The Trials Of Francesca Pt 02

Francesca opens the door of the house and steps out into the cold night. The car is parked on her driveway, a chunky black Mercedes with blacked out windows. She strains to see who is inside, but the car's interior is invisible. She feels goosebumps on her exposed skin and a slight chatter in her jaw. She's always felt nervous before submitting - nervous and conflicted. A part of her loves it, a part of her is full of trepidation and doubt.

She steps onto the driveway and walks towards the car, remembering to hold her head high, a slight smile on her lips. This may be strange for a sub, she knows, but Master loves her to be proud of who she is and what she's about to give to these strange men inside the car.

When she reaches the car, the door opens from the inside. She stops for a moment. This is her last chance to change her mind. But she won't -- it's time to face the trial. She bends down to enter the car but a hand stops her. 'Wait there,' a man's voice says. 'I'm coming out.'

Confused, she does as she is told. The figure which steps out of the limousine is tall and dressed in a black suit. He is broad shouldered and looks muscular under the expensive tailoring. His face is mostly concealed behind large dark glasses. Francesca thinks how he looks like one of those mafia types at a funeral of some big Costa Nostra boss. The man's olive complexion looks distinctly Mediterranean, even in the dim light, and his dark hair has streaks of grey which betrays his age.

That's fine. She's always had a thing for older men. Some twenty-year-old boy would struggle to tame her.

The man stretches out his hand, showing her to go inside the car now. 'My friend and I...we'd like you to sit in the middle.'

Francesca obeys and slowly enters the car, swinging both legs in at the same time -- what Master calls the Princess Diana entry. Inside, the car is warm and smells of spicy aftershave and a recent cigarette. She shuffles along the seat until she is in the middle, but she looks straight ahead. She can see a figure to her left -- the 'friend' the tall man was referring to -- but she knows she's not allowed to make eye contact. That is, if she could even see the man's eyes. He's probably wearing sunglasses too.

The tall man returns inside the car and shuts the door behind himself. Now it's just the three of them, in the back of the car, in the warmth of the heated leather seats and the sudden darkness that envelops them when the light goes out.

'So, miss Francesca.' The tall man speaks again. 'Your Master has told us we can do anything we like with you tonight. Is this true?'

She swallows hard. Where is her Master? She wants to ask the driver car if he has seen him, but she can't see the driver, hidden behind the opaque partition separating him from the passengers. Is it even a 'he'? She's heard of women sometimes being employed to drive on nights like this. She didn't know why -- maybe some perverse pleasure they get from seeing another woman humiliated and used. Maybe a secret desire to be in the woman's shoes.

'That's correct, Sir,' she answers finally, in a shaky voice. She coughs briefly to clear her throat and steady herself.

'Very well then.' The man leans forward and makes a sharp knock on the partition glass. 'Drive!' he commands. The car starts to glide and Francesca realises they're about to leave her driveway and take her, somewhere unknown, into the night.

'Open your legs now.' The other man's voice is hoarse and gravely, like someone who smokes too many cigarettes and drinks too much whiskey. The decadence of it excites her. She obediently opens her knees by a few inches, still careful to be demure until she is instructed otherwise. The man turns his body towards her and puts one arm around her naked, slightly trembling shoulder. His other hand grazes her thigh. 'This is very nice. You have beautiful skin,' he says, his fingertips stroking her lightly, first on the outside of her leg, then moving towards the inside, between her thighs. Once there, his hand stops. 'Open wider', he commands.

She obeys.

The other man, also facing her now, uses both hands to open her legs wider. He's not aggressive, but his touch is firm. It allows no objection, no resistance. Francesca sits very upright, her heart thumping in her chest. She's looking straight ahead but what she really wants to do is turn her head and look at the two men who are starting to dominate her -- she wants to know who they are and what they look like. She's scared that, once they're finished with her, she won't even be able to recall their vague shape, nothing other than the smell of tobacco and the aftershave.

The feel of fingers on the cloth of underwear brings her back to the moment. The man's fingertips are rubbing the very middle of her cunt, that beautiful soft spot which makes her flinch when touched. A sharp intake of breath, a glitch in her heartbeat. She can feel herself getting wet. The man's fingers pull her knickers to one side and graze her pussy lips, already swollen with excitement. He rubs and presses, then presses harder, working his way towards the middle, where her hole is already pulsating with desire. He pushes his index finger in just a little bit.

Francesca emits a small sound, like a whimper, something between pleasure and shock. She doesn't know which of the men is penetrating her now, she can't tell whose hand that is. The car is moving faster now, they must be on the open road, she thinks, but then she feels another set of fingers fighting to get inside her, and all her thoughts stop abruptly. She can only feel, the rising tide of desire making her breathless and shivery.

There are now two hands working with persistence between her legs. The first man is now pushing two fingers inside her, the in-and-out motion making her think of fucking, and how she must prepare herself for being fucked by them at some point tonight. The other man is circling around her clit, pinching it occasionally, pressing hard between his fingertips, then between his nails. The pain is sharp, piercing, and she emits a small scream. She thinks she might cum, but the man stops and he build up is interrupted.

The fingers gride inside her. The men swap what they're doing. The man to her left -- the one with the gravelly voice -- says to her: 'You want to feel three fingers? Ha?'

She barely manages to nod her head, a small movement he probably can't even see in the dark, before he plunges three fingers into her.

'Maybe we should fist her,' the man says to his accomplice. Francesca's whole body tightens. She's never been violated in that way before. Could she handle it? Will she really allow that to happen?

'Lean back,' the man commands, and she makes herself relax into the seat. Her legs are now splayed wide. The man to her right produces a small Swiss knife and cuts through the narrow-most part of her underwear, pulling her knickers off and completely exposing her pussy to the warm air. She feels naked and open and delirious with excitement. She wants to man to trace her skin with the blade of the knife, but he puts it away and instead slaps her exposed pussy with the palm of his hand.

'Keep your legs open,' he commands, sternly. She doesn't know what she's done wrong -- her legs are open, can't he see that? She tries to lean back further into the seat so that she can open them wider. He slaps her pussy again, not hard, just enough to make her clit swell even more. She can feel the trickle of juices from her pussy onto the leather seat underneath.

Everything blends into one sensation: the fingers burrowing deep inside her cunt, the slaps raining on her clit, the pinching and squeezing. She's struggling to catch her breath, to contain her desire.

'If you cum before you've been given permission, we will both beat you. Do you understand?' The man with the gravelly voice is speaking into her ear.

'Yes, Sir,' she manages to say.

The man lets go of her pussy and places a hand around her throat. 'You finger fuck her,' he says to his accomplice, 'and I'll choke her.' He says this calmly, as if explaining to someone how to turn on the TV, but his hand closes in a tight grip around her neck.

'I bet she loves it,' the other man says with a soft laughter, as if the thought surprises him.

Francesca closes her eyes and submits to the moment. Outside, the night is dark and cold and through the sound of the car's engine she can hear the occasional gust of winter wind. But inside, the air is hot and thick with anticipation. The night is only just beginning.