Description
by Susan Strict
The seventh collection of short stories from Susan Strict has a few surprises that may startle even regular readers of her writing, which doesn’t mean the usual themes of female dominance have been neglected! Far from it.
Questions of sex and dominance may frequently be difficult to answer, and yet readers of these stories may find the answers they thought they knew twisted into different questions they had never considered. What does the word ‘manhunt’ really mean? Should a woman who owns a nice little cage leave it empty? Should allegations of kidnapping always be investigated, particularly when there seems to be no real victim and the alleged facts are totally unbelievable? If a woman is submissive, should she be given the opportunity to explore her dominant side? Are twins a double pleasure or a double trouble? Should a man be punished for staring at a woman’s cleavage? Are there really secret clubs where women come from all over the world to fulfill their sadistic desires? Is buying a chastity device the solution for rebuilding a failing marriage? How important is communication in a domme/sub relationship?
The answers, the questions, and very much more, is all explored in this new and exciting collection.
Published: 10 / 2007
No. words: 31000
Detective Sergeant Mike Wills heard the sound of the engine behind him, but he thought nothing of it. Many vehicles turned from the main road up Bedford Hill regularly, and at this time of night even though there were few pedestrians it was not a particularly quiet road. When the white van went past him he still made no connection between it and his investigation. As it slowed and stopped a few yards ahead of him, even then thought nothing of it and continued walking towards it. It was only when the back doors were flung open and six women leapt out that he stopped, startled, and it dawned on him what was happening.
They were not at all what he had expected. He had not really considered it properly, but if he had thought at all what these women who kidnapped and raped men might be like, he would have imagined them to be muscular, ugly females; the sort of women that most men might have found unattractive.
Not only were they not as he had imagined, they also were not even dressed as he would have expected to see anyone who was planning a deliberate kidnapping and assault.
As the women grabbed him, overpowered him with surprising ease and threw him into the back of the van, Mike had a sudden, confused impression of a mass of shapely female flesh exposed from under short summer skirts, from above low-cut tops, and around thin material straps. At the same time as being physically overpowered by the women, Mike found his head was swimming as he breathed in their scent. It was the most arousing perfume he had ever known on any woman, sexual and animal in its effect yet neither too strong nor too rich an aroma. It was, in short, perfect.
When he saw their faces, Mike was totally speechless with surprise. Each one of them was quite different from the others, and each one of them had a freshness about her quite at odds with her violent behaviour. There was something in those faces that told not of sexuality or experience, but of innocence, of sweetness, and of youth that was so very different from the girls of Bedford Hill that Mike knew so well.
Mike found himself on his back on a soft mattress in the back of the van. The doors slammed shut, the engine was revved noisily, and the van sped away up Bedford Hill.
It was quite dark in the back of that van. There were no windows. Apart from an occasional orange glow filtering back from the driver`s compartment at the front of the vehicle as they passed the streetlamps, there was no other light at all. The only sounds were the roar of the engine, the rattle of the van as it bumped on unevenness in the road surface, and the heavy breathing of six hot and desperate women.
Two held his arms, pressing him down to the mattress. Two held his legs. Two others were, without a word, fumbling in the half darkness to find the buckle of his belt and the fastenings on his trousers.
“Stop this!” he shouted. “I`m a…”
His words were cut off as one of the women pulled his belt free, dropped it beside him and sat heavily on his face with her thighs gripping either side of his head tightly. She wore nothing at all under the short, flimsy skirt. At the same time, his trousers were pulled down and free of his legs with his underpants following them a second or two later. The firm hands returned to hold down his legs immediately.
It was only when he felt strong fingers grasp his manhood that he realised how aroused he was. He struggled then, not so much because of the woman who was gripping his hardness and preparing to thrust herself down onto it, but because the woman on his face was smothering him completely. He was quite unable to breathe, and as she rocked back and forth on top of him she was hurting his nose badly.
His struggles were futile. The grip the women had on his arms and legs was unshakeable, the weight on his face too much for him to shift by moving his head alone, and although he could move his hips slightly, that only made the woman grasping his hardness tighten her grip and pull upwards violently. He would have squealed at the sudden pain of it if his mouth had not been completely covered by the naked flesh of the women on top of him.
The sensation around his hardness changed. Although he could see nothing, he knew that she had let go with her hand and had taken him into her. On his face, the woman`s movements had increased in speed, and now she slid backward and forward as she pressed down onto him. He felt the tensing of the muscles in her thighs either side of his head, and he could catch a swift breath of much needed air each time she moved.
He felt a squeezing on his hardness, and thought for a moment she was once again gripping with her hand. It was only as she gripped harder and started to move up and down that he knew it was her muscles tightening on him with strength he had never previously experienced from those particular muscles from any woman. As her movement became more distinct, he felt himself pulled up and down and from side to side as effectively as if she was still gripping him in her hand with all her strength.
He moaned; a muffled moan from under the woman on his face who was now bouncing painfully on him. As if she had heard him, which well she might have done, the woman raping him moved faster. The pain would have been unbearable if there was not now considerable lubrication between them that reduced the friction between her and his hardness, lessening the effect of her gripping muscles a little. He was sure that even if he tried his utmost he could not take more than a few seconds of this in his present state of arousal before it would all be over.
He was right, and he did not fight it. As the climax welled up and exploded from him, he felt her shudder. Her muscles tightened in a spasm of contraction, gripping him even more tightly than she already held him. For a moment he thought she was locked onto him in the way that he had heard in stories he had never really believed; needing medical assistance to separate the two of them. It was only for a few seconds, and then she relaxed and eased herself away from him.
One of the others leaned over and grasped his wilting manhood between finger and thumb. She squeezed briefly, and then pumped it up and down a few times. She let go, and slapped it to one side…
