It started with my brother. And his friends. They took me to this movie.
I didn't want to go. I was afraid. Especially when I saw the posters for the movie outside. It was called, "Girls Chained in Hell."
I was terrified. I was only sixteen. My brother and his friends were older. They were eighteen, nineteen. I was so scared but I didn't say anything.
The movie was terrifying to me. I could never tell myself-these are just actors. The girls-they were really being whipped and tortured.
In this big dungeon. They were screaming. It was terrifying.
Afterwards, outside, my brother and his friends got drunk.
They went to a bar, and I went with them. I didn't drink anything.
Afterwards, outside, in an alley, that's when it started.
I started screaming, cowering against a building, and they came at me.
They must have been drunk or something, out of their minds with lust.
They whipped me. Whipped me with their leather belts.
All six of them, big boys, all muscular, smelling of car grease and beers.
Then they raped me. It was my first time. Since then, it's been the same always. I must be whipped. I like it. I love it. I love being slashed until my whole body's burning. Then I love being taken. In any way. Being fucked and taken.
This is my story.
CHAPTER ONE
It all started the night we went to see "Girls Chained in Hell."
Ha. What an un-likely start to my story. But it changed my life.
That movie really did. Maybe things would have worked out the same anyway.
Maybe, some way or other, I would have found someone to whip me.
Maybe that was my destiny. I think it was. I was made to be whipped.
But as it was, I never knew that. My childhood was normal.
I grew up like any other kid in a small town in the U.S.
I never knew that my flesh was growing, all that while, growing taut and succulent, and made for burning desires which could only be satisfied at the end of a thick leather lash. But such is life. We never know our destinies.
Until they are staring us straight in the face.
And then we can no longer turn away, but we must recognize them.
"Girls Chained in Hell." But first my childhood.
My psychological makeup. Because I want to make you understand me.
Make you see why my flesh craves the lashing of a whip.
Make you feel what I feel every time I cower on the floor in chains.
I grew up happily, or so I thought. My mother died when I was young.
But it didn't really affect me. Or it didn't seem to.
I never really knew my mother. Was never really close to her.
I guess I always lived in a sort of dream world of my own.
When she passed away, I was sad. But life went on.
I lived with my father and my brother. Neither of them were particularly brutal or unusual. Neither of them ever hit me I don't think.
I was quiet. I tagged along after my older brother.
I was very protected. My father was always worried about me.
I was frightened of things. Of older kids. Of boys. Of dogs.
I think once I was bitten by a dog when I was an infant.
I never learned to swim. When the other kids went swimming in the river, I sat on the bank. I was afraid of the ravine. The older kids told scary stories.
About rapists who waited for little girls in the ravine.
I never went down there alone. I was afraid of climbing trees like the other kids did. I was afraid of falling. I was afraid of getting hurt.
My body was very sensitive. I always got black and blue marks very easily.
The slightest thing, the slightest bump or scratch.
And I was black and blue for weeks. Sometimes, I remember, when I was entering my teens, I'd wake up in the mornings with a black and blue mark somewhere.
On my arm or thigh. Probably from having bumped the leg or arm against the post of the bed in the middle of the night. It was strange.
As if I'd been flailing my arms and legs in a bad dream in the night.
And bumped myself without even knowing it. And I'd be black and blue.
As if someone had come into my room in the middle of the night and taken me, beaten me, whipped me. But I never could remember anything.
And oh yes. The dreams. I've always been subject to bad dreams.
Dreams of rapists in the ravine, or strange frightening dreams of men who would hurt me. But I never could remember those dreams.
I'd just wake up in the morning with a strange sense of uneasiness.
And I'd live through the whole day with the after affect of that dream hanging over me. Yet I'd never clearly remember the dream itself.
Just the fearful sense of being in danger, and being afraid.
You know, they say that people love being terrified.
Hence the whole spate and popularity of "horror films."
People love having the wits scared out of them.
Without being in any real danger of course. Cathartic, it's called.
Maybe that has something to do with my story. I don't know.
I'm not a psychologist or anything. I'm not really trying to explain.
I'm just trying to offer suggestions. So you can understand me.
Perhaps I'm really very sick. And I'm just trying to justify myself.
I don't know. Sometimes I feel as if I'm many people.
As if there are many people inside me, men and women.
And they're all trying to get out of me. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to go crazy. I feel hysterical. I feel like I'm going to go out of my mind.
And there are all these voices that are going to come flying out of my head.
All these different spirits inside me. Sometimes I'm aware of people from different times inside me. Once I went to a fortune teller.
And she told me that I am very old. She told me that in a past life, I was a orphan and I lived in England and worked in a tavern there.
She told me I died very young, that I was raped and murdered.
I don't know if that's really true. I don't know if I believe in that stuff.
But maybe it is true. Maybe I'm so crazy because there is the spirit of that girl who was murdered haunting me, and driving me crazy. Does that explain anything?
Then why does she still crave to be hurt so much?
Do I really crave to be hurt? Did I really say that?
No, I don't think it's true. I'm afraid of being hurt.
I'm afraid of pain. I hate pain. It's just that, so often, pain can turn to pleasure. The most incredible pleasure that is not available to you if you live an ordinary simple life. The life of the nightmare is much more exciting.
More exciting than the daily waking world of work and pleasant people.
The life of the nightmare is terrifying, but exhilarating.
That's what I love. The exhilaration. The terrifying sense of extraordinary heightened senses. The excruciating moment, just before the lash falls, when you don't know if you're in heaven or hell, but you say, "Yes."
You say "yes" to the terrible, horrifying, exhilarating unknown outcome.
"Girls Chained in Hell." I was sixteen. Still skinny as a rail.
I'm not one of those girls who's all flesh and curves.
No, I never developed big breasts and lots of flesh.
I'm thin. When I was sixteen, my breasts were fully developed.
Which is to say they were two white knobs pushing out my little nipples.
It was as if someone had just pumped up the flesh under my little girl's nipples once, with one pump, and then they stopped pumping.
Since I never went out in the sun in the summer, like the other kids-because my skin burns so easily, I was always pure and virginally white.
The summer I was sixteen, I was suffering from terrible nightmares.
I was always waking up black and blue, and never knowing the reason why.
I think I read a book-I can't even remember what it was, maybe the Marquis de Sade or something like that. My brother had these books lying around.
He used to hide them because my father-who was a very gentle and God-fearing man-would became enraged when he found my brother reading what he called trash.
Maybe I read a few chapters of that book. My mind has always been so impressionable.
And it probably affected me. Gave me those nightmares.
I don't really remember how it developed that I went out with my brother and some of his friends to see this movie. I do remember that the whole town was talking about this new movie theater that had opened up.
It was quite a scandal. There were articles and letters about it in the paper.
It showed X-rated films and foreign movies. And folks wanted to close it down.
They did close it down, in fact, at the end of the summer, after what happened to me. They used what happened to me as an example of how sinful and immoral the movie theater was and what a bad affect it was having on the youth of our town.
But by then, it was too late for me. Something had already happened to my mind.
I was hooked, sort of, or maybe it was more like I was already on my way to my master. As if he had somehow found me-though it was still many years before I met-found me through that movie. Found my soul, and claimed it.
When I saw the poster for the movie outside, under the marquee, I got scared.
I was frightened. I didn't want to go inside.
It was like, what I saw looked so familiar with me.
But I couldn't explain it at the time. I started whimpering:
"No, no, I don't want to go in. I don't want to see it!"
The poster showed this: it showed these girls, all naked, or practically naked, dressed in rags you know. And they were chained to these walls.
There were tiers of them. They were sort of chained in this pit.
High up you could see more girls, who looked tiny, because the pit was so huge. And then the focus of the picture was on these two girls.
There eyes were big and wide and terrified. It was like they were looking at their souls or something. You couldn't see what they were looking at.
They were chained to the walls by their hands and legs, spread wide open.
Their lips were parted, they didn't know how beautiful they looked.
Such things were far from being on their minds. They were just terrified.
And then, below them, you could see the hands, just the outstretched hands, of the girl in the bottom tier of the pit. She was the one who was getting it.
Or facing it, whatever it was, the hidden terror you couldn't see.
All you could see were her fingers, outstretched, stretching out for something, stretching out for help, that you knew wouldn't arrive. It was sickening.
"No, I can't go in there. I can't go in! I can't go in there!"
I got a case of hysterics right there outside the theater.
It was broad daylight. I was just going to the movies with my brother and some of his friends. My brother had seen me get hysterics before.
His name is Tommy. He just said to me: "Come on, Lenore, are you coming or not? If you want to go home, go home, but I'm not walking you home. You said you wanted to go to the movies. Now don't spoil everything. We're going to go and have a good time."
He paid for my ticket. And took me in. I went in, in the group of boys.
They bought popcorn, cokes, and we went up to the balcony.
Up in the balcony they lit cigarettes and sat around talking and smoking.
They called down to their friends sitting below us.
I just sat huddled up in my chair and waited.
We were all sitting in a line. I was sitting down at the far end of the line, next to my brother. I just waited. The newsreels and the shorts came on.
There was a cartoon. About the road runner. You know that one?
It was funny. I laughed. The road runner was always getting smashed over the head, and bouncing back to life. No matter what happened to him, he always bounced back.
I think I never laughed so hard in my life. It was like a relief.
A release from the tension. My brother turned to me and said:
"You see, Lenore? There's nothing to be frightened of."
He knew that I was always frightened. I just nodded and I gripped his hand.
Then the titles came on for "Girls Chained in Hell."
I dropped his hand and gripped the sides of my chair.
We stayed and sat through that movie three times that night.
We all loved it. My brother and his friends and me.
Someone went out and smuggled some beer into the theater.
The boys and my brother sat there drinking it. I didn't drink any.
I never drink. It makes me feel sick and dizzy, and then I don't know who or where I am. I just sat in my chair between each showing.
And waited to see the picture again. Never in my life, I think had I suspected that that kind of excitement lay hidden inside me. Like a power source.
Just lying inside me, and waiting to be tapped.
That movie tapped that power source inside me. For the first time.
Then the lights went down, the shorts came on again.
I laughed again at watching the road runner, nearly smashed to death, again and again, and always springing right back to life. And then it started.
With the first opening credits, and the tingling music, I felt the tingling in my pussy. I guess it was the first time I was erotically aroused.
The plot was thin and stupid. I don't even remember it.
Something about these girls who get kidnapped. Does it really matter how?
Some of them are nice girls. Good girls. From good families.
Some of them are from wealthy families. Girls who've always had everything.
Some of them are girls who are used to talking back, giving lip.
Others are timid, frightened girls, poor girls. Girls like me.
They're all taken to this dungeon, to this chamber, and they don't know where.
They're tortured and stripped naked on the way.
Made to perform sex acts with the men who take them away.
Made to perform sex acts with the men's horses.
But all the while, the men are telling them, this is nothing compared to what you're going to get when you come before Garth. Garth is going to take you.
The girls are all terrified. Who is Garth? What is he going to do.
"Relax and enjoy it. Enjoy it while you can, you are going to Garth."
Garth needs sacrificial girls. They needn't be virgins.
Just young, and beautiful. Tough girls and frightened girls alike swoon in his presence. They are so excited, and so scared their hearts almost stop.
One by one they're taken down off their chains and brought to the lower pits.
You never see what happens to them. Until the last girl is taken down there.
Then you see it. She's chained to a post. Her hands are handcuffed.
Her legs are chained to stakes stuck in the ground two yards apart.
The last few remnants of her clothes are ripped off.
Then Garth appears. He is huge, a giant. Grisly red hair and beard.
Huge chested, and huge fisted. He licks his lips as he walks around his latest victim. He carries a whip. A gorgeous thing. Long, black and ugly. With a lash like a tongue. He's dressed in Viking armor.
And he wears a helmet with the beak of an eagle coming over his head.
He carries an eagle, tied by a golden leash, on his arm.
The whipping begins, as he brutally explains to the girl what he wants from her.
"You will bow down to my every wish, you will bow down to my will."
He starts slashing her. There is no need to gag her.
Her screams rise up the pit to curdle the blood of the other watching girls.
Her back and thighs rise up with welts as she screams and writhes.
"Your flesh will be like a calling to my blood. Your flesh has been formed for nothing else but to serve me. Your flesh is mine, it belongs to me.
"You will live and die in this chamber, with no other thought but to give your flesh to me. But you will not have to give it. For I will take it.
"If you do not give willingly, you will only be whipped more. If you give willingly, you will be whipped anyway. Harshly and severely. Every day. Whenever I chose.
"Because I love to see your flesh in pain. It reminds that you are my slave, paying homage to me. Every time you cry out in pain under my whip, I know that you are reminded that your flesh is mine. Every part of it." The girl is screaming, and writhing in pain. Her back, her buttocks, her thighs, her shins are all tortured with welts. Her blood is in a frenzy.
Garth motions to his guards and they unchain the girl and then rechain her to the post so that her front is exposed. And then that is subject to the whipping.
Garth whips her breasts, her soft belly, her thighs.
Her arms, her feet, her face, her whole body.
She is nothing now, she remembers nothing, but his pain.
The pain belongs to Garth and he gives it to her freely.
Then he spreads her legs open widely, and he whips her cunt last of all.
When the girl can take no more, when her eyes are wide open with pain and he can see in her eyes that there is no longer any memory left in her eyes of any other time or place but here and now, and her fear, and her pain, then he takes her.
His henchmen take his whip from him, and he lifts up the cloth of animal fur that has been hanging down over his groin. You see his erection.
It is towering and hard. It is white and unblemished.
It is huge and misshapen. The head of his penis is in the shape of a large bulbous knob. The whipped girl looks at that erect member with more fear than ever before. Her legs are wrenched open wide by the henchmen.
Her face is thrown back into the dirt. And Garth takes her.
He enters her whipped cunt brutally. He shoves his thick knob-headed cock inside her and he whips his cock in and out of her so hard and brutally that she started screaming again. He has the passion and the endurance of ten men.
The fucking goes on longer than the whipping.-twice as long.
And all the while, Garth watches the girl. Almost as if he is getting no pleasure.
He is watching her every move, her every reaction.
He is learning her body, learning her pleasures, learning her pain.
He only needs to learn once. He has been studying so long.
He brings her to the heights that she has never even dreamed of.
And then he pulls out and demands that she be turned over.
Now he inserts himself into her anus. Again he takes her just as brutally.
He watches while she screams out, begs for mercy, calls to her sisters.
Never once does he glance up at the chained girls hanging on the walls above.
He never has to doubt-he is certain that they are watching.
All eyes are riveted on the girl. Everyone has the same fascination.
How much longer can she take it? When will she utterly break down?
When he explodes inside her ass, he merely closes his eyes and concentrates for a moment. And then it is as if the girl is being fucked by a god.
He pushes and shoves his cock up inside her. And he explodes.
It is like a burst of dynamite has gone off inside her.
The cries of the girl change-reach a higher pitch, and her scream is eerie, unearthly, and all the girls look away now, knowing their sister has passed beyond them.
Passed into some kind of new knowledge, that the uninitiated ones do not yet know. Yet, the fear in every girl's heart, is the breathtaking certainty that she too will know that knowledge. That her time will come, at any time.
Each and every girl knows that she too will know what the girl in the pit knows.
That she too will be taught the depths to which degradation can take her.
That she too will be taught her animal desires, her lusts and passions.
As only Garth, among all men, can teach them. And they're scared.
And they are frightened. And they are exhilarated.
And when their time comes, they are led away, with sorrowful calls to their sisters who remain behind them. When each girl is returned to her chains on the wall, she is changed and she is different. Now she no longer murmurs to her friends.
Now she no longer calls out words of comfort.
Some of them just cry. Some of them are silent. All of them have distant, far-away looks on their faces. All of them have been relieved of themselves.
Each and every girl has become part of Garth.
No longer are these nice girls, or good girls, or rich girls, or poor girls.
Each and every one is the same girl-in slightly different shape or form.
Each and every one is slave to Garth, his servant flesh.
Each and every one knows she has but one function to fulfill.
And that is to satisfy the cruel and lusting passion of a merciless master.
After the third showing, we all went out by the exit.
The night was a little cooler than the day had been.
But it was still hot and muggy. Do you know what a small town is like during a heat wave in July? The moisture never leaves the air. Always it is damp.
Sometimes you feel like you are swimming through a dream all day long.
You wait and long for night or rain to bring relieving coolness.
But rain may come, or night comes, and it does not bring relief from that wet heat. It only brings darkness, which is a relief unto itself.
Unless you get caught or lost in that darkness.
Sometimes the bright noon sun of the day seems like a curse in itself, and you wish for the sunset. And it seems that the sun never moves across the sky.
But when the sun sinks on the horizon, it sinks quickly.
And there are nights when you believe the sun will never rise again.
Such was a night after we saw that movie. My brother and his friends started drinking in the alley outside the movie theater. They were all underaged.
But there was a bar next to the movie theater, and someone in the bar kept smuggling liquour out to them. In the movie theater it was beer they were drinking.
Out in the alley they turned to whiskey. I pushed myself into a corner of the wall of the building opposite the movie theater and I waited and I watched.
I was afraid to walk home by myself. I was waiting for my brother.
To walk home to our house, you had to go dangerously near to the ravine.
Our house was the last house on a dead end street and the ravine was just beyond it. This was in the days when our street was only gravel.
And there were no electric lights along it. So I was afraid to walk down our street after dark. I told my brother I wanted to go home soon.
But he didn't listen to me. "Pipe down and shut up. If you want to fucking tag along, then you'd better keep your trap shut. I don't know why I let a dumb little sixteen year old girl come along with me anyway. She's always trying to ruin everything."
My brother didn't ordinarily speak to me that way.
Generally, he's a very kind and gentle man, like my father.
But he was drinking that night, and getting very drunk.
And he was with his friends. Have you ever noticed how a man will change-how he may act one way with you-if you're a woman, when you're alone with him?
But just let his friends come along, and he's a completely different man?
That's the way it was with my brother. As the night went on and he got drunker and drunker, he got progressively abusive. As if he had to show off to his friends.
His friends too, were all good and decent boys.
I knew them all, had grown up with them. They had always treated me kindly.
But they were out of control that night. The movie, and then the drinking.
My whining set them off, I know it. "Please Tommy, let's go home."
I whined as I clung to the shadows of the wall.
My imagination had been set off, like a time bomb.
Everything looked drunken and crazy to me, even though I wasn't drinking.
It was as if the night air itself was intoxicating.
The smell of the whiskey and beer on their breaths.
Their big, dark, hunkering shadows as they crouched around a fire they had made. A fire? In a hot back alley on a sweltering night in July?
The fire seemed to spring as if from nowhere.
Spontaneous combustion. Who can see what is the need between young, intoxicated men and fires. The flickering red and yellow flames seemed like tongues.
It threw their shadows, their images against the old brick wall of the movie house and made them seem even bigger, made them fee even bigger.
They were telling stories, stories of women. Women they had heard about.
Women some of them had claimed to know. The parts of women they had seen or had yet to see. They were talking about the pussy, the hair, the meat that lies inside.
One fellow said he heard some woman had teeth down there.
Some of the boys laughed, and others looked around at me uneasily.
I tried to make myself invisible against the wall.
How I longed to be one of them, male, and unafraid, able to come up and take my place among them, around the flickering flames of the fire. Instead I had to stand alone, in the dark shadows, and wait until they were ready.
Two drunks came out of the bar down the alley and got into a fight.
Some of the boys, (my brother was not among them) went down there to watch the fight, which was really pretty comical. Both men were too drunk to land home a single blow. Still the fight, the hostility, the tension excited them.
My brother looked at me while the others were away watching the fight.
I could feel him looking, though I was looking away.
I was wearing only a pair of shorts, cut-offs I think they were.
And one of my father's old blue button down shirts. I'd cut the long sleeves down. I didn't need to wear a bra underneath. The shirt was big and loose.
It revealed nothing, but my long slim arms.
On my feet I wore a pair of moccasins. That was it.
My hair was in braids. To amuse myself and keep myself occupied while the long night passed, I found my fingers doing and undoing my braids.
I have plain brown hair, not too thick or thin.
I wear it parted in the middle and I have long bangs which tend to make my forehead greasy sometimes. I am not a beauty. But that night, when my brother was looking at me, I could feel he was looking at me in a new way than before.
"Why do you stand over there in the corner. What are you, a little mouse? Come out here!" he brutally, slushily called to me. He was slurring his words.
I could tell he was drunk. Sometimes my father got drunk too.
I knew the best thing to do was to remain silent.
I just shook my head and stayed where I was, braiding and unbraiding my hair.
The others came back from where the two drunks had been fighting.
One drunk had gone off home, staggering from one side of the alley to the other.
The other drunk came back with the boys, held up between two of them.
He joined them round the fire and started telling them real stories of things women had done to him, or things women would do. It excited them all.
It turned them on. I could see it, in the tenseness of their stances.
The drunk suddenly cast an evil eye on me, as if he known I was standing there all along, but he said , "Who's that, standing in the corner."
One of the other boys said, "That's Tommy's sister."
"She's waiting for us to take her home," said another.
The drunk licked his dry cracked lips and looked at me.
"Cunt," was all he said, and I saw the boys shift their weight nervously.
Suddenly in my head I seemed to hear the screams of the girls from the movie.
But it was like the pit was all around me, and I was staring down into it.
I stared at the drunk's lip. It was swollen and bleeding.
The drunk looked away. He said, "You boys ever had a woman?"
Some of them shuffled their feet and some of them looked away. One spat into the fire. "I have."
"Yeah, I have."
"Sure, what do you think we are?"
But some of them answered nothing, only looked into the fire.
"Why don't you take her," he spat into the fire.
I expected my brother to say nothing. If we had been alone it would have been different. But he was drunk and intoxicated and it was night and he was with his friends.
"She's too young."
"She's too skinny."
"It's not the same."
"All cunts are the same. Have you ever seen beaver? Real beaver?"
The drunk asked them. The boys licked their lips.
For a small town, such talk was strange, and the night was hot.
They were high school boys, some of them graduated just that summer, some of them with still a year to go. And what were they going to do when they graduated?
Ride a tractor on their daddy's farm, or maybe get married and go away to the big city to live. Try and find work in a factory, make a living.
"Beaver, hot and wet. And furry. Like one of them little rodents. Like a slab of meat, all hot and wet and pink. I knew this whore once, had a pussy she could blow smoke out of. You don't believe me. But you put a cigarette down to her cunt, and her cunt could suck it, just like a mouth, and then blow the smoke out."
The wino laughed and the boys laughed uneasily.
"Think she could do that with her pussy?" he asked indicating me over his shoulder. I listened to all this talk uneasily. No more or less uneasily than I had been listening all night, all my life. The bad dream was always with me.
The drunk disappeared somewhere. Time seemed to have lost all meaning.
When they came and turned upon me, I don't even remember what provoked it.
It was all that talk of pussy and beaver. All those images of screaming girls from the picture show. All the whiskey and all the dry lips which their tongues passed over. Suddenly, the tide of their pent-up tensions overflowed the dam.
"Come on, let's make her put out for us. She's old enough."
"What's she been standing there all this time for anyway?"
"If she didn't want to, she would have gone home already."
"What's a nice girl doing out this time of night anyway?"
"She takes her chances." They all approached.
My brother was the last of them to turn and come towards me.
He came at the back of the pack. It was like a pack of dogs had turned on me.
"N-no, d-don't! P-please, d-don't," I whimpered.
I cowered and pushed myself against the wall. I looked for Tommy.
But he was coming on me too. He had a doubtful look on his face.
I heard him say, "Leave her alone, she's my sister."
"Don't make no matter," one of the older boys said, "she's got a pussy on her, and she's got herself caught in the wrong place at the wrong time."
There was nothing my brother could do for me after that.
I couldn't get a scream out of my throat until they fell on me.
Then I started screaming, as I felt their big hands tearing at my clothes.
I went down under the pile of them. It was like a pile-up in a football game.
Someone held his filthy, whiskey-smelling hand over my mouth.
They stripped me naked. Then they started fucking me.
It was like they had been hard all that time, all that night, in their pants.
Their cocks were ready instantly, hard and able. They spread me out face down on the ground and then they fucked me. I think most of them fucked me in the ass.
That was being nice to me, I suppose. Or covering for themselves.
They didn't want to get in trouble. My virgin ass hole was ripped open.
And fucked four or five times, before anyone even touched my cunt.
And then, intoxicated with their own brutality, they threw their last restraints away and fucked me in the cunt. Their cocks had tasted ass.
And the hunger for cunt could not be held back.
There were six of them, including my brother. He was the last to take me.
It was a challenge to him by then. All the others were watching.
They were holding me down, holding my mouth closed.
"Go ahead, Tommy, take her. Fuck her. Are you afraid or something?"
"No, I ain't afraid, I just ain't real attracted to her."
Tommy said this, unzipping his pants. He took his cock out. It was huge and stiff, a big hard rod. He stared at me.
I stared at him. It was like we were looking at each other for the first and for the last time. I whimpered and I turned my head away.
I knew he was going to do it, do it to me too.
My pussy and my anus were throbbing-because I don't know how many times those big sticks of theirs were shoved up in me. Someone said:
"Don't look at her face, you jerk, close your eyes. Or just look at her pussy."
"It's just like that old wino said--just fuck her pussy."
They spread my legs open wider and waited. My brother stepped forward.
And he knelt down on my spread-apart thighs and he shoved his cock in my pussy. He fucked my cunt so hard, that I could feel my shredded flesh ripping more.
It was pain, all pain, deep, bottomless pain, like the pain of the pit.
I bit the finger of the boy who was holding a hand over my mouth.
And he screamed and shouted: "She bit me!" He held up his finger.
It was bleeding. It was just the sight of blood, the mere sight of it, that set off the last thing in them, broke the last boundary.
It was then they set upon me with their belts. They all wore leather belts.
They pulled them out of their jeans, and began beating me with them.
Now I just lay on the rubble of the alley, and covered my head, and closed my eyes. I screamed and whimpered and sobbed and cried, but I didn't know anymore whether or not this was really happening. I must have passed out and come to several times, because sometimes I believed I was in a beautiful white room where nurses were serving me and bringing me flowers. I was surrounded by sweet-smelling fragrant blooming flowers.
But when I came to, and opened my eyes, it was dark, and I was lying in filth.
The stinking smell of garbage and whiskey, and the last of the belts were crashing on my shivering and vibrating body. They were loosing their passion.
Some of them had already run away, frightened by the face of their own brutality staring up at them in the form of my beaten and battered naked body.
Only my brother and one other kid, a nice boy, who lived down the street from us, remained. He brought me water, from the bar. They lifted me up.
And helped me drink it. My brother had come to his senses again.
"Oh, Lenore, Lenore. I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He was crying and holding my head and stroking my hair. I opened my bruised eyes and felt pity for him.
I couldn't speak but I grabbed one of his fingers and held it tight.
They carried me home. Someone put me to bed. In the morning, I couldn't get up but in the middle of the night I had gotten my first period.
The sheets of the bed were covered with blood.
Tommy told my father that my woman's time had come and I felt sick and didn't want to see anybody. He said I had also fallen down in the street last night and gotten bruised. My father wanted to come in and see me, but I made Tommy lock the door.
I cried and pleaded with him through the door that I was all right.
I just didn't want to see anybody. I felt wretched and just wanted to be alone.
My father has always respected everybody's privacy. Ever since we were children, he would never come into our rooms if we said we wanted to be alone. I stayed in my room for a week without coming out.
Tommy brought me food and sat on my bed. He wanted to call the doctor.
I told him no, and showed him how my bruises were healing.
My father was worried too, but after five days I came out, wearing a long sleeved shirt and long pants. There were only a few bruises on my face. All the rest were under my clothes. I told my father that my first woman's time was very bad, and that I was suffering with terrible cramps and couldn't sleep. He believed me. If you've got no reason not to believe someone, it never occurs to you not to believe them. J had never lied to my father before.
I always told the truth. Because I had nothing to hide.
Now, I had to protect my brother. His friends I didn't care about.
But somehow, in some way, I felt that what had happened was in some strange, deep dark way, my fault. I felt guilty. I had been there, a taunt to them.
And a challenge. You can't expect young men not to respond to the call of their natures. And it was in my nature to be afraid and to wait.
To wait for them to take me home. If I had been stronger, less fearful, I would have gone home alone. But such was not my nature. Was not and is not.
Do you believe a person can change? Within the same lifetime?
I have heard this is possible, but I do not believe it.
Not in myself, in any case. The only change I have experienced is the change of becoming. That's how I think of it. I have only gone on to become more and more like myself. To become myself even more. What I was in that day, when I was sixteen and went to the see the movie that changed my life, I have only become even more of the person who was budding in me then. I have deepened myself.
And become myself more. But wait. I think I hear someone coming.
Yes, steps on the walk. I must put this away.
My master is coming.
CHAPTER TWO
The next thing that happened was in the ravine.
It was later in that same summer. After I recovered enough from my brutal rape and beating in the alley, I did not wander far from the house.
I was afraid to go into town. I was afraid to face those boys, those nice boys, who I'd known all my life, and look them in the eye.
I was sure they would see the guilt in my eyes. The guilty knowledge that lived inside me. I couldn't yet face that knowledge myself.
So I avoided the town. I stayed close to the house.
It took a month for the black and blue marks to subside.
But for some reason, all that summer, I went on hiding my arms and legs.
All summer long I wore long-sleeved shirts and long pants.
I threw away all my shorts and sleeveless shirts.
I told my father that my skin burned too badly to expose it to the sun.
He knew this was true. Every summer my skin burned so badly that often I had to go to the doctor to get a special salve for it. I said this summer I would just keep out of the sun. I stayed in the house almost all day.
I got up late, at eleven or twelve. And just puttered around.
I washed up the dishes that my brother and father had left in the sink.
I threw out the beer cans they had left lying around.
I swept up and I made my bed. I never went into their rooms.
My father always kept his neat, and my brother's was always a mess.
But that was a family rule. We stayed out of each other's rooms.
We respected the privacy of one's own personal room.
My room was like a shrine to my love. That was the summer I started fantasizing about my love. I imagined him as a beautiful man, a man who was destined to be my lover.
He was a prince and lived in some far away kingdom.
And he could see me. He had a wizard, who could show him, through a window on my world, what I was doing at any given moment of the day.
I imagined my prince-lover and his wizard, looking at me through a bubble, like a window. And the prince always sorrowfully asked his tutor when he would be able to have me. And the wizard always answered the same thing: "Not yet, my son. Someday soon, perhaps. But not yet. You must be patient. You must wait. She is not ready yet."
And so, all the while, while I was sweeping up our little frame house, or washing the dishes or throwing out the beer cans, only I secretly knew that I was the bride-to-be of a handsome, young, clean-shaven prince in a far away land.
But sometimes, in my imagination, the prince would be gone, and it would be just the wizard, an old, green-faced man, who was staring at through the window on my world. He would just watch me for hours, and I never knew what he was thinking.
When he was just watching me, I would grow awkward and clumsy and stumble.
I dropped glasses and broke plates, and no longer felt beautiful and loved.
I would wish my prince would return and wonder where he went.
When he came back, he would say, "How has she been."
And the wizard would say, "Do not worry, nothing has changed."
But I always wondered whether my prince knew how his teacher looked at me.
The look in his eyes, when he was alone, was very deep and dark and secretive.
I wondered if my prince was right to trust him, and I wished I could tell him not to, for I did not trust the wizard myself. I was afraid of him.
But I could not speak to my prince. For he was far away.
But these were strictly daytime dreams. In the night, my prince and the wizard did not appear. At night I had other fantasies. About this time, there were reports that there was a peeping tom in the neighborhood. Every summer, it seemed, there would be reports of peeping toms. They were probably just rowdy or curious boys.
But I would lie naked, or else just in t-shirt, on my belly on my bed, and I would put my ass high into the air, and spread my legs open wide.
And I would play with myself, making my pussy wet.
My fingers delved into my pussy and I would dream or fantasize that the peeping tom was outside my window, watching me. I used to wish he were.
I wanted him to see my naked ass up in the air, my wet cunt open and hot between my legs, my pussy hair parting open, my fingers wet with cunt juice.
I wanted him to see how my fingers could make my cunt wet.
And I played with my breasts and I imagined that someone was standing over me and he was going to strike my ass. He was going to whip me and lay lashes on my ass unless I kept playing with myself for his pleasure. He liked to watch me masturbate.
And then one night, I looked up at the window.
I thought I heard a noise outside. Both my brother and father were out.
All the lights were on in my room, and it was black as coal in the night.
So my lights were shining, and illuminating my whole room.
And I was playing in my cunt, sticking my fingers in and out and stroking and stroking and stroking my cunt meat and then I heard the noise.
I slowly looked over my shoulder, while I kept stroking my cunt.
I saw a face at the window. I stroked my cunt meat faster.
I didn't let the face know that I had seen him. It was a big round face of a boy. I didn't know him. He was probably just some farmer's son.
I thought he looked dim-witted, in that one glimpse I got.
But I purposely moved around a little on the bed.
I made my ass face the window directly. I put my fingers down under my ass.
And slowly and deliberately, I pulled my cunt meat open.
I let him look directly down into my wet cunt meat.
And I looked around the room desperately for something to stick in my cunt.
My fingers weren't enough anymore. There was a candle, a big fat and long white one, on my dresser. I reached over and grabbed it.
Then, knowing that the peeping tom was watching at my window, I spread my cunt lips open again and let him look at my inner cunt meat.
And then I pushed the fat end of the candle into my cunt.
I pushed it all the way in, as far as it could go.
And then I just played with the candle sticking out of my cunt.
I pulled it in and out by the wick, and I shoved it in and twisted it around.
Purely for the benefit of the peeping tom who was watching, I started moaning and writhing. I imagined someone was whipping my ass, because I was allowing the peeping tom to watch, and imagining someone whipping my ass made my pussy get so wet and hot.
I started groaning and I pulled my t-shirt up over my tits.
I let him see my tits and finally I turned around and let him see that I knew he was there. He was still there, his face round and white and his mouth open.
His face looked just like the moon, smack up against the window.
And I put my feet on the candle sticking out of my cunt and started pushing it in and out while I squashed my boobs together and stuck out my tongue.
I groaned and writhed and did everything to show him what I would look like if I was taken and being made love to by a man. My cunt creamed all over the candle.
Well, I pulled the candle out of my hot cunt and started to lick it, to lick off all the white pussy cream of my cunt, I noticed that the face in the window had gone.
Some days later, the peeping tom was apprehended, and it did in fact turn out to be a boy who was mentally retarded and who had escaped from a home down the road. I was disappointed, because every night I had waited for him to come back.
After that, I just had to pretend that he was there, watching me.
In my fantasy, I always asked him to come in and play with me.
But he never would come in, and that fantasy soon lost is savor.
Later on in the summer, there were reports of a rapist.
As I say, these are the events that fill up every summer in our town.
Every summer, some man or boy goes wild. Maybe he's a respectable father, with kids and a wife, and he just goes crazy. Maybe he's just a horny boy who wants to get laid. Maybe he's a real crazy person. But every summer, right as rain, there's a peeping tom and a rapist, or at least rumors of them, in our town.
By this time, I was starting to ramble through the countryside alone at night. Now, I tell you that I was still afraid. But somehow, being afraid didn't matter.
It was like, the nighttime was at least better than the day.
The night was dark, no one could see me, and I ran less of a chance of running into anyone I knew, like those boys from town. I went down to the river sometimes.
Or out into the pastures where the cows were, and I stayed with them.
Sometimes I rambled around all night until dawn.
Then I slipped back home into my bed, and didn't get up again until it was almost time for the sun to go down again. That was how I lived.
The reports of the rapist didn't really frighten me, because I didn't believe them. My brother said that Nancy Walker said she had been raped, but he said that what had happened was that her boyfriend didn't pull out in time, like he said he would, and she got hysterical and made up some story. And the other reported rape was by old Miss Grimsby, one of the town spinsters, who was always imagining that men were following her home. So no one really thought the stories were true.
But still, parents pulled their girls in off the street at dusk, and every woman who was out after dark, looked around her cautiously and listened for footsteps following her in the night. Then the body of a little girl was found, murdered and raped. And so we all knew it was true. Still I went out at night.
I just never believed anything could happen to me.
I was living in a dream world. Or perhaps I wanted it.
Yes, I think that's what it was. I wanted to see the face of this rapist.
I had the feeling that I would be able to laugh in his face.
Because I had the feeling that I knew him, better than he knew himself.
Part of me, the part that was still just a kid growing up, was scared.
But the other part of me, the part that had been one of the girls, chained in a pit in hell, the part that was the bride-to-be of a prince in a far-off land, was not afraid, and night after night I roamed the countryside, free as a bird, and never came across a single living soul, except for the cows and the foxes.
Then, one night, I met him. I came face to face with the soul who had murdered that poor little girl. I felt him, felt his presence, before I saw him.
It was down by the river, where I was stirring up the reflection of the moon in the water with a stick. I felt him behind me. I felt him ready to spring.
I just turned around. I didn't scream when I saw his face.
He was wearing a stocking over his face, and all his features were distorted and blurred. I just stood there and stared at him. He stared back at me.
I suppose if I had acted scared and screamed and tried to run away, he would have pounced on me, and maybe done to me what he did to that other.
But we just stared. He made a strange whistling noise with his lips.
He was dressed all in black and he had black gloves on too. And black boots.
Even if I'd have known him, I wouldn't have been able to tell who he was.
He was thin, skinny even, and he almost looked like he might have been a young girl. Suddenly he was holding a string, a thin white string.
He held it taut. My heart was beating fast, but still I didn't scream or run for help. I was wearing a skirt and blouse and was barefoot.
I said, "You want to fuck me?" I just lifted up my skirt.
I was wearing no panties beneath. His eyes flicked down to my beaver.
He made the whistling noise again. He approached, holding that string out, like he was going to strangle. Strangle me and rape me. That was how the little girl had died. I said to him, "If you strangle me, I'll haunt you to your grave. I'll come back from the dead and I'll live in your blood. But you can fuck me.
I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted to be fucked by the strange soul of the murderer-rapist. I wanted to hold his knowledge inside me.
I wanted to feel his power surging through me, in his cock.
And so, he fucked me. It was like, when we looked at each other, we recognized each other. Like we were simply two faces that belonged to the same body.
Or to the same brain. I know no one will believe me.
But I lay with the rapist. I lay on my back on the grass.
He put my feet on his shoulders. I had never done this before.
He never took off his mask, or his gloves or boots. He just unzipped his fly.
And he put his cock in me. I squeezed it and got it all wet in my cunt.
My cunt was so hot and wet. It was almost all healed from the gangbang earlier that summer. But some of my cunt meat was still ripped and torn.
I cried out when he fucked me. I was never afraid of him.
I put my hands under my back, so he would see that I totally trusted him.
He could have strangled me, but he didn't. He panted as he shoved and shoved and shoved his cock in my cunt. I watched his face and I adored it.
I could see his panting, strange, screwed up features laboring beneath the nylon mask. I could see his eyes, all sharp and pointy.
His nose was mashed and so were his lips. He was wearing a woman's stocking.
It felt good to be lying almost naked on the grass.
And I had the murderer's cock inside me. I could feel all his power.
I was holding inside me the knowledge of his cock, of his brutal force.
I dreamed that my cunt did have teeth, and that I could squeeze my cunt and snap his cock off, and keep it inside me, and make the world safe from rapists.
I would lure all the rapist in the world into my pussy.
And there I was snap off the cock of each one, and store it in my pussy with the others. Because my pussy could hold so many, though my pussy was always tight.
And all the world would love and admire me, for doing such a noble and a valiant deed. But all the while the world would never know the exquisite pleasure I had in keeping all those live and leaping rapist cocks in my cunt.
When he came he made a very high-pitched screeching noise.
I felt as if I were looking into the face of God. Or the devil.
I felt my pussy slide up and down his prick which was just an ordinary man's prick. But my pussy slid on that prick to glory, and I blacked out when I came.
When I woke up I was alone. The white string was tied around my neck.
In a bow. So I knew it had happened. I didn't just dream it.
In the morning, the old spinster, Miss Grimsby was found dead in her bed. Raped and murdered. A few days later, the body of a man was found decapitated in the old mill pond. It was said that a farmer had shot his head off thinking he was a fox trying to steal his chickens. I don't know if that was my same rapist.
You couldn't tell from the pictures in the paper, naturally.
But I did wait a few more evenings down by the river, but he never came back again, so I assume that he was the one who had raped me. So now I had been fucked by a dead man. I thought about that a lot.
I wondered if spirits could really come back and haunt the living.
I had just told him that, made it up from my head.
To tell you the truth, I was surprised it worked on him.
It scared him, you could tell it did. You see, I already knew or was aware of my power. The power of the meek is very similar to the power of the bully.
It's just a matter of which way you make the power flow.
If you make it flow outwards from you, or you make it flow in towards you.
I saw, with that rapist murdered, that I could also make the power flow out of me, towards him. But I knew I couldn't do that with just anyone.
It had to be someone of like kind, someone like me.
Someone who could recognize the knowledge and power I had in me.
For instance, my father never had the slightest notion of who I am or what I can do. He was the one who gave me my second real whipping.
He caught me playing with myself in the hay barn.
Or not exactly caught me. He found me out there early one morning.
I had fallen asleep out there in the early dawn, after wandering around all night. I was stark naked, when he came upon me, early in the morning.
He was up to milk the cows. I had tied myself to the posts in the barn.
I was having a fantasy that the devil was coming to me in the barn.
And I'd tied my ankles wide apart, to two posts, and I'd tied up one hand to a post, and I was lying on the other hand. Because I told myself, this was the way the devil would want me. Then with my free hand, I'd fucked myself with a long piece of corn. He found me that way, with the corn still in my cunt.
He grabbed a crop he sometimes used on the cows and horses to make them move.
And that was how I woke up, to the slashing of the whip on my body.
I was still tied up, with the big ear of corn up my pussy.
My pussy started gripping the corn and going up and down on it as he slashed me. He was setting my whole body on fire, but I guess he didn't know.
I don't even remember screaming. I don't know when I started.
I was squirming and writhing, trying to get him to slash my tits.
He was slashing me with the riding crop all over. On my belly and thighs.
He slashed the corn cob-I don't think he was aiming anywhere in particular.
He was just lashing out at me, this meek and gentle man.
It was the only time in my life I remember him hitting me.
But I was loving it. It was just like an extension of one of my dreams.
Each time the whip fell accidentally on the ear of my corn in my cunt, it excited me and gave the ear of corn a good twist. My pussy was creaming.
And I was coming. My whole body was heated up like a an egg that's been dropped in boiling water. I wanted it to go on and on.
"You little bitch. You little whore," I heard him saying as if from a distance.
My screams must have woken my brother, for he came running.
It was he who hauled my father off of me. My father looked at me one last time-and I saw that his face had turned ashen grey and his hand was shaking.
My brother untied me and helped me get up. My body was bleeding.
That night my brother had a big fight with my father.
My father never said anything to me about what had happened.
And I never said anything that day, as I lay in bed nursing my wounds, and going over and over in my mind what had happened, the sensations I felt as I woke up to feel the leather riding crop cracking down on my flesh.
The very memory of that sound excited me and I would have played with myself, had I been able to move my sore and aching limbs. But I heard them arguing:
My brother and my father. In the kitchen that night.
My brother said, "What did you do that to her for? She's only a girl!"
"She's a whore! I told you how I found her!" my father shouted.
"Did you even ask her what happened? Maybe someone tied her up and tried to hurt her. There are men roaming around at night who will do those things."
My father said, "She's a whore. She did it to herself. I could see it in her eyes." I lay there listening, thinking my father was right.
My brother said, "You never even asked her to give an explanation."
My father said, "She never even protested."
I was glad he hadn't asked me to explain. What could I have said.
If the rapist had still been prowling around free, I could have blamed it on him. But he had been found dead over a week ago. There was no explanation.
My father was right, I had done it to myself. That was that.
Or maybe I just have the devil inside me. Is it my fault then?
Maybe I do need to have the devil whipped out of me.
My brother and my father both avoided my eyes after that.
We were growing very separate. Going our different ways.
My father grew paler and paler all summer. There were reports that a girl had been raped and beaten outside the movie theater where the dirty foreign films were playing, and someone came around to ask me about it.
But I said I didn't know anything. Nothing had happened.
My father heard me answer these questions uneasily.
And he didn't look at me, when the man left. He just avoided my eyes.
The movie theater was closed down anyway. And my father died.
He just up and had a heart attack one morning when he was crossing the yard to go to the barn. I saw it happen. His face just crumpled up and he fell over.
He lay gasping for several minutes on the ground.
But by the time we could get help to him, he was already gone.
After that things changed. My brother inherited the farm.
And he got married. I was seventeen by then, and had only one more year of school left. I had to think about what was going to happen to me. But I didn't think about it. I decided not to make any plans.
I knew that my fate would come and claim me, and I didn't have to do anything but wait. I lived that winter in the house with my brother and his wife.
We hardly ever talked to each other. That is, Tommy and his young bride hardly ever talked to me. They talked to each other though.
I knew they wished me gone, and I stayed out of their way.
Then ... the key is in the door. He is coming.
Quick, away with this.
CHAPTER THREE
Betsy was her name and she was young and innocent.
I could tell that she had never had any thoughts like mine.
She was desperately and totally, in love with my brother.
I used to love to watch them together, just over the supper table or something.
She cooked the meals and then watched my brother take the first bite.
I could see that her life was in the balance, while she waited to see if he thought the food was good. Every time he told her it was good, I could see that she had practically died with fear that he wouldn't like it.
She hung on his every word. But she hardly ever touched him.
Not while I was around. When he tried to touch her, pull her onto his lap in front of me, or once he tried to pinch her ass, she turned bright red and got all flustered and told him to stop such silliness. I couldn't see how my brother could love such a silly girl. But it wasn't difficult to figure out why he did.
I heard her love moans and her cries in the middle of the night.
Sometimes it sounded like he must have been screwing her all night long.
All those moans and groans.
She'd wake up in the morning pale and flustered, with dark rings at her eyes.
But we never talked about what was going on with her.
If we talked, she started it, trying to make friends with me.
She'd ask me if I was going to go to college, and she told me I should.
She said, "Someone as smart as you are, Lenore, should leave this town.
"I would if I were smart like you. Go away to a big city and get an education. There are lots of opportunities in the big city and maybe you could get married to a rich man." She would go on like this, making dreams.
I never asked her why she thought I was so smart.
Or what kind of opportunities she thought I was looking for.
She was only a year older than I, and very pretty.
Much prettier than I am. She had flaxen blonde hair and big breasts.
She was made to have something cooking in her oven, and by the end of the first winter, my brother had her pregnant as a cow. I knew I would have to get going soon.
Once the baby came, there would be no room for me.
One day she asked me what kind of man I thought I would marry.
I told her, "I'm never getting married to any man."
"Oh no? Why not? Don't you think some man would want you?"
I said I didn't know about that. But I also said, "Any man who would want to marry me, is a man I don't want. What good is a man who wants you? He just expects you to become his maid. I only want a man who wants me to serve him, and who wants nothing in return. No marriage, no babies, no housecleaning service, no cooking."
Betsy looked very frightened at my remark and kept knitting.
We were both sitting around the stove and it was mid-winter.
Tommy had gone to see a man about buying a bull.
I was waiting to hear a knock on the door from one of my sweeties.
By that time, I had a few men from the town who were finding their way to my back door, and I was going out with them, out in their cars, or, if they came on foot, just out into the fields, to lie with them in an abandoned barn.
My brother and Betsy both knew this, but they pretended to look the other way.
They didn't want to know. But Betsy grew bold that winter afternoon.
She asked me, "Lenore, what do you do with those men you go off with?"
She was staring at a big black and blue bruise on my arm.
Hastily, I unrolled my shirt and covered the bruise.
But I told her, "I let them tie me up and then they do whatever they want with me." I was speaking seriously, but she didn't believe me.
"Come on, be serious Lenore. What do you do with them? Don't you know none of them will ever marry you? If you let them take ... it for free?"
She was trying to smile, trying to be sisterly, trying to give me advice.
But I just stared back soberly into her eyes.
I said, "I told you I don't want no man who wants to marry me. All the spice would go out of anything that became so ordinary. I don't want the state to make a blessing over my bond to a man. I want a devil to make a pact between a man and me."
She just stared at me now with her big blue eyes opened wide.
I know she still thought I was just pulling her leg, but she crossed herself quickly and said, "Mercy!" She kept knitting ... faster and faster.
She was making a baby blanket, two of them actually.
One in light pink and one in light blue, in case it was a boy or a girl.
I said to her, "Don't you feel the devil when he enters you, my brother?"
She blushed and said, "Lenore, mercy, nice people don't talk of such things."
I said, "But I hear you cry out at night, and I know you must feel what I feel when a man sticks his thing in me. Don't you want to cry out and love the devil. Wouldn't you like to feel the devil's cock in your hand and then put it inside you?"
At this point, I must say I was trying to scare her.
But it was so easy. And part of what I was saying was true.
I was telling her one of my fantasies. But for me, lovemaking has always been the province of the devil. That must be why it feels so good.
Everyone knows that for something to feel so good, it can't come from the other place, from the God who produced a man who never fucked a girl all his life.
There was a scratching at the door, and I knew one of my men had come.
I bundled up because it was snowing outside. I never let him in.
I made him wait out on the porch. He was one of the married men from town.
But he came out to me, at night, in the middle of a snowstorm, because I had the devil in my pussy between my legs, and because I let him tie me up in the old barn down by Potts' Road and do all kinds of things to me that he would never dream of doing to his wife. A good woman, no doubt, like Betsy. Who did not know that to submit is to sell your soul to the devil, and be the slave to the cock between your legs. After that Betsy looked at me strangely.
I know that she complained to my brother and said that I made her nervous.
I even once heard her saying that she was afraid I had the evil eye and that I was corrupting her poor baby, growing daily larger in her womb.
It wasn't true. I don't have an evil eye. But I can sometimes make people think I do. And when you think about it-what's the difference.
Whatever people believes, comes true. At least that's what I believe.
When she delivered, in early June, she was really huge.
The labor lasted almost four days. She was sweating and pushing and in pain almost all the time. She'd wanted to have the child at home in bed.
The doctor stayed by her almost all the time.
He could tell from the start that something was wrong.
The baby was in her upside down, and it couldn't fit out.
It's shoulders got stuck. They wanted to move her to a hospital but they couldn't. She'd developed a fever and they were afraid if they moved her she would die. They also had to tie her down, tie down her chest and arms.
Because she'd developed a terrible skin rash all over her body.
And every waking and sleeping moment she was scratching and tearing at her skin.
I helped the doctor and nurse night and day. Sometimes I would go into my room and lie down and sleep for an hour or two. And when I got up and went into her sickroom again, I would just stand at the end of the bed and look at her.
You could see the big bulge of her stomach, and her big breasts were bare when the covers slipped down. Her arms were tied to the side of the bed, and there was a cord running across her breasts to keep her from sitting up.
And on the last day, they even tied her thighs open and apart.
Sometimes she'd open her eyes and look at me watching her.
And I'd wonder what she was thinking. She was too weak to talk.
I wondered if she blamed me for the baby, though I never put no evil eye curse on her kid. I wanted it to be born and for her to be happy in her own way.
Finally the kid was born. It was a little boy.
He only lived three weeks. Then he died. Respiratory illness was what they said. Betsy languished in bed all that summer. She was ill herself.
But she was also heartsick. Tommy was sick about the kid too.
But he wanted Betsy to get up and around again. He kept telling her that they would make another, and that life had to go on. He wanted her to get out of bed and pretty herself up again, but she didn't. After a while, he started slipping out of the house at night. I knew he was going off, catting around.
Betsy knew it too. One night, past ten o'clock, when I was waiting for a sweetie, I was having cake and coffee in the kitchen. I knew when it got to be ten thirty, that he wasn't going to come. Betsy came out of her room.
For the first time that summer on her own. She looked terrible.
But she didn't look sick bad. She just looked like she needed some air and fun in her again, a shower and some make-up, and a little lipstick.
She sat down at the table and talked to me. After that ever night, we'd get to talking after Tommy went out. She told me she hadn't slept with Tommy since the baby was born. She told me she couldn't bear the thought of taking his cock in her anymore. She told me she had been doing a lot of thinking about what I had said.
I told her not to mind anything I said, that I just said whatever came off the top of my head. But she said no, she took me seriously.
She said she had seen the way I was looking at her when she was in labor and tied up on the bed. She said she thought the reason why her baby had died was because when she was tied up on the bed, and in terrible labor pain, she'd been having wicked, sinful thoughts. About doing things like the things I described.
Now, I'd never really described much to her about what I did with the men from the town. And I never gave her no wicked looks when she was in labor.
But it was useless to try to convince her otherwise.
She started telling me about the fantasies she had.
That the devil would come in her window at night in the form of a red bird and turn into a man, who would lie between her legs and put his beak in there.
A man with the head of a bird is what she dreamed about.
She told me she couldn't stand to have Tommy near her.
I listened, fascinated, because it excited me and interested me to see this young girl change. I mean it was like she was changing before my very eyes.
She was the one who seduced me finally, it was her idea.
And she even suggested it. Though the sexual tension was being between us all along. It was late at night, after Tommy had driven off in the pickup.
She told me she was starting to have fantasies about a woman.
She asked me if I ever had any such fantasies.
Well, of course, I was having fantasies about women all along.
In fact, one of my favorite ones was to imagine that I was one of the girls who were "Chained in Hell." And I dreamed about all the things we would do together when we were unchained and left alone in Garth's dungeon together.
But I felt devilish when she asked me that, and I said, "No."
That seemed to excite her, that she was having a fantasy that I had never had.
"Think about it, Lenore, think about what two women could do."
"What could they do?" I asked, pretending innocence.
I was watching the blush move up her chest and how her nipples were hardening beneath her thin long-sleeved shirt. She really got excited as she talked.
"One woman, who is very innocent and naive, agrees to let the other woman who is a good friend of hers, tie her up for the night, because she has been having such bad nightmares and is scratching herself all night long."
I watched the feverish way she gripped the table and I said nothing.
"Then the other woman, the powerful strong one, binds the weak one, the innocent one, down to the bed. But her nightmares come upon her and with it that terrible itching, and she tries to free her hands, tries to scratch her skin off. So the strong woman, who is watching, takes a whip to help her friend.
"She takes a whip to her, because she knows that is the only way to rid her friend of these terrible dreams that haunt her! And she whips and beats her.
"And the woman who is tied down cries out, but she finds that she is crying out for more and more and more! And finally when she can take no more, she screams out, and the second woman throws the whip aside. She unties the bonds that hold her friend down, and the friend embraces her. Together, there, nude, on the bed, they embrace, and...."
Here Betsy's voice broke off, and she stared off into the distance.
Then she looked at me abruptly and she blushed furiously.
I could see that her whole chest was blushing red.
I leaned across the table and I whispered, "Do you want me to do it, Betsy?"
"What?" she said in her old, usual frumpy voice.
I said, "Do you want me to tie you up and whip you? I can do it well. I'll do it so you won't feel the pain. You'll only feel the pleasure. I'll stop whenever you want. And I'll do other things to you, other things, you haven't mentioned."
Betsy rose now suddenly, still blushing furiously, and she said:
"No! No, I don't. It's just a silly fantasy. Just a stupid thing. Good night. I'm going to bed." And she left the kitchen and went into the room she used to share with Tommy, until he moved out to the sofa on the couch.
But later, as I was going by her room she called out to me.
"Come in here, Lenore, come here and do it to me, please!"
Her voice sounded so pitiful, and the pulse started beating in my pussy.
I had never made love to a woman or had any sexual contact with one except in my dreams. I didn't give her a chance to change her mind.
I got rope and the riding crop from the barn. I tied down her wrists and ankles to the four posts of the bed, and then I gagged her. I knew I would have to.
I was afraid she'd panic and start screaming for real, and she might attract attention, though there were no neighbors for miles around.
My father had sold our little house and bought the farm right before he died, and we had no neighbors for a mile or two on either side.
Betsy was wearing only a nightgown, and when I had her tied and gagged, I rolled her nightgown up. That's when she started writhing and trying to scream.
Already she was so frightened, just to let another woman look at and touch her body. I touched her body all over. It was so soft and voluptuous.
Unlike mine which is angular and thin all over.
But hers was like touching the land of milk and honey.
I also untied her braids and made her blonde hair fall free all over her shoulders. Then I fell to sucking her nipples. I couldn't resist.
I wanted to cup my hands under the big flesh of her melons and suck the red nipples and make them feel hard in my mouth. They soon rose.
Then I got up off her. I stood over her on the bed.
I was naked now myself, and I saw her eyes going up and down my body.
I held the long black riding crop in my hand as I said to her:
"Oh, dear Betsy, you've been having those terrible nightmares again. I heard you screaming in your sleep. You were tossing and turning. I had to gag you and tie you down." Betsy started to squirm as if she were trying to free her arms.
"And you must not try to scratch that awful rash," I told her.
Still she squirmed and writhed as she lay between my legs.
I picked up the riding crop and held it poised to strike her.
"I must do this to you, Betsy dear," I told her, with growing excitement. "It will put you out of your misery, and put an end to your terrible dreams."
I slashed her once, across her belly. The big welt rose.
She stared up at me, terrified, her blue eyes wide open.
Now she realized that I was really going to go through with it.
I was really glad that I had gagged as well as bound her.
For I could tell that she was the type to chicken out.
I hate people who are afraid to act out their most secret desires.
I hate people who will try to pussy out of what they really want.
I whipped her, slowly, letting each slash of the tongue of the riding crop fall upon her in a different way, in a different place.
Her boobs lay crisscrossed in lash marks, her belly was slashed and then I whipped her thighs. I was whipping her up into a frenzy, as I knew how to do so well.
It hurt her, no doubt about that, it hurt her.
She tossed and writhed and moaned and cried. But I did not bring the blood to rise in her. I only whipped her where it would make her hot.
So that her body would burn, like mine does.
I slashed and slashed and slashed her around the edges of her cunt.
Her pink pussy was opening wider and wider as I made the flesh around her cunt hole get so hot and red. Her pussy started getting wet and juicy.
I whipped her ripe soft breasts until they were red and hot.
Then I threw the whip aside and fell upon her.
I took her sweet hard nipples in my mouth and slipped one hand down to her cunt. I stirred her hot paining cunt up with the fingers of one hand.
And I sucked her nipples. Now she was moaning and writhing with pleasure.
I knew so well how good my hot tongue was feeling on her burning nipples and flesh. I knew that my finger was communicating delight to her hot clit and to her pussy. Then I worked my way down her body. Licking and kissing all of her wounds.
When I got my face down to her cunt meat, I was so excited.
My own hot pussy was on fire too, though I neglected it.
This was my first taste of cunt and my heart was racing.
I imagined that we were two girls chained in hell. I spread her sweet cunt lips open and I stuck my tongue into her cunt. It was so sweet and hot.
It was thick and the walls of her thick pussy cave were dripping with juice.
I sucked the juice out and then my tongue ferreted out her clitoris.
When I sucked her love flesh deep in her mound, she really went wild.
I looked up her body and saw her writhing and moaning.
I watched her boobs wiggling and jiggling and I thought about how I was bringing her such pleasure. I spread her meat open even farther and plunged my tongue and several fingers in her. Everything I did was for her.
But my brother came home early that night. Unexpectedly.
He burst through the door of the bedroom and just stood in the doorway.
Then he jumped on top of me. He threw me to the floor.
He jumped down off the bed and jumped on top of me again.
I knew that I was powerless to prevent what was going to happen.
I knew that no explanations would explain to him.
He punched me and kicked me and then he beat me mercilessly with the riding crop. He did not whip me lovingly, as I had whipped his wife.
His intention was not to arouse and excite me. It was to hurt me.
All I could do was try to protect myself, my head and face and eyes, until his passion was spent. I did not cry out, and I did not beg for mercy.
In his eyes, he was right, what he was doing, and I sympathized with him.
He continued whipping me, though; long after the hatred had gone out of his eyes. Now he was whipping me and watching me. He was remembering that night long ago, and thinking about the many nights I had slipped out with strange men from town.
And thinking of the bruises he had seen me come home with.
I could see all this in his eyes. Because the quality of his whipping changed.
Now, I was helpless and exhausted, and he sat on top of me and I could feel his hard on. He had been drinking, and he didn't seem to have a real concern for his wife. Because she was still tied up and gagged on the bed, and he ignored her.
He manipulated me, turning me this way and that, whipping my hot and frenzied body. I started to moan with pleasure as I reached out for his cock.
He was so hard in his pants and I knew that he wanted me.
In a way like he had never wanted his wife, like so many other men.
"Mmmm, take me, take me, let me suck it, I moaned to him.
He looked down at me with lustful and glittering eyes.
He unzipped his fly and took his cock out. It was so big and hard.
He was sitting on my body and he moved up to my face.
I opened my mouth and pulled his hard cock down to my open mouth.
He slid his cock in and out of my mouth and I sucked him and sucked him.
Meanwhile, all the while, his wife was lying on the bed, wide-eyed, and watching while she lay bound and gagged. I didn't care. I wanted her to see it.
Wanted her to see the truth of brute, blind lust that knows no bounds.
He reached behind him and spread my legs open with his powerful hand.
And then, while I sucked the huge hard shaft of his cock, he whipped my pussy, hard and repeatedly, the way I like it, whipped it into a passionate frenzy with the riding crop. At the height of his frenzy, he came in my mouth.
He shoved his cock deep down inside my throat and shot his gun.
I opened up my throat wide and sucked his cock still his gun was all shot off. I felt the incredible throbbing in his thick shaft as his thick sperm shot out.
When he had cum repeatedly, filling my throat up with his thick sperm, which I had to swallow and swallow to get down, he held me down by the arms and he moved down my body. He had thrown the whip aside by now as he moved down me.
He knew how hot my whipped pussy was. The outer pussy meat was red and raw.
But the cunt inside was like hot whipped cream.
Pussy whipped to a frenzy and eager and excited to be sucked off.
He had to suck off all the erotic energy he had raised in my tortured pussy flesh.
When his face got down to my cunt, I spread my legs open wide.
I fixed my eyes on Betsy on the bed, as if to say to her-see, you can't tell what will happen once you let your creative sexual energy flow.
But look how much better it is than trying to deny that it exists at all.
He spread my raw and bleeding pussy meat wide open, and he began to suck my sweet steaming cunt meat out.
It felt so good, it was the most exciting moment of my life.
When his tongue hit my clit I immediately started to cum.
My whole body was shaking uncontrollably, as if it had been hit by a live wire. He just kept pulling my cunt meat open and diving into it with his tongue.
I could tell that my brother loved me, that he had lusted after me for a long, long time. The way he slaved himself over my cunt made me know it.
He lifted my hips and body up to his mouth and he sat up with me.
He did not take his tongue out of my second mouth.
He made tongue love to my pussy for a long long time.
And all the while he was slavishly crooning over and stroking my poor beaten body. I came over and over again, lost in incommunicable delights.
I passed out during one of my cums, and I woke up in the morning.
He was sleeping by my side, with his arm around me.
My sister-in-law was still on the bed, and when I woke up she was still staring at me. She was still bound and gagged. Tommy had forgotten all about her.
She never forgave me, and can you really blame her?
I had shown her the heights a woman can get a man to take her to.
I had shown her the poverty of her own sexual vision.
I had shown her that even my brother, her husband, could be inspired to do things to me with a passion that he had never shown to her before.
When I woke up, though, I knew that it was all over for me in this house.
I could stay there no longer. I didn't wait for Tommy to wake up.
I just slipped out from under his arm, where he lay sleeping in a drunken stupor. I packed a few things in my bag and got dressed.
And then I came into their bedroom again, and I just leaned over my poor, bound and gagged, darling sister-in-law. I just kissed her, gently on her breasts, to show her there was no hard feelings between us.
At least there were no hard feelings on my side.
But she whimpered and seemed to try to wrench her flesh away from under my lips as if my touch was despicable to her. I knew she could never understand.
I think jealousy is only a sign of lack of love.
She had no reason to be jealous of me. The only person she should be jealous of was herself, who was keeping so much pleasure and enjoyment away from herself.
But I knew she would go on suppressing herself.
And I knew the time had come for me to go away.
I had to go somewhere where the people didn't think so small.
Where life meant more than marriage and procreation.
I left, and I've never been back to that house, or to the town where I was born and grew up. I've never seen or heard from my brother again, who is the only living member of my family whom I know. I sent him a few postcards in the intervening years. And he could have written back to the addresses of the hotels on the cards.
But he never did. He never answered my letters.
I can understand that too. Each one of us must fulfill his or her own destiny.
But I wonder now, what can be keeping my master so long.
It is late in the afternoon and still he does not return.
He has been gone late several afternoons in a row now.
I wonder if he is growing tired of me. Is he seeing another woman?
I see that I wrote above that jealousy means lack of love.
Do I lack in love for my master? But does love really have anything at all to do with what I feel for him? I am sure he does not love me.
Me, I am nothing to him, which is as it should be.
He only loves parts of me, or the sum of the parts. He loves my body.
He worships my body. He is a slave to my pussy, and I am a slave to his tongue and to his cock. He is good to me when he whips me.
For he knows that nothing else heats up my cunt like his whip.
Nothing else prepares the temperature of my box like his whip slashing across the wet flash of my sex meat. Nothing else prepares me so well for his fingers, his tongue and his cock. When he whips me, he is loving the part of me that he worships.
And when I spread my legs and let him tie me down, so that I will not writhe and miss a single lash of his whip, he knows that I am loving his tongue and the lash of his tongue whip. We are perfectly suited, my master and me.
I wonder, therefore, why he suddenly neglects me.
Has he found a mate more perfectly suited to his perverted needs.
Together we and our perverted needs are perfectly meshed.
Or so I thought. I am too worried to continue any farther.
How I wish my master would come home to me.
He could not find someone he wanted more. Could he?
CHAPTER FOUR
Then I took all my money and bought a ticket on a bus going east.
I didn't know where I was going or what I was going to do.
But I decided to make my destination New York City.
I had heard so much about big cities that I thought I would try one out.
I said goodbye to my brother and my sister-in-law.
But as I've indicated before, they weren't exactly sorry to see me go.
And I wasn't sorry to leave either. There wasn't anything for me in that hick town where I'd been born and raised. "Girls Chained in Hell"-I saw an old movie poster sticking to the side of the abandoned movie theater as the bus pulled out from the bus station across the way, and I laughed when I saw it.
That seemed to be the only thing in that town that had been important to me.
In a way, like destiny-I mean. Things come to you, the things that are meant to come to you, or the things that you attract to you in a cosmic way.
At least I believe that. So maybe that's why I met Conrad and Rhoda.
They must have gotten on the bus sometime in the middle of the night.
Because I fell asleep as we were crossing the broad, green, wide flatlands of our country, and when I woke up, it was to the whimperings and moanings of Rhoda getting laid by Conrad, in the seat in front of me.
Of course I didn't know they were Rhoda and Conrad then.
I was just interested to see what they were doing and to listen.
I could see through the crack in the two seats in front of me.
And I could also see their reflection in the window at their side, as they had turned on their little reading lamp to ball by.
Rhoda was a fine-looking woman with big tits and lots of dyed black hair.
She was wearing bright red lipstick, and it looked like her nipples were smeared with the same bright red grease, for they were so red and hot-looking.
She was wearing a filmy black dress which she had hiked up over her thighs.
Conrad, who was sitting underneath her, I couldn't see as well.
At first all I could see was his big stiff prick sticking up.
Rhoda was guiding it up under her dress and I saw her lift her dress way up.
I saw the big wet bulging head of his thick cock pushing into the wet folds of her cunt and I saw him jerk his hips and shove his cock in.
I saw Rhoda thrust her head back and groan and twist her own fat boobs.
And I saw how her thighs jerked and twitched as she bounced up and down on Conrad's thick cock. She was really getting off on it, loving getting fucked.
But actually she was doing the fucking, I guess you could say, as she was on top.
They fucked all night long, and to tell you the truth, I was surprised that no one kicked them off the bus. But it was a lonely stretch of countryside we were going through and not many people came on the bus that night.
And not many people were on the bus to start with.
In fact, I was the only person sitting near them for seats around.
Sometimes now, looking back, I wonder if they picked me out.
Did they see me sleeping back there and like my looks?
Or could they tell about me right off? I don't know.
Anyway, they knew I was sitting behind them, because Rhoda, when she saw I was awake, winked at me over the back of her seat and stuck her tongue out at me.
I quickly closed my eyes again and pretended to be asleep.
But then I heard her giggle and whisper something low to Conrad about:
"She's awake behind us, but she doesn't want us to know."
I saw Conrad turn her around on his lap. All I could see of him were his hands which were quite big and hairy. He pushed Rhoda's skirt up.
I saw her big white bare ass and it looked so cute and hot.
I saw Conrad start opening her back door with his big fingertips.
"Ohhh, ohhh darling, that feels so good," Rhoda moaned.
My eyes were glued to what they were doing, because I had never seen any girl get fucked in the ass hole before. Now I watched Conrad lifted Rhoda's ass up to his mouth. He stuck his face in her ass cheeks and stretched them wide open.
Then he was eating out Rhoda's ass hole, really sticking his tongue into it.
He was eating out her ass hole, preparing her ass hole for his cock.
Rhoda was playing with her own cunt meat, sticking her fingers in.
She was arching her back. Then Conrad let her ass sink back down.
He brought her ass back down on the head of his cock and his cock went in.
It went into her opened up asshole and it sank in quite deeply.
Rhoda turned her head around and looked over her shoulder.
She winked at me quite distinctly this time, and I couldn't pretend to be asleep anymore, for it was getting quite hot and I had my hands between my legs.
Conrad just jerked her up and down on top of his dick and fucked her ass.
He was obviously enjoying it because he was moaning and sighing.
He fucked her ass with his bulging cock and I even saw how his cock started to jump like crazy when he started to pump his cum into her butt.
It looked so good and I was so hot that I had started playing with myself.
I had my fingers up inside my shorts which I was wearing at the time.
With my fingers I just pulled aside the crotch of my panties.
And let my fingers dive and delve down deep into my wet cunt meat.
I was twisting and getting off my hot clittie deep inside my cunt.
My clit was all wet and slippery as I watched Rhoda getting fucked on the seat in front of me. Conrad seemed to have a hard-on that just wouldn't quit.
After he fucked her anally, Rhoda got her ass up off him.
And she held her ass cheeks high in the air as Conrad then proceeded to lick out her ass again, licking off his own cum which was leaking out of her anus.
That really turned me on and made me wild. I knew these people were far out.
Rhoda turned around on the seat and got out some handi-wipes.
She wiped off Conrad's cock and balls and started playing with him again.
It wasn't long before she had made his cock hard in her mouth again.
Then she was eating him and bringing him off in her mouth.
She was really doing a number on his cock with her tongue.
I'd never seen or heard of such tongue work in my life.
She was almost like whipping his cock with her tongue.
Slashing at his big hard dick with her fully extended tongue.
And squashing her boobs together and fucking his cock with her boobs.
That was the most incredible thing I saw. When she did that.
She just jammed her tits together and used them like a tunnel to screw his cock with, and when he came, the head of his prick was practically at her mouth and she was able to lick off his cum as it spurted out of the head of his dick.
By this time I was so hot, I had taken off my shorts and was just playing with myself through my panties. I couldn't get enough of myself.
The next thing they did was that Rhoda got down on the seat on her hands and knees and she put her ass high in the air. Conrad got behind her.
He pressed open the sides of her cunt and then he plunged his face in.
He started eating her out with a vengeance. I'd never seen anything like it before.
She was wriggling and giggling around really groaning and coming.
I was so envious, so jealous of having my cunt eaten out like that.
But she kept squirming so that finally, Conrad was knelling on the floor, eating her out, pulling open her pussy lips to get into that succulent meat, and Rhoda was leaning up against the back of the seat, looking over the back of the seat.
She was looking at me, playing with my pussy, and then it happened.
She stuck her tongue out at me, and I don't know:
In that moment it was like I just fell in love with her.
I suddenly found myself kissing her, tonguing her, over the back of the seat.
We were kissing and tonguing as if we were trying to tell each other what we could and would do to each other's other ends if we had the chance.
Meanwhile, Conrad was servicing Rhoda while I was fooling with myself.
It was like I could feel Rhoda's orgasm when it came.
Her tongue started shivering and shaking in my mouth and she was whacking her tongue back and forth across the tip of my tongue like Conrad was doing with his tongue on her clit. It was incredible, and I managed to bring myself off at the same time.
Well, by the time the morning light came up, the three of us were friends.
"Where are you going, Lenore, and what do you do?" Conrad asked me.
I was now sitting in between them, in their seat eating oranges.
Rhoda had gotten off the bus at one stop and bought some food to eat.
I told them, "I'm going to New York City, but I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm sort of out on my own for the first time, you know?"
They both looked at me in amazement and Rhoda said, with her arm around me:
"You look so much older than you are, and you seem so experienced. I can hardly believe you're only a young girl of eighteen. What will you do in New York?"
Conrad put in, "How will you support yourself? Do you know anyone there?"
I said, "No, I really don't. I guess I haven't really thought this out too well."
"Don't worry, darling," Rhoda said, "we live in New York and we'll take care of you. You can stay with us, at least until you find a place to stay and a job."
Later, I heard Conrad mumbling something to Rhoda and it sounded like:
"Do you really think that's a good idea, Rhoda? She does seem rather innocent. What if she sees our stuff and gets upset? What are we going to do with her then?"
But Rhoda only said, "On don't worry so much, darling. You're always worrying. Everything will work out all right. Trust me. You know my seventh sense about people."
So, my first view of the big apple came in the middle of a hot sticky July afternoon from a Greyhound bus, approaching from New Jersey. The city looked hot.
It almost looked like you could see the fumes and steam rising from the big tall spires and high-rises and skyscrapers. It looked like an inferno.
I was sitting on the seat between Rhoda and Conrad.
And Conrad was feeling my bare, curved ass, while Rhoda was kissing me and holding my hand. It turned out they had a pad on the Lower East Side.
That's where we went directly from Port Authority, and I took my first subway ride. The subway frightened me. It was so dark and dirty and hot.
Filthy, like a subterranean rat hole, and I kept thinking, what if it caves in, what if we're stuck down here with all these people?
It was a terrifying though , and I was just so glad to get off the train, at Astor Place and breathe the above-ground air again (although it wasn't much cooler than the below-ground air) that I didn't mind the crowded dirty streets.
In fact, I found it all rather funky and exotic and exciting.
In a way, I felt as if I had really come home for the first time in my life.
I mean, all the wild funky people, running around in costumes, practically, the girls in the street practically naked, braless, in shorts and beach clothes, and the men, too, wearing practically nothing in public, but jock straps and shorts.
The kooky girls in dyed hair, pink, blue and green, and the guys in leather with tattoos and chains and motorcycles. It all seemed like my home.
I went to the little place four steps down from the sidewalk.
That was where Rhoda and Conrad lived. Conrad eyed Rhoda as I walked in and looked around. I saw the bunch of whips hanging from the wall.
I saw the belts and chains and the weird furniture.
But all I said, was, "Gee, this is a nice place," and I saw Conrad take a deep sigh of relief at what I had said. Actually, I wasn't remarking on the paraphernalia lying all over the place so much as the cute little garden in back and the cute way they had divided up the place with curtains of beads.
Because actually, otherwise, it would have been one big room.
"Darling, you can put your things over there, you can sleep on that sofa," Rhoda was saying, trying to make me feel at home. But Conrad was still uneasy.
He came up to me and said, "Lenore, I don't know if you understand about Rhoda and me, but we're into S & M. Do you know what that means?"
Rhoda came up behind Conrad and grasped him about the waist.
"Oh, don't frighten her, honey. She'll find out in time. Don't you worry about anything Conrad says, Lenore," Rhoda told me. "We're just ordinary people and we're good people too. If you ever need anything you just ask us. We won't ever make you do anything you don't want to do. You remember that." She smiled.
But now my attention was fastened on the lovely collection of leather whips all hanging together from the wall and I went over to them.
"Mmmmmm, my," I said, feeling the leather lashes. "These are really incredible. What do you use these for?" I smiled. My pussy was twitching already.
The leather lashes looked like tongues and I was aching to be licked.
Conrad instantly came over to me with a big hungry smile on his lips.
He said to me, "Did you ever think about what it would be liked to be whipped before sex?" His eyes were on fire and his fingers were twitching.
He took one of the whips down from the wall, a short eight-lashed whip.
Gently, he began playfully striking my naked arm. I could feel the tongues' lash.
Rhoda walked over firmly and said, "She's not ready for that Conrad. Are you?"
She turned to me and asked me, just to make sure. I smiled.
I said, "I have sort of thought of it before. Sort of done it too."
I smiled again. I could see Conrad getting hard in his pants then an d there.
Rhoda crowed triumphantly, "See! I knew it! I told you so! When I saw the way her hair was lying strewn across her face and how red her lips were back there on the bus, I said to you, 'Come on Conrad, let's sit in front of that girl!' Something just told me that it wouldn't be a mistake!" She seemed so happy.
We all took showers together, being so hot and sticky after coming off the bus.
They tied me up right then and there in the shower.
Conrad had never seen me totally naked before, naturally and he was very excited.
Rhoda tied my wrists together high over, my head and then tied them to the shower head. The water streamed down over my beautiful naked body.
Conrad knelt in the shower, totally naked also, and I had to say that I was attracted to and admired his body. He was short, but very tough and muscular.
He had a really nice basket, big balls and a cute little pecker lying on top.
His prick wasn't too big when it was lying inert.
In fact, I could hardly believe this was the same man with the big dick I had watched fucking Rhoda all night long on the bus. But then I saw what happened.
Conrad tied my ankles, in leather straps, wide apart to little hooks on either side of the shower stall. Then I was totally naked and tied down.
With the fresh cold water streaming down my icy body.
It was making my nipples quite big and large, naturally.
And then I was being whipped, whipped in the shower.
Rhoda handed Conrad the whip of his choice, the small knotted one.
And he started flagellating my body, whipping me to a frenzy.
It felt so good to have my body being catered to once again.
To have my flesh being whipped and made to tingle. To feel alive again.
To feel every pore tingling and crying out, while my pussy got hotter and hotter.
Because Conrad really knew how to give a whipping.
He and Rhoda worked together. Conrad laid on the whip, and Rhoda did a little excitation. Conrad knew how to tease a girl's cunt so it really got hot.
First he whipped me all over, avoiding all the obviously sexual places.
He whipped my belly and my legs, my arms and my underarms.
Then he made Rhoda unfasten my feet and she held them up.
He whipped the soles of my feet, causing me to writhe in agony.
With me, almost every part of my body carries a sexual feeling.
So when he was whipping the bottoms of my feet, I could barely stand it.
Then he had Rhoda re-attach my ankles to the hooks in the walls.
And then Rhoda practically attacked me. She began using me in every which way, in whatever way she wanted. She rubbed her big boobs up against mine.
She kissed me and rubbed the back of my neck and she played with my pussy.
The instant she felt my pussy twitch and respond she withdrew.
And Conrad resumed whipping me, slashing at my thighs and all around my cunt.
But never once touching my cunt with the tongue of his whip.
That's the way to heat a girl up. Make her think about how good it will be when you finally get around to touching her sex, and heating her up all around it.
He slashed at the sides of my beaver, and I saw how big his cock had gotten.
It had risen up, from practically nothing, to a real giant cunt-pecker.
My beaver was so hot and on fire that I longed to feel his prick ram up me.
He backed off from his whipping now, and Rhoda came forward.
She knelt in the pouring shower water and proceeded to eat out my cunt.
It was only the second time in my life that I had engaged in sex with a woman, but this oral sex was different, since it was done so willingly and voluntarily.
Not in the forced, brutal way I had had to get it out of Betsy.
Rhoda ate out my cunt until I was writhing and screaming for mercy.
Because there comes a point when even the pleasure of a tongue in your pussy becomes so good that it's almost unbearable to bear. That's how it was.
"She's ready for you again," Rhoda said with a smile.
Now he stepped up closer and he started raining down blows on my tits.
He lashed out at my tits, always avoiding my nipples.
First he made my round full boobs nice and red. It felt good.
Then very lightly and carefully, he began slashing at the nubs of my tits.
He lashed out at and whipped my nipples until my hot pussy was dripping with desire. Because, in me, it's like there's an electric circuit directly connecting my nipples to my cunt, and every lash of his whip against my nipples was felt directly in my cunt. I was hungry, or my cunt was hungry for some hot action.
That was when Conrad began whipping my bare and naked pussy meat.
My pussy meat was practically hanging out of my thighs because I was so hot and turned on. My cunt lips were pulled way back like a horse's lips when he whinnies or neighs. And my fat, throbbing, heavy clit was also hanging out.
He whipped me into a passionate frenzy, and then just when I was thinking that I couldn't stand it anymore, he threw his whip aside and climbed up on me.
He mounted me, whipping his cock into my aching, on-fire pussy meat.
And he fucked me like I had never been fucked before.
It was incredible. His huge, thick, fat, cock-head, pressing back and forth against my beaten and heated pussy meat, riding hard and heavy, fat as it was, across my pulsating and throbbing clit. I came a thousand times, one right after another.
I was convulsed with multiple orgasm, but he didn't even seem to care.
He was just riding his meat in my cunt to his own glory.
And when his schlong went off, it felt like a million squirts shooting off from the same gun. I felt his dick go off like a cannon. Rhoda was behind me.
Rubbing her tits into my back and feeling up her husband's prick as it went in and out of me. I looked down at the two of them, my two new friends.
And I started laughing and crying in the shower at the same time.
"Awww, honey, it wasn't so bad, was it?" Rhoda crooned behind me.
As it turned out, Conrad had the better sense of people.
For he knew me, had recognized me, and recognized what I was all about long before Rhoda had.
He grinned at me and Rhoda then and let his whip slid along my nipples.
"You don't have to worry about this one, or console her, Rhoda," Conrad told his wife. "This one knows already what it's all about." He smiled.
CHAPTER FIVE
So I became part of their circle. I fit right in.
I went around with them to their friends and their parties.
After a while I even started going around to clubs with them.
I never really understood for sure how Conrad and Rhoda made a living.
But after a while I just got the sense that they were paid by many people for performing "live S & M sex acts," and some people paid very well for that.
Me, they never gave any money, though I quickly became an integral part of their show. But I was getting free room and board, and lots of love.
At the time I didn't feel exploited in the least.
It was only later, when I met Akim, my master, that he explained to me how I was being exploited by Conrad and Rhoda. Do you know that to this day, I still don't know their last names. I still see them occasionally, when Akim lets me go out with him to a club every once in a while. Which is not often. But anyway, as I was saying, I lived quite happily with Conrad and Rhoda for many months.
Somewhere along the way, Michael teamed up with us.
He was another submissive, a very pretty boy, an actor.
We met him one night at an S & M club called Chateau 16.
He had a pretty boy's face and brown curly hair and he came right up to me.
I guess he thought I was a lady dominant because I could tell from his sheepish grin that he wanted me to hurt him or at least humiliate him.
He wanted it real bad. At that time, I still couldn't get quite clear on the terms for all these activities. I mean, I had never thought of myself as a submissive.
I mean actually, I'm a pretty aggressive soul. I remember back in my home town, how I used to give the come-on signal to the married men in the bars in town.
They were afraid of me, but if I gave them the come-on light, how they would all flock around. It was I who gave them the ideas about tying me up and whipping me.
Those men were totally unimaginative when it came to sex, and I had to provide all the ideas. And so, I've always thought of my role, in terms of my sexual preferences, as being a very active role. After all, I'm the one who volunteers, who agrees to let myself be tied up, who suggests ideas about what I like to my captors.
It's rarely the other way around. But now I learned that I was a submissive.
I said to this young man, Michael, as he sidled up to me at this bar, "I'm a submissive myself. But if you're looking for some action, I'm sure my mistress, that sexy lady talking to that black man over there,, will be glad to help you out."
I saw Michael go over to Rhoda and just hang out around her.
She was talking to this incredibly big, beautiful black dude, whom I could hardly take my eyes off of. And yet, I was afraid to look at him.
His muscles were like railroad ties, and he was wearing a sweatshirt that was cut off at the arms, ragged and sleeveless.
There was a stain of sweat going down the middle of his chest and back.
His head was shaved and it glistened as if he oiled it.
Around his wrists he wore huge, thick, black studded leather wristbands.
Around his neck he wore several long glittering gold chains.
Several whips and chains were looped into one of the belt loops of his jeans.
And on his feet he wore black leather cowboy boots with real pointed toes and with thick, thick high heels. He was over six feet tall.
Rhoda was laughing and talking with him while Michael hovered nearby.
Finally she let him catch her eye. I saw the look of disdain in her eye.
Well, what could you expect? After talking to a macho dude like the black guy, the poor submissive actor really looked like a worm. It was pathetic.
The bar was painted entirely black and they had some good music.
Next to the actual bar part there was a raised area where there were seats and tables, and then below that, there was a waxed dance floor.
This was where the acts were starting to take place.
One guy, named Joe, quickly stripped down and started sniffing something that was giving him a big rush. A woman with an eight-lashed whip smiled at him.
She told him to get down on the leather horse, and spread his legs.
The guy got down on the horse, gripping onto it for dear life.
She started whipping him playfully, consulting with him after practically every single lashing, stroking his bare buttocks and asking him if it hurt too much.
I wasn't very impressed by this number, but better than this was the french woman I started talking to who was wearing a very pretty flowered dress.
She told me that this place was like no other in the world.
At least that she knew of. She said that in France and Europe, anyway, places like these, where you could walk in and see live S & M acts done by amateurs, did not exist. Later I saw her pull up her pretty flowered skirt and sit down on a man's face. She spread her cunt wide open and made him lick her out.
She kissed him, and then slapped his face, and then rubbed her cunt meat farther into his face. Another man crawled up to her and she let him suck her toes.
While the first man was still forced to eat out her pussy meat.
All this was quite interesting. I got started talking to another man meanwhile.
I was waiting for the go-ahead sign from Rhoda and Conrad, but they didn't seem to want to get started until it got later, so they let me roam free.
This man was an older man, in his sixties, I would say, or late fifties.
And he talked in a German accent. He told me, with a glow in his eye, that what he liked was to watch women disciplining each other, more than anything.
He told me about this burlesque place that he usually took his clients too when they came into New York on business. He wasn't in the sex business you understand.
But he just felt obliged to entertain businessmen when they came in town.
He said he told them, "For five dollars, I can show you something you have never never seen before." And then he told me what happened at this burlesque place.
"Girls come out on runway. And some of them are very pretty girls, too, you understand," He said in his German accent, smiling at me.
"They come out on this runway, and then the men line up for each girl. There are all different kinds of men in this line. There will be a twenty year old man standing behind a seventy year old man, standing behind a forty year old man. He patted my knee and went on. "And then the girls just pull open their ... you know, pussy, and the men eat them out, one after another. I have been all over the world, but never anywhere have I seen anything like that. One right after the other. When one man finishes, the next man steps up. And all the girl does is wipe her self a little with some kleenex." He shook his head wonderingly.
"I mean you can see men eating girls, but not like that, one after another, with no stopping in between. I wonder what kind of man would want to do that. I mean it's so unsanitary and disgusting." He licked his lips and his eyes grew moist.
Just then I heard the snap of Rhoda's fingers and I knew I had to go.
I didn't even say goodbye to this interesting elderly German gentleman.
But I knew it didn't matter. I had only one person to obey.
Rhoda was high, she had been smoking lots of dope and she was slapping the handle of Conrad's whip in her hand. She looked lovely that night.
Just like an innocent girl. She was wearing sort of a fifties prom dress.
With a high uplift, for her big tits, and a big twirly skirt.
She had her long black hair in a pony tail and she was wearing black prom pumps.
Conrad was totally rigged out in black leather.
And I was almost afraid of him, looking at him dressed that way.
Up until that point, I had only seen him in blue jeans and the like.
I saw him laughing and joking with the six foot tall black man.
And for some reason that really made me shiver too.
Rhoda told me, "Strip and get up against that pole."
I did what she said, and a crowd of men instantly gathered.
In this place, you have to understand, there are mostly submissive men looking for dominant women. But since there seems to be a dearth of dominant women in this world, most of the submissive men just end up watching.
The men all crowded around as Rhoda chained me to the whipping post.
I saw that the young actor, Michael, was also getting into the act.
Rhoda had tied his hands and feet together, and he was naked, naturally.
He was just lying on the floor. Conrad came over to me and started whipping me.
I heard the gasps of wonder and delight as I swayed with each blow.
Conrad was really laying it on heavy that night and I required a gag.
The black man stepped up and assisted Conrad, putting a large ball gag in my mouth and strapping it on tightly behind my head for him.
He also touched my boobs while he stood behind me.
The black man's touch completely electrified and terrified me.
But by this time there was nothing I could do or say.
My legs were spread wide apart, and Conrad started whipping upwards from the floor, in between the sweet hot flesh of my thighs. It felt so hot!
It was incredible! My pussy meat was absolutely on fire.
I looked over to see what Rhoda was getting into with Michael.
She had lifted up her skirt and suddenly I saw a stream of yellow water spurting out of her twat and splashing all over Michael's body! The men were watching this scene closely, for each one of them envied Michael tremendously, I could see.
Rhoda was pissing on the pretty actor boy, all over his body.
She pissed on his cock, and on his thigh and legs. She could really hold her water.
She pissed on his chest and then on his face. She just opened her legs wide and let it sprinkle out. Then she bent down and said something in his ear.
He nodded. Then she grabbed him by the hair and pulled his face up to her cunt.
With the fingers of her free hand, she parted her cunt lips open.
He glued his lips to the lips of her cunt and then she started pissing again.
He drank her piss right from its source-from the source of her cunt.
Her urine dribbled down the sides of his face and he drank her.
All the men were watching breathlessly. I saw the old German gentleman move closer to where I was being whipped. He was looking at the hot open meat of my pussy.
He was looking at the cheeks of my buttocks, being splayed open by the thick rod of the whipping post that I was backed up against. My boobs were trembling.
Then Rhoda came up behind me and she fucked me with a dildo.
She inserted it between my legs, a huge, spiked thing it was.
She inserted it into my pussy, and Conrad whacked it up my pussy with his whip.
Rhoda pulled it back down and out and kept fucking me with it.
Rhoda stopped for a moment to put a blind fold on me.
She knew that I can come better when I'm not distracted by what I can see.
And she wanted to show all the men in the bar how really hot her slave looks when she's coming like a bitch in heat. I felt the blackness enclose my eyes.
And then I felt the thick tube of the dildo going in and out of my pussy flesh.
The spikes of the dildo only served to add a spicy accent.
It was like an extra, added scratching in my cunt and it felt good at the same time that it hurt. When she finally pulled it out of my cunt, my pussy was throbbing.
I couldn't stand it anymore. I was ball-gagged and blind folded and still all I wanted to feel was a big hard cock being shoved up my cunt.
Suddenly I felt the chains being unstrapped all around me.
I was thrown backwards on the floor and my feet were spread and pressed way over my head. Then I felt Conrad's weight come on to of me and he inserted his big throbbing rod into the tight hot passage of my cunt and he began fucking me.
Rhoda ripped off my ball gag and sat on my face and told me to eat her cunt.
So now I was eating cunt while being fucked in the cunt.
It all felt so good, and I really enjoyed it. I got off many times.
When Conrad finally blew his wad in my hot cunt, it felt so good, like getting washed by summer rains. I really needed that too. To feel his orgasm.
Because it made me feel good, knowing people were watching.
Meanwhile, I had drank up so much of Rhoda's sweet juices.
After she pulled her cunt up off my face, and Conrad pulled his dick out of me, I was allowed to go into the ladies room, which was filled with men getting into drag. They all said hello to me and called me darling.
I watched off my face and washed out my cunt, and all the transvestites looked at my cunt meat and my natural boobs enviously. They were all stuffing their bras with stockings and panties or else strapping on padded bras.
They wanted to be women, and I could understand why.
Having a pussy is the sweetest thing in the world, something a cock can't understand.
When I came back out, Rhoda and Conrad were talking to the black dude again.
I saw him look over at me and smile and all his white teeth shined.
And that was when I got the idea that they were talking about me.
I didn't dare go over until they signaled me, but by that time the black man had walked away from them. Rhoda turned to me and she smiled and said:
"What did you think of him? That black man? Did he turn you on?"
I shivered and drew my black lace shawl around my chest.
I said, "Brrr, I don't know. I think he's incredibly sexy and attractive. But he scares me. You know what I mean. I don't think I could trust him."
Rhoda laughed and she touched Conrad's arm and told him what I said.
Conrad was looking around eagerly for some other chick who wanted to get a whipping.
For Conrad, whipping good-looking chicks was his greatest pleasure.
He saw a pretty, young chick who was standing by the side shyly.
She was looking at him and shaking her chest from side to side.
Conrad started to walk away, but Rhoda called him back.
"Conrad, you didn't even hear what I said. Lenore said she found Akim real sexy, but she's afraid of him!" But he just threw her arm off.
And he went over to the young girl to check her out and find out what she was into.
A little while later, I saw her with her ass cheeks bare.
She was bending over, tied by her neck and wrists to the whipping pole.
Conrad had got her skirt and panties down around her ankles.
And her feet were tied and spread wide apart. She looked good.
Her boobs too were hanging out of her blouse and she was looking, upside down, through her spread legs, as Conrad started whipping her bottom.
He made her pussy cream, just from whipping her. Then he got another submissive, the actor named Michael, and he tied his hands behind him, after making him strip again.
He made Michael crawl up to the girl, whose name was Michelle, and bury his face in the crack of her ass. Then Conrad tied Michael's face in Michelle's ass.
Then he started shipping Michael's bare ass cheeks, while Michael was forced to eat Michelle's ass hole! It was an incredible scene and it was wild.
I got so hot again I had to go into the ladies room and play with myself.
Because I could see that Rhoda was through with me for the evening.
She wasn't interested in getting into any more scenes with me right now.
In fact, I think she wanted to go home. I saw her talking with the black man whom she had called Akim, and I saw her looking at me some more.
I think she was just waiting for Conrad to finish his scene.
When he had whipped Michael's ass until Michael had an erection and had finally shot off his wad and come, he untied the actor's face from the girl's ass.
But the thing was, the girl had gotten so excited that she had shit.
And she had shit all over Michael's white face. Michael was sent off in shame to the ladies room to wash the filth off. And then Conrad got another submissive, a male, to go down on Michelle's ass, and lick all her shit off.
Until her ass hole was clean and pink as a seashell again.
Before we left, Rhoda got into one more scene herself.
And this time it was with another woman. It was with the dominant woman who had sat on a man's face while another man licked off her toes.
Rhoda and this woman found themselves down on the dance floor facing each other with whips in their hands. There was definitely an erotic excitement between them.
They were turned on to each other, and that was clear.
But neither one wanted to be the submissive one in this relationship.
It was going to be a battle of the dominant wills to the end.
They lashed out at each other with whips and it grew into a real battle.
Sides were formed as men cheered their favorite woman on.
Rhoda slashed out at the French woman's cheek and breast and thigh.
And the French woman did her best to fight back, trying to trip Rhoda up by winding the lash of her whip around Rhoda's slim ankle, but Rhoda was too quick for her.
She stepped aside, and just by her agile movement, the French woman fell to the ground, and Rhoda jumped on top of her back. She pincered the French woman's arms up behind her, until the French woman called out for mercy.
Rhoda quickly tied her up and put a collar around her neck.
Then she got a submissive male to strip and mount the tied up woman.
Rhoda whipped them both as they made love, slashing the man's bare buttocks as he pounded his cock into the French woman's fresh hot pussy meat.
Slashing at the French woman's big breasts as they hung out from under the man's body. It was quite a scene too, and I was so proud of my master and my mistress who were clearly providing most of the entertainment here this evening.
They seemed to be the only dominant people with imaginations of any kind.
Meanwhile, I kept stealing glances at the black man across the room.
And every once in a while he looked up and glanced at me.
That's when I shivered, as if he were looking at me naked, and tied up, with a whip in his hand, and contemplating what to do with me.
I was glad to go home in a cab that night with Conrad and Rhoda.
"Well, what did you think of Chateau 16?" Rhoda asked me.
"That's one of our favorite places to go," Conrad added.
I said, "I really enjoyed it, but some of those people really were too much for me."
"What do you mean?" Rhoda asked me, as she held Conrad's hand.
"Well just that, I wouldn't want to get caught in a dark alley with some of those characters. I mean, you and Conrad, you're always very considerate and thoughtful about what you do to me, and I trust you. I know you wouldn't do anything to me that I didn't want you to do, or that you thought I couldn't handle."
"And you don't think the other people in that place are the same?"
Conrad was smoking a cigarette and looking out the taxi window.
The night was fine, though hot, but the sky was clear.
The night had brought a little relief from the heat of the day.
"No, I think some of those people really might be out to kill you. I mean you just really can't ever tell. Like that black man, and that blond guy he was sitting with. Now they both look like heavy duty dominants. I don't know if I could take that."
Rhoda looked at me and the sound of her voice was very irritated and hurt.
"You mean you don't think we're heavy duty dominants?" she said.
I took her hand and patted it and said, "Oh, Rhoda. You know that you and Conrad are my favorite dominants in the world. It's just that, I know you're good people. I would never do the things I do if I didn't trust you."
Conrad slapped the handle of his whip against his thigh.
And I saw the taxi cab driver looking at us strangely in the back view mirror.
But he must get used to picking up all kinds. He took us to East third street.
And we got out. I was tired and I fell asleep on my couch quite quickly.
But I was disturbed all night by frightening dreams.
I dreamt that I was going somewhere, but I had forgotten to put my pants and panties on. I was walking through the streets at night in just a sweatshirt and high heels, hoping no one would notice. Sweat was running down my face.
Because, I suddenly realized, I was wearing a rubber mask.
It was stiflingly hot and I was trying not to panic now.
Because I knew I had to get somewhere, and I knew I had to be on time.
I knew I would be in one hell-hole of trouble if I didn't show up.
And yet I didn't know the address of where I was going or where it was.
I was just supposed to find it, blindfolded the way I was.
Meanwhile I could sense all the staring people, looking at me, as I wandered helplessly in the streets. They could see I wasn't wearing anything on my crotch.
A pack of dogs gathered and started to follow me.
Nosing into my crotch, and trying to lick it and eat it.
I couldn't find where I was going, and my hands were tied behind me too.
Finally I knew it was hopeless, and the master would be mad.
I went down in an abandoned lot, just tripped and fell and the dogs went down on top of me, howling over me, lapping at my cunt meat, and ready to dig into my cunt meat with their teeth. That was when I woke up. With a vague sense of dread.
CHAPTER SIX
About that time, I started having a lot of trouble with Rhoda and Conrad.
All we ever did was fight, and I sensed that the love was gone.
Finally I had to go up to them and tell them that my bags were packed and I was leaving. Rhoda broke down and cried and asked me where I was going.
I know that she always thought that I couldn't have survived without them.
But I didn't want to tell them where I was going-I was checking into a Y.
I told her I would send her a card or letter after a while, to let her know that I was doing all right, or that I would see her at Chateau 16.
Conrad didn't say much, just cracked his whip a few times and looked away.
But I could sense I was doing the right thing. They wanted me gone.
That was clear. Ever since that night when I had insinuated to them that they weren't really heavy duty into the S & M scene, things hadn't been the same between us.
I checked into a Y and immediately bought all the papers.
The first thing I had to do of course was get a job.
Even the Y's aren't cheap, anymore, you know? But I was content.
I answered a couple of ads and got a job as a secretary for a diplomat in the United Nations. Typing was the one skill I had picked up in school.
And I was real good at it. That added to my body, I'm sure, was what got me the job. Because, though I don't have the world's most fantastic body, I know I emanate some kind of sexual magnetism at all times, that men pick up on.
I had to ask him for the first week's pay in advance, however.
Just so I could go out and buy me some decent clothes to wear.
The few thin cotton dresses and all that I had brought with me from home were simply not sufficient, and the leather outfits that Rhoda and Conrad had given me weren't appropriate either. I was working for the Saudi Arabian consulate.
And my boss was the chief assistant to the Saudi Arabian ambassador to the U.N.
My boss wore a turban and a robe at all times.
And he had a thick black mustache and a hooked nose.
He almost looked like a cartoon of an Arab, the stereotype.
He used to spend a lot of time hanging around the front office where I worked, typing up reports and things for him. Just hanging around, looking at me over my shoulder.
This really began to piss me off, because I find it hard to work under these conditions. I mean it's really hard to think when you have someone breathing down you neck. Now, the question you may be wondering is: did I find him sexy?
He was attractive to me, in a weird, exotic way. I liked the color of his skin first of all, and I also liked to think of him doing things to me.
Because I knew that he considered all white women to be whores.
Women of his own country were something else, on the other hand.
I met his wife once, she came to the office, and she was wearing robes and a veil.
I bet he really dominated the shit out of her at home.
For she was so meek and weak in the office that she hardly dared to say a word.
So I knew that Mr. Raffel, as I called him, liked to get down on his women.
When I came into the office one morning, Mr. Raffel was waiting for me.
One of the other secretaries in the building told me gigglingly that Mr. Raffel must really like me, because he never used to come in early before.
So I wasn't totally surprised to see him waiting for me.
I was just coming out of the elevator, when he pushed into the elevator.
He pushed me into the elevator again and the doors closed.
We started going up, towards the roof, and we were alone.
He just stood there grinning at me, and I knew what he wanted.
"Turn around," he said, "and lift up your skirt. I want to fuck you."
My pussy instantly started to twitch and I knew it wanted to come.
I lifted up my skirt and presented my ass to the hot Arab.
His cock was instantly hard and he just pulled down my panties and shoved his cock in me. I felt his thick cock penetrate my cunt from behind.
He fucked me in the elevator and plowed my meat right open.
I was shoving my ass up against him, backwards onto his cock.
And he was shoving his cock into me, fucking me good.
When he came, he just reached around for my tits and started twisting my nipples.
In this way, he manipulated me fine, so that my cunt was juicing and squeezing around his I thick dip stick just as his cock shot off hot wads.
His steaming cum filled my insides and my pussy gripped his penis.
My pussy sucked and sucked the cum from the head of his throbbing cock.
Then he quickly pulled his thing out of me, as we watched the little numbers over the elevator door light up, and as we reached the next floor and the door opened and someone stepped in, he was already standing apart from me.
And I was just fitting my dress down over my hips, like nothing had happened.
We pushed the button for our floor and went back down to it.
And we got out and I went to my desk and got down to work.
Mr. Raffel went into his office soon after and he buzzed me on the intercom.
I went in to see what he wanted and he told me that he thought it was a shame that a pretty young girl like me had to work for a living.
He asked me if I wouldn't be more interested in making a lot more money in a lot less time than I was making now. He also asked me where I was living.
When I told him I was staying at a Y, he really looked surprised.
"I have many friends, many friends," he told me, "who are here in this country without their wives and families. Many of them would be happy to pay for the company of a pretty young girl, as an escort, you understand."
I nodded, not taken in, in the least by his phony story.
I knew just exactly what kind of escorts these men on their own wanted.
I told him, "Thank you, Mr. Raffel, but that kind of thing is not in my line. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'd better be getting back to work."
X turned and left him alone in his office. But I couldn't help thinking about his offer. The more I thought about it the better it sounded.
Just look at it this way. I could work and slave all my life as a secretary.
And what would I get out of it-a weekly salary that would get eaten up every week by my rent and paying for clothes that I could wear to work.
It just didn't make any sense. Whereas I knew these Arab men were all wealthy oil barons, with lots of cash to spread around as freely as they chose.
I figured, is this really any different from what I was doing with Rhoda and Conrad at the S & M clubs. At those clubs, and for their friends, I wasn't getting paid, but they were getting paid, and the fact that they didn't share any of the bread with me was only a sign of my own naivete and stupidity.
But did I really want to become a prostitute? I had to think it over.
I thought about my home again, quite unexpectedly.
I even almost felt a twinge of homesickness for that dreary country life, where sex and lust were carefree, and where I did it with all the married men in town in deserted barns, on cold, ice-bound nights for free.
Was I turning into one of those small town girls who come to the big city to make it big, and unwittingly end up being exploited by the sex trade?
I decided not. For after all, I knew what I was doing.
And I knew I had a talent for what I do, and that I could put it to my use.
So the next day, I went back into Mr. Raffel's office end told him that I had reconsidered his offer, and that I had changed my mind about it.
He seemed delighted and made a phone call right away.
I watched him pushing the buttons on the push button phone with his long, well-manicured fingernails, and my heart pounded with fear and excitement.
He spoke only Arabic to someone and of course I couldn't understand a word.
Then he smiled to me and held the phone out to me.
"Say a few words to him, he wants to hear your voice," he said.
I came over to the phone and took it in my hands. I could hear heavy breathing on the other end of the line and I thought a moment before speaking.
"Hello," I said in a musical voice, "my name is Lenore and I'm looking forward to serving you sir. I'd really like to suck your cock," I said.
I heard a gasp at the other end of the line and I smiled.
I gave the phone back to Mr. Raffel and he spoke some more.
When he hung up he said, "My friend can't wait to meet you."
The date was set up for that night, and I went home early to change.
I really couldn't understand why Mr. Raffel was doing this for me.
After all, who would be his secretary now? Who would do the work.
But he had assured me, before I left that afternoon, that he would get a temporary girl in to do the work while I was gone. I was beginning to see the pattern of the thing.
This was how he recruited white women to engage in sexual relations with his Arab men friends and acquaintances. I wondered how many other girls had done what I was doing, coming from his office. But I didn't care.
I got home and put on black panties with a slit up the center.
I also put on a black bra, with peek-a-boo nipples. Before getting dressed of course, I had bathed myself indulgently in a bath of fragrant bath oil.
And I shaved my legs to make them extra silky and smooth.
I slid over my elegant body a plain black silk sheath that I had bought a few weeks before. And slid on black high heeled spiked shoes, hen I put my hair up in the mirror and saw how fantastic I looked, I could hardly believe that I was the same little girl who had run away from home only months before, with only enough cash in my pocket for a bus ticket to New York, and a strange penchant for whippings. Things certainly did seem to be rolling my way.
My "date" for the evening was one Gamal Narafat.
He did not dress in the Eastern manner, like my boss, but was smoothly and elegantly decked out in the latest St. Lauraint fashion. He was in his forties.
With an oiled-looking bald head and a beautiful black mustache.
He met me at a chic restaurant on the East side near the U.N.
He smiled when he saw me, and I must admit I was embarrassed to think of what I had said to this distinguished looking man over the telephone.
But he seemed not to mind at all. We had a lovely, expensive dinner.
We talked about all manner of things-politics, art, language, culture, philosophy, and I must admit that I haven't enjoyed a man's company in such a long time the way I enjoyed the conversation I had with Gamal, as he asked me to call him.
After dinner, we went for a walk in the park and I realized it was my moment to ask him just exactly what he wanted me to do to him for the evening.
I said, "Gamal, it's been so pleasant talking to you. But let's get down to business for just a moment. What do you want from me tonight?"
He smiled and passed his manicured fingertips lightly over my blond-ish arm hair.
He said, "Well, let's just wait and see what develops. Shall we?"
I smiled but insisted, "It is necessary to decide about the price right now. Then we can relax and not have to think about such things later."
He smiled again and looked off in the other direction. , "But I already discussed this matter, the price, with Yusef. He said it was all settled." He turned back to me with a quizzical look.
I was beginning to be quite mad, because this was turning out to be just like the situation with Rhoda and Conrad, where they were in control of the money.
I detached my arm from Gamal's and said, "Mr. Raffel did not say anything to me about money. I am quite distressed. Perhaps we'd better call it an evening...."
"Just a moment, little one, not so fast. Your sweet ass is not going to get away from me so fast just like that. Tell me, what do you want?"
I stopped and licked my lips quickly, calculating, what could he possible want, and what could I possibly bilk him for? I said, "Two hundred dollars."
He laughed and said, "Certainly, that is what I will give you, if you want, but Mr. Raffel made me promise I would give you no less than one thousand dollars for your services for this evening. He assured me you are worth it, and I believe you are." He passed his hand lightly over my buttocks.
As I have said before, I am not the most beautiful woman in the world.
But there seems to be a suggestiveness about me that lets men know that I will do anything they want, and I have a face that makes men say they would like to see what I would look like as I'm coming from their efforts inside me.
I quickly said, "Yes. In that case, I am afraid I must defer to Mr. Raffel's will, in this as in all other matters." I grabbed Gamal's hand.
We were now walking over by Lincoln Center, and he said good.
It turned out this apartment was the huge building directly across from the Opera House. We went up to the thirty-third floor. His whole apartment was done in mirrors. There were mirrors covering every single wall.
The rest of the place was decorated with furry throws and erotic sculpture.
Never before in my life have I seen a more varied display of erotic sculpture, showing men and women, women and women, men and men, and humans and animals in my life.
In every position imaginable and in every contortion of pleasure and pain.
"You will please take off your clothes now, Miss Lenore," he told me.
He insisted on calling me Miss Lenore. I did as he said.
But he had disappeared into one of the mirrors which was a door.
I was waiting somewhat nervously for his reappearance.
Standing naked, staring at all those reflections of myself, all those nubile tits and buttocks in mirror after mirror was kind of eerie.
When suddenly several of the mirrors opened p and several women came rushing out at me. I went down under them as they jumped upon me.
There were all wearing thin, diaphanous Eastern belly dancing pants, and little matching bra tops, and veils covering their faces, all but their eyes.
They succeeded in tying me up to a long leather pole lying on the floor.
I was naked, stripped and tied down by these lovely girls who all smelled like saffron or ginger or some other Eastern spice. I wanted them.
I wanted to feel their lovely bodies against mine.
I wanted to talk to them and ask them where they came from.
But they seemed to understand no English as they chatted among themselves.
Just then, another mirror opened and Gamal stepped out.
He was very differently dressed. No longer was he wearing the elegant Western clothes. Now he was dressed in nothing but a loincloth and a turban.
He carried a long whip with him, and I couldn't help admiring his basket.
It was quite prominent as he strode along, carrying it between his legs.
"Gamal, what is this? Why did you tell these girls to do this to me? You know that I would do anything for you voluntarily? Why do you tie me up like this?"
I only said this, not because I minded being tied up, but because I thought he would enjoy a little intransigence on my part. He stood over me.
The Arab girls all scattered away like leaves before a big wind.
"You are mine, for the entire night, so do not speak anymore," he said with a grueling smile and he lifted his foot and put it down on my neck.
"Lick it," he said, with a happy look on his face. "Lick the sole of my foot."
I licked the sole of his foot while the Arab girls looked on.
I didn't really understand what was going on here.
Was he trying to humiliate me in front of his wives?
Was that the idea? I don't know why I assumed they were his wives. I just did.
But as it turned out, I wasn't far from wrong anyway.
"These are my concubines," Gamal told me as I licked his foot.
"They are required to stay in this apartment all the time of course, since I do not trust my concubines to go outside. They are a very lascivious lot. But they have been craving some new entertainment. As, of course, I would not allow them to see another man, I thought it would amuse them if I brought them another woman, a white woman, for them to play with, and for me to play with too."
He smiled down at me and told me to raise one of my legs.
Only one of my legs was tied to the leather pole, and I raised the other one.
One of the laughing young veiled women behind me caught my leg.
She bound it to a rope that I hadn't noticed before,' hanging from a hook in the wall. All the girls were giggling and laughing as they stood behind me.
I knew that they were looking at my pussy and making comments.
"Play girls, do whatever you want with her, she is yours for the night."
Gamal told them this as he sat down and took out a large water pipe.
He proceeded to smoke a prodigious amount of hashish.
The foxy fumes intoxicated us all, and he even let some of his favorite girls take a puff from his pipe while they sat on his lap with their legs spread and let him fondle each girl's cunt, and ass. Sometimes one of the girls would go down on her knees in front of him and suck his cock. But they never sucked him all the way off.
Gamal seemed not to want to lose his hard-on. He seemed to enjoy making one hard-on last as long as it could, while he watched the girls playing with me and each other.
Each girl had a long slender whip which was rather stiff which they seemed to call something like a "gama." They were constantly hitting me with these gamas.
The predominant pain was in the sting of the tip of the whip.
To tell you the truth, none of the girls were terribly strong.
But the stinging lash on the ends of their whips more than did the trick.
I found myself becoming drowsy and dizzy and feeling very high.
I knew I was being drugged somehow, but I figured it was just the fumes of hashish, and then Gamal had one of his girls bring the pipe over to me and I was told to puff and smoke. After that I felt even drowsier and higher than ever.
Those girls whipped me every which way imaginable.
Two of them held open my pussy lips and they whipped me in the pussy.
The stinging lash of those little whip tongues was making my cunt stinging hot.
And I felt this strange feeling spreading through my blood.
It wasn't until later that I found out that the tongue-ends of the whips were dipped in cocaine! They were lashing my body with cocaine!
No wonder everything started to feel crazy and strange.
Some of the girls made me open my mouth and they pulled out my tongue.
Then even lashed my tongue with their little cocaine-flecked whips.
Then they declared a free for all on me. One of them sat on my face. With my cocaine-drenched tongue I was forced to eat cunt.
Others situated themselves between my spread open legs.
They stuck their faces in my cunt and ate out my cunt meat.
Then they started playing with themselves with dildoes.
They had monstrous, huge, two-headed dildoes that they used in pairs.
It was really incredible to see these veiled creatures, who looked so pure and innocent somehow, getting off, in mutual pleasure, as they plunged the large cock heads up their pussies and played seesaw, two girls on a dildo.
In all this, Gamal looked on with a benevolent smile.
He had two girls vying for his cock at once with their innocent tongues.
They were both licking his stick and feeling his pole and balls.
We went on like this, in all various positions and with various subtle changes, until dawn. Finally at dawn, after his hard-on had lasted over six hours, Gamal signaled to one of the girls that he was ready to ejaculate.
She came over and knelt down between his legs and took his cock in her mouth.
Gravely, she sucked on his penis, thrusting it deep into her throat.
We saw Gamal thrust her face down on his cock.
We saw how the girl's throat jerked and jumped with the power of his erection.
We saw how far down her throat the horny Arab urged his horn.
Then we saw how he was sweating and groaning.
He was shoving her face down on his cock even more than before.
"Suck! Suck! Suck!" he groaned to her. She sucked his cock.
His big prick jerked and shot off deep inside her sucking throat.
She gulped down load after load of his leaping cum.
The night was culminated with his big orgasm.
Then we all fell asleep in the early light of dawn.
Everyone slept the sleep of the dead.
We had worked so hard!
CHAPTER SEVEN
I got work after that with many of my boss's friends and relatives.
Among the Arab men, there was a big demand for white American women who liked to submit to the powerful force of the male, in every imaginable way.
I made good money, good enough, soon enough, so that I could move out of the Y where I had been rooming and get myself my own little pad.
About that time, I ran into Akim again. The black man whom I had first seen at Chateau 16 back in the days when I was with Rhoda and Conrad.
I went to a club where he was playing. He was the drummer with a jazz band.
I went to the club alone to pick up someone and see if I could score that night. Instead I ended up staying all night long, letting men buy me drinks and listening to Akim play.
God, could he play those drums. Listening to him you felt on another plane.
He had a style like a maniacal African, banging on those bongos and making those animal skins really vibrate. I was fascinated by his hands.
They were so big and his whole body was so big and black.
And sleek too. On his oiled, bald head, he was wearing a black skull cap.
He wore only a black African vest on his oiled, sleek, hairless chest.
And a tight pair of black leather pants. And black boots.
There were a lot of girls, white and black, hanging out at the front tables, with adoring eyes on him. And for a long time I didn't think he even saw me.
But he let his eyes linger over the whole crowd of girls, and when finally, at early dawn, the last set was over, all the other girls had gone home and he signaled to me with a shrug of his shoulder. To tell you the truth, to this day, I don't know if he remembered me from that first time that he saw me at the Chateau.
Akim doesn't say much. At least not to me. He doesn't consider me worth talking to. He says I'm good for only one thing, and that thing is fucking.
Of course he likes to whip me too, but that's only the prelude to fucking.
I went home with him that night, and I was hot for him.
I had a lot more confidence at that point than I had had when I was with Conrad and Rhoda. After all, I'd been out supporting myself for several months.
And I was also confident that I could handle anything that came down the pike in the way of submission and mastery. After all, hadn't I been hiring myself out on a free-lance basis to all comers? And no one had gotten the better of me.
Well, Akim was a whole other story, a whole other chapter in my education.
My sexual education, I'm talking about, of course.
Being with him was paramount to seeing that original movie, "Girls Chained in Hell," which started me on my career of being submissive sexually.
Akim raised my submissive consciousness many, many times.
That first night, without even saying a single word to me all the way home in the taxi to his place on the Upper West Side, he just took me into his apartment, put down his instruments, and disappeared into another room for what seemed like hours.
I felt rather nervous and didn't know what was expected of me.
In actuality he left me alone for about an hour.
After an hour, I really began to be afraid that I wasn't doing what I was supposed to do and I went off down the apartment to find him. I heard music coming from behind one door, and I timidly knocked on the door. He opened it.
He was standing there naked, with his cock enormous and huge and stiff.
I could look beyond him into the room, and saw he had a beautiful blonde in there. She was all tied up with a huge ball gag in her mouth.
And her look when she looked at me was me of pure fright.
My heart leaped up to my throat like a bird when I saw her.
"Urn, er, maybe I'd better be going, Akim, I think...."
I didn't get very far. He just looked at me as if he had forgotten all about me.
Without a look behind him at the blonde he had tied up, he stepped out of the room and grabbed my arm. My skin turned to gooseflesh and I was cold.
And scared shitless. I started to mumble again, "I'd better be going...."
Without saying a word, as if he knew he was already the master of my destiny, he just dragged me into another room across the hall.
This room was painted entirely in black, and you could see as much with your eyes totally open as when you had your eyes totally closed.
I heard his voice say, "Strip." And that was all he said.
I couldn't see the door, I couldn't see anything, but the whites of his eyes, and I could feel his huge, six foot tall presence. I stripped.
I was afraid of not stripping. But also, I knew, as well as anything, that I had found the only man who could truly and totally master me.
I guess for that very reason, I was afraid. After all, everyone, when they come up against their destiny, no matter how inevitable it seems, is frightened.
It's a little bit like meeting God. I stripped. And then I felt his thick hands chaining me. He chained me to the wall. Then the whipping began.
As my eyes gradually adjusted to the light, or rather to the dark, I could see his huge black form as he wielded the long lash of the whip.
He had chained me to the wall with my face to the wall, and my legs spread wide apart naturally. He whipped me passionlessly, without any expression on his face.
He whipped me as if he were only doing his duty. As if it was a favor he was doing me. And I screamed and cried aloud. I knew I could scream as loud as I wanted to, because this was my master, finally I had found my match.
He pussy-whipped my cunt and my buttocks until he had the whole area around my cunt glowing like an inferno. My tits were squashed out from under me against the wall.
And he changed whips and used a cat-o-nine tails on my boobs and nipples.
Then he had my mammaries glowing too with a heated sexual hunger.
He did not bother to whip the rest of my body. But he did something else.
He had a whole array of whips and equipment in a cabinet in the corner.
Looking over my shoulder I saw him take out what looked like a whisk stick such as a drummer would use. You know that kind of brush that makes a swishing sound?
Those whisk brushes that drummers use slide back into the handle so that they can be carried around without damage when not in use.
He took out one of those whisk brushes and pressed on the button that released the brush from the handle-case. But instead of a whisk brush coming out from the handle, a short black whip ejaculated from the handle. I stared at it with horror.
Then this huge, black, silent, oiled giant came forward towards me.
He was carrying this short black whip that looked like nothing if not like a small black tongued snake. He slid this thing up and down my burning thighs.
Several times, causing my hot burning flesh to turn cold with fear.
Then he inserted the tongued lash of this short whip into my vagina.
He inserted it all the way in and proceeded to give me an internal, vaginal whipping, slashing the thick cunty walls of my pussy with the long black tongue.
My cunt was screaming with singeing pain and on fire.
The tip of the long black pointy whip was tickling and burning and singeing the very bottom of the pit of my cunt and the thicker base of the black whip was stirring up the juice of my pussy hole and knocking back and forth against my clit.
I was screaming and crying and begging for mercy.
I was writhing and urging my buttocks back and forth against the whip handle.
And I wrenched my head around to look at my black master.
He was observing me almost scientifically as he thrust the long black whip up my cunt and his thick, hard, long black pole was butting into my thighs.
Then suddenly there were several blinding flashes and my mind was confused.
When my eyes adjusted to the blackness again, I looked behind me and saw Akim's white pearly teeth, as he was smiling. He had withdrawn the whip from my cunt.
And he was plying open the lips of my cunt, and inserting a large black dildo into my writhing, hot box, watching my cunt take the whole big thing.
Then he spread a big gob of grease on my tight pink ass hole.
And he smiled as he inserted another, even larger dildo up my asshole.
I screamed as I felt myself doubly penetrated by the two big joints.
But there was nothing I could do-I was bound and chained.
Hanging from the wall! And no one was coming to my rescue!
I heard him laugh-the most chilling sound I have ever heard in my life.
It almost sounded like the laugh of one of those boogie men monsters in the horror films of your childhood, where you tell yourself it's only an actor.
And then he left me. I hung there, trembling, in the chains.
There were a few moments of utter and total darkness and silence.
I was thinking to myself-I will go utterly crazy if he leaves me like this for too long. But I didn't have long to worry. Suddenly there was a long, blinding flashing light. And when my eyes had adjusted yet again, the room was full of blazing light.
One whole wall, the wall I was chained against, had turned into a window.
I realized that I was looking through a one-way mirror.
I was looking into a room where Akim was now with the tied up blonde!
She was a lovely girl, with big soft boobs and real golden pussy hair.
She had lots of black eye make-up on and bright red cherry lips.
As I watched, Akim pressed her boobs into a sort of bra with spikes coming out of it. He encased her big soft boobs in the trap like jaws of the open-nippled bra.
The girl grimaced with pain, but she looked up at him lovingly.
He had her wrists tied together, and she was lying on a bed.
I felt my own pussy start to twitch around the huge dildo up my cunt, while I watched, as he tied the blonde's ankles wide apart to the bedposts.
I saw her nipples and her boobs start to swell from the spiked bra.
Then I saw Akim part her legs open and go down on her cunt.
He was eating out the blonde's sweet hot cunt, and my own cunt started dripping and twinging and twitching like crazy. How I longed for him to eat my cunt.
I started moaning, and found to my surprise that the room was amplified now.
The blonde girl looked up suddenly, shocked and surprised.
Obviously, she could hear the sound of my moans, though she could not see me.
Every time Akim's big black tongue moved into the blonde girl's pussy, I groaned or moaned and sighed and squeezed my cunt around the big wet dildo.
And my moans were amplified and heard by the girl in the other room.
She could hear me but not see me. And I could see her but not hear her.
It really was an ingenious set-up, because, in this way, we were both turning each other on, both contributing to the sexual fire in each other.
I watched as Akim withdrew his tongue and face from her cunt, underneath her sweet, pert, white, round buttock cheeks, and he inserted his finger instead.
I felt how my own pussy and ass hole were glowing around the dildoes inside me.
Now Akim reached up around to the blonde's nipples again.
He clamped on vicious looking clamps on her nipples.
There were gold leashes leading off the clamps, and they led back to where he lay on top of her. In this way, by pulling on the nipple clamps attached to her nipples, he could manipulate and control her, control which way she writhed and turned.
Similar to the way a man can control a horse with reins.
Now I watched as he chuckled and smiled, as he pulled on one nipple clamp and then on the other, and watched how the poor tortured girl writhed and turned.
Now he concentrated on sinking his big-headed cock shaft into her ass hole.
He smeared a gob of grease on her pink puckered ass hole.
I groaned and my butt muscles involuntarily squeezed around the big dildo in my ass.
I saw him fit the bulging throbbing head of his cock to her anus.
I saw how she turned around to look over her shoulder at him.
Her expression at that moment was one that said, "Have mercy!"
Perhaps she would have said that too, if it weren't for the ball gag in her mouth.
As it were, I was sort of her voice in a way, and I screamed out:
"Oh no! Oh no!" I really couldn't control myself.
But it was like I was feeling, experiencing myself, what it would be like to know that in a second, the whole of this black man's enormous twelve inch dick was going to be crammed up my ass hole, while at the same time he tortured my nipples with those mean-looking clamps. I was going up and down on the dildo in my butt hole.
The poor girl seemed even more perturbed as her room was filled with the sound of my cries, but of course there was nothing she could do to stop Akim.
He was shoving his big cock into her back door, and at the same time, he picked up a large, peeled, wet cucumber, and inserted it into her vagina.
I groaned when I saw that, groaned with envy and desire.
I could see now that Akim really was a master of pleasure.
For the thick, wet, cold cuke going up and down in her pussy was going to bring her exquisite pleasure, at the same time that her ass, gripping his cock pole, would bring him off quite nicely. He was fucking her cunt, while fucking her ass.
And he put the gold leashes, leading off from her nipple clamps, in his mouth.
And jerked his head to add some pressure to her nipples.
And make her rise up and scream out incoherently in her mixture of pleasure and pain. I watched all this with an eagerness bordering on insanity.
For such was his evil, kinky genius, that he was bringing off two girls at once.
He was bringing me off by just letting me watch vicariously what he was doing to Karen. And he was bringing Karen off with a subtle mixture of pleasure and pain.
He forced his cock all the way up her butt hole, and fucked her.
First slowly, easing his thick black member in and out.
And then faster and faster, making her take the full force of his thrusts.
Every time she whimpered or jerked in such a way to disturb or distort one of his thrusts, he disciplined her by pulling on her tit leashes and hurting her nipples.
Soon he had her in a passionate frenzy, responding instantly to every one of his pressures, and turning and writhing just as he wished her to.
When he had gotten her to this point, the whites of his eyes glinted evilly, as he picked up another thick black dildo, fashioned in the shape of his own cock.
Smiling, he inserted it into her ass hole underneath his own big cock.
He made her take his cock, plus a dildo up her ass hole at the same time.
While continuing to fuck her hot pussy meat with the cucumber.
My eyes were open wide and I screamed with primal pain and pleasure.
As I watched my poor, unfortunate sister--or my incredibly lucky sister in love, take the three big pieces of meat up her two holes, and writhe and twist on them.
I longed to be in her place, I thanked my lucky stars that I wasn't.
I squeezed, and madly tried to go up and down on the two dildoes in my sex holes.
I knew that this man was like no other man I had ever met in my life.
Akim seemed to be one of those men who can sustain a hard-on almost indefinitely.
He came and came and came again, but still his cock did not go down.
He came once in her aching butthole, which he had widened sufficiently to the point where he had his prick, and two dildoes up her butt hole.
That was when he came, fucking her butt hole hard and fast with his cock.
I could hear her screaming with pain now despite the ball gag.
Then, when his prick exploded in her ass hole, he withdrew his cock.
He replaced his cock with a third dildo, so that now she was forced to lie there with three huge,, thick dildoes up her asshole. I watched with horror as he next strapped onto her ass cheeks a thick leather pair of panties.
The panties only covered her ass, and strapped around her thighs.
They were obviously designed to push the dildoes way up inside her.
And keep them firmly ensconced in her ass, so she could not eject them.
Then he untied her ankles from the bedposts and just flipped her over.
Now, this time, he re-secured her ankles by tying them to the bedposts that her wrists were chained too. So that her legs were tied high over her head.
Now he had free access to her sweet pussy meat and I could see her cunt quite clearly. It was open, gaping and squirming with red hot pussy juice.
He played with his fingers in her hot cunt for what seemed like ages.
He was making her hot cunt come and come and come until coming itself was more like a torture than a pleasure. He would not let her stop coming.
Not for one second. I saw how her whole body kept shaking.
"Come!" he commanded fiercely, his eyes glinting, as her body responded instantly to his command and her pussy meat squirmed around his long black fingers.
He sank his teeth down into her squirming cunt meat.
And when he lifted up his big black face, he had her throbbing, engorged clit between his teeth and he was pulling on it. Then he took some more clamps.
He placed them on the lips of her cunt, and tied the gold leashes, leading from the pussy clamps, to little hooks on the wall. Now if she tried to move at all, the lips of her cunt would be torn open! I was moaning in hot sympathy now all the time.
He wanted to see what kinds of things he could stuff down her cunt hole.
He tried everything. He pressed a big fat candle into her cunt meat.
And then took several pictures. He shoved a big banana into her cunt.
Then a cucumber. He stuck a hard-boiled egg into her cunt and watched it pop out.
And each time he took one thing out and stuck a new thing in, he photographed her.
I could see the shame and humiliation written all over her face.
But when he started fucking her with the egg, I could see the lips of her pussy breathing and twitching, and I knew that she couldn't help loving it.
And that was the worst shame, the worst humiliation of all.
Now the master started speaking to us. Or perhaps he was really speaking to me.
In any case, I could hear him and it seemed as if his remarks were meant more for my ears than for the ears of poor Karen. In any case, Karen was moaning and groaning and too busy getting off on her orgasm to listen to him.
He was pulling on her tit leashes and pulling on her cunt clamps and fucking her with the egg and patting the leather panties which held in her three dildoes in her ass hole, while he smiled and looked toward the wall where I was hanging on the other side, and he said, with a look of tremendous satisfaction:
"Now you see what I can do, are you not afraid? Are you woman enough to take the full array of my powers? Are you submissive enough to take me on?
"You see that I will allow no mercy. No complaints, and no resistance.
"I demand full and utter compliance, and I always get it.
"One way or another I always get it. If I am dissatisfied with you, you leave.
"That's it. I give no second chances. But I assure you, all women who stay with me, have never experienced any man like me before, and never will again.
"When they can take no more they leave me. I do not care.
"One cunt is like another to me. My only pleasure is in the training of a cunt.
"When a cunt is fully trained, there is no interest in that cunt for me.
"I require new cunts, untrained cunts, to fully bow down to my mastery.
"Karen's cunt is almost fully trained now." He patted the blonde's hot ass.
"Her pussy and her ass hole and her mouth are all like cunts to me.
"She has offered me no resistance, and she has taken all I can give her.
"Now it is time for a new cunt to open itself up to me, and let me do what I will with it. How I look forward to the fresh cunt meat of a new virgin.
"For every cunt is a virginal cunt to me. Every cunt is like unto a virgin cunt, because no matter what a cunt has experienced before coming to me, it is assured that it has never experienced the heights of pleasure and pain, and degradation that I will bring it to." That was the end of his speech that night.
The lights blacked out, and all was silence. And I was left hanging, to think upon his terrifying, and intriguing words. I do not know how long I hung there.
CHAPTER EIGHT
There were two parts to Akim's training of me. And it was total.
One part consisted of his daytime labors. I was put through a total experience such as Karen, the girl before must have experienced, in the room with the bed.
At all times, when we were home, in his apartment, I was chained to the bed.
I learned to slip my hands in the cuffs myself and to close them.
And to insert various sorts of dildoes and other devices into my cunt and anus.
And so, I would be prepared for him, already, by the time he came to me.
This training consisted of him seeing just how much and what sort of various devices I could take into my ass hole and my cunt. It was as if he were, like a lover, experimenting with my body, to see what gave me pleasure and what gave me pain.
The fact that he fucked me, before, after or during this training, was almost incidental. The way he fucked me, I mean the feeling of it, was more like a man who is relieving himself in a toilet. By that I mean, that he ejaculated his sperm into one or the other of my holes, simply because I was there.
Not because he loved me or liked me or any such nonsense.
Just because my wet pussy hole or my enlarged ass hole was there for him.
When he found that I responded best to whipping, he turned his attention to that subtle art. He found that it was most exciting to whip me when he did not chain me or tie me up at all. He liked to chase me around a stark, bare room.
He pursued me with a long bull whip, enjoying watching me cower in the corners.
He liked to see me whimper for mercy and try to cover myself.
He was like a cat playing with a mouse, when he whipped me.
And I enjoyed these games too, though perhaps it is hard to make you understand why. During these games, I lived most fully. Never before in my life have I lived so urgently in the here and now. Every heartbeat, every moment of my life was lived to the fullest under the falling terror of his tongued whip.
And when he caught me, finally, and tied me up on the bed-for he never indulged in sexual intercourse with a woman, I found out, unless she was totally tied and bound and utterly incapable of any movement whatsoever, he lashed at my cunt meat.
Until he had made it red and hot and utterly slashed with big lash marks.
That was when he delighted most in fucked my pussy meat.
When he thrust his big sausage-like cock into my burned and wounded flesh, I screamed out to my maker with the most exquisite combination of pleasure and pain.
His cock, penetrating so deep, deeper into my cunt than his whip could go, was riding on a cock to glory, while my outer cunt meat was ripped apart with searing pain.
When he came, it was like a volcanic explosion. His sudden eruption!
When he filled my whole box with his boiling hot ocean of cum!
Sometimes after whipping my pussy with a long-tongued whip for what seemed like hours, he liked to then fuck my cunt with a long cold piece of ice!
That was really incredible too! For after the unbearable heating up of my pussy pot with his cruel-tongued whip, he would shove the burning freezing cold of the dildo-shaped ice cube up my cunt hole, changing the temperature instantly, in seconds!
And my hot, burning cunt hole, writhed and shivered and sucked the ice-cold ice cube and sucked relief out of that long cold cube of ice!
At these times, sometimes, he liked to masturbate himself while he watched me writhe with orgasmic convulsions. He liked to watch his hot shooting sperm pour over my body. And more than once he shot his wad out onto my belly, my boobs, my face and my ass. He liked to watch his cum shoot from his cock onto my ass hole.
But, as I say, this was only one part of Akim's masterful training.
The other part consisted of being his escort in public.
I was expected to accompany him everywhere, on all his gigs.
I was treated like a queen in public, where he was photographed often.
Of course, I always had to wear long-sleeved shirts with turtle necks, and long pants and stockings, so that none of my flesh which he had whipped or otherwise tortured the night before, would be visible to the public and the photographers.
I was always beside him when he entered clubs and with him inside.
And all the white girls and the black girls who were his groupies envied me.
Little did they know what I went through to earn my place at his side.
And little did they know why one of the things that was always written into Akim's contract was that the stage that he was going to play on, be curtained off from the public until he had set up his equipment and his band had come on.
His core group was a quartette-saxophone, bass, piano and drums, although, frequently, many other musicians joined him for to play with Akim was considered a real honor and a real learning experience for he could set up rhythms that no one else could even think of. So all the musicians knew about me.
And the function I fulfilled for Akim while he played a set.
There was always a black tarpaulin lying at Akim's feet, under his drums.
And I had to lie down under it, and pull it up over me, so that I would be totally obscured from view when the curtain was open and the band began to play.
The set was always arranged so that the piano covered up Akim from the waist down.
I had to suck his cock while he played the drums, and he also whipped me.
He had invented and rigged up a little device that was attached to one of his drums.
And when he used the foot pedal, I was flagellated by the whip.
As I lay under the black tarpaulin and sucked his long black cock.
During every set, at the climax of his crazed and maniacal playing, he came into my mouth while I sucked his long black dipstick madly, and drank his cum.
I loved sucking the cum from this cock during these wild sessions.
Sperm from a black cock tastes so sweet and funky.
And Akim always had plenty of it! I loved to suck his sperm from his penis.
And after the set was over, I slipped out from under the tarpaulin.
Usually by that point, it was the break of dawn. I got up off the floor.
And was seen leaving the club at his side, his beautiful white lady.
He liked me to look elegant and clean and sophisticated.
He liked me to wear pearls and dress all in black and wear a hat with a veil.
The cleaner, the whiter, the more refined I looked, the more pleasure he got in totally, degrading me, and the more I enjoyed it also. I loved him.
I was absolutely, totally crazy about this big black man.
Then he'd take me home and whip me from one corner of his house to the other corner. While I screamed for mercy, and held my pussy open to him, and begged him to whip me there. Because whenever he whipped me there, he intensified the pleasure I would feel later, when he shoved his big black cock up my cunt and fucked me.
Of course he always tied me down for these fucking sessions.
And I came to have the knowledge that Karen, the white girl who came before me, and how many other countless white girls before me, knew:
That my ass, and my cunt, and my mouth were like three cunts to him.
Each and every one of the holes in my body belonged to him.
And I gave them to him lovingly and willingly, for no one could degrade me like he could. And how I do love to be degraded. Psychologists may puzzle over this.
But it is the plain and simple God's truth. Maybe there are other women who are different. Maybe there are women born with dominance in their souls.
But for myself, I know that my only true glory lies in laying myself out in the mud and slime of my own slab of wet pussy and laying it all open for him.
Showing him my open cunt meat and letting him know that I know that I am nothing but a worthless piece of cunt meat, nothing more than that.
Only in this kind of recognition of my own true worth, can I get off.
When he whips my flesh, he is only trying to subdue the rising will in me that still tries to hold on to my own name, and say: I exist, independently of him.
For still, despite all my master's patient work and training of me, my ego holds on to my own independent identity, which I am realizing more and more, is only a fiction.
I am nothing, I do not exist, unless my master says so.
I do not exist except in that he exists. I exist as an extension of his will.
My flesh is a mere extension of his will and I am his toy.
Often now, he leaves me at home when he goes out. But I am still connected to him.
He has gotten me to the point where, though he is separated from me, I can still sense and feel his will coming through me to the air, on psychic waves.
Sometimes when he has left me tied up, with a dildo in my cunt or ass hole, or in both my cunt and ass hole, suddenly, out of nowhere, I feel the dildo start to vibrate. And then I know that, telepathically, my master has thought of me and turned the vibrating dildoes on to make me come on the dildoes and remember who I am:
His slave. It is good being his slave. It is good being his toy.
Sometimes, however, thoughts of my life before Akim come back to me.
I am left to hang on this wall for so many hours alone.
And I cannot help but come to doubt sometimes what might have become of me if things had gone otherwise, if I had not met Akim, if he had not recognized in me my true submissive nature. If I had grown up like the normal ordinary girls in our town.
Could it all really have been due to that one movie I saw?
What if I had never seen that movie-would things have been different?
Or did that movie find me out, or if not that movie, something else?
What made me different, from all those nice girls who stayed in that town?
All the ones who were content to stay there, and date and neck, in a normal way, and stay in school and get married, and have babies and all?
Was my destiny different from the beginning? When I was just a seed, ripening in my mother's womb? Was my strange, submissive nature already taking hold of me?
But who can doubt that things were meant to be this way?
Those girls, the ones who stayed at home, the ones who were good girls-like Betsy, my brother's young and innocent bride-do they, can they experience the heights of pleasure and passion that I achieve when my master merely casts his eye upon me?
When I see in his eye that he is thinking of some new and terrible way to evoke feelings from my humbled body which I give entirely to him?
No, how can they? They can never know the ecstasy I delight in.
They can never know the exalted feeling of balancing between life and death, on a heartbeat, as fear overtakes you and you open your cunt to the whip.
As fear and delight are mingled in one ecstatic soothing elixir.
I soar to heights those girls will never know of, those who sit home on long cold winter evenings by a burning stove, crocheting little jackets and sweater for their little Johnnies and Janies, or for the new baby that comes in the spring.
No, such domesticities were never for the likes of me.
My flesh was made to be revered, to be worshipped, to be sacrificed and tortured.
My flesh was made, in the womb, for my master. And I know he is my devotee.
In the curious way of this wonderful world we inhabit, devoted totally to the stimulation of the pleasures of my flesh, I know that it is he who is my servant.
It is he who is my slave. It is he who is devoted to my flesh.
To my pleasure, to my pain. To stimulating every nook and cranny of my bodily embodiment. And in those moments, when I am tied up, tied and bound, tied and bound and gagged and whipped about the room from corner to corner, then my power rises above him. When he looks down at me, cowering in my juicing flesh, with victory, I know it is I who am the victor over him. It is I who am-the Goddess.
And he is but the valet to my pleasure. He takes care of me.
And he treats me like a queen. But every queen likes to come down off her pedestal and lounge and besmirch herself in the mud. My black master keeps me in the mud where I belong. I love nothing better than to remain there where he puts me.
But quiet, now, I hear him coming. I put this away.
My master comes to me!
EPILOGUE
"Whip me! Whip me! Whip me!" I cried. Whip me harder!"
I had betrayed him. I had been unfaithful. Now I was confessing all.
I asked him to do it, I begged him to do it, I wanted him to do it.
I wanted to feel that lash of leather ripping through my body.
I wanted to feel that heated hot tongue that he knew how to wield.
He tied me up against the wall in leather straps that held me tight.
He tied me by the thighs, neck and arms. He lashed me well.
My thighs were spread wide open, and my cunt was totally exposed.
When I felt the first hot heated lashing of the whip's tongue breaking between my thighs. I felt my pussy run wet with juice. I was so hot.
I wanted to scream, but I knew it was no use. There would be no escaping.
Nor did I want to escape. Yes, I betrayed him. I was unfaithful to him.
With every member of his band. Well, he had left me alone here so many nights.
Surely, what did he expect? He knows the intensity of my sexuality.
He knows I must be whipped and laid several nights a week.
Or else I start to go out of my mind. I must have sex!
And for me, you know what that means. So I called them up.
I invited them over. One at a time, each on a different night.
I made it with the saxophone player, I made it with the piano player.
I made it with the bass player and I even made it with their manager.
One by one, they came here to my master's house, here where he keeps me.
And I told them stories. Lies, lies, all of it, but they didn't know.
For I am a master storyteller. I weave tales that make men fall to my will.
I never reveal my purpose, and I always appear to be the passive one.
But in the end, it is the men who cater to my will, and not the other way around.
They came here, and they took pity on me-my horrible childhood, my rough life.
I brought out the whips and chains HE uses on me and I showed them to them.
One by one, their faces turned white when they heard my story.
"Please, please, please make love to me like a real man," I begged each one of them. "It has been so long since I knew what it was like to feel the touch of a man who does not beat me or whip me," I pleaded longingly. And they believed me.
The fools! The intolerable fools. Each one tried his best to be gentle.
It was a torture to me. All I wanted was to be roughed up by my beloved master.
But instead, I got my revenge on him for neglecting me.
I made it with all the members of his band in every conceivable way and position.
With my legs over my head, with my legs on the bassist's shoulders.
Doggie style with the saxophonist and sitting on the lap of the piano player.
They humped me and fucked me and each one thought he was the only member of the band to know the secret of my tortured relationship with the leader of their band.
But it was like a joke to me. All those gentle touches.
Each time one of those men put his fingers into my cunt.
Each time one of those men put his face to my cunt and licked out my meat."
Each time one of those men gently put his dick to the crevice of my cunt and gently eased it in, each time, each time-yes! I longed for the lash of the whip.
What is sweet gentle loving to me? What do I care for fondlings and caresses?
They kissed my naked tits, they touched my beautiful, lewd body.
They told me they loved me, offered to take me away.
To set me up in a house of my own, to take me out of the fearful reach of my Master. But always, always I said no. I made some stupid flimsy excuse.
"I cannot go, he would find me out. He would come after me and kill me."
I was assured of eternal protection and of their eternal love.
For each and every one of them fell in love with me, yes!
Fell in love with me when I showed them my wounded body.
Showed them my healing scars, the stripes on my back and ass and tits.
And little did they know that all the time, all I was longing for was new, fresh welts. They didn't understand that the only pain I was showing them was the pain of neglect. For to a slave, it is death to be forgotten by her master.
And it did indeed seem as if he had forgotten me. Me! ME!!
I who had done so much for him. I who had been his perfect slave.
He was no longer coming home to me on time. No longer coming home at all.
He was no longer taking me out to his gigs with him. No longer was it I who was sucking him off, hidden, during his performances. I began to suspect that he had another woman! And that idea I could not bear. That is why I was unfaithful.
When I told him, his fury was unbelievable, and beautiful.
His eyes popped out of his head. His veins bulged in his forehead.
He opened and closed his fists several times, and then in a rage he could barely contain in his voice, he told me to mount the block against the wall.
I mounted it and he chained me to the wall. He tied the leather straps tight.
He pulled the block away, and I was hanging! Tied and bound!
And subject to his awful fury! It was all I wished for! Yes!
He took out his long black bullwhip. He was standing half way across the room!
"Zing!" That is the closest I can come to describing how it sounded.
When the lash of his huge bullwhip slashed across my fervent body.
I saw how his cock got bigger and bigger, a mile a minute, as he lashed me.
I saw my master's excitement growing as he lashed at my cunt.
I felt my own excitement growing too. Now, at last, master and slave were reunited.
Now, again, at last, we were dancing together our terrible, wonderful dance of bondage to each other. For we are tied together, for all eternity.
My master and I, together, form one whole unity which cannot be broken asunder.
