Domination Inc. (11 page)

For a moment he said nothing. The car door opened, almost too quietly for Cindy to hear it, and then she felt a hand on her bottom, work-calloused fingers tentatively touching her naked flesh. She sensed that, for all the man's bluster, he was unsure of himself and how to proceed in this erotically-charged situation. Cindy made his task easier by moving under his touch, thrusting her pelvis back towards him. She was finding the humiliating position he had placed her in so arousing that she wanted him to touch her pussy and discover how wet she was.

His hands were moving with more assurance now; he cupped her buttocks in his hands, spreading them apart to give him a better view of her puckered little anus. She'd told him she loved to be fucked there; it had been no lie, and she wondered if he would dare to breach the tight, forbidden hole.

Cindy's sex was pulsing with need, and when she felt his thumbs running down the crack between her cheeks, she could not prevent herself from whimpering. ‘Please,' she whispered, wanting his touch to go lower, into the molten wetness of her cunt.

‘Your boyfriend's right, you are a slut,' the cabbie commented. ‘No respectable woman would be begging some stranger to touch her up in the back of his car.'

‘I'm sorry,' Cindy replied, using the contrite tone she knew was guaranteed to turn the man on further. ‘I know it's a bad thing to do, but I can't help it.'

‘Oh, you'll be able to help it all right by the time I've finished with you.' The cabbie's voice was thick with lust. She heard him fumbling with his belt, and wondered if he was going to keep his promise to use it on her backside. That would be a pretty present to give Sheena Thorn, she thought, turning up at the party with red stripes already marking her bottom...

The sound of his zip coming down brought her back to reality.

‘Look at me, slut,' the cabbie ordered, and she turned her head to see him looming over her, his jeans and boxer shorts round his knees and his cock clasped firmly in his right hand. She moaned as she saw it; what must have been eight inches of blood-engorged flesh, the foreskin already pulled back to reveal the fat shiny head.

‘Stroke it,' he said, and she complied eagerly, reaching behind her to fondle the veined length. As she played with it the cabbie eased her G-string down off her hips. She wriggled her bottom to help him in his task, and he pulled the little garment down further till it was around her ankles. Obediently, she kicked it off her left foot, leaving it dangling around her right ankle like some erotic pennant.

At last the cabbie's hand settled in her slit, parting her inner lips and stretching them open. Cindy needed no encouragement to guide the head of his cock to her entrance. She braced herself for the moment of entry, crying out as she felt the swollen glans nudging into her. The man had a firm hold of her hips, and she relaxed back against him as he gradually fed his shaft into her moist channel. He stretched her as the imaginary wooden dildo had stretched her in her fantasy, and by the time she was solidly impaled on his cock, she was as full as she could ever remember having been.

His breath was warm on her neck as he began to thrust, and one hand came up to free a nipple from the confines of her rubber top and roll it between finger and thumb. When he gave the stiff little bud a hard pinch, Cindy squealed, caught between pain and pleasure. He was fucking her with surprising finesse. Unlike a lot of the well-endowed men she'd been with, he realised that just possessing a big cock wasn't enough – he had to know how to use it, too. And using it he was, Cindy thought blissfully, as the gyration of his hips and the pressure of her own finger on her clit forced her into a swift orgasm which had barely faded before a second, more powerful one rocked her slight body.

The cabbie kept on pumping into her, his breath growing increasingly hoarse and ragged and his movements speeding up as he approached his own climax. He cried out suddenly and gave one last, powerful jerk of his hips, slamming even deeper into her as his semen jetted against the neck of her womb. He held her for a long moment, his stubbled cheek pressed against hers in a surprisingly affectionate gesture, and then he withdrew. Taking a tissue from a box on the rear windowsill, he wiped the traces of their lovemaking from his cock, then pulled out another and wiped it delicately over Cindy's saturated sex.

He shrugged as she settled herself into a sitting position on the seat and pulled her G-string back into place. ‘Just ‘cos you drive a cab for a living, doesn't mean you can't have a bit of class, darling,' he told her.

She opened the door and slid her feet out onto the pavement. ‘Thanks for the ride,' she said, grinning.

‘I thought that was my line,' the cabbie replied, and drove off in the direction of his next fare.

 

The foyer of
The Cage
still bore the plush damson drapes and carpets that had once marked it as the gateway to a picture palace. However, no film which had ever flickered across the screen in the small auditorium could have possessed the visual impact of the women who already thronged the building, in their fantastic creations of latex and PVC, leather and lace. Cindy's eyes scanned the crowd, searching for Sheena Thorn. She was more than half-convinced that the editor had set her up to be fucked by the taxi driver; the woman had been so precise about making the arrangements for this evening, even ringing the agency the day before to double-check that Cindy had been given the correct instructions regarding her outfit and the preparations she needed to make, that Cindy could not believe she would neglect as fundamental a detail as a cab fare. Not that she hadn't enjoyed what the cabbie had done to her, she thought, acknowledging the slight soreness in her pussy where his thick cock had stretched her delicate flesh, but Cindy was sure it had all been arranged for a purpose.

‘Ah, you must be Cindy.' She spun round on hearing a soft Scottish voice behind her, to be confronted by a tall woman with hair dyed a vivid burgundy and a voluptuous figure squeezed into a high-necked dress of the softest black leather. So this was the famous Sheena Thorn.

‘Hi, Sheena,' Cindy replied, feeling unaccountably nervous.

‘You're a little late, Cindy.' There was the merest hint of reproach in Sheena's voice. ‘Did you have a problem finding us?'

‘Well, the taxi driver didn't have any record of the fare being paid in advance, so we... we took a while sorting that out.'

‘Come down to the playroom with me,' Sheena said. ‘We can talk about it there.'

The playroom was a box-like, low-ceilinged room that ran beneath the main auditorium. When this had been a functioning cinema, it had housed the huge Wurlitzer organ which would rise up in front of the screen between the B-picture and the main feature. Cindy had read somewhere that the instrument had been sold to a collector in Colorado or Utah. Its absence suited her fine; the cabbie had already provided her with the only massive organ she would need this evening.

The room had been painted a monotone black, as befitted a dungeon, and it had been kitted out with a variety of customised pieces of equipment. There was a wooden pillory, a couple of whipping stools of varying heights and a free-standing frame which housed a St Andrew's cross to which a willing victim could be tied spread-eagled. Cindy had become familiar with all these toys during her previous visits to
The Cage
, and she knew that before much longer she would be fastened to one for Sheena's benefit.

There was another woman in the room, Cindy realised, as her eyes became accustomed to the dim lighting. She was a little above average height, with long tousled dark hair and an olive complexion.

‘I'd like you to meet my art editor, Consuela,' Sheena said.

If Cindy's outfit was on the daring side, Consuela's was positively indecent. She wore a sheer bodystocking of fine mesh, and a leather corset belt that was fastened in front with four large buckles. Crosses of black gaffer tape covered Consuela's nipples, but she wore no panties, and the thick, jet-black bush of hair that covered her mound was clearly visible through the bodystocking.

‘I am pleased to meet you,' Consuela said, with a heavy Spanish accent. She held out a hand for Cindy to shake, but when Cindy went to exchange the pleasantry she found herself being thrown through the air, to land in a heap on the playroom floor.

‘I must stop her from doing that,' Sheena told Cindy. ‘She's not only a talented designer and a very beautiful woman, but she's an expert in judo as well.'

‘Thanks for warning me,' Cindy said, rubbing her backside.

‘So we tie her up now?' Consuela asked, a wicked smile on her face.

‘You're very eager tonight,' Sheena chided her. ‘Don't we have time for a few social niceties? After all, we've got a birthday to celebrate, and I do like to unwrap my presents before I play with them...'

Sheena helped Cindy to her feet, and pressed her lips to the bottle-blonde's in a deep, lingering kiss. Her mouth was soft, so different in feel from a man's, and Cindy tasted cigarettes and red wine as she returned the kiss. Consuela, despite her apparent impatience to see Cindy tied up and thrashed, could not resist joining in the embrace, her hands roaming over Cindy's gentle curves and the fuller contours of Sheena's body, before moving down to unfasten the waspie Cindy was wearing, and to roll the stockings down her legs.

It was Sheena's finger, however, that finally snaked down under the edge of Cindy's rubber G-string, seeking the soft warmth of her vagina.

‘You're incredibly wet,' Sheena murmured. ‘You must really want this, Cindy.'

She removed her probing finger and put it to her lips, wanting to taste Cindy's juices. An expression of surprise crossed her face as she licked it clean. Instantly, she pulled away from the three-way clinch.

‘You've been with a man!' she exclaimed.

‘W-well—' Cindy stammered. ‘I told you, the cab hadn't been paid for, so I had to give the driver something to cover the fare.'

‘So you used your body,' Sheena sneered. ‘It's not the most imaginative solution, is it, Cindy? You knew tonight was all about the pleasures that only a woman can bestow on another, and yet you choose to – to defile yourself with a man's spunk.'

‘I'd hardly say I'd been defiled,' Cindy replied, her quim muscles clutching involuntarily as she thought how the blond taxi driver had thrust so pleasurably into her. More than ever, she was sure that Sheena Thorn had intended this to happen. Even though the immediate traces of their lovemaking had been wiped away by the cabbie, the remnants of his spunk were bound to leak from her. It was all the excuse Sheena needed to administer a good beating.

‘What you have to say isn't important any more,' Sheena told her. ‘Consuela, help me, will you?'

The Spanish girl required no second bidding. She aided Sheena in dragging a struggling Cindy over to the St Andrew's cross and pressing her firmly against it, her front flush against the smooth dark wood, while Sheena strapped Cindy's wrists and ankles to the frame. The whole movement was effected within seconds, leaving Cindy securely bound and helpless. As a final touch, Consuela unclipped the fastening of Cindy's bra top, leaving the little garment to dangle uselessly from Cindy's shoulders.

With the back of her body completely naked, apart from the thin rubber strip of the G-string, she knew she presented a tempting target. She had no idea what Sheena intended to use to punish her, until the woman came to stand before her. The cross had been designed to leave the victim's face visible, and Cindy was also aware that a semi-circle had been cut out from the bottom of the X, squarely at crotch level. Her mind was still reeling with the implications of that refinement as she realised what implement Sheena was brandishing. It was a cat o'nine tails, the thin leather thongs about a foot long and shiny from use.

‘I did think about gagging you,' Sheena said, ‘but I want to hear you beg for mercy.'

She disappeared out of Cindy's line of sight. The next thing Cindy knew was the impact as the cat cut into her flesh, points of fire scattering across the surface of her buttocks. She shrieked, knowing her cry would be inaudible to anyone outside the room. Above them, dance music continued to play at high volume, muted to a rhythmic thud by the thickness of the playroom's ceiling.

The cat fell again and again, Sheena wielding it expertly. After half a dozen strokes Cindy felt as though her whole bottom was ablaze and she was, as Sheena had predicted, begging for her punishment to stop. Her pleas were futile, however: the next stroke fell hard across the tops of Cindy's widely-spread thighs, and she jerked in her bonds, her eyes smarting with tears.

‘Consuela, I think you may need to take Cindy's mind off things,' Sheena suggested.

‘
Claro
.' With that word signalling her assent, Consuela dropped to her knees before the St Andrew's cross. Now the reason for the cutaway section of wood became clear; it gave the Spanish girl unrestricted access to Cindy's shaven sex. She pushed the gusset of Cindy's G-string to one side and pressed her lips to Cindy's labia. Her tongue snaked out, laving the length of Cindy's juicy furrow. Cindy moaned as Consuela began to lick her in earnest, the point of her tongue flicking at Cindy's clitoris.