The Garage

When I was small my mother used to say that after God made me he broke the mould. She lied. There are thousands like me in every town and village and you can find us all waiting at the school gates every afternoon ready to pick up our two point four children and take them back to our identical new build boxes on the new estate in the leafy suburbs in the nicer parts of town. We’re the wives, the mothers, the carers and I’m a fully paid up member of the club. School plays, violin practice, cubs scouts, Sunday football, swimming practice; I’m right there ferrying the little darlings hither and thither, filling their lunch boxes, ironing their clothes and in all ways possible being the perfect mum.

But it’s not just the kids I have to look after, far from, for if you’re not there for your man then it’s your fault if he strays, or so says the school gate gossip. We may be the liberated generation but you would never guess it around here. Domestic goddess in the kitchen, nursemaid in the playroom and whore in the bedroom; these are the roles we have to aspire to and it doesn’t come easy. His status depends not just on the job but also on his acquisitions like the car, the house and, of course, the “little woman” and to boost his ego we’re expected to look our best at all times. Hours down the gym keeping the body fit and trim, trips to the beauty parlour and, of course, exactly the right designer labels  all combine together to show the world just how successful he was to bag you.  And then, when the kids are asleep, it’s upstairs to bed where, with the lights out it’s a quick grope followed by wham, bang, thank you ma’am and as long as he’s satisfied then where’s the problem.

The one plus side; I’ve always had a soft spot for sexy clothes and Roger, my husband, sees pandering to my Janet Reger and Jimmy Choos habit as part and parcel of looking after his possessions and there’s nothing like fine undies and beautiful shoes to help you look and feel your best even when doing something as mundane as the school run.

But I was bored, bored with the mundaneness of it all. Bored of the pettiness of lives measured out by who’s got the biggest SUV or who went on the most exotic holiday let alone whose kid won the most prizes at sports day. Bored of a social whirl that consisted of cocktail parties with neighbours and work collages where lukewarm chardonnay and Marks and Sparks “nibbles” let people get just drunk enough that the “friendly” grope by Roger’s boss was somehow deemed acceptable and I’d be a party-pooper if I were to make a fuss about it. Anyway, making a fuss might imperil Roger’s annual bonus so I had to bite it back.

So maybe it was boredom that made me do it. I can’t think of any other reason.

It all started with a flat tyre. I was down in town trying to track down a new bit for Roger’s home gym. The supplier’s warehouse was located in a set of lockups underneath the railway arches down an old cobbled lane around the back of the docks which is just about as off the beaten track as it sounds. The sat-nav was leading me through the maze of backstreets when the car lurched and slewed to the right. I got out and, tiptoeing gingerly around the oily puddles, I went to the front of the car and had a look. Technology isn’t my strong point but it didn’t take much to see that one of the front tyres was completely flat and I was going nowhere. Even if I had known what to do white jeans and a pale cotton blouse, let alone designer heels, are not the clothes to be doing it in so I looked around for help. There, two doors down, was an auto repair shop and so I set off to see what I could find.

As I approached I found that the double doors sealing off the archway were padlocked but the Judas door was ajar so I knocked a couple of times and, getting no answer, went on it. The inside was dark and grimy, much as you’d expect from a working garage in a place like this and, at first it seemed unoccupied. A large Mercedes which was propped up at the far end took up the main body of the archway but there was plenty of room to make my way past looking for someone to help me. I called out ‘hello’ a couple of times but got no answer and was just about to leave when a loud curse told me that someone was, indeed, here. I looked again and at the front of the Merc where a pair of legs sticking out indicated that someone was busy working underneath so I leant down and tapped them gently. The owner of the legs was lying on a sort of trolley and they pushed themselves out from under and, for the first time, I saw her.

The woman that emerged was Rosie The Riveter’s rougher, tougher sister; whilst quite obviously a woman she made no concessions whatsoever to femininity. Her oil-stained overalls were tied off around her waist revealing a singlet that had once been dark blue cotton but had seen far better days. The singlet was tight enough to show every ripple of her well muscled body and to reveal that she was not wearing a bra. Her light brown hair was short cropped which only emphasised her toughness, that along with the numerous tattoos on each arm. She took off the iPod headphones she was wearing and looked up at me with the impatience of one whose work has been disturbed.

“Well?” She asked.

For the life of me I don’t know what came over me. I couldn’t speak, I was transfixed, my heart was racing and my throat was dry. I still can’t explain just what it was about her, I’ve never been into women, I’m as straight as an arrow, but there was something about her that I responded to in a very physical way. Was I scared, well, sort of, she is a pretty scary character, but it was far more like a rabbit caught in headlights, fatally fascinated by their ultimate doom. All I could do was stare.

“Well? Come on, I haven’t got all day.” She repeated.

“My car…” I managed to stutter. “The front tyre…”

“And you want me to fix it?”

“Please, would you?”

She stood up slowly and walked round me looking me up and down. It was as if I were being weighed in some sort of balance and found wanting. I kept wondering whether she would touch me and wasn’t sure whether I wanted her to or not. I was now really scared and was about to run away when…

“We’d best have a look at it then. Where is it?” The woman seemed to have come to some sort of decision.

“Outside, out in the alleyway.”

“Come along then.”

Together we went out to where my car was waiting. She went over and squatted down next to the tyre to inspect it.

“You’ve got the luck of the devil. I just so happen to have one of these in the back of the lockup. It’ll only take ten minutes or so to fit it. We’d best move the car out of the middle of the alleyway. Give us the keys?”

I passed the car keys to the woman who went back into the lockup, opened up the doors and returned carrying a plastic seat cover. She then jumped in and manoeuvred the car until it was just inside the lockup tight against the tail end of the Merc.

I could only stand and watch as, with practiced skill, she jacked up the car and removed the wheel. Again I felt the overwhelming physical attraction; it wasn’t that she was beautiful in any ordinary sense of the word but she was so strong and sure of herself, so self contained, so different from anyone I had ever met before and I was mesmerized; I couldn’t help but stare. She swung the wheel up onto some sort of bench and, as she did so, her unconstrained breasts moved beneath her singlet. I wondered what it must be like to be so strong and yet still so much a woman. I wanted to touch her, to feel her skin but more than that, I wanted her to touch me, to grab me, to…

With a start I pulled myself together. The thoughts that had rushed unbidden to my mind were thoughts of being taken, held, molested, raped and, to my horror, that didn’t terrify me but turned me on! I could feel myself beginning to panic, my heart was racing, I had to calm down, I had to…

The woman looked up and gave me a smile but that didn’t calm me, it was the smile of a predator and I was her prey.

“Are you OK?” She asked. “You seem a little on edge. Perhaps you should sit down.” She motioned towards a chair over in a corner which, like everything else in the lockup, was covered in a thin film of oil.

“No, I’m OK.” I lied. There was no way I could sit on the chair without ruining my jeans.

“Well, if you say so.” She turned back to her work and, after a few minutes had the new tyre fitted and inflated. Effortlessly picked it up and headed back towards the car. As she squeezed past me and I was pushed back against the wall in my efforts to get out of her way.

“Careful, now.” She joked. “You don’t want to get dirt all over your nice clean clothes, do you?”

“No, no, of course not.” I replied but all the time I was thinking that someone who could manhandle a heavy wheel like that would have no trouble manhandling me.

With practiced movements he fitted the wheel back on and lowered the jack.

“There you are, good as new.” She wiped off her hands on a piece of rag. “Come on back and we’ll sort out the paperwork.” I followed her through to the back of the lockup where there a makeshift office had been partitioned off. A desk, a chair and a couple of filing cabinets were all it had room for and she sat down behind the desk and pulled out a receipt book. Although it was cleaner than the workshop there were still oil marks everywhere so I remained standing rather than use the ‘customer’ chair. The woman found a notepad, searched in a draw for a rubber stamp, wrote out the receipt and, after a little work with my credit card, I had paid for the new tyre. However, once the transaction had gone through she didn’t return my card but stood up and held it in her hand just out of my reach.

“A new tyre’s not the only thing you want around here, is it?” Her whole tone had changed.

“What… What do you mean?” I had calmed down as we did the paperwork but suddenly I was very scared again, scared, and something else as well.

“I mean, my pretty little thing, that I saw the way you were watching me. Your tongue was practically hanging out; you couldn’t get enough of me, could you? I know that look; I know what it means. You la-di-da types, you think you’re better than us. You’re all prim and proper on the outside but inside you’re all hot and bothered and gagging for a bit of rough, aren’t you? What’s up, girl? Husband not giving you the shag you need, eh? Fancy some hot girl-on-girl action?”

“No, I’m not like that, really, I’m not. Please, you’re scaring me. Please give me my card and let me go.” I was close to tears.

“Come and get it then.” She waved the card at me but, as I stepped forward, she dropped the card on the desk, grabbed me, spun me against the wall and pinned me there with her strong hands gripping me by the shoulders.

I knew I should be scared, I was scared, but the feel of her powerful hands pinning me to the wall sent a thrill through me the likes of which I’d never known before. I felt scared but I felt alive. Still holding me with one hand she reached for my blouse with the other and ripped it open sending buttons flying about the room.

“Oh, pretty.” With her free hand she fondled my breasts through the fine lace of my bra, running her thumb back and forth over my nipple, feeling it harden through the thin fabric. “Very pretty indeed.”

She cupped my left breast in her hand and eased her thumb under the lace of the bra until my breast popped out exposing my nipple. Taking it between her thumb and forefinger she squeezed hard until I gave a little cry.

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it.” She gave my nipple another squeeze. “Isn’t it?”

All the time I had just stood there, unable to move, unable to resist. The sensible me knew I should tell her to stop, knew I should run away, but, as she tweaked my nipple yet again sending another bolt of lightning through me, something dark and animal within me just wanted to surrender and I was powerless to deny it.

“Please…” I half whispered.

“Please what? Do you want me to stop?” Again she tweaked my nipple. “All you have to do is ask. Well, do you?”

I looked into her eyes and saw nothing but amused contempt. Whatever game this was she had me caught and she knew it. Every fibre of my being was screaming at me to get out and run away…

“Please don’t stop.” There, I’d said it, god knows why. I bowed my head in shame.

“Yeah, now we’re getting to the truth. Do I make you hot and horny?” She laughed. “Do I get your juices flowing?”

“I… I…” I started but my mouth was dry and I couldn’t continue.

“Can’t tell me? Cat got your tongue? We’d better have a look then, hadn’t we?”

She stopped playing with my breast and reached for my waist. Her fingers yanked at my belt undoing the buckle and then popping open the button at the waistband of my jeans. All the while I just stared at the floor as my arms hung uselessly by my sides, I was too overcome to either resist or help. With my jeans now loosened I felt her hand thrust beneath the waistband of my panties and on down to my waiting crotch; I even moved my legs apart to help her. She pushed her hand further until her fingers found, parted and entered my waiting slit. The ease with which she penetrated me spoke volumes, that along with the groan of pleasure she forced from my lips; whatever the shame and humiliation I might be feeling my body couldn’t help but betray my arousal. She pushed her fingers deep inside me before removing her hand and holding her fingers, still glistening with my juices, in front of my face.

“Hot and ready to trot. Just as I thought. You horny little housewives are all the same; uptight bitches, the lot of you, but when faced with a real woman your cunt drips with need.”

Without waiting for a reply she pushed her hand back into my jeans and, cupping her fingers up back into my waiting pussy, started to rhythmically rub against my sex. Meanwhile she pushed herself against me, coming in close, crushing me against the wall. There was neither finesse nor subtlety about what she was doing but I wanted neither and, unable to help myself, I was responding, humping her hand, pushing myself towards my fast approaching climax.

“That’s it, little girl, don’t be shy, come for me, come for Rhonda. Come for me, now!” She snarled in my ear.

And come I did. Never, ever, had I felt anything like it. Her coarse brutality between my thighs was far more erotic than a lover’s caress. My senses exploded, pushed beyond what they could cope with and I was consumed with a burning pleasure which seemed to flood from deep within me. I lost all control and if it were not for the woman I now knew to be Rhonda pinning me against the wall, my rag-doll body would have collapsed in a heap. As the last animal cry was squeezed from my lips Rhonda stopped rubbing and just gripped her hand inside me, squeezing, pulling, almost lifting me off my feet. For a long, long moment she held me there like that before standing back and letting go and, without her support, I slumped to the floor, exhausted and drained.

Eventually, once the room stopped spinning, I looked up and saw her standing over me.

“Had enough?” She asked.

“Enough, yes, enough.” I panted. “But… but what about you?” Even after being raped I couldn’t help my manners. It had all seemed a little “one way” to me.

“What makes you think a little housewife like you could have anything that I might want?” Her derision was clear, as if I were beneath contempt. “I’m more woman that you could ever handle; I play rougher than you have ever dreamed of. You’ve had your thrills, little girl, now get your kit back on and get the fuck out of here.”

Still shaking I clambered to my feet and pulled up my jeans from where they had fallen around my thighs. My crotch and my panties were a sodden mess, so much so that it looked as if I had peed myself; it would seem that the flooding sensation had been very real and my sticky juices were everywhere. When I turned to my blouse I found that half the buttons were missing and, unable to fasten it, I ended up tying it off at the bottom showing far more cleavage than I was comfortable with. All the while Rhonda just looked on amused at my discomfort.

“Run away, little girl, run back to your husband, run back to your safe little life with its safe little rules. You haven’t got the guts to play with the likes of me; I’d chew you up and spit you out like the little nothing you are.”

From anyone else this would have been bravado but Rhonda didn’t just talk the talk; she had already shown me that she could walk the walk as well. It was hurtful and humiliating to be so dismissed but she had a point. Distraught and dishevelled I turned towards the door to leave.

“Don’t forget these.” Rhonda called after me. I turned and she was holding my credit card and the receipt. With a muttered ‘thank you’ I grabbed them from her and ran.

I drove home in a daze. The alleyway was empty as I had backed the car out or the lockup and I made my way home on autopilot. Home was the only place I could go; there was no way I could continue shopping. Apart from my mental state my clothes were torn and oil stained and the large damp stain around the crotch of my jeans reeked of my arousal. I needed my home, needed to throw my clothes in the bin and needed to get under a long hot shower and scrub and scrub and scrub. Even then, when I was safe in the shower with the water cascading over me, I couldn’t scrub away the feelings, how Rhonda’s raping me was both deeply abhorrent and wildly thrilling. What was worse was how she had hinted at more, that she had hinted that she had gone gently with me. How much more did she have to give; how much more could I have taken?

I finished my shower, got dressed, and hurried off to the school gates. It was time to pick up the children; my “normal” life had reasserted itself.

*****

I tried to settle back into the old routine, really I did, but I couldn’t control my subconscious, I couldn’t control my dreams. The worst of it all was there was no one I could talk to about it, it had to be my secret. There was no way any of the school gate brigade, let alone Roger, would have understood what had happened to me. No, I had to bottle it all up inside me where it niggled away like a bad tooth. And then, on Friday night, when Roger, slightly pissed after a couple of whiskeys was demanding what he half jokingly called his conjugal rights, she was all I could think of. Roger’s pathetic attempts at foreplay, not to mention his thirty seconds of penetration, could never, would never, satisfy me the way the Rhonda had done but, by thinking of her as Roger pounded away I came as close to coming as I had ever done with him. In a way this just made it worse; now that Rhonda had introduced me to earth shattering orgasms any other sex just wouldn’t be the same. It wasn’t that I wanted to be unfaithful, per se, at heart Roger is a good man and he doesn’t deserve that, but after just one taste of forbidden fruit I craved more.

At first it was just a little niggle, at first it was something I could handle, at first it was just a memory I kept going back to but, as the days turned to weeks and the weeks turned to months I kept on fantasising about returning. More and more I'd find myself lying on my bed in the mid morning sunshine wearing out the batteries in my vibrator and letting the housework go hang as my fantasies became increasingly wild and, in my dreams, I had got the guts to play Rhonda’s games, whatever they might be.

And that, in itself, was another point of frustration. Her taunt that I hadn’t got the guts to play with her, that she was too much woman for me teased me with its implications that I was missing out, that there was something more if only I could put my fears aside and just do it. I wondered what more was involved, what it was I was missing out on. For all my fantasies I didn’t really know for sure. She liked to be in control, there was no doubt about that; was forceful sex her thing? If I were to go back how else would she force herself upon me? What else would she make me do? What else would she want of me? Significantly in my thoughts I’d gone from “I’ll never go back” to “what would happen if I were to go back.”

And the more it went on the more it niggled, the more I just had to know. I even tried doing a Google search on Roger’s home computer but all I could find were the most appalling porn sites, nothing that related to real women, nothing that would give any insight into what Rhonda was really into.

More and more I found myself finding reasons to drive through “that” part of town and even, once or twice, to drive down “that” alleyway. I’d even dress up nicely, put on a pretty dress and my best undies. One time when I parked at the top of the alleyway I even saw her but drove away in a hurry before I was spotted.

And then, at last, I couldn’t take it any more. Taking my courage in both hands I decided I was going to do it and if I were going to do it I would need to prepare myself properly. As soon as I had dropped the kids off at school I rushed home, had a long hot shower and even trimmed my bikini line. Then I carefully selected my outfit, putting together a matching ensemble in white consisting of a lacy bra, boy short panties, thigh high hold up stockings, three inch high heeled sandals and a light cotton sun dress. I looked at myself in the mirror and, whilst I’m a little long in the tooth to get away with sweet young innocence it was the look I was after.

Ready at last I drove down to “that” part of town, turned down “that” alleyway and stopped outside “that” garage. As before the main door was closed but the Judas door was ajar. For ten minutes or so I just sat in the car, building up the courage to go through with it. Shaking like a leaf and wondering what on earth I was doing I got out of the car, went over, knocked on the Judas door and let myself in.

This time, instead of the Merc, there was a pickup truck parked in the centre of the garage and Rhonda was bent over the hood whilst another woman, also dressed in overalls, sat in the cab trying to start it. There was a radio playing and they were both so absorbed in what they were doing that they didn’t notice me. I coughed to attract attention and Rhonda looked up, saw me and smiled, but not in a nice way. The other woman, seeing Rhonda look up, followed her gaze and, having seen me, got out of the cab and stood shoulder to shoulder next to Rhonda. There was an air of defiance about them; I was an unwelcome intruder into their world. I felt sick to my stomach but couldn’t back out now. I had to plough on regardless.

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat’s brought in. If it isn’t the scared little housie all dressed up and looking very pretty.” Rhonda sneered. “What’s up, more car trouble or is it something more personal that you're looking for?”

“Please, Rhonda, can we talk?”

“We’re talking now, aren’t we?” Rhonda replied. “Oh, you mean not in front of Mel, here. You don’t have to worry about Mel. Anything you want to say to me you can say in front of her, ain’t that so, Mel.”

“Where on earth did you find this one?” Mel asked Rhonda as she looked me up and down like I was something she’d found on the sole of her shoe.

“She came in a while back needing a new tyre.” Rhonda replied. “I fixed her tyre and then fixed one or two other things, didn’t I?”

“Please, Rhonda, it’s about that. I’ve got to know…” I started.

“What have you got to know?” Rhonda asked. For all her derision I could tell that her curiosity was piqued.

“Last time, when I wanted to return the favour you said I haven’t got the guts to give you what you want. What if I have? What if I agree to do whatever you ask of me?”

Rhonda came over and stood right in front of me.

“You, guts? You don’t know what you asking.” She said, quite quietly. “You poor innocent little thing. You haven’t got a clue, go home, little housie.”

“You can’t know that, not really know it. Please, I have to find out, please, don’t send me home. I need it, really I do.” I found myself pleading.

“You need it, do you? And you need it so much you’re prepared to come all the way down her and tell me you’ll do anything I tell you to? Anything? Anything at all?” Rhonda said quite plainly as if to make sure I completely understood. I nodded in reply. Rhonda seemed to think things over. “Well, if that really is the case who am I to refuse but you've got to start by asking properly. Lose the dress and get on your knees.”

“Lose the dress?” I was a little slow to catch on.

“Never, ever, answer me back!” Quick as a flash Rhonda slapped me across the face quite hard. “Now get that fucking dress off and get on your knees like the cunt you are.”

This was it; this was when it all got real, this was the point of no return. I had never been so scared but this was a direct order from Rhonda and I didn’t dare disobey. I reached for the zipper of my dress and pulled it down. Then I shrugged it off, stepped out of it, and passed it over along with my handbag to Rhonda who was holding out her hand expectantly. I looked down. The garage floor was oily and grimy but if Rhonda wanted me on my knees then down I had to go. Once I was there Rhonda strode back to stand next to Mel scrunching up my dress into a ball of cloth and tossed it, along with my handbag, onto a workbench as she did so.

“Come here. Come here, little housie, come and lie at my feet.” She ordered. I started to shuffle forward on my knees. “No, not like that, on your belly, down in the dirt where you belong.”

For maybe a heartbeat I hesitated but then wasn’t this what I wanted? I lay forward until I was full length on the floor and started to wriggle towards where Rhonda was stood. I could feel the grunge from the floor being ground into my clothes and into my skin. I’d hardly been there five minutes and my shoes and underwear were already ruined, my only consolation was that at least my dress was spared but, however much I regretted the cost to my clothes, as my belly and breasts scraped through the filth on the floor I felt my body respond, I felt my juices start to flow.

“So, what is it that little housie wants?” Rhonda asked once I was in front of them.

“Please, Rhonda, please use me as you wish.” I’d lived this moment a thousand times in my dreams and had this speech prepared. “Please, let me be your plaything.”

“Ooh, don’t she talk posh.” Mel joked. “Let me be your plaything. What sort of cunt says that?”

“Posh or not she’s got some bottle, I’ll give her that. This could be fun. Do us a favour, nip up to the flat and get the bag, you know the one I mean.” Rhonda replied.

“Why do I have to get it?” Mel asked.

“Because I say so.” Rhonda snapped back. “Now get on with it.”

“OK, OK.” Mel said as she headed towards the door. “Keep your hair on. Back in a sec.”

With Mel gone Rhonda turned her attention back to me. First she walked around me prodding at my prostrate body with the toe of her boot as if pondering. Then she went over to a tool chest, rummaged around and came back holding a length of heavy chain which she swung from her fist. I wondered if she were going to hit me with it and, if so, whether she could do so without causing serious injury but she detoured via a workbench to pick up a couple of big heavy padlocks similar to the one which fastened the main door. She ordered me back to my knees, handed me the chain and one of the padlocks and told me to fasten it around my neck. The chain was no mere decoration; it was heavy, oily, and well worn, evidently used for real work around the garage such as towing cars. It was cold and greasy as I looped it around my neck and, feeding the shackle of the padlock through two suitable links, locked it closed so it was tight but not constricting. Then I took the other end of the chain and held it out to Rhonda. I don’t think the symbolism was lost on either of us; as I offered her the chain I was offering her myself and as she took it from me she nodded slowly as if acknowledging that I had done well.

Without any further ado Rhonda set off towards the back of the lockup and, with a tug on the chain, effectively ordered me to follow. I scampered behind on my hands and knees trying my best to keep up as the chain pulled against my neck. The heavy padlock swung back and forth banging against the top of my chest and adding to the tugs on the chain. When we got to the corner Rhonda used the other padlock to fasten the chain to a staple in the wall. Then, as if chaining half naked women to her wall were a perfectly normal everyday occurrence and without saying another word to me, she went back to the pickup truck and got on with her work. I just knelt there and waited.

It wasn’t long, however, before Mel returned carrying a sports bag. She took it over to Rhonda and dropped it on the ground next to her.

“Pass me the thirteen mill socket and then we’ll get little housie comfortable.” Rhonda said from under the bonnet of the truck.

Mel reached for the toolkit, found whatever a thirteen mill socket is and passed it to her. Rhonda did some more fiddling under the bonnet of the truck and then emerged, put the tools down and started looking in the sports bag. After some rummaging she found what she was looking for but I couldn’t see what it was she stood back up, went over to the other side of the lockup and fetched the chair that she had offered me the last time I had been there. It was old and wooden with a flat seat and an open back. She brought it over to where I was kneeling, put it down and then slammed her fist against the seat. As she withdrew her fist I could see what she had found in the bag; it was a dildo with a suction cap at the end and that was why she had slammed her fist down on the chair; it was now firmly attached and standing proud. Although there are bigger dildos it was larger both in length and girth than anything I’d ever had inside me.

“Your throne awaits, Princess.” She said with a mock bow. “However, you can make it easier on yourself by using this” she passed me a can of grease from the workbench “You have ten seconds.  Ten… Nine… Eight…”

I was obviously supposed to use the grease on the dildo but I wasn’t sure I wanted it anywhere near my pussy and, anyway, my own natural juices were already flowing freely. I glanced at Rhonda and something in the look she gave me suggested that my feelings were immaterial so I plunged my fingers into the goo and spread it liberally up and down the rubbery shaft.

“Three… Two… One.” Rhonda took the can of grease away from me. Then she took the chain and pulled me to my feet. She put the grease back on the workbench and returned with a knife which she used to part the seam in the seat of my panties. It didn’t take a genius to realise that this was to allow access for the dildo.

“Now then, let’s get you sitting properly on your throne. Mel, would you do the honours and make sure she’s all lined up?” She stood in front of me and pushed me backwards until I was against the chair and then back some more so that I started to sit down and I had to put my hands out behind me and grab the back of the chair to stop myself from falling. As Rhonda continued to push I lowered myself down and Mel reached beneath me so as to guide the dildo through the hole in my panties and into the crease between my buttocks. There was a certain amount of confusion as Mel manoeuvred the dildo back and forth until I suddenly realised that she wasn’t searching for my sex but for my bottom. Memories of a drunken fumble when we were younger and Roger had insisted we try anal sex came rushing back to me. It had hurt, it had really hurt and Roger was far smaller than what I was about to sit upon.

“Please, Rhonda, I don’t think I can take it…” I started as the tip of the dildo pushed against my tight rosebud.

“Shut the fuck up and do as you’re told, bitch!” Rhonda snarled as, once, twice and three times, she slapped me back and forth across the face. I recoiled backwards from the pain which ended up pushing the tip of the dildo past my sphincter forcing a cry from my lips.

“Shut up, sit down, and be grateful I let you grease it up first.” Rhonda relentlessly continued to push. Our eyes locked as she forced me down and, even with me gripping the back of the chair I had no chance of resisting her. The dildo felt enormous as it slid inside me I and I sincerely wondered if it would fit or if it would rip me apart; it certainly felt like it. I bit my lip trying to still a cry of pain. I knew she wanted to see me break, I knew she wanted me to scream ‘enough’, to confirm her low opinion of me, to confirm that I hadn’t got what it takes to play her games. At long last I felt the seat of the chair against my buttocks. It was deep inside me but going no deeper. I had passed the first test.

As soon as I was seated Rhonda and Mel worked together putting cuffs around my wrists and ankles. The ankle cuffs were attached by short chains to the rear legs of the chair forcing my legs back which, in turn, forced my knees apart. Then my wrist cuffs were fastened together behind the back of the chair and attached by a chain to a hook at the back of the chair and adjusted until my shoulders back were forced back and my breasts stuck out. I was neither comfortable nor dignified but I would live.

However they weren’t finished yet. Rhonda went back to the bag and returned with a steel ring with straps attached either side. I knew better than to resist as I was ordered to open wide and the ring was pushed it into my mouth where it lodged behind my teeth forcing my jaws wide apart. Then it was one more trip to the bag for the last item. When I saw it in Rhonda’s hand it looked like a plastic butterfly with a small, almost pathetic dildo attached. Rhonda pulled down the waistband at the front of my panties and pushed the dildo part inside me. No lubrication was needed this time, a fact not lost on either of us.  After a bit of wriggling the body of the ‘butterfly’ was positioned nestling between my sex lips. Now I understood why she had left me wearing panties for when she removed her hand the panties snapped back into place holding the butterfly firmly against me. I was still wondering what the fuss was all about when she showed me the remote and pressed a button. Immediately the butterfly burst into life tingling against my most sensitive parts. She twisted a knob on the remote and the vibrations died down and then stopped.

With me now completely restrained she fetched a hose with a tap like arrangement on the end and pushed it through the ring holding my mouth open. When she turned it on I had to swallow as fast as I could just to keep up and it seemed to go on forever until my stomach felt uncomfortably full. When, finally, she judged that I had had enough she put down the hose and picked up the butterfly vibrator remote. Looking at me with a wicked smile she pressed a button and it sprang into life. She put the remote back down on the workbench, turned her back and returned with Mel to work on the truck. After all this attention I was once  again going to have to wait. She had barely  gone when the vibrator stopped and I wondered if it had broken but, seconds later, it restarted at a different intensity.

And then… nothing. As the minutes dragged by I was totally ignored. Whatever problem plagued the truck it was obviously hard to diagnose as it had Rhonda and Mel completely absorbed. Meanwhile, tucked away in my corner, I was beginning to appreciate how the various parts of the jigsaw that Rhonda had put me in fitted together. The pain from my backside had subsided but I still felt uncomfortably full. This was amplified by the yucky sticky feeling all around my bottom where the grease had oozed out between my buttock cheeks so that I was sitting in an oily mess. My arms and legs ached from the strange positions they had been forced into and my jaw ached from being pushed so wide apart.

But, above all this, there was the damn vibrator. Rhonda hadn’t switched it off but must have left it on some random setting. After periods of silence it would burst into life and I never knew from one moment to the next how strong it was going to be or how long it was going to stay on for. Whilst the damn thing was superb at it’s job, it’s vibrations against my love button were keeping me constantly on edge, it was never, ever, going to stay on one setting long enough to let me come. Although it was, of course, purely mechanical, it seemed to have a mind of its own and know exactly when to stop and start to keep my ever growing frustration right on the edge. As the minutes ticked by the pain from my backside, the pain from my limbs, the pain from my wide spread jaws and the constant on/off from the butterfly were pure torture. I couldn't stop the little whimpers escaping but, with my jaws forced open, I couldn't articulate anything and neither Rhonda nor Mel paid me the slightest attention.

Finally the truck burst into life and the engine roared as Mel pumped the accelerator. Rhonda dropped the bonnet and went over to Mel and gave her a high five. Then she went over to the bench, picked up a rag and started to wipe her hands. At first I thought it was just any old piece of material but, suddenly, I recognised the pattern, she was using my dress. Quite frankly I didn’t care that much as I was far more concerned about the damn butterfly and what it was doing to me between my thighs. At last, I thought, now that they had fixed the truck they would have time to fix me.

Again I could not have been more wrong. Rhonda got out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Mel then Mel went into the back office whilst Rhonda picked up the paper and settled down to read it. A few minutes later Mel reappeared with two mugs of tea and she and Mel settled down for a chat, relaxing over their tea and cigs. All I could do was watch helplessly praying that they would get to me soon.

By now it wasn’t just the pain of contortion and sexual frustration that was driving me crazy, I also needed to pee. Now I realised why Rhonda had made me drink so much water; I needed to go and it was getting worse and worse. Maybe, if I had been able to close my legs or maybe, if that damn butterfly would give me a moment’s peace, maybe I could have controlled it but my bladder now seemed full to bursting. I felt defiant, I knew now that she wanted me to wet myself and was determined not to. In the end the need to pee became my biggest problem, more than my aching limbs, more than my aching jaw, more than my stretched backside and more than the way the damn butterfly vibrator was keeping me on a sexual edge. In the end defiance lost out, I couldn’t hold it any more. I finally just had to let go and the warm flow of urine soaking my panties and running down my legs was added to the list of my humiliations. It seemed like I would never stop but at least my bladder stopped hurting. To top it all I was still in mid flow when Rhonda looked over and noticed. Probably she had heard the urine splashing on the floor.

“Oy! You dirty cow! Are you pissing in my nice clean garage?” She called out.

I hung my head in shame, or as much as my arms forced behind my back would allow me to.  Rhonda and Mel came over to have a look as the last trickles died away.

“You disgusting animal!” Rhonda sneered. “Couldn’t you have waited? Look at this mess. Well, you made it so you’re going to clear it up.”

She unfastened the chains holding my wrist and ankle cuffs so that, although my wrists were still fastened together I was no longer attached to the chair. Then she lifted me up and forward so that, as I stood up, the dildo slipped from my behind. However, as soon as she stopped holding me I slumped to the floor. My legs didn’t seem to want to work after being held for so long in such an awkward position. She reached down and removed the gag as well.

“Is this your filth on my floor?” She asked.

“Yes.” I mumbled. My jaw didn't seem to want to work either.

“Speak up you filthy little cow.” She snarled.

“Yes.” I managed a bit louder this time.

“Yes, what?” She demanded.

“Yes, Mistress.” I essayed.

“Don’t give me that Mistress crap. I’m not your Mistress, I’m your worst nightmare. Call me Rhonda if you really have to. Now, I’ll ask again, is this your mess on my floor?”

“”Yes, Rhonda. That’s my mess on your floor.” I tried.

“Well, you had best clear it up then.” She went and fetched a rag, inevitably it was my dress, and threw it on the floor in front of me. I didn’t know what to do at first but Rhonda curtly told me to start mopping so, picking up the material in my teeth, I used my dress to soak up the urine as best I could. Barely able to move I wasn't making a very good job of it as Rhonda was fast to point out. A few prods with her boots helped persuade me to work harder.

“And the chair.” Rhonda ordered after a while. “You peed all over that as well.”

The chair was a little more complex but my legs were beginning to work again so I could kneel up and lift up my dress in my teeth to mop up the seat of the chair.

“Don’t forget the dildo.” Rhonda said. “That’s your shit it’s covered with.”

I looked at the dildo; as Rhonda had so delicately put it it was covered with the grease and god knows what else beside. I reached further across the chair and tried to clean it with a corner of my dress. However, in my clumsiness, the sucker on the bottom came loose and the dildo rolled onto the floor. I looked at Rhonda, my eyes pleading for directions.

“Well, go and get it then.” Rhonda demanded.

It had partially rolled under a workbench and right at the limit of where I could reach with the chain still fastened around my neck. Knowing where it had been I was unwilling to pick it up in my teeth but what other options did I have. After a certain amount of squirming around on the floor and tugging against the chain I managed to reach it with my tongue and pull it back until I could pick it up and, gagging back the mixture of ghastly tastes in my mouth I carried it over and offered it to Rhonda.

“Good housie.” Rhonda said patronisingly. “Playing ‘fetch’ just like a good little puppy. Will you bark for me?”

I dropped the dildo and tried my best to bark like a dog much to the amusement of Rhonda and Mel. For me, my humiliation was nigh on complete. I was on my knees wearing only the tattered remnants of my underwear covered in grime, grease, urine and god knows what else barking like a dog for the amusement of my tormentors.

“But you know what we do with puppies that pee where they shouldn’t, don’t you?” Rhonda continued. I just stared at her.

“Of course you do, we rub their noses in it. However, with the state you’re in I wouldn’t touch you with a barge pole so you’re going to have to do the rubbing for me. Go on.”

For a second I just stared at her but when she pointed to a patch where a large puddle showed that I hadn’t mopped thoroughly I leant forward and put my face in it.

“That’s the way.” Rhonda urged. “Go on, harder. Rub, rub, rub. That’s the way. Now rub your tits in it and while you’re at it why don’t I hear any barking.”

I shifted further into the puddle so that my breasts were directly in the middle. Barking like a dog I squirmed about, rubbing my breasts against the wet concrete. Something inside me clicked and I felt the last remnants of my modesty fly away. Here in the filth was where I belonged, where my animal urges could finally be free. By humping against the floor I managed to free my breasts from the cups of my bra and I could get my nipples directly against the coarse concrete which. along with the damp smell of the urine I was lying in, was driving me wild. The dirtier it got the hornier I got. I wanted to feel the grime against my skin, feel the dampness soak my body. Rhonda had reached for the remote for the butterfly and now had it on full power. I was loosing control, I wanted more, I turned my head from side to side so that my hair got wet and then, without being ordered, I felt I just had to lick, to lick it all up, to lick my urine from the filthy floor of the garage. Any shred of decency was gone; I had no modesty left, no brakes, no limits. I felt filthy, depraved, disgusting, a wanton degenerate rolling around in her own muck and loving every second of it. Vaguely in the background I could hear Rhonda and Mel laughing at me, amazed that I would let myself go like this.

“God, look at the little tart go.” Mel exclaimed. “How sick can you get, licking the floor like that”

“Yeah, as dirty as they come, this one. Who’d have thought it? Filthy through and through.” Rhonda replied and that was it. As dirty as they come, that was me and, at that moment, I didn’t care who knew it. My body exploded. I tried my best to keep barking but god knows what came out. All I knew was that I had never felt anything so intense in all my life.  I thrashed around on the floor trying to scrape my nipples against the concrete and trying to push my hips to the floor in order to increase the pressure of the butterfly against my clit. I wanted more, I wanted it all and there was no depravity I wasn’t prepared to indulge in to get it. Climax after climax crashed through my body until finally I could take no more and, as I collapsed exhausted Rhonda, in a rare act of kindness, turned off the vibrator.

For a long, long time the only sound was the radio playing in the background as it had done all the while I had been there. My senses came back and with them my sense of shame and decorum. I rolled onto my side to see Rhonda and Mel staring down at me.

“You’re revolting, you know that?” Rhonda said. I couldn’t answer but turned to look at her, a strand of urine soaked hair lying across my face, for a moment or two our eyes locked and there was some sort of understanding between us.

“Well, housie, you had more guts than I thought you had.” Rhonda said eventually. “Think you can take any more?”

“Please, Rhonda, enough, I’ve had enough.”

“Yeah, I guess you have. Roll back over and I’ll unfasten you.”

I rolled back onto my belly and she freed off my wrists and the chain around my neck. Released from these constraints I stood up still shaking all over. Suddenly my state of undress was embarrassing. I eased my breasts back into what was left of my bra and fished out the butterfly from my panties.

“Is there a bathroom I could use?” I asked.

“Bathroom! This is a lockup, not a luxury apartment. There’s a bog next to the office but you’re all done pissing so you wont be needing that. Anyway, I’ve seen enough for today. Put your dress back on and get on home to hubby and the kiddi-winks.” Rhonda said firmly.

I knew I had just been dismissed. I couldn’t fight it and I’m not sure that I wanted to. Rhonda bent down, picked up my dress, mopped up a few last pools of urine and handed it to me. It looked disgusting, it felt disgusting and it smelt disgusting but it was all the clothes I had available. As I slipped the sodden cloth over my body I knew I must reek of filth, a mixture of oil and urine, a smell that I was never going to forget.

“Thank you, thank you, Rhonda.” I started because, for all her ill treatment of me she had given me what I asked for, what I wanted.

“I don’t want your thanks. Run away, housie, run back to hubby and the kiddies. Run back to your safe little life. You’ve got guts, more guts than I reckoned but you still don’t belong here.”

“But…” I started.

“Fuck off!” Rhonda sounded quite angry and was, once again, very scary. “Fuck off, cunt, can’t you tell when you’re not wanted.”

I grabbed my handbag from the bench and ran back to the car.

*********

And that should have been that. I might have gone back had Rhonda not told me straight to my face that I wasn’t wanted and I knew that she would never play with me again. After I had returned home it had taken ages to get clean and I was covered with abrasions from the floor. My nipples were sore for days and my backside felt like it would never recover. The kids even complained of the strange smell in the car. But, for all that, my body did soon recover and all I was left with was a memory and a vague and wistful ‘what if’.

But then, six months later, I was once again shopping for parts for Roger’s home gym which meant that, again, I had to drive down “that” alleyway. As I approached I could feel my sex begin to flow and my nipples harden. But, when I turned the corner what I wasn’t prepared for was to see a police constable standing outside Rhonda’s lockup and crime scene tape stretched back and forth across the entrance. Stunned by the implications I stopped the car, jumped out and went over to the copper.

“What’s going on? Is Rhonda OK?” I asked.

“Did you know Miss Morgan?” The copper asked.

“Miss Morgan?”

“Rhonda Morgan, the owner of this lockup. Did you know her?”

“She… she fixed my car once or twice.” I replied. I certainly wasn’t going to reveal exactly how I knew her.

“Wait there a minute.” The copper said and he poked his head through the Judas door and called out for his sergeant. And then the nightmare started.

To cut a very long story short it turned out that Rhonda’s lockup was a front for selling drugs and that she never actually had any clients, well, except for me an my tyre. Sure she fixed cars but only as part of the cover, never as a business. This, of course, made me a prime suspect at first but as I repeated my story of the puncture and how she was the only place to turn to again and again that they began to believe it. And then the more they believed my innocence the more they let slip about what had happened, about a drugs deal gone wrong, about gangs and knives and about how Rhonda’s body was in the morgue as they hunted for her killer.

“But it all looked so convincing. She even had a credit card machine.” I said, still trying to take it all in.

“Yeah, they took over a going concern lock stock and barrel and made it look like it was still in business. Heaven knows where the original owner is; probably at the bottom of the river. Sorry, love.” The detective back-pedalled when he saw how upset I was getting. “Anyway, I think we’ve ascertained that you’re that rarity, the innocent bystander. You can go now, your car is in the courtyard.”

I went down to the car and started to drive home. Poor Rhonda, dead in the morgue. For all that we came from different worlds there had been some sort of connection and she had given me the two most amazing orgasms. Nothing else had ever come close. I pulled up at some lights and saw the shop opposite and the craziest notion came to me and I just had to do it. As soon as the lights changed I found a parking place, pulled over and returned to the shop.

So it was that the following Friday when Roger demanded his ‘conjugals’ he finally noticed the state of my right buttock.

“What the fuck is that!” He cried out.

“Shh! Don’t wake the kids.” I admonished. “It’s a tattoo. Sort of spur of the moment thing. Do you like it.”

“Come closer, let me see it properly.” He asked, still shocked.

I felt his fingers running over the still damaged flesh, tracing out the ornate ‘R’ and the two words written around it – ‘Property of’

“Property of R.” He said slowly. “That’s ‘R’ for Roger, I Presume.”

“Of course, darling, who else could it be?”

“Well, if you’re my property you had better get over here and spread ‘em. I think it’s time I gave my property a damn good shagging.” Poor Roger, he probably thought he was talking tough, if only he knew. If only he knew. But, of course he could never know, he would never know. Oh how convenient a shared initial can be. Whatever life might bring in a corner of my heart my arse would always be the property of another ‘R’, may she rest in peace.