Flashback 9

I remember the first time it happened, about six months ago.

I was sitting alone in the back of a taxi, heading to my hotel, having just flown into New York for a solo work trip. It was spring, and it was drizzling. We were barely crawling along on the freeway in the evening rush hour traffic, and I was gazing at the traffic jam and the wet concrete buildings outside through the raindrops on the car window. I was bored.

Then, like a wall, it hit me.

***

He was my boss at my last job. As soon as I met him, I knew I was in trouble. I was attracted to him instantly. It didn't help that he was recently divorced. He tried to stay professional at first, though sometimes I would catch him undressing me with his eyes.

But no matter how hard he tried, the spark had been lit, and it was inevitable that we would eventually catch fire. I started dressing more provocatively, and he noticed. He would stand very close to me when we talked, and occasionally brush his hands against my legs and hips as if by accident. Naturally, I would encourage him, leaning into his advances.

It wasn't long before we were fucking constantly, both at and outside of work.

***

What I experienced in the back of that cab was not a daydream. I wasn't just imagining I was there--I was there. The scenes would jump from one to another chaotically, but I was there. My hair was being pulled, my nipples were being twisted and abused, and my sopping wet pussy was being plowed and filled and stretched by his thick cock over and over. I was watching myself in his full-length mirror, being fucked to within an inch of my life.

I bit my lip, but was unable to suppress a series of moans that grew steadily louder. I could feel his hands grabbing my tits roughly, and his hard slaps on my bare ass. I was feeling his thumb tracing my lips, and sucking on it obediently when he put it in my mouth.

And suddenly I was on my back, with him kneeling over me, grabbing me by the waist, holding me still as he thrust relentlessly into me. His mouth was feasting on my nipples, his thumb was rubbing my clit, and his cock was filling me again and again. "Please... let me cum," I begged.

He smiled mischievously. "No."

I pleaded with him, over and over. "Please please please, I need to cum so bad," I cried desperately, but was ignored. As if reading my body perfectly, he kept me right on the edge, but refused to let me go over.

Finally, I heard his low commanding voice in my ear: "Who do you belong to?" And I whimpered back softly: "You."

"Cum for me."

"Thank you thank you thank you," I whimpered gratefully. His thrusts sped up, and his thumb pressed ever so slightly harder on my clit. It was more than enough.

I cried out in the back of that taxicab, as a tsunami racked my body violently. I arched my back, my body stiffening, writhing in the agony of pleasure, my mind having lost all sense of time and space.

***

By the time I came to, it was already dark out, and we were pulling up to my hotel. I could feel myself blushing hard as I realized my heavily-bearded driver had heard everything, though thankfully he was pretending he hadn't. Under my jeans, I could feel my panties were drenched.

He kept his poker face even as I was paying. I tipped him generously.

***

I get these flashbacks regularly now, often in the most inconvenient of places: on the subway, at coffee shops, in the checkout line at the grocery store. It almost always happens when I start getting bored, and my mind starts to wander.

Since that first time, I've learned to suppress my moans better, and to maintain some semblance of composure, even during a massive orgasm. I've also learned to predict when it's about to happen, so I can often excuse myself and stumble to the nearest bathroom, before the full brunt of it hits me.

I have told no one.

It's been two years since I last saw him, but the flashbacks are always him. Every time. He has been seared into my brain. Through these flashbacks, he takes control of me without permission, humiliates me in public, yet gives me pleasure at an intensity that I've yet to experience in any other way.

It frightens me, but gradually I've come to accept my new reality: I am at his mercy still, and will likely remain so, until the day I die.