Master Class Page 7

  She had never truly explored the concept of being the plaything of a group of strangers before. Her previous attempts to fantasize about submission had been relatively timid and chaste compared to the scandalous taboo of being fucked by a gang of strange men. Even now the thought of such a thing actually happening shocked her…

  And thrilled her.

  She turned the idea over in her mind, visualizing a group of men around the edges of a bed with her lying, waiting and spread-legged for them. The men in her mind had no faces – that was the catalyst for her arousal. They were anonymous strangers who she would never see again, and never learn their names. All they wanted from her was her pussy and her mouth. All she wanted from them was to feel overwhelmed and dominated.

  Clarissa leaned back into the seat. Her eyes were slitted. The city sped past in a blur. The cab driver was muttering to himself through the Plexiglas partition that divided them, cursing other drivers. Clarissa squeezed her thighs tightly together and then let her legs fall open just a teasing inch. The hem of her skirt was high up her thigh. The cab hit a pothole, and her legs fell a little further open.

  With slow languid movements she let one hand fall into her lap. Through the silk of her panties she could feel the smoldering heat of her pussy. Her body literally ached to be touched. The cab took a sharp right hand turn and her hand flopped across her thigh. She pressed one finger between her legs and shuddered voluptuously. Behind the veil of her glazed eyes, her mind was a riot of erotic images. She had one stranger’s cock in her hand, another in her mouth. Her legs were being held in the air by another man’s strong hands while a fourth guy knelt between her spread thighs, slowly stroking his cock and feasting his gaze of the shaved wet mound of her pussy. She imagined that the touch of her finger against her wet lips was the brush of her fantasy man’s cock as he prepared to enter her, and the image made her clench her body in a tight spasm. The man she imagined had a huge hard cock, and in the back seat of the cab she pushed her legs apart further as though to accommodate him. Fantasy and reality blurred and became one… until the cab suddenly braked to a halt and she was torn abruptly from her illusion.

  Clarissa opened her eyes with a small confused start. The cab driver was turned round in his seat, staring at her through the clear Plexiglas. He was a middle-aged man with a chubby face, his features blurred by rolls of flesh around his mouth and jawline. His eyes were dark and shining bright as diamonds.

  The cab driver’s gaze was between her legs. Inadvertently Clarissa had pulled her legs wide apart and was gently masturbating herself through the lace of her panties, carried along by the intense eroticism of her fantasy.

  She realized in a split-second of appalling shock and horror. The blood drained from her face, and she went cold with embarrassment. She clamped her thighs together and cleared her throat. She couldn’t look the driver in the eye.

  She stuffed a hand into her purse to find the fare. The cab driver waved the money away.

  “On the house, in appreciation for the show,” the driver gave a lecherous wink of gratitude.

  Clarissa clambered from the cab and scurried across the sidewalk without looking back. She had just exposed herself and played with her pussy in front of a total stranger. She went up the stairs to her apartment complex shaking her head in red-faced humiliation… and a perverse and outrageous tingle of unaccountable thrill.

  Congressman Jansing glanced idly at his watch and was surprised how quickly the evening had passed.

  It was time.

  He felt a little flutter of anticipation stir in his loins.

  He got out of the old leather chair and turned off the music. He had been listening to Beethoven’s Symphony No 1 in C major; not the great German composer’s finest work, Jansing admitted, but still rousing and thrilling in its own way.

  He straightened his tie, tugged at the cuffs of his shirt, and drew himself erect. The empty house still seemed to echo with the strains of violins. He paused for a moment, frivolously trying to decide if a jacket was necessary, then frowned. No. Not tonight.

  He strolled towards the secret door beneath the stairs, feeling his eagerness rise with every step. The key to the lock jangled in his hands.

  Clarissa barely made it through the door of her cramped little apartment before her knees gave way. She went straight to the bed, not even taking the time to unzip her skirt or unbutton her blouse. Her need was too urgent; she had to cum.

  She hitched her dress around her waist and lay on her back with her knees raised and her legs wide open. Immediately her imagination transported her back to the fantasy of being surrounded by anonymous men that she had visualized so clearly during the ride from Nick Edge’s house. But now – bizarrely – the taxi driver was part of the scene, pawing at her breasts with his big hands while the other men ravaged her.

  Clarissa dug her heels into the mattress and heaved her hips off the bed, undulating herself as if to match the thrusts of the imaginary men that crowded about her. She had her head turned to the side, her mouth wide open as though she were sucking a cock simultaneously. She was moaning and gasping. Her hand across the aching nub of her clit was a frantic blur, and the slick wetness of her pussy coated her fingertips.

  She heard herself gasp and then a raw growl escaped her lips. Her breath seized in her chest and seemed lodged there forever. She was on the very edge of cumming, and the intensity of that instant was too exquisite and too torturous to sustain.

  Her orgasm crashed over her like a curling wave, sending her reeling and thrashing on the sheets. Her legs spasmed and kicked convulsively, and her hand clenched tight over her pussy. Clarissa rode the tumult until the last tingles of the thrill subsided, leaving her washed upon the shore of her afterglow, exhausted and heaving to control her ragged breath.

  When the Congressman unlocked the door to the underground prison room, Anna Wilkinson was obediently positioned on her hands and knees. She was draped across the bed with her panties down and stretched between her parted thighs. Her head was pressed into a pillow, her naked back arched. It was exactly how Jansing liked her.

  He stood in the threshold of the door, admiring the delicious beauty of the young woman. Her pussy was soft and pouting, the flesh there pink and tender. He smiled his pleasure.

  “Good girl,” he said kindly. It had taken several weeks before she had submitted to his basic requests. Withholding food had not broken her, and she had fought him like a caged animal for days until the drugs had finally done their work. From then it had been easy. Keeping her drugged had quelled her rebellious defiance, and denying her the drugs he had addicted her to had forced her to numbly surrender her body to him.

  Congressman Jansing rattled the little plastic jar that was filled with the tablets Anna craved, and set them down on the floor where she could see them. She lifted her head from the pillow and kept her eyes on the medication; fixating her attention on the bliss the little white tablets promised. Behind her the Congressman unbuckled his belt and drew down his pants. His cock was hard with cruel excitement.

  He knelt on the bed between the girl’s spread legs and took her from behind with a single thrust that was as much about power as it was sexual. He had his teeth clenched, his lips curled into a callous snarl. He heard the girl whimper as his cock filled her, and the pathetic sound from her lips gave him as much pleasure as the clench of her pussy around his shaft. He dug his fingers into her hips, where the flesh was already bruised from all the other times he had taken her. Anna Wilkinson flinched. The Congressman slapped her upturned ass with his hand.

  “Be quiet and be fucking still!” he snarled. “Or I’ll take the tablets from you again.”

  The girl was swaying to each bucking thrust and plunge of his hips. The Congressman let go of her waist and snatched at a handful of her long golden hair, pulling her head up and stretching her neck like the golden tresses were reins. Anna had her eyes closed, biting down on her cracked and chaffed lips to stifle her mewling discomfort.
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br />   It didn’t last for long. The erotic thrill of his sadistic power over the girl brought Jansing to a quick and shattering orgasm. He kept his cock inside the girl until he softened and then stood and perfunctorily pulled up his pants. Anna had not moved. He grunted his approval. She would stay in this position, her pussy glistening and slippery with his seed, until after she heard the door close and lock. Only then would she be permitted to grovel on the floor for the reward of her pills.

  “Look at me, bitch.” Jansing growled.

  Anna Wilkinson turned her head slowly and stared back over her shoulder. Her hair was tousled, her eyes glazed. The Congressman had his phone in his hand. He snapped a photo of the girl’s freshly-fucked face and studied her expression in the frozen image.

  “Oh, very nice,” he crooned. “This is definitely another one for the collection.” He shut the phone off and slipped it back into his pocket.

  Jansing made her wait, maliciously lingering for a few more minutes to caress the inside of her thighs and to fondle her breasts.

  He shook his head and smiled. The life and death power he held over this young woman was the ultimate aphrodisiac.

  Jansing was standing in the small dark room beneath the stairs, locking the trap door behind him when his phone rang. He reached into his pocket, hunched over in the confined space.

  “Well?”

  Clarissa sighed. After racing home and orgasming she had spent an hour soaking in a bath to deliberately delay this moment.

  “No news yet,” she said softly.

  “Why?” Jansing snapped. He stepped out into the hallway, locked the under stairs door, then brushed at a smudge of dust on his shirt sleeve. “What is taking so fucking long?”

  “He wants to train me,” Clarissa defended herself. “I told him I wanted to submit to him – just like you ordered me to.”

  “Well doesn’t that mean he wants to fuck you?”

  “I don’t know…” she lowered her voice. “Not so far.”

  “Well what the fuck are you doing with him? Attending lectures?”

  “He made me suck his cock tonight,” she explained. “And he has another task planned for me tomorrow night.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  Jansing sighed. He was fuming with frustration; his lips pressed into a thin bloodless line. “Have you made it clear that he can fuck you if he wants?”

  “I think so…”

  “What? What the fuck does that mean?”

  “It means I think he knows he can take me whenever he decides. I have to give him sex if I am submitting to him. But so far…”

  “So far he doesn’t fucking want you.”

  “Maybe it’s the business partner thing, and the striking similarity between me and Anna Wilkinson,” Clarissa ventured tentatively. “Maybe you miscalculated. It might be that he can’t bring himself to have sex with me because of some emotional connection to her.”

  “Horseshit!” Jansing snapped. “You’re just not making yourself obvious enough.”

  “I’m trying,” Clarissa said, conveying her own despair and desperation in the strain of her voice.

  Jansing grunted. “Well try fucking harder. There is a limit to my patience, Clarissa. And the clock is ticking down on the future of your grandfather’s farm.”

  Chapter 7:

  Clarissa was sitting in the staff lunchroom talking to another volunteer who had come for coffee. Clarissa was numb. She had spent the entire morning in the office monotonously stuffing envelopes with printed political newsletters. The sudden beep of her phone was a welcome distraction.

  From: N. Edge.

  Martha’s Lookout.

  Tonight.

  9 pm. Sharp.

  Clarissa read the message twice, and then stuffed the phone back into her handbag. Her fingers started trembling with excitement.

  “I’m here,” Clarissa spoke into her phone and turned off the engine. The car sat ticking and pinging in the sudden eerie silence.

  “Describe what you see,” Nick Edge insisted.

  “Just a dirt parking area, like a camp site.”

  “What else?”

  “Trees,” she held the phone to her ear as she peered through the windshield. “There are trees all around the edges of the clearing… and I can see the lights of the city, far away.”

  Edge grunted. “That’s why it’s called Martha’s Lookout.”

  Clarissa unfastened her seatbelt. It was a dark night. There was no moon, but she could see stars through the scudding clouds. The silence pressed down on her; something that wasn’t real, but sensed. Somehow the night felt alive and restless.

  “Are there any other cars nearby?” the man’s voice was detached; almost disinterested.

  “Yes. There’s another parked car about forty feet away.”

  “Can you see what kind of car it is?”

  “Not really. It’s some kind of SUV. And there is a light on.”

  “Inside the car?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a moment of silence and in the empty space Clarissa took the precaution of locking her car’s doors.

  “Can you see anything happening?”

  “In the car?”

  “Yes… or around it.”

  Clarissa frowned and stared through her driver’s side window. The SUV seemed to be moving. She knew that couldn’t be right. It was parked. There were no headlights. She could hear no engine noise. She looked more closely and thought she saw a dark figure pass in front of the light. It was the silhouette of a man.

  “There is a man walking around the side of the SUV!” she hissed in an urgent whisper, sensing a premonition of panic.

  “Just one man?”

  Clarissa stared down at the phone incredulously, but before she answered on impulse, she looked back to the SUV. Incredibly, she saw the shape of a second man, standing near the back of the parked vehicle.

  “Shit!” she whispered. “There are two of them. I think they’re trying to break into the SUV. I need to call 911.”

  “No,” Nick Edge’s voice became sharp. “Don’t call anyone.”

  “But…”

  “They’re not breaking into the other car,” Edge assured her. He sounded suddenly amused. “They’re looking for sex.”

  Clarissa blinked. A hot flush washed over her.

  “They’re what?” she turned her head and peered more closely into the nearby trees, her panic rising.

  “The lookout is a place where people go when they want to offer strangers anonymous sex. That’s why I sent you tonight. Most likely there are several men watching you right now. They’re waiting…”

  “Waiting? For what?”

  “For you to turn on a light.”

  All the blood drained away from Clarissa’s face. She stared again at the SUV and now that she knew what to look for, she could see the distinct shape of a man standing at the driver’s side window. Inside the vehicle, her hair haloed by the cockpit light, was a woman. She was leaning out of the car towards the waiting man.

  Clarissa swallowed, and licked her lips nervously. She could feel a jangle of nerves run down the length of her spine. She felt trapped, like prey that had been hunted into a corner.

  “Are you still there?” Edge’s voice over the phone brought her dazedly back to the precarious situation she was in.

  “Yes… yes, I am.”

  She heard Edge draw a deep breath. “So what are you going to do, Clarissa? You have a choice.”

  “I do?”

  “Of course,” Edge’s voice rose in challenge. “You can drive away now, and end your submissive training… or you can turn on a light and give pleasure to any strangers that come to your window.”

  “That sounds dangerous,” Clarissa interjected. “It’s unsafe.”

  “It’s not,” the sudden sharp and dismissive tone of Edge shocked her. His voice made Clarissa flinch.

  “How do you know?”

  There was anoth
er pause, this one somehow ominous. “Do you think you are the first submissive I have sent to that lookout?”

  Clarissa didn’t know the answer, but still the man’s logic eluded her. She licked her lips again. Her mouth felt dry. “I… I’m not sure about this…”

  “Then leave,” Edge snapped. “Drive away now. Go back to your safe apartment on your quiet street and live out the rest of your dreary life. Delete my number and never try to contact me again.” She heard rustles and scuffles down the line, and she shouted urgently into the phone.

  “Wait! Wait…” she could hear Edge’s breathing. “I’ll do it,” she capitulated. She knew she didn’t have a choice, and deeper down – on a layer far below her surface uncertainty – was a simmering flame of deep arousal, ignited by the outrageous anonymity of the situation.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then turn on a light and wind down your window. And keep the phone line open. I want to hear what you’re doing. Tell me everything that happens.”

  Clarissa put the phone on speaker and dropped it onto the passenger seat. She thumbed a switch on the center console, and her window slid down about half way. Then she reached a shaking hand for the light in the roof of the car’s cabin.

  The light lit the interior in a soft sterile glow. Clarissa blinked owlishly.

  “The light is on,” she said, a little louder than normal to make sure that Edge heard her clearly. She felt like she was on the verge of hyperventilating.

  “Are you nervous?” Edge’s voice sounded tinny through the phone’s little speaker.

  “Yes, Master. Very.”

  “Are you excited?”

  “Yes,” the confession was stolen from Clarissa’s lips in a secretive hiss.

  Edge said nothing for a long moment, then his voice came again, almost like he was whispering. “Tell me what is happening.”