Driven (part II)

There's a click of my seatbelt and with the engine still running, you hear me open the door and get out. A moment later your door opens and you feel the cooler air blow over your body, colder still from the sweat of your recent arousal.

"What's happening?" you ask.

"Just moving the cuffs behind your back." You hear then feel the seatbelt being released. "Could you step out." Swinging your legs round, you feel the hot tarmac beneath your feet. I lead you a few steps from the car. There's grass now beneath your feet. Fiddling with the manacles, you hear one lock click and then the buckle as I free your wrist. Almost straight away, as you're just getting used to the sense of freedom again, I pull both hands behind you and re-lock you.

"That's better," I say. "Now to make you look that little bit better..." Something, a strap, perhaps a belt, is wrapped around your elbows drawing them together behind your back. The result is to force your chest out, lifting your still exposed breasts even further. While they were supported by the bra at first, lifting them and forcing them out pushes them more and you feel them fall then sway as the bra slides into the fold beneath. "Much better. How do you feel?"

"Good. Hot. Sluttish. Horny." Your mind struggles for single words to describe your sensations. The arousal has returned as you realise you're outside, in the countryside somewhere, practically naked and more - unable to move your hands or even remove your blindfold.

In the distance, you hear the noise of a car. It gets louder and louder and you realise it's approaching. Is it going to stop, or will it pass? From the noise of the engine, it's still moving fast and then suddenly it's gone passed and is receding into the distance. You realise you've tensed up with the fear of being seen. At the same time though, you've widened your stance a little, lifted your crotch, pushed out your breasts, revelling in the attention. Something not lost on me.

"So, you like that? That's good. Because I'm going to leave you hear on the roadside for a while."

"No!" Fear. Panic. Not alone. Not when it becomes dangerous. Where as before you tolerated my being there, now you need it.

"Haven't we already established I know what you'll really enjoy."

"But it's dangerous!"

"Everything will be alright. Besides. You want it, don't you."

It's more a statement than a question but you answer anyway. "Yes."

"You like the idea of being seen, don't you. Not being able to know if they're looking. Not being able to see their faces, what they're looking at, what they think. Becoming purely something to look at." If I'm choosing the words just to make you hot, then they're working. "You want to know you have no choice. That you have to do it. That even if you were to want to stop - which you know you won't - you're unable to. Unable to move your hands. Unable to remove the blindfold."

As I say it, you test the restraints. They're just as tight as ever. As you struggle the only effect is to make your breasts wobble lewdly. Half thinking, half without thinking, you shake them harder, simply for the pleasure of the effect. You realise, thinking about that action, that the whole though really is making you very hot. You've finally got an excuse to do something you've fantasised about but never had the nerve to do. By my forcing you, I take on the responsibility for the act, leaving you free to enjoy it.

"OK", you tell me. You give your consent.

"Good." You try and think back over the years you've known me - you've never noticed that my voice can sound so... so safe. And yet I'm about to abandon you, naked, unable to defend yourself - or even see. My footsteps recede, the door opens then slams, the still ticking over engine revs up and you hear the car disappear into the distance.

"Oh god! What have I done?" you ask yourself, out loud, as the realisation hits you. But try as your sensible, society trained, side might to tell you to panic, to be scared, a deeper, more sensual you starts to revel in it. Sense still prevails but the pleasure seems to be building. Strangely it builds more, the more you panic.

"I should hide." From inside the blindfold there's no way to tell where cover might lie, if in fact there is any. You turn in futile desperation but without your eyes, there's no point. There something about this hopelessness though. Not being able to control your fate, control what happens to you. Simply accepting all of the scary, erotic, sensual, arousing things that happens to you, without fighting for once. There's something unexpected about your restraint - it's actually making you more free than ever before.

The thought pattern is interrupted by another passing car. You think to yourself, "Maybe it's Nick. But the engine noise is different, petrol not diesel. It's slowing down. Oh god, are they going to stop. What will they do to me? Will they be content to look, will they touch me, will they do more? No, they're not stopping, they're just slowing to get a better look. Well look then." You revel in their attention. "Here I am. This is me. These are my breasts. This is my cunt." Using the debasing word feels so good now. "What are you thinking? Do I look like a slut? Well so what if I am! Yes, I can be a slut! I'm a slut! A beautiful sensual, sexual, slut! Slut! Slut! Slut!" You realise you're screaming your thoughts out loud. With an amused embarrassment, you shut up and smile as the car drives off.

Over the next few minutes, a couple more cars go passed. With each one, you feel yourself getting braver, flaunting yourself more, getting hotter. It feels so beautifully wanton and you're getting so, so aroused. The beginnings of a trickle of your juices, running down your thigh are testament to just how wet you are. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't wipe it. The thought of your helplessness to even clean yourself sends another tense shiver of arousal through you.

A twig snaps nearby. Startled you turn to face the source of the noise. With your eyes covered, turning does you no good. On the grass they are silent again. Suddenly an arm loops around your stomach from behind. A large body presses up against you. He's wearing jeans. Your hands feel a shirt - at least having them behind you isn't totally useless. Moving them down you feel the bulge of an erection in his trousers. What was I wearing? Was it jeans and a shirt? Is it me. Are you safe? You try and remember but really can't.

"Nick?" you ask, nervously. No answer.

"Nick!" You plead again.

There's the faintest click of something, then you hear a voice. "No." It's not my voice, it someone else's. But by this point the hand has slipped down between your legs and, though you're sure you should, you don't want to fight anyway.

His hands invade you, taking advantage of your compliance. Without thinking you move your legs apart more, offering yourself. Soaked in your juices the fingers slide in and out easily, toying with every sensitive part of you. His other hand moves to your breast and starts to caress it too.

A car goes passed but he doesn't stop. The only effect being seen now has is to heighten your arousal as unable to stop this delightful assault, you are exposed for the world to see. Thinking of what they must think, seeing his hands buried inside you, mixed with the pleasures and sensations his touch are stimulating pushed you ever closer to orgasm.

When it does come, you're overwhelmed, your knees giving way, greatful that he's there to slowly lower you to the ground. Lying at his feet on the grass, you enjoy every last moment of the climax.

A hand moves to the blindfold and it's drawn back. Your eyes refocus in the light and you see me kneeling beside you. Trying to comprehend what happened, you look around. There was a hill which I must have driven up and then rolled back, the engine disengaged, to return without you hearing. A walkman with speakers was obviously the source of the stranger's voice.

Noticing your growing comprehension, I speak. "See, I told you you could trust me. I may scare you a little but you'll always be safe."