The more things change.
At the age of thirty I had been married twelve years and had two children and was now living in a four-bedroom detached house with no studio in the loft. My affair with Jolly Rodger had ended a year or so before and as the atmosphere at the estate agents had changed a little I had moved onto now a full time job with a huge company set in the countryside and I made myself a good reputation there and started very quickly to climb the ladder. My husband by that time had risen to Sergeant Major and to all intents and purposes we had a comfortable life. However; my own father, who things were still strained with, even now didn’t approve of my husband even if my mother thought the Sun shone out of him.
At that stage I was lucky to see him every six weeks as was the life of military wife. He’d been in the Marines for fourteen years by that stage and we’d been married for twelve of them. We had two great children who worshipped him as he did them. On his leave he’d spend every second they were awake with them and on Saturday afternoon he’d take our son to some football game or other. Financially we were not wealthy and because of the new house we’d had to take out a mortgage having been free of one before. Plus the fact I’d not made anything from “modelling” mainly because as I worked full time I couldn’t do mid-week and secondly we didn’t have a studio in the loft in the new house. All in all with working full time and his increased pay we had just about enough money to be comfortable with.
Now gone were the dozens of letters we used to get from Rendezvous as we didn’t advertise in it or anywhere else for that matter. My sister and her husband had moved out into the countryside about fifteen miles from us having bought an old farmhouse on the moors in the middle of nowhere surrounded by fields several of which belonged to them. This was a long term renovation and although both of them worked it took every second of their free time resulting in hardly ever seeing either of them for some time.
There was no real need for Rendezvous as the contact magazine had served its purpose but now a couple of years after being invited to join we were not integrated into the Circle. The point is that we were only available to see the members when they could contact him and due to the nature of what he did wasn’t that often and mostly when he was on leave. The only other problem for the other “members” was that we were unable to house dinner parties as our own humble abode was far too small and came complete with two inquisitive young children. My husband now at thirty-two was the youngest member of the Circle followed at fifty five-years-old by Sir Stuart Gibbons was the closest to his age. Although we had or I should say he had been a member for just over two years we’d never meet all of the members because slowly they had already started to die off six in the first two years.
Although protocol stopped the Circle members contacting me it didn’t stop them now seventy six-year-old Mentor from asking me to visit Oak Farm although I still needed my Master’s permission to go. The children loved Oak Farm, especially by a daughter who was enticed there by a pony, bought just for her to ride on. As ever they both slept like logs and at night it was me who was ridden on and not the pony. Although I was under no pressure to go to Oak farm, in fact, I never was I felt an obscure pull towards the place and the in every sense of the words, the dirty old man who had “trained” and brutalised me over the last twelve years.
I had noticed a change in both my husband and Mentor maybe it was for my husband his children as they bring different priorities in life. I knew him as a kind and loving husband as well as now a doting father, as opposed to those who didn’t know him who saw him as some psycho about to explode at any time. It was my belief at that time he’s mellowed and in some respect, I think he had or at least let his guard down a little, to me anyway. As for Mentor, I’d gone from fearing him and his punishments which came if I had transgressed or not. It was on one of my visits to Oak Farm that Mentor asked me if it was OK for him to pass on my new telephone number onto my first BBC Franklyn Franklin which was a blast from the past for me albeit a short past.
After asking for approval I rang Mentor midweek and told him it was fine for him to pass on my telephone number with the strict instructions nobody was to contact me on that number until after 9 pm. I didn’t have to wait long because at 9.01pm that same night the phone rang and of course it was Franklyn who else would it be. I was invited down to his grandson’s birthday party where I was to be one of his presents both he and Junior would be there to “Take care” of me as would old friends like his brother Neil and Norval the dog handler and Senior who was really looking forward to seeing me again. I asked him for the date and told him I’d ask my husband and promised to ring him back carefully taking down his number, long since lost.
The party was on a Friday night just a couple of weeks in the future after speaking to him he was due on leave that weekend and for a three-week leave, however; he wasn’t due home until the Saturday as he was on duty until midnight Friday and driving back from Dorset would take him hours. However; he told me not to ring Franklyn until later in the week as something may turn up. Turn up it did in the shape of my sister Alison who by a strange coincidence offered to take the children Friday to Sunday as her farmhouse was now habitable. So I gave Franklyn the news and he said he’d ring me the night before with the details of where to be and what to dress in, the later giving me some food for thought.
When on Friday night I set out to the working men’s club I wasn’t expecting to be wearing an outfit that made me look like an office worker, although in fact, that was what I was. I had on my best suit and a clean white blouse and white underwear and stockings but as ever no knickers. Although once there I was popular with the men mostly black and several we knew I’d already had the pleasure of or in truth they had of me, I was not at all popular with the women there. The thing I soon worked out was with the Franklin family the running theme appeared to marry a woman have a son and then get rid of her and get a white whore. I was clearly seen as another white whore which of course I was, like it or not.
I was introduced to the birthday boy who like his father, grandfather and great grandfather in the great tradition of the Franklyn family was called, you guessed Franklyn Franklin 4th and no doubt his son would be Franklyn Franklin 5th I’d put money on it. The party ended at midnight and then it was men only back to the terraced street that housed all the Franklin clan well the male half anyway, with me following behind with Norval to show me the way. On the way, he told me he had a new animal that he’d love to show me if I had the time that weekend. I pointed out that I was only here overnight and would be leaving in the morning to which he said “Well the next time then” so there was going to be the next time.
I parked my car in a safe place and walked with Norval to the house and I found that I was the only woman there as well as the only white woman anyway. The drinks flowed freely and with my hair up and wearing what I was I felt like School Teacher. As well as the drinks the pot was moving around the room freely and I was invited firmly to try it and huge amounts of laughter greeted my almost chocking but I soon got the hang of it. The booze and the ganja took its effect on me and I realised that I was being stripped by several of them. Down to my suspender belt and stockings, I was being led around on a leash courtesy of Noval, not that I cared for a second. Frank, as he was called the birthday boy, took me by the leash and outside and then next door into his father’s house, it was cold outside and my feet were bare.
Once inside I realise there was another group of people there as well all a lot younger than those in Franklyn’s place and they were of mixed race black, white and Asian they included some girls. Hands groped me and pinched my nipples and backside and I was imminently given another joint to smoke. All the usual comments were made “slut, whore, and bitch” and frankly I didn’t care at all. Almost without warning I was on my knees in front of the youngest Franklyn and it was clear that it wasn’t only the family name he’d inherited like his father, grandfather and great-grandfather was huge if anything even bigger I opened my mouth as wide as I could slip it in.
He pumped into my mouth making comments about the “old slag” and I heard the laughter of the others and the derision from the girls some of who had erect cocks in their hands and soon in their mouths as well. The fucking he gave me from behind was awesome and clearly, he was no novice either and once he came I collapsed in a heap on the floor. I wasn’t left alone for long and a pair of hands gripped my hips and pulled me back instinctively rested my weight on my elbows and pushed my arse up for another fucking. Soon my mouth was full as well and then a second and a third spit roasting and then with my back aching I was aware that the person in front of me legs wide open was a woman or at least a girl I was told to “Lick that pussy you dirty whore” and moving my tongue through the matted pubic hair I did just that to ironic cheers.
The fucking went on for some time and in the end, I was left to sleep exhausted on the floor until about 8 am when I was woken by one of them fingering my cunt. I managed to get myself up and put my stomach on the seat of a sofa, as instructed to take whoever’s cock it was pushing itself into me. A couple more woke and took advantage of my position before the birthday boy demanded a blowjob and then declared he was going to watch football and had to be on the couch and then told me to “Fuck off you slag” and I left him and went to get the rest of my clothes from next door.
I had to bang on the back door pretty hard to get their attention and as I was naked apart from a suspender belt and holed stockings makeup ruined and dried cum in my hair and in full public view. The door was answered by Franklyn the 3rd who looked as tired as I was half an hour earlier. Still not even 9 am he looked at me gestured me to come in and went back to bed. I found the rest of my clothes and the blouse was ruined and put my bra and skirt on, brushed my hair and washed my face before trying to put some makeup onto my blotchy face. I made myself a coffee and was joined by Senior who thanked me for coming and was sorry he wasn’t available to “satisfy” the night before and hoped his great-grandson gave me a sound fucking and I confirmed he had done as had all his friends several time and we both laughed. I put on my suit jacket and I must admit it wasn’t a bad look and as I was about to leave I kissed Senior on the cheek and turned to go he goosed my arse and told me “You will have to come back in a couple of years when he’s sixteen he’ll like that.” I stopped and asked him what he meant I thought the birthday boy was eighteen? Only to be told, “No he’s fourteen Sunday those boys are all on the same Under 15’s football team.” I realised then I had just fucked a dozen or so fourteen and fifteen-year-olds.
On the drive back I was stopped for speeding and I struggled to find my driving license in my handbag the policeman who looked about fifteen himself asked me if I was OK as I looked a little distracted. I told him I was fine but I had something on my mind. I then realised he was looking straight down my jacket and my “wonderbra’ was doing its job. As I was only a few miles over the speed limit he let me off with a warning which was a result. Still, a little shell shocked I got home and took my now traditional soak in the bath and contemplated the night before. I was still soaking when my husband came home and came in to see me and I told him about the ages of the boys and it made him laugh and he told me I was a slag and that was that.
The Sunday night I was made to stand once more naked in the hallway hands-on head waiting for Robert to come and get his jollies for about the 50th time. I realised when he arrived that he wasn’t alone which sent my brain into overdrive and I thought about taking the blindfold off but didn’t. Unlike Robert the person who came with him wasn’t able to keep in mouth closed and thinking about it why should he, he wasn’t known to me. Two pairs of hands groped me both rough and the new voice was saying the normal things I’d gotten used to “Great arse, tits a bit small, good nipples, Oh she’s wet” and then the questions “She takes it up her arse, she swallow, she like it rough, how many cocks she had?’’ ask he asked the questions he pushed finger into my cunt and then my arse.
The fucking I was given was rough and hard and lasted a long time at least three hours I wasn’t certain who was fucking me or what was coming next. I was slapped about on my buttocks, thighs front back and the insides of them and across the face several times and was close to tears. I was also bitten all over my body and groaned and gasped in pain. When they had left I was close to collapse sore and every part of my body was red or black and blue even my hair roots hurt me from being pulled about by the hair. I stumbled into bed well after midnight and ached all over the next day taking my usual long soak I counted over 50 bites and those were only the ones I could see, some were love bites others had left bruised teeth marks and they all hurt. I had to choose wisely the clothes I wore to work trousers, not a skirt as I even had bits on my back of my legs, all in all, not a bad night.
I was still wearing trousers when I went out with Susan Friday night leaving my husband at home to rest as he’d worn himself out helping Robert on the farmhouse all week. Strange how the town hadn’t changed that much over the time she and I used to paint it red. Same people in the same little groups just the venues and clothes had changed. I had just a little too much to drink and enjoyed a dance with Susan and several men some I’d knew others I didn’t. Just like older times, we staggered towards a taxi rank to get a cab home and who should pull up another blast from the past but Alan he of the Vodka enema and the lesbian sister. As there weren’t any cabs about and a long line waiting we got in. Susan drunk as she was didn’t hold back in telling Alan just what she thought of him. The only trouble was she was that drunk she couldn’t remember why she didn’t like him. I equally as drunk told her not to pick on him as his sister was a lesbian what the hell that had to do with anything I did not know.
After trying in vain to stick up for himself Alan bowed to the inevitable and stopped trying and after Susan had remembered where she lived he dropped her off first. On the way back to my house he talked about old times and how I’d hardly changed at all and in fact, I was lovelier than ever. Not only that my arse looked even more inviting and he gave my thigh a little squeeze. I wasn’t aware he was driving me to the same car park he used to fuck me in the back of his car until I saw the sign. I asked him what he thought he was doing and he asked me “What do you think I’m doing, I want to see if your bum is still as inviting” or plainly put he expected me to fuck him.
I was formulating in my drunken brain what to say to him which was basically to tell him to fuck off when we drove through the entrance of the secluded car park well known to me over the years. I even tried to push him away but without much success when he started to kiss ad grope at my tits. There was nothing wrong with his memory that was for certain as he knew that I was easily aroused once my tits were out and being played with. By now I was sobering up but his hand was inside my top and I was liking it. Pulling my jacket back over my shoulders and down my arms meant that I was unable to use them to put him off and once his mouth closed on my nipple I didn’t want to. The trousers stopped him getting easy access to my cunt and as I was not cooperating he tried to reason with me. It was then he saw the dozens of bites that still covered my body including my tits and he let out an audible gasp.
As they were clearly bites including teeth marks as well as love bites some also with the same teeth marks he wanted to see more and for me to tell him who’d done that to me. I looked down at them and I could see his saliva on my erect nipples. I could hardly say to him that it was my brother-in-law and a man I didn’t know who because I was blindfolded now could I? So I told him it was my husband and asked him if he liked them to which he said: “They make you look like a slag” how apt I thought. It didn’t stop him wanting to see more but I was now clear-headed enough to stop him stripping me naked to count them. I told him that there was no way I was going to fuck him as I was married and he knew it. He reached down unzipped and got his cock out pinched my nipple and pulled me with it and a hand on the back of my head pushed me toward it and before I knew it I was sucking him off. He groaned as I took him down and having learned the deep throat technique at the end of a whip at Oak Farm I knew he was impressed. He dropped me outside my house at gone 3 am and I was in bed next to my sleeping husband after brushing my teeth by 3.15 am.
One end of the Circle.
One of the first “requests” my “Owner” had for me came the next day to “attend’ a member of the Circle on Sunday as the slave who was due be there had fallen off her horse of all things. I remember hearing one side of the conversation as if it was yesterday and as when you can only get half a story I was, to say the least confused. My Owner was of course invited or he could call on the other Owners slave anytime in the future which was appreciated. Yes, I would be there, I was sent for paper and a pen and instructions written down. As he had already agreed to take the children out I would be going on my own but as he said it was perfectly safe and he hoped I’d not let him down and so did I as well.
I was left on my own Sunday as he took the children to their promised day out and I wasn’t due there until later in the day. Before he left he gave me a few hastily written instructions on how to dress and where to be at what time and how to get there. It was how to get there that had me worried as I don’t mind driving short distances as long as I know where I am going. The first part wasn’t difficult I had to shave off every single hair off my body apart from my head which I did in the bath including my arms and although I’d shaved my cunt a couple of nights before I did it again. I always find shaving in a hot bath not only feels good it makes things smoother as well.
Stage one completed I moved to stage two and that was makeup which he wanted a lot of red cheeks, red lips, and red nipples as well. The word is red, not pink bright red luck for me I already had some courtesy of Gerald old or not it was red. The next stage was dress and that is where I started to struggle he wanted fishnet stockings and I didn’t have any. I could have bought some if he’s given me the instructions the day before but he hadn’t. I had black stockings and I had black hold-ups which had just come into vogue but no fishnets. I rang Susan to see if she did and the result she had worn them so she said as part of a fancy dress outfit. As I didn’t have the time to drive down collect them and return home I decided I’d pick them up on the way out and continued to get ready.
The dress code was simple to arrive just wearing a black suspender belt, fishnet stockings, a coat short enough not to cover the stockings and black high heels with an ankle strap all easy to do. I tried a few times to get the makeup right before I thought I’d got it right. The instructions said it was about 30 miles from me and should take an hour and I thought I’d better start off early which was a good idea. On the way, I stopped off as planned at Susan’s who had completely forgotten I was coming for the fishnets and I had to wait with her then-husband gawking at me while she found them. When she did she followed me out to my car asking me “So what are you up to, where are you going dressed as a transvestite?” I told her “To a fancy dress party” which of course she didn’t believe a word not at 12.30 on a Sunday morning.
I was to be at a house I didn’t know and had never been before and in a place, I’d never even heard of I was nervous when I set out and getting off at the wrong motorway junction and driving around the incorrect part of the country didn’t help. There was nothing for it I had to stop somebody and ask for directions if I was dressed like a transvestite or not. The man walking his dog looked at me as if I was from outer space, what was his problem had been never seen a half-naked woman who looked like a crossdresser before? Once I was back on the motorway I managed to calm down and I even had time to put the fishnets on applying more lipstick to my nipples and get there at 2 pm on the spot.
The last part of my instructions was to make my way around the back of the house which was just off the road in its own grounds, take off my coat and wait feet wide apart hand on the head until I was called in. This was a position I’d get used to over the years with another member of the Circle. After a few moments the door opened and as I had my eyes firmly fixed on the floor there was an awkward silence until I heard a man speaking with a Yorkshire accent asking me “Are you going to stand there all day and freeze to death or are you coming in?” I walked up the step and into what was the kitchen of this fine Georgian rural house. Taking my coat off me he told me I wouldn’t need that for a few hours. He took me by the chin and lifted my head up and I saw his face for the first time. He looked for all the world like an elderly Church of England cleric in his seventies and what hair he had was white and he had around kind-looking face. Later my Master would nickname him “The Bishop” but he was far from a saint.
Being inspected by a stranger was something I’d grown used to as were the comments this time being made worse by the fact I was still covered in bites of one description or another. The only thing he didn’t like were my nipples because as soon as he touched them the red lipstick came off and he barked at me “Rouge by some Rouge don’t use lipstick” and with that he slapped my face hard and I cried out instinctively only to be slapped this time on my left breast and then my right and told to shut up. Moving behind me he kicked my feet further apart and told me to bend which I did. He pushed a finger into my cunt then another and made the all too familiar comment about me being wet. “You on the Pill?” Yes Sir, “You take anal?” Yes Sir, “Bareback?” Yes Sir, “Drink piss?” Yes Sir, “Of course you swallow?” Yes Sir, “I believe you are animal trained?” Yes Sir and he appeared pleased with my answers and he led me down a flight of stairs from the kitchen into the cellar and a dungeon.
Waiting in the dungeon which was well lit was an older looking woman whose age was hard to tell but I’d judge to be anywhere 60 and 70 years old, she was dressed in the same way as I in just a suspender belt and fishnets and if anything 6” black heels also with ankle straps. Her head was completely bald as a result of being freshly shaved and her nipples and cunt lips were pierced and she had heavy thick rings hanging down, one each through each nipple making her tits look as if they were being pulled down and several more hanging down from her cunt which made a noise when she walked. On the back of her head there appeared to be a tattoo of some description I later found out was a brand.
I was told the kneel and I did and he left the room I didn’t speak to the other slave nor did she to me her as she knew better and myself out of ignorance of what to do. After a short break, the Bishop returned wearing just a pair of leather chaps and boots. I still kneeled head cast down the first thing I saw was his cock which was soft and white pubic hair my slightly raised head told him I was looking at him and my reward was a further slap across my face. He pulled me up by my hair and I tried my hardest not to whimper or make a sound but failed. His punishment for this was to swing me around and off my feet onto a heap on the floor and then he stepped up and kicked me hard in the backside and then lifting me up by the hair once more. Telling me “If you make a noise or speak you will be punished do you understand?” Yes Sir.
I didn’t have the time to say anything else as he fitted a gag in my mouth which was a large metal ring which fitted behind my upper and lower sets of teeth and secured behind my head by three straps two that went left and right and a third that went over my nose, later I’d become familiar with the “O” ring gag. Next, he walked me over to a cross made of wood in the shape of huge X and I was fastened to it my arms and legs outstretched and my cunt exposed, fingering me he once again commented on my being “wet” and slapped my tits before stepping back and kicking me in the cunt. This practice I learned was called “cunt punting” and was an exercise I wasn’t eager to repeat anytime soon.
My legs buckled putting all my weight on my arms, oh god did I want to rub my poor cunt. I was screamed at to stand up but I was in too much pain. Next, he started to beat my tits with a riding crop and I tried to twist one way then another to vainly avoid the blows which were not raining down faster and increasingly harder. He appeared to be taking great delight in hitting my nipples with the leather end of the crop if I’d managed to look I would have seen his erection pointing straight at me, clearly, he was enjoying himself if I wasn’t. It dawned on me to at least try and stand up and as he stepped back to catch his breath I managed to do it and stood up. The gag prevented me from screaming out loud but it didn’t stop the tears or the saliva running from my eyes and mouth and down my neck and throat and onto my battered tits.
All this time his nameless slave stood and watched hands by her side looking like a naked clown with her white skin and bright red facial cheeks and lips and saggy tits and bright red nipples. Motionless she stood not even her eyelids flicked there was no sympathy for me from her or emotion at all. Then the older slave stood at his side and he, in turn, stood in front of me she took his cock in her hand and without being told she wanked him off his cum splattered over my face and tits.
Pleased with himself the Bishop gestured to his slave tapped her on the mouth with the crop and pointed to the fluids mixed together on my body with the crop and she moved towards me and started to lick the ooze and cum off me. I was in too much pain to take any pleasure from it not that it was her intention to give me anymore to avoid the attention from her “Owner” if anything at all. On the wall, there was a large kitchen clock between the tears I realised I’d been there less than half an hour.
I was left strung to the St Andrews cross as I learned it was called until the Bishop had got his breath back and enjoyed a couple of glasses of red wine. In the meantime his slave, whatever her name was had lit a dozen or so large candles in various colours and set them on a table close at hand. Once refreshed the Bishop turned his attention back to me, “I was told you are a complete slut but my interests are not in what you have between your legs but between your ears and how hard I can make you scream.” Screaming was going to be difficult wearing the ring gag but something told me I’d be giving it a dam good try.
I was untied from the cross and he placed a black leather hood over my head leaving the unforgettable smell of old sweat and other peoples saliva. Next, my hands were tied above my head and my legs tied to a wide spreader bar. I was lifted off my feet and my arms felt as if they would be pulled off and to make matters worse I could feel my ankles being tied to the floor. The effect was I felt as if I was being stretched although my feet were just a couple of inches off the floor. Whatever it was that struck me hurt like hell (single tail whip) as it rapped itself my body. Then a second and a third struck me and as I moved in a vain attempt to avoid the blows I could hear the Bishop laughing at me and then it happened. The second cunt punt took my breath away and I almost lost consciousness and I was then struck once more by the whip. As it thrashed about the sting of the whip struck me time and again although I have no idea how many times it hit me. The third cunt punt was so hard I lost control of my bladder and I pissed myself and it came cascading out of me. Once it had stopped flowing from me I received the fourth and final kick in my cunt and suffered the decisive insult in being made to say “Thank you Sir” before being untied.
On the way home driving in my coat hair, a mess makeup all but gone and my eyes looked as if I’d cried for England and I was crying I could smell my own piss as it had dried on my stockings. Thirty miles further away and closer to home I was still feeling the pain and moreover, I felt ashamed for some reason I just couldn’t put my finger on. Yes, I was humiliated and ashamed of myself and I also felt for some reason disappointed in myself. As I reached the outskirts of my home town I realised that this had been the first time I had “served” somebody and they hadn’t fucked me in any holes and I didn’t like it.
I was to meet the Bishop quite a few times more over the course of the years and his fondness of cunt punting never diminished nor did his fondness or fetish for “foot fucking” which involved him putting toes and half his foot inside my cunt which after being kicked several times there wasn’t a pleasurable experience. I’d often feel his cum over my body but he never once penetrated me with anything but his fingers or feet and I always left him frustrated with him and myself, to say nothing of the pain as well.
With my husband often unavailable contact with the Circle was limited to his leaves which varied depending on what was going on in the world and where he was sent. Rules being rules and this group of people stuck to their treasured policies like it was a matter of life or death. Not one of them contacted me directly ever and as there was no such thing at the internet so if they wanted to contact him they would have to use BFPO (British Forces Post Office) or Royal Mail which was slow at the best of times. One “Owner” who managed to make regular contact was to become a long-time friend to us both.
Alan and his wife/slave Justine were both in their mid-fifties when we met them and he was and still is quite charming as was she. The main interest Alan had was wife-watching which meant he liked to see his wife of thirty-plus years used in every way he could ideal for a group of Sadists. It was as a couple we first visited them and we hit it off like a house on fire. Unlike the other members of the Circle, Alan and Justine lived in a modest house not unlike our own. There was no dungeon or playroom just a spare bedroom with a few toys in it. It was Alan who introduced us to “Dogging” which I am certain wasn’t called that at the time. The first time the four of us went which was first for both my “Owner” and myself which in itself was a first, something new to him.
We traveled about 15-20 miles to a well-known spot where this kind of thing went on. The two men in the front of the brand spanking new Volvo 940 estate car bought because it had a huge rear space which was also flat “to give those doing the fucking better access to those being fucked” which proved to be correct, it did and the two of us naked apart from stockings and suspenders in the back. The car park was in a wooded area just off an “A” road and next to a picnic area no doubt used by families during the day. Dogging wasn’t even called dogging at that point, in fact, I don’t know what it was called. Same as “Wife swapping’ became “Swinging” dogging became that from whatever it was called before.
Whatever it was called then the rules haven’t changed much at all, although why or who made those rules is also beyond me 100%. As far as I can remember if you wanted to be watched you locked your door and opened a window slightly. If you invited men to grope you opened the window fully, they asked and you said OK or not. For people to take an active part you opened the door or you got out, the rules were as simple as that. Also if you wanted to grope or fuck somebody’s wife or girlfriend you asked and no meant no.
The ball was started rolling by us pulling into a parking space close to the trees and putting the inside light on. Justine and myself were told to “Get it on” (how American yuck) by Alan and she leaped on me and she was as they say a “bonny lass” to say the least and had me outweighed by at least and soon had me pinned to the back seat of the car. The interior light being put on was and still is, an invitation for men or women to come and take a look and soon the car was surrounded but the inside of the car steaming up. When with just a nod from Alan, Justine opened the windows and we were both being groped almost instantly. An erect cock appeared next and I didn’t know what to do or say as it was pushed through the window next to me, however; Justine did and she went straight for it and sucked away at it.
I was told to lick Justine’s cunt as she sucked cock and as he moved to do so she reached behind herself and parted the cheeks of her ample buttocks and I went to work. This had the effect of my own rear end being lifted and exposed and soon I was being groped as well. There is something wildly rousing about being groped by complete strangers not knowing who they were or what they looked like and between there we now half a dozen pairs of hands groping the two of us and fingering both my unoccupied holes.
It was my husband who suggested that it would be better for us to go outside and before I knew it I was on my back lay next to Justine in the back of the estate car with several men lining up to fuck both of us. The first dogging session I ever did lasted a couple of hours and I was as horny as hell all the way through although I am not sure how many I fucked. One thing was certain was that the oversized Justine had more cock than I did the thing was the men who fucked me had to have a condom and I was amazed how few didn’t. However; for Justine, they didn’t and so she got more cock.
The second trip to the same spot was the following Sunday this time we were walked into the woods and I was tied down naked over a fallen tree trunk while Justine was spread-eagled between two trees arms and legs spread wide. My Master whipped her with a cat-o-nine tail softly at first and then harder and harder until she was squealing and then screaming from the pain. The sound of her screams drew a crowd but from my position, I could hardly see them apart from their shoes, boots, and trainers. I did recognise Alan’s shoes as not many people wear Gucci loafers in the woods, he walked over to me took out his cock and slapping me in the face with it ordered me to “suck” which I did.
It was clear from the sound not now coming from my fellow slave that she was being given a rest bite from her flogging. As I serviced her Owner with my mouth my Master was exchanging comments with Alan and then going back to his work on Justine. This time he was using leather riding crop one which I’d known all too well over the years. It wasn’t a situation I was eager to be and thought as I listened once more to her shrieks of pain “rather her than me” and as he turned his attention to her tits, her Owner signaled his pleasure at her pain by shooting his cum onto my mouth.
Before I’d managed to get all Alana ’s cum down my throat another cock was helping itself to my cunt being tied down I wasn’t even able to tell who it was or what they looked like, maybe this was developing theme. Whoever it was didn’t last too long and was soon replaced by another anonyms cock and then another. Unlike my first dogging session where I was placed on my back being bent over and tied down both all three of my holes were not only on full view but also available needless to say this was taken full advantage of. In front of me, although I couldn’t see it, Justine had been released from her position and was now in a heap on the floor. Between bouts of being spit roasted by, however, it dawned on me that other men who had gathered were in a ring and pissing down on Justine as she lay motionless in a heap.
On the way back to their house the sodden Justine who was battered and bruised and looked as if she’d been dragged through a hedge backward, was made to travel naked in the boot space of the estate car covered up only by a blanket. I could hear her whimpering and when we got back to their house he parked the car inside the garage locked the door uncovered Justine and let her out, only to find she had wet herself.
The stain was allowed to dry and all these years later and long since Justine has passed away (heart attack ten years after we met her) to discolouration to the carpet is still there. The Volvo is still kept by Alan for the sole purpose of dogging although now it has ankle straps built into the tailgate and I bet he had an interesting time explaining those when it gets its MOT. A few years after I met Alan and his then brand new Volvo both would come to play a major part in my life.
To be continued....