Written by pilgrim54

Fact
11 Aug 2010


DARKNESS.

‘Hello Darkness my old friend’ they sang.

Paul and Art.

It struck a special chord with her then, and she remembered wondering why.

A special, far-off time, when the world was simpler, and everything was in store.

She was happy, marriage was looming. She was wondering what it’d be like. Nothing much had happened to her, and she had the little tingle inside as considerations loomed.

Especially the sex.

Regular sex, with her lovely James. God, she loved him. Loved him then, loved him now.

The kids came along, all the love and pain, happiness and horror.

The darkness started to attract a few years later, when her needs began to evolve.

Special needs.

Wicked needs. She’d read articles in magazines, meant to shock, of women becoming urgent initiators of acts of seeming madness.

She’d discussed it with lovely James, after early nervousness. Amazingly, he was understanding, interested, aroused. Sex after their discussions was explosive, consuming, each riding their own sexual Mustang….

How lucky she was, to have him, with his understanding of her moods, his ready acceptance of her dictates, his own attraction to them.

The first few times, with the other men, were exciting, awkward, not particularly momentous, but showed the way ahead.

The dreams of becoming for a few short hours the Courtesan she yearned to be, the plaything, the user and the used, began to take shape.

Always the Darkness, the unknowing what would happen, the determination to allow it, to allow all…

And now this.

James had organised it, along with his new Best Friend, the one who seemed so complete, so laid back, so cool.

They’d been very busy, and the invitation to her, to join them for ‘a drink’ had been very specific. Time, place, clothing, all that pathetic male fantasy stuff….

7:30. Best Friends place, a classic bachelor’s pad, straight out of the ‘70’s…..the clothing;

‘We don’t care what on the outside, but you must wear stockings, heels, no knickers….

It was pathetic, on the surface, but she willingly complied, deliberately suspending logic and feminism….

James was quiet, nervous on the journey to the Place. Conversation, about everything but what was planned…she withdrew within, watching the tableau unfold, little messages preparing within her being…

Best Friend was affable, polite, chatty. She’d found him interesting, complex. The few times she and James had indulged with him had been good, with primal mutuality’s apparent.

He’d remained himself, with none of the eight year olds behaviour of some of the others.

She’d liked that. That and his respect, combined with urgency, with demand, with control always apparent.

The room was dim, the upstairs bed place dark. Best Friend led her up there before long, kissed her, taken off the outer garments, laid her on the bed; spread her willing limbs…..

Then something different.

The bindings appeared.

They’d talked about them, but never used them.

He quickly, expertly, attached them to her wrists and ankles, secured them to the bed.

Lovely! She liked this, liked to watch him become erect, knowing what would surely follow.

But then, like the noose swiftly applied, the silk scarf was around her head, her eyes, and the world disappeared.

He left; she heard the sound of his movements down the stairs, some whispers, the music ….

Silly buggers. Just fuck me. Just stick the cock in my cunt, in my mouth, rub it on my arse… that’s what I want, none of this inept theatre. It’s not as if they haven’t done it all to me before….the words in her mind jarred, reminding her of her expensive call girl fantasy….It all comes down to cocks in cunts, doesn’t it? From us, from them…We can dress it up as much as we like, but that’s what we want…

Jesus, do we want it!

She remembered the first contact with Best Friend, in the car park near the bayside pub.

They’d met ‘for drinks’. Afterwards, in the windy carpark, Jim disappearing for a little, she’d sat in the car with him…

No words, some light touches, some limb movement, an intense feeling of need…

He’d reached for her, held her close, kissed her softly, then urgently.

She’d responded, moving under his embrace, feeling his hardness against her thigh….lovely!

She’d found herself freeing him, opening the front of his jeans, watching his member rise before her….it had to be touched, felt, stroked, fondled, gently touched with her tongue…

They’d aroused each other outrageously, even when James came back, entered the front seat, eyes glittering with arousal…

The feeling of oneness, of comfort, of arousal and fulfilment, was overpowering.

Later, the sex with BF, James downstairs, upstairs, watching, tied up, was wonderful.

His cock had consumed her, ravished and dominated her spirit, taking all, giving all…

And now this….

The sound of the entrance door opening and closing intruded. Muted whispers, guttural sounds drifted upstairs….

Time passed unbearably, she moved against the cords, feeling a slight breeze on her splayed thighs…

A soft sound, footsteps on the wooden staircase….’Jim?’ ‘Mike?’….

The bed moved as something pressed on it, and a light touch of flesh to flesh shivered her soul…it couldn’t be could it? It couldn’t be…..

She’d spoken of this to James, many times; the tied up, mercilessly exposed scenario, the used, the user….

A mouth moved to her knee, up her thigh. On her shoulder another mouth. Moving to her arm, her breast, a firm fleshy protrusion pressed her thigh….

Jesus, how many are there?

‘James, what the fuck is happening?’

Nothing, just intakes of breath.

Intakes. At least three. Maybe more.

She was moving now, by herself, finding the contact with the hands, the mouths, the cocks…

Ahhhh, the cocks. The cocks.

Fuck, she loved cocks. And now they were ministering to her.

More and more, more and more, she could feel one probing at her cheek, she turned towards it, smelt it’s special tang, opened her mouth, devouring, possessing….

Another was between her legs now, touching the hair, the wet slit, the juice, the twat, the pussy, the oyster…

The Cunt. The Cunt. The Cunt.

She flexed slightly, distending the lips, inviting the invader….

It invaded. It took. It possessed. It demanded. It deployed its delivery systems to maximum effect…effect….effect…..

An age, an age of searing concentration on the primal duty, the servicing, the extracting, the receiving….

The fluid, the come, the semen, the juice, the spoof, the dirty water….coming coming coming….

She could feel the gushing into her womb, her cervix, her very soul……her guttural orgasm sounds dominated the room, moving all other to subsidiary roles….

Then it was gone. Just like that. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Silence, for an age. Then, the sounds again, the footsteps, the tongue, the hands, the cock.

Different.

Different feel, different smell…..

Same reaction from her control centres….

The fucking this time was more urgent, less considerate.

She played no part but the available receptacle.

She was.

Later, later, later…the blindfold removed, the cords released, the welcome faces of James and BF near her, loving and adoring, cheeky and satisfied……

‘Who were they?’ Her words were thin, whispered.

Smiles.

‘Let’s call them Bruce and Grahame…’

Ahhhhhh…….


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