The Initiation Of Anne-Marie free porn video

The Initiation of Anne-Marie By Rosemary Flowers "It must have been the amphetamines" I mused as I observed my image in the mirror. Why else would I have submitted to this crazy and possibly dangerous challenge? The vision that stared back at me in those unfamiliar clothes was not reassuring. In long blonde wig, absurdly short floral summer dress, high heels and black stockings I was the image most transvestites would die for; but unfortunately the current fashion for girls of my age was for sportswear. I was not exactly dressed to merge into the crowd. Nor did the cherry-red lip-gloss dark blue eye shadow or heavily rouged cheeks help. "I can't go through with this", I exclaimed. "It's too late now for second thoughts. There are too many people involved," said Paul. "Those black bombers will carry you through. Prepare for the roller coaster ride of your life. You're going to experience more in the next twelve hours than most people do in a lifetime." With that, he opened the front door and propelled me out into the daylight. The latch clicked shut behind me, leaving me alone on the pavement. Suppressing my rising tide of panic, I stepped out into the street. As Paul bolted the door behind me I knew there was no going back: he had allowed me to take nothing whatsoever with me. No handbag, no money, not even a front door key. And as for these ridiculous high heels, I'd never worn anything like them before. Walking was not going to be easy. My heart seemed to hammer against my chest and I felt an overwhelming mixture of anticipation and dread, coupled with a profound sense of exhilaration. The latter was doubtless brought on by the drugs, which, I realised, were beginning to take effect. Thankfully the street was almost deserted. Though I regularly go out dressed as a woman, I had only ever done it before under cover of darkness. I had always dressed inconspicuously and avoided crowded or well-lit areas. However my anxiety stemmed less from my undoubted self-consciousness and more from terror at what the coming hours would hold, coupled with the certain knowledge that events now had a momentum of their own which I was unable to control. As I rounded the corner at the end of the street I remembered the building site. I'd have to walk straight past it. The chance of those over-sexed lads failing to spot me seemed remote. Sure enough, the click-clack of my shoes elicited a cacophony of catcalls and wolf-whistles. Primly I kept looking ahead of me and walked briskly past, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief that they seemed to have taken me at face value. Distracted by these thoughts I almost failed to spot the car. "This must be it", I thought. A big, ancient red Ford with blacked-out windows, it was parked opposite me on the far side of the road, with the engine running. It was exactly as Paul had described it, but I couldn't help but worry that it might not actually be the right car. His instructions had been extremely vague as to where and when I would spot it. On the matter of what I was to do when I saw it they were, however, quite explicit. Yet what I had to do went against every notion of common sense. After all, the first thing you learn, as a child is never to get into a car with strangers. Yet here was a car I couldn't even see into, which might not even be the right car. Heart in mouth, I crossed the road, walked up to the back door as instructed, and got in. Next to me in the back seat was a man of about 40. Tall, balding and muscular in appearance he wore black jeans and a check shirt. With his tattooed hands, gold chain and oppressive aftershave he had the demeanour of an out of work nightclub bouncer. For some reason I took an instant dislike to him. He looked me up and down coolly but with evident arousal. "Put those shackles on your ankles" he ordered, pointing to the floor. Sure enough, there were two metal restraints attached to the floor. I bent forward and clamped one round my left ankle. To reach the other I had to spread my feet wide apart. The shackle locked shut with a click. As I sat upright my dress rode up revealing my stocking-tops to the driver's intent gaze. Primly I tugged at my hem, at once reflecting on the absurdity of this gesture. From his pocket he pulled out a pair of handcuffs and passed them to me. Trembling, I clamped them shut over my wrists. "Hook them up there" he demanded, pointing to a metal clasp attached to the car's roof. Putting my hands behind my head I leant back and pulled the chain of the handcuffs through the clasp, which snapped shut. I noticed with dismay that my stocking tops were again showing. I had never before experienced being tied up. Sitting here with this man ogling me malevolently, with legs apart, and hands locked above and behind my head I felt an overwhelming sense of vulnerability. Reaching again into his pocket he took out a long band of black satin, a length of ribbon and a transparent plastic bag that he carefully unfolded on his lap. He couldn't take his eyes off my legs, and was beginning to sweat profusely. He was evidently in a state of extreme arousal. Taking the satin strip, he reached across and firmly tied it round my head as a blindfold. "From now on you say nothing to anybody. Look nobody in the eye and do exactly as you're told. If some guy wants a good time you give it to `im. They've paid for this, and they're going to expect to get it. I've got a special punishment for you if you don't do as you're told, and there's nothing I'd like more than to give it to you. Do I make myself clear?" "Yes" I gasped. This man was clearly a sadist and I was beginning to guess the nature of his favourite punishment. "Wrong answer. You say nothing, remember," he said with evident glee. I heard a rustling sound and felt him pull the plastic bag over my head. "Keep absolutely quiet and I'll not leave it on too long," he said. I took a huge lung full of air before he tied it tightly round my neck. As I breathed out I could feel the bag inflate; for the moment it contained enough air to breathe. I heard the sound of a zip, and the rhythmic motions beside me told me he was masturbating. Within moments I was gasping for breath panting the hot humid air. Bound hand and foot I couldn't move, and I dared not make a sound. And all the while this loathsome man was sitting beside me enjoying every moment. I struggled hopelessly against my bonds. "Do you want me to take it off?" I nodded helplessly. "Perhaps I will. Soon." The more I writhed the more out of breath I became. As panic set in the plastic started clinging to my face making breathing impossible. The pace of his wanking increased until he let out a groan. A moment later, just as I thought I would pass out he removed the bag. I heard him return to the driver's seat. As the car started moving he said "You'll do as you're told now, will you?" I nodded mutely, still gasping for breath. "You're about to meet Geoff. He likes them quiet, obedient and passionate," he said with an ominous leer. Still tightly bound and in the pitch darkness of my blindfold I had little to do but to reflect on the three extraordinary weeks that had culminated in this lunatic adventure; or dare, or gamble, or initiation or whatever this day was to turn out to be. It had all begun with one of my evening walks. I had waited until it was almost dark, and set off for the local park. Entering the park, I started out on my usual route, walking slowly and feeling the familiar sense of excitement at being outdoors dressed in my thin cotton frock. As I passed the lake a gang of teenage lads on roller-skates hurtled past, wheels hissing on the tarmac path. In the half-light I could see ducks cruising silently on the lake. Above my head the trees rustled in the summer breeze. Somewhere far away an owl hooted. Suddenly I spotted him. A brawny looking man in his mid 30's, with close-cropped hair, he was sitting on a park bench ahead of me. He was staring straight at me. Apart from turning round, I had no choice but to walk straight past him and hope he'd ignore me. As I approached something in his gaze made me realise that he knew exactly what I was, and that ignoring me was the last thing on his mind. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, with each step taking an eternity. As he looked me up and down I was overcome with self-consciousness. The brush of my hair on my shoulders, the light touch of the hem of my dress against my knees, the tip-tap of my shoes on tarmac seemed amplified until they filled my entire being. My heart thumped and the blood rushed to my cheeks. At once I knew the meaning of the phrase "to undress someone with your eyes". As I passed his seat, he got up and started to walk beside me. At well over six feet tall he towered over me, making me feel slender and insubstantial. To my horror he put his arm over my shoulders, saying, "I've been watching you take this walk every night for the last week. I decided that the time had come for us to meet. I'm Paul. And you are?" "Anne-Marie", I stuttered. "It's OK, love, I know exactly what you are. But for me, right now, you're a beautiful woman, and you're coming home with me for a long chat." His hand held my shoulders gently but firmly, and I felt I had little choice but to comply. This was not the outcome I had expected or wanted. The whole issue of my sexuality was something I had stopped thinking about some years ago. At school I had had one or two awkward and fumbling dallies with girls, but it had never been other than a wholly unsatisfactory experience on both sides. Once an older boy had taken me behind the bushes and tried to grope me, but I had pulled myself free and made my escape. Since then I had put the whole issue on hold. However the close presence of this large and muscular man made me feel a strange sense of arousal. Walking briskly he propelled me out of the park and into his flat, which was only a short distance from my own home. We talked until late at night, until eventually I declared that I must get home. As he walked me home I felt a strong sense of relief that he had made no attempt to seduce me. Yet I felt powerfully attracted to him, or perhaps to the sense of danger that this relationship represented. Stopping at my front door, he put his arms round me, looking deep into my eyes. Bending down he put his lips to mine. I opened my mouth, feeling his tongue playing with mine. The heady scent of his aftershave seemed to envelop me and, as we clung together my body seemed to merge into his. And then in a moment he was gone. So began a series of encounters with Paul. Each night I would dress up in a different outfit and go to his flat. He had, at the outset, made it clear that he never wanted to see me dressed in men's clothes. Each night we would talk for hours, and then he would walk me home. The conversations were extraordinary, probing aspects of love and sex that I'd never discussed before. Yet our physical relationship never seemed to move beyond kisses and cuddles. As time went on, and I learnt more about Paul, this began to puzzle me more and more. In every other area of life Paul was a man of action. He had once been in the army and still kept extremely fit. He was a keen sportsman, and rode a large and powerful motorbike. He had travelled the world and had apparently had a bewildering array of sexual relationships with both men and women. Yet as time went on it became clear that his greatest love was sexual fantasy and mind-games. Sitting shackled and blindfold in this car, in the company of a total stranger as we careered towards an unknown destination, I was beginning to realise just how fond of mind games he was. After a few minutes the car pulled briefly to a halt, and someone, doubtless Geoff, got in and sat beside me. Wordlessly he started stroking my legs. His hands wandered all over my body. He stroked my hair, caressed my waist, and played with my breasts. I felt impossibly defenceless, blindfold, bound hand and foot and being fondled by a total stranger. Yet somehow this man seemed gentle and almost reassuring, perhaps by comparison with the odious driver. The car soon stopped. Removing my bonds (but not my blindfold) Geoff led me by the hand out of the car, across the pavement, and into a house. The house smelt clean and fresh, and I could feel I was standing on a deep pile carpet. For a moment he left me standing helpless. Then the music started. Pop music, from the early `60's. In a moment he was back. Putting his arms round me, we started to dance. Geoff was evidently an expert dancer. Whirling crazily for the fast numbers I felt utterly disorientated by the effects of the drugs and the blindfold, yet utterly dependent on this silent stranger, who always caught my waist just as I felt certain I was careering out of control. At that moment I knew that this was his fantasy, something he'd dreamed of for years, and something for which he'd doubtless paid dearly. Obscurely I felt extreme tenderness for this gentle stranger. Suddenly the pace of the music slowed, and he held me tightly to him. His hands wandered all over my body, and I began to feel extremely aroused. I began to stroke his hair and gently drew his face towards my upturned head. At once he started to kiss me, his tongue exploring my mouth and his hands pulling my hips against his. One of his hands pushed my skirt up and he started to play with my stocking tops. I put a hand on his firm buttocks and held him close to me, luxuriating in the feeling of his erect cock pushing against me as we danced on, still kissing with wild, abandoned passion. Wordlessly he made me kneel on the floor. I knew what was about to happen and wanted it more than anything in the world. Perhaps this was my real initiation into girlhood. Unzipping his fly he put his erect cock into my mouth and I let my tongue play around it. All the while the music played on, his hands fondled my breasts and stroked my hair. He started to move rhythmically pushing against the back of my throat. Suddenly his hands gripped my shoulders hard and he came, shooting hot spunk down my throat. For a moment we stayed in that position, immobile. Then he took my hand and gently led me out of the house. He kissed me gently on the cheek before disappearing back inside. A rough pair of hands grabbed me round the waist and I knew from the smell of the aftershave that this was the driver. Pushing me into the front seat he got in beside me and set off. "Enjoy that, did you darling?" he said with a sneer. Without thinking I nodded mutely. "That's only the beginning", he said with evident glee. For the final time the car stopped. The journey must have lasted at least half an hour, and the amphetamines were, if anything, getting stronger. This was doing nothing for my mental composure; my fear and arousal were becoming ever more intense. The driver, who hadn't said a word since his final enigmatic remark, removed my blindfold, and I started to take in our surroundings. We were parked in the car park of a tower block in what was evidently a rough area of the city. As I looked out of the car a pack of stray dogs careered past. Children played in the street and the pavement was littered with broken glass. Somewhere in the distance a column of smoke drifted lazily upward in the sunlight. The driver got out and gestured for me to follow. He walked towards the entrance of the tower block and I followed, feeling acutely self-conscious. A man with cement on his boots staggered drunkenly past us gazing at me with ill-concealed lust. My bulky companion glared at him threateningly. As we reached the block he opened the door to the flats with a key saying "Take the lift to the tenth floor and go to flat 102. Good luck." He winked at me slyly before walking back to his car. I pressed the button for the lift and waited. Fortunately I was alone, yet my fear mounted as I wondered what awaited me at the flat. In the distance the lift motor whirred. Stepping into the lift I was momentarily overcome by the smell of urine. The lift walls were covered in graffiti. On the floor of the lift a man lay, apparently asleep and almost certainly drunk. I pressed the button for the tenth floor and, as the doors closed I saw that my companion had awoken. From his vantage point on the floor he stared straight up my dress. His right hand reached for the front of his trousers and he started to rub. He leered at me with a sweaty and threatening gaze. I backed away as far as possible in the confined space. It seemed an age before the lift stopped and I stepped out, to see flat 102 directly ahead of me. Knocking timidly on the door I noticed that it was actually ajar. My erstwhile fellow traveller in the lift was staggering to his feet and moving towards me. I desperately wanted to escape this loathsome creature, so I pushed the door open and locked it behind me. The atmosphere inside the flat was almost as threatening as that in the lift. It looked like a squat used by winos or junkies. The threadbare carpet was littered with cigarette buts, empty lager cans and old clothes and the place was pervaded with a smell of dank decay. I wasn't at all sure whether I was alone in here or whether I was supposed to come inside, but a glance through the spyhole in the front door showed me that my reason for entering was still outside. Timidly I cried "Hello", but there was no reply. I walked into the living room, which was similarly littered with cans and dirty plates. Wandering round the horrid flat I soon convinced myself I was alone, so I returned to the living room and sat down on the tattered sofa. It was only then that I noticed the poster. This large colour photograph showed a tall, willowy young transvestite. She was wearing a black PVC mini dress and a long, black, straight wig. Her makeup was dramatic: extremely pale, yet with dark eye shadow and glossy, almost violet lipstick. She was lying face down on a mattress surrounded by laughing, tattooed, leather-clad bikers. Between her teeth was a single red rose. Four of the bikers were holding her down spread-eagled. Another was raping her. Tears were streaming down her face. To my horror I recognised her surroundings: the very room I was in. At that moment I heard the sound of a key in the lock. My heart was pounding and the speed made me dizzy with anticipation, but the man who walked in somehow eased my nervousness. In his late twenties he had a rather effeminate appearance with longish blond hair, and wore a silk shirt with trousers that were a little too tight. His demeanour was that of a hairdresser or a manicurist, and was surely gay. He was carrying a small suitcase. Somehow he seemed to be the only part of my environment which was unthreatening. "Take off your clothes and your wig", he said. In moments I was totally naked in front of him. He examined my body closely, and muttered "Totally hairless. That's perfect. Now go to the toilet, it'll be your last chance for a while. And fit this, it'll stop your backside from hurting too much when the time comes." From the suitcase he produced a small dildo and a tube of KY Jelly. He also handed me a black corset, a full mini-slip made of clear plastic and a pair of black stockings. The corset was extremely tight. It incorporated silicone bust implants that looked and felt very realistic, and around my buttocks it held the dildo tightly in place. Ominously a zip ran from between my legs to the small of my back. The garment had evidently been made to measure and suddenly I recalled an evening with Paul when we had played at measuring each other. It was at this moment that I began to realise that every moment I had spent with Paul was simply a prelude to today. Perhaps I was naive, but it wasn't until this moment that the realisation struck me. This was no consensual sex game. It was a commercial transaction. Paul had carefully groomed me for this day and had sold me to an unknown number of men. I would never see him again. Fighting back the tears I pulled the plastic slip over my head and returned to my companion, feeling utterly foolish and ashamed. He coolly looked me up and down and bade me to sit down on a wooden chair, which I did despite the discomfort from the dildo. Then he started to apply makeup. He worked with skill and dexterity with the air of someone who does this every day. Finally he painted my fingernails a deep red, and doused me liberally in a strong, musky scent. It was clear that I was being prepared for something, and the insistent pressure of the dildo did nothing to reassure me about exactly what this was to be. After some time he stood back to inspect his efforts. Looking satisfied, he produced a black PVC dress from the suitcase. The dress had long sleeves and a high neckline trimmed in black lace. The bodice was tight and the skirt flared, its black lace trimmed hem being several inches above the knee. Finally he produced a pair of black high-heeled patent boots and a dark brown, almost black, wig. He carefully fitted the wig and combed the long, straight hair over my shoulders. He then wordlessly led me by the hand to the bedroom. The image that confronted me in the mirror made my heart miss a beat. The expertly applied makeup was pale, with very dark heavily applied eyeshadow and lipstick of a colour verging on violet. In the shiny tight fitting PVC dress and high heels the overall effect was of a young tarty Goth. To my horror I realised that I looked uncannily like the girl on the poster. As he packed his bag he gave me precise, yet disturbing, instructions as to what I must do next. Then he walked to the front door and departed. My instructions were at once simple and terrifying. I was to walk a mile or so down the road to a certain spot where the driver would pick me up and take me to my next assignment. The thought of going out dressed in this outrageous dress and makeup horrified me, yet I had no option but to continue. I was in a filthy flat in a strange town. I had no other clothes and no money. And the threat of the plastic bag was ever-present. As I opened the front door the image of the man in the lift returned to haunt me. Tottering uncertainly in my high heels I stepped out into the corridor. Sounds from the flats echoed against the concrete walls, a baby crying, a couple arguing fiercely. The lift seemed to take an eternity to arrive. Thankfully it was empty. As I stepped out into the street I noticed with relief that it was twilight. If only there weren't so many streetlights, and so many people milling around, I thought. With heart pounding I started to walk down the road. The combined effect of the ridiculous boots and the dildo made it impossible to walk quickly or confidently, and my startling appearance coupled with the excessively strong scent conspired to ensure that nobody could pass by without staring. For a moment I wondered why the car couldn't just have waited outside the flat. But of course the whole point was to unsettle and disturb me, to ensure that I complied with any demands that were made of me. A group of teenage girls gathered around me, jostling me and sneering. "Hey, what have we got here?" exclaimed one, "A tart or a queen"? "I reckon it's a queen," said another, grabbing my tits. I did my best to keep walking, hoping they'd tire of their sport. Ahead of me was the car; despite its repulsive driver it seemed like a haven of tranquillity. With overwhelming relief I stepped into the car. Pulling me roughly towards him, the driver blindfolded me carefully to avoid disturbing my makeup. As we set off I began to wonder exactly whose fantasy it was that I was enacting. On that speed-crazed night I had let slip to Paul that I enjoyed feelings of powerlessness and submissiveness, and to be sure I was being rewarded in abundance, indeed to excess. Yet people were being paid to manicure me up and drive me around, and I'd certainly said nothing about Gothic makeup or PVC. Another recollection troubled me in the light of the constant pressure from the dildo; Paul had questioned me at length to establish that I was a virgin. To whom was this so important? The fear that I'd been taken for a fool was fast becoming a certainty. The driver repeated my orders. A man, Malcolm, would approach me. I was to be utterly submissive to him, must ask him no questions, and must not look him in the eye. Above all I must give him a good time. We drove for some time in silence. At last the sounds of the city gave way to quiet. Soon the rumble of tyres on tarmac was replaced by the crunch of wheels on gravel. Stopping the car, the driver got out and opened my door. Taking my hand, he led me, still blindfold, out of the car and across the gravel. The night breeze was cool, and as we walked across the gravel the wind rustled the plastic of my dress. All around in the distance I could hear voices and the occasional bark of a dog, and I guessed that we were in a park of some kind. After a while the surface of the ground became soft and springy, and I could hear the sound of the wind in the branches of high trees. Somewhere far away an owl screeched, recalling the night of my first encounter with Paul. The insistent pressure of the dildo constantly reminded me of that disturbing photograph. Never in my life had I felt so vulnerable, so afraid. At last we stopped walking, and he removed my blindfold. He took from his pocket a triangle of black plastic, and carefully tied it as a head scarf over my head, knotting it under my chin, and pulling it well forward. "Looks like rain." he said, with an unpleasant laugh. By the light of the full moon I started to take in my surroundings. As I had guessed, we were in the middle of a large wood. Black clouds raced across the sky, from time to time plunging us into total darkness. Ahead of me I could make out the shape of an old iron railing, some five feet high, running through the wood. In many places it had fallen down from disrepair, but the short section in front of me stood vertical. The railing consisted of vertical bars topped by spikes running between two parallel rails, one just above ground level, and one near the top of the bars. "You must stand on the bottom rail of the fence, with your legs wide apart. Stretch your arms out wide along the top rail. Put your head there", he said, pointing out a place where one of the spikes had been sawn off. Doing as I was bid, he passed a shiny black patent leather belt round my waist and through the fence's vertical bars, securely strapping me to it. He then proceeded to tie my wrists, elbows, knees and ankles to the fence. He bound my neck to the top rail so that even my head was immobile, restrained by the rail under my chin and the steel spikes either side. "Bye, sweetheart. Have fun!" he sneered and disappeared into the night. I started to contemplate my situation. My bonds made me quite immobile. The head scarf rustled in the wind dulled my hearing; acting like a horse's blinkers it also severely restricted my vision. I could see, but only straight ahead of me, and in the darkness only dimly. The whole thing had been carefully designed to make me feel fearful and vulnerable. Coupled with the effects of the drugs it was quite extraordinarily successful. In the distance I could still hear the occasional sound of voices, and in the half-light I sometimes saw shadowy figures, but apart from that I was alone with the rushing of the wind in the trees and the fluttering of my dress and head scarf. Some while later I heard the sound of approaching voices. Two young men, clearly the worse for drink, were staggering through the wood. With heart racing, I froze, and thanked heaven that the moon was blotted out by cloud. For a moment I thought they were going to walk straight past, but a gust of wind caught my scarf with a sudden flapping. "What the hell was that?" said one. At that instant the clouds parted and the moon beamed down. The men were barely ten feet away, both with close-cropped hair, one in army camouflage kit, the other in jeans and trainers. "Hey, mate, what have we got `ere? Someone's left some bird tied to the fence." "Fuck me, Joe. That was careless of them. D'you think we should untie her?" By now Joe was right behind me, breathing whisky fumes into my face. "I'm not so sure it is a bird", he said, lifting up the hem of my dress. "What girl's going to go out dressed like this? I reckon it's a fucking queen". Joe's aggressive manner and the stink of his boozy breath made my flesh creep, but all the time my mind was racing to figure out a way of persuading them to leave me alone. But sheer terror had struck me dumb. Suddenly Joe put his hand up the front of my skirt, roughly grabbing the front of my corset. "It's a fucking fairy. Let's show `im what we think of queers." "Nah, he's not doing us any harm. Leave it, mate." With obvious reluctance, Joe staggered after his mate, who was already walking away. The last words I heard as they receded into the distance, were "Didn't half look like a bird, though." Just as my pulse was starting to return to normal I spotted a shadowy figure moving through the trees. Someone was approaching from directly in front of me. A tall, well-built guy, much older than I. Early fifties, I hazarded a guess. I was certain that this was Malcolm. At that moment, two things happened. It started to rain, with heavy drops tap-tapping on the plastic of my dress and scarf. And he pulled out a powerful torch, impaling me on its intense beam. "Perfect" he exclaimed, scanning the beam up and down my spread- eagled body. And then he was only inches from me, separated from me by the bars of the fence. Holding my plastic-covered head in both hands, he brought his lips down against mine. All the time averting my eyes from his, I opened my mouth and felt his tongue eagerly exploring, searching for mine, his stubble rough against my skin, rain trickling down my upturned face. Remembering Paul's instructions, I wondered how on earth I could give him a good time; for in my current state of restraint, my lips and tongue were just about the only parts of my body I could actually move. So I kissed as if my life depended on it, feeling a strange mixture of fear, revulsion and extreme excitement. Wordlessly he withdrew, and circled round the section of fencing. His hands were running all over me, now feeling the contours of my body through the wet plastic of my dress, then running up to the very tops of my stockings. He fondled my body like this for some time, without uttering a word, all the time my excitement and fear mounted. From time to time he would press his body against mine, and I could feel his intense state of arousal through my clothes. It was hard to be sure, amidst the sighing of the wind in the trees, but I began to feel a growing certainty that we were being watched. Somewhere behind me I felt sure I could hear stealthy movements amongst the trees. Then he withdrew, and I could hear him taking his clothes off, followed by sounds of surgical rubber. As he reached under my skirt, I realised he had put on surgical rubber gloves and a condom. "I'm not about to catch anything off you, you little slut!" he exclaimed, undoing the zip on my corset and removing the dildo. As it emerged I felt an exquisite sensation of relief, before, wordlessly he thrust himself inside me. Clutching me tightly he began thrusting harder and harder, and I felt my own excitement mount despite, or perhaps because of, the pain. Suddenly his body was convulsed in orgasm. For a few moments he remained inside me, motionless. Then he withdrew, dressed, and started to walk away. Almost as an afterthought, he stopped, pulled out his wallet, extracted a note, and stuffed it into the top of my stocking. Wordlessly he vanished into the night. Slowly my erection subsided. Still I felt certain that there was someone else nearby, and I listened intently. The only sounds I could hear were of wind and trees, and I started to convince myself that the prowler was just a product of my imagination. Perhaps I actually wanted there to be another man, I wondered with a sense of self-disgust. Somewhere far away two girls were chatting. From time to time their conversation dissolved into peals of joyous laughter. Somehow this made me feel terribly alone and vulnerable, and I ached for Paul to return. But of course I knew he wouldn't. I started to wonder how this was all going to end, and I started sobbing hot salty tears. At that moment I heard a movement behind me. There was no doubting it; someone was making his way rather unsteadily towards me. The smell of whisky engulfed me and to my horror I realised it was Joe. He was now alone. "Upset are you, darling?" he said with a nasty sneer. "Didn't you enjoy it? Or didn't he pay you enough?" Pulling up the hem of my dress he yanked the banknote from my stocking and examined it closely in the moonlight. "A lousy fiver, eh?" he snarled, pocketing it. "Please leave me alone." I sobbed, pathetically. "I ain't finished with you yet, fairy." Absurdly I found myself thinking of childhood adventure stories, where the heroine, bound, gagged and exposed to terrible danger would be rescued at the last instant by the brave hero. Yet my hero was in fact my Judas, and nothing could save me now from a severe beating. Then Joe did something that astonished me. Unzipping his fly he pulled out his erect cock and unrolled a condom onto it. Lifting my skirt and my plastic slip he thrust it into me. Clinging tightly to my hips he pushed his stubbly chin against my neck, inhaling my musky scent. The smell of his boozy breath repelled me yet once again I started to feel myself becoming aroused. He began to thrust rhythmically against me, but slowly, savouring the feeling. The thought ran through my mind that perhaps this is what I'm for, to be used like a girl by anyone who feels so inclined, maybe it's all I deserve, and the tears just kept running down my face. I could feel his hot cock pulsing inside me and I knew he was on the verge of orgasm. He came with several powerful thrusts, my body straining helplessly against its bonds. Then came the now familiar sense of relief and evacuation as he withdrew. Discarding the condom, he did up his fly and walked briskly away. In different circumstances it might have struck me that there was something very odd about Joe, but in my unhappiness and confusion I could only think about how this extraordinary and terrible evening was going to end. The rain, which until now had been fitful and light, became a steady downpour, and the occasional beams of moonlight were replaced with an unremitting and total darkness. My entire body was aching from being bound for so long, and I felt myself falling into a bottomless pit of despair. I reflected on the way all these men had used me without once trying to give me satisfaction. But what I wanted more than anything was for someone to rescue me. As the time passed, ever more slowly, I knew I had been abandoned. Far away the clouds were starting to break and low amongst the trees was the steel grey light of dawn.