Four days, seven hours, 18 minutes

“Wind down your window.”

“I-I can’t. Someone will hear us.”

“No, someone will hear you. Now do as you’re told, or you won’t be allowed to come today either.”

It was Sunday when I’d last given Lucy permission to have an orgasm. Sitting in my car at 5.30 on Thursday afternoon, the prospect of having to endure another night of fitful, fidgety sleep in what was fast becoming a puddle of her own arousal swiftly overcame any fear she had of being overheard.

The electric window buzzed down and disappeared into the door of the car. Fresh air swept in, hitting Lucy’s flushed cheeks as she turned away from me. We were parked up in a side street, not far from her flat. There was still enough daylight to make out the rusty red bricks of the terraced houses that extended up towards the main road. Lots of houses equalled lots of people: Lucy knew that one as well as I did.

For most of the 20 minutes since I’d pulled out of her office car park, Lucy had seemed almost giddy. Four days without an orgasm for a woman of her needs would not have been easy at the best of times, but I’d really pushed hard this week. I felt no guilt about telling her to edge for 20 minutes with her vibrator each night, bent over the bathtub as I watched her on Skype, knickers stretched down around her ankles.

Nor did it seem unkind to send her off to work each morning with a toy inside her: butt plug on Monday, when she was still feeling relatively composed; love egg on Tuesday, her cunt now starting to ache and tighten each time she thought about sex; the dildo she’d asked for on Wednesday, the one she shyly told me reminded her of my cock – it was heavy, and fell out of her if she tried to walk, so we compromised on that one, and each time she went to the ladies that day she fucked herself with it, counting the strokes out loud, mobile clamped to her ear, till I told her to stop.

The blow jobs though? Yeah, they were a bit cruel. Lucy loved giving head, so when I sent her out into town and told her to find a couple of guys to suck, I knew she’d be a hot, squirming mess afterwards. Apparently they were rough with her too, taking it in turns to push their big dicks down her throat in the alley behind the bar, as she squeezed her thighs together and desperately tried to control the throbbing in her clit. They watched each other come over her face and the generous cleavage she’d been ordered to display that night. She waited till they’d gone back into the bar, then cleaned it off with her blouse and wrapped it loosely around her, sticky with spunk.

Still, she’d made it through till Thursday, so as I turned onto the highway that led back to her place, Lucy leaned over to kiss me, a big smile on her face. The poor girl really did think it was over. Now here we were, no more than a mile from her front door – from an end to her torment – and she was kneeling on the seat with her head hanging out of the window, waiting for me to touch her.

“Pull your skirt up.”

It was a grey skirt, just short enough that I knew the guys in her office must all have wondered how her soft thighs felt underneath it. Her fingers gripped the hem and she lifted it up around her waist. I briefly considered ripping her black tights, or slitting them open with the pen-knife in my pocket, but really I wanted Lucy to be the one to expose herself to me. I tapped her on the arse and she jolted like I’d just touched a live current to her skin. Slowly, she peeled down her tights and spread her legs.

“Good girl. Now I’m going to fuck your cunt with my fingers. If you come, I’ll drive you home, drop you outside your door, and head straight back down to London. And you won’t see me up here again. Understand?”

Lucy nodded furiously. She understood. There was no need to tease her clit, or wet my fingers with saliva; Lucy’s cunt had suffered through four days of agonising arousal, and I met no resistance as I pushed inside her. I used two fingers, the two she liked, and I pressed down on the front wall of her cunt with short, rough, jerky strokes.

I’d killed the engine and the street outside was silent, so when Lucy moaned I heard it float into the late afternoon sunshine. My fingers slowed, and I thumbed her clit till she gasped again, louder and just that little bit more desperate.

“Is there anyone walking down the street? I bet you’re so horny right now that if a guy came up to the window and unzipped his jeans, you’d suck his cock in full view of everyone, wouldn’t you?”

Lucy’s answer to that question wasn’t given in any language I recognized, but I knew what she was trying to say. Yes, she would. Still, I wanted more.

“Come on, you little slut. Tell me how much you want it.”

“I won’t. I won’t say it.”

“You won’t say it: you’ll shout it. And you’ll do it right now.” I pumped my fingers in and out of her and she clenched against me, dangerously close now.

“I want a cock in my mouth”, she shouted out of the window. “I want a fucking cock in my mouth, you fucking bastard.”

“That’s my girl.”

I pulled Lucy back against me, and flicked the switch that sent the window back up, closing us off to the world outside. I kissed the top of her head and held it in the crook of my shoulder; held it there all the way home.

We pulled up to Lucy’s place just as the last of the daylight drained from the sky. Her head felt heavy, almost as if she’d been drugged, and when I eased her up it took her a few seconds to fumble for her handbag and open the car door. I followed her out and down the garden path. It was time.

Lucy’s front door opened into a narrow hallway, with a corridor through to the kitchen on one side and steep, uncarpeted stairs up to the first floor on the other. It was the latter that she fell against on shaky legs, one bare knee whacking hard against the third step. I pulled her upright and moved one pace back, into the open doorway.

“Do it for me now, baby. Make yourself come.”

Lucy didn’t need asking twice. One hand disappeared under her skirt as she bent over; with the other, she braced herself against the stairs. When I looked to the side, I saw her face reflected in the hallway mirror, through the banisters. Her mouth hung open and I wanted to kiss it, to bite down on her top lip and curl my hand around her throat. Later…later for so many things.

Her cunt remained hidden behind the modest drape of grey wool that covered her arse. It didn’t matter though. I could see her toes starting to curl, the big one poking through a hole in her ruined tights.

“I’m going to…I want to…please, oh please, OH PLEASE.”

Even though I’d given her permission to come, the last few weeks and months had conditioned Lucy to keep asking for my approval. This time I stayed silent. Four days, seven hours and 18 minutes since her last orgasm, Lucy jammed her fingers against her clit one final time and screamed out, a long, low wail of pleasure and relief that echoed around the hallway. She collapsed down onto the chipped white wood and pressed her forehead against it. I watched her for a minute, maybe two, waiting for her breathing to slow. When I saw her body go limp I stepped back into the cool evening air, closed the door behind me, and walked to my car. Lucy would need her sleep: it had been a long four days, and her next task would begin tomorrow…

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10 Responses to Four days, seven hours, 18 minutes

  1. Ellesie says:

    Amazing!!!! Inspired!!!

  2. will the next task be more challenging?

  3. Wait, wait… if you were going to leave if she came in the car, why did you leave anyway after making her wait to come (by herself!) on the stairs??

    Also, ‘front wall of her cunt’, I thought that was as verboten as splendid breasts 🙂 Even though I think it’s ok, really, what else are they?

    • Because if I’d left without going into the house, I wouldn’t have been coming back. Or something. Look, bad things would have happened, mm’kay? Also: I wrote it on the plane…get off my back 😛

  4. I would never swap … ummm… that thing they do in films where they check people’s haircuts are consistent etc, that I can’t remember the name of… for your delightful travel-written stories. It just seemed mean, that’s all 🙂

  5. Pingback: On Toys | Exhibit A

  6. Princess says:

    What an equally devious yet tantalizing story… oh how it resonates.

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