Denudement

[Marcus]

I took pity on her. It hardly seemed fair to leave her wandering about naked. After all, I didn't want her getting arrested or thrown out of the university. In fact, I didn't want Keira to be so traumatised by my misuse of her that she never came to class again.

So I left her T-shirt on the grass ahead of her, and watched as she examined it suspiciously, picked it up tentatively, and pulled it down over her chest - although I did stop time briefly as she did so to massage her huge breasts and suck for a while on her engorged nipples, my fingertips idly teasing her clit. Her frustrated moan of pleasure afterwards was audible even from my distant hiding spot. She glared around her, searching for her tormentor, but I stopped time again and vanished.

I went shopping. It is, I discovered, annoyingly difficult to find suitably short skirts and shoes (both left and right) that fit. And I was starving too. In a department store restaurant that was just starting to serve lunch, I sat for a while gorging on lasagna and garlic bread, washed down with bottled lemonade.

And there, for a while, I slept.

[Keira]

I should be furious. Certainly I should be angrier than I am - and not just at myself.

What I feel is dirty, and used. Used for someone else's pleasure, like a one night stand gone horribly wrong. I stink of cum - I'm sticky with it - my breasts, my hands, my face. It's even inside of me, which means I have to worry about STDs and - God forbid! - pregnancy.

It's almost worse that I think I know who's doing it. I mean, it has to be him: the guy in my class who's always perving over my breasts. Because he was there, on the bus, when this all started. How, I don't know, because it's utterly impossible - and yet. Somehow he's able to stop time. How else to explain him fucking me, coming in me, coming

on

me, all in the blink of an eye.

Stealing my clothes! Sick bastard! Leaving me naked in public with his cum leaking from me. What if someone recognises me? What if the police stop me? At least I have my phone, though I don't really know who to call...

No, what really makes it worse is how aroused I am, as if I actually like that he's doing this to me. As if I like being treated like a -

Like a

cum dumpster

!

Ick!

And yet my nipples are so extremely sensitive in the wake of the horrid clamps; and though I hated having that glass buttplug in me, my ass seems to mourn its absence; and my pussy...

My pussy is so very wet. It's the one part of me that is concealed, if only by my bag. If there weren't so many people looking at me, I'd lie down, spread my legs, and give my clit the attention it is demanding.

Just as I'm wondering if he's finished with me, now that he's got what he wanted - how sick is it that I'm being abused and, on a deeply physical level at least, don't want it to stop? - I spy something on the grass ahead of me. Something black.

It's my T-shirt. I pick it up, glancing around uncertainly. Is it just chance that it was here, or did he leave it here for me? (Is he still watching?) It's still a little damp, and stained with spots of cum, but it is mine, and it's better than nothing. A sudden feeling of relief - of gratitude - makes me snarl with annoyance at myself. I don't want to have any positive feelings for the bastard.

Even as I work myself into the shirt, my nipples scream briefly with that increasingly familiar electric sensation. My clit too. He's still there! Still tormenting me with impossible pleasure. I grit my teeth and march on, unwilling to give him any further encouragement.

And it is such a relief to have some clothing, even if my bum is still completely exposed. My cheeks still feel flushed with heat from the spanking he gave them earlier.

Something else on the grass ahead of me. Not my jeans, sadly, or indeed anything of mine. It's a skirt - if you can call it that. It's barely long enough to cover anything. And it's still got a label. Did he really just go all the way into town and back just to bring me an embarrassingly short skirt? Bright pink too. It's almost more scandalous to wear it than not.

Sighing wearily, I shuffle into the skirt, half expecting him to do something to me as I do.

Still, however ridiculous I feel, it is something. I would die of embarrassment if anyone I knew actually saw me, but at least I won't be arrested for public exposure. (No guarantee I won't be mistaken for a prostitute, though.)

A third item of clothing awaits me. Shoes. Black and silver sandals with half inch platforms and at least five inch heels. Kurt Geiger. Quite stylish, if completely inappropriate. He's playing dress-up with me now, treating me like a doll, making me look like a stripper. "No!" I say loudly. "I'm not wearing those."

I take no more than ten steps past them when my ass cheeks scream with a pain so sharp it takes my breath away. It's all I can do to stay standing as the bright echo of the spanking he has delivered suffuses my flesh with heat that does nothing to dampen my arousal. As the tears clear from my eyes and my breathing steadies, I see the shoes in front of me again.

"No," I hiss, still determined. "I want my own shoes."

This time I take only five steps before the savage pinch of the nipple clamps returns, and my ass clenches painfully about the familiar weight of the glass buttplug. "Fuck! Okay!" I reach behind me to try and pluck it out, only to find my wrists suddenly handcuffed. "Okay!" I scream, and work my feet into the shoes. In the blink of an eye, the buckles are fastened at my ankles.

Stilettos on grass. Stupid fucking idea. And with my hands cuffed, there's no way to pick up my bag - except there is no bag. No phone, no keys, no cash.

I don't even know what to do anymore. I must look like a kinky slut. I almost feel like one. Perched on stilts with my hands caught behind me, my pussy on display to anyone who might try to look. And never in my life more desperate for a real fuck - as opposed to a blink-and-you'll-miss-it fuck.

A bright yellow stone catches my eye. Or, not a stone. A Smartie. And then another, and another, a trail of red, yellow and blue Smarties leading away from the path, towards the trees that line the river. I understand the instruction and follow the trail, tottering awkwardly on unsafe heels, not wanting to invite further abuse. And although I question my sanity in allowing him to lead me to a more secluded spot, he's shown himself willing to abuse me in full public view. If he really can stop time, as indeed seems to be the case, there's nothing I or anyone can do to stop him.

Besides, I'm curious, and - although I hate to admit it - as horny as a kinky slut. As a cum dumpster, even. (I

hate

that expression, but right now, stinking of cum, my thighs visibly wet with it, it fits me.) Right now I don't care who does what to me, just so long as I get to come too.

The Smarties lead me down the slope, near to the river, to a brown, eight-inch, realistic dildo, strapped not to a woman, but to a tree. It's pointing right at me, and positioned at just the right height. I know exactly what my tormentor wants, because I can't help but want it too. The synthetic cock is both grotesque and seductive. It looks bigger than any real cock I've had in me before, but that only makes me want it more.

Does he really expect me to fuck myself on a dildo out here where anyone might come along at any moment? Okay, the spot is relatively secluded, but I am less than fifty metres from a busy path, on a sunny day, by the river.

A burst of sensation radiates from my clit, a reminder that he is watching me and able to play with me, his human doll, any way he likes. Not that I need such encouragement. The dildo draws me towards it almost hypnotically. I back up against the tree, the dildo nestling in the crack of my ass, and have just enough reach with my fingers to guide the long, veined silicone shaft to where it needs to be, so that the soft, thick head presses against my labia, and then between my labia, slowly penetrating me.

And fuck it feels good. It stretches me deliciously, more than any man ever has. I'm so wet too, from my own arousal as well as my abuser's cum. How long ago was that? Ten minutes? Fifteen? For me anyway. How long ago was it for him?

It really isn't a good position for fucking, but I make the best of it, pulling forwards then thrusting back. I'd much rather the tree was fucking me, slamming that thick cock into me with wild abandon. Doing it myself is too slow, too much effort, but now that I've started no way am I going to stop. On a normal day it wouldn't be enough, but this is no normal day. This is the sort of day where I end up dressed like a slut and stinking of cum, and so far there have been exactly one of those days.

On a normal day I don't have a glass plug in my ass to intensify the sensation of the cock filling my vagina. On a normal day I don't have clamps tugging at my abused nipples with every move I make.

With sheer determination I fuck myself on that wonderful brown cock, my already tender bum banging repeatedly against the bark of the tree. "Do it," I hiss at myself. "Do it!" My muscles ache all over from the strain, and strings of saliva break beneath my lips as I gasp for breath.

I know he's here, watching me. Where, I don't know. I no longer care. I just want to come. Maybe I want him to watch me come. "Yes," I whisper. "Do it!"

I am close. So very close. Every thrust of that brown cock into my cunt builds the exquisite tension. "Do it!" I plead. "Do it!"

And suddenly I'm there, my vagina contracting about the dildo, my ass about the plug, the intensity of my orgasm almost more than I can bear. I don't care how absurd I must look, fucking myself against a tree, I only care about prolonging the ecstasy, sustaining the pleasure for as long as humanly possible.

All good things, even blissful orgasms, come to an end eventually, and as the contractions fade, my strength fails too, and I fall to my knees, the dildo slipping free and pinging away.

But my ordeal is not over. I am abruptly gagged and blindfolded, and the buttplug is pulled from my ass, and this time I am fully aware of him as he kneels behind me, his hands on my ass, his cock thrusting into my rear. I have never done anal before. I'm surprised how good it feels, the stretching, the friction.

I thrust back, encouraging him, taking him deeper into me. Had he not gagged me I would beg him to come in my ass. The Keira I was this morning would not recognise the Keira I am now, a creature of shameful lust. The passion of his thrusts is everything I crave, the perfect answer to the morning's long frustration.

How strange that it's not even lunchtime yet...

[Marcus]

It had taken all my courage to dare fucking Keira in real time, even with her restrained. I had loved watching her fuck herself on the dildo - of course I had filmed the whole thing - and hoped desperately that she would enjoy a real cock just as much.

And I couldn't resist taking her the one way I was yet to do...

How sweet and tight her ass! And she loved it as much as I did! In that wonderful moment I knew I didn't have to worry about her. I knew Keira had embraced this new reality. Maybe one day I might even dare to reveal myself to her.

As the pulsing of my orgasmic cock delivered the last of my cum deep in her ass, I stopped time and bent to whisper in her ear, "I love you, Keira."