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The background here is that I forced Alison to spend our traditional Saturday afternoon, inner city shopping ritual scandalously (un)dressed in a 14 years old’s school hockey skirt. It was so short the whole world could see her little white knickers and she suffered the shame and embarrassment I’d intended perfectly.

It was February and a bitterly cold Northerly draft made poor Alison feel horribly naked, stinging her bare legs and making some relief necessary before she froze to death. So we popped into a cafe for a coffee.

Sadly it was one of the trendier places in town and a lounge rather than a coffee shop. We had to sit on a sofa next to a gentleman who turned out to be less than that. Of course I couldn’t blame him really. He stopped reading his newspaper when Alison obediently sat down beside him, because I told her to.

She sat bolt upright, knees together with her hands in her lap in an effort to hide her crotch, a picture of elegant deportment, except for the fact that her useless skirt covered nothing! I felt she deserved his attention absolutely.

In the real story I allowed her to escape having suffered nothing worse than twenty minutes of withering humiliation. However, Alison’s kinky little brain, fuelled by her real life experience, frightened her with the following wicked extrapolation into the realm of pure fantasy.

Go on then Ali, from 2016, tell ‘em……………..

Cafe Crustoby FirebreathingAlison, May 13, 2016, 2:22:20 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / Fantasy / Short Stories

The washrooms were behind the counter. I suppose being next to the kitchen kept the plumbing simple but for the cafe's customers it meant a long walk into the bowels of the building. Kate seemed satisfied with the humiliation she'd inflicted on me so far and allowed me the opportunity to escape for a while. When you have to go, you have to go and that's that.

Walking here half naked through the cold had stressed my bladder anyway and not sure if she intended the intensity of my degradation to get worse, I thought I'd limit one of humiliation's worst effects by being empty!  Having said that however, I'm only slightly ashamed to admit that there was another reason I needed some solitude.

My voyeur had been watching my naked thighs as we sat beside each other on the sofa so intently he'd made it possible for me to watch him.  He didn't see me notice that he never turned the pages of the newspaper he pretended to read or that Kate too had sussed him.  She stopped talking for minutes at a time and we observed our pervert together, incredulous that anyone could be so oblivious to the insult he might cause.  He never looked at my face.  I whispered my astonishment to Kate.  "Can you believe him!" I hissed.  "Well what d'ya expect." she said, adding "You tart." to put his attention into perspective.

So far our adventure had been difficult for me.  The painful disgust I'd encountered made me feel horribly uncomfortable and the cold made me feel more naked still, but I have to say, thrilled by the exposure.  I'm resigned now to never being able to explain such a wicked paradox. All I can say is that I felt primed to regard my voyeur's proximity not with horror but excitement.  I imagined his intentions while Kate tried to chat about shopping.  Then he moved his hand to hold the bottom of the paper, needing to fold it perfectly to give it the necessary stiffness.  Shamelessly he ignored my reading of his obvious planning and took the time to do it properly, placing his right hand about six inches from my left thigh.  No one else in the cafe noticed and I sat ladylike and still, waiting for not if, but when, he touched me.  I wondered what I should do.

Solitude was the answer.  I needed some relief from the drama to calm myself down, rest and think about what I was doing in peace.  For a while I sat in my cubicle assimilating my experience so far and thought "Wow, what a ride!"  Then I thought about the next phase.  Kate wanted to take me shopping in a nearby mall, a scary thrill I felt my pink bits respond to.  Sorry, there is no elegant way to say this but you should know I come once.  In bed with my loving husband it takes its time to build into a beautiful expression of how much I love him and the afterglow is glorious, blissful serenity.  Away from him I have to struggle to stop it, delaying it so that when I have to let it come it blows my head off.  After that I feel normal, laser straight and boring.  I couldn't make shopping an adventure like that.

I dried myself thinking of how much I needed my hormones, fought the temptation to play and put my spare knickers on, in case the hawk eyed public noticed how much fun I'd had!  Should I resume my place next to my voyeur and his ridiculous failure to be furtive?  I was laughing at that as I left the ladies' toilet.  He was waiting for me just outside.

Surprised to see him I froze, making it easy for him to grab me, catching my right wrist with his left hand he held me still enough to reach between my legs with his right.  We were in a corridor with the two toilet doors off it, and the kitchen door and an exit out into the back yard.  I managed to twist away from his attempt to grope me and tried to swing a slap at his face with my free hand but he used my momentum to spin me round and pushed me face first towards the corner of the corridor, next to the back door.

Half a second later he'd twisted a handful of my hair, pulling my head back and tried to force the fingers of his other hand through my pants between my arse cheeks.  I needed both hands behind me to try to hold him off and couldn't prevent him slamming me into the corner, squashing my breasts against the walls.  "Do as you're told slag and I won't hurt you." he spat in damp breath down my ear as he held me still.

If ever I had to I always thought I'd bite, kick, scratch and scream so viciously even the most determined attacker would think twice about taking me on.  Sadly my outrage wasn't enough to give me courage and in reality I was helpless.  His hold on my hair was so tight he'd have broken my neck if he didn't rip my scalp off first and he'd got an irresistible grip on my pants, his probing fingers already working their way up my arse in spite of my resistance.  His weight trapped me. Wedged into the corner and in serious trouble, I dare not try to move.  I felt his stubbly chin rough against my face as he whispered "Are you gonna behave?" Subdued and shaken, my voice wobbling I told him "Yes." too frightened not to.

He pulled me across to the back door, a fire escape, and used me to knock the handle down and push it out of the way. Half marched by my hair and half carried by my knickers, I burst out into the yard.  We were poorly balanced and fell over something, I did at least.  He let go of me to save himself and I landed with a slap on the muddy concrete, my arms still behind me.  Without thinking I tried to escape and almost got up to run before he knocked me down again.  I rolled over to face him, I hadn't escaped at all and he put his boot into the inside of my left thigh, then the right, kicking my legs open.  Fuck it hurt.  The pain stopped me and I lay spread either side of his feet as if in some animal display of submission, that's what it felt like.  It felt like that worse when he stood on my pubic bone to intimidate me properly, pinning me there and glaring down at me.

"See that shed?" he asked pointing one out at the end of the yard.  I didn't get time to look before he reached down, grabbed another handful of hair and dragged me towards it, scrambling to keep up.  He dragged me over the threshold, shut the door behind us then pulled me to my feet, standing me up against the wall.  "I'm married." I pleaded, hoping he might be merciful because of it.  A punch in the stomach winded me and I bent double, shocked and hurt in equal measure.  "I bet he's proud of you, you prick teasing slag." he said seriously.

I fought for breath close to panic as he lifted my head to tell me I deserved what was coming.  "Flaunting yourself makes you feel horny does it?" he said.  It wasn't a question, the contempt in his voice made his point.  I was shameful, this was my fault and I'd pay for it.  I felt like he wanted to punish me for it.  He held my neck, pushing his thumb hard into my throat before I'd recovered from the belly punch.  I succeeded with both hands and all my strength in levering his grip undone before he strangled me but his other hand was inside my pants by then, and me.  I'd been so easy it was his turn to be shocked as my body betrayed my wickedness.  He looked amazed and ominously encouraged.

He pulled me away from the wall, twisted me round, slid my jacket off my shoulders to trap my arms behind me. Then he forced my jumper over my head, groping my breasts in the process.  He pushed that down my arms as well before tearing the front out of my vest to get my tits out of my bra and torture my nipples.  I tried to stop him.  I made him fight for every broken stitch, torn shred of fabric and the indignity he forced on me.  We crashed to the floor, we fell into the shelving the shed contained and wrestled in the dirt and debris we knocked off them.  Of course I stood no chance and suffered a brutal groping every time he pinned me down or trapped me in a tangle of twisted limbs.  Each time he reminded me I'd brought these consequences upon myself, the dirty, worthless whore that I was.

Eventually he hung me on the racking the shelves were made of with my jumper wrapped round my neck, packed my sweaty, soaked knickers into my mouth and gagged me with what was left of my vest. I was so exhausted and hurt so much I couldn't prevent him tying the laces of my trainers to the racking's feet, as far apart as geometry would allow, in preparation for the final act. "Please don't." I thought, snorting like a race horse.  "I really am married, I can't." I wanted him to understand, praying he’d think I'd played his game well enough to please him and he'd see the desperation in my eyes.  He smiled and moved to undo his belt.

"Ali!" I heard Kate call.  How long had I been missing?  We'd made a lot of noise, my abuser and me.  "Ali, are you in there?" she shouted.  He held a finger up to his lips and a fist level with my navel.  I tried to snort silently.  We heard her approach the door.

My bag had fallen open at some point during our scuffle having been kicked around the floor with me.  He picked up my phone and extricated one of my hands to open it for him.  As Kate cautiously opened the shed door he finished dialling and pressed the call button.

She doesn't think particularly quickly but she came to the only reasonable conclusion anyone would, assumed I was about to be raped and tried to stop it.  She spent too much of her nobility on saving my phone as well as my virtue and our villain escaped by barging his way past her while she concentrated on prising it out of his hand.  "The bastard!" she cursed and turned to me horrified by the ordeal she felt responsible for.  "Oh god I'm so sorry." she said beginning to untie me.  I wanted her to ungag me first.  "It's OK Kate, I'm alright" I told her the instant she pulled my underwear out of my mouth.  I'd been roughed up quite badly, I was filthy and obviously bruised.  "Seriously?" she asked.

We didn't go shopping after that.  I hid in the ladies' toilet in the cafe until Kate brought the car round to the back yard entrance so I could scuttle up the alleyway in the remnants of my clothes.  It took most of the ride home to convince Kate I didn't blame her for what happened but it was only when she remembered rescuing my phone she felt better.  "What was he doing with it?" she asked.  I had a look and discovered he'd rung someone.  "Who?" she asked.  I realised it had to be his own number, then later so did she.  "That means he's got yours!" she cried.  For a moment I tried to be horrified but she knew I wasn't.  When the implications of that began to sink in she asked "What are you going to tell Jake?”

“Nothing.” I said, and smiled at her, hoping she wouldn’t tell him anything either.