Thrill Seeker (22 page)

The ground crunched to our right. And again. Footsteps approaching.

Liam pushed at my head, shoving me off him. I turned to the sound, then screamed. My vision was filled with the white flash of a torch. The cops. We’d been rumbled.

‘Please,’ said a man’s voice from several yards away, ‘don’t stop on my account.’

I squinted at the dazzle of the torch, shielding my eyes and panting in shock. No, the cops didn’t say stuff like that.

‘I’m enjoying the show,’ said the man. ‘Just wanted a better look.’ His footsteps crunched closer. ‘Go on, keep sucking. I want to see him come all over your face.’

I moved to stand while Liam battled to tuck away his fast-shrinking boner.

‘I said don’t get up,’ the voice warned, taking another step closer. ‘Don’t stop. Keep sucking that dick and I won’t turn you in to the authorities.’

‘Who the Hell are you?’ Liam asked softly.

The voice flashed the light at Liam’s face. I could make out a stocky figure in army boots and a bulky jacket. ‘Security,’ he replied. ‘And yourself?’

Still on my knees, I drew long quivering breaths, searching for my voice. I placed a hand on Liam’s thigh, wanting to remind him we were in this together.

‘Come on, mate,’ said Liam. ‘Give it a rest. We were just mucking about. No harm done.’

‘You broke into private property,’ said the man, ‘then you gave me a hard-on. So that’s two problems that need fixing. I’ll overlook the first if we can sort out the second.’

I found my voice. ‘You are not touching me.’

Liam placed a protective hand on my shoulder.

‘No intention of touching you.’ The voice dropped the
torchlight back to my face. ‘But I don’t usually see something this interesting when I’m doing my rounds. So if you could just wrap your lips round that dick and keep at it till the money shot, I’ll forget this ever happened.’

‘Hey, listen,’ said Liam. ‘This is bang out of order, mate. We only –’

‘No, you listen to me, kid.’ The voice was distinctly nasty now. ‘Do what I fucking tell you. Stick your dick in her mouth, fuck it till she chokes then shoot your load over her face.’

Liam’s body tensed. I pressed harder against his thigh, clutched his hip with my other hand. ‘Liam. Don’t. It’s OK.’

‘It is not fucking OK,’ said Liam through clenched teeth.

Liam’s no fighter but I could imagine him making an angry lunge at the guy to protect me, and my honour. This arrogant little thug probably wouldn’t hesitate to knock Liam’s teeth out. We needed to tread carefully to avoid violence.

I glanced around on the dark, messy ground by my knees. The crowbar lay at an angle, inches out of reach. Liam had the torch in his pocket. If only we had a couple of minutes together we could probably co-ordinate an escape plan. Without that we were divided, uncertain, and while we both wanted out, we had different priorities to consider. More than anything, I didn’t want to see Liam and the thug in a fist fight because Liam was bound to come off worse.

Violence horrifies me. I feared our adversary wouldn’t punch a man once or twice and leave it there. He’d keep going. I could picture it already, Liam curled up on the ground being booted in the guts, the back, the head, his sweet, serene face turning to a pulp. Oh God, what to do? I was terrified Liam might attempt something foolish.

‘Liam,’ I said. ‘It’s no big deal. Let’s just do what he wants and leave.’

‘No way.’

‘Listen to your girl,’ said the man. ‘Go on. The little slut’s begging for it.’

Liam lunged forward to attack. I slammed his hips against the wall. ‘Liam,’ I hissed. ‘Don’t be the fucking hero.’ I dropped my voice further. ‘Play along. I’ve got a plan.’

After a few moments, Liam’s body relaxed. He looked down at me, frowning and doubtful. His copper curls gleamed in the beam of the torch, eerie shadows fluttering on his face as our thug examined us. Liam had every right to look doubtful. I didn’t have a plan. Or at least not one he’d approve of.

I rubbed my palm against his half-open flies. ‘Trust me,’ I said, gazing up at him.

The thug took a heavy step closer, lowering the aim of his torch to a less intrusive angle.

Liam looked down at me, brows knitted. ‘If you’re trying to get me hard,’ he said quietly, ‘you’ve got a serious amount of work to do.’

‘Please, Liam,’ I said. ‘For me. Just relax. Go with it. Forget who’s watching.’

‘Not possible,’ muttered Liam but when I searched past his zipper, he twitched under my fingers, already lengthening in his underwear. I rubbed and fondled, not wanting to release him until he was fully hard. My hand was shaking with nerves, and I had to press and pummel to keep the quivers at bay. When Liam’s cock was straining against the jersey cotton, I freed him. His shaft sprang out, bold and bouncy. He cursed himself under his breath. I licked around
his end and he made a noise closer to one I would make, an anguished moan of wanting and rejecting.

In the corner of my eye, I saw our observer readjust his crotch. ‘That’s the way, kids,’ he said. ‘Glad you appreciate the favour. A cocksucking demo for your freedom.’ His footsteps crunched closer.

I edged my mouth down Liam’s length, knowing he wasn’t likely to come because he rarely does from BJs. My mind was blank. All I could do was keep sucking, playing for time in the hope an answer would present itself or something would put a stop to this. But I didn’t like those encroaching footsteps. I hadn’t anticipated that.

‘’Cause, you know, it’s not a lot to ask, is it?’ the man continued. ‘Especially when she’s already on her knees. And is clearly a greedy, cocksucking cumslut.’

Liam groaned, a sound that shocked me. I fought the impulse to jump up and thump the thug. I knew he was trying to antagonise us for kicks. But oh, that noise! Liam had groaned as if he couldn’t help but take pleasure from the man’s nasty, pornographic vocabulary. It wasn’t a noise intended to communicate as groans sometimes are. It wasn’t encouragement or affirmation. It was a noise of someone giving in, despite himself. I imagined Liam was already wishing he could suck the groan back.

Glancing sideways, I saw our man casually rub his groin. I hated him and I imagined Liam would do likewise if he didn’t have my lips wrapped around his cock. Scary how your standards can slip when you’re lost to lust. But I wasn’t lost, not by a long shot. I was doing my damndest to think on my feet. Well, on my knees, to be precise. But I had no thoughts to act on, nothing that would help us. My mind was blocked by terror.

Then to my horror, I heard and saw the security guard unzip. I cupped Liam’s balls, pulling harder and faster with my lips, wanting this to be over before our observer got carried away with ideas of joining in.

‘Ah, yes.’ Shamelessly, the man gripped his erection and began jerking off. He seemed as lost as Liam. No, much further gone. Too excited. ‘A double load of come on her face,’ he said, panting. ‘How about that?’ He shuffled quickly closer, hand pumping faster. ‘Show me your tits, sweetheart. Come on. Look what I’ve got for you. Another dick. Look at me.’

Panic squeezed tighter, my heart banging behind my ribs. I kept sucking Liam, fighting my instinct to react. Think, think, think. Come on, Nats. Find a way out. Think!

‘I said look at me,’ the man repeated, his tone laced with threat. ‘And show me those fucking tits.’

Another footstep.

I withdrew from Liam and looked at the thug, glancing up from his cock to his face, an idea rapidly forming. In the dimness, I could make out a heavy-browed man with short, bristly hair, his mouth slack, his eyes locked on me. He appeared caught up in his own pleasure, fascinated by the scenario, watching us as if this were XTube, not life. I stole the advantage and began groaning heavily, rubbing my tits through my clothes while gasping in the direction of the guy’s cock. Liam grabbed his own cock but kept his hand motionless. He would, I hoped, sharpen up, recognise my act as porny insincerity and brace himself for action.

To my relief, the thug seemed to believe in me. ‘That’s right. Come and get it,’ he taunted, waggling his erection.

I groaned, lurching for him as if desperate for cock. I faked a clumsy tumble, dropped forward, swept my hand
across the ground. When my fingers found the crowbar, I grabbed. Swinging with all my might, I brought the bar smashing onto the side of the guy’s knee. He yelped, legs buckling. Quick as a flash, Liam landed a swift right hook across his jaw, fist meeting face with a clean hard crack. The guy’s big, black boot came hurtling towards my shoulder, light glinting on his toecap. Still on the ground, I reeled then swung the crowbar at his leg, once, twice. I tried to stand, felt a rough hand in my armpit, heaving me to my feet. I rammed the crowbar upwards as I stood, not knowing where it would land. Our thug roared in pain and doubled over, clutching his groin. Lucky strike.

Liam stooped to grab the guy’s fallen torch.

‘Leg it!’ he said.

But I was already ahead of him, hurtling towards the corrugated gate, vowing never to return to the derelict theatre again.

I first met Baxter Logan online. Not at FancyFree. On another site whose name I can no longer recall. As with Den, he had an articulate profile write-up but no accompanying photograph. He described himself as having a hardwired dominant streak and a high-pressure job. He was separated from his wife and currently not looking for anything more than friendship and sex.

I had no photograph on my profile either. I was new to internet dating and still shy about revealing myself. And since the site was explicitly for kinky people, I was even more reluctant to be recognised. As part of my new policy of directing my sexuality, I’d stated I was interested in exploring my submissive side then had sat back, nervous and excited, unsure where this might lead.

After getting over the guilt of enjoying spanking at the hands – or rather the ruler – of my piano tutor, Alistair Fitch, I’d realised the craving to taste submission wasn’t going away. I’d kept a lid on it during my time with Jim in Dullsville, sticking to secret fantasies and later to occasional explorations of kink online. To my surprise, during these explorations, I’d discovered there was more to BDSM than the image regularly projected of whip-wielding women in PVC catsuits and men wearing strange straps on their chest. Of course, people into fetishwear are part of the subculture but I soon realised the community, if you could even call it that, also included plenty of other people who declare themselves ‘non-scene’. So when I started kinky dating online, I’d followed their example and defined myself similarly.

I spent a few weeks fending off the wrong sort, then, just as I was despairing of the whole enterprise, Baxter Logan got in touch, sending a down-to-earth, warm, amusing memo with a link to a photograph. I clicked his link and bam! Lust at first sight. I stared at this blokeishly handsome man with unruly dark hair, heavy cheekbones and skew-whiff tie, and he stared right back, his gaze so direct I felt he could see behind my eyes.

It’s fascinating how sometimes a single photo can capture someone’s personality so effectively. My immediate impression was of a tender tough guy; a man passionate, warm and, most attractive of all, dangerously ungovernable. And though his unsmiling expression appeared full of mean intent, the laughter lines radiating from his eyes suggested this was a man who knew how to enjoy himself.

When I’d first met him, under the clock in the train station at Saltbourne, I said, ‘What do you want to do?’ Meaning, shall we go for a drink, a walk, some food? He grinned and in
that sexy-as-Hell, Scottish accent, quietly said, ‘I want to fuck the lights out of you.’

Half an hour later, he was doing precisely that. I swear, no one had ever fucked me that way until Baxter. He took me over, forcing me to take it however he damn well wanted, ramming his cock high and hard, slapping my face, arse and tits, and sprinkling the session with verbal humiliation that tripped so naturally from his tongue. Without any kinky kit or formalised domming, he made me come time and again, making me feel gorgeously sluttish and base for doing so. I welcomed the erotic charge of shame. I adored his enthusiasm, his wild nastiness and all the victories he claimed from my suffering.

Less than two hours after meeting him, I was reduced to a deliriously blank and broken creature. Next to me in bed was this magnificent, exhausted, grateful champion. He held me lightly as I sobbed, told me it was all OK, just let yourself go, I’m here for you, hen, I’m here, and fuck me, that was fucking amazing, you’re a beautiful wee lass, you know that?

After a while, I resurfaced, sniffing and smiling, Baxter’s chest hair wet with my tears. I felt cleansed and exhilarated, my entire body buzzing with some crazy chemicals I’d never experienced before. While I hadn’t anticipated the high I’d get from this new kind of sex, Baxter was everything I’d hoped him to be, and more. Oh, so much more. Already, our relationship felt precarious, as if our connection was potentially too profound to be confined within the limits of friendship and kink.

I’m going to get hurt, I thought. And I was right, although I’d expected the hurt to come from me wanting more and him skedaddling when he got wind of that. But we fell in love, both of us equally scared and astonished at the speed
with which it happened. Before long, we were a couple, albeit a rather odd one because we had different lifestyles and interests, and he had such an erratic, hectic work pattern that we never quite settled into a routine. Or at least, he used to claim his random unavailability was due to his job. He met my friends a few times, and I once met some old friends of his at a party we attended in London. We spent practically all our time at my place. I went to his only once. He lived in a suburban house he allegedly loathed because it contained too much of his wife’s stuff. The area was poorly served by public transport and since I don’t have a car, it wasn’t easy for me to travel to his place.

I later learned that the time I’d slept at the marital home was when his wife was away on business. Baxter had gone to great lengths to hide many of her belongings, stack removal boxes in corners, and generally create an impression he was still living uncomfortably with his ex-wife’s possessions since she was determined not to fully leave until their divorce settlement was finalised.