Erotic Fiction

FREE Sex Cards — London Bound

A strange card found while travelling just begged to be used

This is a follow-up to the story FREE Sex Cards (free-sex-cards) but stands alone.

However, this is not my story.

Sesame Swallows was a popular author on Medium, but recently faced some cross-platform harassment and decided to pull back and delete her profiles.

I’ve had contact with her and as I’d been highly anticipating this story she was kind enough to email it through and give me permission to publish it here.

I’ve corrected two small spelling errors, and added the second part of the title & the sub-title, but the rest is pure Sesame!

As she is no longer connected to the Medium Partner Program all proceeds will end up going to a charity local to me.

I don’t normally travel alone, and when I do, I tend to stay alone, not talk to anyone, just go about my business and have fun and explore. I’d never been to London before, and it was wild and exciting — not because the UK is Vegas, but because I love new places and things. And more than anything, I love to go someplace new and sit and watch the world go by, experience people in their natural habitat and just soak it in.

And that’s where I found the card.

I’d found a neat website when browsing the interwebz — it’s: Piccadilly line sightseeing, so go check it out.

I figured ‘how does one get around London in an authentic way’? Ride the metro. Or is it the Tube? It’s the UK; we’ll call it the Tube. The thing about the Piccadilly Line is that it’s the second longest tube line and it has stops at all the fabulous places. So, on Day One, I just got on and started riding. The Tube was packed — summer tourism explosion — and it was glorious people watching! Piccadilly Circus, Buckingham Palace, Hyde Park, Knightsbridge. Shopping and eating, walking and snapping pictures, then shopping and drinking. Two exhausting days of pure fun, which left me sitting and catching my breath at a little outdoor cafe, Chapati & Karak, and wondering what I would get up to on my last day in London.

London was a big place — so much to do, and I wanted to do something, well, grand, something that was worth a story over drinks. Bragging rights. That kind of thing. But I didn’t know what that could be, until there, tucked in with the bill, was a little white business card. And on the back, it said:

FREE SEX — 1 hour trial!

I’ll do anything for you!

Quick response!

Call “D” at the number below!

Fuck. My hands shook when I read it. Was this a trick? I looked around without trying to look around, but no one seemed to be watching. The waitress was gone. Had she left it? I stared at it for a minute and then thought ‘fuck it’. I closed my newest search for “fun things to do in London” and dialled the number. What did I have to lose? If I get kidnapped, that’d be a great story, right? I giggled nervously as it rang, and after each ring I prayed whoever this D was wouldn’t answer the phone. And I prayed he or she would because I just needed to know. Fuck fuck fuck — what the fuck was I doing?

What I didn’t expect was the voice on the other end. Quiet, shy, British accent. And a girl. A woman. Thank god! I breathed a sigh of relief before I could even muster the courage to respond to her.

“Hello?”

“Um, hi. Uh,” I sounded like an idiot. “I found this card. With your number on it. Are you, um, D?”

Silence. I could hear her intake of breath, the slow exhalation. Was she as terrified as I was? I hoped so. “Yes, I’m D. Dianne. What — what is it you want?” Her voice was unsteady, soft, as if she was powering through what she was saying. “You get one hour. I’ll do anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Anything. Anything for an hour. My body is yours to do anything with, anything that pleases you.”

“Sex?” The card said “FREE SEX!” after all.

“Anything.” She sounded tired. Had someone else called? Were there more of these cards?

My heart was thundering in my chest, and for the first time in my life, all I wanted to do was meet a stranger. Something about her voice, how demure she sounded, how — submissive? Was she really just going to give herself to me for an hour? We’d never even met. Clearly I was taking too long to reply because she went on.

“I’m not a prostitute. It’s more like a dare.” A beat went by. “It’s complicated.” Did she recognize how nervous I was? “What do you want from me for an hour? Anything is on the table.”

“Tomorrow,” I blurted out. “5pm sharp. Southgate at the turnstiles to the Piccadilly Line.” What? Where did that come from? But it was all I knew. My hotel was right there, and I’d been riding the Tube for two days. Oh my fucking god, I was — what the hell was I going to do with her? But my mouth was running six paces ahead of my brain, and I couldn’t stop the sudden rush of adrenaline and the unexpected dampness between my legs. “Wear a light raincoat, black heels and nothing else.”

Pause as my brain started catching up that I was asking her to arrive for the metro almost completely naked. But she didn’t hesitate.

“5pm, Piccadilly at Southgate. Slicker and heels. Agreed,” she breathed. “Until then.”

“Wait!” It was bad enough I’d arranged for a half-naked woman to meet me, but she was still a half-naked woman I hadn’t seen before. “Text me a recent photo so I know who to look for. I’ll send you one of me.”

“Agreed. Goodbye.” And then she was gone. A moment later, as I was looking through all my selfies from my trip, my phone dinged. I opened it and found a prettiest little brunette I’d seen in a while. Big brown eyes, slender figure and a mouth that gave me thoughts. I quickly sent on my pic, and then jetted over to my browser as a plan came out of nowhere — something I’d read once maybe; it didn’t matter. Tomorrow I had a pretty little brunette to keep me company on the Piccadilly, and I needed some toys to make it as exciting for her as I thought it was going to be for me.

A people-watching story no one would ever believe.

I recognized her the moment I saw her. She seemed so small. Not like I’m an Amazon, but I felt like I towered over her. She walked right up to me and put out her hand — not to shake, but to take the card that I’d been fidgeting with. I handed it to her unceremoniously, and she tucked it away in her rain slicker without a word.

“D?”

“Dianne.” She looked up at me and then away.

Arms at her sides, her teeth worried her lip. I thought I saw her wince when I reached up and did something I didn’t expect. I touched the bottom of her chin, guiding her face up to mine, and then I leaned in and kissed her. Soft, quiet, I could feel and hear the air go out of her. And me. My rapid heart beat subsided, a breath of calm between us. Her eyes opened and looked into mine, and then her lips parted and I felt a tickle of her tongue. When I broke the kiss, I leaned back, my fingers still on her face. “You belong to me for one hour, Dianne. Don’t worry. I’ll be right here the whole time.”

She nodded and took my hand.

When the train pulled up, I guided her through the press of flesh. It was rush hour on a weekday, and the tube was packed, as I knew it would be after two days of riding. And that’s what I counted on. That everyone would see her and no one — too many people to see what was happening, but the people who were right there, who caught a glimpse and moved closer, would get all they bargained for. And so would Dianne. And I would have all the amazing people watching I’d ever experienced, the ultimate London experience in the essence of a single hour.

I pulled her into the center of one of the middle trains, and then I turned around, sloughed off my little crossbody bag. “Anything, Dianne?” I needed to be sure.

She swallowed, her eyes peeking up at me from beneath her long eyelashes. “Yes. Anything you want, Sesame.”

My mouth was dry, but I found my words. I’d rehearsed what I wanted to say all day. “I like to people-watch. And today, I’m going to watch you. I found a little shop near Knightsbridge last night, after we talked, and I got everything we need.” I smiled at her, something warm and inviting, a plea for understanding, a signal that I somehow understood, even if that was impossible. After seeing her, hearing her voice, and watching her now, I knew I wasn’t as terrified as she was, but I could maybe ease her mind a little and let her enjoy what was about to happen.

I whispered my plan in her ear as the metro swayed, gathering speed, and she nodded, her eyes still down, always looking away. And a second later, I slipped the leather hood over her head, pulling her hair back and away as I buckled it in place. It had cost me a fortune, but it was vacation money, and I was buying an experience I’d never forget. The eye holes were already covered, but her mouth was open, and between the softest lips I’d ever kissed, I pushed the ring gag, buckling it behind her head, leaving her gaping and open, her tongue glistening behind a row of pearly white teeth. Next came the cuffs, one on each wrist and ankle, and finally the retractable spreader bar that I fastened between each ankle. The last thing was her slicker. I unzipped it, feeling her tremble as the last obstacle between her and everyone on the train slipped down her arms and into a ball at my feet.

She stood there, this girl I’d just met, who’d come to meet me because the back of a card said “FREE SEX!” I held her close, holding onto a handgrip as the train rounded a bend, and for the first time, I saw the stares, the wonder in the eyes of everyone around us, the shock and awe, the lust, the disgust, the desire. And so I moved quickly. The train was already slowing to the first stop, and we needed to be ready. There were 17 stops left, and then our hour would be up.

Before the train’s door had closed, as the nearest passengers shuffled off in utter wonder, or others moved closer to confirm what they were seeing, Dianne was bent over at the waist, her wrists locked behind her and tied to a handrail overhead, another piece of rope trailing from her neck to the spreader bar, keeping her head down, her slender but inviting ass up. And written in dark red lipstick in massive letters on the smooth skin of her back were the words “Please fuck me! Any hole!”

I stood right next to her, my fingers trailing along her warm skin, from her breast to her hip and back, and waited, eyes in the distance as if I couldn’t see what was happening, as if I didn’t know I’d just bound and gagged a naked young woman on the Piccadilly Line and invited everyone in London to fuck her. I could feel their eyes, their wonder, their heat, but nothing compared to the heat I felt when I slipped my fingers over Dianne’s ass and found her pussy drenched and leaking down her legs. She moaned when my hand cupped her perfectly manicured mound, her whole body shuddering when my thumb found her clit.

“Is this for real?” I turned, found a young guy about my age. Crop of red hair, old jean jacket over an Elton t-shirt. He was unsure, waiting for the cops to pop out of nowhere maybe, for a camera crew to appear. But he looked at the naked girl in front of him — like a dog in search of a meal. He sported a bulge in his jeans, and wrung his hands, as if he was waiting for grace to be said and dinner to begin.

“It says, ‘Fuck me please!’, doesn’t it? Let’s ask her.”

I turned, my fingers rotating around her hard little nub now, feeling her hips beginning to respond. “D, do you want this dude to fuck you? Are you for real?”

Her response was instant, intense, insistent, her head bouncing up and down, the moan from her lips breaking the guy’s spell. I watched as drool dripped from her open mouth on the floor, then turned and saw dude’s cock spring out of his pants. He went in hard on the first push, plunging into her, rocking her whole body forward, ripping an earth-shattering cry from her gaped mouth, and then I leaned back and gave her to the train.

Stop after stop, we crisscrossed London, leaving a trail of wonder, disgust and delight. The first guy had lasted barely long enough for me to settle in, but once he’d grunted out his climax in dramatic fashion, zipped up, getting off at the next stop and never once looking back, they came from every direction. Slowly at first, still hesitant. Was this girl really giving herself to anyone? And who was I? They looked at me in turn, and I nodded, deferring to Dianne. I wanted her to answer, to whimper and beg for their cocks. No words, just a pleading, lustful wail from her mouth as we wound our way under the historic streets of the capitol city.

They filled her up from both ends. Cocks plowing into her cunt, hands gripping her hips, banging her for all they were worth. Hands pulling her mouth down around cock after cock, they fucked her mouth, her throat, leaving her gagging, choking. Streams of cum dripped from both ends, pooling on the floor around her heels as we rocked back and forth, the floor of the car swaying beneath our feet.

I watched it all, but it wasn’t after more than a few stops that I barely even noticed the guys — black, white, hair, no hair, chubby, thin, attractive, not so much. After the third stop, a large black guy plowing Dianne, his massive mitts engulfing her waist, I watched her cum for the first time.

He pulled out and shot his cum across her back, stream upon stream of it, but I was sure she didn’t even know he was there. Her entire body erupted with his last deep stroke, and I heard something from her that I hadn’t heard before — a deep, desperate sound that I knew. She shuddered, her hips grinding against the air as he finished on her back, the cry from her mouth like a wail of despair, of defeat. And then, as he turned away, and I was left there with her, alone for the first few moments since the red-haired guy had broken the ice, I watched her whole body trembling and heard the sobs.

“Shhhh,” I whispered, my mouth close to her ear. “Shhhh now. It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here with you.” I stroked her neck, her shoulders, feeling her body shuddering with each new sob. “Just let yourself go. Let it go. Let it happen. Let them have you, sweetie. I’ll be right here. Cry all you need to. I’m here with you. It’s okay.” She leaned over, trying to push into me, and I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her hooded head against me, and kept talking while she cried. “It’s okay, D. You can do this. They love you. They want you. You’re so beautiful. So beautiful.”

She wanted to say something, tried to say something, but the gag held her mouth open, and whatever it was came out as just another whimper.

“I’m here for you, Dianne. You can do this. Can’t you? Can you do this for me?”

The world stood still for a moment, and then she nodded her head. Yes, she could.

I pressed my lips to the leather. “Good girl,” I said and stood up. Someone was already behind Dianne, his cock out, his eyes on me. “Fuck her, dude. She wants it more than you know.”

When the train stopped at Knightsbridge, I went to work, hellbent on what felt like a rescue — get her unbound, off the train and to a safe place as fast as possible. I knew about aftercare — too many exes hadn’t, and I knew my time was up. But I couldn’t leave her alone now. I eased her out of her predicament as quickly and gently as possible. The spreader bar first, then her arms released from the bar overhead. She slumped into me, barely able to hold herself up. The gag was next, and when her voice squeaked, her breath smelled like cum.

“Shhh, Dianne. No talking. Not yet. Let’s get you off the train, sweetie.”

She nodded and let me hold her up, helping as much as she could with her slicker, her strength gone, her arms almost useless.

I didn’t even bother with the mask. I didn’t want anyone to know who she was, and there’d been plenty of cell phones out the whole ride. They could see me. I was just a casual observer, not the naked whore on the Tube. Social media was about to make both of us famous, but no one would know who she was. That’s as much as I could do.

When I’d shoved everything in my bag, I guided her off the train. The crowd parted, whether out of respect or reverence, or simply because they were just stunned or disgusted at what they’d seen — a lithe young woman getting railed for an hour on the Piccadilly Line. We pushed through the Tube station to the first bathroom, and I moved her quickly into the handicapped stall. Off came the mask, and on came the waterworks, my lips kissing her cheeks as I cooed in her ear. “It’s okay, sweetie. You were so beautiful. So brave. So amazing. I’m so proud of you. That was the bravest thing anyone has ever done. Thank you.”

I hope that you liked the story — which is her last on the site under that name. However she is now back as Swallow: After Dark so please take a look at her new profile, and give her a follow!

The rest of the collected stories to date can be found via this link.