a good and deserved fucking......!

This 'story is related to an earlier blog: Ms C sucks a strangers cock - published nov.29 - might be useful to read that one first.)

Ms C writes once a week. Most of the time she has little to say: her mother continues to ‘hang on’, she misses the scent of the sea, her libido is increasingly demanding on her time and energies… and imagination.

“I leave the house, cunt-wet, each morning. I reek of arousal as I fetch my morning papers. The least thought, or unexpected friction, can set me off at times so that I have to pause often as I walk to gather myself before I proceed. Once, in the supermarket I almost gushed, almost spilled my wetness onto the floor. And what almost sent me over was nothing more than some image in my head that I could not control. There are so many such images these days.”

Sometimes she tells me a little something about those images. But she is aware that she often repeats herself and so abstains most of the time.

This week, however, her letter was a little more… substantial. Her experience with the drunken stranger in the train station had been something of a formative experience for Ms C. In diminishing hope she still frequented the station late at night, but no opportunity to repeat the event had yet presented itself. As she sat on the cold bench she would often see the same stranger as he alighted the last train – though always sober now, and seemingly completely oblivious to her presence. He barely glanced in her direction as he passed, and this despite the fact that she had once gagged on his cock and filled her mouth with his cum.

More often than not two other men would alight from the same train. All three men wore similarly well-cut dark suits and polished black shoes. She speculated that they were probably bankers of some sort, or corporate lawyers perhaps. The youngest of the three men, she wrote, had lately begun to take some notice of her. He would smile lightly as he passed, and offer her a nod on occasion. She noted that his eyes often lingered along the line of her legs, particularly since she had taken to wearing heels, and to hitching up the hem of her pretty new skirt. Of the three he was the one who seemed aware of her sexuality, and her availability – though perhaps not of her darker longings. Had he been alone she believed that he might well have approached her.

Each time as she waited for the last train, and sitting in a pool of her own arousal, she said a little prayer that the younger man might be alone for once. In that hope she would hitch her skirt a little higher… unbutton her blouse a little more. One night, she promised herself, it would happen.

“I don’t know exactly what I expect to happen, but in my head it is something… delicious and… degrading. I sit with the memory of that strangers cock in my mouth and I would almost cum just to hear the train approach the station.”

The paper she wrote on was invariably scented with the juices of her cunt.

“I don’t know precisely when the idea occurred to me. Perhaps I had thought of it all along, but was too afraid to admit it. After all he had been too drunk to be aware of me even as I took the tip of his fat cock between by lips. Hardly stirred as I took him all the way to back of my throat. And what if the roles had been reversed? What might he have done to me?”

It took Ms C some time to arrange herself to her satisfaction on that cold bench. She carefully splayed her long legs revealing her stocking tops. Just as carefully she arranged her lace blouse so that her breasts were exposed as they were cupped in her scarlet balconette bra – another recent purchase. She had practiced the slackening of her mouth and neck in the mirror until she had perfected the look of deep inebriation. Though she did not drink often, and did not want to any of her senses numbed by alcohol, she had swilled her mouth with brandy ‘perfumed’ her neck with the same, so that the smell of it was unmistakable.

All that done, she waited (not patiently) for the train. Through near closed eyes she watched the men as they left the train and made their almost jaunty way along the platform towards her. Not daring to open her eyes in case she destroyed the illusion of stupor she had no way to tell if they had registered her presence.

“It was a desperate moment,” Ms C wrote.

She said that the sound of their footsteps receding had almost reduced her to tears, or it was fury at her own frustrations.

“I had resolved to leave the station, and never to return, when I felt his hand on my shoulder, and the heat of his breath on my cheek. He shook me gently and asked me if I needed any help? I slackened my limbs and forced myself to steady my breath.”

Through her near closed eyelids she recognised that it was the younger man who was shaking her. She was glad that it was him, if only because it seemed to confirm her suspicion that he, at least, was interested in her as a woman.

“She’s completely out of it,” she heard the young man say.
A shiver she could barely suppress passed between her hips.

“I knew then that more than one of them had lingered. Perhaps the older man, I thought. It was too much to hope that ‘he’ would have returned too. All three of them, and me… helpless. Too much to hope… I thought in that moment.”

“Leave her,” said another voice, almost stern.

“We can’t just leave her,” said a third. “Anything could happen to her. At least close her legs.”

“Why?” demanded the younger man. “I think it suits her.”

She felt his hands firm on her knees, and pressing her legs further apart.

“Don’t you think it suits her?”

“Anything could happen to her if you leave her like that,” said the other, sounding almost breathless.

“Anything…!” said the older of the three.

There was a brief hiatus. Nothing was said but she was sure that looks were exchange. There would have been doubt in their eyes, and perhaps even fear. When the younger man spoke again it was clear that a pact had been agreed… if not a strategy.

“Her knickers are soaked,” said the young man in something approaching wonder.
“Pissed herself?”

“No… not piss.”

“Fuck!” said one of the others, and felt his fingers on the wetted silk, sinking almost into the wild heat of her.

“It was all I could do not to gasp,” wrote Ms C, her hand shaking by the measure of her penmanship.

“It was all I could do not to press myself onto those fingers and to take them inside me, even through the silk. But I was still afraid that if they knew I was awake they might run. So I was stiller than I have ever been, and let those fingers fold my knickers to one side.”

“Dirty fucking slut!” said the older of the three.

“That’s a gorgeous cunt,” said the younger, slipping his fingers between her swollen lips and tracing the pulse of her clit.

Another hand, rougher pulled away the cups of her bra and stroked at her long and rigid nipples.

“Oh…!”

She heard her own moan, which rose out of her without warning.

“Is she waking?” whispered the older man.

“I’ll stop her from making too much noise,” said the third man.

She knew him instantly from the bulb of his cock as he thrust it into her mouth. It was too much to resist and she began to suck on it, even press her head forward to take him all the more. At that precise moment another mouth, almost hungrier than her own locked itself to her breast and she felt his tongue wind around the stem of her nipple, and the slight pinch of his teeth as he bit on her. But it was the cock (his cock) sliding over the quiver of her tongue and all the way to back of her throat (again) that aroused her most. More even than the fingers now forcing their way into her cunt – though that was nice too, she remembered thinking.

“Fuck she’s tight!” said the younger man.

“Then I’ll fuck her first,” said the man with his cock in her mouth.

“Why you first?”

“Don’t worry boy… you’ll get your turn. Besides… you’ll love the way she sucks.”

They turned her then, on the bench. All those hands arranging her onto her knees so that her ribs rested on the back of the bench and her arse – stripped now was available for whoever wanted it. And it was him… first. The fat bulb of him teasing between the lips of her cunt and a little way inside while the young man forced his cock into her mouth. She could taste herself where he had handled his shaft after his fingers had been inside her. It was not so large as the other, but was thick and slightly curved and quite delicious she thought, taking it even a little way down her throat.

“She fucking loves this,” he said as he fucked her mouth – and she did.

Behind her, ‘he’ pressed the cheeks of her arse apart so that he could thrust himself deeper into her. Unable to stop herself she came, and when he thrust still more, she came again, in little waves that just kept rising and would not break. And there was a sudden and hot rush of cum over her tongue and smoothing down her throat even as she convulsed.

She had wanted her ‘drunken playmate’ to cum inside her at the same time, but instead he withdrew and she felt the hot thickness of his semen as it unloaded between the cheeks of her arse and over her anus. And the weight of his fingers as he used his own cum as a lubricant to slip inside the slackening knot of her arsehole.

A second finger slipped inside and it ached, almost burned as he stretched her.

“Too tight for me,” he said, obviously disappointed.

“I believe that it was the older man who fucked my arse then. If he was smaller than the others then it was still almost too much. The girth of it was a ‘painful delight’… that is the only way that I can describe it. And the younger man, I knew it was him, hooked almost his whole fist into my cunt as the other pressed, almost forced himself into that tightening passage. And the other, hard again and still dripping cum put himself back into my mouth. And I was floating then on an ecstasy of cock and fist and there was no pretense then that I was unconscious, or even drowsy as I took them all inside me at once….”

Ms C wrote that thinking of it later she wondered if it might have been some dream of hers. She admitted that she had many like it, and woken wet from most of them.

“But the aches are too real for that. And the cum stains on my stocking, and on my skirt, and on my blouse, and my coat, and my shoes, more than confirm that it was real… while it lasted. Thank god! But I have to go now as I hear my mother calling for her ‘good girl’…! If only she knew….”

Ms C enclose a photograph of her slightly raw looking anus. Some might have thought this a little too much, but I rather appreciated the thought.

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