KALA
vol.
II
By Slave Kala
Copyright 2009
Smashwords edition 2011
Table of Contents
Chapter three- Beach Mansion part 4
Chapter four Marylyn Impression
My name is Kala, I am now 58 years old; a retired lawyer. I specialized in family law. I stopped when my husband had amassed such a ridiculously large amount of money the only thing more ridiculous would have been for me to keep working; and why should I be humble, she docilely asks with sidelong eyes. I know a smattering of tourist type phases in several tongues, and I can reel off fluently ‘whip me Master I beg, just please don’t send me away’ in Latin, but I actually speak only English.
But you already know all that don’t you. For those of you who don’t know that, well, I’m not really talking to you, (kidding! Kidding! She lilts as she meekly turns and proffers her firm pert ass for the paddling she knows her behavior warrants.) Although my hair is much longer these days and I’m a few pounds heavier, I still look much as I did in my youth. Sable hair the color of deep night, sparkling green eyes. Firm dusky skin, toned tight ass, tart B-cup breasts with little brown nipples surrounded by dark pink areoles. My tits sit high and firm on my 5’2 frame.
What can I tell you about me though, which you don’t already know? I have a master’s degree in English literature. You already knew that, but did you know I garnered it in half the time it usually takes? Thanks to my genius I.Q. and it really helped in law school. Before I go farther I have to clear up one thing. In the first installment of my memoirs and as you’ll see if you read on, you’ll note I more than once tell you nymphomania is a medical condition. Okay, to be clear, technically, and that word is the most important one in this explanation. Technically nymphomania is not classified by either the AMA or CMA, as a literal medical condition. The closest they’ll come to it is hyper over sexuality, where a person needs sex so much it interferes with their participation in or enjoyment of, normal life. The pills I take are prescribed for hyper sexuality, but what I have frankly goes farther, much farther, than a mere craving for sex; I go long enough without and I get physically ill. No matter what most doctors tell you, corner one and get him drunk, they’ll eventually admit there is such a thing as nymphomania. and I have it. The doctors just like to avoid that word because of the connotations popular media has laced upon it. In other words, they’re being politically correct by refusing to recognize it officially as a medical condition.
As you’ve seen, the chapters herein jump around in time. Date wise it doesn’t matter too much, but somewhere in each chapter I usually mention how old I was, or how closely ago something else occurred. That’s because I’m not writing this in a linier manner (obviously, if you read the first one). The stories are based on my journal entries (of which I’ve made an entry almost every day of my life, so I have lots of material for you to enjoy) and I just go through and cull tales I think you might like to read about. You’ll note most of them occur between my mid to late twenties, with occasional earlier and later stories. There are several reasons for this. First of all, I’ve started rereading my journals in order. Second, for purposes of these memoirs, stuff that happened in my teenage years rally can’t be published, at least till I was older. Besides, my early sexual experiences, which occurred before I met my Master, well they were B.M. Before Master. Perhaps one day I’ll get to them, we’ll see. In the other direction, well do you really want to read about what a mischievous fifty-eight year old did to her Master this morning while He slept? Or even what I did when I had my 40th birthday? I’m sure there’s a group of you out there, you have an adult film company dedicated to you
What else? I had an acting career. I was an actress for a little more than five years; paid my way through law school. Yep, I’m just a triple threat: actress, lawyer, slave. I can declaim Shakespeare from memory, prepare a legal brief eloquently (I’ve never had a request for a temporary injunction turned down) and humbly suck your cock without hurting you no matter how hard you whipped me…if pressed I could probably manage all three at the same time. Okay, I was kidding (I have to stop doing that) but my Master just made me try. The brief I’ll have reviewed by a retired judge I know. Master came without a scratch. The tape of my recitation with a nine-inch cock in my mouth, will be reviewed by a panel of critics. I’ll let you know how it all turns out.
Of course, everyone is more than the sum of her parts. I’m more than an actress or lawyer. submissive and thus always, but never only, owned. There’s more to me (I swear.) Like most people, I can dance passably. If I must I can sing without driving people away. Feed it to me, and I can tell a good joke so you laugh. I play an instrument, I started out learning the piano (I can do chopsticks) but quickly switched. I thought my musical skills would end up in the first instalment of my memoirs, but like this one, it didn’t make it. More on that in the next one, I promise.
I am a drug addict. Yes, I’m terribly addicted to a most subtle and insidious drug. By the time you realize you’re hooked, it is far too late to do anything about it. I’m so far gone you wouldn’t believe the things I do for a hit. I can’t resist the serine call of that sweet, sweet substance. Irresistibly it draws me thither, and normally so cheap and easy to acquire. Inexpensive and ubiquitous, I can’t resist. I’ll tell you more about it later.
What more can I reveal to you? David! My Master, my Owner. I kneel before Him and worship in adoration. I serve Him utterly, submissive by nature I can deny Him nothing. I’ve been very lucky, all my life, and David was an extension of that. I took a hysterectomy for Him, and gave Him my virginity. He was not the first dominate I ever met, or even the first I allowed to top me. But He is the first and only I gave my collar to. The only man to ever own me, I kneel in His service, prepared to do anything for Him.
He is so naturally dominate, so unaffectedly assertive and self confident. Like the alpha of a wolf pack, in all parts of His life, He’s the kind of man others just naturally look up and defer to. Army trained, with a firm hard body, David is six feet four inches tall. Four years my senior, He has ice blue eyes which can send shivers of excitement through me, or melt me with their heat. His long gold hair shimmers like sunlight glinting off the water at sundown as He moves, catching the light and drawing attention. He built from scratch, a transportation business. Built a world market and then diversified (we’re moneyed now).
A man others can look up to and lean on for support. He’s the kind of man who gets what He wants.
THE CONTINUED EROTIC ADVENTURES OF SLAVE KALA: SMELLY
Muscles pleasantly trembly I opened the door. I had just finished my hour-long workout, the one that kept me in such good shape for my Owner. With my muscles fatigued I looked forward to a quick warm shower to sluice the sweat off me and perhaps some vigorous lathering; before I would soak, luxuriating in water as hot as I could stand. My gym was right across the hall from one of our bathrooms, alone in the house I pulled off my (actually David’s) muscle shirt as I crossed to the bathroom.
Inside the bathroom with the door closed I dropped the shirt to the floor and sent my sports bra, more than damp soaked with my sweat, following it. Quickly I skinned out of the tights and my soaking wet panties. My legs and belly were damp with sweat. I wrinkled my nose as I could smell myself and it wasn’t pleasant. My armpits were soaked to the point that the sweat was running down my sides. I cast a glance at the shower stall but I had a couple of things to take care of first. First, I gave myself a drink of water from the tap, I was thirsty. Dancing a little with impatience I watched the cool water run into the tall plastic cup which I left sitting there for just this. When it was full to the brim I brought it up and slugged it back in an undignified fashion, a manner I would have been embarrassed to have anyone observe. I glugged it all down with the cool water rushing into my mouth; filling it and sliding down my throat in soft waves. Ahhh heaven; when the cup was empty I filled it and drank again. My belly rumbled as I hadn’t had breakfast yet. I debated whether to eat or bathe first but I stunk so much it wasn’t much of a contest; still I had another thing to take care of.
Lifting the lid on the toilet I sat down quickly and emptied my bladder, a long thick stream. I was surprised as I’d peed before starting my workout and the water couldn’t have gone through me this fast, you’d think I’d be dehydrated from sweating so much. Finally I was finished; it was very early in the morning and I didn’t work today. I had some chores to do and David would be home around five so I had to have His dinner ready; other than that I could fart around as I liked. Master hadn’t fucked me last night; He’d come home too late and didn’t want to wake me. He hadn’t fucked me this morning either, I served Him a quick breakfast in bed but He hadn’t time to use me (I love to be used, I’m a nympho have I mentioned?) I can’t of course, masturbate without permission, when I’d asked He’d refused me, telling me to wait for tonight. I’d been disappointed, but I am His, I didn’t even think about disobeying (aren’t I such a good girl)
I looked forward to my bath, I’d get nice and clean in the shower and then I’d lie in the tub for at least an hour, maybe two! (Oh goody, I looked forward to it.) I flushed and washed my hands. As the water ran into the sink washing the soap away, I heard a soft click as the bathroom door pushed open; I looked up into the bathroom mirror. I am my Master’s owned slave, I have willingly given up any right to privacy gladly and of my own volition, surrendering it to my Master. I do engage the lock when we are at a friend’s place or in public somewhere, but at home locking myself in any room, even a bathroom, has been properly trained out of me; with my full cooperation.
David the God-thing I exist only to serve stood in the doorway. He was, I thought, attending to business. He’d left hours ago. A Viking of a man my Owner is 6’4” large and muscular with gold hair I love to run my hands through. He was stark naked and grinning.
Turning the water off I spun in surprise, “David!”
“Kala!” He said mocking my tone of surprise.
I smiled delighted to see Him. “I thought you were gone for the day.”
He leaned causally against the doorjamb, His cock bobbed proudly before Him. All nine-inches of it strong and hard and ready for action. He smiled, “I had to go look at some things in the warehouse and while I was at it make a couple of calls to Hong Kong. Now, I do have to go back I have a ton of stuff to do, but I stole back here for a few hours.” He stepped into the room, leering at my naked body.
As He moved closer I blushed, “David.” It was a whine, “But I’m sweaty,” I paused, “and smelly.”
He grinned as He drifted close and sniffed the air. I had my hands braced behind me on the sink’s countertop, back arched with my breasts thrust out in an unconsciously seductive pose, as if proffering them. Languidly His hand reached out and gripped me around the throat. I made no move to resist as I felt strong fingers close gently over the pulsing arteries in my neck. Not closing them just pressing lightly, firmly.
Master bent me back slowly, so I stood on my tiptoes half bent back over the sink, unaccountably my legs spread. My vagina was wet, the black hair had been damp from sweat but now it was slick with my need. My back began to hurt a bit; I murmured a little even as I slumped relaxing to His dominion, I had no choice as He exerted easy Control. He looked me over for a moment, sliding His gaze up and down my naked body enjoying the sight of my beauty. He looked at my face for a longer moment staring into my eyes as I relaxed completely in surrender to Him. I released the sink murmuring a little as the lack of support made my back press more firmly into the edge. I brought my hands up, one I wrapped lightly around the hard muscles of His upper arm. The other drifted across to slowly slide up and down the inside of His arm. I wasn’t resisting, trying to force Him away, on the contrary the caress was encouraging as He gripped my neck. I was offering my surrender to His will, showing my complete abandon to His resolve with my soft stroking. Up and down I swept my palm over the smooth muscles of His strong right arm. A moment passed as I met His eyes, calmly letting my love for Him fill my gaze.
“Come here slave,” He said gently.
“Yes Master,” I replied meekly, brought to heel easily.
He released my neck as I came forward and I rested my head on His broad chest; while He rested His hands on my ass, kneading gently.
He smelled my hair and murmured agreeably, then softly, “Put your arms around my neck.”
I obeyed twining them around His broad neck. I noted His pile of clothes outside in the hall. He’d come home very quietly. Probably stood at the end of the hall and moved out of sight when I’d crossed to the bathroom with my workout complete; before He stole up the bathroom door, a surprise for me - an embarrassing surprise. I could imagine His evil grin as He thought about scaring the shit out of me and embarrassing me no end. I was embarrassed to be caught in such an undignified state like this, not only was I sweaty and stinking to high heaven, but unlike some slaves I don’t go about the house bare. Normally I’m naked only when it’s playtime in addition to all those other times a person is generally unclothed. If He ordered me to strip I could immediately anticipate play, I bet He’d enjoyed catching me naked and unawares like this. He’d been rock hard when He opened the door.
I looked up at Him, “Please let me take a shower first, just a quick one.”
“No slave.” He said it gently, looking down on me with a smile.
I shuddered, His tone had the simple firmness which I knew couldn’t be breached; I had no choice but to give in to His casual but utter Control over me.
Softly I answered, “Yes Master.” Putting complete yielding to His will into my tone, which brought a smile to His face, “May your slave have a kiss?” I begged.
Slowly He bent His head and kissed me gently on the mouth, I parted my lips and slowly He slipped His tongue in questing firmly. Our tongues met for an instant - a hot wet melding before He withdrew, squeezing my cheeks firmly.
“I’m smelly,” I piteously insisted without real resistance. Broken to His will I was utterly at His mercy.
He chuckled He knew well I was too much of a lady. “I don’t care, and you’re leaking all over the place.”
I blushed furiously but it was true, my clear oils were running uncontrollably down my leg as I readied myself in response to His simple presence. I hadn’t fucked for more than twenty-four hours, and anyone who knows me knows how hard that is for me. I wondered how far out of His way Master was going to please us both. Me mainly however and I had to thank Him for that. I don’t have nearly the self-control He does, I couldn’t even pretend to.
Ducking my head I said, “Yes Master. Thank-you Master.”
He smiled, “You’re welcome Kala.” His left hand slid down the length of my cheek to the crease where it met my thigh, “Lift your leg.”
I obeyed of course, His fuck-toy to be used as He pleased. My leg came up knee poking out as my ankle hovered around His own knee. At His gentle urging on my bottom I brought my leg up and around lifting the other leg as He supported me with His hands on my ass and my arms around His neck. My ankles locked together at the small of His back. I hung off Him like a monkey, I kissed His neck softly and He growled. He was nearly as horny as I was, and I was grinding against His groin helplessly.
My pudendum was wide open for Him inches above His bobbing cock and He slid a hand under me from behind. Using three fingers to lift His member He guided it into me. I moaned as He slid in slowly, firmly, a hot shock glorious friction as my smooth folds closed over Him gripping Him, causing Him too to moan. I nuzzled His neckline as we were pressed tightly belly-to-belly. I tightened my grip on His neck as I moaned again and started rocking against Him. We stood in the middle of the bathroom floor; He was supporting my weight with His hands on my tight rear. As I rocked and thrust He pumped too and we fucked slowly, languorously.
Moments passed and I felt the heat building deep inside me, I couldn’t control it, I speeded up humping Him franticly, moaning. He ordered me softly to slow down but I couldn’t and He was in no position to make me. In moments the waves of pleasure built to a crest and I came shuddering against Him as my female ejaculate squirted out, oozing between us. Moaning softly I collapsed against Him, pressing my face into His shoulder, tired I just hung there. I could feel Him, He hadn’t come, still tight inside me He was hard and pulsing but He wasn’t going to come without further work from one of us.
“I’m sorry Master.” I whispered, contrite.
“Okay.” He said softly, forgiving me I knew.
A moment passed and He used His grip on my bottom to slide me back a bit, starting to ride me standing there.
I moaned exhausted, “Wait, wait.” I begged, “Give me a moment.”
“Okay.” He said in the exact same tone of forgiveness.
My Master is so much stronger than I am I adore Him for it. I can relax at will, knowing I am always in the care of such a strong Owner.
A minute passed, two, “I’m ready.” I said softly.
He was still pulsing gently inside me and without a word He began fucking me again. I couldn’t hold back the waves of pleasure. Quickly I was moaning gutturally into His neck as He quietly fucked me like that in the middle of the bathroom. I came again after a minute and this second wave of cumming with my muscles closing tightly and wildly around His shaft, triggered His own orgasm.
Hot tendrils of His sperm roared into me, we didn’t have to worry about condoms of course. I exulted as my Master moaned softly into my hair, rocking me gently as He shot Himself into me. One hand coming up to press firmly on the small of my back; making me arch and shudder moaning as I kissed His throat and came again while He shot Himself wildly into me in hot bursts.
Spent He shriveled inside me and I pressed my breasts more firmly into His chest. For a minute I hung off Him as He stood there, spent but supporting me with His rock hard strength. Finally I lowered my legs and gently brushed a kiss across His mouth. He met the kiss enthusiastically and we frenched for a brief moment, then He pulled back just a little. I still had my arms around His neck but we were face to face, mine tilted up to His. (He tops me by more than a foot after all.)
He spoke, “I’m going to shower, and then I have to go back to work.”
“Yes Master, I’ll miss you all day now.”
“Sorry slave,” He said with a grin, pleased He could have such an effect on me, “are we having those pork chops for dinner?”
I nodded, “Yes Master, breaded just as you like them, I have all day.”
He smiled delighted and I was thrilled to please Him. “And buttermilk biscuits too?” He asked hopefully.
It meant extra work for me but I exist solely to please Him, and I love to please Him. I nodded, “If it’s what you want Master. I can make them I have the ingredients, and your mother’s recipe.”
He smiled, “I love buttermilk biscuits. And I love you Kala.”
I whispered back, “I love you too David.”
And His slave kissed Him softly.
I am by nature fastidious. I don’t just mean I’m neat and tidy and like to keep things in their proper place. I mean I do (well short of OCD I promise) but I also dislike being dirty personally, or having body odour. I like to pretend (and would convince others [like Master if He’d let me]) that I don’t sweat, I glow. I don’t fart, I fluff (you laughed, didn’t you?) I don’t pee, I evaporate. Orgasm? No, I’m just stretching out the kink in my toe. I don’t poo, my digestive tract is magical, 100% efficient. Sigh, if only I could actually make others believe all that.
It’s a fact of life, but when I do sweat I like to shower. I always dislike having B.O. but I hate stinking or being unkempt most, when in the presence of others. Not just men, but that is worse. I just loath not smelling sweet and being perfectly made up for Master. I suspect it’s the same for most women in general. We hate not looking good for men (P.C. can go too far, to the point of simply having another name, a lie.) That’s why so many women only attend uni-gender workout sessions at the gym. I’m even worse. I will work out in a public gym (I prefer the one at home) but as soon as I’m done I rush to the shower.
I’m too much a lady I know, but I can’t help it. I didn’t like getting caught stinking like a pig, slicked in sweat, hair messed up. I’m sure my Master got a kick out of it. Sneaking back to the house unbeknownst to me (I play music when I workout, so it wasn’t hard) and catching me starker’s in the bathroom. I’m thankful He waited until I’d peed! I am glad though, that my Master is so much stronger than I am (no not just physically.) He has the strength to curb me with a look, bring me to heel and have me obey. He has thank god, the power to support me when I falter (not physically) and sustain me until I can stand on my own; knowing He hovers nearby, and always will. *God I love being submissive*
I poured all my love into His dinner that night, and you should have heard Him rave in praise of it
As I’m sure you’ve gathered, Master isn’t the jealous type. For close friends, He has no problem sharing me out, or lending me to specific uses. As much as I crave sex, I’m in no position to complain (not that I want to). Obviously, He takes steps to insure people He lends me to, don’t have a venereal disease, or a history of giving harm. But if those considerations are taken care of, David is fine with sending me off to please someone. He doesn’t barter me like a good (not even like a service) but He will trade me for say, an evening with another slave in return (also known as wife swapping) or something similar.
Also, (and I love this, as I live to help Him accomplish His aims) He sees nothing wrong, if I can make a client or an employee of His happy, take care of a problem or satisfy a whim, so that things run more smoothly. As long as I am safe, and happy with the arrangement (I am Owned, Master makes my decisions for me, but He would never force me to do anything) He says: why not?
The backbone of His trucking empire, which is the meat of His shipping and transport company, which is the hub of His various business interests, are the O\O’s. The owner operators who drive big-rigs under sub-contract to David. All are big strong manly men, with big rough appetites.
THE CONTINUED EROTIC ADVENTURES OF SLAVE KALA: TRUCKER
I shivered whilst I watched the taillights of the car fifty yards away as they disappeared over a little rise in the ground. Prairie land is flat but not that flat. I was freezing already, out here on the highway the wind bit coldly, gusting at around sixty KPH according to the weather channel. Shivering with the cold I pulled the far too light spring windbreaker tightly around me, the zipper was broken and I couldn’t do the dam thing up. I had an old raggedy sweater and a shirt but they didn’t help much either, in old scruffy jeans that failed to cut the wind my legs pimpled with the cold.
It was -15 (Celsius for you Americans that means it’s cold) and with the wind-chill it was more like minus thirty. I had thick socks but the size too big boots I was wearing weren’t insulated, my toes already felt like blocks of ice and I was in genuine danger of freezing. I cast a glance around, wind whipped up the snow and I couldn’t see anything across the fields bordering the highway. To keep warm, I sighed, cast a glance down the road, (no vehicles in sight) and began trudging after the long gone car. I got maybe five steps before a noise made me turn; a little white car was driving towards me. Carefully I stopped walking turning my back to the road shivering as I looked out across the fields, deliberately ignoring the car. It stopped anyway pulling up on the shoulder just ahead of me, and with a sigh I trudged over to it.
The driver leaned across to open the passenger door. I stood before the door looking in, the driver was a little old man in his seventies probably of polish descent; I just knew he was a hardworking local farmer (yeah, Alberta has farms, not just gas). I gave him a gentle smile as he smiled back, “I’m very sorry for making you stop sir, thank you very much but I’m not hitchhiking.”
He frowned looking at my clothes, I looked like a destitute street kid, or at the age of twenty-six probably down on her luck drug addicted prostitute. He’d stopped because no one would refuse someone desperate enough to be walking along the highway in this weather, not unless they were waving a bloody hatchet or something. “Not hitchhiking? But my dear, you’ll freeze out here in this weather. Come get in, I promise I’m not going to hurt you.”
I smiled and shook my head, “Oh it’s not that, really I’m not hitchhiking. See that farmhouse over there?” I pointed, no one could see anything with the wind driven snow, it was almost a white out.
He glanced over his shoulder into the field where I pointed, he looked back at me faintly disbelieving, “No.”
I smiled at his flat tone, he wanted to help me I could tell, and wasn’t quite sure why I didn’t want to take him up on it, considering the cold. “Well it’s there,” I replied firmly, “It’s my friend’s house and I just came out onto the road from it. My friend called on his cell, any second now he’ll be right here to pick me up; by standing here it saves him from having to drive his semi down his driveway.”
The man frowned, “I’m from around here, and I’m fairly certain there’s no house over there.”
“You’re a little confused I guess, it’s the weather, it makes everything look different. Perfectly understandable.”
“You’re not dressed for the weather.”
That of course, was the point; I don’t need props to act, I have an imagination but other people prefer them often. “My friend will be here any minute, if he’s not I’ll go back to the house.”
The old man glanced back down the highway; we couldn’t see far, he looked back at me, “Well why don’t you wait in the car where it’s warm?”
It was a reasonable offer, I had no real reason to refuse, of course there was no house where I had pointed but I knew I was perfectly safe. I opened my mouth to accept, my gloveless hand coming out of my pocket to rest on the open passenger door. Suddenly we both heard the sound of a large engine, I looked, the semi was driving slowly, looking for me I knew. I gave the old man a smile, “Thank you very much, but there’s my friend.”
The old man nodded, “Okay, I’ll just wait and make sure he picks you up.”
I could tell the man thought I was a desperate whore (I was playing a different role but although I can say with confidence that I’m fifteen no one would buy it unless it was part of the game), the old guy wanted to make sure I didn’t freeze to death. I gave him a dazzling smile, “Thanks.” I closed his door walked to the edge of the road just behind his car and stuck out my thumb.
The semi had to pull ahead of the car, not having the time to break to a stop and pull over where I was, so I skipped around the car quickly and ran up to the passenger side of the semi. When I got there I climbed up monkey like and the driver Fred, leaned across to open the door. Fred was forty-two; he was an independent O\O that meant he owned the semi and drove it on a contract basis. My Master of course has many business interests and Fred is one of the transport drivers He uses regularly. Fred was a short occasionally mid-distance hauler, he didn’t like long drives all alone with no one to talk to, and picking up hitchhikers was dangerous. Fort Frances to Regina to the Pa in Manitoba was a long haul for him, he often I’m told took his wife on such trips when her schedule allowed but it often didn’t. Fortunately my Master, who liked good old reliable Fred a lot, had a solution; me. His wife didn’t mind (she insisted on talking to me first, we played chess, it was fun) and it gave Fred the perfect opportunity to fulfill a fantasy. He’d explained when my Master brought him and his wife over for dinner for the third time; it wasn’t something he would ever really do, but he had daydreams about it, and occasionally when he saw one walking along the side of the highway he’d take a chance and pick one up; then talk to them while just thinking about his fantasy (I don’t judge, as long as he doesn’t do it for real). This of course, was the safe way to do it, and although not technically legal, it was at least morally okay. So I got a fucking (have I mentioned I’m a nymphomaniac and I like being fucked?). Fred had someone to ‘talk’ to during the long drive (unless he changed his mind and broke the fantasy off, we wouldn’t do much talking). And my Master got whatever was in the back of the truck delivered on time; everybody happy (isn’t it nice when life is simple?) (Kala’s note: I don’t remember if I ever found out what was in the truck, if so I didn’t mention it in my journal so it couldn’t have been interesting, now back to my tale).
I gave him a smile, “Hi thanks for stopping.”
He looked at me and grunted, “Sure kid, climb in.”
I did, happy to climb into the warmth, I was freezing. I closed the door, he blew his loud air-horn twice for no good reason (there was of course, we both knew my Owner was waiting just over the rise, in case) then he put the semi in gear. I checked the side mirror; the car was pulling out as well. The trucker was as I said about forty, with a big gut and a bushy black beard.
I turned to Fred, “Thank you so much for picking me up, it’s freezing out there.”
He smiled as he looked me over, “No problem, you’re not dressed for the weather honey.”
I looked away, “No I guess I’m not.” Diffidently I offered weak explanation, “My car broke down.”
“That’s too bad.” It was clear from his tone he didn’t believe me (he role played well). “What’s your name?”
“Leslie, what’s yours?”
He smiled at me, “Oh, call me Chuck.”
I smiled back a smile that told him I was streetwise enough to know it wasn’t his name (I act, when I’m made to, I should look into film again) all I said was, “Nice to meet you Chuck.”
“How old are you?”
I gave him a tight little smile, “Old enough.” Pertly enough to deserve a spanking.
He chuckled, “Come on, tell me how old; I’m just curious.”
I continued his very loose script for him, “I’m fifteen.”
He nodded, “A little young to be out here in the cold all by yourself, where are you going?”
“Me? I’m going to Winnipeg.”
He nodded, “You’re in luck, I’m passing through there,” he wasn’t, it’s called role playing. “I can take you all the way and drop you off, if you want.”
I gave him a bright smile girlishly I stayed in character (I believe I’ve mentioned I don’t like role playing, but I am legitimately good at it when Master makes me). “Great, thanks!” I exclaimed.
He looked me over carefully then spoke, “If you take off your jacket you’ll warm up quicker, it’s warm in the cab and the less you have on the quicker the heat will reach your skin.”
I nodded, “Thanks I’ll try that.” I took off the windbreaker tossing it to the floor as I leaned back and looked at him innocently (I role play well too).
“I bet your feet are freezing, those boots don’t look too warm.”
I nodded, “Do you think I should take them off too?” Naively.
He nodded as he looked out at the road and not at me, “Yep probably, and feel free to take your socks off too, won’t bother me.”
“Okay.” Innocently like I didn’t know where he was leading, I hurried out of my boots and socks. He was of course correct; I warmed up faster without layers between the heat and my skin.
He glanced at me, “Should take the sweater off too, it traps the cold.”
I looked (expertly) a little uncertain; he remained silent not watching me as I thought it over. Finally as if reassured by his apparent indifference, I shrugged and took off the sweater. This left me in an old grungy shirt bought yesterday at the Salvation Army, and the jeans (underwear too).
He glanced back over to me; softly he spoke, “Should take the shirt off next.”
I froze, held pinned in his stare, “I, I,” I paused and swallowed hard, softly I choked out, “I don’t want to do that.”
He gave a menacing chuckle, “Come on kid, you’re no innocent, why do you think I picked you up. Take the shirt off.”
I shook my head, “No please, I don’t, I’m not, please, I, I’m not a whore.”
He shrugged as he expertly maneuvered the rig down the windy highway, “Your choice, just ask I’ll pull over and let you back out.”
“No, please it’s freezing.”
He chuckled, “I know, that’s the point. Why do you think I stopped for you, it’s nice and cold. So honey you have a choice, take the shirt off, or go back out there.”
I gave a little sob, “Please don’t make me.”
“Of course not, I won’t make you do anything. It’s your choice.” Oh he was a cruel man, “take the shirt off or I’ll pull over and let you out. Your pick.”
“Please it’s too cold, I have no choice I’m at your mercy,” I begged, playing the script (yes he wrote it out when it was a ‘done deal’ and he saw he was actually getting his fantasy) “please, don’t do this to me.” I pleaded. His answer was to start pulling the semi over onto the shoulder, I looked out at the blowing snow wildly, “No, no please.”
“Your choice honey, it’s nice and warm in here, do you want to stay?” Biting my lip I met his gaze and nodded. “Shirt then.” By now the semi was again stopped. I sighed and pulled off the shirt, leaving my perky breasts constrained only by the old second hand bra. He nodded and pulled back out, “The rest,” he said.
I sobbed brokenly, “Okay.” He was rock hard, bulging in his jeans, when I said okay he shivered and I knew he was absolutely loving this. I’m sure he wouldn’t do this with a real fifteen-year-old runaway, but he liked the fantasy we were playing out.
I unzipped the jeans and was half afraid we were going to plow into the ditch; he was watching me and not the road. “Please watch the road,” I said a tremble in my voice.
“Take it off,” he replied.
We were veering. “I’m scared Fred, half an eye on the road please.” I said it softly so he could pretend if he wanted he hadn’t heard, but I was holding the zipper and making no further move to strip, my tone warned him.
He glanced at the road, corrected slightly, “I know what I’m doing Kala, I promise you’re safe, please don’t do that again.”
“Okay.” I had to arch my rear off the seat to tug the jeans past my thighs, it was a little awkward in the confines of the front seat to lower them around my ankles and take them off. The jeans I tossed in the back, there was a single bucket seat behind the front seat, also a little living space, mostly taken up with an air mattress. He was watching me, but we were dead center in the one lane of the two lane highway and his hands were rock steady on the wheel. I looked down as I slowly reached back fumbling a little (for real) with the old worn bra eyelets. It took a moment to unhook them and then my breasts were free, I tossed the bra with the jeans. I kept my head lowered my thick dark hair across my face, veiling my eyes as I stared at my lap; where I let my hands nervously twist and play with themselves.
He looked me over, out of the corner of my eye I could see him eying my hysterectomy scar; he frowned slightly. “Ah well.” He said it softly, but with clear regret. “Take your panties off next,” he ordered mercilessly.
I shivered and nodded to my lap. “Okay.” Quickly I slid the panties down, arching my bottom off the seat to slide them around my knees. I settled back on the pleather as I let my panties fall down around my ankles. I kicked them off among my boots and socks, hands in my lap I kept my gaze lowered, unruly dark hair a mask around my face. Now I was stark naked.
He waited a long moment, watching me as he drove. “Come on honey, you know what you need to do next. Come here.”
I looked at him a little fearfully. “I’ve really never done this before, please, please I don’t know how.”
“Haven’t you ever given a blowjob hun?”
I shook my head. Softly, “No sir. Never.”
“Well I’ll show you how, we’ll go slow and easy. You just cooperate and do as I tell you, okay?”
I nodded, “Yes sir.”
“Come here,” he said.
Slowly, I slid across the seat towards him. He drove the huge multi-ton truck with one hand. With the other he reached out and pulled me tight to his side. Playing my role, I shivered as I snuggled against him, fearful, but submissive in my uncertainty and youth. “That’s it, just relax Leslie.” He stroked my raven hair, slowly trailed his hand down my arm, pulling me even tighter to his side. Through his shirt I could feel the slabs of meat on him were backed by rolls of muscle (or is it the other way around?) He stroked my side gently, running his hand up and down my ribs. “Reach down,” he said, “undo my zipper.”
Hesitantly I reached out, took his zipper in two slightly trembling fingers. Slowly, oh so slowly, I drew it down with a soft ripping sound as the brass links parted. “That’s good Leslie.” He encouraged gently, “now undo the snap.” I kept my eyes on his crotch, not meeting his gaze, as I used both hands (my one breast tucked against a roll of his belly) to unsnap the little metal snap on the jeans. “That’s a good girl, undo the belt.”
“Yes sir,” I said softly. Thick fingers (I can act) fumbled at his heavy belt with the large silver buckle. Eventually, with a lot of effort (faking grunts of strain, too) I managed to undo his belt. I could see the dark gray boxers he wore beneath.
He had his ham hand softly on the back of my neck; he squeezed gently as his foot pressed a little harder on the gas. “Stretch out Leslie, lie down, get your face down there.”
I gave a little sob. Slowly I did as he ordered, easing myself down to my belly, breasts pressed hard into the seat as I lay flat out. My nipples were hard; erectly they dug into the seat. I had to ease my head carefully down under the steering wheel, feeling it brush my hair as he made tiny corrections. My face hovered above his jeans, the boxers peeking out beneath them. Lying stretched out like this, my one arm was trapped against the back of the seat I lay on, leaving me only one hand. Up against my flank I felt, as the truck swayed and jostled me, the corner of the CB radio bolted beneath the dash, it was quiet, turned off I knew, so we wouldn’t accidentally broadcast anything.
“That’s right girl, now pull my jeans down, carefully.”
“Yes sir,” I whined. I reached out, fingers closing gently on the fly of his jeans where it gaped widely. As I did this his hand slid down, casually, with a perfectly acknowledged right, he trailed his palm down over my spine. His fingers brushed the small of my back and I tensed, clenching my apple-round cheeks together. It didn’t matter, his hand came down causally, a light yet heavy weight as he fondled my butt. I could only accept as his large muscular hand ran over my flanks, stroking, rubbing, fondling me with perfect equanimity as he drove and I lay there with my face breathing warm breath on his privates. He gently squeezed handfuls of my cheeks, fondling me thoroughly, roughly but not with pain, it wasn’t hurtful, he was just enjoying my body with his powerful trucker’s hand. Slowly I pulled his jeans down, exposing more of his boxers. I gripped the waistband of the boxers next as I pushed the jeans further out of the way. With my one free hand I pulled gently, lifting his boxers away from his waist, careful not to snag his cock or balls as I pulled jeans and boxers down out of the way. I had to be careful of my scull, keeping it away from the steering wheel close overhead.
His crotch was full of coarse dark hair, unlike the hair on his head it had little flecks of gray, his stomach was also hairy, he had a lot of hair. I could see his sack, large and full it hung below his cock. He was about seven inches and only semi-rigid, a thick organ uncircumcised, foreskin wrinkled up around the slightly purple head, a thick vein ran along the side of his member. He was still rubbing and stroking my ass, which he had negotiated a perfect right to do. “That’s good, take my penis in your hand, gently now.”
Wordlessly I reached out, gently closed my palm around the top of his shaft, just behind the large bulbous head. “Like this?”
“That’s right, just like that; you can hold him a little more firmly.” I tightened my grip just a bit, he pinched my ass. “Good girl, now stroke downward, pull the foreskin back.”
“You mean like this?” And I stroked his cock firmly. He sucked in a breath as the rumpled skin pulled back, exposing his head completely. It became even redder as he engorged more, I could smell his maleness, released into my face as his foreskin pulled back. I had my hand at the base of his cock now.
“That’s right Leslie.”
“It’s so big.” I said girlishly.
He chuckled, “Yes, he is isn’t he. He needs a name.” Following the script, I held his penis very gently in my warm hand, trembling I little as I said nothing. He pinched my ass gently. “Leslie? He needs a name, doesn’t he?”
I nodded, “Yes sir.”
He waited a moment. “So don’t you think you should think up a name for him?”
“Should I? okay.” I thought for a moment, holding his dick. “How about Mr. Big Boy?” I was supposed to come up with several names before giving him the right one (Fred had a name for his penis ).
Fred, ‘Chuck’ laughed, “Nice, but no silly names please.”
“Okay, how about Dick?” I asked wickedly.
He chuckled and slapped me on the behind, “No silly names I said.”
“Dick is a real name, people have it.” I protested innocently (in character).
“Try again,” he ordered agreeably, stroking my lower back.
“David,” I said firmly.
His hand stilled on my body, his foot eased on the gas. He of course, had a slight problem with my trying to name his penis my husband’s name. “I don’t think so,” he said quietly, “try again.”
“All right, how ‘bout Fred?”
“I don’t like that one.” He gave me a warning slap on the ass.
I could tell it was time to stop teasing him, I was pushing my luck. (Later he ratted me out to my Master, guess who got a spanking…not Fred.) “Okay, then what do you think of Harry?” His name was of course, inspired by all the hair down there.
‘Chuck’ chuckled, “I think that’s a fine name, we can go with that.” I only nodded. “Tell Harry how big he is.”
“Um, you’re really big Harry.”
“That’s right, keep going.” Chuck encouraged, “Tell him how big and handsome he is and how much you want to suck him off, tell him all the nasty things you want to do to him and all the ways he inspires you.”
“You’re so very big Harry, and thick and handsome and I want to put my mouth on you, I want you inside my mouth Harry. You’re so large it’s a little scary, but I want to make you feel so very, very good Harry. I want to suck you, because you make me so hot.” I continued singing Harry’s praises while Fred, as Chuck, fondled my ass and made encouraging noises. I kept up a running stream of inventive dirtiness the way someone inexperienced might do it.
Fred’s hand came up and he stroked my satin hair. “Stroke him,” he encouraged softly.
“Stroke him?” I asked, on script.
“Run your hand up and down the shaft, clench firmly but not too hard.”
“Like this?” Hesitantly, I rubbed his cock, stroking firmly. I felt him firm rapidly in my hand, he was hard and ready, waiting for further action. Chuck was rubbing my ass hard.
Fred sucked in a deep breath, “Oh yes, just like that. Rub harder, and kiss him.”
“Kiss him?” I asked, ‘startled’.
“Press your lips to him, tell him how much you want to suck him.”
I moved forward slightly, brought my head down. Gently I pressed my lips to the side of the purple triangular head, I kissed him softly. “You make me so hot Harry, I’m wet, I want so much to suck on you.” I said to the cock I stroked.
“Yes,” Fred said, “you can. Take him in your mouth.” Without a word I moved further forward, I opened my mouth as I ran my other hand down to the base of his cock, clearing hair out of the way as I pulled his skin taut to expose the sensitive veins along the side of his thick member. I was just about to take his head in my open maw when I heard Fred curse softly, “Oh shit.” His hand was on my hair, urging me up, “Stop it, stop, quick get dressed!”
“What is it, what’s wrong?” I asked in confusion.
“Get up, get up. We have to stop. Oh shit! Stay down!” I was trying to get up on my knees, but he urged me down so I couldn’t look out the front windshield. “You have to get dressed, quick, get dressed!” Fred snapped.
“What is it?” Carefully, keeping my head down, I looked out the front windshield. There was blowing snow limiting visibility, but I could see what had Fred so panicked. Across the middle of the two lane highway was an RCMP vehicle, angled to block the lanes. Its lights flashed, both the bubble and hazard lights. A little in front of the car stood an RCMP officer, just one, he was waving a flashlight (on despite the fact it wasn’t even noon, with the blowing snow it was dark outside) he was clearly commanding the semi to pull over. The car was maybe a hundred yards away and closing fast.
Fred was already breaking as he fumbled for his jeans. “Get dressed,” he hissed.
I didn’t need any further urging. Quickly I leaned over the seat and grabbed my shirt, ignoring the bra, there wasn’t time. Scrunching down in my seat, I pulled the shirt on, fumbling to spin it around when I almost put it on backwards. We were about thirty yards from the police car, slowed to a crawl now, beginning to pull over. Quickly I stuffed my socks and panties under the seat, wiggling as I shot my jeans up to my hips. Fred had his pants buckled again, both hands on the wheel, he’d put his seat belt on. Quickly I did up my own jeans and jammed myself into my boots, feeling my bare flesh slide against the cheap leather. Calmly I did them up very quickly, we were at a stop, about ten yards from the police car, as I did up my shoulder harness. With the blowing snow it was hard to see the officer on the ground; mostly we saw his bright flashlight, so it would be hard for him to see up into the cab. We were stopped, and the RCMP officer was approaching Fred’s side, he powered his window down as the officer used various hand and footholds on the cab to climb up so his head was even with Fred’s. “Hi, bad day to be out on the highway isn’t it?” The officer said, I noted he spent more time looking at me than at Fred.
Fred shrugged, “Oh it’s nothing this rig can’t handle. What’s up officer?”
I shivered as a blast of cold air swirled in through the open window, snow fell softly around the semi-truck. The RCMP officer frowned, “A woman snatched a baby at the hospital, we’re setting up roadblocks on all the highways leading out of Calgary.”
“Oh that’s terrible.” Fred and I said the exact same thing in unison.
The officer was looking at me and I felt a little shiver of fear in my belly. I could only imagine how I looked, hair tousled sans makeup, braless in a grungy shirt and old cheap jeans, my boots even worse. “Actually,” he went on, “we don’t have much of a description she’s small and short under five-five, with dark hair and dusky skin; the report says she was dressed like a street kid.”
A frisson stabbed into my belly, the officer was looking through Fred’s window into the depths of the cab like he expected to spot something, but he was also watching us for our reactions. Fred piped up, “Well that’s unfortunate, I hope you catch the lady.”
“Yes, so do I,” the officer agreed. “I take it you don’t have a baby in here?”
Fred chuckled, a little nervously, “Of course not officer, you’re welcome to look. I hope you don’t suspect Kala here, she’s harmless.”
The officer looked at me like he disagreed, of course, I matched the description he had. “What about it ma’am, no kid in here?”
I shook my head, “No officer, I assure you we have nothing to hide.”
He nodded, looked to Fred, “Where did you pick this young lady up?”
“Oh, Kala is a friend of mine.”
“Oh.” The cop seemed surprised. “I see, so you vouch for her?”
“Absolutely,” Fred answered firmly.
“What is it you’re transporting?”
Fred had to pause, then, “Oh I don’t know, here, here’s the manifest.” Slowly he leaned forward and grabbed up a clipboard full of papers off the dash in front of him. He handed this to the officer, who took it, and started looking through it.
The truck’s heater couldn’t compete with the open window, and I was barely dressed, my teeth were chattering. Looking at the manifest, the officer questioned me, “What’s your name miss?”
“My name is Kala, officer. Kala (and I gave him my last name).
The officer looked up, “That’s the same last name as the owner of the company transporting the goods in back.”
“My husband owns the business Fred works for yes, we’ve known Fred for years.”
“I see,” he was noncommittal. “And may I ask why you’re riding with Fred today ma’am?”
“I’m going to visit family up in Churchill; Fred just happened to be going there, so I’m getting a ride.” (I had family living in Churchill, and they we’re expecting me for dinner.)
“Dressed like that?”
I blushed, “Well, getting this ride was sort of last minute, I had to dash in a hurry so Fred’s schedule wouldn’t get messed up, I didn’t even remember to grab my purse.”
“So you have no ID, do you?” The police officer asked me, staring me dead in the eye.
I met his gaze, ignoring the feelings of shame and helplessness trying to crawl through my belly into my throat. “No sir, not on me I don’t, but I’m sure it would be easy enough to check and see I am who I say I am.”
“I do vouch for her officer, and you can search the truck and see there is no child here.” Fred said firmly but respectfully, not challenging the officer.
“How are you employed ma’am?” The officer said to me, at the same time he handed the manifest back to Fred.
“I’m a lawyer sir.” I answered.
“A licensed practicing attorney, you’ve passed the bar?”
I nodded, “Yes sir, family law mostly. You can check with the bar association.”
The officer nodded, “Ma’am would you like to step out to my patrol car with me please.”
He wasn’t really asking, I had no reason to do anything but cooperate. “Sure,” I said.
The officer looked to Fred, “You can leave the engine running, put the hazard lights on. This shouldn’t take too long.”