Night

I had never done such a thing before.

It was late...so late that even the stars and a good portion of the moon had gone to bed, leaving the night so dark that it was like walking through pitch and purgatory to move from one place to another.

I had accepted what I thought had been a kind invitation from a man I knew and thought was a gentle man...unfortunately for me, his expensive car and pretty words had only gotten me through the fancy cocktail party he'd taken me to and then dumped, like so much trash, in the middle of a neighborhood I would not have confined an animal to. And so here I was, in a ridiculously short cocktail dress of emerald green sequins, lace topped stockings and even more ridiculously high heels, with my hair pinned up in sexy disarray, standing in the doorway of a dark, dark street, wondering how I was to get home.

My tiny, beaded green bag might have been impractical, but at least it contained enough to see me safely home...money, a very slim folding cell phone; my small can of mace. Unfortunately, it had been the last thing he'd snatched out of my hand before shoving me out the passenger door and speeding away, the door slamming in the force of his exit, all his anger at me all because I'd refused to...well, to do things to him...orally...while he drove home.

He'd surprised me with the demand, even though I knew he'd had too much to drink at the party, but he'd surprised me even more by reacting as he had, calling me all sorts of vile names before slamming on the brakes and reaching over to shove open my door, and me out into the night. For the moment, I was thanking the stars that remained that the street was deserted and that I had at least a modicum of shadow here in the doorway I'd found, to hide in until I thought of a way home.

I hadn't stood in the doorway for ten minutes when voices emerged from around an alleyway halfway down the block where I stood. The voices were quickly followed by three rather young looking men, early twenties, probably, coming around the corner and in my direction. I felt myself shudder and wrapped my arms around myself in a vain effort to feel safe.

I don't know which happened first...hearing the car approach, or knowing the exact moment when my hiding place ceased to function as such and the boys realized what was standing in the middle of their street in the middle of the night. They were very clear in their crude remarks and suggestions, most of which made me wonder if I wouldn't have been better off with the date after all, that they had found me on their turf, and therefore owned me...

The car arrived an instant before the boys, a sleek, black limo sliding up to the curb parallel to the building that sheltered me in its yawning mouth of its doorway. I think perhaps the car itself saved me more so than the man who slid the glass smoothly down, speaking even more smoothly from within, as all three boys switched their whistles and appreciation to the mass of gleaming metal and away from me. For an instant.

"Come."

The rear door of the limo opened as if by ghostly hands, and all I saw was a black interior so stuffed with shadows that any human would surely suffocate in them. But the voice from within was real, and solid and...reassuring. Warm, with a slight accent of some kind, and oddly compelling. And then a hand appeared, reaching out from the shadows, and in a tenth of a second two things happened simultaneously: the boys realized that I was about to escape, and I realized that escape was holding out its hand to me. Somehow I made it to the car, practically diving into the dark backseat, while three voices behind me made it clear that they were angry at my having been torn away.

I think I must have grabbed for the door handle, slamming it shut, and I heard the metallic snap of a lock and then...nothing. The black shadows were absolute; the car, now sealed and moving away as smoothly as it had come, was tomblike in its quiet. I realized, too, that my diving escape had landed me not on the seat, but on my knees on the plushly carpeted floor between the seats, my left hand on the rear seat, my right on the seat facing the rear. It was only a moment before my left hand was taken into a large, warm, very slightly calloused hand that was certainly male, and that slightly accented voice....French, I thought...spoke out of the corner of the darkness.

"Come. Sit."

The hand tugged gently, persuasively...nearly as persuasive as the voice, and I slid up, finding a seat of such deep velvet that I sighed in relief. I hadn't realized just how uncomfortable the tight, sexy sling back heels I'd chosen for the dress were, when one was forced to stand on concrete in them after standing for so long at the party. And now, what did one say to a stranger who had saved me from...well, something close to certain death, anyway?

"Thank you." It was barely a whisper but it felt like more than my throat could manage at that moment, and I found my self embarrassingly choked with tears.

"You're most welcome."

He hadn't released my hand, I thought...but that didn't seem odd to me, particularly in comparison to the oddity of everything else. And his hands as he was took my left hand in both of his were warm and comforting and made me feel...something...odd. Something dark.

Something delicious.

"If it hadn't been for you," I started, rambling a little because I was so nervous, "They would have...they would...well..." I turned my face away from him, toward the window, my eyes adjusting slowly to the darkness; those hands were doing things to my skin that made it fairly crackle with electricity and the whole weird dream I'd been thrown into tonight was threatening to topple me completely.

"They would have taken you, little one."

I couldn't help it...my head swung back in his direction, surprising me again with his outline..he was big. Very big. He'd spoken matter-of-factly about my having almost been raped, but there was no salacious grin behind the statement. It was just, simply, the truth.

"That's a polite way of saying it."

"Would you rather I be more graphic?"

The accent was stronger now, the outline clearer, and his shadowy figure made the contact of our hands burn hotter. Something was wrong with me...I'm no virgin, for goodness sake, but my sexual encounters had been limited to longtime dates and a few colleagues, none of it very good. None of it generating the kind of heat this man's hand on mine could.

"They would have taken you, little one," he repeated, holding my left hand in his left and smoothing open my fingers with his right. "One at a time, watching one another, waiting their turns...."

A flush of heat crept up into my throat; my face, and I turned away again, but never thinking of removing my hand from his...and not really knowing why.

"I live on the east side," I murmured, rattling off my address like a litany, wondering if the smoky glass between us and the driver was as view-proof as it was soundproof and for some odd reason hoping that it was. But he ignored me and kept speaking, never harshly or coldly, but plainly, in that hot, accented voice.

"Of course, they are only boys," he mused, amusing himself with flaring out my fingers. "They would not be satisfied for long watching...they are greedy and stupid, and would take without savoring. Without thinking."

The back of my left hand pressed down on something firm and warm. I swung my gaze back, to see it lying on his thigh, pale against the fine, dark material of his trousers. He kept it there with his hands, one holding the ends of my fingers down...the other tracing delicate patterns on my inner wrist with one fingertip of his own.

"Please," I whispered, not knowing what I was pleading for...release? Or more? But he went on as if he hadn't heard.

"They would grow eager, urging one another on, and soon you would have to deal with two...and finally...three. For they would no doubt wish to use you as...fully as possible."

Three? Three??? Mentally, I calculated all the ways in which one man could use one woman and decided that I definitely knew one...had been pressured into and disliked a second, but...

"Oh, sweet heaven!"

The shadows were thinning; he looked into my shocked face and, instead of laughing at my naivete, only cocked his handsome head to one side, clearly surprised.

"You are not accustomed to being used in such ways, little one," He remarked, eyes narrowing slightly. Then his gaze swept down over the dress I wore...the stockings, the shoes...

"No," I said stiffly, finally trying to draw my hand away. "I am most certainly NOT."

Now he did chuckle, but the sound was not at my expense. "Forgive me. I made assumptions. But...perhaps our evening is not lost so completely after all, mon petit cheri. You are beautiful as the night, and a mystery. Alone and so dressed..." He motioned his head toward my cocktail attire. "You are enticement to a man's blood."

I fought with his hold over my hand, losing miserably, and because of his hold I could not move away toward the opposite door. Still...somehow...I didn't really want to.

"Do not be afraid, mon petit...I will not use you as they would have."

I found myself staring at him...thinking that his eyes were gray, but knowing it was only the shadows. It wasn't what he said that frightened me...he had said he wouldn't use me as the boys would have. It was what he didn't say...that he wouldn't use me at all. The trickle of heat I felt between my thighs made me shudder. I had never before felt fear mixed with this kind of arousal.

"Let. Me. Go."

He wrapped his hands around my captive one; slid the tight knot of all three of them up his thigh. The shadow I could see lying there was not some soft whisp of light and shadow....he was huge and..hard. But for some reason the fascination of watching my hand, in his, creep up his thigh, stopped me fighting. He stopped just short of the obvious bulge in his trousers and I felt my breath rush out.

"You are disappointed, non?"

There was a smile in his voice now...the sexiest one I had ever heard, and my blood ran hot and my thighs slid together, so wet that I was sure he could hear the soft slish of them rubbing.

"NON!" I insisted, practically growling the word in his face, using his language against him, and before the word was past my lips, he had one hand on the back of my head, pulling me into him, forcing me off balance so that I fell headlong into his side, his arm around me holding my head, both my hands now on his thigh, to keep myself upright as much as I could manage.

"Oh..yes," he whispered on my lips, and then he was kissing me...

His mouth opened mine without gentle persuasion or argument...he simply took control, refusing to release either my hand or my mouth while he pressed and kissed, licked and nibbled and invaded and thrust....until my body shuddered and my bones went slack and my head fell to the velvet squab of the seat...until heat pulsed through parts of my body I hadn't known existed until just that moment....until fire raged between my thighs and a whimper escaped my throat before I could draw it back.

Only then did he relent, pulling away bit by bit, his mouth withdrawing until I was advancing in eager need and when he was satisfied that I had, albeit silently, begged sufficiently, he came at my mouth again, taking it; eating at it until he seemed satisfied and I only raged in hunger. Finally, after tiny, biting kisses at the corners of my mouth, he bent his head to my ear, released my left hand and whispered, "Touch me, little one."

I hesitated, lost in the dream haze of those kisses, wet with need, and even now, still reluctant. Touch a stranger? Touch this man, who had control over me so quickly...I could not give up control....

He hissed something in French directly in my ear and though I do not speak the language, I knew immediately what he was saying..."TOUCH ME!" Not a request this time...a demand. I slid my hand up one tiny fraction further. He hissed again, his tone a combination of fierce desire and utter command, and took my left hand again, pressing it, palm open, over the steely shaft of his penis under his trousers. Pressing my skin against the material and the hard ridge beneath, he growled several brief phrases that clearly spoke his harsh pleasure.

"Now," he groaned, finally in English..."You will take off the dress."

I pulled away, only making it an inch or two before his fist was wrapped in my hair, his hold firm, but not painful.

"The dress." He demanded, releasing me fully.

I stared back at him, shaking. Terror and desire...new in this combination. Potent.

"Please...don't.." I murmured pitifully, and in reply he narrowed his eyes again and I found my fingers at the side of the dress under my left arm, tugging the zipper down.

"Do it on your knees." He gestured with one hand toward the floor between his feet. "There. Kneel there and strip for me, little girl."

I managed to get in the position he demanded. Dazed, I took the hem of the dress in both hands, swallowing; hesitating.

"Now," he growled angrily, and I stripped the dress over my head, holding it over my breasts, staring down at the floor. He held one hand out, palm open, demanding that I give him the expensive little dress....and my body. When I didn't move, he snapped his fingers, making me jump a little, and when he took the dress, tossing it aside, I whimpered, arms over my breasts.

"Let me see you," he said, his tone of voice as normal as if he had just requested a coffee, his palms down on his spread thighs.

This time, all it took was for me to notice the slight shift of tension in his body; the tapping of one finger in impatience against his thigh. Closing my eyes, I let my arms slide to my sides, up on my knees in front of him, his legs spread open on either side of me, my tits exposed, leaving me in panties, the stockings, and the heels. I knew what would come next.

"Touch yourself."

My gaze snapped up to his at the order...it was not what I had anticipated. I had been waiting for...for him to make me...use my mouth.

"W...what?" I stammered, feeling like an idiot. I knew nothing of sex...it had taken me only this long in this man's company to know that, and he had taken control; taken my mind as I thought he would take my mouth...my body. Yet he was not.

"Touch yourself, cheri," he murmured. Put your soft hands to your face...your hair...your breasts. Touch yourself as you would touch yourself when you are all alone. I want to watch."

He turned his face away, turning on a CD player; filling the back of the car with jazz so hot the windows would be steamed in minutes. And while he chose the music; adjusted the sound, he told me to close my eyes and DO IT, all the while not paying attention to whether I was or not.

I closed my eyes.

A cork popped...something fizzed...I smelled crisp white champagne, and lifted my hands to my throat.

The song changed; a glass clinked. I slid both hands up, slowly, to lift and sift through my hair, eyes closed, lost in a place of my own pleasure.

A throaty male murmur of approval...at the taste of the wine, or for me? I kept my eyes closed, hands sliding to my breasts...cupping their weight.

Hard, ice cold and wet, something slid over my left nipple and I gasped, trying hard to keep my eyes closed. I was swaying in the music and the movement of the car, squeezing my breasts slightly. The cold thing slid over my other nipple; I opened my mouth, head falling back a little, and a drip of champagne touched my tongue. Another drizzle of wine; this time I was prepared as it slid down my tongue to my throat, shivering cold in my mouth.

My hands were moving of their own volition now, palms caressing over my nipples, peaking them into aching hardness. When his finger dipped onto my tongue, covered in champagne, I couldn't help but moan and close my lips around it, sucking off the wine. The taste of male skin and champagne made me dizzy and I swayed forward too far; putting out my hands to catch myself on the edge of the seat, I never lost the contact with his finger but he slid it out, whispering for me to open my eyes.

I saw him in the shadowed darkness; saw his eyes, burning like gray fire, and knew I was a slave to something that I could never have imagined, and my cunt wept hot tears of need. He sat back, setting the glass aside, and opening his belt. My gaze was fixed there, on his hands...on the strength of his cock, pushing out at the material. He let the belt hang open, unfastened the single button, slid down the zipper, holding me transfixed. I watched him, as he had no doubt watched me, heat rushing through me at the realization that he had felt this same fascination; this same arousal, as he had watched me. He lifted his hips, adjusted both his trousers and briefs, exposing his cock to me; taking it into his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world and not part of some wild erotic dream.

He took my right hand in his left, stroking the length of his cock with his right, and drew me toward him. My fingers opened, but not because I had been ordered to do so. Because I longed to feel the steel flesh of his cock in my hand. I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock and it jumped against my palm and fingers as he drew his own hand away.

I couldn't stop staring at the living flesh in my hand; I leaned down on my elbows on the seat to see him more clearly; in the darkness I had to be inches away from the hard length of him to see the detail of the veins pulsing against my hand. I squeezed and he groaned, and I moved my hand. Up. Sliding down. He groaned again, hissing in French, making me shiver as I stroked, up...down...up...and then I leaned in and kissed him; kissed the head of this stranger's cock, and felt such pleasure at the taste and feel of it that one kiss became a thousand and I became something I did not know I could be...ravenous. I bent farther, opening my mouth and I registered the feel of his hands in my hair but only fleetingly; I was too lost in the sensation of being a lewd woman, sucking a thick, long, hard cock in the back of a limo on a night as dark as pitch.

I lost myself in hunger, bobbing my head up and back on his shaft, licking and sucking the head and as much of the rest of his length as I could swallow until all I could taste, see, touch and smell was hot, aroused male and precum and my own need. All I could hear were moans; whimpers; cries of urgent need and I did not know which throat they came from--his, or mine. For an instant I thought of tonight's date and then of the one man who previously had introduced me to what he'd said women were for--sucking a man's dick--and while both incidents were hideous in memory, I could not stop my quick, deep, wet, sucking...and I thought only, ‘oh yes..yes...yes.......yes......' while I devoured.

My hands were on his thighs, pressed open against hot, hair-roughened skin shaped well by muscle beneath, thumbs finding the crease at the top, sliding along them on either side as my mouth gave hunger new meaning. Then while I ate at his shaft, I discovered his groin; the velvety muscle of his belly; the heavy weight of his balls. When I cupped him he moaned deep in his throat, muttering incoherent French, his hands tightening in my hair and his body sliding lower in the seat, pushing his pelvis further toward me, silently begging. I never took my mouth from the heady taste of male body; I found that I could continue to suck him and at the same time wrestle with his trousers, managing to get them down to his ankles so that his knees could spread wide and I could wrap one hand around the base of his shaft and slide my mouth lower.

I had never realized that a man's balls were anything more than storage space for future generations; not until taking this stranger's cock into one hand and moving my face lower between his now widespread thighs, to lick experimentally at one full, heavy sac. The sound he made in his throat was deep and husky and wild, and made me moan in response before I licked and then bathed with my tongue, and then took into my mouth.