Playback – Part 2 (L)

Read Part 1 of the story here.

 

(L) – This story contains strong language. 

 

“Now,” the recording said, “you are going to use your new gift.  Turn it on.”

Her left hand, which had been resting on the seat, closed around the Womanizer Duo 2.  The dark blue silicone was cool and smooth against her palm, a stark contrast to the heat of her own arousal.  Her thumb found the small, raised button on the side.  She pressed it.

A quiet hum filled the car, a low, pulsing vibration that seemed to resonate through the leather seats and into her own body.  It was a subtle, insidious sound, a promise of pleasure to come.

“Good, slut,” the recording said.  “Now, bring it to yourself.”

She hesitated for a second, her gaze flickering to Gabriel.  He was watching her now, his eyes dark, unreadable.  The calm on his face was a mask, but she knew what was beneath.  She knew the desire, the control, the thrill of her obedience.

She took a breath and brought the toy to herself.  She kept her dress pulled up, her leg still on the dashboard, completely exposed to him. She guided the tip of the Womanizer to her clit, already swollen and sensitive.

The contact was a shock.  A sudden, intense jolt of pleasure that stole her breath.  She gasped, her hips bucking, a desperate, involuntary movement that pressed the toy harder against her.  The sensation was overwhelming, a direct, focused stimulation that was unlike anything she had ever felt.  It was a pressure, a suction, a vibration all at once, a perfect storm of pleasure that threatened to consume her.

“Don’t move,” the recording warned.

She froze, her body a tight knot of anticipation, her mind a blank slate waiting for the following command.  The toy hummed against her, a constant, teasing presence that was slowly driving her mad.

“Now, turn it up,” the recording said.

Her thumb found the button again, pressing it once, then twice.  The hum grew louder, the vibration more intense.  The suction increased, a pulling, tugging sensation that sent shivers through her.  She could feel her wetness flooding her, a slick, hot response to the stimulation.

“Good girl,” the recording said.

She was lost in it, lost in the memory and the present, in the command and her own body’s response.  The pleasure was a wave, building and building, a pressure that was becoming unbearable.  She was close, so close, her body trembling on the edge of release.

Then, a flash of red brake lights filled the car.

The traffic light.  They were stopped at a red light.

Panic, cold and sharp, cut through the fog of her arousal.  Andrea’s eyes darted around, her body tensing.  A family was in the car next to them, the mother in the front, two kids in the back.  The little girl in the car seat was staring aimlessly out the window into the sky.

There was no way she could be seen—she knew that.  It was impossible for her exposed sex to be seen through the solid car door below the window.  It was probably impossible for anyone to even tell that her clothing was rearranged to expose her to the open air.  No one in that car even seemed the slightest bit interested in looking in this direction.

Nonetheless, Andrea’s heart hammered against her ribs.  She felt a blush creep up her neck, a hot, prickling sensation of shame.  She slumped down in her seat, her leg starting to slide off the dashboard.  She tried to cover herself, her free hand moving to pull her dress down, to hide the toy, to hide the evidence of her arousal.

“No.”

It was Gabriel.  Not the recording.  Him.  His voice was calm, quiet, but it cut through her panic with the authority of a slap.

Andrea froze, her hand hovering over her dress.

“Leave it,” he said, still not looking at her, his eyes on the red light.  “And pull your dress up higher.”

Shame warred with the deep, ingrained need to obey.  The shame was a fleeting thing, a surface emotion that couldn’t compete with the powerful pull of her submission.  She hesitated for a second, then, slowly, deliberately, she obeyed.

Her fingers tightened on the bunched fabric of her dress.  She pulled it higher, exposing herself completely.  The cool air hit her wet, swollen flesh, a shock that made her gasp.  She could feel the heat of her own arousal, the slickness of her pussy, the way her clit throbbed under the constant suction of the toy.  She was completely exposed, her leg still on the dashboard, the toy humming against her, a beacon of her surrender in the bright daylight.

“Tinted windows,” Gabriel said, as if reading her mind.  “They’d have to be really looking to see in.”

The reassurance was a partial truth, and they both knew it.  The windows were darkened, yes, but not so dark as to block all view from outside.  They were still in a car, in traffic, in the middle of the day.  Despite the bright light outside and the darker interior, they could theoretically still be seen.  It was unlikely . . . but still possible.

The thought sent a fresh wave of arousal through her, a hot, liquid rush of pleasure that was more intense than anything the toy could produce.  The danger was real.  The exposure was real.  And it was intoxicating.

She could feel Gabriel’s gaze on her now, a physical weight that made her skin tingle.  He was watching her, watching her obey, watching her pleasure herself for him in this public place.  The thought was a revelation, a new layer to their game that she hadn’t anticipated.

On the recording, her own moan filled the car, a desperate, needy sound that she recognised instantly.  She had forgotten that she had made that sound, forgotten the raw, unfiltered pleasure that had prompted it.  Hearing it now, while she was on the verge of making the same sound, was a strange, disorienting experience.  It was like listening to a ghost, a memory made flesh and sound.

“Good girl,” the recording said.  “Now, insert it.”

Andrea’s breath quickened as she slid the toy into herself.  Its curved arm with its G-spot stimulator was designed to stimulate her internally as the puffer played on her clit.  She had forgotten about it in the rush of arousal, in the fear of being seen.

Her left hand, which had been holding the toy steady against her clit, began to move.  She guided the curved arm downwards, the smooth, cool silicone a stark contrast to the hot, wet flesh of her pussy.  She hesitated for a second, her body tensing in anticipation.

“Don’t stop,” the recording warned.

She pushed.  The curved arm slid into her, a slow, deliberate penetration that made her gasp.  The sensation was overwhelming, a fullness that sent shivers through her.  She could feel the toy stretching her, filling her, its every curve a promise of pleasure.

“All the way,” the recording said.

She obeyed, her hand moving with a newfound confidence, a certainty that came from knowing what was expected of her.  She pushed the toy deeper, until the puffer was once again flush against her clit, the internal arm lodged deep within her, the curved tip pressing against her G-spot.  The sensation was a perfect, exquisite torture, a double stimulation that sent waves of pleasure radiating through her.

“Now, turn it up,” the recording said.

Her thumb found the button again.  She pressed it once, then twice, then a third time, the toy humming with a renewed intensity.  The suction on her clit increased, a pulling, tugging sensation that made her toes curl.  The internal arm began to vibrate, a deep, rhythmic pulse that sent shivers through her.

The moan that escaped her lips was identical to the one on the recording, a desperate, needy sound that was a perfect echo of her past self.  It was a strange, disorienting experience, a feedback loop of pleasure and memory, the past and present blurring into one.

“Good girl,” the recording said.

She began to move, her hips rocking in a slow, rhythmic motion, fucking herself with the toy.  The glistening silicone, slick with her wetness, slid in and out of her, a perfect, obscene rhythm.  Each withdrawal was a tease, a promise of the pleasure to come.  Each thrust was a jolt, a shock of intense, almost painful pleasure that made her gasp.  She was lost in it, lost in the memory and the present, in the command and her own body’s response.

“Fuck your pussy with it, you slut,” the recording said, the words a harsh, degrading caress.

She obeyed, her movements becoming more urgent, more desperate.  She could hear the wet, sucking sounds of her own arousal, the slick slide of the toy in and out of her.  She could see the way the glistening silicone pulled out her wetness, a clear, viscous fluid that coated the toy in a sheen of her own making.  The sight was obscene, intoxicating, a visual confirmation of her own surrender.

And then, Gabriel spoke.

His voice was a low murmur, a quiet counterpoint to the recording, the present asserting itself over the past.  He was looking at her now, his eyes dark, unreadable, but the intensity of his gaze was a physical weight that made her skin tingle.

“Hold on,” he said, the words a gentle command, a soft-spoken threat.  “Not yet.”

Andrea froze, her hips ceasing their motion.  The toy, still buried deep within her, hummed with a quiet, insistent energy.  The constant stimulation was a torturous pleasure, a promise of release that was being deliberately denied.

“I want you to make it last,” he continued, his voice a low, seductive purr.  “I want to see you ride that edge.  I want to see you beg for it with your body.”

His words were a balm and a challenge all at once.  They soothed the frantic, desperate need for release, replacing it with a deeper, more profound need to obey.  She was a marionette, and he was the puppeteer, pulling her strings, dictating her pleasure, her pain, her every breath.

“Keep going,” he said, his eyes still on her, his gaze a physical touch.  “Slowly.”

She began to move again, her hips rocking in a slow, deliberate rhythm.  The toy slid in and out of her, a glistening, obscene spectacle.  She was a performer, and he was her only audience, the world outside the car a forgotten, irrelevant backdrop.

“Show yourself,” he commanded.

Her left hand, which had been holding the toy steady against her clit, moved to her own thigh.  She spread her labia with her fingers, pulling back the delicate folds of flesh to expose the hard, swollen nub of her clit, the slick, wet entrance of her pussy.  She wanted him to see everything, to see the effect he had on her, to see the evidence of her surrender.

Her right hand picked up the toy and plunged it once again into her heat.  Her left hand reached over across the centre console.  Her fingers found the hard, warm bulge of his erection through the fabric of his trousers.  She squeezed, a possessive, demanding gesture that was both a plea and a command.

He let out a soft groan, a sound of pleasure and approval that made her heart sing.  His reaction was a confirmation, a reward for her obedience.  She began to rub her palm against his length with a slow, steady pressure, her fingers tracing the outline of his hardness.

But her focus was fractured, torn between the toy inside her, the feel of him in her hand, and the overwhelming, all-consuming pleasure that was building within her.  Her mind was a haze of sensation, a whirlwind of lust and submission.  She was losing herself, losing control, and the thought was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

The car slowed.  The smooth tarmac gave way to the slight bump at the car park entrance.  The familiar, mundane sight of the supermarket appeared before them, a sea of parked cars, a concrete desert of consumerism.  The world was intruding, and the thought was a sudden, sharp jolt of panic.

“Please,” she gasped, her voice a raw, desperate plea.  “Please, Sir.”

He didn’t answer.  He just drove, finding a parking space with an easy, practised motion.  He pulled in, the engine still running, the toy still humming inside her.  He turned the wheel, straightening the car, a simple, everyday action that was charged with a new, illicit meaning.  He was a predator, and he had found the perfect place to corner his prey.

He stopped the car.  The sudden silence was a shock.

“Now,” he said, his voice calm and clear, a final, absolute command.  “You may cum.”

The word was a key, turning a lock deep within her.  The pleasure that had been building, a slow, steady pressure, suddenly broke, a dam bursting, a tidal wave of release.  It started in her clit, a sharp, electric jolt that shot through her, making her cry out.  Then it spread, a hot, liquid rush of pleasure that flooded her senses, a wave of bliss that washed over her, again and again, each crest higher than the last.  She could feel her pussy clenching around the toy, her muscles contracting in a rhythmic, uncontrollable spasm.  Her back arched, her hips bucking, her body enslaved to the overwhelming, all-consuming pleasure.  She was lost in it.  She was a vessel of pleasure, a conduit for his will, and the thought was a revelation, a new layer to their game that she hadn’t anticipated.  A long, drawn-out moan escaped her lips, a desperate, needy sound that was a perfect echo of the recording, a ghost of her past self.

When the waves subsided, she was left limp, breathless, her body a quivering, satisfied mess.  The toy, still buried deep within her, hummed with a quiet, insistent energy, a constant reminder of her surrender.

She could feel his gaze on her, a physical weight that made her skin tingle.  He was watching her, watching her recover, watching her obey, watching her pleasure herself for him in this public place.  She met his gaze, her eyes glassy with joy, a lazy, satisfied smile playing on her lips.  The shame was gone, replaced by a deep, profound sense of connection, a shared intimacy that was more potent than any orgasm.

“Let me taste,” she said, the words a husky, seductive murmur.

He didn’t answer.  He just watched, his eyes dark, unreadable, but so intense that she shivered.

She began to move, her fingers closing around the toy’s base.  She pulled it out, a slow, deliberate withdrawal that made her gasp.  The curved arm, glistening with her wetness, slid out of her.  She held it up, a glistening, silvery offering, a proof of her pleasure.

He took it from her, not roughly, but with a firm, possessive grip.  He didn’t say a word.  He just brought the toy to his lips.  He closed his mouth around the curved arm, his tongue swirling around the slick surface, tasting her.  The sight was obscene, intoxicating, a visual confirmation of his possession.

He held the toy in his mouth, his lips wrapped around it, his eyes on her.  His other hand reached over the centre console and his fingers found the wet, swollen folds of her pussy.  He didn’t hesitate.  He plunged two fingers inside her, a sudden, forceful intrusion that made her gasp.  His thumb found her clit, already sensitive, still throbbing with the aftershocks of her orgasm.  He began to rub, a slow, deliberate pressure that sent a fresh wave of arousal through her.  He was claiming her, marking her, his touch a brand on her skin.

Andrea moaned, her body arching, a desperate, involuntary response to his possession.  Her hips bucked, a slow, rhythmic motion, a silent plea for more.  She could feel the heat of her own arousal, the slickness of her pussy, the way her body responded to him, a perfect, obedient instrument of his will.

They stayed like that for a long, silent moment, the world outside the car forgotten.  He was in control, and she was his, a perfect, beautiful symbiosis of dominance and submission.

Then, a new sound filled the car.

It was faint at first, a soft, rhythmic whisper that could have been mistaken for interference.  But it grew louder, more distinct, a familiar, obscene soundtrack to their game.  It was the sound of their lovemaking, a recording of a different encounter, a different memory made flesh and sound.  And on that recording, she could hear the rhythmic slap of skin against skin, the wet, sucking sounds of her own arousal, and Gabriel’s deep, guttural groans.  And underneath it all, her own desperate, needy moans.

Gabriel smiled, a slow, predatory curve of his lips.  He released the toy, letting it fall into her lap, a slick reminder of her surrender.  He turned up the volume, the sound of their past lovemaking filling the car, a constant, insistent reminder of their connection.

“I want you,” she said, the words a husky, seductive murmur.

He didn’t answer at first.  Then, he reached down and picked up her knickers from the seat, the delicate lace feeling damp with her arousal, another small, intimate evidence of her surrender.

“Come,” he said, his voice a quiet command, a final, absolute instruction.  “We shop.”

He opened the door and got out of the car, leaving her alone in the sudden, overwhelming silence.  He didn’t look back.  He didn’t need to. He knew she would follow.

Andrea took a deep breath, the air thick with the scent of her own arousal, the lingering taste of their pleasure.  She looked at the toy, glistening and obscene on her lap.  She looked at the damp spot on the leather seat, a small, dark stain that was proof of her surrender.  She could feel the wetness between her legs, the slick, hot evidence of her desire.  She was a mess, a beautiful, obedient mess, and the thought buried itself deep in her mind.  This was a new layer to their game that she hadn’t anticipated.

She opened the door and stepped out of the car, her legs a little shaky, her body still humming with the aftershocks of her orgasm, and followed him through the entrance to the supermarket.