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

surface of his iron shank. Slowly, she raised herself until only his plum remained insinuated, her vagina gasping about him, vainly trying to suck, or pull, or coax him back inside. Sandy could feel the imminence of her orgasm, building in pressure, pushing up her spine to arc in flashes behind her eyes. She could feel the sap rising in the anonymous colossus between her legs, and could hear the urgency in the ragged breath of her partner. Slowly, deliberately, resisting the terrific need to push past the apex to her climax, Sandy lowered her loins inexorably down, down to the very bottom.
    She could feel the body beneath her beginning to shake as its tenuous control began to crumble. Then the sequence began. Pulling herself suddenly back up his column of stone to the very tip, Sandy felt the electricity surge along her spine, whipping her into a frenzy. Pounding herself into his lap she began bouncing on his spurting pole with wild abandon, slapping her bottom against his thrusting hips and biting his lips to keep herself from screaming. Their violent conjunction, squeaking the seat and rocking the one in front, went on at length.
    When their mutually muffled moans finally ceased, their breath coming in panting gasps, and they finally held still, their genitals seeming to be suddenly fused, they slowly became aware, once more of their surroundings. “’Ere, ‘ere, you two,” the driver called back, trying to see what the commotion was in his rearview mirror. The only response, though, was a few quiet giggles and a smattering of light applause from some of the more appreciative passengers.
    Holding tight until the ensuing quiet once again left nothing but the noise of the road and the wind, Sandy pulled her lips away and said, “Hi. I’m Sandy.” An open dreamy smile covered her face. “My God,” she thought staring vacantly into the strangers face and marveling at how much she’d enjoyed her naughtiness.
    “I’m Mikael,” he whispered, leaning forward to peck at her lips. Sandy could feel him wilting inside her and gripped at his slippery appendage with her vaginal walls – to no avail. Shifting her weight with her knees, the flaccid tool finally slipped from its slick glove. Pungent juices flowed in a gush over Mikael’s hairy balls and into his gaping pants. “Guess I’d better clean that up,” Mikael whispered, his voice still hoarse and thick with sexual energy. They both looked around futilely for a moment before Sandy hoisted herself off Mikael’s lap and, standing bent kneed, cramped between the seats, wrenched off the remains of her panties and used them to wipe her own crotch.
    Looking down affectionately on the limp, glistening penis, Sandy muttered, “Don’t worry, you poor thing. Sandy’ll fix you up.” Hands on his thighs, Sandy gently lowered herself between his knees. Mikael watched, unbelieving, as this beautiful foreign vixen slurped at his slimy slug and began to wash him with her tongue. In fact, he could feel his ardour rising again, but he could wait. He’d have her home in a while. “Have her at home,” he silently corrected himself, smiling down on her bobbing head.
    Presently, hopping a cab from the depot, they arrived in front of his place. Sandy studied the building critically. Helping her out of the taxi, Mikael ushered her through the door of his flat, mumbling apologetically, “It’s not much, but....”
    Still Sandy couldn’t help turning up her nose. “It’s a little seedy,” she observed, trying not to be too brutal, but inside, she decided definitely “No! There’s no way I’m staying in this grotty little cave.” She looked around again, to indicate that she was weighing the options, then settling a grim smile on Mikael, Sandy said sweetly, “If you get me a hotel room, Mikael, we could make love all night in comfort.” Flexing her feminine powers of persuasion, she found that she didn’t even need to resort to pleading; her coaxing, she realized, much