Written by Henrietta612

5 Oct 2017

I have many beautiful clothes and some very expensive skirt suits. My favourite is by Yves St Laurent, full lined, tailored and Royal Blue. I am wearing it in my latest media posting on this site. This story relates to a man I met on line in 2007. He lived in an apartment in Aylesbury. Back then my blonde hair was permed. I knew from his messages that he was turned on by pictures of me in that skirt suit, showing me stripping to pale blue satin and lace lingerie, including a full length slip.

‘Wear your highest heels you filthy slut’ he ordered when he finally got me on my special sex meeting mobile.’

‘What are you going to do to me?’ I inquired, genuinely nervous, but my tiny bald sex stirring even though it was crushed flat by a black satin fronted pantie girdle, my little balls trapped in the pockets behind my pubic bone. ‘You’ll find out whore.’ His voice was menacing and my manicured hand was shaking as I wrote down directions for the secure car park next to his building.

It was a longish way to drive from my home in the Chilterns and I found it hard to concentrate. Obviously I had paid careful attention to my make up, lingerie and used a lot of Chanel No5, my favourite perfume. I also wore black silk fully fashioned seamed stockings with reinforced heels and toes.

I was to look the perfect picture of a spoiled slim upper middle class mature woman. My body is always hairless, apart from what is on my head. Today I was looking perfect, I knew that. I was as always, afraid. I can assure my readers that this is all absolutely true. It may be hard for others to imagine, but there are those of us who need pain and humiliation. I don’t know why. I need to meet men who are brutes and thugs, especially ugly ones. This was, if his picture was true, was extremely ugly and powerfully built.

Part Two

I arrived at the apartment block’s car park security gate and buzzed to be let in. Carefully backing my white BMW sport into an ample parking space and grabbing my big black Louis Vuitton handbag, then looking out of the windscreen to be shocked by the sheer size of the very ugly man walking towards me.

Smoothing down my tight Yves St Laurent skirt, I then removed my key and clicked open the car door. By this time the man was up close leering down at me, taking hold of the door and watching hungrily as I kept my black stocking clad legs close together to swing them modestly onto the tarmac and get to my high heeled feet.

‘You look lovely my dear’ he said in a deep phlegmy voice. I blushed under my make up, feeling the warmth of my cheeks on this cool autumn day. ‘Thank you’ I said in my naturally feminine voice.

I felt an arm wrap around my waist as I flipped the door lock remote, popping the key into my bag. Looking up into his fat face, I saw beady brown eyes looking into my big blue ones. His treble chins were marked with black stubble and his bald head shone in the afternoon sunshine.

Once again, I wondered what I was letting myself in for as he increased the pressure on my back, rasping ‘This way my dear.’

His apartment was on the first floor, which was not too much of a struggle in my pencil skirt and five inch black patent leather heels. The man dropped behind me on the stairs, obviously because he liked watching the sway of my hips and wiggle of my tightly clad bottom as I click clacked up the stairway. ‘Like your stockings bitch, love ladies in seamed stockings. My God you’re asking for it you f-cking slut.’There was anger in his voice.

Stepping in front of me, I saw how big his hand when we got to his door at the end of a short corridor. He was looking down at me. I could smell stale breath and the warmth of it on my powdered cheek. I hesitated as the door swung open, only to feel that big hand on the small of my back pushing me into the gloomy entrance hallway.

The little hallway led into a large room where a scruffy looking double bed was the centre piece. The bedclothes were dishevelled, the room smelling of sweat. Looking around I saw two photos of a man in soldier’s uniform. He followed my gaze. ‘Three tours in Northern Ireland’ he whispered sown into my ear. ‘Lots of whores over there, but none as posh as you. I like f-cking whore. You’re gonna find out in a minute you c-nt.’

My sex knew it was the target of his anger and lust. I was tingling there, fear and the inevitably of my helpless moment of orgasm at his mercy making me feel light headed.

Within a few seconds of entering the sweaty smelling bedroom, the man had me pressed up against a wall, one hand pulling at the gold buttons on my fitted tailored jacket and the other trying to pull up my skirt. His face then came down to meet mine. ‘Nice fat lips you slut. Now open them and let my tongue in.’ I could see rotten teeth and smell rancid breath. Then his lips were on mine, his tongue probing my rose red painted lips, pushing into my mouth, his saliva oozing into me.’ Giving up for a moment on pulling up my skirt and black satin slip, he moved both hands onto my bottom, gripping my buttocks and pulling me against him, tongue and powerful hands locking me to him,more devouring me than kissing me. Pulling back slightly, still gripping my bottom, he whispered ‘Nice arse you little slut and I am gonna thrash and fuck it so hard you won’t sit down for a week.’

I was struggling to breath with his weight against me. He had my jacket fully unbutton, exposing the satin and lace top of my black satin and lace Jenet Reiger full length slip,grabbing my burgeoning little tits through the satin cups that were pampering them. His fingers were very strong, his expression cruel as he pulled and twisted my big nipples. I whimpered which pleased him. He stared hard into my face. ‘You were made for men like me you fucking whore. I wanna make you cry. My velvet gloved hand let go of my handbag, my body went limp, surrendering to whatever he wanted to do to me.

His hands were on my shoulders tugging my jacket off. I eased tward him to stop him damaging the expensive garment. My nipples hardened as he gazed hungrily at my satin and lace covered little tits. In an instant he balled his right hand into a fist then punched each one of them right and left and right again. ‘Slut, slut slut.’ I felt so humiliated and helpless, I thought I was going to cum in my tight satin pantie corsolette.

Then he stood back. ‘Get that bl--dy skirt off whore. Let’s see what you got.’His voice was rasping, his expression angry. Nervously, hands shaking, I undid the side zip, then the button on the tight waistband. There was a sexy swishing sound as I eased the skirt down over the luscious shimmering satin of my full slip, stepping out of it, picking up the matching jacket and folding both garments.

He allowed me to put both neatly on a chair before pushing me back up against the wall. ‘Now my fun begins’ he sneered, his big hands feeling me through my delicate satin undies, easing up the deep lace hemline to expose my stocking tops, six strap suspender belt and the tight vee of my satin pantie corsolette, the pantie crushing my little bald sex flat like a girls, holding my tiny balls flat in front of my pubic bone, making them utterly defenceless when he drew back his fist and punched me hard there. I screamed. He laughed menacingly. ‘I told you I would make you cry you f-cking little slut.’As soon as he had said this, I felt a hand slapping me on both cheeks before being grabbed and thrown onto his dirty bed. Now I was really afraid. He was over my helpless little body, glowering down at me, his big hands all over me, on my tits and under my slip, parting my legs so that he could inflict further pain to my pantie covered mound.