A Filthy Short Story by my own Mr. B.

A little while ago, I mentioned on Facebook that my Sir, Mr. B., had written a filthy short story - albeit in German, his native language. I wanted to know whether, if I translated it into English, anyone would want to read it. The response was a resounding, overwhelming yes. 

And so, here it is, in its entirety. I should warn you that Mr. B. is a dark, dark man (one of the many reasons why I adore him so much) - and so this story does contain possible triggers: humiliation, face slapping, and forced exhibitionism. But if you like dark sexy stories, read on and enjoy!

Happy reading,

~ Tabby x 

Going Underground

“STOP!” His barked order echoed loudly in the gloomy half-light of the underground garage.

She had just lifted her hand and was about to press the button on the remote to unlock her BMW, but stopped. Something in his tone of voice had caused her to obey immediately. His orders always had this effect on her, although she didn’t know why. In the beginning, not long after they had met, she had occasionally tried to resist him, but it hadn’t taken long before she’d stopped doing that. Not just because he was always quick to make her regret her disobedience, but also because she soon realized that she didn’t really want to.

“Turn around.”

Another curt order, and she felt the tingling between her legs. It wasn’t the first time that evening, for she had known that this was coming—in fact, she had been looking forward to it—but it was the first time since the end of the performance. They had been to the theater and watched an opera. She loved doing things like that with him. Even though he was a mechanic, he had a real feel for the finer things in life, and had seemed to enjoy letting the music wash over him while he controlled the vibrating egg he’d had her insert in the ladies’ room during the break after the second act.

She had assumed her orgasm during the crescendoing finale had signaled the end of the evening. The applause had led to a standing ovation, and she had hunkered down in her seat while she came hard, smiling inwardly at the sensation that the entire audience had risen to their feet to applaud her climax. But now it seemed as though he had something else planned for her, so she turned, slowly, to face him, still clutching her car keys.

“I want you to lift your skirt,” he said, and smiled at her. The smile could almost have been genuine, if it had reached his eyes. Instead, they held a hard glint which made her shiver. She knew him well enough by now to know that he was serious, he would not accept any disobedience, and that no matter what she did next, it had better involve lifting her skirt.

She let both hands fall to her sides, took the hem of her skirt, and lifted it slowly.

“Really? Here?” she asked, looking around. They were in the car park underneath the theatre, which was already almost completely empty. Once the opera had ended, they had enjoyed a glass of champagne at the bar, and so had avoided the post-performance exodus of attendees leaving. She had thought it a coincidence, but now she realized he had planned it that way.

The garage was empty enough that there wasn’t too much of a risk of being seen doing whatever it was he intended to do, but she had nothing to hide behind, and the smallest noise echoed loudly throughout the entire level. So there probably wouldn’t be any onlookers, but if there were, they would get the show of their lives—and it would be something completely different to the classy opera they had just enjoyed. What was about to happen would undoubtedly also be exciting, but a lot darker.

She lifted her skirt higher, suddenly becoming acutely aware of how exposed she was. Her mound was shaved bare, she wasn’t wearing any panties, and she wondered whether he could already tell. For what seemed like an eternity, he let her just stand there, in her expensive evening wear, the stockings, the high heels, and with her naked pussy on display.

“Throw the keys away,” he ordered her, and she looked at him, shocked.

“I can’t—” she began, but didn’t get any further.

“You can, and you will,” he said, and she knew he was right.

“Where to?” she asked.

“There, in the corner,” he replied, pointing to a wall about ten meters away from where she was standing. She glanced at him once more, but he merely nodded.

“And you will,” he repeated.

The keys made a loud noise when they hit the wall, and then a slightly softer one when they slid to the ground. But not soft enough, you can hear everything that goes on here, she thought. I’d better be quiet. And yet, even as she thought it, she knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Now come over here, but make sure I can see your cunt the entire time.” He lifted a hand in invitation and waved her over.

That small gesture had something so self-assured, so dominant about it that she couldn’t believe anyone in the world would have been able to resist. She certainly couldn’t. She never could. She started to move until she was standing directly in front of him. He caressed her cheek.

“Did you enjoy the opera?” he asked in a gentle voice.

“Yes, very much,” she whispered.

“You know that up there, we were in your world, right?”

She nodded. Yes, she knew it, and she also knew what was coming next.

“But now we’re in my world, and you also know what that means.” His voice was suddenly rough, far less gentle than it had been when they had been upstairs, where he’d passed her champagne to sip and opened doors for her.

She nodded again.

“Then I want you to take off your coat, your skirt and your blouse.”

She looked around again, but even as she did so, her hands dropped almost automatically to her sides and pulled the hem of her skirt down with them. Her pussy was now covered once more, but only briefly, as she quickly let the skirt drop to the ground and stepped out of it. Her coat was also easy to take off, despite the fact that she was removing the last possible protection from prying eyes. But as she reached for the buttons on her blouse, her fingers began to tremble and she started to panic, fumbling.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, in a mildly amused voice.

“No,” she said, and tried even more emphatically to get the first button through the hole.

She heard the slap even before she felt it, although her cheek began to burn almost immediately.

“You’re not to lie to me,” he said, pushing her hand away. “Here, I’ll help you.” With one single, strong tug, he ripped open her blouse to expose her black bra.

She had bought it that very morning, especially for him. It was one of those peephole bras which left the nipples exposed. He gave an appreciative whistle at the sight of it, before grabbing her hair and yanking her face towards him until it was mere inches away from his.

Not the other way around; he wouldn’t come to her, she had to come to him, she thought briefly.

“This evening is going to end in an extremely dirty way, and I mean that as figuratively as I mean it literally.” His tongue entered her mouth, and she accepted it gladly. He could do whatever he wanted with her, she would obey, the way she always did. The way she always would, for wasn’t that the reason why they were there? She couldn’t even remember the name of the opera—she thought it was something by Verdi—but this moment, in which she was helplessly and vulnerably exposed to him, was one she would never forget.

“Open my zipper and then pull my belt out of its loops,” he said, and she did as she was told. It was a lot easier than trying to undo her buttons had been. She was calm now, for she knew what was coming. First he would hurt her, and then he would take what was his.

She gave him the belt and took a step back, just as he had taught her. “And now?” she asked.

He pointed to one of the parking lots. “Go over there and get on all fours,” he said.

She did as she was told. The ground was covered in oil, and the smell of petrol was especially strong. It wasn’t a smell from her world; no designer had created it, and no woman would squirt it behind her ears to seduce her husband or lover—but that was exactly why she loved it. It was his smell; it was hard, metallic, honest. She was kneeling in oil, it smelled of petrol, and in a moment he would really, really hurt her, she knew that. For the briefest of seconds, everything inside her rebelled against his treatment of her, but then her pussy took over. You want this, it seemed to say, you need it, and you will get it. Can’t you feel how wet I am?

She wanted to ask him the same question. Did he know how wet she was? How much her body had been craving him over this past week? She had just drawn breath to ask him when she felt the belt slowly stroke over the naked skin of her ass. That was the signal; she would be receiving the first stroke within the next few seconds. He didn’t talk much while he was beating her, she knew that, and so they had developed a kind of nonverbal communication—one she could easily live with. Stroking the spot he was about the strike with the belt was just an example of that, so she tensed her body and he took that as his sign.

His first stroke landed perfectly across both her buttocks, and she sucked in a sharp breath. The echo in the car park was enormous, and it seemed as though the sound of leather striking her naked skin was amplified a thousand fold.

The second stroke landed on her left cheek, the third on her right, the fourth once again on her left, and soon he had found his rhythm. Over and over again his belt cracked against her bare skin, and it wasn’t long before her backside was burning hot. Her neck was relaxed, her head hanging down, making it easier for her to inhale the scent of oil, and even though she was arching her back, she was low enough to the ground for her nipples to be touching the cold concrete. During it all, she was acutely aware of the picture she would present to anyone who happened to come out of the elevator just a few meters away. A man in a suit, belting an almost naked woman who was kneeling in the dirt—and she never wanted it to end.

That was the thought she needed in order to surrender completely and she began to moan, more loudly with every stroke. She no longer cared how bad the echo was, she was no longer aware of anything except that combination of pleasure and pain. She no longer counted, she no longer thought… she just melted.

Not until he stopped belting her did she return to some semblance of consciousness. She heard him drop the belt, heard the metal buckle hit the hard, cold concrete with a clang.

“You know what’s coming next,” he said from behind her.

And of course he was right; she knew, she was looking forward to it. Her hands moved back to grasp her backside, spreading her cheeks for him, as far apart as she could. She wanted him deep inside her. Now.

“How exquisite,” he said mockingly, pretending to be an upper class gentleman, “what a dainty little asshole you’re presenting me with.”

She was unable to suppress her smile, and pushed back a little further, opening herself a little wider.

“It looks like you can hardly wait,” he said, and she heard him getting into position behind her.

The tip of his cock found the center of her ass and he slowly began to push his way inside.

By now her face was pressed to the ground, her cheek resting on the concrete, in all the oil and dirt, and she felt her asshole willingly expand to accommodate his girth as he pushed deeper, deeper. Then he began to move rhythmically, slowly at first, then faster. His left hand was gripping her hip while he buried his right in her hair, wrapping it around his fist. He pulled on it hard, using it to steady himself while he fucked her ass, harder and harder.

She put her palms on the ground and used them to support herself, pushing her hips back, trying to get him to go even deeper. She could feel the oil dripping from her cheek and could only imagine what she looked like; with smeared make-up, torn stockings, and smudges of dirt on her face. But all she wanted was more—even deeper, even harder, even dirtier.

She was his little whore, she knew that, and she would fulfill his every fantasy. She told him so. She told him how her pussy had been wet for him all evening. She begged him loudly to fuck her even harder, her ass was his ass, he should take it and destroy it if he so chose. She was his slut, his cunt, his fucktoy, and he should come deep inside her to show her to whom she belonged. She would always be his, and would do anything he asked her to. She moaned, she gasped, and she screamed. And she came. Oh, god, how she came. Shudders wracked her body, her eyes widened, she was aware of every single sensation. The smell of dirt, oil and petrol was everywhere, it filled her completely, and in that moment, she knew she had never smelled anything better.

Then he came, too, and she felt it. His hand tightened in her hair, he pushed his pelvis hard up against her, and his cock pulsed and spurted inside her. They came together, almost simultaneously, and suddenly she felt the hot liquid deep inside her ass even as he kept on thrusting and she spasmed around him.

She had done it, she had been a good girl again, and satisfied him. That was the only reason why she had gone there that evening. What a wonderful, what an amazing feeling it was. She collapsed to the ground and ruined what remained of her clothing, but she didn’t care. She had known he would take it—all of it. And that she would give it to him.

Still breathing heavily, he leaned over her back, his mouth close to her ear. “You’re mine,” he growled.

“I’m yours,” she replied with a smile.

A short while later, they were in the car, driving up the ramp. Once they reached the top, she was about to put the parking ticket in the slot to open the barrier when he opened his door and got out. “Where are you going?” she asked, but he merely gestured for her to wait and went to the booth.

He knocked at the window, and she saw the parking attendant jump—he had been engrossed in his newspaper.

“Oh, it’s you,” the attendant said, “have you finished?”

“Yes,” said her companion, “could I now please have the surveillance tape?” He reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet.

“Of course,” the attendant said, “level one, lot eighty-one, right? Here you go.” He handed over a CD and received several banknotes in return. “Thanks,” he added, and went right back to his newspaper.

As they left the car park, she turned to him with a questioning look. He noticed her expression and smiled. “You didn’t really think I’d miss that opportunity, did you? I was here earlier today, at around lunchtime, and gave him instructions. You know how much I love to see you lying in the dirt.”

She was unable to stop herself from returning his grin. “Do you think he saw any of it?”

“Not only that,” he said, “I suspect he was making two recordings at the same time. Now take the next exit on the left. I have another small surprise for you.”

The End