me. I was soaking. My nipples hardened at the thought, knowing that I was so vulnerable but like a siren attracting ships onto the rocks. I was at the centre. Everything was commanded by my cunt now, no matter what fine authoritative words they used.

"Right, form a line and give this slut what she has been so desperately gagging for these last few months."

There was no ceremony about it. Jack was on me, his cock in me in a flash. His teeth pulled at my nipples. His throat gave little groans that grew and grew in loudness and frequency. My God he was big! I could see that in comparison with the others. I remember thinking he was like a very pink cucumber. Yes he was huge. So was George and I could see him behind in the line. Jack was pumping and pumping away, his breath rasping and he was so animal on my body. I've him to thank for my fetish for rough working types dominating me.

Then the others were complaining.

"Come on Jack, we're fucking horny here. Can't you come or something?"

Oh no, I didn't want him to come. I wanted him to go on and on in me. My cunt squeezed at his cock, loving the thickly veined shaft. He was filling me so well and I was having little orgasms one after the other. It was beautiful. My tits ached from his savage bites and sucks but I loved that too. I liked the cruelty of it and yet the pleasure I experienced as well. And as I looked around, I was blessed with the sight of so many young cocks, gleaming and proud. His hips bucked into me, his hard body pummelling my softness. And then he came with a thunderous roar and a groan. I felt the sudden heat in me, his cum splashing up inside and his teeth biting into my naked breast.

"Thank you slut," he whispered in my ear, giving it a lascivious lick as he pulled out of me. I could feel his cum dribble down my thigh. Yes, these stockings were going to be ruined but in the best possible way I'd thought.

Then George was on me. He grabbed my breasts, as if not sure what to do with them, pulling them, tweaking the hard nubs. His dick felt wonderful as it slid in on Jack's cum. He was such a massive boy, not fat but muscular and I could feel his hard body grinding against me. My thoughts were all about how I wanted him to really fuck me hard. Jack had been too gentle I realised for what I liked, for all his animal bites and scratches. No, George needed to be more like I was with myself, with my fist. The words just flew out of my mouth.

"Yes, fuck me sir. Hurt me with your hands and your cock. Be cruel, please. Please sir," I was pleading loudly and urgently. "Please sir come hard into me."

George looked startled at first but then he was on me. He was like one of his father's prize bulls. He stretched and pinched my tits, pulling them down to the sides as far as they would go, then grasping them and offering them to my own mouth. My, I'd never even thought of that but lapping his fingers with my teats trapped between them was heaven. He had found something new to do that was both cruel and exciting: the pleasure and the pain exquisite.