Sunday Night Blues in the Middle Class (Redux)

M/f, Exhibitionism, light bondage and humiliation.

This is a re-interpretation of one of my poems (see the Poetry Contest forum). This story is a stand-alone 'short take'.



The people around us, whores, pimps, junkies and bums, stared in disbelief; but I was too high to care. Time flowed past, slowly, like water; I looked down, into dark brown eyes, as my slave forced my hard cock into her throat. My hand, wrapped in Jessica’s dark curls, pushed her even further and I moaned in pleasure.

It was late night in the worst part of town; my back was to an empty store front, the broken windows to either side revealing an interior covered in graffiti and empty beer cans. A chest-high pitted green dumpster to my right, overflowing with black plastic bundles, was the only thing blocking the view of a police officer standing on the corner. Across the street red and blue neon lights flashed in discordant rhythm, advertising live music and nude girls.

Even in my altered state the irony wasn’t lost. The sweaty sheen of Jessica’s bare body glowed with the light as she kneeled on the sidewalk, naked before me, more shameless than any whore or stripper. Sexier, too; I was nothing special, middle aged and overweight, but Jessica still had all the right curves. There were murmurs around us, then catcalls from a group of men, shouts in broken English: slut, puta, put on a show. I knew she was blushing, could feel her shivering and cringing, watched as tears flowed down her face and her hands pulled against the handcuffs behind her back; but she moaned around me, thrust her hips against the air, and moved faster.

I grinned down at her, entranced by her motion, by the colors swirling around me, by the distant, envious laughter. I laughed too, and even in the darkness I could see Jessica’s face redden more. I pulled from her mouth as I came, spattering white fluid across her cheek and the corner of her eye, into her beautiful brown hair. I aimed at her lips, and the next spurt covered her tongue and dripped from her mouth, down onto her studded collar and bare breasts. I stared at her, twitching, suddenly at peace with the entire world, as she leaned forward to lap at me, licking me clean. I felt like sitting down, like sleeping, and the colors of the night seemed suddenly too intense to look at – I closed my eyes and wished the world could be black and white, or at least just Technicolor, just until the drugs started wearing off. Gods, I was high.

Jessica was, too: high enough to do anything I wanted her to, to hardly see the world at all, by her own reckoning. She’d been the one to prepare the doses, and of course all the aphrodisiac she’d taken. Right now, she should be in a mood to fuck anyone who’d use her, and I’d threatened to make her do exactly that; but she looked up at me, blinking away my cum and crying, whimpering as people closed in.

I almost made her do it anyways. I would, one day. But as the filthy strangers neared us their pleading, whining inquisition annoyed me, and I decided I wanted Jessica all to myself, tonight. I picked her gag up from the sidewalk, where it had lain amidst cigarette butts and the smell of old urine, and shoved it into her mouth, then took her leash and dragged her into the alley, towards our car.

If they’d really wanted her, they could have had her then. Dark alleys downtown late night are made for force, for raping suburban housewives gone astray; we’d be no more than statistics by morning. They didn’t follow us, though. There were enough other whores on the street to go around.

Jessica stumbled along behind me, blinder than I in the shadows: she’d never had good night vision, and of course she couldn’t use her hands for balance. Her high leather boots, the only thing she wore besides the cuffs, collar and gag, crushed stray garbage and broken hypodermic needles. Our car, a shiny new cherry Prius, lay at the other end of the alley, its lights flashing as we approached. No, we weren’t from around here.

She reached the passenger door, hunching down, trying not to be noticed. This street wasn’t as busy as the last, but it was better quality – downtown changed like that, from porn to theatre in one narrow alley, and people here might recognize us. I liked that thought, and for some reason I didn’t care if they did, so I pushed her across the hood, pinned her neck in place with a stiff arm, and used my other hand to open my jeans again and enter her. She grunted, uncomfortable, then moaned as I thrust. I spent a minute that way, slowly taking her as cars drove by, somehow oblivious – maybe they didn’t care, or maybe this was the sort of filthy, subhuman behavior respectable citizens didn’t acknowledge.

But though I was still fairly hard – the drugs saw to that, I’d be hard all night – it was too soon to come again, so I pulled out and zipped back up. Jessica whimpered, then shifted her hips so she could slide her groin along the fender, fucking our car in the middle of the city; I wished I could take a picture. Instead, I grabbed her leash and pulled her back. She paused by her door again, waiting to be let in, moving her hips, but I pulled her back further.

She stared at me, confused, her pupils huge and black. “You’re filthy,” I explained, “I don’t want the car messy.” She nodded in sudden understanding, like it was a perfectly reasonable comment, then walked to the trunk – and that’s when I realized just how high she was. I opened the back seat door instead, and pushed her in, where she turned to her side. We had a blanket spread out for the dog, so the upholstery would be fine; not that I really cared anyways.

I drove home with white knuckles, feeling like everything was rushing past me too fast. Cars, signs, people were gone before I could react, although I kept the speedometer to 25 the whole way. I turned on the radio, jazz, to distract myself, and it sounded beautiful – as beautiful as Jessica, still naked and covered with my cum in the back seat. Even the commercials sounded beautiful; they could have interrupted with the State of the Union address, and it would have still sounded beautiful.

Jessica squirmed and moaned in the backseat, trying to rub against the cushions, seat belts, anything, and growling in frustration. Her sex was so wet it dripped down her thighs. But as we neared home, as steel and glass gave way to strip malls and fences, her eyes grew wider and her sounds more distraught. There were streetlights everywhere, and anyone that looked in could see her naked and bound. I’m sure many did. I drove slower.

Finally we reached our house. Four bedrooms, two car garage and a newly mown lawn, everything two thirty-ish upper middle class suburbanites could hope for. I pulled in, but not far up the drive; I made her walk it, naked, then pushed her down in the rose bed and took her. She screamed into the night, all pleasure, still too high to know her back was all scratched and bleeding. I don’t think the neighbors heard; respectable people don’t acknowledge that sort of thing, after all. I took her cunt, first, pumping hard, but then I turned her over and entered her rear. Jessica hated this, couldn’t bear the pain, but that was another reason for her careful dosages. She just talked about the filthy moonlight, how dirty it was, as I sodomized her, begged for more as I filled her.

When I was done I led her into the basement, spread a towel on the concrete floor and tied her leash to the freezer. I’d let her sleep here, curled around the dog for warmth: she was too high to care, too frustrated and turned on to notice anything but her unsatisfied cunt. I left her like that, chained up, naked, filthy and caring for nothing but sex, as I went upstairs to shower, prepare for Monday. I sighed. Another week of ties, office parties and fake smiles before I could go home, to that grimy street downtown.