A Thoughtless Long Weekend 03

Literotic asexstories – A Thoughtless Long Weekend 03 by jzbarraketh,jzbarraketh
THURSDAY NIGHT TRIAL – PATRICE’S SECOND SIN

I circle the block, heading back to the better-lit main drag. You still wear a faint smile as your tongue darts out to lick stranger’s cum from your swollen lips, your hands caressing your cum and drool-covered tits and chest. Your eyes are closed and you start to grind your ass into the seat a little, slowly swirling your hips, the buzzing of the still active vibrating butt plug muffled by flesh and leather. One of your hands drifts down to your damp, fragrant pussy as you hum to yourself.

I pull up at a stoplight and reach over to pull your hand away from your sex, ignoring your desperate whimper. “Not without my permission, Patrice,” I tell you firmly, calling you by your office rival’s name. “Not unless you want to lose the use of that hand entirely for the weekend. It’s still only Thursday night, and I have you until Tuesday morning – so think carefully about it before you do that again.”

You clutch at my hand, trying to pull it down to your crotch, squirming and pushing your hips up in the seat. “Please sir?!”

I shake my hand free and roughly capture your wrists with one hand. The light has turned green, cars stacked up and waiting on each side of the intersection, but no one is behind us. We have time for another lesson.

“Please what, Patrice? Speak up and say what you want. Do you want me to feed that hungry, wet little cunt of yours, you rude little bitch?” You whimper and wriggle, again brazenly trying to thrust your pussy up off the seat towards my hand, unable to reach restrained by both the seatbelt and my grip on your wrists, the buzzing momentarily getting louder as you lift your ass up into the air. “Please sir,” you whine, “I want you in me so badly, please sir!”

“You think you deserve anything after disrespecting my lovely?” I shake my head in disgust. “Sit on your hands and spread your legs wide for me, Patrice.” I release your hands and you eagerly obey, shifting to rest your ass on the edge of the seat, shoving your hands under your ass cheeks, knees spread as wide as the passenger side allows – only to shriek and pull yourself into a ball when I sharply slap your swollen pussy lips. I grab you by the hair and pull you upright in the seat again, forcing you to look at me through watery eyes and gasps of pain. “Keep those legs open, you dirty, backstabbing little slut. You seem to forget that you’re not in charge here. Shut that brain off and do what I tell you. You’re here to pay for your sins against my lovely, not get what you want.” I give the handful of hair, held close to your head, a rough shake to another shriek from you, tears streaming from your eyes, mascara running. “If you’re not sincere, Patrice, you won’t make it to Tuesday morning,” I growl, giving your head another shake. “Do you understand me?”

The light has changed and cars are streaming past, their headlights painting a kaleidoscope of colors across your naked, writhing body. “You agreed to these terms, Patrice, didn’t you?” I give your hair another painful twist and you cry out, breaking into sobs. “Yes sir,” you blubber, shaking. I let go of your hair and reach to push at your knees again as you straighten uncomfortably in the seat, butt plug still vibrating merrily away. “Spread those legs. Show me that dirty, rude little cunt again.”

Slowly, trembling, you obey, sniffling and wiping at your nose with the back of your hand before tucking both hands under your ass again and shifting to present your wet, fragrant pussy. “Yessir,” you manage, trepidation in your voice this time.

The cars are still crossing the intersection as I stare at you, hand hovering above your sex. Your eyes glance between my eyes and my hand, possibly trying to anticipate the blow. “Close your eyes, Patrice,” I order, and you whimper but obey. “Tell me how else you sinned against my lovely this week.”

Another whimpered sob, then in a rush, “I.. I took credit for one of her ideas in the weekly kickoff meeting. I did it so that she couldn’t say anything without looking petty, and when she tried to talk to me after the meeting I just laughed and blew her off. I told her ‘It’s my idea now’ and walked out of the room.” You finish your confession in a rush, wincing and almost pulling your legs together in expectation of a slap, but nothing happens. Your eyes are squeezed tightly shut, a look of mixed confusion and dread on your face. “Sir, I’m sorry, I really am sorry. Please, I want to make it right. I want to make it to Tuesday, sir, I really do.” The cars approaching the intersection are starting to slow.

“How many people were in the meeting to witness this, Patrice?” I ask. You’re not fooled by my apparent calm demeanor and start sobbing again, realizing what’s in store for you. “Six, sir. Six people saw…” You howl as I slap you between the legs again, hard. The cars are stopped, the light for our direction is green, and I pull out into the intersection, turning left onto to the main drag again, ignoring your ragged sobs. One-handedly I tug at your legs, helping you to force them apart again, and over the next five blocks I deliver five more sharp blows at random intervals, my hand slick with your juices even as you shriek and sob and squirm in your seat, blubbering and begging me to listen to you, saying how sorry you are and how you won’t do it again, ever. We’re pulling onto the highway on-ramp now, and you curl into a ball in your seat, crying, your naked body tangled in the seatbelt as I accelerate.

We drive like that for a while, speeding through the river of traffic. You’re sobbing quietly and holding your crotch in pain, butt plug buzzing away and only adding to the painful sensations in your nether regions. My demeanor is stoic, uncaring and focused as I navigate through the logjam of metal and lights. Eventually your ragged crying turns to occasional hiccupping bleats and I tell you to sit up, that it’ll be safer for you if you do so. Reluctantly, despondently, you pull yourself to a sitting position in the car, hands covering your pussy and your breasts. Your face is a snotty, teary mess, your hair a tangle, and I tell you to open the glove compartment and take out the black, velvety bag I left in there. You do so tentatively.

“Put it on over your head, Patrice,” I order, and you answer with another hiccupping sob before doing what I say, hesitating only a moment before dragging the fabric down over your head. “Pull the strings tight, Patrice,” I tell you, and you do, tying them into a rough bowtie under your chin. You’re shivering now, though the car’s temperature reads 72 degrees, your hands returning to cover yourself until I swat them away. “Hands under your butt again, Patrice. Spread your legs and show me that sore little pussy of yours.” Slowly you comply, your breath gasping as you wait, blind and helpless in the dark, waiting and waiting some more for a blow that never comes – and yet unable to force yourself to relax, either, ass buzzing away uncomfortably, the toy slowly losing power and eventually just kicking out random weak bursts.

The traffic is thinning and eventually our exit comes up. I change lanes, decelerating and then pausing at the end of the offramp, blinker clicking, not a car in sight either behind or on the road before us. I reach over and unbuckle your seat belt as you flinch. “Get your shoes and your purse out of the back seat, Patrice, we’ll be there soon. No, leave the bag on your head, you fucking thief. You can find it by touch.” You awkwardly feel around the front, twisting and turning to half-crawl over the console and lever yourself between the two front seats, moving tenderly and wincing whenever your bare abused pussy brushes against the console. You grope all along the back seat, eventually half-falling in as you search the floor, your bare ass and pussy sticking out right next to me. The butt plug’s battery has finally died, but the fake jewel glitters in the light from the dash. You grunt and twist in spot, your voice expressing some of your pain and frustration. “I’ve found them, sir, but now I’m stuck.”

“Never mind, Patrice, you can ride like that for a little while. It’s not far, now.” I roughly squeeze one of your calves before slapping it, and then give a playful swat to one of your exposed ass cheeks. “And this way everyone will see right away what a cunt and asshole you are when we arrive.” With that you start hiccup-crying again, ass shaking with fearful sobs, as I turn onto the dark road and drive slowly and carefully to our next stop.