Domination Inc. Page 8

  And tonight, Cindy was escorting the most demanding of mistresses. Sheena Thorn, the editor of Sappho magazine; the woman who had turned sadomasochistic lesbian erotica into an art form. She was holding a women-only party at The Cage, a regular fetish club that occupied what had once been a cinema in Stoke Newington, to celebrate Sappho’s fifth birthday, and Cindy was to be her paid-for partner for the night. Hence the outfit, and the hideously impractical shoes.

  Sheena had been incredibly specific about the clothes Cindy was to wear when she had made the booking with Domination Inc., and the whole effect had been to turn the little blonde into one of the submissive playthings from a Sappho centrespread. She looked every inch the willing slut, from the black roots of her peroxide hair, which Sheena had been most insistent she should not touch up for several days before the party, to the tips of her ankle-strap stilettos. Her make-up was whorishly heavy; thick black kohl circled her eyes, and her lips and cheeks were painted a vivid carmine. She was dressed in a black rubber bra top, cut so low that her pale pink nipples threatened to spill from its clinging restraint at any moment, and a matching waspie that cinched her trim waist, and to which sheer black stockings were clipped by wide suspenders. The little rubber G-string which covered her mound was so small she might as well not have been wearing it at all. The thong back snaked between her taut round buttocks, and the cotton gusset pouched her naked sex. Sheena liked her women shaved smooth, and Cindy was to be no exception.

  If she had been visiting The Cage as a paying customer, which she had been known to do on occasions, she would have thrown her old fawn mackintosh over the skimpy outfit and hopped on public transport. Tonight, Sheena had booked her a cab to take her to North London and bring her back home, but the trade-off for this was that Cindy was not allowed to wear a coat. As she opened the front door to the taxi driver, she was aware of his eyes roaming over her barely-clad body, lingering on the tops of her breasts and the expanse of uncovered flesh between the tops of her stockings and the bottom of her waspie.

  ‘Cab to Stoke Newington, right?’ the man said.

  Cindy nodded, and followed him slowly down the path. She gave grateful thanks that at least she was behind him; if the positions had been reversed, he would have had a wonderful view of her naked backside, thrown into jutting prominence by her high heels.

  As she settled herself on the back seat the cabbie asked conversationally, ‘So where are you off to?’

  ‘It’s a friend’s party,’ Cindy replied, as non-committally as she could, hoping he would not press her for details.

  ‘Shame I don’t have a few friends like yours,’ he said. ‘I like parties where you get to dress up for the occasion.’ She was aware of him glancing surreptitiously at her reflection in his rear-view mirror, and she studied him in return. He was, she guessed, about thirty, with streaky blond hair pushed back from his forehead in short wings. His eyes were small and blue beneath a heavy brow, and there was a light dusting of fair stubble on his chin. His plain white T-shirt was stretched tightly across a muscular chest, and his faded blue jeans drew attention to the bulge at his crotch. Good-looking enough if you liked them on the rough side, Cindy supposed, but not her type.

  He turned the dial on the stereo, filling the car with pumping techno music. ‘Would you mind turning that down, please?’ Cindy asked, aware that she would have to listen to the same monotonous beat for three or four hours in the club.

  The driver shrugged, and lowered the volume. For a while he kept silent, content to ogle Cindy in his mirror. She, in turn, was happy to sit wrapped up in her own thoughts, subliminally aware of the car’s fabric seat against her naked bottom, and the growing sense of anticipation in her lower body as she contemplated what was about to happen to her at The Cage.

  Eventually, the cabbie asked, ‘So, does your boyfriend mind you going out dressed like that?’

  It’s none of your business, Cindy wanted to tell him. The only man in her life who might have qualified as her boyfriend, Tom, would more than likely be sitting at home with his wife, a woman who wouldn’t even have known what a rubber waspie was, let alone how it felt to have the garment fitting snugly around your waist, the suspender straps stretching along your thighs. The cabbie was waiting eagerly for Cindy’s reply: noticing the gold wedding band that circled his ring finger, she decided to tease him a little. ‘He prefers it when I stay in and wear it,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sure he does,’ the cabbie murmured. ‘And… er… what exactly happens when you stay in and wear it?’ He aimed for a certain nonchalance in his tone, and missed.

  ‘Well, if you want to know the truth, he actually thinks that only a slut would dress up in rubber and high heels. And if I dress like a slut, then he treats me like one.’ Cindy closed her eyes and settled back on the seat, an impish smile forming on her lips as she mentally created a scenario that was guaranteed to turn the taxi driver on. ‘He’ll take me into the bedroom, and he’ll push me down onto the bed, on my hands and knees. Then he’ll get the silk rope he keeps in the bedside cabinet, and he’ll tie my wrists and ankles to the bedposts – not so tightly that it hurts me, but securely enough so, no matter how much I wriggle and squirm, I just won’t be able to free myself. There I am, my bottom sticking up in the air towards him, waiting for him to decide what to do with me.’

  ‘Does it take him long to decide?’ the cabbie asked. ‘I’d have thought it would have been obvious.’

  ‘It can do. You see, he’s got what he calls his box of tricks, and I never know what he’s going to take out of it. Sometimes it’s a feather, and he uses that to tickle every inch of my body – and I mean every inch. I’m incredibly ticklish, and I’ll plead and I’ll beg him not to tickle me, but he just keeps on and on and on. He’ll even use the feather on my clit. That’s the worst, because it drives me completely hysterical, until I don’t know if I’m going to wet myself, or come, or both.

  ‘He’s got a little bottle of oil in there, too,’ Cindy added, eyes open now so she could watch the cabbie’s reaction to her confession in his mirror. ‘When he gets the oil out and pours it over the crack of my bum, I know exactly what’s going to happen. He’ll spend ages smoothing it into my pussy and my other hole with his fingers until I’m absolutely wide open and dripping wet, and then he’ll take me in the arse. He’s got a nice sized cock for that, and he takes his time so he doesn’t hurt me, and then, just before he comes, he’ll pull out so he can shoot his load all over my bum cheeks.’ She smiled to herself at how the strait-laced Tom would react to the picture she was painting of their sex life. Though their lovemaking together was, he claimed, kinkier than that he enjoyed with his wife, he’d only ever tied her up on one occasion, and the thought of buggering her had probably never even entered his mind. However, it suited her needs to let the taxi driver think she was telling the gospel truth. From the flush that was creeping up the man’s cheeks, her tales were having the desired effect.

  ‘My absolute favourite thing, though, is this carved wooden dildo he’s got,’ she continued. ‘It’s really old, and it’s been worn shiny and smooth through use. It’s a good ten inches long, I would have thought, and as thick round as your wrist. When that’s inside you, you really know you’re being stretched – especially when you’re as small and tight down there as I am. I never think I’m going to be able to take it, and if I wasn’t tied up I wouldn’t let him near me with it. But when I can’t move, and I can’t do anything about it, that’s when I relax enough to let him ease that obscenely fat phallus into me.’

  She stopped her story, aware that the taxi had pulled up outside their destination and feeling she had teased him enough. The cabbie swivelled round in his seat. ‘Here you go. That’ll be eleven pounds, please.’

  Cindy gaped at him. ‘But I was told this was on Sheena Thorn’s account...’

  The taxi driver shrugged. ‘Sorry, darlin’, if it’d been paid for they would have told me b
ack at the office.’

  ‘Well, I don’t have enough money on me.’ There was a five-pound note nestling at the bottom of Cindy’s bag, enough to pay for a couple of drinks and nothing more. ‘I don’t suppose you’d let me go inside and find Sheena, ask her if she can sort this out?’

  He shook his head. ‘How do I know you’re not going to do a runner once you get out of the cab?’

  Dressed like this? Cindy wanted to reply. Try and run down the street, I’ll probably trip over a paving stone and break my neck. She looked helplessly at the cabbie, aware that he was gazing at her hungrily.

  ‘I’d take something else in lieu of payment,’ he said, and his tone made it obvious what he was asking of her. Cindy suddenly began to regret the stories she’d spun to turn him on.

  ‘How about my phone number?’ Cindy asked. ‘I can think of a few men who’d pay quite highly for that.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m sure they would, but that’s not what I want. I want you up on that seat on your hands and knees. I want to see what that boyfriend of yours sees when he’s got you tied up on the bed.’

  ‘You can’t make me do this,’ Cindy said, aware of a sudden traitorous dampness in her G-string as she realised that a part of her wanted desperately to do what the cabbie ordered.

  ‘Oh, no?’ He was unbuckling his seat belt as he spoke. ‘The way you’ve carried on, I ought to use my belt on your backside, leading me on with those saucy stories of yours and thinking you could get away without paying your fare. Now get up on that seat.’

  Meekly, Cindy unfastened her own seat belt and did as she was told, facing away from the cabbie. Her head was pressed against the padded back of the seat and the heels of her stilettos were digging slightly into the cheeks of her backside as she knelt there, waiting for whatever he might choose to do. She could imagine how she looked to him, with the tiny G-string bisecting the cheeks of her bottom and moulding to the contours of her sex-lips. And what view might she be presenting to any curious passer-by who might choose to glance in the car window? The thought brought a wave of shameful heat rushing to her pussy.

  ‘Part your legs more. And push the gusset of that thing to one side,’ the cabbie ordered. ‘I want to see everything.’

  Her fingers trembled slightly as she moved to obey him. Now he would be able to see that her labia had been denuded of hair, and that they were glistening with a telltale coating of slick moisture, the evidence of her rising excitement.

  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.