Free Claimed: A Forced Submission Romance by J. Jackson

slightly as if to say, “And...?” so, without skipping a beat Sandy asked, “Is there a toilet on this bus – er – coach?”
    Without a word, her mysterious lover pushed her away, pulled his clothes together, then pulled her from the seat to lead her to the back of the coach. A few of the other passengers eyed them as they passed, but nobody seemed to actually watch as they both entered the closet-sized lavatory. As soon as the door closed Sandy pushed her companion into a half-sit against the sink and, crouched between his legs, squishing in beside the commode, fished his erection out into the open with more grace, she thought, than she had a right to. Rounding her lips, she pushed the straining pole deep into the back of her throat before pausing to accommodate his impressive girth. Then she began a slow withdrawal, applying suction to the tool, while caressing the underside with her tongue and squeezing its length with her cheeks. Catching his flanged helmet gently with her teeth she held him still a moment, resisting the pressure of his hands at her ears, to swirl her tongue on his glans and poke briefly into his pee-hole before pushing back onto him. Taking her time she engulfed his now quivering cock, pushing the tip well past the end of her mouth and into her throat, until her face pressed against his pubic hair.
    Sandy danced her fingers up under his shirt to tickle at his nipples, as she reached her apogee and paused, before beginning her inevitable withdrawal once more. She could hear her partner fighting to keep quiet in the cramped cabinet, his hips jolting spasmodically as she brought him nearer and nearer to climax. Speeding up, then slowing down, she could feel his arousal echoing in the sparkles of her own sex. She could feel her wetness starting to run down her legs, and the thin material of her panties rub against her gaping lips. It was becoming a matter of self-perpetuating arousal. And while she could see nothing but the tails of his shirt, his pubic beard, and his glistening hardness as it disappeared once more into her face, the objective vision of the tableau that she drew in her head was erotic beyond reason.
    Suddenly twitching and jerking, Sandy allowed the disembodied hands to pull her impossibly tight onto the swollen rod. Puffing through her nose she gasped and gagged and swallowed, again and again, as the paroxysm of climax spat and spurted deep into her gullet. “Had he held on just a little longer,” she thought with disappointment, while struggling to maintain her vacuum-like hold on him and breathe at the same time, “I could have joined him in orgasm.”
    When at last he withdrew, finding the continued caressing stroke of her tongue just too intense, Sandy gathered with a finger the overflowing juices from around her mouth, and, sitting back on her haunches, asked, smiling up impishly at him, “Well, was that good enough for a room?”
    The look of disgust the he gave her in response, shocked and chilled her. No one had ever looked at her with such repugnance. Reaching into his pocket he dropped a ten-pound note and spat out, “Get a hostel.” Then he turned and fled, striding up the aisle of the coach, leaving her crouched in the stall with the door swinging. Mortified, Sandy reached for the door as she stood, straightening her clothes. She stared a long time at the bill in her hand, then, finally stuffed it in her pocket. She felt awful. “How am I going to walk out of this room and back to my seat?” she wondered, almost frozen with shame, but as she pushed the door open again and stepped out, a hand closed on her arm.
    “Hey,” a voice whispered, the hand pulling her toward it, “won’t you join me?” A young man was sitting alone in the very back seat of the coach. “Don’t worry,” he offered, flashing her a wide smile, “I’m mostly harmless.”
    “Where have I heard that before,” she thought, wryly, though she couldn’t help but return his earnest smile.