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The Hot Potato by Simon Grail

The Hot Potato 
(Simon Grail)

Extract from: “The Hot Potato”

Extract from: “The Hot Potato”


The man, who went by the name of “The Flogger”, swung his lash again and again across the lovely, naked, bound body of his captive. Except for his black hood and black jackboots, he was as naked as she was and the stiff shaft of his cock bobbed and wagged with every blow he struck.

The muffled screams of the woman known to him only as “Crystal” were soaked up by the soundproof walls of his play room.  She was bound to a metal X-shaped cross, the padded centre of which pressed against the small of her back.  The cross had an axle through its middle that was fixed at each end to swivel joints mounted on the posts of its supporting frame.  Crystal’s arms and legs were twisted and bent sharply at the elbows and knees so that they were doubled up under her body and strapped to the back struts of the cross.  It almost made it look as though the lower ends of her limbs were missing, leaving only her head and torso.  That suited the Flogger perfectly: letting him get closer to her while focusing his attention on her most intimate parts.

Her thighs were spread wide and her hips were pushed forward, lifting her belly outwards so that her back was arched.  The front of her body was held down by more straps bound about her thighs, waist and neck.  She had a rubber ring gag jammed into her mouth, keeping her lips wide and her teeth bared.

The cross could be flipped and turned about on its mount, so that he could position her head-up or head-down; with her breasts upwards or dangling beneath her with her bottom exposed, or with her widespread thighs and the moist pink gash between them open towards him.  He was her total master and he could do more or less he wanted to her, within the terms of his hire agreement with the men who had supplied her.

By now, Crystal’s body was a mess, which was also the way the Flogger liked it.  However, this was largely an illusion.  The rubber lash he was using on her was impregnated with purple ink, leaving lurid slashes across her skin from knees to shoulders.  She was still suffering, though.  The thongs still stung and burned as they cut into her soft flesh, making it blush, and she yelped and jerked in real pain, dribbling about her gag.

The sight made his straining cock twitch again and he could feel the pressure behind it becoming irresistible.  He flipped her into position and rammed it up into her gaping pussy, while still lashing her lovely big breasts, which flattened and bounced and slapped about under his blows.  With a grunt of triumph he came inside her, filling her with his hot sperm.  He felt her hot slippery vaginal tunnel clench tight about him in response as an orgasm tore through her sweaty body, straining against her straps and making the cross and its frame creak.  Then he sprawled on top of her hot bound body, feeling her panting for breath beneath him and rested, perfectly satisfied.

After several minutes, he pulled his now flaccid cock out of her clinging pussy and walked around her body and pushed it through her ring gag into her gaping mouth.  Still half dazed, her eyes rolled about as his balls rubbed across her nose while dutifully she licked and sucked him clean.  As a final mark of his domination, he wiped his penis dry on her hair. 

Now he was satisfied, the Flogger felt a spark of genuine affection for Crystal.  He stroked her hot cheeks still stained with her tears.  She had been recommended to him by others within the exclusive circle of those with similar specialised interests to his own.  She had been expensive to hire but worth every penny.  A natural: a genuine submissive masochist.

Crystal was an attractive woman, perhaps in her late twenties, with a well-toned body.  Clearly, she looked after herself.  Even beaten and exhausted as she was, she had an air of class and style about her: a professional woman, maybe? 

It put him in mind of one of those cool, well spoken, smartly dressed woman media presenters, who everybody suspects is steaming hot underneath.  Crystal’s hotness was beyond dispute.  The juices had poured out of her dripping vulva.  There were splashes of it on the floor and he could smell it in the air.  She had come for real over him: no faking.  She got off on being treated like a shameless, hungry sex slut.

He stroked her hair again.  ‘How did a classy woman like you end up with your pussy for hire?’ he muttered, half to himself.

Crystal heard him through the blissful haze of masochistic delight still filling her mind like warm candy floss.  I was just going to the airport, she thought, but I never got there…

* * *

The crossroads in the middle of Tilehurst Woods was a useful shortcut to the nearest main road that would take Angela to Gatwick airport and her early flight.  At this time of night it should have been deserted, but there was a confusion of headlights flashing ahead of her accompanied by the sounds of several powerful engines.  These resolved themselves into the figures of four bikers in leathers and goggles and helmets and chains riding their bellowing, gleaming chrome machines back and forth across the junction, performing doughnuts and wheelies and raising clouds of burnt rubber.

The wild, careless irresponsibility the sight of them represented, so very different from her own orderly lifestyle, made Angela angry.  She hit her horn and flashed her headlights at them.  Get out of my way, she thought!

But they did not make way.  Instead, they broke off from their games and circled their bikes around her car.  This only angered her even more and she leaned out of the driver-side window.  ‘You’re blocking the road!  Get out of my way.’

‘Going somewhere important, are you?’ a big ginger bearded biker asked, pulling up beside her.  His eyes were covered by tinted goggles.

She tried to sound reasonable. ‘I’m going on holiday and I’ve got to get to Gatwick to catch an early flight.  Now please get out of the way…’

The ginger biker peered into the car.  ‘Going on holiday alone?  A pretty woman like you hasn’t got a man to go with her?  Or a girlfriend?  We’re not prejudiced, are we lads?’

A mocking cheer rose up from the other bikers.

‘It’s none of your business whether I go alone or not,’ she snapped. ‘Now for the last time, get out of my way!’

He kicked down the support struts of his bike and leaned closer.  Suddenly he sounded menacing.  ‘Nobody tells Big Red to get out of their way!’

Then she realized that the biker on the other side of the car was also leaning into it.  She had the windows down for ventilation.  Suddenly feeling vulnerable, she pressed the switch to close them, but he held the rising panel of glass down, so the safety cut-out stopped it rising further.

‘Somebody wants to get to know you better, Angela,’ Big Red said with a grin.

How did he know her name!

For the first time Angela felt real fear.  She tried to grab her bag with her phone in it which was on the passenger seat, but the other biker picked it up.   As she twisted round and tried to grab it and pull it back, Big Red reached in through her window and took hold of her by her hair with one hand, while with the other he pressed a cloth over her nose and mouth, stifling her scream.  A chemical scent filled her sinuses and burned her throat as her desperate intake of breath sucked it down into her lungs… cloying… heavy… dizzy… blackness…

* * *

Angela hauled herself out of the darkness back into the light. Her head was throbbing and spinning and she felt sick and there was a strange taste in her mouth, which was wedged open by what seemed to be a rubber ball that pressed her tongue down.  It was threaded onto some elastic cord that cut into the corners of her mouth and pulled her lips back and exposed her teeth.  Why had she got a rubber ball in her mouth, she wondered foolishly?

More questions filled her fuzzy mind.  How was she standing up when her legs felt too weak to hold her…what was pinching about her neck and arms and ankles… and why was she totally naked?

Filled with a sudden thrill of horror, she groaned and blinked the gum out of her eyes and made them focus.

She was looking down the length of a large room with a stained concrete floor, corrugated sheet iron walls and lattice iron frame roofs beams.  Its windows were covered by sheets of translucent plastic through which shone suffused golden morning light.  Four motor bikes were parked at one end in front of a set of double doors and beside a big tool cabinet on wheels.  Bike parts and chains hung about the walls looking like heavy metal decorations.  Under them was a row of mismatched, patched and battered chairs on which lounged three of the bikers who had stopped her in the woods.  They still had their helmets and goggles on and were drinking from cans and bottles while watching something involving screeches of tyres, shouts and gunfire on a big flat screen TV hung on the wall opposite. 

To one side of them was a large table at which “Big Red”, also still goggled and helmeted, sat hunched over a laptop. There was something on the table beside the laptop.  It looked like her phone!  And he was plugging it into the other machine.  What was he doing with it?  And how had he known her name?

Angela blinked at the men foolishly, realising they just had to look around to see her naked body.  But then of course they had already seen it.  They must have stripped her… handling her all over with their filthy hands… Oh God, she thought, trying not to be sick, even as her nipples stood up, what else might they have done to her?  Feeling dirty and defiled, she tried to move, to cover herself, but she could not.  She twisted her head round to see why.

On either side of her, a pair of scaffolding poles rose out of base plates bolted to the floor to one of the roof beams above her head.  A third pole set almost at head height and secured by scaffold couplers crossed between the first two.  Her arms were stretched out sideways along this pole to which they had been tied about with loops of bungee cord from wrists to shoulders.  Another bungee was looped about her neck, holding her head up.  Two more long cords ran inwards from the bases of the scaffolding poles and were wrapped tightly about her ankles, holding her legs apart.  She was standing on a black plastic sheet that had been spread out between the upright poles.  There was even a short bungee cord threaded through the rubber ball clamped between her teeth, which was hooked together behind her head.

Feebly she squirmed and moaned, tugging at her bonds.  But the bungee cords simply absorbed her efforts and then pulled her back into position again.  She was totally helpless.

But she had made enough noise to be heard over the racket coming from the television.  One of the bikers looked around and nudged the others.  They muted the television sound.  ‘Red… she’s awake,’ one said.

Big Red finished working on her phone and got up and came over to her.  She felt herself cringing inwardly as her cheeks burned in shame and fear, but she nerved herself to gaze back at him defiantly.

‘Good of you to join us again, Angela,’ he said cheerfully.  ‘Don’t worry, the headache doesn’t last long.  I’ve been waiting for you to wake up so I could take some pictures to send to our client.  He’ll want to be sure you’re not damaged before he takes delivery…’ He looked her naked body up and down with evident approval and nodded.  ‘… and I think you’re worth every penny…’ 

Angela had a strong, intelligent face, deep keen blue eyes, dark hair, a firm straight nose, high cheekbones and an expressive mouth.  She was slender with a well toned body which accentuated her full, heavy natural breasts with perky nipples.  She had womanly hips and well-rounded buttocks and a pink, plump-lipped, pussy crowned by a neatly trimmed thatch of brown curls.

All this Big Red was taking in at his leisure, which only redoubled her shame.

She snivelled and shook her head and tried to speak back to him around her gag, but it was pinning her tongue down.  He held up a phone and snapped pictures of her from every angle, including a close-up of her distraught face.  Then he made a call.

‘Marquis?’ he asked cheerfully. ‘Good morning, Big Red here.  We’ve got the special item you wanted… Yes, it was today.  Sending you pictures now… got them?  Yes, that one.  As you can see, it’s fresh and undamaged… Yeah, it was just where we thought it would be.  The item’s transport has been taken care of.  We’ll dispose of it when things cool down.  So, where shall we arrange a meet so we can hand it over?’

The “item” was her, Angela realized in despair.  She had been reduced to a thing: a piece of merchandise…

Up until now, Big Red had been talking confidently, but suddenly he frowned.

‘What do you mean, it’s not as attractive as you imagined… How long since you last saw it … Eh?  You’ve never seen it uncovered before…?  You never even had spy pictures taken… Well maybe you should have done.  Anyway, look at it now: worth every penny… You think it looks cold… No, it’s hot… Yes, I can prove it, hold on…’

He turned to the other bikers, who had left the television to gather closer when they heard the tone of his voice change.  Despite her fear, Angela realized that with their faces covered by beards, goggles and helmets, and dressed in similar worn sets of jeans, leather jerkins, big boots and chains, they appeared to be totally anonymous and interchangeable. The only variation between them was that they wore differently coloured bandannas tied about their necks.

‘True,’ Red said to the one wearing the blue bandanna, ‘get the pussy drill screw out.  The buyer wants a demo…’

“True” went to the equipment locker and came back with a cordless power drill that has a huge rubber screw shaft on its end.

‘Watch this,’ Red said into the phone, and then pointed it at Angela.

True knelt between Angel’s spread legs and pushed the huge shaft up into her vulva.  The drill began to purr and then judder as it moved into hammer mode.  Angela’s eyes bulged in horror and she screamed and bit on her gag as the thing entered her intimate cleft, churning against her flesh, parting her labia and making her lips shiver.

She tried to pull away from it, but there was no escape. It was so huge and menacing that she imagined for a moment it tearing a hole in her, but of course it was in fact penetrating a hole that was already there.  Its rubber sides gave slightly as it churned into her vagina, making her lower belly vibrate from within.

Half the terrible shaft had disappeared inside when she gasped and threw back her head rolled up her eyes with helpless delight.  The relentless vibrations were pummelling the root of her clitoris from within: so powerful that she could not deny them.  Despite her dread, she was responding to its overwhelming presence, smothering the rational, revolted side of her.

Her natural shame was pushed into the shadows by a sudden animal lust for pleasure she had never known before.  Her eyes fluttered and she drooled about her gag as wave upon wave of raw delight flowed up through her body filled her mind.  It was obscene, insulting and crude and… and incredible!  Dimly she was aware of her nipples swelling up into brazen crowns.

True pulled the drill out of her wet slot for a moment, splattering her juices over her thighs, to rub its shiny slick wet spinning shaft over her breasts and hard nipples, making them throb fit to burst.  Then he thrust the terrible, growling, whirring shaft back inside her, and she squeezed desperately.

He began to pump with his whole arm, adding to its impact.  Her lower belly was bulging and sucking upon it.  She longer cared if it would do her any damage.  A wonderful, terrible pressure was building up inside her.  It was like the pre-orgasmic thrill she got using her favourite vibrator, except that it was ten times worse… or better!

Her hips were grinding back and forth as if she was riding the churning pussy drill.  She was impaling herself again and again…

Angela shrieked about her gag she came over the drill, squeezing its spinning shaft so tightly that for a few seconds the motor growled as it fought against her grip.  Pleasure fireworks burst in her brain.  There was nothing else but her body and the thing inside her, driving on and on into a glorious sunset…

Then she went limp to the sound of the bikers applauding her lustful display. 

True pulled the pussy screw out of her slot, dripping with her juices and held it up in front of the phone’s camera.

Big Red put the phone to his ear again.  ‘There, you see.  That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen… What, it’s not responsive enough!   But it came… No, you can’t… five hundred for our trouble… But you were going to pay… I see, take it or leave it… Doesn’t look like we’ve got any choice, does it...  What do we do with it… put it back… just like that? Hello… Hello?’

He switched off the phone and scowled at Angela and then the other bikers.  ‘No deal.  Looks like we’re stuck with her,’ he said.