2 comments/ 30482 views/ 3 favorites The Refusal By: sr71plt It was a long shot, but Langley said the station in Mongu had to do something, so quick plans were made and a team from the special section was sent out to Central Africa. A new war lord had risen in the remote province to the east, and, as remote as the province was, it was about the most important region to U.S. interests in the whole of Africa. The magic word was uranium. The province was laced with it, providing probably the largest known largely untapped deposits of the most precious element in the world. And now it was controlled by a crazy, upstart war lord who was showing the finger to the central government and picking and choosing among all of the offers for mining the stuff. General Kirungi of the Banyao was a monster of a man—in both size and temperament. He'd gotten the nickname "the gorilla" because of his size and his lack of sophistication or care for political correctness or diplomatic niceties. He was a law unto himself and had a reputation for simply killing anyone with his bare hands who stood in the way of his voracious appetites. He was said to be seven feet tall—although no one had gotten close enough to him with a tape measure to verify that—and he was a mountain of a man—big bellied and fat assed, but it was all deception; it was all hard muscle. He was a dark chocolate brown, but his body was covered with blue tattooing, reflecting that he had emerged directly from the jungle to push all men aside in his province and had become a virtual king in his little fiefdom. The United States, naturally, wanted to ensure that they were able to acquire the uranium in his province—or to keep it away from select others if they couldn't have it themselves—although Kirungi had been teasing and holding them off for more than a year—just as he was doing with the Russians and Chinese and Indians and Iranians. The rumor was that he was most amenable to the offers from the North Koreans, although U.S. intelligence analysis had concluded that he had floated this rumor himself to pique the interest of the West. Although Kirungi was called dumb and primitive by many, wily and maverick actually would hit closer to the mark. The man had propelled himself to center stage in Africa so precipitously and in such a short time that there virtually was nothing known of his background. All that U.S. intelligence had to go on was that he was the first-born son of a local tribal chief, who had sent him to a private all-boys school in France, where he had been expelled for sexually assaulting three students. All of the students were males and redheads. This was all the analysts had found in his background other than that he had an assistant who followed closely behind him and made everything happen that Kirungi wanted to happen. Shisa was of the Bamasaaba rather than Kirungi's Banyao, but there was a tie between them. Shisa was married to Kirungi's favorite daughter, who he indulged in every way. That was it; that was all U.S. intelligence had to work with, and establishing U.S. supremacy in access to the uranium was thus a chancy possibility—but it was something they had to try. The provincial capital of Kalaibo was overrun with mining engineering teams speaking a cacophony of languages when a two-man team from the Belgian-based international consortium Agorabasse arrived in the city. Eric Scanlon, documented as a Canadian, was a distinctive man. He had blazing red hair and a cocky countenance despite appearing to be a good ten years younger than he was. He was slight of build, which helped explain his in-your-face cockiness, and he moved like a dancer, although this was more because he had been an Olympic gymnast and had maintained the physique of one. He dressed flamboyantly for the dusty plains rimming the jungle forests of Central Africa and exuded more than his share of self-confidence. His assistant, Brian Townsend, traveled under an Australian passport, and he was as different from his boss as he could be. Tall and hulky, dark and handsome in a square-cut fashion. He was the quiet one, but the one with an open, friendly smile. The one comfortable in wrinkled bush jacket and khaki shorts and combat boots; the one carrying all of the equipment. General Kirungi's first sighting of Eric Scanlon was in his favorite male bordello on the outskirts of Kalaibo. Kirungi had made his choice for the night and was being led back to the best room in the house when he passed an open door and heard moaning and murmuring that was not in the local dialect. Eric Scanlon was laying on his back in a black-leather sling suspended from the ceiling by chains, with his alabaster legs spread and lifted in a harness and a large-boned local African stud with a thick cock fucking him in slow strokes. Kirungi's attention was riveted on the young Westerner's flaming red hair—both the mop of curls on his head and the finer curling at his bush—and by his diminutive size. He was also mesmerized by the sounds of pleasure the man was voicing in the fuck. Kirungi's cock went immediately at attention, and, in short order, he left his choice for the evening barely conscious on the floor of the bordello's best room, unable to close his legs and of no use to the establishment for several more days, and backtracked to get another look at the redhead. Kirungi couldn't get the redheaded Westerner out of his mind while he was taking his pleasure, but when he returned to the room where he'd seen him, the man was gone. Three days later, though, Eric Scanlon, with Brian Townsend in tow, was sitting in Kirungi's office, doing what he could to charm the tribal chief—which didn't take much, since Kirungi had spent the three days obsessing over Scanlon's red hair and alabaster skin and his moaning at the fucking of an African stud. Kirungi had put out feelers on who this man could be, and his assistant, Shisa, who was standing by the door during this meeting, had worked his magic and moved the paperwork for Scanlon's requested meeting with the provincial chief to the top of the pile, moving him past petitioners who had been waiting for their audience for weeks. Kirungi was cagey in the discussions, speaking of possibilities and mentioning gigantic sums and suggesting that they did need to talk further on it. Then, as the empty-talk negotiations drew to a close, Kirungi suggested that Shisa take Brian Townsend to his own office and offer him a beer and talk about uranium as an element and the mining techniques thereof, topics that Kirungi admitted bored him—that he had some higher-level discussions yet to conduct with Mr. Scanlon. "Twenty-five or thirty minutes, that's all I'll need," Kirungi said. When they were alone, Kirungi leaned over the top of his desk, exuding an image of a massive man who made the desk look like children's furniture, although it was well over standard size, and stared directly into Scanlon's eyes. "And did you enjoy the fuck at the Kojo House, Mr. Scanlon?" he asked, with a smile. Eric Scanlon looked scandalized and worked his jaw as if he couldn't think of a thing to say at this direct and shocking question. "No need for games, Mr. Scanlon," Kirungi continued. "I saw you there, and I heard you. You were enjoying being fucked by a big African cock." "On occasion, yes, I do enjoy it," Scanlon said, and to show Kirungi he had fully recovered his wits, he fished a pack of cigarettes out of his top pocket and lit one up with a lighter from his trouser pocket. He blew a ring of smoke in the air and then lowered his face and gave the African tribal chief a sardonic smile. "And did you enjoy being fucked at Kojo House, general?" "I don't get fucked, Mr. Scanlon. I fuck. And I have a bigger cock than anything you can buy at Kojo House. I would like to fuck you." "Oh really? And would we do that at Kojo House?" Scanlon asked, keeping his voice at bantering level. This was a dangerous part of this game. "Here. Now. I can split you and have you groveling at my feet in twenty minutes," Kirungi said. "I think you will enjoy it as much as I do." And the way he said it reflected that he totally believed what he had said. "$200 U.S. and all of the cocks you want at Kojo House. How does that sound? I know you asked for the biggest cock they had at Kojo House. I can give you what you want. And perhaps the second time you will want to pay me for it." He sat back in his chair and gave a hearty laugh. Scanlon wondered if perhaps he had spent all morning devising that joke. "I'd rather we talked some more on the mining deal my company is offering you. Perhaps you can look that over and we can meet again in a few days. And then, yes, I might like to take your cock. I do love big, black cocks." Scanlon was leveling a confident smile at Kirungi, but he was seething inside. All was not ready yet. He didn't want to take Kirungi's cock any more than was absolutely necessary for the operation. "You know I could take you right here, don't you, Mr. Scanlon?" "Yes, probably," Scanlon answered in a light, "who cares" voice, "but has any company or government offered anything close to what Agorabasse has for these mining rights? I think it best that we make a whole evening of it as either a deal celebration or some other accommodation, don't you? Or don't you really have any uranium to sell? How about signing my petition for survey rights out near Lukulu, so I know whether I really want to let you fuck me? I'd like to know that there's really something worth fucking over." "My cocking is worth all of the uranium in Africa," Kirungi retorted, on the edge between wanting to trade witticisms and wanting to reach across the desk and throttle this arrogant little man. "But I'll sign your survey petition. The uranium is there." Scanlon had been pushing the buzzer in his pocket in panic for several minutes now—summoning Brian Townsend to somehow get back to this office, and it was at this point that Townsend did arrive, with a somewhat chagrined-expressioned Shisa behind him. Kirungi gave Shisa a nasty look as Scanlon stood and made a hasty retreat, but not before Kirungi invited Scanlon to view a tribal dance ceremony with him in three day's time, which Scanlon happily accepted. They left Kirungi towering over his desk—having worked him up into the frenzy they wanted, although they walked a risky line in dealing with him. Kirungi wanted to fuck the cocky Eric Scanlon now more than ever. Kirungi tried to entice Scanlon into his Mercedes after the tribal dance ceremony later in the week, but Scanlon managed to somewhat gracefully get out of his grip with nothing more than Kirungi copping a feel of his basket and forcing Scanlon to take the measure of his cock through his regimental blue trousers. The gasp that Scanlon emitted at this feel was genuine. The U.S. intelligence now had something to work with, and Townsend reported that he'd be able to handle Shisa to keep him away from the operations room for as long as was needed. It took two days. But when everything was set up, Townsend made the call to Shisa. "Mr. Scanlon would love to do as the general suggests," Townsend said. "Just tell him that, please. And he is anxious. He doesn't want to wait until he gets back to Kalaibo. We're at the village of Lukulu, where we're doing the surveying you approved. Mr. Scanlon could meet with the general in the governmental office here if he wishes. And oh, by the way, we've been called back to Belgium for consultations, so we'll probably have to go directly back to the capital from here and fly to Belgium. Mr. Scanlon's not sure when we can return." The tribal chief's Mercedes roared up in a gigantic cloud of dust to the front of the governmental office in the small village of Lukulu in less than three hours. Out stepped a broadly smiling General Kirungi followed by a less-than-smiling Shisa. Brian Townsend was standing at the door into the one-room office. "Mr. Scanlon is inside, general," he said. "I suggest that Mr. Shisa might want to walk over to the town's hotel with me for a drink and some technical discussions while you meet with Mr. Scanlon." "That sounds quite satisfactory," the general said, and he cast an evil eye to Shisa, who walked off somewhat reluctantly with the hulking Brian Townsend. Kirungi drew in a breath when he opened the door of the office. Eric Scanlon was sitting on the edge of the desk, facing the door, completely nude, legs spread, and rubbing oil on his cock. He had already oiled his passage well. Kirungi was making the sound of a bull in heat as he turned the lock of the door behind him and was still stripping off his clothes as he reached the desk. He reached out his big mitts for Scanlon, and a laughing Eric Scanlon reached down for the charging general's monstrous cock with oiled hands. Scanlon wasn't laughing for long, as a bellowing Kirungi grabbed his legs and wishboned them and then took his cock in one hand and started stuffing it into Scanlon's channel. Once having gained a sure purchase inside Scanlon's canal, Kirungi took hold of Scanlon's hips and jerked the redhead's pelvis down further on his cock. Scanlon screamed out and rose up and pushed his fists against Kirungi's massive chest, and Kirungi laughed and backhanded the smaller man across the mouth. Scanlon came back up and was slapped again. Stunned, Scanlon laid back and whimpered and moaned. And then he started to grunt and groan and writhe under the huge African, as Kirungi's cock filled out and sank deeper and he started to piston Scanlon's channel like a jackhammer. It was all over in fifteen minutes, leaving Scanlon nearly unconscious, collapsed on the desktop right where Kirungi had found him and groaning and holding his legs as spread as he could get them. "I give you five minutes and then we do it again," Kirungi said. Scanlon groaned. "And did you find cocking that good at the Kojo House, Mr. Scanlon?" Kirungi asked. Scanlon whimpered something unintelligible and Kirungi laughed, a deep-throated, fully self-satisfied guffaw. That's when the lock in the door turned and it opened and three men incongruously in black, tailored suits entered. Two of the men, noticeably armed, stood by the door after it was closed, and the third man walked over to a nearby chair and sat down. Kirungi looked at them warily. Scanlon lay where he was, panting lightly. "Are you all right, Eric?" the man asked in a decidedly American accent. "I'll survive . . . I think," Scanlon answered in a small voice that merged into a moan. "Hello, General Kirungi, my name is Sam Winterberry. I'm on a temporary assignment to the American embassy here until we can reach some sort of accommodation with you over the uranium mining rights in your province." "Why the fuck do I care who you are?" Kirungi bellowed. "Well, if you'll look up in the corner of the room, you'll see video cameras up there. You have been a star on film, general. And we thought perhaps that rather than showing these films in the capital, you might—" "What the fuck do I care what you show in the capital?" Kirungi growled. And then he laughed. "They all know I fuck men. My wives know I fuck men. The whole province knows I fuck men. And anyone who doesn't like that I'll just snap in two." It was quite a tableau. The two black-suited G-men at the door; Sam Winterberry, sitting properly in his chair in a tailored suit that was completely out of place here in the African outback; and the provincial tribal chief, standing tall and bulky and naked, his cock half hard and dripping from his taking of Eric Scanlon. Winterberry had a wary expression, and Kirungi had an expression that covered both belligerence and amusement. After two full moments of silence, Winterberry stood, sighed, and said, "Ah well, it was worth a try. We'll still be happy to talk to you about price and arrangements. No hard feelings, I hope." He put his hand out, and Kirungi just stood there, looking incredulous, no doubt wondering if all Americans were this demented. "And to ensure there are no hard feelings," Winterberry, his hand still extended, "we would be happy to give you thirty more minutes with Mr. Scanlon. Eric?" "Yes, oh god yes," Scanlon mumbled. "Best fuck I've ever had. If he can just . . . go . . . more slowly." Kirungi gave a broad grin and reached out his hand and shook with Winterberry. As Winterberry and his two colleagues clicked the door to the governmental office behind them, Kirungi was between Scanlon's legs again and stuffing himself into Scanlon's channel, and Scanlon was crying out, "Slowly . . . oh, gawwd, slowly . . . Oh yesssss!" "Now, gentlemen, down the street to the hotel, if you please. We gave that little chance of working, but we have thirty minutes for the backup plan." At the hotel, in a second floor room that had been previously outfitted with video cameras, Kirungi's assistant and son, Shisa was shuddering and writhing and crying out in passion as he lay, naked, on his back on a bed and Brian Townsend, his knees wedged under the African's buttocks, his thighs splitting the African's thighs, and his hands on the African's hips, pulled Shisa's channel down and up on his cock and moved a hand to Shisa's cock in time to control the African's ejaculation. Shisa was still groaning from Townsend's own finish deep inside him, when the door to the corridor opened and the three suited men walked in. When the door closed, two of the men, visibly armed, stood on either side of the door, while the third one walked over and sat down in a nearby straight chair. "Hello, Mr. Shisa. my name is Sam Winterberry. I'm on a temporary assignment to the American embassy here until we can reach some sort of accommodation with your country over the uranium mining rights in your province." "What?" Shisa said, trying to shrink away into the wallpaper, but held fast by a still-impaling Brian Townsend. "I think we have a trade that will please us both, Mr. Shisa," Winterberry said. "You may release him now, Brian, if you will. And go down the hall to the bath and clean yourself up. We should be ready to go in another twenty minutes or so." And then, as Townsend got up with a grunt, pulled on his bush shorts, and went through the door to the corridor that one of Winterberry's colleagues held open for him, Winterberry turned back to a quaking Shisa, who now was buried in the bed covers. "If you look up in the corners of the room, Mr. Shisa, you will see small video cameras. I'm sure we have some lovely footage of your encounter with Mr. Townsend. Now we would like to have a friend in the provincial office when it comes to giving out uranium mining rights, and I'm sure that your wife, who we understand is General Kirungi's favorite daughter, would not be pleased to see these videos. Would you like to make an arrangement with us? We would, naturally, be happy to put you on a consultant's stipend—all very private, of course." Shisa hunched there under his covers, trying to speak but unable to do so. "It is, of course, an offer of very limited availability, Mr. Shisa." Winterberry made a dramatic gesture of looking at his wrist watch. "Your general is a man who doesn't linger over his pleasures. I calculate that you have ten minutes or less to mull over this offer and be dressed and standing down by his Mercedes unless we want him figuring out what has transpired here. Do you really want him to know that you have broken his favorite daughter's heart?" Shisa was standing by the Mercedes when General Kirungi emerged, all smiles, from the governmental office. The U.S. team's SUV was parked behind the hotel. After the Mercedes had roared off in a cloud of smoke, Brian Townsend helped Eric get cleaned up at the hotel, while the two silent colleagues dismounted the video cameras. And then they were off, headed back to Kalaibo in the dust cloud that still lingered in the wake of Kirungi's Mercedes. The Refusal Note: This story contains elements of exhibitionism, non-consent, BDSM, group sex and fetish. Overall, I think the BDSM element is strongest. Hopefully I posted this in the correct category. English is not my first language, so please forgive any (hopefully) minor grammatical errors. Or not; you can always let me know, and I'll try to do better next time. All characters are over 18. ----- According to Wikipedia: Refusal is lack of agreement to perform a particular course of action A refusal can be indicated by the word 'no' ----- I fucked up! Man, did I ever fuck up! My master has been very good to me. Sure, he punishes me whenever I mess up, but he is always fair. That's what I'm afraid of this time. Normally, when I do something wrong - I mess up dinner, or forget to do a chore, or skip something when cleaning the house - he gives me a 1 or a 2 maybe. Okay, I can see I'm confusing you, so let me start again. See, he has this punishment scale, starting at 1 and going up to... well, it's open ended really. A 1 could mean I have to go to the market on a windy day wearing a knee length skirt without panties. I get very embarrassed when someone sees my ass, or even just too much of my legs, and so my master takes advantage of that fact. For a 2, I once had to order pizza and open the door for the delivery guy wearing a see-through teddy without anything underneath. I almost died when I opened the door. But of course master knew that I would also be incredibly turned on by it. It's a combination of making a guy horny by showing my body, and the embarrassment. The more ashamed I am of what I do, the hornier I get. My worst punishment so far has been a 5. That time, he took me to a motel. He ordered me to strip completely and tied me up on the bed, my arms above my head and my legs spread as far as possible. He put up a video camera to record everything. Then, he used a vibrator on my clit until I almost came several times. When I started begging him to let me cum, he pushed a different vibrator, a rabbit with those cute little ears that vibrate against your clit, into my wet pussy, turned it on low, and left it there. It kept me nicely turned on, but it wasn't enough to let me cum. Not much of a punishment? Well, he wasn't done yet. This time, he ordered the pizza. When the delivery boy knocked on the door, he turned the rabbit on full power and opened the door. The guy was getting a great look at me. He stared at me through the open door, and my master invited him in to get a better look. I was mortified, and.... god, I still blush when I think about it. I came, right in front of both of them. I lay there on the bed and let a pizza guy watch me cum! Sometimes my master makes me watch the movie of that evening as a minor punishment, and then he masturbates in front of me, while I, of course, am not allowed to touch myself. Believe me, it's punishment enough. So how did I screw up? I mean, I didn't just forget the salt on the potatoes this time. My master had given me an instruction to wash my car in the driveway. I was wearing only a very short skirt, and I knew I wasn't going to be allowed to change. The neighbors were out doing yard work, and I would be on display the whole time. The guy on our left was kind of creepy, and I didn't like the idea of crawling in and out of the car in my skimpy outfit with him watching, or getting my already quite thin t-shirt wet in front of him, and so I simply said 'no'. Can you believe it? The instant I said it I knew I had gone too far. The look on my master's face said it all: I was in a lot of trouble! My master never, ever hits me. No spanking, other than a playful slap on my ass sometimes. No whipping either. He doesn't twist my nipples, he doesn't use clamps, nothing like that. Instead, as I said, he believes in punishing me by making me do things that I don't want to do. I apologized instantly, but it was too late. My master just turned around and walked away to his study. When he came back an hour later, he only said one word to me: '14'. I started to argue. I couldn't even imagine what a 14 would mean, but I knew it was way more than I was able to endure. I opened my mouth to plead with him, when he said '15'. "But master, I..." "16" Now, I may be a bit stupid, but even I knew where this was going, so I shut up. I thought that maybe I could come up with a plan later, something to got my punishment reduced to a 5, or maybe a 6. Fat chance! That evening, my master took my arm and dragged me into our bedroom, where he had laid out a long coat and a pair of thigh high boots with 5" heels for me. Nothing else. So now, I'm sitting here in my car (why didn't I just clean the damn thing; our neighbor would have looked up my skirt at my barely covered ass, so what?), wearing a long coat and the boots and nothing underneath. My master has not even looked at me since we left the house half an hour ago. I am terrified. I have no idea what he is planning to do, and the fact that it's getting dark outside, and that we are on a highway in an area I have never been to before, does nothing to calm me down. After about an hour of driving we pull into a rest area at the side of the highway. It is by now completely dark, and I have no idea where we are, but I can see us passing a number of cars before he pulls into a parking spot at the very end of the ramp. "Get out!" My heart is beating faster than ever before, and I am about to open my mouth and make one more attempt at changing my master's mind, but he only looks at me and smiles. "Do you really want to make your punishment even harder?" he asks. I look down at my feet and shake my head and get out of the truck. "Open your coat!" With tears in my eyes I follow his command. Several cars are parked between our car and the restrooms about 150 yards away, and he makes me walk that way, slowly, my coat wide open, my hands on my back. As we pass the cars I see heads turning my way and greedy eyes looking at my naked body under the coat. I am ashamed, so very ashamed. "Why are you pushing your tits out, little one?" Only after he says it I realize it is true. I am pushing out my breasts to show them off, to make sure they look as good as possible. I don't know why, and when I answer his question that way, he smiles as if he knows something I don't. Which he probably does. After we pass the first few cars, master tells me to take the coat off completely. He knows exactly how much my nudity embarrasses me. As I walk naked towards the restrooms, several men get out of their cars and follow us. I think I can feel their hungry eyes on my naked ass and tits, even though they keep their distance for now. As we get to the restrooms, I move towards the women's, but master shakes his head and indicates the men's room instead. I plead with my eyes, but he ignores me, and I am too afraid to say anything. I enter the men's room, which is cold and relatively dirty, but empty of people. I am sure that this will change soon. Master leads me to the middle of the room, where he makes me stand, naked, hands on my back. Soon I hear the door open. I am afraid to look, and keep my eyes on the dirty floor. I am grateful for the boots my master has allowed me to wear. A man walks past me, on the way to one of the urinals. I feel his eyes roaming all over my naked body. "Wow, that's a nice rack," I hear him say. The door opens again, more footsteps, more men entering the room, some whistling appreciatively as the walk towards me and stare at me. I am naked. I want to sink into the floor. I keep my eyes down, afraid to look at the men, or at my master, but I can sure feel all of them looking at me. To my shock I can see my nipples become even harder. Surely that is just a reaction to the low temperature in the restroom. I hear a high pitched voice. "Oh, look at her, Liz, she's completely naked." For a moment I forget my fear and look up, right into the eyes of a young woman. On her right, a tall man, obviously her husband or boyfriend, has his arm possessively around her shoulders. On her left, another woman of about the same age, also in the company of a young man. "Hey, this is the men's room, isn't it? How am I supposed to take a piss, with all these chicks in here?" one of the men behind me loudly exclaims. "I've got a hard-on the size of a baseball bat, looking at this sluts ass." "That's what she's here for," my master responds. "Monica, go and help the gentleman with his problem." "You... you want me to..." I stutter. "Now!" master says, louder, but by no means yelling. But the man had already acted. Happy to have been offered help, he had moved towards me, and now stood right in front of me, with his hard cock pointing at me. "You gonna suck it, slut?" "No," master replied for me. "Handjobs only, at least for now. Let's see if she behaves." "Fine by me." The stranger stood and looked at my tits. Carefully I touched his penis, not sure how to proceed. The two women started offering advice in pretty crude terms. "Don't worry, cutie pie, you're not gonna break it; grab it harder, pull on it," the man encouraged me. I took his cock in my fist and started pumping it up and down, slowly at first, then faster as his pre-cum started leaking out of his cock head. I tried to do a good job, afraid that my master would see any hesitation on my part as misbehavior, terrified of what that might mean. The other men, about ten of them, had built a rough circle around us, shuffling to get a better look at the action. The two women were still standing almost in front of me, just slightly off to the side, watching me masturbate the stranger. The husband or boyfriend of the one woman had his hands on her boobs, while she rubbed the front of his jeans. Without warning, the man in my hand erupted. His first squirt hit me square on the belly. I tried to redirect the ones after that onto the floor, but a grunt and a look from my master made me change my mind, and I allowed the man to squirt his cum all over my thighs to the loud applause and cheers of the spectators. "What did she do?" one of the women wanted to know, and master was in the mood to reply. "She refused an order from me. She didn't want to go out in the clothes I had told her to wear, and she refused me. She didn't want to be seen in a revealing outfit by the neighbors." The woman grinned in my direction. "And now you're standing here naked in front of all of us, with cum running down your body. Wouldn't it have been easier just to do what you were told?" she snickered. Bitch! The guy I had just jerked off had stepped away to one of the urinals to finally go about his business, and now several others had taken out their dicks and waved them in front of me to cheerful shouts of 'I need help, too.' One quick look at master told me what I had to do, and for the first time in my life, I found myself with two cocks in my hands, trying to get them both off as quickly as I could. "Spread your legs, you slut," the woman whispered in my ear. "That'll get them to cum faster, if they can see your sloppy wet cunt." I wanted to slap her, to tell her to shut up. Instead, I considered her advice, and I spread my legs, and when the men started to grab my pussy and my ass, I even started moaning, pretending to be turned on. Naturally I was only pretending. Anything to get this over with. One by one, the men came, shooting their cum in my direction. My hands, as well as my body, were covered by their ejaculations, which actually made my job of jerking the next ones off easier. I was grateful to my master for only making me give them handjobs, and I swore that from now on I would do whatever master told me to do. The prospect of having to service them with my mouth or, god forbid, my cunt, as might well be the case next time, was too horrible to think about. This was a busy place. A steady stream of men entered the restrooms. Some of them only looked, some just went about their business, but many took out their cocks and got in line for some free relief, and I quickly lost count of how many men I serviced that night, but finally I was alone with master, and the two women and their guys, who had not taken advantage of the offered services, probably because they were in the company of their women. "She's quite the sight," the woman with the big mouth exclaimed. "You're going to have to hose her down before you let her into your car." "No problem," master said. "It's her car, and she can clean it tomorrow. I'm sure she won't mind." "Think she would mind doing something for me?" the woman asked. "I've gotten quite horny, watching your little slut jerk off all these guys, and I guess I'm not the only one." The last part was accompanied by a gesture towards her friend Liz, who by now had the cock of her man out and was eagerly licking over the head of his hard-on. Master smiled encouragingly, and the woman took a step towards me. "On your knees, slut!" I looked pleadingly at master, but his eyes remained cold, and he just nodded his head. Quickly I dropped to my knees, which meant I had to touch the cum covered floor with my hands to support myself. The woman stepped in front of me and slowly lifted her short skirt, ordering me to lick her pussy. "Don't you dare touch me with those slimy hands, you hear? Use your tongue only, bitch, and if you do it well, I might even squirt for you." She made me pull her panties down, using only my teeth, before diving in between her legs and giving her cunt a slow, careful lick. I had never in my life licked another woman, and I had even had a problem with the few times where master had made me lick my fingers after I had played with myself. The woman grabbed my head and pressed my mouth into her dripping wet cunt. I didn't dare refuse to do what she wanted, for fear of my master seeing any kind of reluctance as a bad performance. Her pussy juice actually didn't taste bad, only different, and luckily she was horny enough so that my inexperienced tongue didn't take too long to push her over the edge. I simply pressed my tongue on her wet slit and licked, hard and fast, all the way from her wet opening to her hard clit, over and over, until her breathing sped up and she started moaning and squirming on my mouth, and suddenly she let out a loud, short scream and pressed herself onto my lips with all her might. It was a very strange feeling, having another woman come on my mouth, especially with her guy and the other couple watching, but she didn't squirt like she had threatened to do, so overall it wasn't as bad as I had feared. Master made me walk back to the car still naked. The cum on my body had begun to dry, and the night air was cool, and I started shivering before we were halfway to the car. Master even ran ahead and opened the doors, and then turned the car on and started the heat, so that by the time I got to the car, it was beginning to warm up. Still naked, I sat in the driver's seat, the engine idling, the heat blowing warm air at me. Master opened his pants, and without being told what to do, I leaned over the center console and took his hard cock into my mouth. I sucked and licked him, making sure to leave my mouth as wet as possible, dribbling saliva all over him, using my lips and my tongue as well as I knew how, keeping him deep in my mouth as he erupted, swallowing every bit of his hot cum down my throat. On the way home, master made me tell him how I felt, standing naked and ashamed in the middle of who knows how many men, yanking on their cocks, jerking them off, letting them cum on my body, while their hands roamed freely over every part of me they could reach. Having to tell master how much the experience had turned me on, despite the shame and the humiliation I had felt, was probably harder for me than the experience itself. As my final punishment for the night, I was not allowed to masturbate, but I was tired enough that I didn't think falling asleep was going to be a problem. Tomorrow, I have to clean my car. There are cum stains all over my seat, as well as the door and the steering wheel. Master has ordered me to wear my shortest skirt, without panties, and a thin, white blouse. It will be quite a show for the neighbors, but this time I know better than to refuse. Maybe I could at least wear a tiny thong? Master wouldn't know, and even if he found out, the punishment for that couldn't be too bad, could it?