This story happened because I read about a crazy Victorian who tunnelled under Liverpool, England and created amazing underground rooms during the late 19th Century. I was brought up there and thought back to my times in the late 60's when I had my first definitive view of a woman's cunt, thanks to Michelle, an out-and-out exhibitionist who showed her pussy off regularly as a young woman. Years later she recounted her tales of submission, but as I listened she held me captivated by her unwitting inner force. I realised that power had controlled her lovers and players. I've written this fictitious account from her perspective, using the language she used with me. It is about the power that was and is centred between her legs...
*
I'd always known that once my pussy hairs grew and my tits took shape, no male with any knowledge of female plumbing could resist a peek up my skirts. When I was 18 and in my last year of school I used to love sneaking into the toilets at the end of the day and stripping off my little white panties before heading for the bus. I was always soaking before I got them off. And no, I had not pissed myself. Golden showers were a pleasure I was to learn later. I digress.
Back to my tale. My gusset was always soaking from the thrill of knowing that in a short while men would be straining to see my pretty bush and my prominent sex lips. I loved the feeling of fear that someone might complain and the excitement that five or six people, sometimes as many as ten, would be within inches of my snatch and mesmerised by its slick wetness.
You see, what I used to do was catch an Atlantian one stop out of the depot at Liverpool. They were our new buses. The Corporation had spent millions on them and they were the latest in bus technology. I knew this because my dad used to tell me about his time bus spotting and how once these new charabancs came along that was the end of his hobby. There was no point. They were the finest buses, ever.
And I thought so too. The old Routemasters had steep stairs, which meant they were great for people to stare up the mini-skirts of the day, but it was too bloody cold to stand on them half way up with a bare cunt. Now the Atlantians had enclosed doors. I could stand in my favourite spot, above the heads of the 'boys' of the Upper Sixth and the men who crowded the alighting platform behind the driver.
I always put one foot on a step two above the other. I'd wait until George, the son of my butcher, sat on the bottom step. He always positioned himself there and no one ever jostled him out of the way. Mind you he was a big strong lad. I really liked him. He'd tip his head back and say something nice to me, his eyes unable to resist peeking under the grey pleats. I knew he was in heaven by the bulge that at first he had hidden on the earlier trips from school. Over time he became more emboldened and let me see the tent behind that satchel he strategically placed in his lap. My God! By the size of that tent his father had produced more than prize sausages. It had got me thinking, as I swayed with the rhythm of the bus, whether his dad would be worth a peek in the back of the shop. I wanted to see if he had a chipolata or a bratwurst. Whatever, I was always impressed by George's control. It must have been no mean feat to resist touching that monster and at the same time maintain a conversation with me as if he could not see my swollen clitty and sex.
Of course the others had begun to cluster around him along with, after about a month of trying this, three very swarthy but handsome men from the foundry. They were uncouth, unlike the posh young men from the private school. However, I could see through their dirty blue overalls that although more subtle in how they played the game of looking up my skirt, their cocks were huge too. I wondered at times if they had showered before they left the factory. My mind used to imagine a dirty, grit-covered cock forcing between my legs. I would be dripping just standing there thinking about it.
That particular day, which sits so well in my depraved little mind, I'd stripped off my knickers so fast I'd ripped them in my haste. Then I'd donned my mother's suspender belt and her best stockings. I knew she'd have grounded me for weeks if she had found out. She used to say you had to be over 21 and 'aware of the world' before you wore such man-enticing wear. She was right about the last bit, but I was damned if I was going to wait that long to entrap a man. And that day something more than unusual happened.
You see, I'd been teasing them all for so long that looking back I can recognise that it was inevitable. You can't send ten virile young men home every day with raging hard-ons. Like all men they need their relief but at the time I was so naïve. That was the paradox. At one level I knew precisely what I was doing to excite them, but having got them there I was essentially clueless except in knowing that pleasure was derived from putting the biggest possible thingies in my young hole. I knew that from when I put my fingers there. The more I put in the greater the pleasure I used to get. One day I'd got right up to my wrist! Nowadays I know that is called fisting. In those times I just thought if a baby can come out of it, then a hand can surely go up it. Then, it was very tight and I broke my hymen one very bloody but fulfilling night. I am now extremely practiced at relaxing to let huge cocks and other objects enter me. I love it!
Well, back to my story. My route used to take me past the park and my stop was at the end of the vast site and beside a thicket that had grown around the entrance to a subterranean banqueting hall. Yes, that may sound strange but some nutty eccentric had built under 19th century Liverpool a series of chambers and tunnels: including below a park a full dining and dancing hall. I knew about this because my father was with the surveying team that researched the Parks for historical records and had found it. This was the passion that had replaced the bus spotting. My father was obsessed with the history of this mad tunneller and I have to admit, so was I but for other reasons.
When I got off this particular day I had not noticed something. I was so wet and horny from my latest exhibitionist trip that I had missed the fact that not one of the them had got off at their usual stops. When I alighted, so did a pack of ten males, all aroused and all with dangerous weapons between their thighs who dashed off ahead of me. Oh yes those erect cocks were deadly in the wrong hands as I was soon to find out.
I walked across the park, swinging my hips self-consciously as I always did. I loved to feel the sway and know the reaction I would create in men and women who were behind me. Personally, my concentration was eventually distracted to my bare wet pussy lips that were deliciously rubbing against each other as I walked. I felt even more aroused this day, possibly aware in my sub-conscious of what could occur.
I was just passing the entrance to the subterranean hall - my father had taken me there at the weekend, so proud of the work he had done, which was close to completion. Out of the bushes sprung one of the swarthy foundry workers. I gasped as I saw he was without his shirt, the muscles rippling and shiny in the heat of the summer sun. Next to him was George, wearing the most wicked smile but looking so adorable. He had no shirt either.
"So slut, are we to get nothing but glimpses of your cunt?"
"I, I don't know what you mean," I said, panic sending a shiver down me, yet thrilled simultaneously
"Oh, come on whore!" said the swarthy man, whom later I got to know as Jack. "We've all seen your pussy and you know it. No one gets such a gushing cunny if they are not turned on by being watched."
Jack's language was beginning to turn me on. But how did I play this? I was barely legal and terribly naïve despite the games on the bus and things girls had shared at school. I began to drop my head, suddenly feeling I needed to be obedient for this man. No one had taught me, I just knew, and I liked being that way.
"Sorry, s-sir." I blurted out in a half whisper.
"Follow me!" he snapped and disappeared between a clump of Rhododendrons. I got my hair tangled in the undergrowth, letting out an all-too-loud scream. Neither of them took my hand to guide me, I was just allowed to get scratched and hack my way through.
I was taken down a long tunnel lit by an array of oil lamps. I discovered much later that they found this entrance thanks to George's uncle who was working with my dad on the survey. He had seen some shading on an aerial shot of the site. But for me at the time, I was swearing and cursing as my skirt got ripped and my blouse also torn. I had tears in my eyes and my legs were a mass of scratches too. Yet strangely, if I had listened properly to my body I'd have known I was ready to be humiliated and treated roughly by a man. And later, by a series of women too; though that is another tale for another time.
It was amazing! At the end of the tunnel was a huge ballroom. Its walls were lined with mirrors and the place was absolutely spotless if a little musty. The floor was a stained oak herringbone design and in the ceiling were chandeliers that gave an eerie glow of candlelight. It was quite dim in spite of the myriad of candles and slightly menacing but thrilling. Like nothing I'd ever seen before.
Nothing I'd ever seen was an understatement! As my eyes grew used to the subdued light I saw them. Ten strong males were standing, each in front of an old cane chair. Their cocks were rampant, erect and clearly only recently freed of clothes as they pulsed and bounced in the faintly stale air. I was immediately drawn to George. He was massive!
What was I to do? One half of my brain was seized in fear. Were they going to rape me? The other was filled with utter desire and lust for those heavy pieces of meat. Not one of them was tiny. Yes, Simon was a little shorter than the others but I could see it had such girth that it would be like my fist had been. I found myself parading up and down the line, staring, comparing, then lightly touching and caressing. And yet still the undercurrent of fear, making my skin shiver and my head race with the alarm bells my mother had planted in there. Yes, I was going to be made very aware of the world.
Jack stepped forward.
"Right, Seline isn't it?"
I was completely speechless.
"Answer me, slut!" he shouted.
I couldn't help it, I started to cry.
"Shut up you snivelling whore!"
I stopped immediately, totally obedient to his commands.
