Stephen's alarm woke him and he started his morning ritual until his sleepy conscience realised it was a Saturday. It was the second weekend in succession where his body had tricked him and, now dressed, he made out a shopping list.
On a hunch, he also sent a text to Hugh and asked him to meet, who responded almost immediately. Stephen met his friend in the corner of a quiet cafe, on the outskirts of town. Hugh's mop of untidy hair and bead necklace offered a nod to his new age upbringing and liberal attitudes. "Victoria Braithwaite," Stephen said as he changed the subject. "What do you know of her?"
"Avoid her," Hugh replied and sipped his fizzy drink with a wide expression. "She's weird, and that woman is bad news. You're not getting involved with her, are you?"
"A bit."
Hugh rubbed his eyes and sighed. "I'm not saying much. If you are thinking of doing anything with her, don't. I've still got the mental scars."
"I already am involved. That's what I want to know. I think she did something to you and I'd love to understand what."
Hugh slowly shook his head. "I am not telling you that. Just get out as soon as you can and don't fight her. She's crazy. It was like playing truth or dare with the devil."
"Hugh, come on ..."
"I can't." He inhaled sharply and downed his drink. "She's a perverted witch."
"I know, but that's the attraction. A bit. Please, tell me what happened." Hugh snorted. "She made me wear a leotard - a dancing outfit - across town last night. I got wolf-whistled by a couple of drunk men coming out of the pub, but she was trying to get in my head. What did she do to you?"
"Get out. Report her to her mum or her aunt or the bloody Police if she abuses you or whatever if you have to, but avoid her, Stephen. It's not worth it. You're thinking with your dick. You always think with your prick when you see a controlling bitch. But this isn't a game, and she doesn't come from a Marvel comic. She isn't a sexy avatar from your PlayStation, or the character of one of those dirty stories you love to send me. She's not harmless at all." Stephen shook his head, and Hugh got up from the table. "I'm meeting Col in town in half-an-hour. But don't dismiss what I said, mate. She'll get nastier and crazier. She has more than just a screw loose. She is going to take you to Hell and there's no escape and no fucking mercy. Just run."
Hugh shook his head as he left, leaving Stephen deep in thought, who finished his drink and took a bus into town to do his weekly shopping; his kitchen cupboards were bare, and his adventures with the crazy Victoria had stolen his attention.
His phone beeped when he returned home, and he glanced at the message from his torturer.
Stephen,
You will come to my house at 8pm. Bring me an Indian takeaway and cans of my favourite cider. Be at my door, wearing just the leotard.
Victoria
Six hours later, and one trip to the local convenience store later, Stephen stood in the doorway of a popular Indian restaurant in his T-shirt and shorts, with the pink dancing outfit under his clothing. Victoria hadn't told him what meal to get, and his enquiry as to her favoured curry went unanswered.
However, he had a promotional voucher for 33% off his bill, so he ordered the Buffet Banquet, that gave him four different curries and two cartons of rices, as well as the usual accompaniments.
Stephen had planned to change in the same bushes he had done so before, but after he collected the takeaway meal in a plastic bag from the Indian restaurant, three-quarters of a mile from Victoria's home, he felt a sudden urge of adventure. The footpath, a shortcut between two houses, was deserted. With a furtive look up and down the path, he pulled his black T-shirt over his shoulder, and then dropped his shorts, before stuffing both in his backpack and picking up the warm bag.
Two drivers honked their horn. The lithe young man, dressed in just a pastel-coloured tight leotard, attracted second glances from pedestrians and drinkers outside the pub. Drunk patrons made comments as the unusual sight of a teenage guy walking in female dancing attire drew attention.
Stephen loved it. His cheeks burnt as he walked, and his insides bubbled with excitement and fear. His body felt hyper-sensitive and his mind was attuned for any screams, shouts, cries or laughs. A hen party staggered out of a hotel, en route to the station for a night in London; scantily dressed inebriated women with angel wings propositioned him, and the young man had to escape by fleeing across the road.
With seconds to spare before the stated time, he rang Victoria's doorbell. "Oh, hello Stephen," Anne-Marie called as the Latex-clad dominatrix burst from her house. "Back again? OK, be good, love. I'll be home at midnight, if you're still here. Victoria is in the garden, go on through." She unlocked her car and turned to see the startled man watching her put a large bag in the boot of the saloon. "And nice outfit. It suits you." She giggled as she blew the young man a kiss.
Stephen walked through the house and stood at the back door. Victoria was reading, and the young domme, dressed in just a short kilt, sat on the chairs in the centre of the garden. He took a few moments to admire her beauty; the soft curves of her bosom, her shapely hips and her well-defined calves. She sipped elegantly from a glass with graceful movements of her fingers that clasped around the vessel and drained it of liquid. "Are you going to give me my meal or stand there ogling me?" She called out without looking up from her book.
Victoria rose from her chair and gestured at the picnic table near the house. "Evening," Stephen called to his ex-classmate, and she smiled at him. "You didn't say which curry to get you. I'll have whatever you don't want."
"Who said anything about you?" She asked. "I told you to bring me a curry. And cider. I said nothing about you eating, did I?"
Stephen nodded and put the white plastic bag on the table. "I guess not."
"So you can ask if I will let you have some of my curry. You may enquire if I will share my alcohol. But expect nothing."
"Yes, sorry," Stephen muttered. "May I have some curry, please?"
"Go get the plates, two forks and some spoons from the kitchen," the topless dominatrix demanded and Stephen did as she requested. The Indian curryhouse provided generous portions, and she opened the tops of the various dishes on the table. "How much did you buy?"
"Meal for four."
Victoria gestured around the garden. "Do you see four people? Are you saying that I'm fat enough to eat four portions?" She looked at him with raised eyebrows and dished up a large portion of each curry, plus rice, poppadums and naan bread for herself and then provided a smaller portion for Stephen. "Because I am not a total dick," she told him, and he thanked her.
"I spoke to Hugh today," he said as they both sat down at the table.
Victoria didn't flinch. "This red curry's nice. Which one is this?"
"Chicken Tikka Masala. He said you had a screw loose, and would take me to Hell and there's no escape."
"This is very good, delightfully fragrant."
"And he ..."
"Stephen, I do not care." She interrupted and slammed her fork onto the plate. "What went on between Hugh and me, happened because he was a total prick and he needed to be punished. And I wanted, I really, really wanted, to punish him after what he tried to do. He was desperate to experience some of his fantasies and he was naked in front of four women and got royally spanked. And he jerked his little cock. And I mean, tiny, cock with a dildo up his bum on webcam. And he got off on that shit. And then he accused me of forcing him, when I did no such thing."
"OK. I wasn't ..."
"You are not the first person I met through college to experience my strap-on or my whip or anything else. You are the first guy to come here and see what my aunt does, however. And see the inside of the dungeon. Because, I trust you. I know you keep secrets, and you're not a total prick from our time in Maths. And I did like working with you. But I don't parade my sexuality or my Aunt's business around college, y'know. Hugh read too much erotica, watched too much porn, and didn't know how to handle his fantasies when I gave them to him. If you listen to that spineless twat-bag, I am the Devil Incarnate. Now, where's my cider, you gossipping piece of foamy arse lube?"
"In my bag," Stephen said with a smile and got the eight cans of fruit cider, which had come from his fridge.
She downed the first can and moved onto her second. They chatted warmly in the summery evening on the terrace, and Victoria was on her fourth can of cider when she pulled Stephen to his feet and guided him onto the grass lawn. "Lie down," she ordered, and straddled his head with her knees. He looked into her shaven crotch as she pulled her short skirt to her waist. His cock rose in the leotard and she gently lowered her pussy onto his face. "Where's your tongue," she asked. "You have gone down on a girl, right?"
"Yeah, once," he replied.
Victoria sniggered. "Once, really?" She settled her body against his face and felt the warm wetness of his mouth slide against her slit. She angled her hips and twisted her body to draw his lips towards her tingling clit, and groaned as her latest lover rolled his tongue up and down her slippery, aching cunt.
Two hours in the warm sunshine with her erotic novel had left her thighs damp, and her pussy squirming for attention. A few minutes in front of Stephen, awaiting the sadistic, humiliating act she had planned for the dutiful puppy and left her moistened slit, drenched.
Stephen flicked at her button. His own cock leaking pre-cum against the pale peach material of the leotard. Victoria was sweet, a slight musk of feminine arousal and excitement feathered with the floral deliciousness. He longed for Victoria to lean forwards and take his cock in her mouth, or run her fingers along his hardened dick, but Victoria made no such moves.
She basked in the glorious sensations of Stephen probing his tongue against her delicate cunt. The warmth, tingling, sparkling glow of teenage lust spread from her cunt across her body, surging and sparkling every pore in her body. She gasped into the bright evening - the sounds of the motorway in the distance, and the plane overhead, drowned out by the squealing cries of the teenage brunette.
Lust consumed her. A slave to her own arousal, she ground her cunt into Stephen's face, bucking her hips wildly as her climax ripped through her youthful body and left the squealing, screaming, writhing woman, a sweaty mess.
She ground the wetness over his face, desperate for another. His hands reached up to her breasts, and he gently ran his fingers over her nipples. The intensity of her lust and desperation dominated her: her ragged whispers and heated moaning were interspersed with hurried, snatched breaths. "Fuck yeah, do that, and more. And more."
Stephen's tongue dipped into her cunt as it rolled along her slit and swirled her clit. He groaned into her pussy as his lips massaged her intimate folds. She needed another climax. Victoria rolled her hips as his mouth gently sucked on her clit, flicking it gently as she gasped and groaned.
Desperate pants and loud, animalistic cries filled the garden as the wave of pressure and relief flooded her cunt and sent shockwaves across her body. Her muscles fluttered, her legs tightened and her anus puckered inches from Stephen's nose. "Open your mouth," she cried, and the obedient teenager did so. She clapped hands over his wrists and with a cry of relief, released the muscles on her bladder for a moment.
Four cans of cider, plus a glass of wine, and two glasses of water had left her body desperate for a piss. And she acquiesced, leaning slightly forwards to aim her pee-hole into Stephen's mouth.
He spluttered as the first squirt bounced from his tongue, and he tasted the acrid liquid fired into his mouth and across his tastebuds. He recognised the scent immediately and struggled as he tried to spit the tiny amount she had fired into him.
"Relax," she cooed. "I've wanted to do this so bad. You've read it too. Bookmarked it. Relax."
"Victoria," he cried. "Are you ..." He panicked and struggled against her grip, but she held his head between her thighs. And released.
"Enjoy!" She sighed as her bladder muscles relaxed and a jet of piss hit Stephen on the corner of his mouth. Out of desperation to urinate, and out of sexual ecstasy. Never had a man she had dominated allowed her to do that. She had watched her aunt do it to paying customers, but she longed to degrade a man herself in that way. It was her fantasy, as much as Stephen's, and she released the grip on Stephen's left hand to rub her tingling clit.
Stephen, with closed eyes and a closed mouth, turned his head, but the heavy torrent of pee hit his lips and sprayed over him. The acrid, nasty smell of urine filled his nostrils as the pee cascaded over his face, and ran over his eyelids, hair and chin.
If it wasn't piss, it would have been pleasant. A warm liquid, showering over him, was the stuff of a romantic fairytale. The waterfall of pee raining across him was far from delightful, and the nasty, sadistic action by Victoria was a degrading, disgusting act.
Wanton obscenity. Absolute filth. And yet, his cock was as hard as it had ever been. His body had reacted to her complete debasement, and he had felt the rise of his lust.
He felt the liquid flow on to the leotard and soak the neckline of his humiliating outfit. He felt the grass underneath him dampen, but most of all he could feel the easing of her flow.
She sighed as she pushed out the last of her pee, and he used his hands to grab the tops of her thighs and pull her cunt onto his lips. She groaned as his mouth, fresh from the acrid taste of urine, ran over her dripping slit and he wrapped his tongue over her sizzling button. Within seconds, Victoria's body shook, wrapped in an orgasmic clinch as a million sparks detonated across her body and left her thighs, pressed against Stephen's head, quivering with spent lust.
"Oh God," Victoria squealed as she lifted her crotch out of Stephen's reach. "No more." She staggered to her feet and looked down at the state of her play partner. "You look like a right mess."
"Can I have a shower?" He said with a smile.
"No."
"Well, I can't go home like this." She pushed her lips together and wiped her face, still taking deep lungfuls of air.
"Sure you can." She picked up his bag and took his T-shirt and shorts and threw them inside her house. "There you go."
"I'm covered in your piss," Stephen snapped and she picked up her phone, propped up on the picnic table. "They will arrest me."
"I highly recommend keeping to the shadows," she taunted and opened her fifth can of cider. "Thanks for the drink, and the curries. I'm going to put the excess in the fridge and have it for lunch tomorrow. I'm going to be at your house at two thirty tomorrow. I expect some lovely home-cooked biscuits and a proper cup of tea."
"Victoria, this is all hilarious, but I can't be seen in public with piss all over me." She grinned as he spoke.
"Tell Hugh then. I'm the devil, remember? Welcome to your Hell. Now kindly fuck off, I want to clean myself up, get pissed and get back to Sandra and James."
"Sandra and James?"
"My book. He's a misogynistic prick, she's a twisted witch, and he is learning the error of his ways. Now fuck off, before I make you regret staying."
With those words, she gave Stephen his backpack, and guided him to the side gate leading to the driveway.
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