The A75

The heavy BMW 4x4 leaned slightly as they wound up into the heights of the Massive Central in the last of the dusk sunlight. The A75 was a captivating road, by turns wild and open then claustrophobic with trees and forest. Roseanne was in the passenger seat, affording her a view out over towards the sunset of the majestic canyon they were hurtling up at high speed. It was 1000kms from Banyuls to Calais and her partner wasn't wasting any time.

The hummed of the tyres was soporific. Soothing white noise and a gentle vibration in her hips. The cabin was low lit, cream leather, the seat luxurious. She knew it wasn't new but it was also not the class of travel she enjoyed when with her family. She stretch lithely like a cat.

Her mind drifted back over the week she had just enjoyed. Over the wild year that had developed. This was the one year anniversary of something she had never dreamed of, never imagined, and yet fell fully into when the opportunity presented itself. It had started in Southern Spain the previous summer, a chance encounter in a dark sultry tourist hotspot and her taking a risk while her husband was distracted. A chance encounter that became a night to remember. To never forget.

Her desires had developed quickly from that point onwards. Arriving home back in the tired seaside town of Hastings that they lived in, albeit comfortably and happily, thoughts of other things pervaded her waking moments. Her husband was a diligent man but without spark. Without sex appeal. Loving, caring, kind - everything she could ask for. Almost.

She founds that her days volunteering in the benefits charity became even more numbing than before. Wasted, cold, passive. One night during some rare sex with her husband, the dirty talk he placated her with gradually grew dirtier and sexier and more honest. She voiced what her true dreams had become - her desire for a lover who wasn't him. Her need to be taken. Her lust for The Other.

Surprisingly, he had been totally into it. Something neither of them would have predicted or expected. But as she spoke, drawing on her experience in Cordoba with Al, his cock grew harder and his thrusts more energetic. She read the laylines and actually slowed down her hand on him. Drawing out his pleasure so she could tease him with graphic descriptions of her evening in the warm summer rain with her lover's tongue inside her. And right at the end, as she knew he could take no more, she had looked him in the eye and told him "This is all true. That night that you camped in the woods in the rain, I was naked in a walled garden with another man's tongue wild on my clit and I came repeatedly for him". And he had ERUPTED in her hand, convulsing wildly with energy he had not had for 15 years.

Cautiously, they had explored this further together. Their kids were teenagers and constantly in and out of the house and their lives, meaning important topics had to be leapt upon at a moments notice when the chance befell them. Driving, doing the dishes, the laundry. Her heart warmed to her husband again watching him coyly ask her about it. "Was it true? Had she meant it? Had she enjoyed it? Really?" She could tell that he was struggling to admit to himself that he loved it. One evening over a glass of red, she had sat him down on the sofa and told him the entire story. They couldn't quite bear to look at each other while she did, not yet, but she guided him through what she had done while he was camping in the damp Spanish woods with their grumpy teenage boys. Later that night they were both horny as hell and he wanted to throw her down and take her her so badly, but she knew better. She went on top, literally and figuratively, riding him by candlelight with her ample boobs bouncing, this time telling the tale again while looking him in the eye and challenging him to disapprove. He didn't. He couldn't. He came hard, moaning into the flesh of her breasts as she collapsed onto him after her own orgasm, both of them spent and happy and newly in love again.

It wasn't long before she was texting the number she had committed to heart, the one her lover had given her. Her husband had stipulated certain rules of engagement, which she was very happy to follow, anything as long as it meant she could meet her lover again.

She looked over at him next to her. Her lover, Al, was not really the typical fantasy. He was a slim, MAMIL-type with a penchant for expensive cycles and the mountains. He was an accountant, comfortably wealthy but not ostentatious. The BMW was old but still purred. His clothes tasteful but rarely new. He was thoughtful and caring, but she had discovered that underneath all this lurked a dark passion that she relished. Outwardly they both appeared normal middle-aged middle class. At first she had wondered what he saw in her, a curvy 36C mother who occasionally ran 5kms but with a touch more tummy than she would like. This was the most delicious thing of all. Both were distinctly average in many ways and yet somehow complimented each other. The lust ignited when they were together was never hinted at when apart. It was somehow amplified a thousand-fold.

So with her husband's blessing and with her kids thinking she was with a friend from uni, they had arranged to celebrate their anniversary with a week in the south of France, in Banyuls-sur-Mer. A wonderful, authentic French town on the Mediterranean with sufficient charm to be romantic while not attracting tourists by the dozen and becoming Disney-fied. He had picked her up from Ashford station in Kent and once through the tunnel under the English Channel they had driven down together a week ago. She had found the drive down desperately frustrating. Normally when they met she was moaning & half naked within 30 mins but on this occasion they had gone straight onto the Channel Tunnel - a distinctly un-sexy railway environment with harsh overhead lighting and people walking past their car windows all the time. Then it was straight onto the motorway, barrelling though the French countryside to beat the Paris traffic. Driving through Paris just made her even more frustrated, and a little bit bored, so in a tunnel so low it made them duck theirs heads in fear she had started teasing him, playing with herself, cupping her breasts and rubbing between her thighs. He looked over at her, the yellow arc lighting flashing overhead illuminating her almost in freeze frame as she lifted a breast out of her top and slowly licked a nipple.

"If you keep doing that, we are going to crash!" He smiled. In reply she reached over and grabbed his half-hard cock and carefully extracted it from his fly. She leaned right over the gear lever, taking him in her mouth as her breasts bushed the hard plastic of the cup holders and he exhaled noisily as she started working him with her lips. "Christ Roseanne".

She didn't say a word, she just carried on sucking him, relishing the taste of his pre-cum as he slowed down into a lane behind a truck to make sure they didn't actually crash, before long his hips pumping sticky into her mouth.

She sat up. "Lucky it's an automatic."

The week had continued in much the same fashion. Somehow, without even needing to talk about it, they had fallen into a cadence of romantic vanilla sex and then dark, submissive games. One moment they were snogging like teenagers on the beach of a perfumed evening, the next night she was on her knees on the balcony with a leather belt flailing against her reddened bum. She knew, they knew, how to balance and please one another. From the outside it probably appeared as though she was permanently at his beck and call, forever focused on his pleasure. But that wasn't quite true, the power dynamic was subtly different.

When they were in romantic mode, she took the initiative. She kissed him with passion and fire, in the moment, and her hand unfailingly found him hard. She had never had a man as into her as he was. Again she wondered how and why, she was normal motherly mild roundness, dark hair to her shoulders, brown eyes. She was proud of her chest, pleased it had not sagged as much as it might, but could not fathom the fire she brought out in him. She ground her hips against him on street corners as they kissed before and after dinner. She flirted with him in her bikini in the beach, giving him sideways glances and enjoying it as he applied sun cream to her back and bum. She laid back in the early morning sunshine on their balcony on a sun lounger as he lifted her legs over his shoulders and sliced her in two with his thick cock, sucking on her slippery suncream nipples as he fucked her slow and hard and fast and slow. She looked over his shoulder into the blue abyss above as he pounded her hips and seagulls flew above, feeling animalistic and raw. And she lay there afterward with his cock in her hand, oozing as she coached the last of his salt from his tip onto her stomach, sweaty and sated.

A day spent hiking in the mountains, climbing high up to a peak overlooking the town. Hot, dusty, tiring. They carried packs with water and were in T shirts, shorts and sensible sandals. The path weaving in and out of the trees and scrub. Occasionally they heard voices in the vineyards around them but never saw anybody. Reaching a water point hidden slightly out of sight from the quiet country road, she had (unthinkingly) up-ended her water bottle over herself in an attempt to cool off. Wet, white T shirts and a big bust only do one thing and he swept her into his arms and passionately kissed her, her shirt making him damp too. He grabbed her hips and then slid his hand up to her left breast, cupping the wet fabric as he continued to kiss her neck and she moaned into his ear as his fingers found her nipple and played with it gently. Then suddenly there were voices in the trail above them and a group of students hiked down the steps, she and Al moving apart quickly, embarrassed and guilty, turning and walking off in fits of giggles as he waddled trying to keep his erection under control.

But then there were the other days. The days when he took the initiative. The responsibility. He always made her cum, she had easily cum more than once everyday. But the other days. That was a different thing altogether. This was dark, powerful, powerless sex. Long sessions typically late at night when he took her into an almost meditative state where the mild pain he inflicted blanked out her mind, rendering her mute and zen-like as her body absorbed the lashes. Her mind calm, her pussy a violent bubbling cauldron, that split in her mind never ceasing to amaze her. She found she couldn't focus on her pleasure, it was a there & present, she knew she was hot and wet and slippery but the variety of sensation he administered kept her in the zen garden... almost. Then suddenly he would decide enough was enough and her clit would alight like a wildfire and the power of her arousal overcame all sensibility with the calm most definitely banished until he played her like a piano and brought her to a massive crescendo of pleasure, gasping groaning shrieking as she rode wave after wave of seemingly endless orgasm for as long as he saw fit, and then she bubbled back to the blank state, his hand switching again to the mild pain, toying and pulling and slapping and pinching. She had never experienced a freedom like it. She was putty in his hands, free of all responsibility, trusting him completely to both keep her safe and ravish her for as long as she needed. As long as she could take.

All these events were shared via photos with her husband. This was less one of his rules and more a custom that had tacitly become the norm. The first time she had met with Al after Spain, she had sent her husband a selfie of her looking glamorous as she went into the bar in a killer LBD and heels. Then she sent one from the Ladies room with her lacy black bra showing. And later still, in the early hours, an artful shot of her bare thigh on white sheets with the bra carelessly tossed to one side. All these photos had had their intended effect on her other half. When she arrived home smelling of sex and semen he had eagerly demanded a recounting of her night, the pictures clearly having tantalised his imagination and sent him into a spin. She slowly told him everything as they gazed into each other's eyes, her hand soft on his hard cock which was sore from his own fantasising and yet still hungry to learn what she had been up to. She watched for the moment she knew he was going to cum and then purposefully virtually stopped her motions, infinitesimal movement taking him over the edge, giving him a deliberately delicious slow ruined orgasm that wracked through him sinuously. It was another week while she enjoyed this newfound power before finally allowing him her hips and he fucked her quickly and hard over a table, his need urgent and quick and over too soon. No. The real pleasure came from the denial and the tease.

So now, for every orgasm she gave or received she sent her other half a teasing photo of the event. A selfie with a dribble of cum escaping her lips in the flashing lights of the Paris tunnel. Her lover's hand holding her breast on the balcony, her stomach covered in his white cum blurry in the background. Her nipple hard and pointed in the wet, white T shirt. Frequently Al was the photographer. Her splayed out handcuffed to the bed, breasts and trimmed, dark pussy on show - she couldn't take that herself. Her ass red with handprints late at night, a lit candle sticking out of her - she couldn't take that either. The power of showing her husband what they were up to turned Al on too.

The pitch of the engine changed slightly as the A75 levelled out, they having reached the top of the climb. She stirred out of her reverie slightly, the memories warming her between the legs and emphasising her nipples in the air-conditioned climate. It was darker now, the sun had gone although some vestiges of it remained against the dramatic clouds. Dark clouds piling up, pink and orange spots spattered throughout. The never-ending tarmac a ribbon before them. The road was far quieter now. This was a remote spot, up in the mountains. The lorries and caravans had largely pulled over for the evening, only a handful of tourists also making a bee line for the ferries.

"Are we really going all the way to Calais tonight?" she asked.

"I thought you had to be home tomorrow? Family Sunday lunch?"

"I don't want to go home. I don't ever want to go home."

The car continued to hum.

"You know it cannot be like that forever. The week we had. Life ebbs and flows, and so would we. "

She nodded and looked out of the window.

"But. We are still in France. The week isn't over."

"That is true. Although the events of the tunnel are not safe to repeat!" He joked.

"This isn't about you. It's about me. " her meaning sunk into him slowly. He nodded in understanding. The car slowed slightly.

He glanced over at her. She wasn't playing. She wasn't flirting. No cupping of her breasts or sultry expression. No spread legs or biting of her lower lip. This wasn't the romantic sexual flirt. This was the other.

Instead she somehow managed to appear both vulnerable and commanding all at once. He knew. He knew what she was telling him. That she wanted to submit. One last time. A counterintuitive position whereby she needed him to command her and she wasn't asking him to do so but telling him. Some might call it "topping from the bottom" but this was not the case at all. Once in the game she would do anything he desired. Anything he asked. But they both knew that the power was hers to give away. She gave him the responsibility, the baton. And that it could be taken back, even if this was largely theoretical. She had never said No. He had not found her limit yet. He hadn't pushed that hard, their spiral was completely in tune, but once she went under she would stay there until he brought her back.

"I wondered if we might find ourselves here. " he said. "Let's see. " and Al turned his attention to the satnav, loading menus and bringing up maps.

They were quiet for two junctions, neither wanting to break the spell that had settled on the mood. The ribbon continued, white lines flashing, the sky darkening completely. Occasional headlights in their eyes, the forest a dark tunnel either side of the road. The engine note changed again as he slowed and then they were taking an exit. She fished out the toll ticket and a credit card, then he pulled slowly away onto a main road, but soon was indicating a right turn and then again, the roads becoming narrower and darker and less well made, the line on the satnav snaking as they continued.

The last turn and they found themselves bumping down an unmade track. Overhanging trees and bushes brushed the sides of the car.

"Wherever are you taking me?" She asked.

"You shall see. I guessed, perhaps hoped, that we might wish for a rest stop. So with some extensive research online I found a few suitable places and saved them in the car. I pray this works, although never having been here I cannot guarantee."

The track worsened and then he stopped, coming to a rest in a small turning area. He paused briefly and then turned the car round.

"Ready to make a quick getaway?!" She laughed.

"Well, you never know." He answered, cryptically. "Shall we?"

She nodded.

They both stepped out of the vehicle and discovered that the night was warm. Late summer in southern France, even in the mountains, the heatwave still present. Although it was the sound of the road that surprised her and as they walked together through a gap in the trees she could see flashes of headlights ahead. They must have come round in a big loop back to almost on top of the motorway, as just then a large truck did woosh past, loud and jarring against the soft sounds of the night all around them.

He picked the way carefully and very soon they encountered a small building. A hut or tiny house, white washed walls and a sloping roof, almost jutting against the fence of the road. He turned to look at her, her eyebrow raised in a question.

He stepped towards her and took her hip firmly. In a flash his tongue was in her mouth and he was kissing her forcefully, her groaning in an unexpected response. He took both her wrists and held them behind her back with one hand, pulled her shoulders back and forcing her tits out.

When he spoke, his manner had changed and he had become alive. "There is nobody for miles. You are entirely alone, helpless and abandoned."

She gulped.

"Here, you are entirely mine."

He kissed her again, and then her neck, her ear, biting it gently.

"Do you realise how helpless you are? Do you realise that your body, your mind, your sanity is now under my control? You have willingly given yourself to a sexual hostage situation. Those cars," he nodded towards the road, "they might feel close but they are useless to you. They pass by with no idea of the depravity that I can now subject you to, occurring mere feet from civilisation."

Continuing to hold her wrists, he dropped a bag at his feet that she hadn't noticed and then reached directly inside her low cut top and gripped her nipple and pulled it skyward.

"You, fair maiden, have walked gleefully into the trap and now I am going to feast." And he ducked his head to her nipple and sucked and bit and chewed as if she were a tender steak.

Which her pussy was fast becoming.

He walked her around the corner of the building and a wall was missing, the roof beams exposed. She hesitated, fearful of it collapsing, but he was too into role. She soon found her hands strung up behind her back to a rope over the beam, the awkward position pitching her forward slightly as her hands were pulled up behind her. This, in turn, made her breasts dangle down and free slightly inside her bra and she knew it would not be long before she were naked.