by JEFFREY SERVICE

This is the extraordinary story told by Frankie about his inner struggle as he travels

the world, beginning in the hippie days of the '60s.

Any similarity to other events or people is coincidental.

ADULT CONTENT

copyright©JeffreyService

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed,

or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying,

recording, emails or other electronic or mechanical methods

without the prior written permission of the publisher and the author.

WARNING:

SLOW BLOSSOM is a fictional story about the accelerating depravity of inappropriate

sexual behaviour of a person saddled with the condition of Sexual Addiction.

The author does not condone the behaviour herein.

All depicted sex acts are consensual.

No persons under 18 are represented.

It is intended for adult audiences only.

Reader discretion is advised and some readers may have issues with some of the

content.

This story contains explicit descriptions of sex including fetishes, rough sex, gang bangs,

swinging, anal, homosexual, bondage and sexual domination.

…………………

What ‘Claws of sexual depravity’ gripped Frankie, taking him from a sweet

innocent private-school lad who had a liking for multi-layered ice creams, holding on

to his penis and seeing irony in his world, turning him into a monster.

Did he survive the sucking whirlpool of his journey?

__________________________

My high-heels are too tight and uncomfortable standing on the pavement under

the trees in the dark.

The half-moonlight filters through the trees and there are the slow flashes, lights

turning of cars coming and going.

Some with lights off, some have dim on only.

The waiting is always the hard part.

Will someone come up the path soon?

The tension gets my adrenalin up but if the wait is too long I start to feel my heels

again.

Then there is a silhouette shape of a figure approaching slowly at about thirty

yards. I turn my back to the path and look down the side of the dark hill. This way I

am offering up my body anonymously allowing him to peruse me at his leisure by not

confronting him with my stare.

I hope and wish he will then approach me.

I am thinking pick me, pick me.

He is behind me. My mind is racing with anticipation and fear in case he might

get violent in this lonely place and hurt me.

A bit of harm would be exciting as it happens sometimes when one of them takes

me well into the bush, removes my clothes and gives me orders.

I am trembling but he passes on.

I sigh. This is addictive, the topsy-turvy rush of expectation and disappointment.

Another figure is approaching.

This one pauses and waits behind me for a long time. I am wondering should I

turn around, should I do something, anything?

Then I feel his hot breath on my bare shoulder. A hand touches my leg softly. His

fingers are shaking, I imagine with nerves in case I reject his advances.

The hand moves slowly and warmly up my inner thigh, while another gently

moves around my waist seemingly exploring the rough texture of my tight black

polyester dress.

I am now feeling his hand on the front of my panties. I can barely contain myself.

He is lifting my dress up. My head falls back limply onto his shoulder as he is holding

me firmly against himself now squashing the air from my lungs. I am panting, yielding

to his power. He whispers to me to come up the hill further with him.

I silently comply.

We walk in the muted darkness of the moon coming and going behind clouds.

At the top of the hill between some large boulders he pushes me ahead down a

dirt side track.

I notice that the other first dark figure has seen us go down this path and is

following us. He seems to be keeping a respectful distance.

I am not worried as I like this attention that they have both focused around me.

We arrive at a cluster of large boulders. In the dim light I see a table-like flat

boulder and he sits me down pushing me backwards so that my lower legs hang

free.

I am looking up at the sky.

Giving myself up to the unknown onslaught of pleasures that might befall me now,

he starts to fondle between my legs. His hands are warm soft and gentle as though

they are well manicured. I am pleased for this as I want to survive whatever is to

come.

My panties are slipped off.

My stockings contrast with the porcelain quality of my upper bare skin. I think my

body always looks its best when I am lying on my back, flattening out my small

tummy. I am happy if he is pleased.

My dress is up around my head now and covering my face.

I feel the presence of the other dark figure, hearing the leaves and some twigs

cracking underfoot. That will be nice for me, to have more touching hands to caress

my body. My mind seems disconnected from my relaxed body as I had a few glasses

of wine before leaving home, by now getting a warm and safe sensation.

My arms are pulled back up and against the flat rock face. I am totally exposed,

naked from the neck down except for my black stay-up stockings and black high

heels with their sparkling diamond strips on the ankle ties.

Two pairs of hands are roaming over me, sometimes firm, other times gentle. I am

quivering wanting them to go faster and harder but they are slow and teasing.

When the moon comes out I can see through the fabric of my bunched up dress.

My white hairless body lies below me in all its beauty and I like the way it looks.

While still being held at my hands I am turned over onto my stomach and pulled back

so that I must stand with my bottom up. Now it seems there are three men looking

after me.

Suddenly I am hit and slapped hard on my bottom.

I expel a surprised muffled groan and the hitting continues for quite a time.

I am thinking I must be red from the pain and hope they don't leave any bruises.

Occasionally a hit lands inside the tenderness between my legs making me jump

to protect myself though it is still a stimulating feeling.

Then I am grabbed around the front between my legs and held there with very

muscular hands in a tight grip. I am paralysed. My heart is rushing. My short dress is

around my neck.

When the hitting stops I am pushed down. My legs forced open. My head is pulled

back by my hair arching my back. My whole body is rigid. A firm hurtful slap across

my face and I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. I groan, whimpering.

They seem to be excited by this. I plead with them to be gentle. They are saying

nothing. My mouth is forced open and fingers go in between my teeth and my lips,

pushing against my gum. The fingers then curl deeper inside to make me gag as

they force my mouth open further. They are all acting like they do this often as a

team.

When will this stop! I am now petrified and can feel that my bottom is tight, the leg

muscles are stiff, stretched wide apart now, the strong fingers between my legs are

probing softly and slowly, my whole body feels as though it has been entered by

something massive at both ends. I think of a pink pig on a rotisserie. I cannot move

and am transfixed.

This feels ok. Now I have accepted it and at least the hitting has stopped.

I forget the pressure of the tight grip between my legs, then a wet rush of release

and I cry out. My whole body collapses, relaxed, limp.

They roll me over onto my back once again.

I am beyond caring. They can do what they like to me as I lie there exhausted.

They enter me in turn. My tired body yields totally without any resistance.

All the while they also come at my mouth with their cocks, before and after

entering me and take my hands to hold forcing me to pull and fondle their wet fat

cocks of all sizes.

I am so glad the first one was small to start me off and lubricate me for the

journey.

As the three dark figures naked from the waist down finish one by one, I can see

one pissing on my strewn dress and undies now lying on the ground.

The biggest one of the three rolls me over, ordering me to kneel on the ground.

I comply going into a doggie position, now completely stripped.

The twigs and leaves bite into my soft knees. He opens my cheeks with both his

big hands and lets go as though he is trying to fill me up. I am thinking that I am a car

at the gas station.

He finishes up.

There is a rustle of clothes and undergrowth as they dress and make a hasty

departure, abandoning me.

One gives a muffled 'thanks' and they are leaving.

The moon is behind the clouds again.

I slump to the ground.

They are melting into the half-darkness as they had come.

I am exhausted, left to myself, looking up at the moon now showing itself and

feeling the stillness of being alone again.

The quiet of the tree canopy is like a soothing blanket rolling over me.

I scoop up my clothes in a bundle wet and dirty. I begin the long walk back along

the path and down the hill as a gentle rain is falling.

Still naked, the crisp air bites into my body stinging where piss and slap-marks

meet.

My tingling nerves seem to be vibrating. I feel that I am floating a foot off the

ground light on my bare feet now along the pavement pathway, tired but fulfilled.

At the parking lot I put my clothes on a park bench and at a tap squirt myself

everywhere with cold refreshing water to cleanse my body and spirit of this time on

the hill.

It is my dim lights of my car that are now finding their way out of the bush and car

park as I notice other shadowy figures taking their long walk up the hill.

Years earlier

I woke up one morning and wanted something else.

My bed was wet from my dreams.

Mom liked to check my sheets daily and seemed to go straight into my bedroom

when I exited to go to the bathroom.

Curiously strange I thought like a dog sniffing out a new scent.

Soon after, I did do something else.

At 22 I left university, job, girlfriend and home not returning until much later having

experienced other world things.

I hungered to move from the audience as a watcher of life to be on stage as a

participator in life by the mere physical single step of moving overseas.