Free Claimed: A Forced Submission Romance by J. Jackson Page A

Yielding to the insistent tugging, Sandy sat down beside him and let him gather her back onto the seat, somewhat out of sight behind the next seat-back.
    “You need some help?” he asked, in a seemingly guileless voice.
    A plethora of answers flew into her head – “I need an orgasm; I need help regaining my equilibrium after the crushing blow of that asshole’s disgust; I need someone to appreciate me; I need someone to succumb to my fledgling powers; I need sex and lust and plenty of it; I need...” – but all she said, quietly was, “I kinda need a place to stay tonight, you know what I mean?” and she looked at him hopefully.
    “Oh, I can probably get you someplace to stay, all right,” he replied in a voice thick with emotion and hidden meanings. And if there was a note of danger in what he said, it was the kind of lustful, erotic danger that Sandy was rapidly coming to relish.
    “That’s really kind of you,” Sandy said sweetly, turning in the seat to face him, throwing her chest out as if offering her tightly encased breasts for his approval. “How can I – what can I do to thank you?”
    “Judging on what my admittedly wild imagination believes just happened in there,” he said, nodding toward the lavatory, “I think you’ll think of something.
    Although Sandy lowered her face in shame, blushing to a deep crimson, she was amazed had how quickly her quim had responded, oozing warm lubricants through the already wet crotch of her panties, onto the material of the seat. Could he smell her feminine arousal, she wondered, curling up around them like smoke from a smouldering fire?
    Leaning over to plant a kiss on his lips, Sandy was gratified by the hunger and vivacity with which he returned her lingual caress. Almost instantly they were engaged in a full-contact contest of sucking-face. Pulling one another close with one hand each, his free hand immediately settled on Sandy’s boob, squeezing and mashing with a frantic urgency. Sandy’s free hand dropped to his crotch, where she found the big-top already raised. Precious moments wasted fiddling with the snap and zip, Sandy was pleased to discover the absence of briefs. Pulling the proud lance free, she stroked it lovingly while dueling with his tongue. The heat emanating from the throbbing erection as she glided her hand up and down, and the energy being generated by his wonderful tit manipulation, taken with the intensity of their tonsil hockey, mashed lips and tangled tongues was almost too much for both of them.
    While staying pressed forward to keep their mouths in full contact, Sandy heaved herself to her knees on the bench seat. Then she reached under her skirt to tear out the crotch of her skimpy panties with a single sudden yank. Placing her hands on the bewildered fellow’s shoulders, she swung a knee across his lap to straddle him, chest-to-chest. And he just sat there, not quite passively receiving her oral attentions – his tongue swirling across her teeth and mixing it up with hers – his hands now each in full possession of soft, yet firm and swollen breasts, manipulating them like a pilot maneuvering his plane through the storm.
    Steadying herself against him she positioned her dripping bush over his straining member, locating him by Braille – like the expert she really was not – then, slowly and deliberately, mewing gently into his mouth, Sandy lowered herself onto his pole, pushing herself down until their pubic hairs entwined and they could come together no more.
    “Oh, my fucking God!” her mount moaned, pulling his mouth away for a moment, before Sandy chased him down to pierce his lips and parry her tongue with his once again.
    “Ah! Ah!” they both complained, their sighs and moans mutually swallowed. Holding herself still and deep for a long moment, Sandy slowly began to lift her weight from his lap, dragging her dripping labia against the induced suction, her stretched pinkness conforming seamlessly to the veiny