Black And Blue 5

All characters are over 18, fictional, and none of it happened. Think of it as just a Grimm fairytale.

Mixed erotic themes—non-consensual, consensual, group, impregnation, male dom, some female dom.

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Mary escapes. A saga in eighteen passages.

1: On the cusp

2: Escape

3: Our Compartment for the Night

4: How Johno Started Me

5: Saddle Training

6: Mistress Training

7: Master Training

8: Breaking Away

9: Johno Follows Me

10: Males Compete

11: Johno Renews his Claim

12: Everyone Joins In

13: Johno Breeds Me

14: Joe Claims Me

15: Joe Breeds Me

16: Joe Seals his Claim

17: Joe Leaves His Claim

18: Who Claims Me Now?

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::::::Passage 1: On the cusp::::::

I'm on the cusp, leaving home, about to gain my independence, on slack tide eager to sweep to sea, paused on the roller coaster crest ready to plunge down, in an overnight railway carriage about to escape to a new life in a new city.

I stare unseeing out the carriage window at late passengers hurrying to board, but in mind I look back. I remember Daddy dying on my eighteenth birthday. He never saw me graduate from high school, or Mama's and my grief, or me leaving school early to support us, or my hair-dressing apprenticeship and cosmetology night school years. I worked to become a beautician while pinching pennies to pay for school and feed us.

Mama would say, "You're a good girl," when I came home bone tired, "Daddy would be proud."

I remember Mama's struggles. She never recovered from Daddy's death. He was a big man who filled the house with strength, protection and maleness, and we belonged to him. She always needed a big man, an older man, a strong man. And without one she lost her way.

So after two lonely years she gave up and took the first who fit the description that happened by.

Johno arrived in our family home just as I was getting on my feet, and then it all went pear-shaped. I remember his arrival and insisting I drop out of night school. He said he would provide and protect. He told me to keep working as a hair-dresser. He wanted the money and he liked my girl friends.

He quickly took over the family and demanded Mama's and my submission in return. Long days and longer nights followed for us, in his training and service, his claiming and mastering, and our yielding, hatred, self-hatred, pain, pleasure, desire and lust.

At that we were both lost. And Mana still is. But I escaped an hour ago.

::::::Passage 2: Escape::::::

Escape. An hour ago. When Johno slipped slickly out of me after his last mounting. When I slipped for the last time from the only bed I'd ever known. When he uttered his last command to me, "You'll always be mine, and if you have a daughter she'll be mine too." A simple statement as he watched me dress. Then he smacked my bruised arse hard.

"Remember, this is mine," he said, his black eyes knowing me.

He rolled to his back and banged the wall at the head of the bed, calling, "Mama, she's leaving. Get moving, you lazy cow. I want my dinner", and lit a cigarette.

Outside, Angela waited in a taxi with two train tickets for the overnight to Sydney. We came straight to the station. I left with only a tattered duffle filled with a confusion of clothes, pain and yearning.

I hope I'm not carrying anything else. Lately he's been extra careless, dismissing with a sneer my precautions after seeding me in my cumming.

At the thought my thighs press together, my back arches, my eyes glaze, and I remember inhaling through open orgasming mouth his smell of stale beer, whisky, tobacco and male breeding rut. I whimper unbidden, feeling the layers of pleasure and pain he has laid down in me, layers of conflicting sentiment burying my heart.

I squeeze my thighs tight and her hand tighter.

"We're moving soon," says Angela, squeezing back. She's my

compadre

. My sister from another Mama and Daddy. Ever since we were born on the same day in the same hospital twenty-three years ago. She knows the mix of pleasure and pain coursing though me. She knows me better than I do.

Right now I'm a mess of mixed memories. Of tumult and peace, demand and submission, resistance and yielding, loss and belonging, pleasure and pain. All sliding together like moist fingers interlocking.

Is this forever? Will I ever find someone like Daddy? Can I leave Johno behind? Will someone else claim me?

::::::Passage 3: Our Compartment for the Night::::::

The sliding compartment door bangs open and a man and woman enter. He's short, wiry and tough, in his mid-forties. Muscles like hawsers. Sinews like cables. Tattoos on arms show below tight t-shirt sleeves, black chest hairs escape the neckline, a cigarette dangles from his lips. He smells of whisky and beer. His black eyes pierce me in a glance.

With a subtle gesture of his free hand he tells the woman where to sit and swings their suitcase to the luggage rack above. She does so. She is mousey with downcast eyes and big firm tits, dressed conservatively, and has a shiny cheap wedding ring. She's about my age and I'm pretty sure she's next best to virgin and he definitely ain't. I wonder what their story is.

Our train compartment can accommodate six passengers on two bench seats facing each other. Three passengers facing forward in the direction of travel, and three back. Under the window a table will unfold to host drinks, a card game, a conversation. It will also define a secluded space underneath where our feet will touch and tangle through the night until strangers are no longer strangers. A sliding door will close us off from the train corridor, from other passengers, from the world.

Now we are four. Angela and I will be looking at those two, barely two arm lengths away, in this closed box, across this small table, for sixteen hours, as we travel through the night. Close enough for our knees to touch, and the simplest fart, crotch adjustment and snore to catch us all unawares. If one sneezes we should all wipe our noses. If one goes to pee we'll all get the urge. If one slumps sideways in sleep, alcohol or familiarity, their neighbour will receive their sweaty weight wanted or not. If one gets horny, or better two, we'll all get wide-ons and hard-ons.

Like it or lump it, it will be an intimate night, so we may as well get to know each other.

Tattoo sticks out his hand to us and says, "G'day ladies, I'm Johno, and this is me missus, Sheila. We just got married yesterday and we're heading down to Sydney. What's your names?"

I'm in shock. He's the same age, name, build, smell, black eyes and hard stare as Mama's Johno, who's semen sits wet in my panties from an hour ago.

Why am I suddenly woozy? What's happening? Where am I?

::::::Passage 4: How Johno Started Me::::::

Where am I? I'm back home four years ago, just turned twenty. Oh so innocent. Mama had brought Johno home for her bed and our protection, but it soon became our beds and her protection. At first he kept away, but watched. I'm sure Mama knew, but she said nothing.

Until that night he came to me after Mama said good night, and said simply, "It's time, Mary."

Caught unawares, I was confused and could only think, "

He has grey hair like Daddy's.

"

I said, "What?" and thought, "

Black eyes. Grey hair. I miss Daddy.

"

He said, "To help me when I need."

I said, "Need? What?" and thought, "

He's looking at me funny."

He said, "My man needs. You're a big girl now. All grown up and everything.", and came to my bed.

As I struggled I called through the wall, "Mama, what's happening? Do I have to? I want you! Mama!" But he kept on and pressed me down again—he is so heavy and strong—and kissed me hard until I called and moaned and cried and grey hair filled my vision and black eyes pierced me.

I'd never even had a boy friend, and didn't know what to do.

As my struggles subsided, Mama called back through the thin wall, "Don't fuss so, Mary. You're a big girl. Johno needs you. Learn. Learn him. Learn his needs. Learn yours. Learn what you need from him. Don't fuss."

Then he entered me for the first time. He was big like one of those enormous candles they light at Mass. It hurt and suddenly I was so full of him I thought I would tear but I found slick juice flowing from my slot that made it easier for him to slide in. Then he slid out and then with an enormous push all the way back in until his root hairs pushed hard against my mound and his bag of balls rested firmly against my arse. It hurt and then I was enfolded and warm and full and he held still so I would learn.

Then he began to move in and out slowly at first and the rhythmic banging that was soon to be familiar to us all grew fast and insistent until it rang throughout our house and I heard my voice calling loudly far away, "What are you doing... oh... Mama... what is he doing... oh... Johno no... John... no... John... no... John... oh... oh... oh..." in time with the bed banging.

Then his thrusts got short and slow and the bed banging on the wall slowed and it was the first time I felt him swell and pulse in me and I felt warm and my back arched and my toes curled and my slot where it was tight around him squeezed and squeezed as he pulsed inside me and I cried out.

Later after inspecting the blood he mounted—that's what he always called it—mounted me again, but slower and for longer. I felt so full and this time my pelvis lifted off the bed to meet his thrusts. I didn't know why, only that I had to, and I hated him so for it, but it didn't stop me rising up off the bed again and again to meet him. And then as he felt me rising to meet his thrusts he leaned down and kissed me and pushed his tongue in my mouth and I moaned around his tongue as he pulsed inside and warmed me again.

When he stood he wiped his cock on my nightgown, and felt me between my legs where I was all pulpy and sticky, and said, "You're a big girl now," then smelled his fingers as he walked out and I hated him.

***

The next day Mama "had the talk" as she called it. She explained a man has needs and a girl is to meet those needs whenever and however he wants her to. Johno is our man and we are his girls and we must both help him with his needs..

She said a girl takes her own pleasure as best she can, but must always do so as pleases the man. Sometimes her pleasure will please him, sometimes her pain, sometimes her wanting, sometimes her not wanting, sometimes her fear, sometimes her fighting.

She told me what her Mama told her, "Girls resist, men insist, lust persist, cock's pleasure is't." She said I would learn.

And I did. He would take his pleasures when and how he wanted, and call me his good girl, and strut me down the street, and rut me at home, and my bed would bang against the thin wall at night until it stopped and all three of us held our breaths knowing in that moment he was spurting his seed in me, and I was receiving, and Mama was listening. Sometimes when he lit his cigarette I would hear Mama on the other side of the thin wall light hers.

::::::Passage 5: Saddle Training::::::

At the start I learned the hard way.

He expected me to follow and do what he said, even if I didn't understand or want. If I didn't he would belt me one. I was so innocent he had to to teach me the simplest things, and Mama helped. Like the right words to use, and how to kiss, and how to please him, and when to expect him.

But I could tell he liked me that way, his own special project, coming along beneath him, learning his need, needing his need, finding my pleasure in serving him, and in being served by him.

He could demand me any time—when he saw me walking by or as I came home or he was in the shower or I was bent over the bathroom sink brushing my teeth. Often when he went pee in the middle of the night and detoured to my room. Sometimes just before leaving for the day.

I was soon uncurling and growing beneath him, like his very own sex sapling that he watered, nurtured, possessed and bent to his own purpose.

I loved being his seedling and sapling.

***

Mama had learned under Daddy, and together she and Johno helped me learn under him.

I learned to use my tongue when I kissed him, and spread my legs wide and put them on his shoulders or around his waist as he fucked me, and to use Kegel muscles to squeeze his cock.

He taught me how to suck him, and Mama showed me how to work my throat as he pushed his cock deep to the back so the spasms massaged his cock-head until he shot his load down me, and to always keep my eyes open and looking up to him even if I was tearing up.

Mama gave me stretching things to put in me to get me ready for when he wanted to fuck me in the arse. They really helped and it was fun after he started, though it hurt at first.

And Mama taught me what to look for, how to learn him. How to squirm under him, when to try to push him off and when to pull him closer, whichever would make him want me more, and his cock harder. And I learned how to slow him down so I would cum more, and how to make him jealous, and tell him about my girl friends, and how to make him call my name even when he was fucking Mama.

For six months he taught me "the basics", he said, with Mama's help. He said he was "saddle training" me and I was "coming along nicely" and would be "a right little earner". I didn't know what he meant, but I learned to like pleasing him because I learned it felt good. I would have anyway because if I didn't he would wallop me until I did.

***

Half way though saddle training he started testing me, to see if I really knew how to behave. It was important that I know. He had plans for me, he said.

He would come into my room in the middle of the night when he got the itch, smelling of whisky and cigarettes. I would be asleep when he came. He knew to take me by surprise.

In winter I'd be curled under my warm blanket, in summer spreadeagled and tangled in a thin sheet. Always dreaming peacefully in my own world. Suddenly I would be flat on my back in my dream with a bull standing over me looking down with black button eyes.

"Lesson time!" he would growl as I woke in pain.

I'd find my two wrists caught above my head, twisted in his strong left hand. He would hold them in a muscular man grip while his other hand dived between my legs and twisted them apart.

He would mutter, "Tell me what this is?"

"My pussy." Replying as taught. Half asleep. Muttering. Warming. Moistening automatically.

He would flick the blanket back, twist my legs further apart, and insert his first and middle fingers in my cunt.

"And this...?" Pushing in. Sliding home.

"My cunt." Awake. Moist become wet. Wet become wanting.

"And what's it for?". Twisting his two fingers inside me to the third knuckle

"For your cock..." So wet now. Feeling full.

"...and...?" Tweaking inside.

"...and your fingers and tongue and whatever you want." Grinding. Clamping. Wanting more.

"And this....?" moving suddenly lower.

"My arse." Humping. Lifting off the mattress. Searching.

"And...?" His finger circling, rimming, teasing.

"...and it's for your cock too, and whatever you want," His middle finger enters, lubed with cunt juice. Thrusting in to the third knuckle, the ball of his closed fist coming to rest firmly in my butt crack and lifting my arse off the mattress..

"And this?" Slick thumb reaching up to my hood. Tweaking. Enticing. Arousing my clit.

"My clit!!" Barely a whisper. Gasped through a round "Oh!" mouth.

"And this?" Bending down. His lips firmly to mine. His tongue entering. My tongue submitting.

"Mmm... arrr... uhhh..." I can't speak. His tongue against mine. His thumb at my clit. His finger deep in my arse. His fist pounding me between my butt cheeks.

It would never take long. He knew his work and would soon bring me to a screaming clit cum under his hard tattooed hairy chest. And always his smell filling me.

Sometimes he would leave me just as suddenly as he'd come, to drift back to sleep dreaming of him, fingers at play.

At other times he'd take his pleasure and the bed would squeak and bang against the wall.

On these nights I learned the finer points of how his cock feels in my cunt, in my arse, in my mouth sucking him, his mouth eating me, cowboy and reverse cowboy and doggy and sixty-nine and missionary and missionary anal. I learned the feel of his hard body, muscled and toned, tattooed from a hard past, product of dirt hard labour and dirtier hard fights, covering me, moving inside me, fucking me, mounting me, making me his.

Not till morning would I know if I had dreamed it or if it was a real fuck. Not till I saw a new bruise on my eye, touched a tender nipple, traced a fresh scratch, eased a crotch chafed by chin stubble, or carefully wiped a gaping arsehole when I went to shit.

I learned to love the bruises and sudden sting of an open hand, the pain that kept his hardness fresh, as fresh as a bouquet of roses, roses that reminded Mama and me of his importance in our lives, of how he loved us his way.

::::::Passage 6: Mistress Training::::::

I learned to love his hardness, a hardness that protected and possessed Mama and me.

At the end of a long day, our Johno would come home grimy and bone-tired from a day of hard physical graft. He would kiss Mama while he cupped a tit, then me stretching up with my offered tongue. Then he would go straight for his shower to wash off the world.

Mama and me would exchange glances as I packed away what I was doing. Whatever it was it would have to wait. After a while the shower would stop, and his voice would ring through the door for one of us, usually me, his special project, his sapling.

I was always amazed at his naked body. Muscled, sinewed, tattooed, scarred, toned, hard. He was beautiful whatever he might do to me, and my breath would catch, my chest lift, my cunt widen and my throat open silently.

If he was tense he might simply spin me round and bend me over the sink, fish-hooking me or pulling back on a big fistful of hair to make sure I watched him mounting me in the mirror. I'd watch his muscles tensing rhythmically as his battering ram filled and shook us both. When he came his black eyes owned me.

If he was tired and relaxed he might just say quietly,"Sort this out for me, lass," and nod towards his cock standing straight out. I might strip if I thought it would give him an extra hard cum.

Then I'd go to him, hands reaching forward eagerly to those abs. Oh, those abs, rippling just for me in that moment as my fingers played down through his chest hairs to the moist plum waiting for me.

"What's this?" I'd tease. My warm breath blessing his purple cock-head and taught belly skin.

"My cock," His shaft twitching towards me.

"And what's it for?" My hand gliding down the shaft, thumb and forefinger slicking pre-cum around the

glans

.

"For your mouth..." Humping up towards me. Waiting.

"...and..." My tongue flicking the tip.

"...and tonight your cunt and arse,"

His fingers would slide into my hair, grip hard, then thrust my head open mouthed down over his cock. Automatically I'd drop to my knees, my long hair swinging forwards, light as a whisper around his sensitive belly and balls. His hips would thrust up to nestle his cock comfortably against my warm and slippery tonsils, and both of us would pause a moment. Then I'd set to work.

Afterwards at dinner he and Mama would smile and chat and joke about good protein not going to waste, and cream being good for complexion, and what we'd each done that day. He might casually ask about my day and girl friends, and Mama would go quiet and listen.