0 comments/ 15201 views/ 0 favorites What the Hell? By: RonClarkeson What the Hell? This is a short reminisce from about 1961. I lived in an Old Pre-Cromwell town in the west midlands. The town had a rudimentary bypass, as the main road into the main street was very narrow with houses, pubs and shops pressing up against the pedestrian walkways, which were barely two people wide. The road had no drainage and was prone to flooding so the council had excavated the road it self, making the footpaths quite high. There was of course no parking along the 200-yard length of road, which ended in Stop signs on both carriageways. The buildings were heritage listed almost without exception. On market days and at weekend, locals avoided the traffic down this narrow congested road, but people who were strangers to the area were often trapped in the gridlock. It was a typical English summer's day about 72 Fahrenheit, that is about 20 in the new Centigrade scale. Sunny with lots of white fluffy clouds and a nice southwesterly breeze. I was in town to do the weekly shopping. Money was tight, so I always did a round of the shops that sold what I needed and compared prices and quality. There was a good butchers shop at the bypass end of this old main road, I usually went there last on my round of the town shops, and the market stalls. To gain access to this narrow street was almost an art, as crossing it was to run the gauntlet of frustrated bumper-to-bumper motorists. The clue was to cross the main wide high street at the North Gate, then travel back south and turn left into the old main road. This involved in effect a detour of about 100 yards so if traffic conditions were right a quick crossing of the main street at the junction on to the right side of the main road, cut the distance and time to get to the butchers. On this day, I was fortunate and made the short cut, but I almost came to grief! There was a car, a flash car; one with the very new metallic finishes waiting to exit the old main road and in the front passenger seat was what appeared to be a naked young woman! I had clocked the car as I began my transit of the broad high street. There was a couple in front of me, perhaps ten yards in front. I saw the passenger raise a broad map book and only her face was visible through the windscreen. As the couple in front drew level and then passed, the passenger lowered the map book and I could only see flesh! I was hurrying, trying not to get run over by the traffic traversing the wide main road, so had but the merest glimpse of the passenger. There were no clothes in view, but I had not seen anywhere near enough! I gained the refuge of the footpath and turned to look at the flash car, which had at last gained access to the main road turning left towards the North Gate. I saw a smiling face looking at me. The occupants knew I had seen the flash of flesh! I was rather shocked, but very happy. I continued down the narrow footpath shaking my head in disbelief, towards the butchers shop. I met a few people I knew and we ducked into a shop doorway to pass the time of day, so it was several minutes, perhaps ten before I had gone half way down the old main access road. I had just got to the raised footpath section when I saw the sliver metallic car again. Going very slow, a long gap in front of it, a long tail back behind it. It was obvious that the passenger was covering up with the map book. I stopped and took a quick look behind me; there was a mass of backs of people going in to town. I was confronted with a mass of people, two abreast coming towards me. I had a choice, I could exert my right of passage and force the on comers to the left to allow me passage, or I could stand and wait until someone let me pass. With the oncoming car, my decision was instantaneous. I just stood passively waiting to proceed along the narrow footpath. I saw the map book lower and the car crawled past. I had a good look from the elevated footpath. The young woman was naked, totally naked! She knew I had looked at her displayed charms as the car slowly passed by. I was aware that the people facing me had gone into single file and my way forward was no longer unimpeded, so I gained access to the butchers. There was a long queue. I had to push to get into the shop. I was able to see the advertised prices and as he had the best price for the meat I wanted and the quality looked right I stayed in the queue. I purchased my meager meat ration paid and exited the shop. A quick glance showed me that there was a gap in the traffic in both directions so began to cross this congested road. As I looked left after gaining the middle of the road, I saw that car, yes that silver car. The map book lowered. The driver stopped and waved me across. I gained the other side of the road and the car moved past very, very slowly. I had a good view into the passenger compartment. The naked woman had a hand at her crotch. She was frigging herself! I watched in amazement as the car moved forward. I pinched myself. Yes, I had seen what I had seen. The images were burned on my retinas. I took a backward stare as the car turned left into the bypass road and tried to dismiss the event from my mind. The foot traffic on this side of the road was very bad; most people were going out of town. I was going in towards town, so it took quite a while to traverse the hundred and fifty yards. I was about 50 yards from the junction and again there was no one in front going my way, so I had to fight to gain a yard, and then wait for people to move to let me move, when I saw the silver car again. It turned the corner and I saw the map book and the smiling face above it. Eyes locked on to mine. I froze watching its slow progress in the gridlocked road. It was perhaps a whole minute before the car drew level. The map book went down. The passenger turned and smiled at me. She took a quick glance at the rear seat! A hand was on the locked door catch and pulling on it. The back door was unlocked, a clear invitation! The car stopped and the naked passenger looked straight into my eyes and beamed a broad smile. For me time froze. I stood like a tailor's dummy. An irate driver to the rear blasted his horn and the silver car moved off. I will never forgive myself for not getting into that car! What the Hell Am I Doing? ------------------------------------------------- Author's Note: This is the beginning of a new series of stories, all of them holding at least a kernel of truth, if not more. Not all will have full-on sexual contact and/or encounters, at least as I have it planned, but I hope the reader will enjoy the feelings, and emotions, that went through my mind. That being said, there is going to be a lot of interracial sexual relations, sex with strangers, and even some violence. Call it adultery, call it slavery, or call it submission, whatever label you choose, but unless you have a CONSTRUCTIVE comment, I'm not interested in hearing your blithering, whiney fingers scream about how I should be divorced, shot, made homeless, or abandoned. We all have enough troubles in our days without listening to your opinions on how someone should live their lives. With that said, if you are still here, please enjoy the first installment: ------------------------------------------------- "What the hell am I doing?" It was a question I seemed to be asking myself more and more lately. I had pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, one of my regular stops in my assigned territory. My job made me travel about three weeks a month, sometimes less, but all of it was 'local' travel. I was a road warrior. And I am a woman. I am a woman in a man's industry, and what made matters worse was that I am what men would call a solid 8+, in their subjective rating scale, sometimes even a 9, if I wore the right outfit, and my hair was just so. My appearance made it difficult for men to take me seriously in a business-sense, and more than once I only achieved my business objectives by letting my counterpart get a flash of cleavage, as opposed to sound business decisions. At first I was incensed, but I got used to it, even to the point of derision. In some ways, I hated my job, and all the travel, and I was so unhappy having to be away from home. My figure had earned me many suitors when I was in college, some of whom had succeeded in making me their conquest, until my one came along, and I married him. He worked, I worked, but perversely, I did all the travelling, and he was the homebody. Which brought me to the evening, and my being seated in my company car, the key in my hand in my lap, and my soft voice whispered. "What the hell am I doing?" The first time I asked myself that was the first time I met Him. The man who dominated me. I am a mere five foot four inches, and he was well over six feet, and had over a hundred pounds on me, easily. I think that the only two categories I could beat him at was hair length and boob size. I'm a D-cup, and even though he was very fit, and tremendously strong, he suffered from some man-boobs. My brown hair was past my shoulders, and his was missing. He shaved his head regularly, but then many black men did. With dark brown eyes, and skin so dark I missed him at first when we met at a hotel bar (where else?), it was not long before I was giving him my full attention, and that same night, he was making me full of his. Now when I came to town, it was time for me to make a transformation. From wearing a grey silk women's business suit, to the most revealing slut I could ever imagine, when I opened the door to the hotel lobby, I was His. I asked myself one last time. "What the hell am I doing?" Then I exited my car, locked it with a chirp of the clicker, and made my way in. He was there, greeting me with a leering look as my crème charmeuse blouse shimmered with each step of my bra-lass, bounding breasts, my black heels echoing from the polished marble floor. He did look so very out of place for a four-star establishment, wearing baggy shorts, and a wife-beater t-shirt, with undone high-top sneakers, and a couple of gold chains around his neck. Plus one in his fingers. It was that one which was intended for me. It was thin, but just as real as his own jewelry. I never asked where he got it, out even how, I was actually afraid to know. One of the nice things about upscale hotels is that they know the value of discretion, especially for regular customers. Since I stayed there for three or four days at a stretch, at least once a month, I was a very good guest of the hotel. So when there were certain variances from what many would consider the norm, staff would politely look the other way, as long as the shenanigans weren't too far out of line. So far, what I was doing was well within bounds. I walked to him, and for the reader's sake, I'll call him Ben, and I looked him squarely in the eyes, and spoke softly. "I am ready..." I let out a sharp breath. "I am yours to enjoy, and will fuck you or whom you want, when you want, and where you want." It was part of our ritual, it was the beginning of that time where I surrendered myself to Him, and became Ben's property. I reached up, and collected my shiny brunette hair in my fingers, lifting it up, making a display of placing my hands behind my head, elbows out, and he reached around my neck, fastening the gold chain and trinket around me. The trinket was a charm that said "Fuck Me", and hung down the plunge of my blouse, to the beginning of my cleavage, a placement sure to catch the eye of men as they oggled me. Preliminaries out of the way, he escorted me to the front desk, and I checked into the hotel, signing in as "Mr. & Mrs.", playing the role of his toy, and for a few days, his wife. My own wedding ring remained in place, more as a symbol of Ben's dominance, his ability to claim my body, and my mind, and my spirit. But not my heart. I gave Ben just about everything, but I didn't love him. That I reserved for my husband, and him alone. Taking the room key, we made our way to the far side of the hotel, where we asked for a room on the ground floor, so we could have easier access, and as we were on the parking lot side, not many would be loitering there. We weren't ten steps down the hall before Ben's hand was reaching my skirt, lifting the tight hemline until I could barely walk, so he could hook onto my panties, and take them off. I had to short-step as he did so, as that, too, was part of the routine we had. No panties by the time we reached the room. This time he made me leave them on the floor of the hallway, where they finally fell off, and I had to kiss another pair of twenty-dollar lace panties goodbye. Inside the room, he took no time at all in idle chatter, not even a 'How are you doing?'. The air conditioning had made the room an ice-box, and even as I had bent slightly to adjust the thermostat, he was behind he, the bulge in his shorts pressed against the thin silk skirt. Wordlessly, he reached around, and undid the wide black patent-leather belt and then unzipped my skirt, which clanked and then fell softly to a pool of fabric around my heels. I stood up, and felt his hands on me, one reaching to collect a massive handful of my breast, and the other in my hair, thick black fingers controlling my head, until I was twisted and lips upturned to begin a passionate kiss. My hands reached to his, pink nail polish perfect from the fresh manicure over the weekend, and my petite fingers simply rode on the hand pawing my breast, strong fingers groping and squeezing it, until it would certainly bruise. My voice let out a small moan of pain as his fingers dug in. My last fleeting thought, "What the hell am I..." faded away, instantly vaporized as he did the one thing that captured me in the first place, that very first time, in the bar, where he kissed me. It wasn't a normal kiss, with tongues lashing everywhere, and drooling, sloppy lips, it was that thing that I didn't even know I had until Ben found it. He injected his tongue into my mouth, nearly prying my teeth apart as his lips coated mine, and he sucked my tongue out, from the recesses of my oral cavity, into his. He sucked on my tongue, holding it between his lips and teeth, and from there I was done for. My weekend with my family, my day at work, even the shitty commute to get where I was, fighting the Los Angeles freeways, all those memories were instantly surrendered as he suckled my tongue. My arms fell limp, hands dangling uselessly at my waist, then even falling back as he pulled me onto him from behind. My voice mewed, the sweet mewling of a kitten in hunger, perhaps, and I had no resistance. Early on he had found that primal instinct that belonged to me, and me alone. He had found that thing I would respond to, regardless of the circumstances. He found my slut-switch, and brutally turned it on. (Chapter 2 to follow)