An Attachment Is Made Ch. 02

Part 2 — Junction

Sally really did not know what to do. A message for her in a container pushed into her vagina without her knowing anything about it. That could not be: but yet it was.

She wanted to talk about it but couldn't seem to get the words out to her friend, Jessie, at work. It was too unreal, too peculiar to start with—how could she explain it to Jessie or Jerry. And could she confide in him, given she was (probably anyway) about to dump him. She was subdued all day and not exact­ly brilliant company with Jerry and his friends that evening.

Back at Jerry's flat she had tried to make the effort. She'd dropped her clothes to the floor, as soon as they were in.

"I'm sorry I've been so dull this evening Jerry, I've been a naughty girl and need spanking."

He'd picked her up in his arms, she liked a man to do that and put her over the settee back. She'd been helpless, her bottom in the air, the material of the settee-back on her nipples. And he had spread her legs.

"No, headmaster, please don't stick your thing in me I haven't been that bad." She giggled trying to forget what was really on her mind. Trying to make it good for Jerry, play acting, trying to make amends.

There was a pause. Was Jerry going to stick himself in her? She could feel herself moistening in anticipation not like the morning. No, she mustn't think of that, mustn't spoil Jerry's evening and Monday was a long time away. But what had happened, what....

She jumped—what was Jerry doing? It tickled, he was tickling her bottom, no, her bottom hole, her arse, with a feather—and it tickled. She tried to rise but in her position, his hand on her shoulders and standing between her thighs there was nothing she could do but submit to the tickling. It was almost unbearable, she was ticklish and, of course, her bottom was very sensitive. She wriggled and cried,

"Stop, stop, please I'll do anything..."

But Jerry obviously knew that.

"Please, please Headmaster, I'll suck your cock every day, I'll..."

There was a pause and then the smacking started. Still Sally could do nothing and she had, after all, asked for it. She was excited now, properly wet, she wanted Jerry's fingers between her thighs, touching, stroking teasing.

"Please, please your big cock, Headmaster."

But it was not fingers or the smooth dome of Jerry's inevitably hard cock but the feather again. It tickled her clit and she squirmed in pleasure as it light­ly flicked again and again.

There was a pause and then she'd felt it. Jerry's big cock sliding slowly and easily into her right up to the hilt. He'd stroked in and out, sliding on her wetness for quite a time as she'd squirmed helpless, bent over the settee be­fore he'd withdrawn still holding her down.

"Time for bed," he'd said but not before he had pushed the quill end of the peacock's feather into her bottom so when, at last, she'd been allowed to stand up she had had to walk around with it sticking out of her bottom like a tail.

"It suits you," he'd said and she had chased him into the bedroom where they had fallen on the bed and fucked to a mutual orgasm.

Later, in bed, she'd tried to tell Jerry but the words wouldn't seem to come and almost immediately, of course, he was asleep. Sally lay beside him awake for a long time thinking about what had happened. How, who, why? Well, the why seemed pretty obvious. A month, a month only. Should she tell the police, what, that she'd been raped on the train (had she?), what had that women seen? The woman had said 'the guard' — was it him? He'd certainly been around a lot and been, well, not quite odd. But how? It was a long time before Sally slept.

Monday came around. Sally was feeling defiant—and why not to some­thing she did not understand and could not, in any case, possibly be real? Her bra and panties were definitely on, as she was sure they had been on Friday with a blue blouse and a jacket. It was an uneventful journey despite her initial worry when she had got on, all the way until the station when the other train joined. She had heard the usual announcement,

"Ladies and gentlemen an attachment is about to be made. Please stand clear of the closing doors."

Once again, she had that odd feeling of displacement and looked around the carriage but the guard was not to be seen. Sally was about to turn back to her magazine when she noticed the young men opposite staring at her, staring at her chest and nudging each other. To her shock and dismay she realised all she now had on were her trousers and jacket. Through the opening of her jack­et her pinky-brown nipples were peering out like little pink piggy noses sens­ing the air—much to the pleasure of the young men opposite. The jacket was a short one. Sally did not like to think of the embarrassment had her trousers gone as well. She buttoned the jacket up tight and tried to ignore the young men. Her mind was in a whirl. The guard, if it was he, had struck again—most effectively—and there was clearly nothing she could do about it.

Sally was not surprised to feel something inside her again as she got up to get off the train. She understood the import of the cryptic 'message box.' What would it say now? And would she have to buy a pink blouse to wear on the morrow?

'One, two, three and the blouse is gone!

Honestly, I would still like you as my friend, I mean no harm, just for you to be a plaything for a month—what is the difficulty in that?

So Tuesday morning it is Pink blouse for yes: blue blouse for no.

Pink blouse for instructions in the message box

Blue blouse then...

Your friend.'

Friend? Sally snorted; hardly the actions of a friend.

Sally wanted to talk, wanted to tell but couldn't. Couldn't get the words out if she tried—and she did try explaining to Jessie but the words just did not seem to come.

There was nothing for it. She could miss a day or two at work but then she would have to go back, it was just putting off the time. Could she go a different way to work—difficult—the train was the only sensible way without a car and driving into London every day was not ideal even if she had a car (and could drive).

A rather worried Sally, in a pink blouse, sat on the train Tuesday morn­ing, magazine in her lap. Nothing very strange happened. The guard came down the carriage and smiled at her just the same as on Friday and said,

"Thank you, miss."

As he took her ticket. She frowned at him. Was that a thank you for the ticket or the pink blouse? He just nodded at her and kept smiling.

"Very good, miss, very good."

There was, though, a message, a message she found later in its silver con­tainer, a message hidden in her...

'Well done. That's the ticket!

Thought I'd see you in the pink.

Thursday evening at the junction. Wait outside the station.

Your friend.'

What junction? It must be the station where the trains were joined.

It was not, of course, her usual stop. Sally ordinarily just passed through that town and station on the train but this time, on the Thursday evening, she got off and stood in trepidation outside the station with a small bag. Was she staying? She had brought her night things and clothes for the next day at work. What was going to happen? She could not think it would be anything but sex—sex with a stranger—cheating on Jerry but she was still in two minds about him. Perhaps she would know about him by the end of the month, the month mentioned in the cryptic message.

Sally looked about her. Commuters were hurrying home and not giving her a second glance. She felt something in her hand—a piece of paper.

'Good to see you. You are looking a peach.

Walk down Station Approach, turn right, and then left.

Your friend.'

Sally started walking. How was he doing this? Was this magic? She turned right then left, should she keep walking? Another paper appeared in her hand and she followed the instructions

'Up the street, first left, second right, no. 32.

Your friend.'

He was taking her to his house. She walked up his street looking for no. 32. The door was open Sally walked in.

She stood in the hallway and put her bag down. There was no sign of any­body and she was uncertain what to do. After a moment she called "hallo."

All of a sudden the door into the front room was open. She walked in and there he was—it was indeed the guard—sitting in a chair. He rose,

"Hallo Miss, good of you to come."

Sally's hands went to her hips. "What do you want?"

"Wasn't my message clear?"

"Yes."

"Well you tell me!"

"Plaything, you wrote."

"Yes, meaning?"

Sally didn't like to say it, didn't like to say it about herself, "Sex toy, sex object, you want to have sex with me for a month."

"Yes, please, and?"

"And?"

"And what else."

"Else?" Sally thought back to the notes.

It came to her. "Be my friend! Hardly. What sort of friend does this?"

"Does what?"

"Whatever you do?"

"And how do you think I do that?"

"I don't know—magic, hypnosis, whatever."

"It would be a much nicer month if we are friends, you know. Surely you don't want me forcing you."

"You've already done that once."

"Well yes, so I have, but not really forced—you didn't resist did you?" He chuckled. "Didn't even know about it 'til I let you. Didn't you like coming on the train, all of a sudden? I'd really prefer if you were willing. It's only for a month, after all, that's a promise."

"This is not willing."

"You have come all prepared to stay the night though."

"No I haven't."

"You have—it's all in your bag."

"You can't have looked, you haven't had the time."

"Ah, well, that's the trick, you see, I have all the time in the world." He smiled. "I can stop time at will."

Sally looked blankly at him but then he wasn't there.

"You see, I just stop time and move, then restart and hey presto, nobody knows what I've done in the meantime or mean-not-time if you like." The voice came from behind her.

Sally whirled around and the guard was sitting just as before but in a chair behind her.

"So it was easy to remove your bra, your panties and, another time, your blouse—even fuck you—and there was nothing you could do about it!"

"But the orgasm. I don't just come like that."

"Well, I have found that a little whispering, when time has stopped, in someone's ear has a certain force. It's odd but people seem to act on it. So miss, how is it to be, because we might as well get started. Are you going to take those clothes off for me all by yourself because, whilst I have seen every­thing there is to see and have taken your clothes off before, having you animat­ed will be so much better; or would you prefer if I just take them off you as you stand still unknowing as a statue or shall I whisper in your ear and you find yourself doing a strip tease? I am sure I can find some appropriate music. I'd prefer the former, so much more being friends!"

Sally did not know what to say.

"Would you prefer," he went on, "would you be less embarrassed if I got naked first?" He got up and took off his jacket.

"I..." it was coming to Sally that she really was about to have sex with this man. His tie was off now.

"I'm not sure about this," she said as his shirt came off.

He wasn't a bad looking bloke. Shorter than Jerry but, like him, not gone to fat, tight bottom and actually not bad looking. If she was going to have to have sex with this man it could have been worse: he could have been flabby and fifty or sixty whereas the guard was only about thirty and certainly in rea­sonable trim.

"Look, do we really have to do this? Can't I just leave and forget about it?" His shoes and socks were off now and his hand was on his belt.

"Come on, miss, I've gone to a bit of trouble to get you here. Now how's it to be—voluntarily, it just to happen or under the influence? You decide, but I did say I'd strip first so you weren't embarrassed."

Embarrassed? This wasn't about embarrassment thought Sally. But then there he was completely naked. She couldn't help herself, her eyes dropped to his cock. It was going to be in her in a few minutes and there was nothing she could do to stop that. Unless she sucked him off, of course, but that would just be putting off intercourse probably until the morning — he would no doubt want to fuck before work. What should she do, what could she do?

He was looking at her expectantly. With a shrug of her shoulders Sally began to remove her pink blouse. The guard smiled and nodded,

"Just the ticket," he'd said.