A s****l Odyssey

Chapter One-3

She wished she could have talked to someone about what was happening to her. It would be good to have a friend to confide in, someone whom she could ask questions of. Why is this happening to me now? Is it dangerous, what I’m doing? Will it end in tears? And is it really what I want? Really, really? But there was no one. Her girlfriends would be shocked. They would lecture her about the dangers. They’d tell her she needed to get married. Perhaps they’d even tell her to grow up. None of that would do any good. She had to go through with this, see where it led.

It was less than a week until her next encounter. She’d taken her car to be serviced. When she went to pick it up in the evening, there was only one mechanic left in the workshop, a young man in his early twenties, dressed in grimy overalls. He had thick black hair, slicked down with gel. Between his lips (which, Lucy noticed, were surprisingly full and red, almost like a girl’s) he had a wooden toothpick, which he flicked nervously from side to side.

He seemed friendly. He explained to her in great detail some point about her car’s engine, telling her things she didn’t really need to know, but she liked listening to him talk. His hands were almost black with grease. She shuddered at the thought of him touching her, leaving grubby marks on her pale yellow shirt, on her white skin.

‘Well,’ he said at length, ‘time to finish up here.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry I’ve kept you,’ she said.

‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘Just scrubbing up a bit and then going to get a drink.’

‘Oh,’ she said. She started looking in her bag for her banker’s card to pay him.

‘Don’t suppose you fancy one yourself?’ he said.

‘What?’ She was thrown off-balance.

‘A drink? You wouldn’t fancy one? There’s a real nice pub just round the corner.’

‘But you’re locking up. I should move my car,’ she said.

‘Oh no problem, we can come and get it after.’

What was happening to her? A month ago garage mechanics didn’t offer to take her to the pub. She must be giving off some kind of signal. But what? Somehow it seemed as though she had assented to the drink without actually having said so.

‘Name’s Brian,’ he said. ‘Won’t shake hands.’ He held up his dirty palm.

‘Oh, yes, Lucy,’ she said. She couldn’t be Isolde; her name was already in the garage records.

He went into the office. Through the back was a small washroom. The door was half-open. She saw him take his overalls off, then his shirt, saw his thin, wiry body, very white except for the bronzed forearms. She watched him as he washed, then moved away before he came out.

In the pub they chatted of this and that. He didn’t appear to be hustling her. He wasn’t pushy. She found herself telling him a funny story of something that had happened in court. He asked her questions about her work.

‘So,’ he said at length, ‘pays well, the law?’

‘OK, I suppose,’ she said. She didn’t know if she wanted to go there. ‘I’ve had to work hard.’

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Don’t get anything without hard work. I’m getting my own garage one day.’

She refused a second drink; she had to drive home, after all. They walked back to the garage and he let them in. Her car was parked in the corner. Her heels clicked across the concrete floor. They went in the office and she paid him. Then he came back out with her, walked her over to her car. She seemed for a moment to hesitate, not sure what to do; she couldn’t bring herself to make a move, but he clearly sensed something in her. He pushed her back against the wall, not roughly but firmly, and then he kissed her full on the mouth. For a moment she didn’t respond. It wasn’t that she was surprised exactly, but she suddenly felt shy, as if to kiss him back would suggest she had been thinking about this all along.

Which she had, but she didn’t want him to know that. He was becoming passionate now, kissing her face, her neck, putting a hand up to her breast, squeezing it. Even though he’d washed there was a faint smell of oil about him. She didn’t mind. She pulled him against her and felt his hardening c**k bulge against her belly.

He pulled her over to the car and bent her down across the bonnet. What was it with these men that they all wanted to take her from behind? But then wasn’t this the default position for a girl who wanted to be used? She’s turned away from him, she can’t see the man who is f*****g her, and he can’t see her face either, but he doesn’t want to, what he wants is her cunt and her ass, and in the bending over position, they are fully presented, offered for view and for use. Wasn’t that it?

He pushed her skirt up. It was quite tight and it took a bit of tugging and pulling before it was up to her waist. Then he pulled her knickers down. She hadn’t expected for a to see her knickers, of course, and she was wearing a pair of unremarkable pink cotton ones, not especially sophisticated, not the knickers of a shameless hussy. He pulled them down anyway, exposing her bottom. He squeezed it hard, so hard she gasped.

‘God, that’s an ass that needs a seeing to,’ he muttered, and suddenly brought the flat of his hand down across it hard. She squealed. He did it again, then again. Instinctively she tried to wriggle away and he grabbed her hair with his other hand and twisted it. It was getting quite rough now, but she wasn’t afraid, she wanted it this way. Then without warning he rammed his c**k into her. She knew he wasn’t wearing a condom and she muttered something about being safe and he put his mouth up to her ear and said, ‘Don’t worry, darling, I know what I’m doing.’

Yes, she thought, but I don’t know what you’re doing. He didn’t know if she was protected against conception, and she certainly wasn’t protected from catching anything he might have, and she said to herself, I should have thought of this sooner. But he was f*****g her hard now and it did feel good. Then he started to rub her ass, in the crack, right between the cheeks. His fingers were slippery, he’d licked them and he was lubricating her ass, and she knew what that was for. She’d thought about this moment often and done it many times in her mind, but she had no idea what it was like for real. No one had ever used her this way, or even offered to. He pulled his c**k out of her cunt and pushed it against her asshole, firmly though not cruelly. His c**k was wet from her cunt and she tried to relax so that he could enter, because she didn’t want it to hurt, and it went in a little way and he moved into a slightly different position to get a better angle. She knew he’d done this before, he knew what he was doing, which she was suddenly glad of. His c**k was almost all in her ass now, and it did hurt just a little bit but she didn’t mind, almost welcomed it as proof that he was taking her, not pleasing her.

‘Christ, that’s good,’ he said. He f****d her ass slowly, as if he was enjoying it so much he didn’t want it to stop, but even so it wasn’t long before he came, with an oath, his c**k spurting into her, his semen hot and thick, she imagined, almost scalding.

When he pulled out she lay across the car for a minute, getting her breath back. Then she pulled her knickers up and tugged her skirt back down. She felt shy, as if he’d seen something she hadn’t intended to show him. He put his hand to her cheek and stroked it.

‘Good girl,’ he said.

She smiled. Driving home she thought to herself, I’ve just been buggered, I’ve been buggered by a garage mechanic, bent over a car and sodomised. Only sluts do things like that. As soon as she entered her flat she went in the bedroom and stripped off all her clothes and lay on the bed and made herself come with her vibrator while she slipped a finger into her ass to feel the remnants of his semen there. She came not just once but twice then she took a shower. She came back into the bedroom and picked up her underwear, meaning to drop it in the laundry basket, and she held her knickers to her nose and sniffed. They smelled of her s*x, but was there also a faint whiff of motor oil and grease? She smiled to herself. Where will it all end, she said out loud, and laughed.

The spanking was interesting, just as interesting as the buggery. There was quite a lot of spanking in her imagined encounters, quite a lot of rough play altogether. Some of the men who abused her tied her up, and some of them also spanked her, with their hands or sometimes a belt or another implement. And they tormented parts of her body, her n*****s, for example. They enjoyed causing her pain, these men; meaning, of course, that she liked to think about enduring the pain they wished to inflict so there was no doubt that she was a masochist; among other things, perhaps. The idea didn’t bother her, nor did she try over-much to work out where this impulse came from. It certainly didn’t come from any trauma in her childhood, which had been normal and happy. What she did remember was that from an early age she had a liking for doing things to herself, things that caused some sort of physical discomfort, even painful things. When she was quite a little girl she put a thistle in her knickers to see what it would feel like, and later experimented as a teenager with stinging nettles, forcing herself to put them in her bra, for example and becoming excited as their sharp little needles pricked her n*****s. So it was hardly surprising that now she liked to think of men doing cruel things, forcing her to submit to them.

However, she thought, if I want actual men to start hurting me I’ve got to be careful. A little spanking might not amount to much, but now she had discovered that she liked it in the flesh, not just in her mind, it could all too soon escalate. What I need to do, she told herself, is carry out some research.

Chapter Two

Being a lawyer she was used to looking things up when she needed to know something and the internet was a great boon. To her astonishment she discovered that there were literally thousands of sites devoted to all the various kinks that had crossed her mind. Suddenly it seemed as if the whole world was into spanking or tying up girls or whatever. There were photos, videos and online stores where you could purchase all the necessary equipment (though it seemed to her that most of what you might need was obtainable more cheaply at hardware or pet stores). And then there were all the dating sites where like-minded people could congregate to chat and exchange views and where you could make contacts and assignations.

And that’s where it started to get a bit scary. There were some very weird people out there. Some appeared to be harmless fantasists, but others sounded dangerous. They had knives, needles, dungeons, cruel-looking whips and god knows what else. A surprising number of these men, the ones that offered pictures of themselves, looked obese and unpleasantly hirsute, with walrus-moustaches and scraggy hair down to their shoulders. Sometimes they sat astride enormous motorcycles, or even carried guns, though that was mainly the American ones. And too many of them had only the sketchiest of ideas about spelling and grammar. She wasn’t going to get her ass spanked by the likes of them.

Perhaps Brian the mechanic wasn’t too hot on spelling either; who knew? But he had good manners and nice hair. All the same, she knew she’d be happier with someone more like herself. She rather liked a man in a good suit, but how to find one, one who had the right kind of interests, the right sort of experience? And one who would find her attractive. It wasn’t that as a rule she had a problem attracting men. They seemed to find her good-looking enough, with her slim figure and long, dark hair. She had a good mouth, she thought; men wanted to kiss it so that wasn’t really the difficulty. It was knowing where to start. She’d done all right so far just by taking a chance on casual encounters. But if she was to get some real experience of something a little more elaborate, if she was going to find out whether she really did want to be tied up and whipped, she was going to have to get the right man.