Henry Morgan - The drivers

She raised the hem, revealing a glimpse of the clean panties he had given her earlier. The white cotton glowed bright under the glare of the lamp. Behind it, hidden in the darkness, sitting, watching, his presence betrayed by his staccato breath, was the man who had rescued her, the man she had thought she could trust.

"Why?" she asked. "Why risk what you did, for this? If you wanted to fuck me, why not at the cafe?"

"We couldn't let you stay there. Not with those animals. Besides, you may have escaped, and we couldn't allow that."

She knew instantly who 'we' were. The realisation hit her like the slap of a thousand hauliers straps.

"You're one of THOSE Drivers!"

The black man allowed himself a low, sneering laugh. "Precisely. And now you belong to me, so take down your panties and fold them on the floor."

Susan was devastated! No rescue after all! Out of the frying pan into the fire!

She shuffled the knickers down her legs and stepped out of them, then folded them neatly and placed them at her feet.

"Now the skirt, up with it."

She lifted up the heavy denim to reveal just an inch of blonde, down covered mons.

"Far enough. Now, close your legs. Keep them shut until I tell you otherwise."

She remained like that for ten minutes, bathed in the glare of the bright spot light, never moving, eyes front, her skirt lifted for the black man's gaze.

"Turn around," he said, breaking the silence. She did as he said without questioning. This time his eyes rested on the plump curve of her bottom and the gentle swell of her calves. He was in no hurry. There would be no rush to strip her, no uncontrollable urge to split her legs and mount her. He was in control, in command of everything.

She waited. She was full of dread, overflowing with it. In the plate glass picture window she saw a reflection of her silhouette. It was surrounded by the dazzling light that here and there broke into her shadow. She was a moth fluttering around a candle, being drawn ever closer until finally her wings would touch the flames and she would be consumed in a moment of awe inspiring glory.

"Lean forward!

She did as he said.

"Lift the skirt off your bottom. Higher."

He enjoyed this for a few minutes. Maybe he even went away and had a drink. Then he was back, for he spoke again.

"Bend over and grip your ankles."

In this position Susan was bent double, her nose resting in the space between her two knees, her skirt high over her back, showing everything. The black man kept her like that, enjoying the sight of her thick sex lips that protruded rudely out between tightly closed thighs. The image disturbed H. It filled him with lust and chipped away at his control, his will power draining into his thickening cock.

Fighting to regain himself he ordered Susan to stand up straight, at attention. She did so immediately, recognising the urgency in his voice. To upset him now would be dangerous. Very dangerous. She had already learned to read the signs, learned never to upset her master, and she had learned it the hard way. On the end of a strap, the palm of a hand, the tip of a gearstick.

Suddenly the light went out and Susan was plunged into darkness, into silence.

She was disorientated. Was she alone?

She thought for a moment, remaining perfectly still. It was impossible to know what would happen next. All she could hear was the sound of her own breathing, nervous, irregular. Desperate for the relief of sensation she held her breath, hoping to hear him, with straining eyes she tried to glimpse him.

There was nothing.

The minutes ticked by, but she did not move.

Flash!

Once more she was struck by the incredibly bright light, this time from the front. The black man must be between her and the window and she was illuminated for all to see. Except there was nobody, there would be no knight in shining armour to charge to her rescue.

Time passed.

Nothing. Blazing white light. Standing at attention, frozen in time. Silence.

Susan dared move only her eyes. She squinted past the light but saw nothing until she noticed a figure at the corner of the window. He was outside, on the verandah, watching through the window.

"Off with your skirt."

His voice was loud and clear. He must have rigged up a microphone outside. Susan released the button and the denim fell to her ankles.

"Fold it neatly."

She folded it carefully, following his instructions to the letter, returning to stand at attention in nothing but the half cropped jumper.

There was a long pause while she waited, tense as a coiled spring.

"Jumper off!"

She obeyed and took up her position again.

Time passed.

A voice from out of the glare.

"Bend! Stretch! This way! That way!"

He was judging how supple she was. Her body and condition were excellent. He was becoming more and more pleased with his captive.

When he told her to clasp her fingers together behind her head and push her tits towards the window he could tell that she was eager to please. Oh yes, very eager. She must have been truly well taught. She could take a lot of punishment, he judged. A real lot. Obviously her early owners had been stern masters. Fair? Perhaps. Kind? Doubtful. But stern? Definitely!

That was good, but it would not save her. No way!

"Inspect yourself."

Susan raised one leg on the arm of a chair and looked intently at her vagina, studying it like a concerned medic, probing with a finger, inside, deep inside, as deep as she could go.

"Crucifix!"

Susan knew the term.

She returned to the centre of the light to stand, feet together, chin up, arms outstretched at shoulder height. Darkness descended in an instant, enveloping, all encompassing, silent. She dared not move, no matter how her limbs ached. If her hands dropped just an inch he would make her pay, like Bingo had made her pay.

The pain came, as she knew it would, a gentle warming of the limbs turning into a burning heat that begged her to move her arms. She strained her senses trying to detect his whereabouts. When she felt it was safe enough she slowly lowered her hands…

Almost before they moved, her head was encased in a black satin hood. There was no sound and hardly any touch. Her wrists were taken and cuffed and she was made to hold her hands in the air. Although she couldn't see it, a hook was placed below the chain connecting the cuffs.

Suddenly she was standing on nothing!

Nothing!

Like a free falling parachutist she dropped through the air. Plummeting, straight down through a trap door cut into the stripped maple floor. In total blacked out isolation she plunged into the darkness below. This must be the end. She prepared herself for a crash against concrete or earth but her entire body was jolted upwards by the hook in the cuffs. It was attached to a heavy rope, tied to one of the exposed beams.

For a split second she was stretched so far her wrist, elbow and shoulder joints almost popped out of place. But she knew she was alright, the sudden pain of the drop gave way to throbbing, aching muscles and she dangled, suspended and helpless, awaiting his attention, not knowing what dreadful thing he would do to her.

Whatever it was, it was slow in coming.

The waiting and the uncertainty were almost as unbearable as the heat in her tortured limbs. With each passing second her anxieties grew, sapping her energy until finally exhaustion rewarded her with sleep.

She was waking, climbing back into horror.

The click of metal heeled shoes greeted her.

She was still enveloped in the hood. There was no way to know how long she had been unconscious, although the pain in her arms had turned to numbness, suggesting a fair time had passed. The click of shoes circled her as the black man walked slowly round her.