Any of you who have read my previous story 'Birthday Treats' will already have been introduced to my small, but beautiful heroine. The action of this story takes place approximately eighteen months earlier, not long after she started cohabiting with her partner and lover John. J'hann Clare's Liberation Empty Victorian warehouses rise up into darkness on either side of the narrow alley. Streetlights, reflected in the wet pavements, provide islands of illumination to an industrial landscape otherwise obscured in shadow. Light rain plays upon my nude body as I walk along the deserted backstreet near London's Kings Cross Station; the wet paving stones and the smooth granite sets of the roadway are cool under the soles of my bare feet. If anyone were to see me would they take me for a prostitute? It is the right time of night for them to work and I'm in the right area, but prostitutes don't walk the streets naked. What judge, I wonder, would convict a rapist who assaulted a girl he found totally unclothed and alone in a Central London? It is hard for me to believe that just a few hours ago things had been so different; I had been so different. My name is Clare, I'm eighteen and a half years old and I share a flat in Shepherds Hill in North London with my partner John, four years my senior. I'm only small; five foot one inch tall, fair skinned and I wear my dark brown hair long, because my lover likes it that way. John tells me that I'm beautiful, but I think that my bum and my breasts are too big for that to be true. I was brought up by strict Roman Catholic parents in Mughull, north of Liverpool and went to a Catholic boarding school, run by nuns, from the age of eight until I was sixteen. I have therefore a very strict sense of decency and morality. I was never comfortable with anyone looking at my body; and had always worn a dressing gown even around my mother and sister. I love John; I allowed him take my virginity and I live with him in sin, but that is not enough for him; he seems intent on breaking down every moral code and concept of modesty and decency that I have been brought up to believe in. Earlier this evening, or it may by now be last night, John announced that he wanted me to do a full striptease at the party our friends David and Caroline were throwing at the end of the month. He suggested that I started practicing. "We can't have you tripping over your knickers can we love!" I was outraged. "Don't be silly, John! I love you, I really do, but do you want our friends to see me naked? Do you want them to see everything I've got?" "That's the idea." He replied. "I can't do it; people will think I am cheap." I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. "They'll think you are sexy! They'll know that you're a hot bitch!" I stiffened at the word. The way he called me 'bitch' sent a shiver through me. He calls me that sometimes when we make love. It even turns me on to hear him calling me his bitch. In a strange way I normally find it exciting when he calls me dirty names. No other man had ever talked to me that way, only John. Sometimes he calls me his slut or whore, not only in bed, but also routinely around the flat. Coming from him, for some reason that I don't understood, it is all right; it is exciting to be his bitch. But now he was using the word with a special harshness. He was angry. He stormed past me, out of the house, in a black mood, leaving me sobbing into a cushion on the couch. When he returned about an hour later, he was much calmer. He sat down next to me and held me. He suggested that I go out with him tonight and he would try to change my mind. He agreed that if he failed to do so, he wouldn't bring the matter up again. I imagined that he was going to take me to some sleazy strip club, which I was sure would do very little to change my opinion, so to keep him happy I agreed. I thought my guess confirmed as we drove to Kings Cross, an area renowned for prostitution and grotty sex shops. He parked our car in a narrow side street off of Grays Inn Road, but to my surprise, instead of heading towards the main road and the bright lights, we went in the other direction towards these tall old brick warehouses that had been converted by the local council into artists studios and light industrial units; an area quiet and empty at this time of night. After walking two hundred yards or so, it started to rain as we stopped outside the large green painted timber door to one such unit. John took some keys from his pocket, opened the door and ushered me in. The ground floor was in darkness, but in the gloom I could see the faint lustre and outline of machinery. John led me down a narrow wooden staircase in the corner and through another door into what looked like a vaulted red brick cellar. A couple of bare, low voltage, electric bulbs hung on flex from the curved brick ceiling making two puddles of dull yellow light in a large room otherwise obscured by shadow. The cellar smelt damp and musty, like a church. The floor was concrete covered in a thick layer of fine dust. Apart from a couple of dusty timber pallets the area appeared both empty and long disused. I was beginning to feel afraid, apprehensive about John's motive for bringing me here. I had already experienced several examples of the dark side of my lover's character. John took my shoulders and turned me towards him. "Remember," he whispered, looking intently but kindly into my eyes, "that you can stop this experiment at any time. You only have to say 'No more'." He led me into the centre of the cellar, between the two light bulbs. "Take off your pantyhose," he instructed quietly. I had no concept of what he intended, but reassured by his words and knowing that he likes to make love to me in the strangest, and sometimes most inappropriate, of places, I apprehensively complied. Reaching under my short tartan kilt I pulled my pantyhose down to my ankles and then, using John's shoulder for support, removed them one foot at a time, placing my bare foot back into its shoe. "What shall I do with them?" I asked. "Throw them on the floor, you won't be putting them on again," he replied. I'm not mean, but the idea of throwing a good pair of lycra pantyhose onto a filthy floor didn't appeal to me, but as there was nowhere else to put them I complied. What happened next was even more disturbing. John undid the top two buttons of my white cotton blouse. Thinking that he was wanted to caress my breasts I made no effort to stop him, but instead he took a small penknife from his pocket and pushing the material back from my shoulder; cut though my bra strap. Afraid to move while he was holding the knife, I made no resistance as he repeated the procedure on the second strap. After putting the knife back in his pocket he undid the clasp through the material of my blouse and reaching down my front he took the bra in his fingers between the cups and pulled it away from my body dropping the ruined garment alongside my tights on the dusty floor. So far things were all right and quite sexy. My breasts now free under the cotton yearned for his ministration and I could feel my vagina becoming moist in anticipation of what might follow, but he simply refastened my top. Puzzled, nervous and confused, I waited. John looked at me intently. "You are now ready," he said, "put your arms around my neck and keep your eyes locked on mine; that's important! Remember that you can call a halt at any time, but if we continue you must do everything I tell you. Now give me a kiss before we start." Tilting back my head, I offered him my mouth, my lips parted. Our mouths locked and sucking his tongue into mine I gave him my most sensual kiss. Taking my face between his hands, he said, "Remember don't take your eyes off of me, whatever happens." No sooner were those words uttered than I jumped in fear as I felt a strange pair of hands on my shoulders. Neither the sound of a door being opened or footsteps had warned me. I nearly said 'stop', but didn't, the sensation of danger was exciting me. The fingers of the unknown hands traced across my shoulders and then down my back as if they were checking that I was no longer wearing a bra. "Calm down, it's alright." John said reassuringly. The strange hands then ran gently down the sides of my torso from my armpits to the waist of my kilt and then down over my hips, sending shivers of anticipation through my body. A finger hooked into the waistband of my kilt pulling it slightly away from my body. I was terrified that the stranger would tear it from my loins and at the same time secretly wanted him to do so. Releasing the waistband the stranger moved his hands to my buttocks, where he passed minutes squeezing and kneading the sensitive flesh through the material of my skirt and panties. This was very wrong, but it was thrilling. "Twist your body away from me and give our friend access to your front, but make no attempt to look at him" John whispered quietly. Keeping my arms around my lover's neck and my eyes locked on his, I complied becoming wet with anticipation of the consequences of my now enhanced vulnerability. My peripheral vision gave me a glimpse of a black skinned hand as the stranger's fingers again touched me under my armpits; his thumbs reaching into the creases below my breasts. Again they ran down to my waist; the tips of the thumbs brushing my lower ribs as they passed, again they continued down over my hips, the thumbs this time tracing the edges of my pelvis. Leaving one hand on my right hip, the stranger gently massaged my stomach below my solar plexus through the material of the blouse, descending to rub my belly through my skirt, stopping tantalisingly short of my pubic mound. My body felt electrified, every nerve ending in my skin hyper-sensitised, and my panties were becoming soaked with my secretions. John continued to smile gently at me as the stranger cupped my breasts; his thumbs gently grazing my already erect nipples, causing them to harden further. Feeling his penis stiffening against my hip I knew that this tabloid of his devising was arousing John too. The realisation that the stranger probably had a hard-on for me was however scary. Continuing to massage my breast with one hand, the stranger boldly cupped and gently rubbed my pubic mound though my clothing with the other. My heart already beating fast started to race, my breathing quickened and my eyes grew heavy with arousal. Involuntarily I moved my legs apart giving him further access to my sex. Releasing my mound, but not my breast, fingers again hooked into my kilt, this time however they slowly started to pull the material of my blouse free of the confines of its waistband. Soon my top was no longer tucked into my skirt but lying outside it. I yearned for him to strip the garment from my body and to touch my bare skin. The nuns were right I am a wicked girl. I did not have long to wait; the stranger's hands reached up and slowly, one button at a time, undid my blouse and, opening it, exposing my naked breasts. "Lower your arms so that he can take it off," John whispered. Had the stranger acted less patiently, and had I not by now been trembling and weak-kneed with arousal; I would have stopped this game then and there, but close to screaming with pent up passion, I wanted rid of the garments that denied him full access to my naked body. He unbuttoned the cuffs of the garment and peeled it from my shoulders. I assume he dropped my clean white blouse on to the dirt and dust of the floor, where it joined my pantyhose and bra. While my conditioning was telling me to pick up my clothes and go, my lust longed for the stranger to strip away my remaining garments, and lust is a demanding master. I could now feel the rough calloused palms and fingers of the stranger's large hands, running over my bare skin and cupping, squeezing and kneading my now naked breasts. As they continued their exploration of my upper body a thick-lipped mouth closed over my right breast and drawing my nipple deep into its warm wet depths gently suckled me. Still suckling my breast the stranger plunged his strong fingers down the waistband of my kilt where I felt the soft flesh of my belly spasm under their touch. I both feared and hoped that my kilt was soon to join my other garments on the grimy floor. The stranger's mouth left my nipple leaving it feeling cold as his saliva dried slowly on the delicate tissue. His hands unbuckled the small leather strap on my thigh that held the front of my kilt together. I could barely wait for him to unbuckle the two further leather straps at my waist holding it up. I did not have long to wait before the length of bright pleated wool was stripped from my loins and cast aside. "Kick off your shoes!" John instructed, his voice thick with passion. I complied, picturing myself; a small dark haired girl standing almost naked between two fully clothed men, her clothes lying strewn around them in the dirt; a black stranger making free with her body, her lover holding her while he does so. In my excitement my legs gave way beneath me and I would have fallen had John not moved his strong left arm around my back to support me. "You're wonderful!" he whispered. Gasping for breath, I could only brush his lips with mine by way of a response. I expected the stranger to pull down and discard my panties, and was far too aroused with lust to resist if he had. But he simply squeezed and kneaded my bum through the thin material of my panties and played with the elasticised lace, holding them to my body. He was teasing me; making me wait and so increasing my arousal and my need. Eventually to my temporary relief he slipped his hand under the elastic and caressed my naked buttocks, his fingers commencing an investigation of the greasy cleft between them. His other hand touching the secretions coating my inner thighs inched slowly ever closer to my sex. John, supporting me with one arm, kneaded my swollen breasts and rolled my hard sensitive nipples between his thumb and finger. My heart was really racing now, my breath coming in gasps, my vagina open and wet and my clitoris stiff and the centre of my universe. My remaining garment was finally stripped from me when I least expected it. In a fraction of a second the stranger had bunched the front of my panties in his hand and ripped them in one quick movement from my loins. My mind greeted this event not with fear or outrage, but with pure relief; now fully open to him he could at last satisfy my lust. I threw my legs apart, leaving John supporting my entire weight as the stranger's attentions moved up a key. The middle finger of one hand probed my rectum and the forefinger of the other plucked at my erect and ultra-sensitised clitoris. I no longer had to worry about looking at the stranger; my eyes were tight shut as I concentrated on the sensations of my body. His own arousal increasing the stranger started to drive his thick fingers deep into my lower openings. Three fingers pumped into my vagina while two plunged repeatedly up to their knuckles in my anus. Suddenly my vagina spasmed in orgasm, my hips started jerking involuntarily driving my sex onto the invading hand, and my whole body flushed hot. Despite my upbringing and conditioning I wanted to be thrown to the floor and repeatedly raped by both men. As my climax subsided the black stranger brought his hand, slick with my juices, up to my face. Taking it in my hands I licked the fingers clean of my secretions. My concentration gone I almost glanced at the strangers face. "Look at me!" John snapped, "or look down at the floor." Quickly I cast my eyes down over my body slick and shiny with perspiration; sweat running between my breasts and over my belly. I could now just about support myself unaided on wobbly legs and was beginning to regain control of my breathing although my heart was still beating fast. The front of John's slacks was bulging, pushed out by his erect organ. "I think that you had better say 'thank you' to our friend first," he said, noticing the direction of my eyes. "Kneel down and take his penis in your mouth." Keeping my eyes cast down and in a sort of daze, I knelt in front of the stranger. I unbuckled the canvas belt of his army type camouflage trousers, which I then unfastened and unzipped. His thick, black, blood engorged cock sprang up as I released it from the confines of his underwear. It smelt a bit, but ignoring this I pushed my tongue under the uncircumcised foreskin, tasting the salt as I did so. I would never have believed earlier this evening that I would be naked, kneeling in the dirt of an old cellar sucking on the musty cock of an unknown black man whose face I would never see. John had taught me how men like their balls and the head and shaft of their organs to be licked and how to control the gagging reflex when I take their cocks into the back of my throat. It was not too long therefore before the stranger was holding my head and ejaculating viscous strands of his salty seed into my mouth. "Swallow it all" John instructed. Obediently I chocked back the thick semen, while continuing to suckle the shrinking penis. As soon as the stranger withdrew his now limp cock from my mouth I tucked it back into his underwear and refastened his trousers and belt. "My turn now!" John said. His slacks were already open and his briefs pulled down, exposing his throbbing rock hard organ. Shuffling on my knees, across the rough and dusty concrete, the couple of feet to a position where I could take him in my mouth, I dutifully sucked and milked his cock. I needed physical relief as well! Were these men unaware of, or unconcerned about, my needs? I wanted their cocks inside me. The dark stranger must have left while I was fellating my lover; it wasn't long before I swallowed my second load of semen. John, his hands under my elbows, raised me to my feet and kissed my forehead. "Fuck me please!" I said to him looking up with imploring eyes. "On the ground here! I'll be your stripper, I'll even be your whore, but finish what you've started. Call your friend back and watch me being fucked by another man if it pleases you; but don't leave me like this." "No!" he replied, "Remember this lesson. If you displease me, I don't have to hurt you to punish you. Go home now; here are the car keys and the keys to the flat; I'll be back later. Leave your clothes where they are, they're dirty anyway." With nipples painfully erect and my clitoris still hard and throbbing, head bowed I made my way alone back up the staircase and into the street; it was still raining. The rain feels good; it cools me and washes the perspiration and dirt from my bare skin. It is pleasant to splash barefoot through the puddles. There seems little point in attempting to cover my nudity with my hands, so I keep my arms by my sides. I smile at an elderly tramp shuffling towards me along the pavement. He looks back at me with an expression more of surprise than shock, then drops his eyes and shuffles on. I would have given myself to him had he wanted me. My inner thighs remain slick with my juices; my feelings of sexual arousal still demand the relief denied them earlier. I have no fear of being seen walking naked along this London back-street; I would welcome the brutal assault of a rapist. Disappointed at the uneventfulness of my stroll, I reach the car. Fastening the seat belt between my breasts and across my naked belly, I start the engine and commence my journey home. The lustful expressions on the faces of motorists as they stare goggle-eyed at the small naked girl at the wheel of the blue BMW that has drawn alongside them at the traffic lights serve only to increase my sexual need. Arriving back at our apartment block, I park the car in the designated bay and, after saying 'hello' to a rather shocked elderly couple walking their small dog, make my way to a fenced garden in the centre of the block. Lit only by the dim lights coming from our neighbours curtained windows, I lie down on the wet grass. Looking up into the dark wet overcast summer sky, I plunge the fingers of one hand into my wet and hungry vagina and pluck at my clitoris with the middle finger of the other. My hips jerk and my body flushes with long awaited relief. Still not content however I masturbate again and yet again, the heavy rain beating on my naked body. Finally prevented by exhaustion from further self-abuse, naked, wet and now rather muddy, I make my way back to our flat via the empty entrance lobby and the staircase, I choose not to use the lift. In the shower, with the cleansing warm water running down my bare skin, I remind myself that tomorrow I must go out and buy some very sexy underwear to take off at the party. If you enjoyed this story, watch out for more. I suspect that Clare has more humiliation and abuse to suffer before I tire of her. J'hann
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