1 comments/ 4531 views/ 1 favorites Five Days Ch. 01 By: darkangel001 Monday Sabine arrived at the hotel half an hour early, the taxi dumping her brusquely on the sidewalk as if it knew her purpose in being there. She felt like the world was passing judgment on her: the gray, rain-soaked streets and buildings, the thundery sky that threatened overhead, the hurrying pedestrians with their heads down, eyes lowered away from her. As she stood there in dark glasses, raincoat and a silk Chanel head scarf she could hardly be any less conspicuous; but perhaps it was her own sense of guilt that made her feel so scrutinised. She had chosen the hotel well; a squalid, two star place located in the slightly less chic part of town. She was certain that she'd encounter no one she knew here, not miles away from their villas and their yachts and their clubs. She would see no one from her exclusive circle of privileged friends, no prying acquaintances who might ask a happily married -- and very wealthy -- woman what she was doing in 'this' part of town. But Sabine was early; and besides, she was not yet sure whether she was going to go through with this at all. She decided to wait in the cafe across the street. She ordered an espresso and a cognac to steady her nerves. In a manner that shocked even her, she knocked back the spirit and asked for another, wondering what the proprietor thought. An alcoholic housewife, probably, she mused. Sabine took the risk of sitting at a street table, where she smoked a cigarette and sipped her coffee and watched the hotel as if waiting for someone to emerge. Even now she was debating whether or not to make her appointment, or to forget this absurd whim and take a cab back to her house in the hills -- back where she felt safe. There was an old man sitting at the table next to hers; he was reading his newspaper, a cigar smouldering in the ashtray beside a small, half-finished glass of beer, a little dog curled up at his feet. Sabine felt uncomfortable, even though the man had barely acknowledged her when she had first sat down and was now preoccupied with his newspaper. She shifted in her chair awkwardly, noticed a small splash of dark mud on her stocking. Wetting a forefinger she removed the mud and instinctively straightened her dress. She smiled briefly, almost imperceptibly, at no one in particular; took a sip of coffee. Each action was artificial, self-conscious, each speaking of her horrible unease. But no one seemed to notice it except her. She looked at her watch. Soon now. How many times had she resolved to go home whilst sitting here at this sidewalk cafe? Twenty? Thirty? Oh, how the consequences of discovery had played out inside her head; the shame, the humiliation, the aftermath. She was almost certain to lose it all: husband, children, house, fortune -- everything. Could she be that careless? For no particular reason her attention was at that moment directed to the bill, which was clipped to a little china plate and fluttered lightly in the breeze. Perhaps it represented the finality of making her choice, for after she had paid it she would leave and take one of two courses: hotel or home. Sabine took a twenty euro note from her purse and placed it on the little plate; then, casually -- confidently -- she checked her lipstick in her compact, took one last look around (no one particularly seemed to be paying her any attention), and left the cafe, her decision made. She was quite sure she'd made the right one. Boldly, Sabine walked across the street and straight into the hotel lobby, but stopped within a few feet of entering the building. There, she'd done it. She breathed a mental sigh of relief. It had been like walking into a hotel for the very first time. She gathered herself, took a deep breath, and walked over to the reception area. The concierge was a young man in his early twenties. He was sitting behind the desk watching an American sitcom on the little television secreted rather obtrusively beside the computer. Probably a college student on Spring break, Sabine guessed, earning a little bit of money for the next semester. "I'm meeting a friend," Sabine said, rather abruptly. She could hear the edginess in her own voice, remonstrated herself silently for not being able to control it. "Room 217." "Of course, Madame," the concierge replied. "The elevator is just behind reception, to your right." Is that it? she thought. No glib comment, no raised eyebrow? She had invented a whole catalogue of excuses in the short time she had been standing in the lobby and needed none of them. And thankfully, too, for she knew that none would be particularly convincing. "Thank you." "Madame." Sabine walked through to the elevator -- one of those beautiful, wrought-iron antiques of the 19th century -- and closeted herself inside the stiff and creaking carriage that would take her up to the second floor. It rocked and buckled as it lurched slowly upward (it was no quicker than taking the stairs), and while she traveled inside it she looked at her reflection in the long, thin mirror that was fixed to one of the paneled walls. She had not yet removed her sunglasses, and still did not, even as she checked her appearance in the glass. There was something safe about them, something she could hide behind, and she kept the scarf around her head too, not caring that it merely encouraged assumptions about her business here. The elevator arrived on the second floor with a jolt that was like the accusing hand of a store detective on her shoulder. She was glad to get out of it, almost hurrying into the hallway to relieve the claustrophobia. Next to the ironwork cage of the elevator was the top of a worn staircase, and for a moment she considered taking flight, considered rushing out of this hotel and into the street where she could breathe again. The corridor outside the elevator was musty and dim and sordid. It reeked of a hundred thousand affairs; clandestine meetings between businessmen and hookers, cheating husbands and secretaries, lonely housewives and... Sabine suddenly felt sullied. What on earth was she doing here, when she had stayed at the Four Seasons and the Crillon and the Gritti Palace? Nevertheless, she made her way down the badly lit hallway following the ascending numbers on the doors until she reached 217. Without thinking twice, she knocked. After a moment the door opened. Lean, muscular, and dark, sullen eyes. Unshaven. The young man stood in the doorway dressed in T-shirt and jeans, barefoot. "Hello." Sabine did not reply. The voice in her head was telling her to run, to get out of there, but her feet were rooted to the spot. "I didn't think you'd come," the young man added after a pause, gruffly. "Of course I was going to come. This was my idea, after all." The young man smiled coldly and stood aside to let her in. "Well?" Sabine steeled her nerves and stepped into the room, finally taking off her sunglasses and headscarf. "So you really want to go through with this?" The young man walked past her without helping her out of her raincoat. Well, what did she expect from such a crude lout? "I'm here, aren't I?" The room was small and cheap and distastefully decorated. She'd stayed in places like this before -- sticky linoleum in the bathroom, faux oil painting on the wall -- but that was a thousand million years ago. She looked at the double bed with its gaudy headboard and felt disgusted at herself. The young man stood in front of her, looked at her, appraised her. "You're quite good-looking, I suppose. For your age." For her age? Sabine was 39! "And not a bad body, either." Yes, it was; and she had worked hard to keep it that way, too. "Take off your panties." The request took her by surprise and she looked at him askance. "Don't look at me like that. And do as you're told: I said 'Take your panties off'." It had begun. Sabine lowered her gaze and, rather self-consciously, reached under her dress to unfasten her suspenders. Without pulling up her dress she began easing down her panties. The young man watched as she wiggled her hips slightly to take them off, stepping out of them and holding them in a bunch in one hand. "Give them to me." She handed them over and the young man held them up to his face and breathed in deeply. "Even your cunt smells of Chanel!" His blunt manner appalled her. He fingered the expensive panties thoughtfully before tossing them rudely in her face. She flinched and they dropped noiselessly to the floor. "Show me your cunt." Her jaw clenched at the repetition of that vulgar, grotesque word, and she stared hard at him. But when those dangerous, jungle cat eyes flashed back at her she lowered her gaze. Sabine raised her skirt to her waist, presenting her private parts for inspection. She felt completely naked -- even though only a small part of her was exposed -- and knew that she was blushing. Looking down at the floor she could see her dark tuft standing out against tanned thighs, the garters hanging loosely about her legs. "Very nice." The young man gestured her to turn around. Sabine did as she was told. As she turned around to show him her backside she could feel his unfeeling eyes evaluating her body like it was a side of beef in the marketplace. "Not bad. Although you could lose the cellulite." Cellulite? Why, she spent four mornings a week at the gym! She knew he was lying. Goading her. Salaud... He roughly turned her back to face him, grabbing her by the shoulders. His face was cold, passionless. He reached between her legs, startling her, ran a finger through the uncovered lips of her vulva. To her own surprise she found she was wet. "You little slut! You're enjoying this!" Sabine blushed deeper, keeping her eyes down more out of shame than obedience. The man began unbuckling his belt. "Since you seem so eager...perhaps you'd better get on your knees, whore." She glanced up at him, knew that he could instantly see that look of fear in her eyes. She looked immediately, submissively, to the ground. "I said on your knees, whore!" She dropped to her knees instantly, felt her slackened stockings loose around her thighs, the garters still unfastened and dangling uselessly. Her skirt was still up around her waist and she had her back to the hotel room door; she knew he must have been able to see her bare ass in the full-length mirror on the back of it. She watched as the young man unzipped his jeans and pulled out his dick which, Sabine was surprised to see, was not yet hard. Despite its impressive size it looked rather absurd and unthreatening as he held it flaccid between his fingers. Sabine wanted to laugh - Didn't he want to see the look of admiration on her face when he pulled out his big, hard dick and said triumphantly, 'Suck it, bitch'? But she fought the inclination to laugh out loud; besides, the reality of this whole sordid business made it impossible to find anything genuinely amusing. Sabine was even more surprised when he roughly grabbed the back of her head and pulled her mouth onto his penis, almost choking her. Instinctively, she put her hands out to steady herself, holding onto the young man's hips. "That's it. Suck that cock, whore." Sabine thought back to the last and only time she'd fellated a man. She was young and inexperienced and hated every minute of it. Now, twenty-one years later, she was still just as inexperienced and felt embarrassed at her lack of prowess. Despite this, the young man's penis swiftly hardened and grew in her mouth. As it pushed against the back of her throat she closed her eyes and thought of her husband. She wondered how he had fought the urge to stick his dick in her mouth like this; this -- the one thing she knew all men were supposed to love. And her husband was flesh and blood after all, like any other man. He must have the same urges, the same desires, the same potential for passion... She took the risk of glancing upwards. The young man's eyes were closed and it looked like he was smiling -- or grimacing. His hands were still holding onto her head, pushing it back and forth on his dick as it slid wetly in and out of her mouth. He was in total control of this act, for Sabine's hands were still flat against his hips and she could use only her mouth; all she could do was lick and suck as he fucked her. The tears were streaming down her face now, a combination of shame and guilt and discomfort. "That's it you dirty little cocksucking whore... I'm going to come... and I want you to swallow it all..." The thought of this repelled her. First his salty, sweaty dick and now this... She had always wondered what semen tasted like. She hated the smell of it, that pungent odor of boiled cabbage. She didn't imagine it tasted pleasant at all; she merely hoped it would not make her choke -- or worse still, vomit. Just get it over with, she told herself. With a series of animal grunts the young man came in her mouth. Sabine fought the instinct to gag as the warm, thick fluid spurted over her tongue and hit the back of her throat. She wanted to spit it out but knew she could not, must not. And so she swallowed quickly in two large gulps, drinking the man's sperm and feeling it slide all the way down to her stomach. She felt utterly soiled. As the young man pulled out of her mouth Sabine knelt there in front of him, head dropped in shame, arms hanging loosely at her sides. The taste of semen was still strong in her mouth and her face was streaked with mascara. Silently, soberly, they began to tidy themselves up, the young man stuffing his dick back into his pants and Sabine refastening her stockings. She stood up, dazed, nauseous, and finding some vestige of decency she pulled her skirt down to cover herself. She looked around in search of her panties -- her tousled hair falling in front of her crimson face -- found them and hurriedly stuffed them into her purse. While the young man lay out on the bed she wandered into the bathroom to splash water on her face. She drank some, too, to get rid of the foul taste in her mouth, then gazed at her reflection in the mirror. What the hell are you doing, Sabine? Debasing yourself like this? She straightened her clothes and hair before walking back into the bedroom and preparing to leave. As she put on her coat, scarf and glasses, the young man watched her smugly, hands behind his head. "I don't suppose you'll be back tomorrow?" "That's my business." "I went easy on you today. Think about it." "I will." Without glancing up at him, Sabine left the hotel room and kept walking until she found herself on the Promenade des Anglais and looked at the sea and tried not to be sick. Five Days Ch. 02 Tuesday "I didn't think you'd come..." The young man was standing in the same doorway of the same hotel room, apparently dressed in the same clothes. Sabine wondered whether he had gone home at all or had stayed there overnight. The room was paid for, after all, and she certainly wasn't going to use it. "That's what you said yesterday." Sabine's voice was hard and bitter. God, how she hated this man. And to think that yesterday she had swallowed his come! "And I'll be saying it again tomorrow." He laughed mockingly, smugly. Sabine came in and, after removing her sunglasses, coat and headscarf, began silently taking off her jewelery. "Take off everything except your stockings and suspenders," the young man ordered as he too stripped off and sat on the edge of the bed, naked. He was already hard and stroked his cock arrogantly. When Sabine was wearing only what was instructed, she stood before him, arms loose at her sides, eyes lowered to the floor. This was the first time she had completely revealed herself to him, and despite her intense dislike of the young man she secretly hoped she pleased him. And hated herself for it. "Nice tits...I suppose." The same bluntness; the same manner of crude, ugly complement that was actually more of an insult. "Now get on the bed. Kneel on all fours...like a dog." Without hesitation or complaint, Sabine did as she was told. She kept her eyes straight ahead as she knelt there with her ass and cunt sticking up in the air and her tits dangling down like a couple of soft fruit. In this position she felt more exposed and vulnerable than ever, and the idea of her intimate parts being on full display caused the color to rise in her cheeks. The next thing she knew the young man had climbed onto the bed behind her and rammed his cock into her pussy without so much as a word of warning. Her cunt was dry and it hurt when he forced his big dick inside; Sabine winced and drew in a sharp intake of breath at the painful intrusion. The man laughed. "Not as excited as yesterday, eh? That's alright -- all the better for me. Makes it feel more like a young woman's pussy..." She winced again, but not because of the huge dick pushing deep into her stubborn vagina; his words were much more hurtful. "Or maybe it's because you don't get much action at home...eh, slut? Your old man doesn't want to fuck you so your cunt has stayed nice and tight all these years, is that right?" There was some truth to what he was saying. She had no idea of the relative elasticity of her vagina compared to other women, but she knew one thing with absolute certainty: that her husband had only made love to her eleven times in their nineteen years of marriage -- twice when she fell pregnant with their two beautiful children, the remaining nine times comprising previous attempts to conceive. And given the fact that Sabine had been a virgin when she got married, this current travesty of love-making brought her tally up to a less-than-impressive twelve. "So why doesn't your husband want to fuck this tight little hole, huh? Is he gay or something? Does he like young boys? Or maybe he prefers your asshole to your cunt... Perhaps I won't find that hole quite so tight, eh?" Sabine stiffened with terror as she imagined this man's thick cock trying to get into her anus and felt sick to her stomach. Please don't, she panicked in her head. Please, not that... But the young man seemed quite satisfied with her vagina at present, which -- in spite of her shame and alarm -- was yielding somewhat to his big, thrusting penis. Indeed, to Sabine's surprise she was beginning to get wet, her juices providing some much needed lubrication. She was thankful for it and felt the discomfort subside a little. The young man had stopped talking now, preoccupied with the vulgar business of banging away at Sabine's tender pussy. In the silence of the room she could hear the ugly sounds of their fucking and felt humiliated. As she knelt there and let him do what he wanted, she tried not to think about her husband and her children -- the terrible betrayal she was committing -- concentrating on a spot on the wall where the paper was scuffed and discolored. When the young man had fucked her for a good few minutes, he pulled out and jerked himself off over her buttocks. He groaned like an animal as his hot, copious seed splattered across her cheeks, covering them, and Sabine flushed with embarrassment. How disgusting, she thought. What a filthy, dirty pig! She stayed on all fours, focusing on that grotesque patch of wallpaper, while the man finished ejaculating on her. She felt a pang of revulsion as his juices ran between her buttocks and down the backs of her thighs, dampening her stockings, and she felt even more soiled than she had the day before. But that's the point, isn't it, Sabine, you dirty fucking whore? That's why you're here... The young man grunted and leaned back on his haunches, utterly spent, and gazed with satisfaction upon the glistening mess he had made. "Did you enjoy that, slut?" He was out of breath and pleased with himself. Sabine did not reply, nor did she move from her quadruped position. She just knelt there and let his semen drip down her legs, trying not to imagine what she must have looked like. The next thing she knew, the young man was rubbing his seed into her ass cheeks, smearing the cold, slimy jism over her anus and cunt and pushing his sticky fingers into both holes. He then reached underneath to rub it into her stomach and tits, and the smell of it made Sabine recoil in disgust. But this was nothing compared to the indignity of having him lean forward and wipe his fingers across her face -- under her nose, across her lips, through her hair. The pig... "I would love to have twenty men surround you in a circle..." He pushed his fingers into her mouth and she could taste his sperm; it had the same salty bitterness she recognised from the day before and she wanted to wrench her mouth from his hand in protest. "...and I would watch them jerk off together while you kneel in the center of them... I would love to see them come one after the other -- all over your face and in your mouth and on your tits and in your hair..." The young man pushed Sabine onto her back and continued to force his fingers into her mouth, making her suck them and enjoying the look of displeasure on her face. "Would you like that, whore?" When he was done having his fun with her he requested -- no, he demanded -- that she fetch him a cigarette. Dutifully Sabine did as she was told, even lighting it for him with a book of matches she found along with the cigarettes. She knelt beside him, waiting for instruction as he smoked and laughed and stroked his shriveled penis. A tense silence ensued. After a while Sabine said quietly, humbly, "I need to use the bathroom." "Oh? A piss or shit?" Sabine glared at him furiously, outraged by the incessant coarseness of his manner. "Well, come on, which is it: do you want a piss or do you want a shit?" Sabine clenched her jaw. "The first one." "The first what, slut?" "The first option." "Then say it. Say it and you may go." She hesitated, then said quickly, "I need to piss." He laughed triumphantly. "Fantastic! Well, off you go then. But don't clean yourself up. I want you to stay dirty. And keep the door open so I can watch you pee, you nasty little slut." Feeling thoroughly disgusted with herself, Sabine stood up and went to the bathroom, leaving the door wide open so he could see her. How much more of this could she endure? Had she made a mistake in coming back here, in agreeing to such shameful treatment at the hands of a sadistic stranger? She tried to urinate as quietly as possible while she pondered this, feeling her flushed cheeks burn with indignity as the man watched her from the bed. When she went to wash her hands she heard him call out. "Uh-uh-uh! I told you not to clean yourself up!" She wandered back into the bedroom, icky and sticky and smelling of his sperm, to see if he had finished with her for the day. "I need some rest," he said. "I want you to stand in the corner and face the wall until I tell you otherwise." She looked down and shook her head in disbelief. The young man grew irritable. "Look, there's the door, lady. Remember our agreement: you can walk out of here anytime you want. You know that as well as I do." Reluctantly, she moved over to the corner and faced the wall. "Put your hands on your head." How humiliating! How dare he treat her like this, when he wasn't even fit to lick her goddamn shoes... All the same, she did as she was ordered. "I want you to wake me in half an hour with a nice blowjob, you got that? I should have recovered a bit by then." Sabine glanced over at the cheap wooden sideboard, at the little plastic travel clock she had brought to keep an eye on the time. She made a mental note that it was 11:15 and then turned her face to the wall. "And don't move until then, either." And so Sabine stood there, naked except for her stockings and garters, her skin smeared with the young man's drying sperm and her hands atop her head like a naughty schoolgirl. Ten minutes passed. Her arms grew tired and her legs were starting to ache. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that the young man was asleep, and she took the risk of lowering her arms for a moment, rubbing them and moving them around to bring the feeling back to them. Then -- and she didn't fully understand why -- she placed her hands back on her head and resumed her humiliating pose. When it was 11:45 exactly, Sabine stretched and rubbed her aching parts -- neck, shoulders, arms -- and then returned to the bed. The young man was lying there, asleep, his cock and balls limp between his very hairy thighs and his muscular body splayed out like he owned the place (which, for all intents and purposes, he did). Sabine bent over and took his penis in her mouth, began sucking it slowly, delicately, until the young man finally stirred. "You are such a whore," he said victoriously. "I knew you wouldn't refuse." She ignored him and continued sucking his dick, which was now long and hard enough to touch the back of her throat. The man, impressed and intrigued, watched as Sabine repeatedly plunged her mouth right down to his dense pubic hair, held him deep in her throat for several seconds, then came back up with a gasp. Her sudden, remarkable expertise at cocksucking left his big dick coated with a curtain of thick, glistening saliva. "Wow," he said, genuinely surprised. "I'm impressed! Have you been practising at home, you naughty slut?" Sabine coughed and spluttered suddenly, his penis triggering the gag reflex in her throat. "Careful, lady," he warned. "There's no bigger turn-off than a woman throwing up on your dick. That'll be enough now. Lie down and spread your legs." Sabine did as she was told. As coldly and as casually as before, the young man mounted her and slipped his cock into her pussy, fucking her vigorously while she lay there obediently and took it like a common whore. This time however, the sex was not so unforgiving on her poor, inexperienced vagina; her saliva and pussy juices were doing a pretty good job of lubing her up, so much so that the sensation of being reamed by this big, thick dick -- it was almost twice as big as her husband's -- was actually pleasurable. But you're not supposed to enjoy it, Sabine. You're supposed to endure it... The young man fucked her in a variety of positions. First he flipped her over and did her pussy from behind, then arranged her on her side and took her that way. Then he let her go on top, but made her face away from him so he could look at her asshole. And all the time she waited for that terrible intrusion into her anus, which she dreaded and feared and hoped would never happen. To her relief, it didn't. By the time he got around to coming, the young man made Sabine lie back on the bed and straddled her face, his thighs either side of her shoulders so that she couldn't move. She looked up at him as he jerked off above her, and knew what was coming. "I gonna come on your face, whore. I'm gonna fucking come all over it..." And he did. Sabine closed her eyes as she felt the hot, pungent rain spatter her forehead, nose, cheeks, eyelids, lips and hair, hearing the man's guttural animal cry as he climaxed in a virile frenzy. She almost choked when he forced his still-spurting dick into her mouth to suck it, and tried her best to swallow the sperm that was leaking out. She knew her face was an absolute mess, but she'd gone past caring. She no longer felt such burning humiliation at his dirty and perverse treatment; instead she simply felt nothing. "You goddamn filthy whore," he laughed as she sucked his dick, her face streaked and splattered with his semen like an obscene parody of a Jackson Pollock painting. "You love this, don't you?" When he was done the young man dismounted Sabine and lay beside her, panting and grinning. Sabine lay there too, the come running down her face and into her hair, and looked up at the ceiling blankly. Now the humiliation was returning: a deep, terrible shame that wrenched at her heart and made the tears well up in her eyes. They leaked out and mingled with the sperm that coated her flushed cheeks. She sniffed quietly and the young man knew she was crying. A silence passed between them as they lay there, both of them knowing that a line had been crossed. Sabine was surprised when she heard a smidgeon of tenderness in his voice. "You don't have to do this, you know. We can stop this right now." He looked at her, at what he'd done to this refined, elegant woman, and wondered if he, too, could continue with this obscene arrangement. Sabine said nothing. She simply got up and went to the bathroom to wipe that disgusting mess from her face. Her reflection was hard and critical as she looked at herself in the mirror. You cheap little slut. Why are you doing this? How on earth can this be pleasurable for you? How can you betray your family -- betray yourself -- like this? She took off her stockings, which were sweaty and sticky and horrible, and then her garter belt, and dumped them in the sink. These would be burned later, like the underwear she had worn yesterday -- thrown onto the fire and destroyed so she could fool herself into feeling better. She then took a long, hot shower and washed her body and her face and her hair, using the small bottles of cheap shampoo and body wash that were usually provided by such hotels. Tomorrow she must remember to bring her own... Tomorrow? Are you kidding, Sabine? Surely you're not intending to come back here again? Wasn't today humiliating enough...? She repeatedly washed her vagina and, even though he hadn't fucked her there, her anus; she used her fingers to clean right inside both, as if this would -- like the burning of her underwear -- purge her of guilt and uncleanness. After her shower she dried off and got dressed (stuffing her soiled stockings and suspenders into her purse), and without a word to the young man hurried out of the room, not caring about her wet hair or the man's attempts to talk her into staying a short while longer.