Robert Vickers - Fit to be tied

The thick oils kept the wind from cracking her precious skin. But the hot breeze hammering into her crotch at over a hundred miles per hour made her acutely aware of every single touch of the man's prick.

"I can feel my balls tightening up now," he shouted in her ear. "The air is working on my balls!"

"I know! I know! Ummm, ohhhh!"

His hands gripped firmly down on her tits. He began working them in circles. The left tit went in a clockwise direction. The right tit was rotated in the opposite direction. She felt as if he meant to rip those luscious mounds of titflesh from her chest.

When the turn came again at the end of the run, he had three holds on her. His cock was thrust all the way up her twat. She helped keep him there by squeezing down with her powerful muscles. But the man also gripped down even harder on her tits.

She was positive they'd come off in his hands before the car was entirely turned around.

The pain of the grip assaulted her body. And she could see the vicious red finger marks he left on her tender flesh. It was bad enough having those mountains of boob burned by the sun. But now he was manhandling them just to keep from being flung off the roof of the car.

He made it worth her while on the return run. His prick delighted her. He fucked her with all the skill she'd come to expect from the customers of Love, Inc.. And he gave her the added bonus of the situation.

The car vibrated powerfully under them. It made his cock shudder so much inside her, she knew she was going to come at any second. But he wasn't content with just giving her this release.

Everything else was working for them. The sun and wind, the very danger of their fucking, made her aware of life. Her body sang out a song of sheer joy as she could no longer hold her feelings pent-up inside.

She came.

Then she noticed the car was no longer racing in a straight line. It was zigzagging across the desert. The man was being thrown from one side of the roof to another. She felt the pain in her shoulders as she was tossed hard against the bonds tying her to the roof.

The man seemed to expect this sudden change of course, however. The look on his face was one of excitement such as she'd never seen before. It was sex, yes, but it was more.

She could imagine this man and what he would be like to ball after he won a race. He'd be a tiger. His cock would rip her flesh and she would love every second!

The car spun and rocked and braked and accelerated in an attempt to throw the man off. Instead, he came.

His cock expanded to the size of a firehose in her twat. She screamed as the first tide of his fiercely hot jism blasted into her. Then she followed him and let herself go. The climax was even bigger than she'd anticipated.

The mixture of a real stud and the danger gave this fuck an aura she'd never before experienced.

Soon, the car slowed down. When it stopped, the man stood, towering over her. He looked down and smiled before jumping off to the ground. In a few minutes, she heard a car start and crunch away in the dried salt.

The director looked at her and asked, "How was it, Miss Parks?"

She could only sigh, remembering exactly how great it had been.

Laurine relaxed on the old-style couch in the room. This was the first time she'd seen this particular arrangement in here. It was decorated in a style like a European villa circa 1940.

The dress she wore seemed to reinforce her idea that the next customer was on a fantasy trip involving this era. She was dressed up like a French noblewoman. The satin dress clung to her full figure and accentuated her every curve.

The way her tits pressed against the fabric told anyone looking that she wasn't wearing a bra. The nipples poked eagerly against the cloth and created little mountains of material washing away to all sides.

The deep plunging neckline of the dress revealed acres of her smooth flesh. Every move threatened to reveal just a little more of a bare tit. Hanging around her neck was an elegant emerald necklace. Laurine didn't know but suspected that the gems were real. The director of Love, Inc. did things first class.

Working for Love, Inc. certainly had its advantages. She was getting better money here than she ever could working as a secretary. Laughing to herself, she had to admit she was making better money than the heads of some companies, much less their secretaries.

She was in a quandary over what to tell Bill when she saw him next. The director still hadn't told her where Love, Inc. was located but she had lots of information about the organization sure to please Bill. But she was beginning to feel like a traitor. If she squealed to Bill and the cops busted the place, she'd be out of a job. A very high paying job.

Even worse to her way of thinking, all the exciting sex she was getting would be cut off.

Still, this was illegal. She couldn't allow an illegal operation to continue. Could she?

Her mental argument with herself was cut off by a timid knock on the door. Before she could reach the door and open it, a more forceful knock sounded, as if the man was gaining courage.

She opened it and gasped. Standing there was a man dressed like a Nazi colonel. He had the jet black uniform with silver chasing and high black leather knee boots. In one hand he carried a riding crop. And in the other was a pair of black leather gloves.

"Fraulein," he said, clicking his heels together in the best Prussian manner.

"I… uh, won't you come in?" She didn't know what to say. Of all the things Laurine had expected, seeing a Nazi Gestapo officer standing on the threshold was about the last.

"You are surprised to see me, eh?" he said in a silky smooth voice that hinted at hidden evil. "I wanted to personally interview you after you made a fool out of the captain."

She bit back the question, "What captain?" She had to play the man's game. That was what he was paying for, that was what she was being paid to do.

"He was an easy one to fool. You don't look like such a pushover, though," she told him.

"I am not." He prodded her with his riding crop. The way he ran it up and down the side of her dress was almost obscene in its familiarity. When he began pushing the tip into her left nipple, she took an involuntary step backward.

"You do not like me. That is fine. I do not like the French. Even more to the point, I do not like the French aristocracy, which you represent in all your decadent splendor. Look at that disgusting dress. I hate it!"

His boot heels clicked harshly on the wood floor as he took two swift steps toward her. His hand lashed out and he gripped the neckline in his hand. A quick jerk and he had ripped the fabric and left it dangling about her waist.

She was naked from the waist up now. Only the jewel necklace remained.

"What are you doing? My lovely dress is ruined!" The outburst on her part was entirely spontaneous. She was mad at him for ruining her clothing in such a brutal fashion.

A quick slash of the riding crop across her bare tits silenced her.

"You will speak only when I order you to do so. Now," he said, prodding her a little more with his riding crop, "do you still think you can make the fool of me that you did of my captain?"

"You? Hardly," she laughed. But it was a forced laugh. She was beginning to feel frightened of this man. His attitude told her he thought nothing of inflicting pain. The red welt across her tits pulsed with a dull ache. And she knew he would want to give her even more pain if the occasion arose.

"You haughty French bitches think you are too good for the likes of me. I was born a peasant. But I am no longer one. You are a sultry one. What do you think of making love to me?"

"No!" she blurted. The girl realized this was what the man wanted to hear. In spite of the pain he might give her, she had to give him what he was searching for. It was his fantasy trip, after all.