Road Trip

September 27, 2020

It wasn’t pitch black in the boot of the car. A thin line of light around the parcel shelf illuminated the thick duvet I lay curled up upon, the pillows lining the edges so that when I slithered around as the car weaved and turned, I didn’t bruise myself against the sides. I could make out the pale length of my arms and the length of soft black fabric holding my wrists tied together. The same fabric was knotted at the back of my head, a strip cutting into my cheeks and keeping my mouth held open. As a gag, it wasn’t very effective – the whimpers I made every time we jolted and bumped over pot holes loud in the confines of the space – and it had rubbed the corners of my mouth raw, the material damp with my saliva, but it served its purpose. It reminded me that I wasn’t in control.

It reminded me that I was at someone else’s mercy.

I didn’t particularly pay attention when the car started decelerating. It had been doing that off and on for as long as we’d been driving. I’d no watch, so I’d no idea how long it had been, but it felt like both a long time and no time at all. I did notice when we left the (relatively) smooth surface of the road and tyres started crunching on gravel, though. When the car stopped entirely, pulling over, I presumed, at the side of the road, I held my breath, every muscle tensed.

I’d been out on a walk when I was grabbed for behind, strong arms wrapping around me and yanking me back into a solid wall of warmth. A low, no-nonsense voice in my ear had told me to be quiet, not to struggle, and I’d submitted docilely as my hands were bound and my mouth gagged, as I was lifted up and deposited into the boot of the car. Now, when the rear door was lifted and sunlight flooded in, I cringed and turned away, the world too bright and the man who’d grabbed me no more than a blurred silhouette.

“You’re all right, kitten. Come here.”

A hand wrapped around my upper arm and pulled, and I’d no option but to go with him. A second hand slipped around my ribs and scooped me up and out of the back of the car. My feet scd over the lip of the boot and then hit solid ground. Only it didn’t feel solid. My knees buckled, my muscles trembling with adrenaline and no small amount of apprehension. My eyes tearing, I stared about me, trying to place the layby we’d pulled over into while I clung to my Sir, even though he was the one who’d lifted me into the boot in the first place.

“Are you all right?” he asked, the hand letting go of my arm to cup the back of my head.

I made a squawking noise, the best I could do with the strip of fabric forcing my lips apart, and he shifted me until I was leaning against him fully, freeing both his arms to work at the knot at the back of my head that had somehow gotten tangled up with my hair and was refusing to easily come undone. He got it at last and I mewled as the gag was gently tugged free. My jaw ached and the corners of my mouth stung.

“Better?” he asked, massaging my cheeks.

“Yes. Thank you, Sir.”

“Come on, into the car.”

He led me round towards the passenger side and I saw the door was already open. I sank gratefully down onto the seat and tugged my seatbelt on as he closed the door then rounded his sleek, fancy SUV until he folded himself behind the wheel. I watched him click his own seat belt in and throw the car into gear with precise, controlled movements, his attention on the road, not me.

I pouted a bit at that. I was feeling raw and *** after the stress of being “captured”, and after my entombment in the rear of the car. I wanted to press my face to his shoulder or wrap a hand around his thigh. Instead, I stared at his face as he pulled back onto the road, at the line of his jaw and the slight lines at the corner of his eyes; the crooked bump on his nose where he’d broken it in a bar fight. I’d had to earn a serious reward to get that story, but it had been well worth it to get a glimpse at a younger, more reckless Sir.

“You’re not curious where we’re going?” he asked after a long moment, the corners of his mouth twitching.

I looked out the windscreen then, taking in the dual carriageway we were coasting down, the trees lining the road and the neatly parcelled out fields of farmlands spreading out on either side. I didn’t recognise where we were.

“Where are we going, Sir?” I asked dutifully.

“Nowhere.” I blinked and frowned, confused, and he glanced over at me, then smiled. “A road trip, kitten. Just a chance to enjoy the drive. Tell you what.” He patted the dash. “I’ll even let you choose the music.”

“Thank you, Sir.” I flicked on the radio and scrolled through the long list of channels available in Sir’s fancy satellite subscription. My preference was for Country music, but I settled on Coffee House. I knew Sir liked that kind of thing and, no matter what he said, I doubted this was a simple road trip.

“Good choice,” he commented. Then, in the same nonchalant tone of voice, “Take off your shoes and socks and put them in the back.”

Okay. I muttered an acknowledgement of the instruction and toed off my trainers, reached down into the seat well to hook my ankle socks with a finger and slide them off my feet. Sir’s car was immaculate as always and there was no gravel or dirt to irritate my bare toes as I placed them back down on the mat. I put my shoes and socks on the floor in the back and then turned to him expectantly.

He didn’t say anything for the next three songs.

“Your jeans.”

A little flicker of arousal pulsed in my clit as my hands went to the button of my jeans and slid it free before lowering the zipper and wiggling my way free of the skin-tight denim. They joined my shoes and socks in the back and I settled back into the smoothness of the leather seat. It was a dual carriageway, and I glanced nervously at the car accelerating slowly past us, but the woman driving was too busy arguing with the man in the seat next to her and besides, even if she’d looked over, she couldn’t have seen my naked legs. Only Sir could.

I sat with my legs slightly parted, hoping he’d take his hand off the gear stick where it was resting and slide it between my thighs, or higher, but he didn’t.

Another two songs.

“Your t-shirt.”

I paused this time, hesitating just for a moment. My eyes went once more to the traffic, all those strangers driving somewhere, for some reason. There was no reason for any of them to look into our car – how often did I stare into the vehicles of other drivers? Almost never – but still, the knowledge that they could, at any time, made me excited and nervous both.

“Kitten.”

A warning and admonishment in one.

“Sorry, Sir.” Not giving myself time to think, I shifted the seatbelt and whipped my t-shirt over my head, tossing it into the back without bothering to turn it the right way out or fold it up. I was wearing a perfecting respectable bra but still, I was aware of the naked line of my shoulders, the vast pale drop down my sternum towards the tops of my breasts.

“Bra, too.”

I’d known it was coming, but that didn’t mean I was able to prevent the hiss that escaped from between my teeth. I leaned forward enough to unhook myself then pulled my bra free of my shoulders. This time I held the garment in my hands for a long moment, unwilling to surrender it to the back even though it was no longer doing the job of concealing the roundness of my breasts or my pale pink nipples.

“In the back, kitten.”

I looked out of the passenger window so Sir wouldn’t see the pout on my face as I chucked my bra behind me. I wanted to cover my chest with my arms, but I knew how that would go down so I placed my hands carefully on my naked thighs.

“Open the glove compartment.”

Happy for an excuse to lean forward and shield myself for a moment, I reached down and tugged at the locking mechanism. It gave smoothly, the drawer dropping down to reveal a leather bound folder holding all the car’s manuals and, on top of that, a set of nipple clamps held together with a thin metal chain.

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask whether he wanted the manual, but I held it in. I tried to time my brattiness for moments when we weren’t in public, because Sir gave much less of a fuck than I did and wouldn’t hesitate to punish me where I could be seen. I picked up the clamps and closed the glove compartment back up.

“Put them on.”

Again, the instruction wasn’t exactly a surprise, but I still closed my eyes again in momentary denial. My hand went to my nipple almost automatically, though, pinching enough flesh to adhere the clamps, one at a time. My nipples weren’t particularly sensitive, and while I could feel the pressure, it wasn’t really ***ful.

“Tighten them please. Three turns each.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I closed my eyes and trapped my tongue between my teeth as I obeyed. The first turn was fine. The second pinched sharply. The third I really felt, like it was Sir’s fingers there instead, squeezing cruelly. Only the clamps wouldn’t be easing off any time soon.

“Now your panties.”

To be honest, there was very little difference in sitting there in my underwear and sitting there fully naked. Seated as I was, very little additional flesh would be on display. With a sense of inevitability, I wriggled out of my panties, only gasping when one of the clamps scd against the length of my seatbelt, running diagonally across my torso.

I sat there, fully naked, clamps ***fully tight on both nipples, for the length of six songs. Sir didn’t say a word to me during all that time, driving the car, his posture casually relaxed, humming along with some of the tunes. I tried to pretend that I was dressed, tried not to hunker down in my seat when the first truck roared by, or even the second, who slowed down so that the driver could ***r into the car at me, honking his horn in what I assumed was appreciation before driving on. I kept my mouth firmly shut, deliberately not pointing out that it was more Sir’s habit to ride the fast lane, leaving the s***d limit far behind him. I knew he was coasting along so that more traffic would pass me, exposed on the passenger side.

Mercifully, he finally flicked on his indicator and turned onto a two lane road, where oncoming traffic would have time to catch no more than a glimpse of me before rushing past. He accelerated up through the gears then reached down into the storage pocket in the driver’s side door.

“When we get back to your flat,” he said, “you’re going to walk in however you’re dressed. Which, right now, is naked. I’m going to give you the chance to win some of your clothing back.”

What? I turned to him with my mouth dropped open, barely concealed panic clear on my face. I lived on a busy street, in a building with more that twenty units. I almost never walked through the entryway and up the stairs without meeting someone, usually multiple someones. And right now I was naked as the day I was born. Worse, I was clamped.

“How do I win my clothes back, Sir?” I asked.

The list of things I wouldn’t do to ensure I didn’t walk into my building in my birthday suit – with added “decoration” – was pretty short.

Instead of answering me, he handed me something. I had the little bullet vibrator in my hand before I realised what it was. A new toy, a favourite of mine. It was WiFi enabled, so Sir and I could play with it anywhere. And we had. Usually, though, he was a lot further away.

“Put it between your legs,” he said. “Make sure it’s right on your clit. Then you don’t touch it.”

I did was I was told, settling the edge of the bullet along the side of my clit and then trapping it there by pressing my thighs together. The damn thing wasn’t even on yet, and yet when I squeezed my legs together I felt it press against my clit, rubbing lightly. Pleasure surged, heightened by anticipation. I glanced over to Sir and saw he had his phone balanced on his knee, the screen lit as his fingers danced across the surface.

“That’s not road safe,” I quipped.

The look he gave me was enough to stopper any further smart comments, even if he hadn’t followed it up with, “You want to go into your building naked… on your knees?”

No, I absolutely did not.

“Sorry, Sir.”

“Hmmm.” I winced, but his attention was back to flitting between the road and his phone. I gasped and jerked when the vibrator suddenly came to life, buzzing in a sudden flare that had my clit screaming against the sudden onslaught of sensation. I clenched my thighs instead of spreading them and releasing the tension, aware I was being watched and that Sir did not make idle threats.

“You may cum whenever you like,” he said, smiling benevolently. “but for every song you make it through, you get to reclaim one item of clothing. You may put those on after I have parked outside your building.”

So… we were stopping outside my flat with me stark naked. I absorbed that and tried not to freak out about it.

What was still to be decided, was how humiliating my entry into the building was going to be.

I could have survived any other toy, but that damn bullet was my nemesis and Sir knew it. It was shaped just right and, though he didn’t have it up to maximum just now, I knew it wouldn’t be long. When he did, I was *** to prevent cumming in seconds.

I could not go into my building naked. I just couldn’t.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.”

He gave me a moment to bask in the compliment, then he slid his fingers up the screen and increased the vibration.

It was exquisite ***. My clit swelled and pulsed, sparking with flares of pleasure that had my eyes rolling back. I squirmed on my seat and only managed to create a deeper, more satisfying throb. I knew if I rocked just a little in the seat, I’d be able to cum and cum hard.

And then I’d be heading into my building with everything I had on display.

Fighting against the urge to move towards the pleasure, I drew a hard breath in through my nose and stared out of the windscreen. The road rushed towards us, counting out the seconds with every tree or isolated house that darted past. The song that was playing was one of my favourites, and I tried to tune into the melody, run the lyrics through my head. I almost managed it when Sir pulled back on the vibrations until it was no more than a pleasurable buzz. He was only teasing me, though, waiting until I relaxed fractionally then hitting me with the maximum vibration the bullet could achieve. I yelped and clutched at the dash, holding off my orgasm through sheer *** of will.

“Panties,” he said, and I realised the song was winding down, the DJ’s voice cutting over the last few bars.

The second song was Lying Eyes by The Eagles. Four minutes and four*** seconds worth of song, and I felt every moment. Sir knew I despised edging, that when I felt my orgasm approaching I always wanted to rush towards it, bask in the rolling flush of ecstasy. Holding it back was almost impossible for me, but damn did I wish I’d practised it now.

“Bra,” Sir murmured softly when the last lyrics finally – finally – rolled out of the speaker.

Jeans and t-shirt, that was all I needed. I didn’t care if I cut my feet on a sharp stone on the pavement, or if one of my building neighbours noticed I was walking about without shoes. Just two more songs and I could escape an embarrassment that would revisit me every time I had to step outside my flat door.

The next song was Fire Away by Chris Stapleton. It was one of my favourite songs, but I heard not a word. I just existed as the verse slid into the chorus before retreating and beginning the dance again. Sir emphasised each ebb and flow of the melody by easing back and surging forward on the bullet in a rolling rhythm that had pleasure moving forward and sliding back, moving forward, and sliding back. By the end of the song I was lost, my eyes staring sightlessly forward, not even registering that we were somehow returning to town, streets and building replacing hills and farmland.

When the song ebbed and something fast immediately replaced it, I barely heard Sir murmur, “T-shirt,” before the bullet vibe slammed onto high and my orgasm ripped through me with breath-taking ***. I rocked forwards, my upper body curling protectively over my core as my clit swelled and then twitched and juddered, the bundle of nerves too sensitive, too strung out, for the continued stimulation.

“Turn it off!” I pleaded. “Please, off. It’s too much. Please.”

Of course he didn’t, the phone sitting on his thigh, screen blank, as he drove sedately through town with both hands on the wheel like a responsible driver.

“Sit up,” he admonished. “And don’t touch it.”

I was over-stimulated to the point that my thighs were shaking, my teeth clenched together so hard my jaw was aching once more, but I managed to grab onto the edge of the car seat, holding on through the muscle convulsions, keeping my thighs squeezed close together.

When he finally switched the little vibe off, I collapsed into the seat like a rag doll, not caring that I was naked in the car as the town folded in around us. My breath was coming in pants, juddering as the last few aftershocks rocked my core.

“I’m waiting, Kitten,” he murmured.

What? I turned my head to look at him, overwhelmed and confused, then something clicked in my brain.

“Thank you, Sir,” I whispered.

“You’re welcome. Clean your toy.”

Clean your toy. It was an instruction every time we played, but we didn’t usually play in a car in broad daylight in the middle of town. Self-consciously, I reached between my thighs and drew out the bullet, feeling the slippery evidence of my release. Knowing Sir was paying attention even if he was ostensibly watching the road, I laved the bullet with long, slow licks, sucking the nub that had been nestled against my clit fully into my mouth, drawing all my juices from it.

“Good girl, kitten.”

He held out his hand and I dropped the bullet into it, watching as he secreted it back away into its hiding place.

“Now.” He drew over onto the side of the road and I only then realised we were outside my buildings, the windows of my neighbours right there, more than a dozen of them available for anyone to look out and down, to see me in all my naked glory. “You can get dressed.”

I had the seatbelt unclipped in a heartbeat and was twisted round and reaching for my clothes before a ***ful pull at my nipples had me remembering the clamps.

“Can I take these off?” I asked, hands already going to the mechanism.

“When I get home,” Sir replied.

Damnit, he lived miles away from me. I didn’t argue, though, because I could see a couple walking down the pavement towards us and I wanted to be at least partially clothed before they were close enough to see it, to see me.

Panties. Bra. T-shirt. I looked forlornly at my jeans but left them be, shrugging into the clothes I had earned as quickly as I could.

“Inside now,” Sir said, his mouth smiling slightly as he watched the man and woman approach. “I’ll message you when I’m home, all right? And I’ll call you later.”

“All right,” I replied, wondering if I could manage to linger in the car until they’d passed us by.

Nope.

“Now, Kitten,” Sir prodded.

I grimaced, but they were only going to get closer. Gripping the door handle, I pushed the door open and hopped out.

“Bye, Sir,” I said, my bare legs cool against the late afternoon air and the pavement rough beneath the soles of my feet.

“Goodbye, Kitten.”

I lingered long enough to see him give me a wink and a smile, then bolted into my building, unsure if I was imagining the surprised gasp from the woman or not.

For once in my life, I met not a soul until I made it to my front door.