She thought of it as New York rain. Not a benign, lyrical rain, the kind she had liked to walk in as a child, which freshened the earth and gave promise of growth; not even a hard, driving rain, with a good wind which at least gave you something to brace against and made you know you were alive; but a mindless, steady, indifferent rain which fell numbingly over the city and turned the drab streets as gray and colorless as the inside of her soul.
She stood at the window looking down at the wet street two stories below, the same dreary block she had been looking at from the same window for five years now. The shabby stores, the bar on the corner, the old apartment buildings futilely trying to hold off the inevitable decline into slums. The traffic light blinked its endless progression: green, orange, red; green, orange, red ... over and over; and the occasional car went by, its tires making a faint swishing sound on the wet asphalt. Nothing changed on this street; it was like her life.
The sight made her feel sick; actually physically ill. She reached for the cord of the Venetian blind and lowered it slowly, shutting out the street, the rain, the world.
Forever.
It was time now, and she was sure. There had been other times when she had thought of it, had been on the verge of doing it, but she had always held back; through fear, or scruple, or some vestige of hope. But now she knew she would go through with it. It was right. She was not afraid; there was nothing else left.
She left the window and walked to her dresser. Out of sheer habit she picked up the jar of face cream, unscrewed the lid and began rubbing the stuff into her face, watching herself in the mirror. She was no raving beauty, she knew that, but it was not an unattractive face. Her eyes were a deep brown, her complexion was good and she had a nice smile-a pleasant face, framed by dark, curly hair. Someone had once said she looked like Queen Elizabeth, but she couldn't see the resemblance. She thought the comparison probably arose more from the prim, almost spinsterish way she carried herself than from any physical similarity.
She replaced the cover on the jar, and then, still watching her reflection, she untied the sash of the negligee which was all she was wearing, then opened the garment and slid it off. Ordinarily she would have hung it carefully in the closet; but now she let it fall unheeded to the floor.
The mirror extended just low enough to reflect her breasts. She looked at them detachedly. They were like the rest of her-not voluptuous, but not ugly, not large, but not too small. They were ... adequate. That was the word. She raised her hands to them and touched them almost timidly, cupped them in her palms. Yes, they were adequate, but they seemed to her now-was she imagining it?-to have a dull, lifeless quality about them. Was it because-the thought came to her before she could shut it out-because no one but herself had ever seen them, had ever touched them ? They were unused. like the rest of her. Unused.
"C'mon, Justine," Donald had said. "It won't hurt, honest. All the kids do it. C'mon, please. Just let
"No," she had said. "It isn't right. It's a sin.
"Don't be like that, honey," Roy had said. "You're a college girl, don't play innocent with me."
"No," she had said. "I'm not that kind of girl. Take me home now."....
"You can go far in this company, Miss Jones," Mr. Bradley had said. "A sweet young girl like you. Why don't you come to my office after five, and-"
"No," she had said. "I'm giving my notice now. I'll find another job."....
"I've really enjoyed this evening, Justine," Jerry had said. "Shall we go up to my place ... for a nightcap ? "
"No," she had said. "I'm sorry, Jerry, but I-I don't do that sort of thing."....
"Be nice, baby," Ben had said. "You'll love it. Old Ben is the greatest. I'll give you the best fuck you ever-"
"No!" she had said, and slapped his face....
Come on, baby....
Loosen up, honey....
Please, Justine....
Don't be a drag....
You'll like it, you'll see....
What are you holding out for?....
Be nice....
Just let me....
No, she had said. No. No. No!
And then, just last night, George had said, "For god's sake, Justine, you must be the only thirty-year-old virgin left in the world! Are you going to stay hung up about sex for the rest of your life?"
"Oh, George, please," she had said. "Let's not go through it all again. I know you've been patient. . . "
"Patient is right!" He had taken out a cigarette and lit it with short, abrupt motions. Even frowning with annoyance as he was, she thought he was handsome; she loved his changeable dark eyes, the touch of gray in his hair. She didn't want to lose
George. But she would. She knew she would. "We've been seeing each other-how long now? Six months? Seven? We certainly know each other well enough. My god, Justine, you know how I feel about you. And I thought you ... well ... felt the same."
"Of course I do," she had said, truthfully, hopelessly. "I love you, George. You know that."
"Yet every time I touch you, you stiffen up. If I try to-"
"I can't help it." They had been through this so many times. She had been through it with other men. How long would it go on? Until she was old enough so that no man would even be interested any more? She couldn't, she couldn't. "I don't want to, but I can't help it. I've told you, I've tried to explain. I was brought up to believe that sex without marriage was wrong ... a sin. It's-it's just the way I was taught, it's in my blood I guess. I just can't-"
"Bull!" George said. "Christ, Justine, if I thought that was the only problem I'd propose to you in a minute. I've thought about it. I've wanted to. But you're kidding yourself. You're not religious any more; you haven't been to church in probably ten years, you don't believe in sin, whatever that is. You've made that into an excuse for yourself, because you're just plain scared. It wouldn't be any different if we were married. You're afraid of sex, it's as simple as that. You're frigid."
She had started to protest, but stopped herself. What was the use? Whatever the cause, he was right; she was frigid. "I can't help it," she whispered.
"Neither can I. I've tried and tried, but nothing works." He sighed. "Maybe you need somebody to take you by force, to rape the hell out of you. Maybe that would get you over it. Or maybe it would just make it worse, I don't know. But in any case, that's not my style." He stood up, slowly and heavily.
"Damn it, Justine, I wish things were different. I really do love you. But hell, I'm a normal man with normal physical desires. We could just never be happy together. So ... I guess we should just ... call it quits."
She had been unable to speak, or to look at him as he stood there waiting for a reply, a response, something. She had only nodded. Sure. He was right. Call it quits. What else did she expect? Good-bye, George.
She heard him sigh again. "I'm sorry," he said. And then he turned and was gone. She heard the door close. She felt the door close inside her.
She had not cried. There was nothing in her to cry with. She was empty. But she had known, with certainty, at that moment, what she was going to do.
Empty.
Unused.
Frigid.
She turned away from the mirror and walked, naked, out of her bedroom. With slow but deliberate steps she moved down the narrow hall that led to the bathroom. She kept her eyes straight ahead of her, resisting an impulse to take a final look around the drab little apartment. There was nothing more for her to see, and only one thing more for her to do. It was time.
The bathroom was small and functional-a tub, a sink, a commode. As she entered and turned on the light, she caught a quick glimpse of her face in the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet above the sink. It's a sin, her face told her, before she could turn away from it. No, she answered silently. George had said she didn't believe in sin, and he was right. There would be no hell, no heaven, none of that nonsense. Just peace. Peace....
She bent over the bathtub to place the rubber stopper in the drain, then turned on the hot-water faucet full blast. She waited several moments for the water to heat up, then turned on the cold tap, mixing the flow to the temperature she liked. Straightening, she turned to the medicine cabinet, opened it without looking into the mirror again, and took out a bottle of bath oil. Why not she thought. Might as well make it as pleasant as possible. She poured the contents of the bottle into the rising water.
Then she replaced the bottle in the cabinet, and took out the razor.
It was a standard man's safety razor, though no man had ever used it. She checked to see that the blade was in place, then set it carefully on the edge of the tub, where it would be within her reach.
The tub was filling rapidly. Carefully-it would be too ironic to have an accident at this point-she stepped into it. Standing in the water, she had one quick moment of hesitancy, almost of panic. Then it passed, and she lowered herself into the water, sat, and stretched her body the length of the tub, with her head resting against the back.
The warm water, softened and smoothed by the oil, felt good against her skin. She let herself relax as the water continued to rise, submerging her completely except for her head. Just a little hotter, she thought, and raising one leg, turned the cold-water tap off with her toes. After a minute the temperature felt perfect; she turned off the other tap the same way.
For a few moments she allowed herself to lie quietly in the soothing warmth. She felt calm and unafraid.
Now she was ready.
She reached for the razor on the edge of the tub and picked it up. Slowly, she opened it by turning the handle, removed the blade, and set the razor down again carefully. Holding the blade tightly in her right hand, she raised her left arm from the water. She set the razor firmly against her wrist. She could see the veins there.
Cut hard, she thought. So many people failed because they did not cut deep enough. She would not fail.
She pressed very hard on the blade and drew it steadily, in a straight line, across the wrist.
She winced as the blade cut into her skin, but she was surprised that the pain was not greater. A thin line of red appeared; blood began to ooze out, then came more thickly, trickling down her arm. In a moment, the pain began to worsen rapidly. Before she could falter, she transferred the blade to her other hand and cut as hard as she could across her right wrist.
She dropped the blade into the water. The blood came swiftly now out of both wounds, flowing down the insides of her arms and dripping from her elbows. The pain throbbed through her. She let her arms drop and her head fall back. She was breathing hard.
Her blood poured out of her, mixing with the water, curling in red swirls beneath the surface. She kept her eyes open, gazing at the bathroom ceiling, waiting. Waiting for peace.
The water turned slowly red.
Her breathing slowed to normal; then slowed further.
Then further.
Then got very faint.
And fainter.
And stopped.
TWO
The room was austere. Austere, but not cold. A very large, masculine room, almost barren of furniture, with bare wooden floors, bare wood-paneled walls. But it was not completely cheerless, because the far wall-behind where the man was sitting-was one large, multi-paned window, through which she could see grass, very green grass, and trees stretching out into the distance. But there was something wrong with the light. Not wrong, but ... strange. It was a different kind of sunlight-if that's what it was-from any she had known before.
The man was sitting behind a long narrow wooden desk. As she came toward him she saw that he was a pleasant-looking man, not very old, dressed neatly but casually in a tweed jacket and black turtle-neck sweater. He smiled at her politely and gestured to the chair at one end of the desk.
"Please be seated," he said.
"Thank you." A bit hesitantly, she approached the chair and sat down, folding her hands in her lap. The man waited until she was settled before he spoke again.
"You know why you're here, Miss Jones?"
She looked down at herself. She was wearing her nicest black dress, with the pearl necklace her mother had given her. It was what she wore when she wanted to look her best. "Yes, Mo. . . "
"Abaca."
"Excuse me, Mr. Abaca." She cleared her throat. "I-I think so ... An interview ... for a job?
I'm-I'm sorry. It's just that my thoughts have been a little mixed up since...."
"Your accident."
"Yes."
He nodded sympathetically. "No matter." He looked down at some papers in front of him. "Actually, there are two positions open," he went on. "But, in your case, there doesn't seem to be much choice."
He looked at her as if waiting for a reply. She shook her head blankly. "Excuse me. You must think me quite awful. It's just that I'm...."
He nodded again. "You're confused. I don't blame you. It's quite natural." He leaned back in his chair and sighed. "The thing is, in cases like yours, we're just not prepared. You would think, wouldn't you, that a firm like ours, doing basically the same thing year in and year out, would have devised a system to cover all emergencies." He shrugged. "But alas, with the population growing as it is, it just gets more confusing."
"I-I'm sorry. I don't seem to follow you. If you'll just...."
Abaca looked distressed. "Yes, I seem to be going around in circles. There are other ways to do it, believe me. I've tried them, but it-it's always rather traumatic. No, in the long run it's better to ... go a little slower. Would you like a cigarette?" He reached for a box on the desk and held them out toward her. "These are quite excellent."
"Thank you," she said, taking one.
"You've no idea what a hassle I've had in getting them." He took a wooden match from another box, struck it, and lit the cigarette for her. But instead of shaking the flame out, he held the match steadily in front of him, watching in a fascinated way as it slowly burned down toward his fingers. "You see," he went on in a strange voice, his eyes never leaving the small flame, "our firm was started long before cigarettes were invented, and ... well ... there were no provisions in our original charter for them."
"You're frightening me," Justine said suddenly. The cigarette tasted foul; she stubbed it out. "I don't understand any of this. I don't think I want this job. Excuse me, I think I'd better leave."
"Just one moment!" Abaca dropped the match hastily into the ash tray. "I'm sorry," he said in his normal voice. "I'll come to the point. It's just that, as I said, we're not prepared. You see, you were supposed to go to the-ah-the higher office." He indicated the papers in front of him. "Your record, everything here indicated that, but ... well ... your accident."
"But-but what has my accident got to do with this anyway?"
He spread his hands. "Everything. After all, you did take your own life."
"My-" She stopped. Of course. She remembered-didn't she? Then..."My own life," she whispered. "What are you saying? Are you trying to tell me that I'm dead?"
"Yes." He sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, but that's exactly what I was trying to avoid."
It all made sense now, a horrible kind of sense. "You're telling me that I'm dead, and you're trying to decide whether to send me up to heaven or down to hell!"
Abaca gazed down at his desk. "Actually, I'm afraid that in your case there's no choice."
"Why not?" Strangely, she felt more indignant than frightened. "Why not?" she repeated. "What have I ever done that would warrant my being sent ... down there. Tell me one thing!"
He looked embarrassed. "I admit that your record is quite good. As a matter-of-fact, in many ways it's exceptional. Still ... your accident. It's the one thing they would not forgive. I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do."
"Then-then why all this? Why the interview if there's no point? It seems a hell of a waste-" She caught herself. "Oh, excuse me ... I didn't mean
"It's quite all right," he said reassuringly. "I understand how you feel. In many ways, I concur. If it were up to me, perhaps-I mean, it's not as though I were on a commission basis. It makes no difference to me which way they go. My job is simply to ... ease the journey."
"Then you have nothing to say in the matter?"
"No, nothing," he said. "I'm sorry."
"Then there's nothing more to say, is there?"
"No. I'm afraid not."
There was silence for a few moments. Then she sighed. "I don't mind, really," she said. "What thethe heck. It's just that ... well ... nothing in my life warranted this. I mean, if only I'd done something-anything-then it wouldn't seem so bad."
Abaca smiled slightly. "Surely you're not suggesting that you'd like to have robbed or stolen, or committed a murder?"
"Oh no, of course not. Nothing like that."
"What then?"
She looked into his eyes. "I was thinking of ... lust."
"Lust?" He looked astonished. "Yes, lust," she said defiantly. "It is one of the seven deadly sins, isn't it?"
"Well, yes, that's true, but ... you..."
"Yes?"
"It's-it's out of character for you." He checked the papers on the desk again for confirmation, and nodded. "You're still a virgin."
"Yes I know. I've done nothing. Not even that. And still, to be condemned. Condemned for ... how long?"
Abaca looked away from her. "For eternity."
"Eternity," she repeated. She sat very still. After a minute she said in a low voice, "If I had my life to live over-"
"That's out of the question," Abaca put in hastily.
"Oh, I know. I'm just saying that-if I did have my life to live over...."
"What would you do?"
Justine's head lifted. Her eyes blazed. Firmly she said, "I would live a life filled ... engulfed ... consumed by lust."
He appeared taken aback; but behind his eyes, she thought, there was an answering light. "You would?" he asked in an interested tone.
"Yes."
"Engulfed?"
"Consumed."
"With lust?"
"Yes!"
He seemed about to make a decision, but then gave a short laugh and shook his head. "It's out of the question," he said again. There was a pause. "Still..." He hesitated.
She felt a surge of hope. "Yes?"
"It's a fact they're not expecting you for some time now," he said thoughtfully. "And it would be an interesting experiment. ... Oh, what the hell," he burst out suddenly. "Why not? I can try, anyhow. There's little enough to do around here to break the monotony."
She leaned forward eagerly. "Can I?"
"I'll have to check, though. Excuse me." He turned away from her and picked up a telephone at the other end of the desk. He spoke into it for several minutes, but she could not make out what he was saying.
Finally he turned back to her. "It will just be for a short time," he warned.
"Oh, agreed," she said breathlessly.
"And you will have to agree to the conditions. You will be given a short training period, under our supervision. After that-if you come through it satisfactorily-you will be returned to live your life as you wish for the allotted time. But we will be watching you. As soon as we feel that you've had enough, we will call you back, and no nonsense."
"Agreed. Agreed."
"And afterwards ... you will still be damned, you understand. There is no escaping that."
"I understand," Justine said. "When can I start?"
"Now." Abaca pointed to the opposite wall. "Just walk through that door."
THREE
The door, she could have sworn, had not been there when she had entered the room. As she approached it, she heard from somewhere the desolate sound of a distant wind rising. She felt a sudden trepidation. What was she letting herself in for? Perhaps she should just-
But when she looked back, Abaca and his desk seemed to have receded into an immense distance. She could never make it back, she knew. She took a breath, opened the door and stepped through.
She was in a narrow, murky corridor, so dim that she could not see more than a few feet in front of her, but she had a sense of it stretching on everlastingly. She moved along it without conscious will, as though something were propelling her. The corridor twisted and turned, and seemed to move through different levels of space. She heard the wind more strongly, whistling through the passage, but she felt nothing.
She walked numbly through the gloom for what seemed hours; she had lost all sense of time, all sense of ... everything. Perhaps this was all a dream and she would wake up in her own bed. Or perhaps Abaca had just been toying with her, and she was moving down into the depths of hell, would soon fall into the pit and find herself writhing in flames, screaming in incessant, everlasting torment....
And then there was a door.
It stood on one side of the corridor, light coming from behind it. She stood in front of it hesitantly.
Should she-
It swung open.
Nervously, she stepped through, then gasped as the door immediately closed behind her. The sound of the wind stopped.
She was in a room much smaller than the one she had left, brightly lit-though she could see no lights, and no windows-cheerful and well furnished. The floor was carpeted; there were pictures on the walls. A large bed took up most of one side of the room. There was a table, a writing desk, an easy chair. The chair was empty, at least she thought so, but she must have been mistaken, for when she looked again there was a man seated in it. She started.
He appeared to be a fairly young man, tall and lean, with light hair, a modish moustache and deep-set brown eyes. The eyes were disconcerting-they seemed to be regarding her with a paradoxical mixture of gravity and mockery. Even more disconcerting was the fact that the man was wearing only a short, mustard-yellow bathrobe.
She looked around helplessly. Was this where she was supposed to be? She turned toward the man in the chair, trying to stifle her nervousness.
"Excuse me. Can you help me? I-I seem to have lost my way."
The man smiled slightly. "I'll help you all I can," he said. His voice had the same quality as his eyes-commiserating with her and laughing at her at the same time. "But you're not lost."
"Then ... where am I?"
"You're here," the man said.
"Oh. Well, that doesn't tell me very much." There was a pause. "I'm Justine," she volunteered, because she didn't know what else to say. There was still no response, and she began to get annoyed. "Well, if you won't tell me where I am, won't you at least tell me your name ? "
"I am the Teacher. You may call me that."
Justine tossed her head, assuming a bravado she did not feel. "Okay, Teach. What's the lesson for today? And when do we start?"
He frowned, as though he detected and disapproved of her pretense. "As soon as I cure you of your inhibitions."
"Oh? Is that necessary?"
"Yes. My task will be easier ... and your pleasure heightened. Come closer to me." She walked slowly towards him. "Bring down your head."
She hesitated; but his eyes seemed to compel her. She bent forward from the waist, as if bowing before him. He reached up and placed his hand on her head. She felt the touch of his fingers on her scalp for just a moment; then they were gone. She straightened. She felt no different.
"Remove your clothes."
She was so startled that for a long moment she could not move. Remove her clothes. Just like that? With him sitting there, watching....
But what did she expect? She had said she wanted to lead a life of lust, hadn't she? That's why she was here. She couldn't very well learn about lust with her clothes on. Still....
She took a deep breath and reached for the zipper on the back of her dress.
She had passed some sort of turning point, she knew. There would be no going back. But she felt a blush rising to her face as she pulled the zipper down. A part of her watched in shocked disbelief as she slid the top of the dress forward, off her arms, and then pushed it down over her hips. She stood in her modest white brassiere and panties, the dress lying in a crumpled circle around her feet.
The Teacher said nothing and showed no expression, merely waited calmly for her to go on.
I can't, she thought. I just can't. Her hands went behind her to open the brassiere clasp. Her fingers shook a little, and she fumbled with the catch, but in a moment it was open. She avoided his piercing eyes as she slid the straps off her shoulders. The brassiere fell, and instinctively she raised her arms to cover her breasts.
"No," he said. Not loudly or sharply, but it was a command, and there was no way she could have disobeyed him. She lowered her arms to her sides.
She felt the warmth of the blush on her cheeks again as, for the first time, a man's eyes surveyed her naked breasts. But at the same time there was another kind of warmth beginning somewhere deep inside her. A warmth of-what? Excitement? Was it possible? She, Justine Jones, the fearful virgin-could she be feeling ... anticipation?
But he was waiting again. Well, she had come this far. ... She lowered the panties over her hips, pushed them down her thighs and let them slide to the floor.
Naked. She was naked. In front of a man. A stranger. She wanted to run, but she couldn't move. Besides, she didn't really. ... It wasn't as though. ... The way he was looking at her. ... She...
She liked it.
"Turn around," the Teacher said. "All the way around. Slowly."
She found that she could move after all. She stepped away from the garments tangled around her feet, and then turned in a slow circle, while the conflicting feelings intensified inside her. She felt the impulse to cover herself, yet she was curious, almost impatient, about what was going to happen next.
When she was facing him again, she finally allowed herself to meet his eyes. They were cool, appraising-indifferent.
She felt strangely disappointed. "Not much to look at, is there?" she said defensively. He shrugged. "Does it matter?"
"No. Your body is not voluptuous, but it is at least well modeled and firm. The breasts do not sag. The buttocks are tight; the legs are good. Many men, of course, prefer more roundness and fleshiness in a woman; they find it pleasing to the eye. However, a body such as yours is much more practical. The limbs are suppler. The penetration is deeper ... in both your openings."
Justine swallowed. "I see."
"Come closer. So I can touch you."
Her heart beating with fear, and excitement, she stepped closer, until she was immediately in front of his chair. She had to force herself to stand still, not to shrink away as he raised his hand and placed it over her breast.
She melted. Her insides ran together, leaving a hollow, a void that was filled only by the touch of his hand. She felt weak all over. Her consciousness, her whole being, seemed to shift, to fall away, to rearrange itself ... forever, she knew. Forever. The fear was still there, but it was unimportant, a faint drumming somewhere at the back of her awareness. Everything she felt, everything she was, was subordinate to the sensation of this man's hand on her body.
The hand closed over her breast, squeezed it once gently, as if testing its resilience, and then began to caress it. She trembled as his fingers stroked her, brushing lightly over the nipple. The crinkled red bud began to grow and harden under his touch. His fingers circled it, playing with it until it erected fully, standing out from her aureole with a wanton stiffness. She could feel it throbbing; she could feel the other nipple beginning to harden in sympathy. She closed her eyes as his hand moved to her other breast, doing the same things, causing the same sensations....
And then the hand was leaving her breast, moving down, over her rib cage, slowly down, across her stomach, down. ... Her breath quickened. She felt it sliding briefly through the tangle of her dark pubic hair ... down....
"Move your legs apart."
No. ... Yes. ... But she had already done it. Fingers moving between her legs, searching, touching her where she had been loath even to touch herself. Rubbing gently over the lips of her vagina, stroking, circling ... probing. She felt a dampness, heard a faint moan, then realized it came from her mouth. It came again as his finger carefully parted the lips and pushed itself slowly, cautiously inside her.
She thought she would faint. But the finger probed only a little way, stayed only a moment inside her. Then it was gone, his hand was gone, his touch was gone....
"Turn around," he said. "Turn away from me."
Her head swimming, she obeyed.
"Bend over. As far as you can."
She was confused, but she would do anything he told her. There was nothing, could be nothing she wouldn't do. She leaned forward, bending from the waist, supporting herself with her hands on her legs. She waited.
"Put your hands behind you and spread your cheeks. Open yourself up to me."
'Oh god! What was he going to do? Why should she humiliate herself in this way? But she slid her hands around to her buttocks, planting her feet even wider apart to keep her balance, and pulled the cheeks apart. She felt the air on her exposed anus; she felt his eyes there too, and she shivered.
Several moments went by. "I-I feel so foolish, standing here like this," she said finally. Her voice sounded strange to her. "Yes, I know."
"Is that why you make me do it."
"Yes."
"I see." She turned her head to look back at him. He was holding a strange object made of hard red rubber, and shaped like a finger. But it was larger than a finger, and it was hollow. Her eyes widened. "Wh-what's that for?"
"To relax your muscles." He brought the object between her buttocks, placed the tip of it against her anus, and pushed. She gasped. He pushed harder, twisting, until the small hole opened wide enough to admit the end of the device. She cried out, then whimpered softly as he continued to push, forcing the thing gradually but inexorably into her narrow passage.
"It hurts," she moaned. "Don't ... I can't-"
"Relax," he said. "Don't clench up. Let it go in."
"Ohh." She tried to do as he said, but it was difficult. It felt as though her backside was being split in two. It went deeper and deeper, until finally-it seemed like hours-it was completely inside her. She feared it would tear her, she felt so intolerably stretched; but very gradually she got used to the feeling, and the pain began to diminish.
"You must hold it in," the Teacher said. "If it falls out, I'll punish you."
"Can-can I stand up now? My legs hurt."
"When I tell you." He rose from his chair without touching her and walked over to the bed. He lay down on it, on his back, and looked over to where she still stood awkwardly bent over, her hands on her buttocks.
"Please, my legs...."
"Very well," he said. "You may straighten up now. Walk over to me."
With a sigh of relief, she straightened herself. Her muscles ached, her legs felt cramped, and the rubber thing in her anus still felt uncomfortable. She approached the bed, walking gingerly, and stood by the side of it looking down at him.
With unhurried, deliberate motions the Teacher untied the belt of his robe, and then spread it apart.
She caught her breath. She had seen pictures, of course; she knew what a man looked like. But this was real. It was, somehow, more real than anything she had ever seen. His genitals frightened and fascinated her. She could not take her eyes from them.
He touched himself lightly. "By what name do you call this?"
She swallowed. "A-a penis," she said faintly. "What else?" She hesitated.
"Say it. You know the words. There's nothing wrong with them. They're just words. Say it. What else?"
"A ... prick."
"What else?"
"Cock," she whispered.
"That's right. Say it again."
"Cock." It sounded good; to her surprise, she liked saying it. "Your cock. Big, beautiful cock."
"Yes."
"It-It's..."
"What?"
"It excites me. It makes me feel ... tingly all over. May-may I touch it."
"Yes."
She sat down on the edge of the bed. His penis filled her awareness. Even in repose, it seemed to be throbbing with life. She reached out a hand to touch it. The feel of it under her fingers sent an electric thrill through her. She wanted ... she wanted to....
"May I kiss it?"
"Yes."
She leaned over him, bending her head down to his groin. Her breathing was rapid and shallow, her heart pounding. She gave a tiny moan as her lips touched his maleness. She kissed it, kissed it again. It began to grow. She held it against her cheek.
"It feels so smooth," she murmured. "Smooth.
"Put it in your mouth," he said.
"Yes." She closed her lips over the head, and felt it burgeoning and stiffening in her mouth. She raised her head, still holding it in her hand. "Oh god," she panted. "I love it, I love the taste of it. I love the feel of it in my mouth."
"Stroke it with your hand," he said. "Now take it back in your mouth. Take it all the way in."
"But it's getting so big."
"Yes."
"And so hard."
"Do you like it?"
"Oh yes, I love the way it feels, big and hard in my mouth."
"Then you'll be able to take it all."
"Oh, I want to. I want it all the way in me. I want it."
"Kiss it again. Lick it with your tongue. All of it. All over."
"Yes, yes...." She brought her mouth to him again, kissing the now-erect shaft, licking it, tonguing the length of it. "I love you," she said to it. "I waited for you so long, and now at last I can have you."
"Take it in now."
She put him between her lips again, opening her mouth wide to admit the largeness of it. She felt his hands in her hair, holding her head there as he pushed himself further into her mouth. It filled her up, stretched and filled her mouth until she thought her jaws would crack, but she loved it, she couldn't get enough of it, and when she felt him release her head she began to move it, move it up and down over the pulsing, straining shaft, wanting it all, wanting to give him pleasure, wondering if his pleasure was as great as hers. She never wanted it to end, she wanted to go on forever, and she tried to tell him so, but the words came out in incoherent mumbles, lost against his turgid flesh.
And finally it did end; he pulled himself out of her mouth suddenly, without warning. She gave a cry of loss, but still held fast to him with her hands, and as she gasped for breath the words tumbled out of her.
" ... like-like a tower ... a beautiful marble tower. So smooth, so hard, so long, so big and stiff. I love the taste of you. I could feel you up against the roof of my mouth, in my cheek, on my tongue. Oh god, I have you in my hands and I can feel the life in you and the strength. ... I must have you inside of me. Oh please, won't you put it in me, put it inside me?"
"Inside where?" the Teacher said. His voice as calm, as unemotional as ever. "Inside. In my...."
"Say it."
"My cunt. Yes. Please, I want to know what it feels like in my cunt. Won't you put it in my cunt."
"Yes."
She felt his hands on her waist then, lifting, guiding her. She sat across him, facing away from him, straddling his thighs. His hand went between their bodies, adjusted his penis, aligned it with her vagina. She felt it nestling between her lips. She wanted it, but she was suddenly afraid too.
"Will it hurt?"
"Yes. At first."
"Please, be gentle. It's so big. Please."
"Forget the pain. Concentrate on the pleasure." And then he lowered her and at the same time pushed upward into her, steadily, surely. She felt him, felt the pressure, and then she screamed as he burst through, tore away her virginity. But he did not stop; he pressed on, higher, deeper into her. And soon the pain faded, and the feeling, the glorious, beautiful pleasure flooded through her. She threw her head back, gasping with the wonderful sensation of him inside her, thrusting upwards, pressing on into her unexplored passage. She had never known, she had never imagined what it could be like. She had been such a fool! Tears came to her eyes, tears of regret and of happiness, and tears of pure delight at the wonder of what was happening to her. The flesh that was filling her vaginal passage was also filling the emptiness in her soul, coloring the drabness of her spirit as it sent incredible thrills through her body.
Then he was completely inside her, filling her totally, and he began to raise and lower his hips with slow, steady strokes, and she cried out her pleasure and began to move with him, sliding up and down on that marvelous life-giving pillar of flesh, glorying in the way it slid smoothly in and out of her, producing a more intense sensation with each stroke. She moved harder, squirming and twisting on his thighs, gasping for joy. She babbled, she couldn't help it; the words poured out without volition, she didn't know what she was saying, she didn't care, she had been closed for so long and now she was open and nothing mattered except the marvelous thing plunging in and out of her, the fantastic pleasure coursing, crashing through her being.
" ... forever, I want you forever. Ohh god, I want, I need you, don't stop, never stop! I feel so ... strengthless. I'm on fire. ... It feels nice. ... Yes, yes, let me have more. I want more of you, your prick. I want your prick up inside of me. Your beautiful cock. ... Oh yes. ... I can feel it, I can touch your balls, I want to kiss your cock inside me. ... Hard, I love it hard, harder. ... It's so good, so good. ... Your cock, that hard cock, spreading me wide apart, tearing me apart. ... I can feel that thing in my ass. Take it out ... I want you in my ass!"
His fingers down there, groping, finding her ass-hole. Pulling, he was pulling the rubber thing out of her. It hurt as it came out but it felt good, a good hurting. Reaching behind her, she wanted it, it had been up her ass, she wanted to hold it. "Give it to me, let me have it ... please." He put it into her hand.
"Now put your finger in there where it was ... oh yes ... oh ... It hurts, but oh it hurts it hurts it hurts me. ... don't, no, no don't take it out ... out. ... Please, please. ... In, oh yes, more ... Your finger in my ass, cock in my cunt. It's-I'm-I can't stand it, I'm-Ohh yes, yes, OHH GOD!"
Writhing, bucking, plunging over that double-pronged invasion, she felt herself spinning, falling, flying. What was happening? She was going to explode, she was going to burst, to blow up and disappear. She didn't care; her head fell back, her eyes closed. It was coming, now, it was, yes, it's coming nearer, now, nearer ... nearer....
Her body stiffened, shook, convulsed again and again, and a long rattling cry emerged from her throat as, for the first time, she experienced the ultimate ecstasy of orgasm.
FOUR
"I love you," she said.
They were lying together on their sides, he behind her. She felt drained and tired, but beneath the lassitude there were faint ticklings of a new excitement beginning, engendered by the feeling of his still-erect penis resting on her upper thigh.
"No," the Teacher said. "You love sex. I merely showed you that you could."
"I've wasted my life."
"That is why you are here. To redeem that waste."
"Only briefly."
"Would you rather not? You can still change your mind."
"No."
"Then don't mourn. Enjoy what you have." She moved her leg against his hardness. "Why didn't you..."
"Come."
"Yes."
"I will. There is time."
"Are you-are we going to do it again ? "
"Would you like to?"
"Yes, I think so."
His hand, which had been resting on her hip, slid down over the front of her thigh to her crotch. His fingers slipped between her legs, explored skillfully and found her clitoris. She gasped as he stroked it gently.
"Ooohh ... that's nice."
"Yes." His fingers continued to move.
"Oh yes, do that. ... Yes. ... Oh god!" She twisted on the bed. She hadn't known she was so sensitive there. How could she have known? "Oh, it's beautiful. It's-I feel..."
"Yes? Tell me."
"Ohh, I want you. I want it again. I want your cock. Oh god, let me have it. Please. Put it in me. Please."
His hips moved forward, and she gave a ragged cry as she felt his stiff rod entering her from behind.
"Ahh yes. ... Oh yes, more, give me more. ... Ohh it's wonderful, I love it, put it all the way, all the way in. Yes, now do it to me, do it-Oh ... oh, your cock. Lovely cock."
He was moving in and out of her very slowly, while his fingers went on caressing her clitoris. She felt she was going out of her mind, and she wondered if he would come this time. She wanted him to come inside her, wanted to feel it inside her. But there was something else she wanted to feel....
"What if ... what if I want it in my ass? Cancan you put it in my ass? No, don't stop, please, just tell me. Can you?"
"Yes."
"I-I want to-will you come in my ass."
"If you like."
"Yes, do it. Do it, please."
He pulled out of her. "Get up on your knees."
She clambered up to her hands and knees, and he knelt behind her. She felt his hands spread her buttocks, felt his stiffness between them, felt it at her anus....
"Oh be careful, please be careful. ... God, it's so big. I want it but it's so big. I can't-oh easy, easy-no, wait-AHHH! Oh god! It hurts Oh slow, slow. Please, don't do it so fast, not so fast. ... Let me have it slow. Please, it hurts so, oh it hurts so-oh stop, please, hold still, hold still, please. Don't move, don't move for a minute. Hold, hold still. Hold still. ... Oh, oh. ... Just hold it there for a minute. ... Yes, put it there, put it ... put it slowly, very slowly. ... Oh god, oh Jesus, I can't take it-No, do it, it hurts, but do it. Do it now, do it more. ... Ahh, it hurts, hurt me ... faster ... hurt me ... hurt me ... hurt me ... HURT ME!"
And as she screamed out the intensity of indistinguishable pain and pleasure, the room spun around her. She was bursting apart. The Teacher was lunging, pounding at her, his hands holding her hips firmly, his cock splitting her, thrilling her, and she exploded convulsively into orgasm. Then she felt it-his come-spitting out of him, splashing and splashing inside her aching passage, and she screamed her incredible joy once more and collapsed.
FIVE
It was so strange. She was dead; there was no doubt that she was dead; and yet she felt more alive than ever before. She had to kill herself before she had found out what life meant. She felt alive in every nerve, every corpuscle, every fibre of her being. She saw things with a new intensity, felt things with a new sensuousness. The texture of her washcloth, the play of water against her skin, even the hard, cold porcelain of the tub she sat in; all were newly discovered, delightful sensations.
The tub was not filled. The thought of a regular bath had reminded her too strongly of that last day. She had hooked a length of thin hose to the faucet and was enjoying what she thought of as a sit-down shower, washing herself with the stream of water from the flexible rubber tube. She had already soaped and rinsed herself completely and was relaxing in the tub, letting the water play over her skin.
The streaming hose was like a cock, she thought with amusement; a cock that was constantly, tirelessly, endlessly ejaculating. What a wonderful idea! She stroked the hose as though it really were flesh, as if by stroking it she could make it still and hard, like the Teacher's cock.
All the years, all the opportunities she had wasted! The Teacher had told her not to mourn, but she couldn't help it. All the men who had wanted her during her lifetime-well, not that there had been all that many, she supposed, but still....
She had pushed them all away. Starting with
Donald in high school. Oh god, she should have let him then, should have done it with him and gotten rid of that curse of fear once and for all. Take me, Donald, she said to him now, too late, years too late. Take me, let's do it, take me. The hose was Donald; she fondled it, aimed it at her breasts, let the water splash onto them. She directed the stream of water at her nipple and watched it stiffen. She pointed it at the other breast. Come on, Donald, touch my breasts, squeeze my nipples, touch all of me. She ran the hose down her body, down her legs and back. Donald's hands stroking her legs. His tongue splashing into her navel. His cock between her breasts. She would take him in her mouth; come Donald, put your cock in my mouth. She jammed the end of the hose into her mouth, sucked on it, spluttered out water, swallowed some, his sperm, his come, how he poured his come into her mouth!
And Roy, in college. He was cute, a tall blonde boy; why had she been so stupid? Take me, Roy, give it to me, I want it, fuck me. And she drew the hose down her body again, spread her legs wide, directing the water into her vagina. Ohh yes, Roy, yes! She aimed the stream directly at her clitoris, jumped with the sensation, moaned aloud. Oh yes, do that, Roy, that's so good. Put it in me now. I want you in me. All the way. Now. She inserted the tube between her labia and pushed it in. Further, further, the water streaming up her cunt, flowing up her, splashing out, Roy, Roy! She arched her body, gasping, caressing her breasts with her free hand. He was so good, Roy was so good!
And there had been Jerry. He had been nice, really nice. She had liked him a lot. And there had been Harold, and Mr. Bradley, and even Ben. She hadn't liked Ben, he'd been rough and uncouth; and yet she was curious about what he'd be like. C'mon baby, I'll give you the best fuck you ever--Okay, Ben. Okay, why not, fuck me, how do you want it? Up the ass, baby, that's the way I like it. Anything you say, Ben. She turned over in the tub, got onto her knees, reached behind her with the spouting hose. Here it conies, baby. Yes, put it in, put it in my ass. She pushed the hose between her buttocks cheeks, pushed it against her anus. She was too small. No. She relaxed her muscles, as she had done with the Teacher, and forced the tube into the opening. Oh yes, Ben, that's it, shove it up there, I don't care if it hurts, do it! She shoved it in further, it was fantastic, the water up her ass, pulsing inside her, Ben's cock, pounding and spurting, spurting. She came explosively, as the pressure of the water forced the hose back out of her.
She collapsed, trembling. Pulled herself back to a sitting position. All those men! What they could have done for her ... and what she could have done for them.
And there was George. George, whom she had loved, truly loved, and whom, through her fear and stupidity, she had driven away, just like all the others. "I'm sorry, George," she whispered. "I'm sorry. Forgive me. I'm so sorry." She bowed her head. The water ran into her face, washing away her tears.
SIX
"Am I to go back now?"
"Not yet," the Teacher said.
"Why not? I've learned."
"There is more."
"What more can there be?"
"Tell me what you have learned."
"Everything. I've learned to enjoy sex. To take a cock in my cunt, up my ass, in my mouth. And to love it. To love it all."
"Yes. You have been an apt pupil."
"Well?"
"With a man."
"Of course."
"There is still your own sex." Her eyes widened. "You mean ... sex with a woman."
"Yes."
"Oh, no, I-I couldn't."
"Why not?"
"Well, it's ... it's unnatural."
"Nonsense."
"But I'm not a Lesbian, I can't-"
"Stop that. You are merely mouthing words that are meaningless. You have no idea what you can or cannot do. Or what you are, for that matter. Why should it be less natural for you to love one human species than another? You must learn to love completely, unreservedly, or you will never be ready to go back."
"I thought I was to learn lust, not love."
"Words again. Wait here."
She lay naked on the bed, waiting nervously. After a while the door opened and a woman came into the room. She was carrying a tray on which sat a silver bowl containing some kind of liquid. She smiled at Justine, but said nothing. She was young, perhaps in her mid-twenties, and she was naked.
like Justine, she was not voluptuous, but her figure was good and she was pretty, with her very black shoulder-length hair arid attractive smile. She placed the tray carefully on the bedside table and sat down on the edge of the bed.
Justine's nervousness increased. Was she supposed to have sex with this strange woman? The other's smiling silence unnerved her, but she couldn't think of anything to say to her. And what was in the silver bowl? Some kind of drug maybe, to relax her, or a strange aphrodisiac....
But when the girl picked up the bowl and poured some of the dark liquid on Justine's body, and then began rubbing it in with her hands, she realized it was simply a body oil of the type used by masseuses. The girl must have been trained in massage, she thought; her hands were confident and skillful, and the oil felt pleasant and soothing as it soaked into her skin.
When the girl's hands slid up to her breasts, she tensed. The girl appeared not to notice, but continued to rub the oil over the breasts, her hands moving in slow circles. Very gently the hands slid over the flesh with a regular, rhythmic motion, and gradually Justine relaxed. Then the girl began to massage more firmly, manipulating the breasts, squeezing and kneading them. It was not unpleasant; it was even-likeable. Not in an erotic way, of course, just nicely stimulating. Still, she felt a sense of relief when the hands left her breasts and slid upwards, massaging her shoulders and neck. She could feel her muscles relaxing under the talented hands. That was nice, it was calming to the nerves.
And then the hands were back on her breasts again, moving easily over the oil-slick globes, moving somehow less impersonally this time, more caressingly. No, Justine thought, but she didn't say it aloud. There was something about the silence in the room that prevented her from breaking it. And besides...
She was surprised to feel her nipples hardening under the girl's stroking hands, surprised to feel the awakening stirrings inside her. Was there, after all, some kind of drug in the oil, something which worked by soaking into the pores of the skin? Or was she really simply responding in a sensuous way to the touch of another woman? Well, why not, she thought suddenly, as her nipples came to full, pulsing erection. Perhaps the Teacher was right. Love, or lust, could be indiscriminate.
This time she felt disappointed when the hands abandoned her breasts. The girl poured more liquid onto her body and rubbed it over her stomach and down her hips, then began massaging her legs. The stirrings were growing stronger now; she could not deny the excitement building inside her. And with the excitement came curiosity. She had an idea of what women did; but she couldn't visualize this nice-looking young girl-let alone herself-engaging in acts which she had always thought of as perverse.
The girl's hands moved up and down the length of her thighs, maintaining that half-professional, half-erotic touch to which she couldn't help responding. The insides of her thighs seemed particularly sensitive, and it was there that the hands now strayed and lingered, gliding, circling, stroking. The fingers appeared to seek out the most vulnerable nerve-endings under the tender flesh, and to follow their path up the inner thighs, from the knee almost to the crotch, and back down; then slowly, teasingly up again.
She was longing for those fingers to move a little higher, to touch her on the most sensitive place of all, to do something to fan and then extinguish the growing flame they had ignited. Her breathing grew more rapid and shallow. She wanted to be taken. Man, woman, it didn't matter any more; she wanted that thrill, that glorious, soaring spiral of tension and fulfillment.
The girl must have sensed her need, but the teasing, maddening hands worked on, building it higher and still higher; until finally they left her legs and slid back up her body to caress her breasts once more.
And then the girl, still smiling her gentle, enigmatic smile, lay down and stretched herself out on the bed. With a sharp intake of breath, Justine turned toward her. Their arms went around each other, and their bodies pressed together.
The girl's body was soft and smooth against her own, not at all like the Teacher's hard, hairy one; but in its own way she found it just as stimulating, at least in her present aroused condition. Breasts rubbing, legs entangling, they kissed. The girl's tongue came out, slipped between her lips, and she met it with her own. As their tongues caressed, the fire flared inside her and she thrust her loins forward instinctively, as if toward an imaginary penis.
The girl laughed low in her throat and disengaged herself, turning Justine over on her back, and then began to slide toward the foot of the bed. She paused to kiss her breasts, running her tongue around each nipple, which brought a low moan from Justine; paused again to dip her tongue playfully into Justine's navel. Then she was crouching at the end of the bed, her hands on Justine's thighs, gently lifting and spreading them apart. And then her head went between them.
Justine groaned aloud at the first touch of the girl's mouth on her vagina, and drew in her breath with a hiss when she felt the tongue licking her there, then sliding between her vaginal lips and poking inside her. The tongue pushed further-it seemed to be immensely long-and explored the inside of her passage for a long moment, then drew back and moved slightly upward, until it contacted her clitoris.
The sensation jolted through her, and her body stiffened. Her hands clutched the bedsheet on either side of her as that tongue began to work knowledge-ably on the little bud, coaxing it into tiny erection, licking and laving it lovingly. She started to pant, her head rolling, her hips writhing, as the girl continued her expert ministrations.
This was different from anything she had felt with the Teacher. Of course a man could do the same thing, but would he have the same intimate knowledge of precisely how to produce the most intense sensations as this girl seemed to possess? The tireless tongue licked on, stroking the clitoris and its surrounding area with single-minded expertise, moving now gradually faster, now slowing down again, now harder, now softer, always pushing Justine steadily up toward the peak of ecstasy. A continual series of breathy moans issued from her mouth, and she arched her hips, pushing them harder against the girl's face.
She squirmed uncontrollably as she felt her climax approaching. Her hands groped blindly for the girl's head and tangled in the dark hair, and her moans turned into a shriek as it crashed over her.
Her hands fell from the girl's head and she lay weak and trembling. The girl climbed up over her body-she was still smiling-and lay on top of her. Justine clutched her lovingly, gratefully, and they kissed again. This time her tongue went into the girl's mouth; she tasted her own juices on the girl's lips and tongue. She found the taste pleasant, even arousing, though she wondered that she could even think of being aroused again so soon after the cataclysmic orgasm the girl had given her.
She wanted to do something for her, too. The girl evidently had the same thought, or else could read her mind, for she began to turn her body around on the bed until she was facing the opposite way, crouched over Justine with her loins just above Justine's face. She lowered them slowly.
Justine swallowed. She felt she was unable to love this girl nearly well enough to produce the pleasure and excitement that the girl had given her. But she was willing to try. She inhaled the musky, intimate scent of the girl's vagina. As it touched her lips she opened her mouth wide, tasting it, wanting to devour it. Then her tongue pushed out, at first timidly, then more boldly, into the opening.
She was inexpert and awkward, she knew, but she tried to remember and imitate the way the girl had used her tongue on her. She had more difficulty than she would have expected locating the tiny clitoris, but she found it and was rewarded by a small sigh of pleasure. Encouraged, she set to work.
She found herself quite enjoying what she was doing, particularly as she was obviously having an arousing effect upon the girl, whose breathing soon became audible. The girl's excitement drove her on, and communicated itself to her; so that when the girl lowered her head between Justine's legs, and she felt her tongue again seeking her out, she knew to her surprise that she could make it a second time.
For a long time they loved each other simultaneously, their tongues licking and stroking with exquisite abandon, urging each other into frenzy. Their coupled bodies heaved and twisted. A double set of moans and gasps filled the air. It took longer for Justine to reach her peak this time; but the girl kept pace with her, and together they drove each other higher and higher toward the pinnacle of satisfaction. And together, finally, they reached it and tumbled over, clutching each other's thighs, tongues whipping frantically as they cried out their mutual fulfillment into each other's loins.
They lay still for a long time, panting and perspiring. Justine wanted to say something to the girl, to express her joy in this new-found form of lust; but she could not bring herself to speak. After a while the girl rose. She picked up the tray from the table and, with a final smile at Justine, turned and went out of the room. She did not even know the girl's name, Justine realized. They had not said a word to each other.
SEVEN
For people who didn't need to eat, they had the best food she had ever tasted. The Teacher had said she had no need to eat because she was dead; her hunger was merely a habit she hadn't lost yet. Habit or not, she had said she was hungry, she wanted to eat, and so they brought her dinner. The black-haired girl brought it in on a tray, the same damn tray, for all she knew. Everything was delicious, and everything was sexy-why that was she didn't know-but the dinner started off with shrimp, marvelous plump, fresh-tasting shrimp, and they looked to her like tiny flaccid penises, and she thought she would put one in her cunt. She did, and then she ate it; it tasted even better. After that she put all the shrimps inside her cunt, dragging them up over her clitoris before popping them into her mouth, it was better than the horseradish sauce.
What a wonderful glorious meal it was, allowing her to satiate two appetites at once. The main course was roast chicken, and the drumstick was a big fat erect cock, almost too big for her, but not quite. She managed to shove it up, and it was beautiful, filling her cunt to bursting, and the breadsticks that came with the meal were long thin cocks, just right for sliding up a girl's ass-hole. For desert there was a chocolate pudding; she dumped it onto her body and rubbed it over herself, giggling, smeared it over her breasts and belly, over her thighs and between her legs, rubbed it into her pubic hair and across her cunt. When the girl came in to get the dishes, maybe she would lick it all off.
And there was a bowl of fruit: she took a grape and placed it in her navel, like a green diamond; she pushed another one into her cunt, then a second and a third; they felt nice and cool in there. Some people said women had no feelings inside their cunts, screw them-she had feelings everywhere.
She fished the grapes out of her cunt because her eye had fixed on a banana, a beautiful yellow banana, just right to serve as a big, curving, pointed, fantastic cock. Into her cunt it went, slowly, carefully, because it was big and pointed-but it was good, oh so good. Further, further, she forced it in, then pulled it back and forth, back and forth, fucking herself, faster, faster ... beautiful banana-cock ... harder, until she came with a great surge. She cradled it between her breasts, then after a moment began peeling back the skin, naked now, smaller and softer but still beautiful. Throwing back her head, she held the banana-cock high and lowered it into her mouth; only half of it or less fitted in her mouth. She caressed it with her tongue, sucked on it, sliding it in and out of her mouth. Then she bit off the end, swallowed it, let the rest of it slide into her mouth, sucked that, pushed it in and out of her mouth with her tongue until she could feel it crumbling, and she swallowed it with one gulp.
EIGHT
"Please let me suck it."
She was sitting naked on the bed. The Teacher, also naked, was slouched in his chair across the room, his legs stretched out, his penis dangling like a limp magnet over his scrotum. It was a magnet to her, anyway. She wanted it so badly she could already taste it in her mouth, feel the strength of it between her lips.
He was regarding her with his usual gravely amused expression. "You must learn patience," he said.
"Patience!" She laughed. "All my life my trouble has been that I was cold. Now you've gotten me over that, you want me to cool off!"
"Self-control is always a virtue. Even in lust."
"Oh, please. Why do you torture me? You know how I want it. Just let me kiss it. Just that. One kiss."
"One kiss, and then what?"
"More."
"Of course."
"Please. May I come to you?"
"Not yet. As you see, it's not ready for you."
"I'll make it ready. Just let me get my mouth on it, I'll make it all hard and big and stiff."
"Do it from where you are."
"From-from here? But how can I?"
"Excite me. Tell me what you want to do. Make me want it as much as you do. If you can get it hard, you may have it."
She licked her lips nervously. "You know what I want to do. I want my mouth on it. I want to kiss it, kiss it like a lover, and lick it with my tongue. Lick it all over, all up and down the whole beautiful length of it. Run my tongue just beneath the ridge of the head, like you showed me, remember? You like that. And I want to take it in my mouth, I love the hugeness of it inside my mouth, all the way, further and further in until it chokes me. And then I'll suck it. You know how I love to suck it. Think about it, think of me sucking your cock, my lips moving up and down, up and down, sucking it all, think how it feels, sliding in and out of my warm, wet month, my tongue wrapping around it, my hands stroking it as it comes out of my mouth, and stroking your balls, your big round balls, and sucking, sucking, slow at first, nice and slow, and then faster, faster, harder, sucking...."
She was exciting herself by her talking; she had begun to pant. Her hands went to her own breasts, caressing them. She was having the desired effect on him too, she noted with delight. His penis was stiffening and gradually rising. She went on hurriedly.
" ... sucking, sucking until you come in my mouth, I want to taste your hot come, feel it spurting in my mouth, I want to swallow it down, all of it down my throat, suck it all out of you and feel it sliding down my throat, into my stomach, all your beautiful sticky come. And then I'll-I'll do it again, keep you in my mouth until it's hard again and I can suck it some more."
She stopped, panting harder. It had worked; his staff was stiff and pulsing, pointing straight up into the air. The sight of it melted her insides.
"Very well," he said. "Come to me now."
She got up eagerly from the bed and went over to him, dropped to her knees between his outstretched legs. Worshipfully, she reached out and touched it. With a tiny whimper, her head moved toward it.
She did the things she had described, with lips and tongue and hands, and with her whole soul, and after a while, when she couldn't wait any longer, she opened her mouth to take it in.
"Slowly," the Teacher said. "Go slowly and savor the pleasure."
As slowly as she could manage, holding back her spiraling excitement, she took it between her lips, just the tip of it, then more, slowly more, till she could feel it on her palate, feel it sliding back, back, her mouth stretching as it got thicker toward the root.
"That's right," the Teacher said. "Slide your head all the way down. Take it deep into the back of your mouth. That's it. You like that. You like to suck my cock."
She moaned an. incoherent but heartfelt assent around the mouth-filling pillar of flesh, and sucked frenziedly, her restraint gone now, knowing nothing but the mind-shattering feeling of hard male flesh in her mouth; sucked voraciously, lips drawing at him, tongue swirling, hands caressing. And when she felt him beginning to come she moaned again and moved even faster, sucking it out of him, willing it out of him. And she nearly swooned with delight when it happened, great gobs of sperm shooting into her throat as if from a cannon. She swallowed and swallowed, and then pulled away quickly, to allow the rest of it to spurt directly into her face, splashing her face and her hair and dripping onto her breasts. As he began to droop, she turned herself hastily around and leaned back, throwing her head back beneath his lowering cock and opening her mouth wide to catch the last drips of come.
She straightened up, licking her lips, and rubbing the white gobs of sperm on her breasts lovingly into her skin.
"It's all over your face," the Teacher said.
"I know. In my eyes, in my nose, in my hair, on my body. In my throat, in my stomach. It's beautiful. Beautiful. I love it."
She leaned dreamily against the chair, absently caressing his leg, feeling deeply content.
And after a while, as she had said she would, she did it again.
NINE
"When can I go back?" Justine asked. "Soon now."
"But why must I wait so long?"
"You are not yet ready."
"Why not? My god, what do I have to do?"
"For one thing," the Teacher said, "you must learn to stop using that word 'god.' It is looked on with disfavor here."
Justine burst out laughing. But the Teacher did not seem amused. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'll try to stop. But what else?"
"There are still limits to be expanded."
"What do you mean?"
The Teacher did not reply for several moments. Then he said slowly, "When you were alive, what did you fear most?"
She shrugged. "Sex, I think. Why?"
"Aside from that. Nearly everyone has a phobia, something that frightens them deeply and irrationally. Insects, or water, or lightning-whatever. What was yours?"
"I-Why do you want to know?"
"Tell me."
There was a long pause.
"Snakes," Justine said finally, in a low voice. "All kinds of snakes. They've always terrified me. I don't know why."
"Yes," the Teacher said. "I'm glad you did not lie to me. I would have known."
"But why-what does that. . . ? "
"I think you already know," the Teacher said.
"Before you are ready to go back, you must be able to love everything. Even-no, especially-that which you most fear." Justine turned pale. "You don't-you can't mean Justine turned pale. "You don't-you can't mean..."
"I mean exactly what I say. When you have proven that you can feel love-or lust, if you prefer-for that which you have most hated in the past, you will be ready. And not before."
"But I ... you mean I have to ... to ... with a snake?"
"There is nothing to fear."
"Oh no. I-I can't. I can't possibly."
"You can. If you want to."
She shook her head rapidly. "No. No!"
"Do you wish not to go back then, after all this? What a waste."
There was silence.
"I do want to go back," Justine whispered after a long time. "But-but I..."
"Then you will do it."
"I'm afraid."
"Of course," the Teacher said. "I will return in a moment." He rose and went out.
She lay on the bed. She was naked, of course-she had not worn clothes since that first day, when she had stripped for the Teacher-and she was trembling, but not from cold.
He came back carrying something covered with a cloth. He put it on a table and removed the covering. She cried out involuntarily and shrank back. It was a glass box, and inside was a green snake, a baby boa, she guessed, about four feet long and some four inches thick.
"This is Lucas," the Teacher said. "He is completely harmless." He opened the top of the box and lifted the snake out. Justine's hand went to her mouth to stifle another cry. She began to perspire.
The snake had twined itself around the Teacher's arm. "You see, he-is really quite friendly. He never bites, and he is not poisonous. Besides, he-likes women. So there is nothing to be afraid of."
Still, she could not help the dryness in her throat or the strong urge to retreat to the other side of the bed as the Teacher approached her. When he started to lower the snake onto her body, her control broke.
"No!" she cried, shrinking away from the snake, whose eyes seemed to be regarding her balefully, and whose forked black tongue moved constantly in and out of his mouth with swift, darting motions. "No, don't!"
"Justine!" the Teacher said sternly, so sternly that she looked at him wide-eyed. "You are acting very foolishly. Let me assure you that you will not get another opportunity if you bungle this one. You will never go back, but will be sent directly to your originally intended destination. If you prefer that to Lucas, I will put him back in his box and take him away. The choice is yours. Shall I return him?"
She could not speak through the fear choking her throat, but she forced herself to shake her head no. She lay as quietly as she could, though she was still trembling.
"Very well. Then take him." The Teacher lay the snake gently on her belly and stepped back.
The creature felt cold and slimy on her body, just as she had expected. His head and part of his body rose from between her breasts, swaying as if to a snake-charmer's flute, the repulsive tongue continually flickering. She felt nearly paralyzed.
"Pet him," the Teacher said. "He-likes to be stroked."
She couldn't, she just couldn't; there was no way she could bring herself to touch it. But her hand rose, trembling, and slowly moved toward the snake until it grazed the creature's skin. She shuddered; but she forced herself to graze the hand lightly, timidly, down the snake's body.
It was not altogether as bad as she had thought. The skin was cold, but there was an agreeable smoothness to it, an extreme smoothness, under which could be felt the rippling and coiling of muscle. It was almost pleasant. It was almost ... sensuous.
When she had stroked him a few times, the snake dropped his head, coiled around her breast and began to slither downwards. She drew in her breath sharply.
"Let him go," the Teacher said. "He's picked up your scent. He is very well trained, you see."
She did not dare to ask him what he meant. She lay very still as the snake crawled down her body and onto her thigh. He continued all the way down her leg, then paused, raising his head again. He then crawled onto her other leg and slid slowly upwards.
"Spread your legs," the Teacher said. She stared at him in horror. "You-you don't mean he's going to....."
"Spread your legs!" Helplessly, she obeyed.
The snake slithered upward, past her knee, up her thigh, body hunching, head weaving, heading straight for her crotch. She couldn't stand it. She thought she would faint, she would scream, but at the same time, she couldn't help being aware of a certain ... curiosity. Just what would the damn thing do ? And what would it feel like ?
The snake's head reached the juncture of her legs, and stopped crawling. She felt the coldness of his skin against her vaginal area. Then she felt a tickling sensation on her sensitive labia. It was, she realized, the snake's flickering tongue playing over her vaginal lips, sensing her moist warmth. She hoped the Teacher was right about his not biting. But actually, once she got used to it, the sensation was rather pleasant, especially when the little tongue darted past the lips into her opening. And most especially when it flicked her clitoris, which it seemed to do with increasing frequency. As this went on, it really began to get to her in spite of herself. She was only a little surprised when she heard a soft moan coming from her own throat; nor was she any longer completely sure whether her rapid breathing resulted from fear or excitement.
And then the snake pushed himself forward, and its head slipped between her outer labia. Almost before she could react to this, it had found the entrance to her vaginal passage and pushed forward again.
And slid in.
She opened her mouth wide to scream; but instead, found herself gasping-with delight. She couldn't help it. The snake's head was like a big smooth cock, filling and stretching her fantastically, and working its way deep inside her. But the snake had an advantage no cock possessed: his wonderful darling tongue, which now electrified her vaginal walls with its constant flickering movement.
Her body writhed and twisted on the bed, and she groaned uncontrollably. The snake had suddenly sent her into orbit; she was helpless to stop what was happening to her, nor did she want to. And the snake went deeper. As she arched and squirmed and babbled nonsense, the snake pushed its way further into her passage, further still, further even than the Teacher's cock had ever gone, further than she had thought it was possible to go, driving her out of her mind, whipping her up towards the highest peak she had yet experienced. And when even the snake could go no further, and lay rippling and twisting itself around inside her as he flicked his tongue over her cervix-then she shrieked repeatedly and beat her fists against the bed in the unprecedented intensity of her orgasms.
And when the snake finally squirmed his way back out of her and began to crawl up over her belly, she reached out to him with tears in her eyes, lifted him, fondled and petted him, cradled him between her breasts. "Oh, you're beautiful," she crooned breathlessly to the snake. "Beautiful, wonderful, marvelous. I love you, I love you."
She turned suddenly to the Teacher. "Do you hear?" she cried fiercely, triumphantly. "I love the snake! I love it! I love the snake!"
And to prove it she brought the snake to her face, slid its head into her mouth, and sucked it, sweetly, lovingly, passionately, sucked it as she would a cock.
The Teacher smiled. She had never seen him smile before. "Now you are ready," he said.
TEN
She was walking with Abaca on the verdant lawn outside his office. The light still seemed strange, but the day was bright and beautiful, the grass and trees brilliantly green.
"It's time for you to go," Abaca said.
"Yes, I know. I'm so glad."
"Haven't you been happy here? During your ... training?"
"Oh, yes. Yes, I have. For the first time in my-well, for the first time, anyway, I've found contentment. But I'm anxious to go back. To put what I've learned to use. For as long as I can."
"Of course you are."
"How much time will I have?"
Abaca looked troubled. "Not very much, I'm afraid."
"But how much?"
"A week."
Her face fell. "One week? That's all?"
"It's all they would allow, I'm afraid. I'm sorry. I hap hoped to manage more for you, but ... that was the decision."
"I see." They walked for a while in silence. Then she said, almost timidly, "I don't suppose you could ... could ask them to ... to..."
"Let you stay? Permanently?"
"Yes."
"To live out the time you had allotted . "
"Yes, oh yes!"
"But you see, that time was wasted when you took your life."
"Oh please, please. I'll do anything ... if only..."
But Abaca shook his head. "I'm sorry, my dear. What you are asking now is quite impossible. Even if I were disposed to ask, it would mean nothing. My voice is nothing. My thoughts are nothing. In many respects I'm like you. Nothing."
Again there was silence. "Well," she said at last, "I'll just have to make the best of the time I have, won't I?"
"Yes."
"I will, too. You'll see."
"I'm sure of it. Only remember that when you are called back, there will be no more reprieves. Damnation is irrevocable."
"I know. But I don't mind so much now. It will have been worth it."
Abaca looked at her very gravely, but he said nothing.
ELEVEN
It was wet, that was the first thing she was aware of, wetness and hardness, hard at the back of her head, hard underneath her, wet all around. She was-where was she?-she was lying in the hard wetness. Why? What was she-where-
She awoke with a start.
She was in her bathtub. Her own bathtub, in her apartment.
She remembered. Everything.
Quickly, apprehensively, she looked at her wrists. They were unmarked.
The razor was where she had left it on the side of the tub. She looked down into the water and saw the blade resting on the bottom.
She was back.
She was back, and she was alive. She had one week.
She bowed her head and covered her face with her hands for a moment, trying to come to grips with the immensity of her situation. Then she straightened up and took a deep breath. All right, she had just one week in which to try to make up for thirty wasted years. She had better get started.
She stood up and got out of the tub, pulled out the stopper to let it drain, and walked into her bedroom. She dressed carefully, putting on her nicest underwear, a white blouse and a medium-length black skirt. She examined herself in the mirror, and was pleased with what she saw. If she was still not beautiful, she at least looked alive, vibrant, even attractive. It was a good feeling. She picked up her purse and coat and went out.
It was still fairly early in the evening. The rain had stopped, and the street smelled fresher than usual. She knew where she wanted to go. It had been in her mind almost from the moment she had awakened in the bathtub, the memory of a place in the West 40's, a bar. She had passed by it with a friend once, and the friend had pointed it out to her as a well-known "swingers' bar." She hadn't paid much attention then, but it had obviously stuck in her mind. A swingers' bar. Well, that's what she wanted to be, wasn't it-a swinger? It seemed like a good place to start.
She found the place with no trouble. It was a large bar, but it was crowded, and when she walked into the door, the noise and the crush of people almost made her turn around and walk out. But she took a breath and pushed her way through to the rear of the room, where she managed to find a small table and sit down. She looked around her, and was disappointed to see that most of the people seemed to be couples. Maybe this was the wrong kind of place. Maybe she should-but then a girl came to take her order for a drink. She gave it, and sat back with a resigned sigh. Just her luck to start off on the wrong foot. Where should she go now?
After her drink had come and she had been sipping it mournfully for about ten minutes, a young woman walked over to her table and sat down opposite her.
"Hi," she said. "I'm Clara. Mind if I sit down?"
As she had already done so, Justine shrugged. The woman was about twenty-seven or-eight, she judged, had long blonde hair, a full figure and a rather exotic look. She smiled at Justine in a friendly manner.
"You all alone?" Justine nodded.
"Yeah, that's what it looked like. That's kind of unusual for this place, you know. It's mostly couples come here, like husbands and wives looking to trade off for the night, or for a group scene or something, you know?"
"I didn't know," Justine said. "I guess I've come to the wrong place."
Now the woman shrugged. "Depends. What's your name, honey?"
"Justine."
"You're new to this kind of scene, huh, Justine."
"Well, I-"
"Yeah, I can tell. Well, look. Me and my husband do this a lot, I mean we like swapping and stuff, you know? But once in a while we like a nice threesome, like just for variety, you know what I mean? Now, we spotted you, and my husband said-Oh yeah, that's my husband Tony, over by the bar, you see him?"
Following her nod, Justine saw a tall swarthy man of about forty, with thinning black hair and a neatly-tailored suit. He raised his glass to her and smiled.
"So what do you say, honey?" Clara said. "Think you'd like to join us?"
Justine hesitated for a moment. She felt nervous. But hell, this was why she was here. "Sure," she said. "Why not?"
"Hey, that's great. Come on, I'll introduce you to Tony."
Justine rose and followed the woman to the bar. "Justine, this is my husband Tony," Clara said. "Justine's a new face, and she's going to join us for a little fun."
"Well, that's fine," Tony said. "Just fine. Nice to meet you, Justine. You're very attractive."
"Thank you."
"Well, no sense standing around here," Clara said. "Let's go up to our place and get it on."
"Clara is always so impatient," Tony smiled. "But in this case I can't blame her. Do you ... swing both ways, Justine?"
She nodded with more assurance than she felt. "Of course."
"That's wonderful. We should have a fine time together. Shall we go, then?"
They made their way out of the bar, and Tony hailed a taxi. Their apartment was uptown, in the 80's near Riverside Drive. On the way they made small talk. Tony and Clara asked her careful, impersonal questions about herself, and she answered just as carefully. She wondered what their reaction would be if she were to tell them the whole truth. They would probably think she was a nut and dump her at the next corner.
The apartment was not large, but it looked comfortable and nicely furnished. She saw no signs of any children. Tony hung up her coat and took off his jacket and tie, while Clara made them drinks.
They sat on the sofa, Justine between the two of them, and chatted some more until the drinks were gone. Then, just as she was beginning to wonder when the action was going to start, Tony slipped his arm around her shoulders, and, taking the glass from her hand and placing it on the coffee table, drew her toward him smoothly and kissed her.
The kiss began gently, but soon became more intense, and her mouth opened under his as she felt his tongue probing. His tongue went into her mouth and explored it intimately, and she responded, stroking it with her own. She felt her nervousness dropping away and the excitement beginning within her; and she gave a little whimper against his lips as his free hand found her breast and fondled it through the blouse.
When his tongue withdrew, hers followed it eagerly, searching out the depths of his mouth, her lips mashed hard against his. She had a great urge to put her hand in his lap and seek out his cock; but she held herself back. His hand continued to caress her breast, making the nipple grow; and now she felt hands-they had to be Clara's hands-opening the buttons at the back of her blouse.
They were a good team, obviously experienced at this type of thing. When the buttons were all undone, Clara parted the blouse and slipped it forward over her shoulders; and Tony broke the kiss gently and helped her pull it down over her arms. She made no resistance, nor did she when Tony lowered the brassiere straps and Clara unhooked the catch at the back. The brassiere fell, she was naked to the waist, and Tony's hands were on her flesh, making her head swim.
Then Clara slid from the sofa to kneel on the floor, and their hands were urging her backward until she lay on her back on the couch. Tony bent over her to take a breast in his mouth, and Clara leaned forward to put her lips to the other one, and suddenly there was a mouth devouring each breast, two pairs of lips kissing, sucking, exploring, two tongues caressing her rigid nipples. She groaned with the exquisite sensation, and her hands groped for the two heads, caressing them blindly.
After a while, she didn't know how long, she felt one of the mouths leave her. She opened her eyes to see Clara standing up now, and unzipping her dress. The dress came off over her head, and as she was removing the rest of her garments, Justine felt Tony's hand on her leg, moving up under her skirt. It slid over her knee and up her inner thigh, and she gasped as it reached her crotch. Tony stroked her through the thin panties, and she pushed herself against his hand, feeling the moisture beginning to flow, while through the haze of feeling she watched Clara shed her brassiere.
Clara's breasts were bigger than hers, her figure very full, almost plump, but still firm.
Now Tony's hand was pulling at her panties. She arched her hips eagerly to make it easier for him, and he slid them down her legs and off. The hand returned, petting and probing expertly, bringing wordless noises from her. Clara had gotten her own panties off and was naked. Justine reached out for her, her hand finding the blonde pubic hair, stroking it, going beneath. Clara smiled and stepped closer, then put one knee on the edge of the couch and swung herself up and over Justine's head, kneeling above her. She lowered her crotch toward her face, and Justine's mouth opened gladly to receive it.
"Oh yes, do that, that's so good," Clara gasped. "Yeah, eat me, honey, eat me nice...."
Soon, though, Tony straightened up and said, a bit hoarsely, "I think we should move into the bedroom now."
"Not yet, not yet," Clara panted.
"Yes, we'll be more comfortable there. Come on." He rose, and Clara reluctantly pulled herself away from Justine's mouth and swung herself off the sofa. Tony reached out his hand to Justine. She took it and stood up. She felt somewhat dazed, but not too much so to notice the great bulge straining the front of Tony's trousers.
With Tony's arm around her, the three of them walked into the bedroom. Clara immediately fell on the bed and pulled Justine with her. The two women rolled into each other's arms and kissed passionately, their bodies straining together.
Tony quickly but carefully took off his clothes, and took time to hang up his trousers neatly before joining them on the bed. It was a king-sized bed, and there was plenty of room for all of them. Justine felt him pulling her thighs open.
"I'd like to take a close look at that cute pussy of yours, Justine," he said as his head went between them. "You don't mind, do you?"
She felt the touch of his lips, then his questing tongue. God, no, she didn't mind! Not a damn bit! Hot chills went through her as his tongue slurped at her clitoris.
Clara now slipped from her embrace, reversed her body on the bed, and headed straight for her husband's rampant penis, with her mouth open like a hungry child. Having secured the prize, she stuffed it into the eager mouth and began to suck it voraciously.
Clara's legs waved as if in invitation, and accepting, Justine closed the circle by pulling Clara's crotch to her face and resuming where she had left off on the sofa.
For long minutes there was silence except for gasps and groans, hoarse breathing and soft slurping sounds.
Justine was the first to come, the artful acrobatics of Tony's mouth and tongue sending her squirming and panting over the top. The spasmodic jerking of her mouth as she climaxed seemed to send Clara off too, for only a moment later the blonde woman's body stiffened and shook with completion.
Having recovered herself somewhat, Justine sat up. Clara was still rhythmically sucking on her husband's rigid rod. She raised her head and grinned at Justine.
"Really got staying power, my husband, doesn't he?" she said proudly. "You want to try it for a while?"
"Oh, yes!" And she was there, greedily reaching for the shaft which Clara relinquished. She petted it lovingly, licked it lingeringly, and then fitted her mouth over it, taking it in bit by bit, feeling again that unique thrill of tasting the turgid maleness, its hardness against her tongue, against her palate.
"It's big, isn't it?" Clara said. "Go on, honey, suck it. That's it. Suck on that thing, suck it. Oh yeah, hey, you really dig that, don't you?"
"Mmmmm."
"You're good at it, too. I can tell. Isn't she good at it, Tony?"
"She's great!" Tony rasped.
"Yeah, it makes me hot just to watch her. Okay, honey, give it back now. Come on, my turn again."
They took turns, one crouching on either side of him, passing it back and forth like children sharing a lollipop. It was really an all-day sucker too, Justine thought, and it didn't seem to melt no matter what they did. Clara sucked it, and Justine sucked it, and at one point they both put their mouths on it at once, kissing and licking, each on her own side, moving slowly upward from the root to the tip, until their lips met around the tip and they kissed, their tongues sliding sensuously around the tip and around each other.
And still it was hard.
"I want it in my cunt," Justine said suddenly. "Ummm?" said Clara, who was busy sucking it at the time.
"I do. I want to feel it in my cunt. Big and hard in my cunt. Can I? Please? Can I have it in my cunt?"
Clara raised her head. "Sure," she panted. "Be my guest."
Justine scrambled into position over the beckoning phallus, lowered herself toward it. "Let me put it in for you," Clara said. "Oh yes, put it in. Stick it in my cunt."
"Here it goes. Scrunch down a little more."
"Put it, put it in. Put it all in ... .. "
"There. There, it's in. How does it feel."
"Oh. Oh yes. Oh yes. Oh yes."
"You love it, yeah...."
"Yes, oh more. I'm gonna come. I'm gonna come again, I can't help it."
"Your boobs are bouncing, honey, you're going up and down like a-"
"I'm gonna come. I'm gonna come. Can I? Can I?"
"Sure, honey, have a ball."
"I can't hold it, oh please, oh god, I can't, I can't, hold it any longer, I need, I ... I'm gonna ... Ohhh. ... Ohhh. ... AAHHHH!"
The force of it nearly doubled her up, and she fell off onto her side. The amazing shaft still remained hard, but it was twitching dangerously now, giving signs of exploding. Clara grabbed it and stroked it rapidly, holding her open mouth above it to catch the expected eruption. And it came, spurting copious amounts of semen into her mouth. Justine scrabbled desperately to catch some for herself, and the women had a brief tussle with the spouting stick, each trying to taste as much as possible of the white geyser for herself. Clara got most of it; it dripped from the sides of her mouth, and Justine held her own mouth underneath, catching the drops on her tongue. Then Clara kissed her, and they let the precious fluid flow back and forth between them. Then, laughing, sputtering, swallowing, they lay down contented.
Justine stayed the night.
But she didn't get much sleep. Tony turned out to have resilience as well as staying power, and Clara was tireless and insatiable. She slept only fitfully, and was awakened more times than she could remember to participate in yet another round of erotic activity.
Not that she was unwilling; she was as enthusiastic as they, but it did become tiring as the night went on. During one snatch of sleep she was having a weird dream about some Con Edison men, they were digging into her vagina with pneumatic drills, they were drilling for oil. ... She woke to find that it was Tony who was drilling her, he was on top of her, taking her in the classical position, but he felt so heavy, his thrusts felt so deep and hard. Then she realized that Clara was lying on his back, stretched out full length on top of him, she was smiling down at her over his shoulder. She asked him groggily, through the twin hazes of sleep and mounting sensation, to please raise himself up a little, she was being crushed; he was sweating and grunting as he pumped heavily into her, and he grunted that he couldn't, his wife was too heavy, and besides, he was digging the tits, two pairs of tits, hers and Clara's, pressing against him, front and back; and then she didn't care any more because he was coming, jerking and spitting inside her, and she was coming too, crushed and coming, her body immobilized but her arms and legs flapping wildly. And then they rolled off her and she could breathe again, she was grateful for that, and she wanted to go back to sleep; but Clara was at her now, kissing her body, licking her all over, and Tony was dangling his limp wet penis in front of her mouth....
In the morning she dragged herself into her clothes, but Tony and Clara seemed as fresh as ever.
"A lovely night, Justine," Tony said. "I hope you enjoyed it as much as we did."
"I loved it," she said truthfully.
"Perhaps we can do it again," Tony said. "Why don't you give us your phone number, and we'll give you a call soon."
"Well, I-I'm afraid I won't-I'm leaving, you see, leaving town next week."
"Oh, what a shame. Permanently?"
"Yes ... permanently."
"What a shame," Tony repeated. "Well, do be sure to drop us a post card, won't you?"
TWELVE
She slept most of the day, and rose feeling vaguely guilty that she had done so; there was so little time. She bathed, and made herself some dinner, wondering where she should go this evening. Where does a lady go to find some action? Maybe she should ask a taxi-driver; wasn't that what men did?
Then it hit her. Of course-the singles bars. She should have thought of that before. Everybody knew about the singles bars-even she-though she had never been to any. They lined the avenues of the Upper East Side, and were always full-so she had heard, anyway-of unattached men and women in search of the opposite sex. Okay, that was for her.
She decided to wear slacks this time, which she topped with a front-buttoned blue sweater. The outfit made her look younger than she felt, but that was all to the good. She set out.
She took a taxi to First Avenue, and walked for several blocks until she came to a place she had heard of-Maxwell's Plum. It looked as inviting as any, and she went in.
She was surprised that she had to pay admission at the door. That seemed strange for a bar. It was fairly crowded, though not as much as it probably was on week-ends, she conjectured. She couldn't see any empty table, though, so she found herself a place at the bar and ordered a drink.
It didn't take long. She had not taken more than a couple of sips when a tall youth in his early twenties sidled in next to her. "Hi," he said. "Hi."
"You here by yourself?"
She thought it was obvious that she was there by herself. But she supposed that was a standard question, to give her an out if she didn't want to talk to him or something. He was a nice-enough looking boy, straight brown hair, fashionably long but not too much so, frank brown eyes, kind of a shy smile. He was casually but neatly dressed.
"Yes."
"Oh. Well ... can I buy you a drink?"
"This one's fine, thanks." She smiled to show she didn't mean it as a rejection.
"Okay." He half-smiled back. "My name's Eddie, by the way."
"Justine."
"Hi."
"Hi." This, she supposed, was the mating ritual.
"Do you ... come here a lot?"
Oh, really. He certainly wasn't much of a conversationalist. But then, conversation wasn't what she was after. "No, it's my first time."
"Oh." There was a pause. "Look, Justine," he said suddenly. "Do you have a friend or something?"
She was taken aback. "What do you mean?"
"Well, see, I'm here with this friend of mine, Steve. And I thought, you know, that if you maybe had a friend or something for Steve, then maybe the four of us could, you know, do something together."
"What's wrong with Steve? Can't he get his own girls?"
"Oh, sure! I was just,-I just thought maybe-"
"He's not deformed or anything, is he."
"No, no. It's not that, it's just, he's kind of shy, you know?"
She was amused. "And you're not?"
He frowned, not answering. She sensed she was beginning to scare him off, and she didn't want that to happen. But she didn't want to beat around the bush all night, either. She came to a sudden bold decision.
"Well, Eddie, I'm afraid I don't have a friend for Steve at the moment. But look, you don't need another girl. I can take on you and your friend both."
He stared at her. She gazed back at him levelly. It took him a moment to speak. "You-you mean..."
"That's right." She smiled at him again. "Look, Eddie, what you're really looking for here is sex, right?"
"Well, I-"
"Come on, now. Sure it is. Well, so am I. And so is Steve, I assume. So why do we have to play games ? "
"Well, I don't know. I guess we don't." He was still not sure he was hearing correctly.
"Now, I'm willing to make it with both you and your friend, okay? Separately or together, or however you like. Is that all right with you, or not?"
"Yeah. Sure. I mean, hell yes!"
"All right then. Where is this Steve hiding?"
"Oh, he's not-I mean, he's right over here. Come on."
He led her to a table where a light-haired young man of about the same age was holding down the fort. Steve was shorter, thinner and less good-looking than Eddie, but he would do, she decided. He stood up politely, and Eddie introduced them.
"Hi," she said. "Let's go to my place." She led the way out, while behind her she dimly heard Eddie explaining to an astonished Steve the windfall that had come to them.
On the way to her apartment she learned that they were both students at Columbia-Steve a senior and an English major, and Eddie in the graduate school of engineering. But most of the ride was spent in silence.
Once there, she offered them a drink, which they declined. Then she suggested they go directly to the bedroom. They followed her in and stood there awkwardly, still a bit overcome by her directness and the speed with which this was happening to them. Though she could have wished for a little more assertiveness on their part, she rather enjoyed their discomfort. Last night she had been mostly passive, letting the others take the lead. This time she felt completely in control. She liked the feeling.
"Well," she said brightly, "why don't you boys take your clothes off and be comfortable?"
There was a long moment of hesitation. They looked at each other, at her, at each other again. Finally Eddie shrugged and began to remove his clothes. Steve fumblingly followed his lead. She watched in silence until they were naked. They both had fairly good bodies, though Eddie's was the more athletic-looking. Their penises were limp.
"That's better," she said. "Now sit down on the bed. Go on, I want to see if I can do something about those poor little cocks of yours."
They sat on the edge of the bed, side by side. She walked slowly toward them-she felt marvelously wicked, being fully dressed while they were naked-and knelt on the floor in front of Eddie. She bent her head to his lap. He gasped even before she had touched him.
She took his flaccid penis into her mouth, pulling at it gently with her lips and running her tongue around the head. It didn't take very long; almost immediately it started growing in her mouth, and in a very few moments had swelled and stiffened to almost full erection. She raised her head. Steve's member was erecting just from watching her with Eddie; but, not to deprive him, she went to him and sucked at it a few times, though she soon had to stop for fear that he would come too quickly.
She rose to her feet. Now they were getting someplace. Sucking had really turned her on, as usual, and the sight of the two stiff cocks made her want to rip off her clothes and throw herself at them. But there was also this new feeling, the wicked, delicious sense of control, of having the power to tease, to fan their lust and direct it how she would.
So, standing facing them just out of reach, she began to undress very slowly and sensuously, doing a kind of strip-tease, without music, without bumps and grinds, but a strip-tease nonetheless. She was teasing herself as well; and it excited her now to think of stripping herself naked before two virtual strangers. If she had thought that the Teacher had taught her everything there was to learn about herself, she had been mistaken.
She smiled seductively at the two youths as her hand went to the buttons of her sweater. Starting with the top one, she worked her way downwards, undoing each button with tantalizing slowness, pausing a long breathless moment before going on to the next one. Then, when all the buttons were open, she hesitated even longer, posing with a hand on each lapel, chest thrust out, before she gradually pulled the sweater wide open, exposing the smooth, creamy skin of her torso, her breasts covered only by the white brassiere. She let the sweater fall from her shoulders and arms to the floor.
Her hands dropped to the front of her slacks. She pulled her tummy in sexily in order to undo the button; she pulled the zipper down so slowly and lovingly as to make it seem an obscene motion: and then she let the slacks drop suddenly around her feet. Her panties were white also. She remembered that the Teacher had said she had good legs, and she was glad.
She stepped out of the slacks, and then paused again, an agonizingly long pause, smiling her sensual smile. And then her hands went behind her to open the bra.
She drew out the process of undoing the catch, knowing how the position of her arms threw her breasts into relief against the material, making the nipples visible. When that was done, she made a production out of slipping the straps from her shoulders. Then she slid each arm out of the strap, making sure to keep the brassiere held over her breasts. And then, with only her hands keeping it in place, then came the longest pause of all. Eddie and Steve leaned forward tensely, eyes wide and unblinking, waiting for that bra to fall. And finally it did.
She posed for a moment with her arms held above her head, lifting and tightening the naked breasts, an enticing picture, she hoped, in just her panties. Their throbbing cocks appeared to justify her.
Then the arms came down, the thumbs hooked in the waistband of the final garment, and it was drawn down, inch by inch, over the hips, gradually revealing the wild growth of pubic hair, down the thighs, over the knees, and dropped.
Naked finally, and almost as worked up by her performance as its audience was, she walked slowly toward the bed, lay down on it on her back, and threw her arms above her head.
"Okay, fellows," she said, a little shakily. "Here I am. Why don't you play with me a little?"
They didn't have to be coaxed now. They came to her avidly, hotly, and soon she was writhing and moaning and panting under their assault. Four hands and two mouths, touching her everywhere, sliding over her flesh, exploring, caressing, stroking, probing, kissing, tonguing, nibbling, sucking, everywhere at once, driving her up the wall, out of her mind, it was too much, she would burst out of her skin, she would...
But it was too much for them, too, they had also reached the bursting point and now they were trying to mount her, both of them trying to get on top of her at once, that was no good, that would never work....
"Wait," she gasped. "Wait. Hold it!"
They stopped, glaring at her, panting.
She struggled to sit up, made it. "Okay. Okay. Both at once, right? Okay, let's do it. Eddie, lie down. Come on, damn it, lie down here."
Eddie lay on his back, his prick pointing up and back. She climbed across him, facing him, grabbed that pole, lowered herself towards it, guiding it to her. Then it was in, oh yes, it was in-she heard him groan, felt him arch his hips, driving it further....
"Oh. ... Oh, it's in, I feel it in, I feel it up me. No, don't move. Don't move, wait ... let me sit down on it."
It was in all the way now, to the hilt, and she was sitting on his hips. She bent forward slowly, careful not to pull it out, lowering herself, until she was lying on him, breasts on his chest, face just above his, halflying, half-crouching, ass up....
"Now. Steve, okay, now get behind me. Careful ... wait. Okay, now, now, put it in ... put it in my ass, but slow. Easy, easy, very easy ... wait, hold still. ... Oh no, hold still for a minute. Both of you, please hold still. Hold still. ... All right, now move a little, just a little...."
Moving, both of them, moving under, over her, in her, cunt and ass, front and rear, filling, hurting, burning, at once, it was-oh Christ-it was like nothing she had-she could hear them, hear Steve moan....
"That's it. Move around. ... That's it. Oh, now move to me. Can you feel your prick against his? Oh, like that ... harder, harder ... harder, please. Oh, yes ... your cock in my. ... It's hard. ... Can you feel him in my ass? Can you feel him? Can you feel his prick? Can you feel it, feel your cocks together? Rubbing against the wall and ... filling me up? Oh yes, further. ... Further in my ass. Can you put your prick further up my ass? And yes, further in my cunt. Oh, oh yes ... yes ... let me have all of it, all of you, all of you. Now harder, and faster, harder and faster. Oh fuck me, please. Oh please get me off. Fuck me harder ... faster and harder, harder, faster, oh yes ... I feel it. Oh wait, wait. Hold still, hold still, hold still ... I don't want to come yet. I don't want to come yet. Now slow, please. Yes, slowly ... that's nice, slow now . ... Can you feel me? Can you feel me getting wetter and wetter and I'm gonna come ... I'm gonna come ... I'm gonna come. Come with me ... come with me, I want to feel your come, feel it splash, feel the juice down my legs. ... Come. It hurts. Hurts. It hurts so. Come with-I'm gonna come ... I FEEL YOU COMING NOW! Aaahhh--Jesus ... aahhh ... DO IT!. Oooohhh."
Steve coming, hurting, wet in her ass, and she coming, still coming, and Eddie still not coming, but now, now, coming yes, in her cunt, and she still coming ... still ... still ... still....
She must have passed out, she didn't know how much time had passed, she was barely aware of them getting up, dressing. She got up when they said good-bye to her, went with them to the door, but she was still unfocused. What were they saying?
Later she remembered they had said thank you, and something about how good she was-how did they mean that? she wondered-and something about coming back to see her again. That worried her a little, until she realized that it didn't matter. Let them come back. She wouldn't be there.
THIRTEEN
New York was a Summer Festival. The Mayor had proclaimed it a few years ago, the posters announced it, and for her now, that was just what it was-a festival of sex. For the next few days she felt wonderfully happy and free, freer than she had ever felt before. She gloried in the unsuspected power of her body, reveled in the effect she could have on men by flaunting her sexuality, wallowed in her newly-found lack of inhibition. She was on a delicious, ecstatic non-stop spree of sensuality, and she loved every minute.
It started with the delivery boy. She saw him in the grocery store when she went there in the morning, a handsome, swarthy, strong-looking Puerto Rican. She picked up a bunch of groceries, half of which she didn't want, and ordered it to be delivered. Then she went home, took off her clothes, and waited. When he rang the bell, she answered the door stark naked.
He nearly dropped the box, but managed to hold onto it and stood there clutching it tightly, staring at her with his mouth open. She told him to put the damn thing down, and led him into the bedroom.
He was strong all right, but he was overly excited and came too quickly; so she had him lick her crotch until she got off, before she let him go.
That afternoon she went to buy a new pair of shoes. Not that she needed shoes, either; she just wanted to see the clerk's reaction to the fact that she wasn't wearing panties.
With the clerk seated before her on the low stool, helping her try on the shoes, and her short skirt pulled high over her thighs, she slowly and deliberately parted her legs. There was no way he could miss what she was showing him, especially with the way he had been covertly admiring her legs from the beginning. And he didn't. She saw his face gradually redden.
But the clerk had a certain presence of mind. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said in a low voice. "I don't seem to have these in your size. Perhaps you'd like to come back to the stockroom and-uh-see if there's anything else you'd like."
"Of course," she said.
She followed him into the stockroom at the rear of the store, and there he unzipped his pants and took her standing up, with her skirt around her waist and her back against a rack of shoe-boxes. He was a little nervous about the possibility of being discovered, but he was good anyway, and very passionate, and they climaxed together. She had to bury her face in his shoulder to muffle her cries. When she left, he let her take the shoes as a gift.
She went to a pornographic movie. The man in the box office looked at her strangely as she went in, but said nothing. The theater was very dark. On the screen a young girl was sucking a cock in extreme close-up. She looked bored. The theater was sparsely occupied. Justine took a seat toward the front, next to a man, who shifted nervously and appeared to want to change his seat when she sat down. In the dim light from the screen he seemed to be about fifty and mostly bald; the stereotypical dirty-moviegoer, she thought.
He had his jacket off and spread over his lap, with one hand hidden beneath it. She reached over and slipped her own hand under the jacket. The man stiffened in his seat and looked at her, astonished and half-frightened. She smiled at him and slid her hand over the bulge in his trousers, which he had been stroking. He turned back to the screen, as though too embarrassed to acknowledge what she was doing, but not enough so to move away.
Her fingers found the tab of his zipper and pulled it down carefully, then pulled out his penis, which was thick and short, but rigid. She curled her hand around it lovingly and began to stroke it.
The man's hands were clenched on the arms of his seat. She could hear his heavy breathing. She had an impulse to get down on the floor, stick her head under the jacket and show him that she could suck a lot better than the girl on the screen; but that might attract attention. So she continued masturbating him, her hand gradually moving faster and faster, until she felt him arch from the seat, and with a gasp that must have been audible throughout the theater he shot his wad all over his jacket and pants. Withdrawing her hand, she quickly rose and left the place before he could get himself together.
She went to the office of a man she had known for a long time as a casual friend. His secretary admitted her, and he greeted her cordially from behind his desk and invited her to take her coat off. And she did, revealing that she had nothing on underneath it. She laughed delightedly at the expression on his face, and then she screwed him in his chair, bouncing up and down on his lap with her arms around his neck and her breasts mashed tightly against his shirt front.
His office was in an old building whose management had not bothered to automate its elevators; and on the way down, she couldn't resist exposing herself to the elderly elevator operator, who stopped the car between floors and gazed at her hungrily with rheumy eyes. He was too old to really do anything, but he rubbed his trembling hands avidly over her body, and was abjectly grateful when she allowed him to get down on his knees and worship her with his mouth.
She took a taxi one night. She got into the front seat, explaining to the cigar-chomping driver that it made her sick to ride in the back of cars. He scowled, but accepted the situation. When they had gone a couple of blocks, she lay down on the seat, unzipped his fly, and took his cock in her mouth.
He choked on his cigar smoke. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed hoarsely; and then dislodged a continuous series of choking, grunting, moaning curses and expletives as she proceeded to suck him. The way he was jerking and twisting around, she was afraid they might have an accident; but she never raised her head. He came before they had gone very far, but she kept him in her mouth until she had coaxed him into erection again, and he ejaculated a second time just as they reached her destination.
"Jesus H. fucking Christ!" he breathed as she sat up. "My wife hasn't done that for me in thirty years!"
Even so, he insisted that she pay the fare. But she didn't feel it was necessary to give him a tip.
Lunching alone in a restaurant, she was attracted by the young, mustachioed waiter who brought her a menu. The nature of her appetite suddenly changed.
The waiter returned in a few moments. "Yes, ma'am," he said politely. "What would you like?"
"You," she said. "Is there someplace we can go?"
Naturally taken aback, the waiter was speechless for a moment. "Well, I-I'm afraid-I mean, I can't leave right now," he stammered. "I-I'm working, you see. But I get off at four," he added hopefully.
"I can't wait that long." She thought quickly. "Tell you what, I'll go into the ladies' room, and you sneak in and meet me there."
"But I can't...."
She shrugged and got up. "Suit yourself," she whispered. "But you have no idea what you'll be missing. I'll wait ten minutes." And she walked off.
She found the ladies' room, which luckily was down a flight of stairs, so that the entrance was out of sight of the dining area. There was no one else there. She locked the door and took off her panties.
In five minutes there was a furtive knock at the door. She opened it and the waiter slipped in, looking nervously behind him. She grinned at him. "I knew you'd come," she said, locking the door again.
"We have to be quick. I'm supposed to be-"
"Shut up." She plastered her body against him and kissed him long and thoroughly, until the surging hardness against her loins told her he was more than ready.
He took his pants down, and they made it on the floor. It was good, very good; his agitation gave him nervous energy but seemed to impede his climax, and she came twice. On her way to the second one, the sound of somebody trying the door shocked him into immobility; but it only served to increase her passion, and she clutched him tightly with arms and legs and squirmed frenziedly until they both went over.
She emerged to find a fat lady waiting impatiently and glaring at her. "What in the world is going on in there?" the fat lady said.
She smiled sweetly. "Oh, nothing, madam. There seems to be a gentleman in there, but don't be alarmed; he just got into the wrong place." And she went calmly back to her table, leaving the waiter to deal with the woman as best he could.
He appeared a few minutes later, red-faced. She saw the captain, who had been trying to placate diners angry about their lack of service, call him over and speak to him sharply. She didn't see him after that and someone else took her order for lunch.
Passing a construction site not far from her apartment building, she found herself pursued by a cacophony of whistles, howls and suggestive remarks from a group of workers. This had happened to her in the past, and she had always become angry and flustered, and hurried quickly on, blushing.
But now she stopped.
"How about it, baby, want a quickie?"
"Can I suck your pussy, lady?"
"Ooohh, honey, I bet you could fuck my brains out!"
"I'd like to get hold of those tits."
"Come eat my dick, baby!"
She turned around. There were four of them that she could see, though it had sounded like more. She walked toward them slowly, and they quieted as she got closer. Some looked surprised, some leered at her.
She smiled.
"Those all sound like excellent suggestions," she said sweetly. "Who's first?"
She was glad they had a mattress in the construction shack....
FOURTEEN
Sex!
She loved it.
It was the most wonderful thing in the world, the center of gravity, the reason for existence. It made everything else dull. No wonder her life had been drab and meaningless without it. How stupid she had been! How she had wasted herself! How lucky she was to be able to make up for it, if only for a brief time.
She was making up for it with a vengeance. The more she had, the better it got. She thrived on it, she felt healthier and happier than ever before. Even the knowledge that it had to end so soon could hardly dim her joy and sense of well-being.
This morning, after having seen off to work the man with whom she had spent the night, she had given herself an extra half-hour in bed while she thought up some promising erotic adventures for the day. Then she had made herself a hearty breakfast, and was now finishing it, while desultorily watching the small TV set on the kitchen table. She didn't like television much; her mother had given her the set, and she seldom watched it except while eating alone.
A rather dumb game show was on, presided over by a drippy-looking master of ceremonies who, she decided, couldn't possibly be as brightly interested in the idiotic goings-on as he strove so doggedly to appear. Then the master of ceremonies told everybody that he would be right back, and faded into a commercial. For a few moments she watched a shapely young housewife burbling about the merits of a particular washer-dryer; then she reached over and turned the thing off in disgust.
If they really wanted to sell those things, she thought, they should stop fooling around and come on heavy with sex, which was, after all, the greatest attention-getter in the world. Cast off the restraints and go all out. X-rated commercials-that would do the trick.
She sipped her coffee slowly and thoughtfully as she imagined the commercial she would like to see....
The scene is the interior of a typical American home. As we fade in, the doorbell is ringing. The shapely young housewife appears and answers the door. A man in repairman's uniform, carrying a tool kit, stands on the threshold. The housewife looks him over appreciatively.
HOUSEWIFE: Well, hi.
MAN: Morning, ma'am. Acme Repair Service. Got a call for this address.
HOUSEWIFE: Repair service? Oh, there must be some mistake. But, um-(smiles flirtatiously) why not come in and talk it over?
MAN (Entering and consulting memo book): Isn't this 241 Magnolia Drive?
HOUSEWIFE: Yes it is, but-
MAN: Got it right here, lady. Broken washer-dryer.
HOUSEWIFE: Oh no, that's impossible. You see, my washer-dryer is a Schlock. In fact, all my appliances are Schlock Electric products. And they never break down.
MAN: Well, Schlock is a good brand, all right, but-
HOUSEWIFE: Good? It's the best! Why, I've had all my Schlock appliances for years-my stove, my refrigerator, the toaster-and I've never had a moment's trouble with any of them. And they do the best job of any products I've ever used!
MAN: You know, a lot of housewives tell me that. I guess if everybody used Schlock appliances I'd be out of business.
HOUSEWIFE: You bet! Why, even my electric razor is a Schlock. Look how cleanly it shaves my legs. (She lifts her already-short skirt so he can see her legs.)
MAN (looking): Uh-yeah, they sure are nice.
HOUSEWIFE (raising one leg, resting foot on sofa): Go ahead, feel how smooth they are.
(Man hesitates, then puts hand on her thigh, strokes it gently.)
MAN: That's smooth, all right. Soft, too. And warm....
(Their eyes lock. Housewife smiles. Man licks his lips.)
HOUSEWIFE: I know what! Just to satisfy you that my washer-dryer isn't broken, why don't I demonstrate it for you? Then you can see for yourself that it works.
MAN (puzzled): Well, okay.
HOUSEWIFE: Come on.
(She takes him into the kitchen, where the washer-dryer is located, and where the Schlock refrigerator, stove, etc are also prominently displayed.)
HOUSEWIFE: The only thing is ... I did all our laundry just this morning, so I don't have any dirty clothes around. (Shrugs.) I guess I'll just have to use the ones I'm wearing.
(And she starts to unbutton her blouse. The camera concentrates on her as avidly as the eyes of the repairman, as she takes off first the blouse, then her skirt, then-smiling provocatively at the camera-her brassiere, and finally her panties. The camera stays on her nakedness for a long moment, then pans back to include the astonished man as she calmly loads her clothes into the washer.)
HOUSEWIFE: How about your clothes? They look like they could use a good washing, too.
MAN: What? Oh-yeah! Sure!
(He takes his clothes off with comic haste. He has a huge erection. The housewife puts his clothes into the washer with hers, adds some detergent etc., and presses the button to start the machine.)
HOUSEWIFE: There. You see? It works fine!
MAN (staring at her breasts): Terrific!
HOUSEWIFE: And the Schlock does clothes more quickly than other brands, too. (She reaches out to touch his erect penis.) Can you ... think of anything we can do while we're waiting?
MAN: You bet your sweet bottom, lady!
(He reaches for her, and they come together and kiss passionately. Then he hoists her up onto the top of the washer-dryer, and climbs up beside her. He runs his hands over her body and kisses her breasts.)
HOUSEWIFE: Ohh, that's good. Oh yes. ... And see how convenient this flat surface is for working on?
(The man climbs between her legs and begins to insert his penis into her vagina.)
HOUSEWIFE (panting): Oh yes, do it. Do it to me. ... Ahhh. ... And ... and notice how quiet the machine is? Mmmmm. ... Practically no vibration. And. . .
MAN: Hey, lady.
HOUSEWIFE: Yes?
MAN: Shut up and screw!
(He begins to move strongly on top of her. She wraps her arms and legs around him and they go at it hot and heavy, with the camera moving around them and recording the action from every angle. Finally they climax together with great groans. The man climbs off and helps her down. The machine clicks off.)
HOUSEWIFE: Perfect timing! (She opens the machine and takes out clothes.) See? Why, they're cleaner than new!
MAN: Hey, what's that? (He points to her bottom.)
HOUSEWIFE: What? (She twists her head, but can't see what he's pointing at. She gets a hand mirror and holds it behind her. The raised metal nameplate on top of the machine has left an imprint on her behind. The camera moves in for a close-up of the mirror, and the screen is filled with a shot of her buttock, on which is impressed the word "Schlock." Over this we superimpose our slogan: SCHLOCK-IT'S THE LIVING END!
FIFTEEN
The time was passing too quickly.
She was certainly making the most of it, leading the life of lust she had wished for, and enjoying every minute. She continued to delight in her body and its power, in what she could do to men-or women-and what they could do to her. Still, she now felt a vague need for something different, and she thought she knew what it was. While it was fun to flaunt herself at men, turn them on and seduce them, she was getting just a little bored with always being the initiator. She longed for a little male aggressiveness, for decisive action instead of reaction, for somebody to come after her and take her, in no uncertain terms.
Maybe she should get herself raped.
Now there was an idea.
Why not, she thought. Wasn't that supposed to be every woman's secret fantasy? Weren't they all supposed to go around harboring a deep, illicit desire to be ravished? Whether that was true or not, now that it had come to her she found the idea intriguing, even stimulating. Of course it could be dangerous. But then ... what could happen to her? Could she be killed? She was already dead! No one could kill her a second time; for this one week, she was immortal. There could be other dangers, sure; she might be hurt, but what the hell...
She wanted to do it.
Where did one go to be raped? Obviously to Central Park, a place notoriously swarming with rapists, as well as muggers and all sorts of other vicious criminals waiting to prey on innocent citizens, especially at night. All right, she decided, a little surprised at her own intrepidity, that was where she would go. If a girl couldn't get raped there, there was no hope.
She put on a tight pullover sweater-after some hesitation, she left off her brassiere-and a very short skirt. With her nipples clearly outlined, her breasts bouncing with each step, and most of her bare thighs on view, she should be tempting bait, she thought, if she didn't get arrested for indecency first.
It was well after midnight when she left and headed for the park. Arriving at the entrance to one of the pedestrian walks that traversed its width, she hesitated for a moment. Then, nervous but determined, she walked in.
She tried to walk slowly, but she found her step instinctively quickening as she got deeper inside the park. The path was lit, but not brightly, and there were, unsurprisingly, no other pedestrians. Even the police, it was said, feared the park at night. An occasional car went by on the transverse road, but otherwise there was silence except for her footsteps.
It seemed to her that she walked for a very long time, half-anticipating, half-fearing an attack at any moment. But nothing happened, and eventually she was on the other side, and emerged onto Fifth Avenue a bit shaky but unmolested.
Shaky or not, she was still game, she decided. She would give it another try. Maybe further up would be better. She walked uptown on the avenue until she came to the next entrance, and turned in.
This time she did not stick to the main walkway, but about halfway through struck off onto a subsidiary path, which led to another and then another, until she was far from the transverse and virtually lost. The lights of the faraway buildings told her generally which direction she was going, but otherwise she had no idea where she was, and it was damn dark with all the trees screening out the sparsely-placed lights, and it was pretty scary, she didn't mind admitting. So where were all the criminals? Probably scared away themselves. Hell, it was all a myth, a lie, Central Park was probably safer than Broadway, there was no-
And then it happened.
Suddenly, so suddenly that she would have screamed if the arm hadn't been around her throat, choking her. Another arm was around her waist, pulling her back against whomever was behind her. Someone else was in front of her, holding a knife at her ribs. There were others....
Sheer panic flooded her, and she struggled to breathe. The arm around her throat slackened a little, and as she took great gulps of air, the one with the knife said, "No noise, bitch, or you're dead. Get it?"
She nodded jerkily, her eyes wide. There were three others, she saw now, standing behind the one with the knife. The ones she could see were all in their late teens or a bit older. They were all white, which surprised her when she thought about it later. Five of them. All she felt was fear. No anticipation now, no lust. Pure fear.
"Don't-don't hurt me," she whimpered. "Please don't hurt me."
"Where's your money?" the one with the knife said.
"I-I don't have any." It was true; she hadn't even brought a purse with her. "Shit!"
"Fuck the money," one of the others said. "Look at her! We really got ourselves a ripe one!"
"Jesus, yeah, she's a piece, ain't she? What the fuck's she doin' out here all by herself?"
"Who the hell cares, for crissake! Oh momma, look at those legs!"
"C'mon, let's get at it!"
The one with the knife grinned at her and placed his free hand on her breast. "Know what's gonna happen to you, honey?"
She could not answer. "Don't hurt me," she said again.
The others laughed. "We ain't gonna hurt you, baby," one of them said. "We're just gonna fuck your ass off!"
The one behind her spoke for the first time. "Okay, quit screwin' around. Take her over there."
Several of them grabbed her, and she was dragged off the path to a dark spot surrounded by trees and bushes. The one who had been behind her, she now saw, was the biggest of them and obviously the leader.
"Let's go," the big one said. "Hold her down."
She was forced to the ground and they stretched her out on her back, each of them taking an arm or a leg, spreading her wide, holding her so tightly she couldn't move. The big one crouched over her.
"Christ, the bitch is really a cock-teaser, ain't she? Goddam tits comin' right through her sweater!" He put a hand over one of her breasts and squeezed cruelly. She cried out. "Shut up, cunt!" he rasped. "Okay, let's see what she's got under there. Gimme the knife."
The one with the knife handed it over. The big one slid it into the neck of her sweater and cut it open, straight down the front. He pushed the two halves aside.
"Hey, nice boobs!" somebody said.
"Shit, they ain't so hot."
"They're better than yours, man!"
Laughter.
"Hold it down!" the big one said. He reached out and pinched a nipple, and she cried out again. He placed the point of the knife on her breast, making her cringe in terror. "Be good, baby, or I'll slice 'em right off," he warned. Then he lowered the knife and cut through her skirt. And then cut the panties away from her with two quick strokes.
He handed the knife back and knelt between her widespread legs. "I got something for you, bitch," he said, unzipping his pants. He pulled out his erect penis. It looked huge. "And here it comes, ready or not!"
She didn't know exactly when it had started, sometime while he was cutting her clothes off probably, but it was there, it was undeniably there. The fear was still there too, but mixed with it, throbbing beneath it, was the familiar undercurrent of excitement. Throbbing faintly, but definite enough for her to recognize it. The reality of the situation had begun to get to her, had begun to sink into her brain and her blood: she was about to be fucked-royally fucked-by five men, whether she liked it or not. She was pinned down, helpless, immobile, and they were going to take her simply because they wanted her, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. And that was why the throbbing had started inside her, because, damn it, she liked the feeling. Wasn't that why she was here in this park in the first place? She wanted to be taken and taken hard, wanted her body to be used for somebody's pleasure, to feel the strength and the power overwhelming her. She had come looking for it, and she had found it.
Though the precise point at which the excitement had begun working inside her was uncertain, it forced itself into her consciousness when the large youth pulled his rampant phallus from his fly. Her eyes fastened on it compulsively. It pointed triumphantly into the air, seeming to quiver with life and strength. She had been instinctively but uselessly trying to struggle, to pull away from the unrelenting hands that held her arms and legs; but now she lay still, heart pounding, breathing hard, actually enjoying her very defenselessness and vulnerability.
Now he lowered himself toward her, and she felt his hardness between her legs, probing at the entrance to her vagina, setting himself, pushing. She could not help the noises that came from her, because she was dry and it hurt, but he pushed harder, forcing his way. Then he was in and hurting her, and then with one hard grunting thrust he was in all the way, in her to the hilt, and she screamed. Without pause he began to screw, pumping at her brutally. The pain was bad but she knew the pleasure would come, she could take the pain because it would soon be drowned in the whirling, grinding vortex of ecstasy.
"Man, look at the sonofabitch fuck!"
"Way to go, Ace, give it to her!"
"Pound the shit out of her!"
He was trying, it seemed, to pound everything she had out of her, pistoning like a machine and grunting like an animal, he had little skill and no subtlety, but it didn't matter. She was getting caught up in it now; his ramming cock was serving its purpose, sending waves of pleasure through her. She knew now that she had been right, she had needed an experience like this, it was a different kind of thrill, she wouldn't want it this way all the time, but now while it was happening it was good. She stared up past the overarching trees into the dark sky and felt the excitement mount, felt herself start on the steep climb that would take her up there among the dim stars. At the same time she felt the thrusts get even faster, heard his hoarse breathing as he battered at her in a transport of approaching climax, and then with a loud grunt he was coming. No, she pleaded silently, not yet, but she felt him spewing into her.
He pulled out as soon as his spasms ended, stuffed himself back into his pants and zipped up. He then changed places with the one who had held the knife on her, who now held one of her ankles. Really, it wouldn't have been necessary for them to hold her down any more; but that was all right, being pinned down was part of the thrill, she was being raped.
The knife-wielder wasn't as large as the first one, but it didn't matter; she felt the pleasure resume as soon as he slipped into her now lubricated opening. He started off more slowly than the other one, taking long, drawn-out strokes, and after a few moments he lowered himself on top of her, pressing her body hard against the rough earth. She felt her breasts flattened against his shirt, saw his leering face above hers. But the feeling went on building, intensifying, and that was all that counted. She bit her lip to keep back the sounds and words that would have betrayed to them how much she was enjoying it. But how long could she pretend?
The body on top of her speeded up its movement. It wasn't going to take him much longer than his predecessor; but her passion seemed to accelerate to match his rhythm. Don't come yet, her silent voice begged again. Hold off, hold off just a little while, I'm getting close, just let me....
But he had already lost his control. He stiffened and shook as he finished, and then collapsed heavily on top of her.
She could not restrain a low cry of loss as he drew himself out of her, but they paid no attention, taking it for a sound of despair. He took over for the youth holding her other leg, who now bent over her, licking his lips in anticipation and playing with her breasts with one hand while he unzipped himself with the other.
"You ain't had nothin' yet, honey," he growled. "I'm gonna stick this right up your guts."
Come on, come on, she thought, hurry, do it now.
And he was in her, working away with no more finesse than the others, but it was building again for her, it was getting better and better, getting closer, she could feel herself beginning the magic spiral that would carry her over the top, if only he would go on, go on....
And at last she couldn't help it, she couldn't control her reactions any more, and a soft moan came from her, and then another, louder one, and then she was moaning continuously. Her head rolled from side to side on the ground; her body writhed as much as it was able to in her pinioned position; her hips began to rise and fall in rhythm with the plunging cock inside her.
"Holy shit, look at that! The bitch-likes it!"
"Like it, my ass! She loves it! He's really gettin' to her!"
"Oh yeah, go, baby!"
"Jesus Christ!" the one above her gasped in astonishment. So great was his surprise at her sudden response that it set him off, and she groaned with disappointment as he jerked out his completion.
"I'm next, I'm next!" one of the others said eagerly, and nearly pushed his companion off her in his hurry to take his place. Having done so, he grinned down at her contorted face and straining body. "Christ, the whore's as hot as a pistol!"
"Ohhh..." she panted. "Ohh please..."
"You want it, huh, baby? Here it is. This what you want? Huh?"
"Ohh yes, let me have it, put it in. Oh do it, please do it to me."
He laughed again and fell on her.
"Ahh! Yes, yes, do it! That's it, give it to me, give it to me hard ... More, go on, yes! Oh yes, fuck me. ... It's so good! Go on, fuck me, ohh fuck me ... fuck me ... fuck me. . . "
"That's what he's doin', honey!"
"Christ, she's a real nympho!"
"She's a sweet piece, too," the one above her rasped. "Hey, let her go, guys, I wanna see what she does. Come on, you ass-holes, she's not gonna fight it any more, she loves it. Let her go, goddammit!"
She felt them releasing her wrists and ankles. That was all right, she didn't need the feeling of helplessness any more, she just wanted to fuck, she was getting so close. Her arms came up to encircle her partner, clutching him fiercely; her legs rose and wrapped themselves around his hips. Her freed body arched and twisted, grinding itself against his, her hips rising and falling wildly. Her actions brought derisive cheers, whistles and howls of delight from the fascinated onlookers.
"Hooooeee, look at that mother fuck!"
"Shag, baby, fuck!"
"Oh man, she's gonna pull it right off him."
"Move that ass, move it!"
Heedless, she kept on, bucking and squirming frantically, driving herself closer, closer, it was coming, it was happening, just another moment and she would, she was, now, she was yes! Yes! Now!
And she was over, jerking, sobbing, scrabbling, she had made it, and he had come with her. She fell back, depleted, gasping for breath, but floating happily in the sweet miasma of completion. She was only dimly aware of her partner disengaging himself and pulling away from her.
"Holy shit!" somebody said.
"I want another crack at this bitch now!" the knife-wielder said.
"Me too, man!"
"Hold it, you bastards, I didn't get my turn yet!" She heard the sound of the fifth one unzipping himself. "Only I want something else," he said. "I bet the cunt-likes to blow, too."
He knelt astride her upper body and sat down on her breasts. He tangled the fingers of both hands in her hair and forced her head up and forward, thrusting his stiff penis into her face. "Suck it, cunt!"
"Watch out she don't bite you, man!"
"She tries it and she'll get her teeth knocked out. Suck it, I said!"
She was only too glad to suck it, though her head hurt where he was tugging at her hair, and she wished he would let her get her breath back first. But she put her mouth over it, and it felt good, and she began to suck, and the more she sucked the more she enjoyed it. She felt the hands of some of the others roaming her body, and that was good too. She sucked harder, bringing her tongue into play, and she heard him making rattling noises in his throat, and then he was coming explosively into her throat and she swallowed it all.
After that the big one had her suck him, too. And then the knife-wielder was screwing her again, and then someone else was screwing her, and then she was sucking and screwing at the same time, and then she lost track, she only knew that it went on for a long time, and that she came repeatedly, and that it was fantastic.
But finally they were finished, and they all zipped themselves up and rose and stood looking down at her and calling her bitch and slut and cunt and whore. One of them kicked her in the hip, and one of them spit on her-why did they do that?-and one of them took out his cock again and was going to urinate on her, but the big one told him forget it. Then they ran off and left her there.
SIXTEEN
For some minutes after they had gone she lay unmoving, recovering her strength and her senses. She was exhausted and aching, but inside she felt fine. The experience had been everything she had hoped, and more; she was glad she had sought it out.
After a while she sat up. But how the hell was she going to get home, she wondered, looking ruefully at the remains of her clothing. Her panties were useless; she used them to wipe the accumulated stickiness from between her legs and discarded them. She got stiffly to her feet, picked up her torn skirt and wrapped it around her. Holding it closed at the side with one hand and clutching the halves of her sweater together over her breasts with the other, she stumbled to the spot where she had first encountered her attackers.
From there she had some difficulty finding her way back to the main path, and she was a bit alarmed by the thought that she might be set upon again; she could do without that right now. But at last she came out on the transverse path, and began walking, still not feeling safe, to the edge of the park.
When she reached the entrance she hesitated. Though it was the middle of the night, there was still traffic on the avenue, and in her condition she was bound to draw attention. She couldn't possibly walk home, she had no money for a taxi. Then she saw a police car cruising down the avenue. That would have to be it. It would probably mean answering a lot of questions, but what else could she do? As the prowl car drew closer, she stepped out onto the sidewalk and walked to the curb. She hoped they would see her; she didn't have a hand free to hail them.
The car slowed, pulled over to the curb near her, and stopped. The policeman who was driving stuck his head out the window. He was young, she saw, and fair-haired. He looked at her curiously, trying to hide his surprise with a professional-cop manner. "Are you all right, lady?" he said. "What happened?"
"I-I was attacked," she said. "Could you drive me home, please?"
"You'd better get in, miss," the driver said, reaching back to open the door for her. She got into the back seat. The other policeman turned around to look at her. He was older, with a square leathery face and graying hair.
"Just what happened, ma'am?" the older one asked.
She really didn't want to go into it, but she was too tired to try to come up with a fictitious explanation for her appearance. "I was raped," she said. "In the park."
The cop's face showed no expression. His eyes flicked down over her barely-covered body. He took out a small notebook and a pencil. "When did this happen, ma'am?"
"Just now." That should be obvious, she thought.
"What were you doing in the park at this time of night?"
"Walking."
"Alone?"
"Of course."
The two cops glanced at each other. "Do you know who attacked you?" the older one asked.
"No, certainly not. I never saw them before."
"Them? How many were there?"
"Five."
The cop's eyebrows raised. "Five?" His eyes went over her body again, seeming to probe at the spot where she was holding the sweater closed. "Black fellas, were they?"
"No, they were all white."
He looked vaguely disappointed. "Can you describe any of them?"
"No, I-it was too dark to see very much. Please ... can you take me home now?"
"Maybe she should go to a doctor," the younger one said.
"No. No, I'm all right, really. I'd just like to go home."
"Where do you live, miss?"
She gave them her address, and the young one started the car and pulled away from the curb.
"What you should really do, ma'am," the older one said, "is come down to the station house and give them a full report."
"No, I don't want to."
"But it might help us to catch them."
She shrugged. "You won't catch them."
"Well, we might if you'd cooperate, ma'am. We've got records of a lot of habitual sex offenders. Something you could tell us might give us a lead. What was it they did, exactly?"
Something in his tone, in the way he looked at her, gave her the feeling that his interest was more than professional. The thought amused her.
"I've told you," she said. "They raped me. They held me down, you see, and they took turns. And they ... made me do things to them."
The cop leaned forward slightly. "What things?"
"With my mouth," she said.
She thought she detected a gleam in his eye; but he shook his head as if in sympathy. "Real animals," he said. "Scum like that should be shot. Maybe if you came to the station and looked at some mug shots, you could identify them. Or some of them, anyway."
"No."
"But surely you want them caught? And punished?"
She sighed. "No," she said. "I don't."
"You don't? Why not?"
The hell with it. "Because I liked it," she said. "What?"
"I liked it," she repeated calmly. "I enjoyed it. Every single minute of it."
He looked hard at her, and she met his eyes boldly. He gazed at her steadily for several long, silent moments. Then, without taking his eyes from hers, he addressed his partner. "Frank."
"Yeah?"
"Drive to the docks."
"What for."
"Just do it, Frank."
"Oh. Oh yeah. Okay."
He turned at the next corner. The older one continued to stare at her. It wasn't hard to guess what he had in mind. Oh well, she thought. Why not ? She was getting tired of holding the damn sweater together. She leaned back in the seat and let her hand fall away. The cop's eyes dropped to her breasts as the sweater parted to reveal most of them, and stayed there for the rest of the journey.
The car took them to the very edge of the city, an area of docks, warehouses and loading platforms, completely deserted at this hour. The driver parked in a very dark spot beneath the elevated highway.
The older cop got out of the car, opened the rear door and got in beside her. She made no move, waiting to see what he would do. He put a hand on her knee.
"You're a very attractive young lady," he said.
"Thank you." The younger cop had turned around in his seat and was watching.
She wondered idly if she could get turned on again, so soon after her earlier strenuous activity. As the hand moved from her knee to her thigh and began to stroke it, she decided she could.
"It's a shame what happened to you," he said. "But a woman like you shouldn't go wandering around the park at night, looking for trouble." His hand moved higher. "Tell me what they did to you," he said.
"I've told you."
"Tell me again. Five of them, right."
"Yes."
"They made you suck their cocks . "
"Yes."
"Did they take you in the ass."
"No."
"Do you like to get it in the ass . "
"Yes."
He smiled slightly. "You like it any way you can get it, right?"
"Don't you?" she said, and the younger cop laughed.
"Shut up, Frank," he said. He put his other hand on her breast, cupping it and tweaking the nipple between two fingers. The nipple began to stiffen. "I'm going to give it to you in the ass," he said.
"All right," she said.
His hands left her then, and he began to unbutton his uniform jacket. "Kneel up on the seat here."
She did so, crouching with her buttocks elevated and her head resting on the seat. The abandoned remnant of her skirt fell to the floor of the car. The cop removed his jacket and knelt behind her, undoing his trousers and shorts and letting them fall around his knees.
His hands clutched her hips, his thumbs digging into her buttocks and spreading them. She felt him move forward, felt the tip of his rigid tool at her anus, pressing for admission. She relaxed her sphincter muscles, pushing back against the pressure. He was large; she felt the tip go in, just a little way, and then suddenly the barrier was breached, and the whole head was inside her. She gasped, and then emitted sharp sounds of pleasure-pain as with short back-and-forth strokes he dug himself slowly deeper.
"Like that?" he grunted.
"Yes ... yes...."
"Tell me ... what they did to you. Tell me."
Well, if that was how he got his kicks..."They-they grabbed me. There were five of them. One of them had a knife. ... Oh that's nice ... Ohh...."
"Go on. Go on."
"They held me down ... spread-eagled ... They-One of them cut my clothes off ... Oh more ... He got on top of me ... screwed me ... screwed me till he came. Do that, yes, harder. ... Then another one ... and another one-Ow! No, go on, don't stop. Four of them did it to me ... fucked me. Ohh that's right, that's right. Then one ... made me suck his cock. I sucked it, I took it in my mouth ... Ahhh good, good ... I swallowed his come. Then the others ... I sucked them ... they fucked me again. Oh god, do it! I-I fucked them, fucked and sucked, fucked and sucked ... Oooo."
"And you loved it."
"Yes! Yes, I loved it, I loved it ... Oh it's coming ... loved it all, every second. It's coming. Faster, faster ... oh it hurts. Ah yes ... yes ... Ahhh. Ooohhh. I'm going to-aahhh ... aahh Jesus ... unnhhh ... unnhhh ... OHHHH ... OHHHHHH!! "
She nearly fell off the seat with the spasmodic force of her climax; but she managed to remain in position. The cop hadn't finished yet, though he was getting there fast. His hands left her hips and reached beneath her to squeeze her breasts as he worked fiercely toward his culmination. And then he was there; she heard him groan and felt the wetness, felt his body sag. After a moment he pulled out of her.
Meanwhile the younger one had left his place behind the wheel and gotten into the back, sitting on the other side of her, near her head. He had his fly open and his staff was jutting out of it.
She smiled up at him. "Want me to eat it?"
He nodded.
So she did, putting her head into his lap and filling her mouth with him. She did it nice and slow, to make it good for him, because she felt he was nicer than the other one. Of course it was good for her too, and when he finally came she swallowed it all contentedly.
Then they drove her home. The young one lent her his jacket to cover herself with, and they saw her into the building and up to her door.
"Thank you for the ride," she said to them. "And everything."
"Thank you, ma'am," the young one said.
"Maybe we should come around and check on you tomorrow," the older one said. "Just to make sure you're all right and all."
She smiled. "That's very nice of you, officer. You're so protective."
"That's our job, ma'am," the older one said.
"It's our duty," the young one said.
"We're here to serve the public," the older one said.
"Well, it's certainly nice to know that we can really count on our police department in times of trouble," she said. "Good night."
When she had opened the door and gotten inside, she handed the young one back his jacket. She noticed the silver letters on the collar: N.Y.P.D. New York Prick Dippers, she thought, and giggled as she closed the door.
SEVENTEEN
She did not really believe that the policemen would come around again; but as it turned out, she was wrong-at least partly. She slept late the next morning, and she was hardly out of bed when the doorbell rang. She threw on a housecoat and went to answer it.
It was the older cop from the night before. When she opened the door to peek through the crack, he pushed against it hard with his body, sending her staggering backwards into the room. He stepped in and closed the door behind him.
"Hey!" she protested.
"There she is, boys," the cop said.
She blinked in bewilderment. He was alone.
"What?" she said.
"Hi, honey," the cop said. "I've brought a couple of my friends to meet you."
Was he crazy? "What are you talking about?"
"See, I've been telling Joe and Fred here all about what a great lay you are, and they said they wanted some too. Then I told them about how you'd been raped and all, and how you loved it. And they said that sounded like a gas. So we decided we'd have ourselves a little gang rape. And here we are."
She didn't know whether to be afraid or amused. "I still don't get it. Where are these friends of yours ? "
"They're right here, baby. Ready and waiting."
"Is this a joke, or what?"
"No joke, sweetheart. And don't play coy with me. I know what you dig. We're going to rape you. All of us. One after the other. Or maybe all three at once."
Either he was crazy or it was some kind of weird game he was playing, a fantasy trip. What was she supposed to do? Play along with it? It might be interesting, at that, she thought.
"What if I scream?" she said.
He snorted. "Who for-the cops? Anyway, you try it and you'll wish you hadn't. My friends play rough. Okay, let's stop farting around. Take off that housecoat and let the guys have a look at you."
Well, if she was going to play along, she might as well do it right. She pretended to be frightened. "Don't make me," she breathed. "Please don't make me.
"Okay, I guess I'll have to do it myself," he said, moving toward her. She backed away. He stopped. "Joe," he said to one of his imaginary companions, but looking her straight in the eye. "Hold her still."
It was silly, but it was beginning to get to her. After a brief moment of hesitation, she put her arms behind her. She stood still, arms stiff, her body slightly arched-exactly as if someone had pulled her arms back and was holding her by the wrists.
She saw a quick gleam of triumph and satisfaction in his eyes. "Good," he said. "Keep holding her." Stepping up to her, he reached out deliberately and cupped one of her breasts in his hand. A small sound come from her, but she did not move.
He fondled the breast, squeezing it gently. "That's really something," he said. She could feel her nipples hardening. "Are you naked under that thing?"
Justine nodded.
"Terrific. Let's let my friends see what they're getting." His hand went to the zipper of the housecoat and he pulled it down, slowly, all the way. Justine began to tremble with anticipation, but she did not change her immobile position; she was being held.
"Ready, boys? Here she is." The cop parted the garment and slid it off her shoulders. It slipped down over her back-stretched arms and fell to the floor.
He stepped back, looking over her nakedness. "You see? Didn't I tell you she had a great body? Look at those tits. And those legs-man, I bet she can crush a guy with those legs once she gets going."
Justine could feel her heart beating. She was really into it now. "Please," she half-whispered. "Please don't let them do it to me."
"Couldn't stop them now if I wanted to," the cop said. "And I don't. Okay, Joe, let's take her into the bedroom. Break her arms if she resists."
She gave a sudden gasp; her arms bent at the elbows and twisted themselves up behind her back, arching her body further. Straining as if she were really being propelled by the pressure on her arms, she walked awkwardly, almost on tiptoe, toward the bedroom. The cop followed.
In the bedroom the game went on. "All right, boys, I'll go first," the cop said. "Put her down on the bed, and hold her good so she can't get away. Joe, you hold one arm, and Frank, you take the other."
With a little cry, as if she had been pushed, Justine staggered to the bed and tumbled onto it. She rolled over onto her back; and immediately her arms reached up and out, stretching toward the top corners of the bed, her wrists seemingly held fast to the mattress.
The cop began to undress, grinning at her and taking his time. When she saw his erect penis, she twisted her body on the bed, pulling-she hoped convincingly-against the phantoms gripping her wrists.
"No," she whimpered. "Don't do it. Please don't do it to me."
He leered. "I'm going to screw the hell out of you, honey. And so are my friends."
She moaned.
He finished undressing. His erection seemed to throb as he gazed down at her panting, straining body. "This is it, lady," he said hoarsely. "Open those sexy legs."
Though her outstretched arms never budged, she kept her legs tightly together, her ankles locked. "Stubborn, isn't she? Okay boys, grab her ankles and spread them out for me."
Could they do that while they were holding her wrists? What the hell, she was too aroused to worry about technicalities. She let her ankles uncross with a jerk, and then slowly, reluctantly-she was resisting, but they were too strong for her-her legs parted, opened, spread wide, wider, until they were stretched as far as they could go. Her thighs quivered with the tension.
Spread-eagled, open and more than ready, she felt the lust churning inside her; but still she pleaded with him. "No. Don't. Oh, god, please don't. Please."
He threw himself upon her.
She was already moist. She felt him slide his shaft into her up to the hilt, felt the soft depths of her vagina parting before him, clasping around him. She gave a deep-throated groan. He pushed hard at her, twisting his hips, invading her roughly, as though he wanted to push right up into her belly. Her hips responded, lifted under his, her body squirmed, but her splayed limbs remained pinned, unmoving.
He began to move, pumping strongly into her with hard, deliberate strokes. Almost immediately she began to make strange animal noises, her torso writhing beneath him. Her face went slack; her mouth was open and panting. She felt him dig his hands beneath her, holding the jouncing flesh of her buttocks as he thrust in and out of her. He was moving faster, but he seemed to have more control now than she did.
The noises coming from her throat abated; her mouth moved, trying to form words. "Please..." she moaned.
He grunted, intent on what he was doing.
"Listen, tell them ... let me go," she gasped. "Please ... tell them ... to let me go, so I can hold you."
A savage grin twisted his face. "All right, guys," he said. "You can let her go now."
Instantly her arms lowered and wrapped tightly around him, clutching fiercely, nails scratching over his skin. Her legs bent, rubbed his thighs, then rose to circle his hips. The noises started again, louder now as she pressed herself against him, her body going crazy. She was straining toward climax and he stayed with her, matching her rhythm as she neared her peak.
Then she was over. The noises turned into ragged-edged shrieks as she spasmed repeatedly beneath him. Her head whipped from side to side, her thighs squeezed him convulsively, her nails drew blood from his back. Still he kept control, holding himself almost still as she gyrated through her ecstatic completion.
At last, with a final rattling cry, she was through. The tension ebbed from her body, the grip of her arms and legs slackened. He remained motionless, his tool still rigid inside her, waiting. Her loud breathing gradually slowed. Her body gave an occasional involuntary shudder, but otherwise she lay quietly, her eyes closed.
Now holding her tightly, without disengaging himself from her, he rolled over onto his side, pulling her with him. A small sound of protest came from her.
"Get with it, baby, you're not through yet," he said roughly. One of her thighs was trapped beneath him; he held the other one clasped to his side with his arm and dug his fingers into the cheeks of her behind as he began to move deliberately in and out of her again. "Hey, Joe," he rasped. "Get on the other side and take her in the ass."
Justine gasped as if in fear; her body tensed. She pressed her hips hard against his, as though attempting to escape the threatened invasion from the rear. She clenched her buttocks beneath his hands. He pulled them apart, exposing her anus to his imaginary friend. "That's it, stick it up her ass-hole and we'll both give it to her at once.
She whimpered piteously, then gave a loud groan; her loins pushed harder, squirmed against him as she imagined the second phallus forcing its way into her tight rear entry. "Oh, Christ!" she cried. "Stop!" But she buried her face in the cop's neck and sank her teeth into his shoulder, and muffled moans came from her, while her body began a jerking movement, as if she were being prodded from the rear.
As though to help the illusion along, the cop slid his hand into the crack of her ass, found the tiny hole in question, and gradually but firmly pushed his index finger inside it. At this she threw back her head with an inarticulate cry and pushed back with her hips, taking the finger further into her ass. Then she began moving wildly, groaning, crushing him with arms and legs, snapping her hips back and forth with a frantic jerking motion.
She knew that it wouldn't be long before she came a second time as, heaving and writhing, she whipsawed her loins spasmodically against the double probe of his cock in her vagina and the finger-cock in her anus. She was drowning in the voluptuous sensations of pleasure-pain. Her senses blurred as she rapidly approached the point at which she would start the irresistible slide towards climax; but there was something more ... she wanted something more....
"The other one," she whimpered breathlessly. "Please, The other one too."
"What? Oh. Sure, baby ... Fred," he panted. "Get in here. Let her-make her suck your cock."
And with that he brought his free hand up to her face and stuck his thumb in her mouth.
She closed her lips over it hungrily, sucking it in as if she would swallow it whole. As though it were the real thing, her tongue caressed it, swirled around it in rapid circles. Then her mouth began to move up and down along its length, lips suctioning as they slid back and forth, tongue continuing to stroke it on the intake. Small desperate noises came from her throat as she sucked, and the movements of her body became even more abandoned.
There was no holding back now, nothing could have stopped her from coming. He met her frenzied hips with strong, almost vicious thrusts of his own, bringing her closer and closer; until together their bodies tensed and they both cried out, twisting their loins against each other, literally screwing themselves into each other as it crashed over both of them.
For some time they lay exhausted, side by side. Justine marveled at the power the fantasy had exercised over her, and the abandon with which she had responded to it. She wondered if the cop did this kind of thing often. And she wondered what his name was.
"See, boys?" he said after a while. "Didn't I tell you she was terrific?"
So he was still playing the game. Well, she thought, as she had thought last night, why not?
"The boys want some more," he said.
Why not?
"Well," she said. "I guess there isn't much I can do about it."
"This time you'll suck my cock," he said. She moved instantly to obey as he continued, "Joe will hold your arms while Fred takes you in the ass...."
EIGHTEEN
The apartment was tiny, squalid and dirty, but the girl more than made up for it. She was slender but extremely well built, a fact which could be appreciated even despite her shapeless dress; she had a lovely, delicate face, beautiful dark-brown hair which she wore long and loose, and she couldn't have been any more than eighteen.
Justine had picked her up-or vice versa-in Tompkins Square Park. She had gone there with the thought that one or more of the bearded, free-swinging Now Generation studs whom she remembered as proliferating in the Lower East Side neighborhood might just suit her imagine on this warm afternoon. But she found that the park had changed; it seemed to be frequented now mostly by junkies on the nod or motorcycle hoods. Still, she had wandered around hoping to find a promising-looking male. But when she had seen the girl she changed her mind. She had been concentrating too much on men, she decided; she had almost forgotten how sexy women could be. The girl reminded her.
The girl was sitting quietly on a bench, doing nothing. As Justine approached along the path, their eyes met, and she knew. She couldn't have said how, but she knew. And she knew the girl knew.
She stopped in front of the bench. The girl smiled up at her. "Hi," she said. "I'm Louise."
"I'm Justine."
"Want to go to my place?"
Just like that.
The girl's place was two blocks away, in what had to be one of the worst tenement buildings in the city. They climbed four flights of stairs smelling of urine, garlic and decay. The apartment was one room, with a tiny water closet in one corner. The only furniture was a bed made of a sagging box spring and a bare mattress, a tilted bureau and a couple of wooden chairs. It was a mess.
"I know it's a shitty place," the girl said casually as Justine looked around, appalled. "But it's only eighty-five a month, and I'm not here that much."
"You live here all alone?" Justine said. "But isn't it dangerous?"
"Sure. What isn't?" And with that the girl crossed her arms and pulled her dress up over her head and off. She was wearing nothing beneath it. Her body was absolutely beautiful.
Justine felt the excitement pulsing in her. The girl smiled at her and lay down on the bed. "Come on," she said. "Let's make it." She moved her body provocatively, letting it roll slightly from side to side, smiling up at her. Justine pulled off her own dress, draping it over a chair. Too impatient to bother now with her bra and panties, she joined the naked girl on the bed with a small cry of need.
Her hands reached hungrily for the beautiful flesh. They closed over the breasts, held them, squeezed them gently, then moved over them wistfully, wanting to stay, yet having to go on. They moved down across the ribs, over the smoothness of stomach, around to grasp for an instant the small, solid buttocks, back over the hips, down the soft curves of the thighs. Then, slowly, upward, up the insides of the legs, until, almost fearfully, she touched the brown-topped core of the girl, caressing her gently.
She heard Louise's responding purr at the same time as she felt the girl's hands undoing the catch of her brassiere. It fell away, and now Louise's hands were on her breasts, skillfully bringing the nipples to instant attention.
Louise's hands left her breasts, trailing like soft fire over her middle to the top of her panties, pushing them down, down. Justine pulled them off her legs.
She laid her now naked body down next to the girl. They lay on their sides, facing each other, and embraced, their bodies meeting, breasts to breasts, hips to hips. Justine's face was buried in Louise's sweet-smelling hair.
"Kiss me, oh kiss me," she whispered into her ear.
Louise turned her face to her, and their lips met. Louise's mouth opened slightly, almost shyly, under hers. Justine probed tentatively with her tongue into the sweet mouth. Louise responded, caressing it with her own.
Now their bodies began to move against one another. Their hips pushed forward, grinding their loins together. Their mouths parted as they gasped and panted in rhythm with the sweet friction.
Justine swept her hand down the hollow of the girl's back, slid slowly over the moving buttocks and between her legs from behind. Her fingers found Louise's vagina and moved in counterpoint to the rubbing movements of her hips. Louise emitted a series of high squeals, her hips squirming madly.
Her excitement aroused Justine even more. She was so sweet, this Louise. So young, so sexy, so sweet. Justine was filled with desire to give her pleasure, to take her-to take them both-to the ultimate pinnacle of sensation.
She bent her head to the girl's breast, kissed it, then caressed its entire surface with her tongue. She came to the nipple last, working upon it with lips, teeth and tongue until it stood like a small nail in the flesh.
She kissed a trail to the other breast and repeated the process. The girl was moaning steadily. Justine's head moved down, her tongue gliding lightly in an irregular zigzag path over Louise's middle. She moved her body further down, positioned Louise's legs, and then her mouth descended again, and found its goal.
The girl arched, moaning louder. Justine felt Louise's hands on her head, moving aimlessly through the short hair. Her own hands stroked the girl's writhing legs as her tongue sought out her most sensitive spots.
In a few minutes Louise stopped moaning. There was no sound but her loud, hoarse breathing, and an occasional sharp exclamation. Soon she began to move her hips in a strong, steady tempo.
Sensing that the girl had started to scale the last peak, Justine began to turn her body. It would take only a small spark, she knew, to explode her own powder keg of excitement. She did not take her mouth from the girl as she slowly and carefully reversed her position. When she had accomplished this, her hips were over Louise's face. With her own face still buried between the girl's thighs, she gently lowered her body.
She felt Louise's mouth welcome her, felt the reaching tongue exploring, seeking. She cried out into Louise's vagina. Together they worked passionately to hurl each other over the edge, and together they succeeded.
Justine lay dreamily in the blissful aftermath of satiation, relishing the lovely lassitude. She stretched her body contentedly and smiling, turned to the girl at her side. She stroked Louise's hair gently.
The telephone rang.
Justine was startled. She hadn't even seen a phone in the apartment. But Louise leaned over and pulled it out from under the bed.
"Hello?" she said. "Yeah. ... Oh hi, Mr. Nelson.
Is it the first of the month already? Yeah, I guess it is. ... Sure. ... Okay, come on over. ... Right, twenty minutes. ... Bye."
She hung up and turned to Justine, grinning. "Want to see how I pay the rent?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, see, that was the landlord on the phone, Mr. Nelson. He comes around every month to get the rent. Only I never have any bread, you know? So I let him make it with me."
"I see."
"Only he's weird, you know? He-likes everything just a certain way. It's like a game we play. That's why he calls me first, so I can get ready."
Louise got up and began to dress. In contrast to her former attire, she now put on brassiere and panties, a blouse, slacks, and shoes. She gathered her hair back and pinned it up. Meanwhile Justine rose and put on her own clothes. She made ready to go.
"Hey, you don't have to leave," Louise said. "I mean, if you want to stick around and watch or anything, you know?"
"Watch? Won't your landlord object?"
"Oh, he won't know. You can go in the John and close the door. There's a hole in it you can see through. Look." She showed Justine a narrow crack in the middle of the door to the water closet. She found that by putting her eye to it she could indeed see most of the room. She was tempted.
"But what if he wants to go in there?"
"He won't. He never does. And anyway, so what? What can he do?"
Justine was not as phlegmatic about the possibility, but in the end her curiosity overcame her caution. When the knock came on the door a few minutes later, she secreted herself in the small cubicle with her eye to the crack, hoping she could remain still enough to go unnoticed.
She saw Louise go to the door and admit a middle-aged man with gray hair wearing a business suit. He looked most out of place in Louise's apartment.
"Hi, Mr. Nelson," Louise said.
"Hello, Louise," the man replied, and began to undress. He didn't waste any time, Justine thought. She didn't find him very attractive, either. He took off all his clothes and hung them neatly over the back of a chair, while Louise stood watching him. When he was naked he went over to the bed and lay down on it on his back, his head propped up on a pillow.
Louise walked around the bed and stood facing him, just far enough back from the foot of the bed so that he could see all of her.
"How much is your rent, Louise?" he asked her. His voice came faintly through the crack, but Justine could hear the words clearly.
"Eighty-five dollars," Louise said. Their voices had a kind of ritual quality, as though they had been through this many times before.
"You are a very pretty girl," the landlord said. "I will deduct five dollars if you will take off your blouse."
Louise's hand moved slowly to the top button of her blouse, and lingered there. "I will for ten dollars," she said.
"No," Nelson said. "Ten dollars is too much."
Louise's fingers left the button. She rubbed both hands over the hills of her breasts, massaging them in little circles, her eyes on his.
"Seven dollars," the landlord said.
Louise opened the buttons of her blouse, one by one. She pulled it slightly apart, enough to reveal a narrow strip of white skin, broken by a patch of bra. "Nine dollars," she said.
"Eight."
"All right." She pulled the blouse off.
Nelson gazed at her. Justine could see his chest going up and down with his breathing. "Your skin is so light," he said fervently. "It's like cream."
"Do you want to see more of it?" Louise said.
"Yes. I will deduct another eight dollars if you take off your slacks."
Louise unbuttoned her slacks at the side, and pulled down the zipper. But she held them up. "I can't," she said.
"Why not?"
"They won't come off over my shoes."
"Take the shoes off."
"That's extra."
"No."
Louise lowered the slacks about an inch, just enough to show the rounded beginnings of her hips. "Yes."
He swallowed. "All right. One dollar."
"Three."
"Two."
She kicked her shoes off, then let the slacks drop and kicked them off too.
The landlord's phallus began to rise as he looked her over. "Sexy," he said. "God, you're sexy."
"Thank you," she said.
"What's under the brassiere, Louise?"
"You know what's under it."
"Tell me."
"I'll tell you for a dollar."
"All right."
"My breasts," she said. "My naked breasts." Nelson's penis rose further. "Take it off." His voice was hoarser. "For how much."
"Ten dollars."
"That's not enough." She pulled one of the bra straps off her shoulder. "Twelve."
"Twenty." She pulled the other strap down. "That's too much. Thirteen."
"To see my tits?" she said. "You know how much you like them. I'll make the nipples hard for nothing."
"Fifteen," he said.
She shook her head.
"Sixteen."
"Well..." Her hands went behind her. "Say please," she said.
"Please, Louise. Please."
She opened the brassiere and dropped it. Justine noted again how surprisingly full her breasts were for her slim frame. The girl brought her hands to them and brushed her fingers over the brown nipples until they stood out.
"Oh, you sweet thing," Nelson said. "I want you."
"I know."
"Take off the panties."
"But I'll be all naked."
He moistened his lips. "Yes. I want you naked."
Louise didn't move.
"Fifteen dollars," he said.
"Fifteen! You gave me sixteen for my bra."
"Sixteen, then."
"Don't be cheap," Louise said. "Twenty-five."
"Eighteen."
"Twenty-three."
"Nineteen."
"Twenty-one."
"Twenty."
"Twenty dollars and fifty cents," Louise said.
"All right. All right."
Louise slid her panties down.
A small noise came from the man on the bed. "You're lovely," he said. "Lovely. And so young. God, those tits. Those legs. That fuzzy little crotch. But do you know what I like best about you, Louise?"
"Yes," she said. "My hair."
His eyes closed. "Say it again," he breathed.
"You like my hair best," Louise said. "You want me to let it hang loose for you. You want to touch it. You want me to touch you with it."
"Yes. Oh, yes." His eyes opened. "Go ahead. Do it. Please."
Louise reached up and, one by one, pulled the pins from her hair. It came loose, flowing around her shoulders. She took her hair in both hands and pulled it over her shoulders so that it fell down in front of her, hanging below her breasts.
"Aahh," the landlord said softly.
Louise now walked around to stand by the side of the bed. The landlord's tool was fully erect now, and throbbing. He looked up at her hungrily.
"Please," he said.
"Twenty dollars."
He frowned. "How much have we deducted so far?" he asked her.
"Fifty-five dollars and fifty cents," she said immediately.
"There won't be enough left for-"
"All right," she said. "Fifteen. Just this once."
"Yes."
She bent her head forward, leaning over him, so that her hair fell down in a brown waterfall over his face. He gave a little cry and buried his hands in it, clutching it to him, rubbing his face in it, drawing long shuddering breaths as he inhaled the odor of it.
Then, after a minute, his hands dropped. Louise moved her head from side to side, brushing the hair across his face several times. Then she moved downward, stroking it over his chest. He began to moan as she swept the soft strands back and forth on him.
Slowly, she moved downward again, the hair dragging across his stomach. His moans grew louder. His hands were clenched into fists. She continued her journey down, but deliberately bypassed his crotch. The hair glided over one of his hips, then slowly down the length of his leg. She dragged it back up over his other leg. She paused teasingly for a minute as he held his breath, and then let the silky hair flow over his straining penis.
With a groan he arched from the bed. He continued to writhe, moaning loudly, as the girl's bowed head went into a pendulum motion above him, stroking the brown tresses rhythmically back and forth over his genitals.
His excitement seemed to build more and more as she went on, and Justine was wondering if he was going to come that way, when suddenly he pulled himself away.
"The chair," he panted. "The chair, Louise."
She straightened up, tossing the hair back. Nelson got up and walked to one of the straight, hard-backed wooden chairs. He sat down on it. "Come on," he said. "Hurry."
Louise walked toward him slowly, swaying. "You sure you want me this way?"
"You know I do."
She reached the chair and turned around. He grabbed for her hair again, stroking it. She sat down on his lap, her back to him. He reached around her body to cover her breasts with his hands. He buried his face in the hair at the back of her head and rubbed himself against her with a side-to-side movement, obviously glorying in the feel of her long mane, caught between her back and his chest.
She hitched herself up a little and reached beneath her, finding his erection. He moaned as she guided it to her. She inserted it and settled down on it slowly, until she was sitting tightly against him, all of it inside her. He squirmed, but her weight on him prevented him from moving very much.
"Now!" he groaned. "Now!"
"Will this take care of the rest of the rent?" Louise said.
"Yes. All of it," he gasped. "And will you pay the gas and electric bill this month."
"Yes."
"And the telephone."
"Yes. Yes!"
"Okay," she said. She spread her legs, sliding them around to the sides of the chair, and hooked her feet over the rungs. Using them for leverage, she began working herself up and down steadily.
The landlord's groans and cries filled the room as she jounced on his lap as though she were riding a galloping horse. He pulled her back against him tightly by her breasts, rubbing her hair into his chest. Justine could see the swollen underside of his penis as it moved in and out of the girl's opening. Louise reached down again and put her hand there, giving it a quick stroke with every upward movement of her body. Very soon the landlord made a loud rattling noise in his throat and threw his head back as his climax ripped through him.
Louise climbed off his lap then and threw herself on the bed with a sigh, her attitude making it as clear as possible that her job for the month was done, and she was glad. Nelson got up after a moment and began to put on his clothes in silence. When he was dressed he started for the door.
"See you next month, Mr. Nelson," Louise said.
He mumbled something and went out.
Justine came out of her cubicle. "My god!" she said.
Louise giggled. "Isn't he too much?"
"You do that every month?"
"Yeah, more or less, you know. He's really got this thing about me, specially my hair. You know what he told me once? He said he wishes my hair was long enough so that he could stick some of it up my cunt, and then he could feel it rubbing against his cock while he fucked me." Louise stretched languorously. "Men aren't really my thing, though, so he usually just gets me kind of worked up and then leaves me hanging." She grinned up at Justine. "That's why I'm sort of glad you stuck around, you know what I mean?"
"I know what you mean," Justine said, and reached happily for the zipper on her dress.
NINETEEN
She was getting ready to go out when the telephone rang. "Hello."
"Justine?"
"Hello, mother." She was a bit surprised; her mother habitually called her on Sundays, and this was Wednesday. "How are you?"
"I'm fine." But her mother's voice sounded worried.
"How's Tommy ? " Tommy was her younger brother.
"Oh, he's fine too...."
"Is there something wrong, mother? You sound strange."
"Oh no," her mother said unconvincingly. "It's just that I was wondering how you were."
"Well, I'm all right; I'm wonderful," Justine said.
"I tried calling you earlier at your office but they said you hadn't been in."
"Oh. Well, I'm-I'm taking a little vacation. Just taking a week off to ... catch up with some things."
"Justine, are you really all right?"
"Yes, of course, mother. I said I was. What's this all about, anyway?"
"Well ... Justine ... I was talking to Mrs. Riley this morning...."
"Yes?" Mrs. Riley was her mother's neighbor, close friend and source of gossip, most of it malicious.
"Well, she went into town yesterday to visit her sister, you know, and they went to this restaurant for lunch. And she ... saw you there."
"Oh?"
"She was just about to go over and say hello, she said, but she didn't because you-She said she saw you..."
"She saw me what, mother?"
Her mother's voice dropped. "She said she saw you pick up a man. A stranger."
Justine sighed. "Mrs. Riley is an old busybody," she said.
"Now, Justine."
"Well she is. Anyway, so what?"
"So what?" Her mother sounded shocked. "You mean it's true?"
She hesitated. Probably what she should do, she thought, was just lie, and put her mother's mind at ease. Why upset the old lady unnecessarily? But something stopped her. She did not want to lie now. And she was not ashamed of what she was doing; in fact, she was proud; and she could not bring herself to deny it. "Look, mother, I'm a grown woman. What I do is my own business."
There was a pause. "But:-but you ... Justine, you wouldn't ... you wouldn't do anything ... wrong?"
"You mean like go to bed with somebody?"
She heard her mother gasp faintly. "I'm surprised you can talk like that," she said. "You've always been a good girl."
"Oh really, mother!"
"Still, anybody can get into trouble, especially living alone. You remember, I was afraid when you left home-"
"For god's sake, mother, I'm thirty years old!"
"But you're still alone. You're not married. You don't even go to church any more."
"Mother..."
"Well, you don't! And now ... I don't understand it. Your late father and I tried to do right, we brought you up in the Church. We taught you to be a good girl."
Justine was exasperated. "Oh, what the hell does that mean? You brought me up to think that sex was bad, is that what you mean? Anything having to do with sex was nasty and evil, unless you were married-maybe even then. Well, you did a great job. I was a 'good girl' all right-so damn good that I threw away most of my life. But now I've found out that it's not nasty and evil. In fact, it's terrific, mother. And I'm having a ball. So just don't worry about it, okay?"
Her mother was crying.
She was immediately contrite. "Don't cry, mother, please. I'm sorry. Look, I didn't mean to blame you. I know you and Dad did what you thought was right. But-but things have changed. The world's changed. So I'm changing too. It's not so terrible, mother. Really."
"I don't understand it."
"Well just-just try to accept it. It's not the end of the world. Come on, Ma." 'Ma' was what she had used to call her as a child. It usually seemed to have a good effect on the old lady.
She heard her mother blow her nose. "Justine, we ... we have to talk more about this. Why don't you come and have dinner tomorrow night? You haven't been up here in a long time now."
She hesitated again. Though she could do without any more conversation on this subject, still her mother and her brother were the only family she had left. She should go to see them; it would be the last time. ... On the other hand, she was reluctant to give up a whole evening of the precious few she had left. She decided to compromise.
"I can't make it for dinner, mother. But I'll come up for lunch, how's that? I can't stay very long, though. I have a lot of things to do."
Accordingly, the next day she took the subway up to the Bronx, to the neighborhood where her mother lived and where she had grown up. It had been a pleasant middle-class neighborhood, but was now showing signs of deterioration. The house was on a quiet block made up mostly of similar small, two-story dwellings and a couple of apartment buildings. Justine used her key to let herself in.
"Mother?" she called, but there was no answer. She looked into the kitchen and the living room, but no one seemed to be home. Her mother had probably gone to the store or something. She wandered upstairs.
She had lived in this house most of her life, and she always found it pleasant to come back and see it again. She stopped before the door of the room that had once been hers, now occupied by her sixteen-year-old brother. With a small twinge of nostalgia, she opened the door to look inside.
She was surprised at what she saw, but not nearly as surprised as her brother. He leaped up from the bed as though it had been electrified, an almost comical expression of startled dismay on his face, and turned his back to her hastily while he fumbled with his trousers. When he faced her, he was beet-red.
"Jesus Christ!" he yelped. "What's the matter with you, Sis? Didn't you ever hear of knocking? Jesus!"
She tried hard to keep her face straight. "I'm sorry, Tommy. I didn't think anybody was in here."
"She's out shopping. Look, Sis, I was-I was just-"
"You were masturbating, right? So big deal."
"No, I-well ... I mean...."
"Oh, stop acting so guilty, for god's sake. There's nothing wrong with it. And I'm not shocked or anything. In fact, I think it's interesting." She smiled mischievously at his bewildered expression. "In fact ... I'd like to watch."
He was the one who was shocked. "What?! "
"Sure. Or wait a minute, I have an even better idea. How would you like me to help?"
He gaped at her, speechless with astonishment. "Are you crazy?" he got out after a moment. "You're my sister!"
"So what? We don't have to make it together or anything. I just want to jerk you off. What's wrong with that?"
He shook his head as though stunned. "Jesus. I don't believe this!"
At least he hadn't refused outright; she suspected he really wasn't averse to the idea. "Tommy," she said softly. "What were you thinking about? While you were doing it?"
He looked at the floor, saying nothing.
"Come on, tell me. Please?"
"Girl," he muttered.
"Well, yes, that figures. A real girl? Or an imaginary one."
"Real one."
"Somebody you know? Or a movie star, or what?"
"A girl from school."
"Okay. What's her name?"
"Why?"
"Just tell me."
"Nancy. Nancy Zimmerman."
"Is she your girl friend?"
He shook his head.
"Have you ever made it with her?"
"Hell, no. I've never made it with anybody."
She was a little surprised. With all the stuff kids were supposed to be doing these days ... but she supposed a lot of that was exaggerated. "But that's what you were thinking about, right? Making it with her."
"Well ... yeah."
"Okay. That gives us something to work with. Now let's go lie down on the bed."
He hesitated. "Sis, are you sure you-"
"Yes! Don't you want me to?" He nodded slowly. "Well then?"
He walked to the bed and lay down on his back. She followed him, lying on her side next to him. "Now relax," she said. "And just try to imagine everything I tell you. Okay? Close your eyes. Go on, close them." He obeyed. "Lie still. Think of Nancy Zimmerman."
Her hand went to the front of his trousers. She reached for the zipper of his fly and pulled it down, slowly down, all the way down. Then her fingers slipped inside, fumbling, finding, touching-he gasped-then liberating him, bringing him out into the air. He was already throbbing into hardness, the hardness she had caught a brief glimpse of when she entered the room. Her fingers stroked him lightly to complete this process. He opened his eyes and looked down at the sight of his erect and naked phallus straining under her touch.
Instantly she took her hand away. "Close your eyes," she said. "You must keep your eyes closed, or I'll stop. I mean it."
He closed his eyes again, letting his head fall back.
"All right," she said softly. "Think of Nancy Zimmerman. Can you see her."
"Yeah."
"What does she look like."
"Why?"
She pinched him lightly. "Ow! Damn it, Sis-"
"Forget about Sis. It's Nancy Zimmerman. And keep your eyes closed. Now, what does she look like?
Describe her."
"Well, she's-she's a little shorter than me, and she's got black hair, kind of short but not too short, and-um-brown eyes, I think, and she's got a great body, solid but ... very curvy, you know? With these really big, terrific ... uh..."
"Tits?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. Now, you're all alone with her. Just the two of you. In one of the schoolrooms."
"One of the schoolrooms!"
"Yes, but it's late, it's after school and there's nobody around."
"Then what are we doing there?"
"How do I know? But you're there. And she's wearing-what is she wearing, Tommy?"
"I don't know what the hell she's-"
She placed one finger lightly on the shaft of his penis. The finger made a slow, teasing journey up the side of it to the tip, and then back down. "What is she wearing, Tommy?"
She heard him swallow. "She's wearing a ... a sweater," he said after a pause. "One of those pullovers she's always wearing, to make herself stick out in front. And one of those real short skirts."
"Okay. Now there you are, the two of you..."
"How come you don't want to know what I'm wearing?"
"Be serious," Justine said. "You're alone with her. Now what do you do?"
"I rush up to her, rip off her clothes, throw her down on the floor and-"
"Tommy!"
"What?"
Her finger made its little exploratory trip again. "Do you want to go on with this?" she asked softly. "Or don't you?"
He nodded. "Yes."
She let the finger maintain contact with his flesh, just lightly enough to let him know it was there. "Then you better do something," she said. "Nancy's about to leave."
"No she's not."
"Yes. She's walking toward the door."
"I'll stop her."
"How? Tell me."
"I go and stand in front of the door."
Justine made her voice higher, breathier, trying to sound as she imagined a high-school girl might. "Tommy," she said, her finger beginning to move on him with infinite slowness. "What's the matter? I have to go home."
"No you don't. Not yet."
"Yes, I do. I-Tommy? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Come here, Nancy," he said. "What for."
"I want to-"
"Keep your eyes closed," Justine said in her normal voice. Then she resumed her role. "You want to what?"
"I want to kiss you."
"Tommy!"
"Come here."
"Certainly not. What's the matter with you?"
"All right," he said, "if you won't come here, I'll come there."
Her finger moved on him just a little. "Tommy! Tommy, wait! What's the matter with you ? Tommy, let me go!"
"No," Tommy said, unmoving.
The finger moved again, and she felt his penis jerk in response.
"Oh, Tommy, please, what are-" she said in her Nancy-voice. "Oh, you mustn't!"
"I'm kissing you," Tommy said.
"Mmmmmm." Her hand stroked his erection. "Ohhh, Tommy, your lips, your mouth on mine ... kiss me again. Mmmmmmm ... mmmm ... mmmm."
"Kissing you..."
"Ohh, I shouldn't let you but I can't help it. You're so terrific."
"Nancy..."
The teasing fingers stroked lightly up and down. "Can you feel my lips against yours? They're so soft. I'm kissing you back now, I can't help myself. I'm holding you tight. Can you feel my body ? My breasts against your chest, pushing into you. Can you feel them, Tommy?"
"Yes, yes."
The hand on his shaft continued the slow, steady stroking. "Put your tongue in my mouth. ... Oh yes ... mmmm ... mmmm ... Tommy!"
"Oh ... Oh god!"
"Tommy, oh Tommy, what are you doing?"
"What?" He sounded startled.
"What are you doing? With your hands?"
"I-I'm-I'm feeling your tits!"
"Ohhh." The fingers on his shaft accelerated slightly. "Oh yes, I love the way you squeeze them. It just thrills me."
"They're so big."
"What are you doing now?" she whispered, stroking.
"I'm-I'm taking your sweater off," he croaked. She gasped as if in shock. "Oh, Tommy, you mustn't."
"Oooooohhh, you're so masterful." Stroke. "So strong." Stroke. Stroke. "What do you see?" she whispered.
He swallowed. "Brassiere."
Her fingers circled his stiffness. "What color?"
"Black."
"Yes ... black against my skin. Do you like black underwear."
"Yeah."
"My panties are black too," she breathed. "Yeah?" His hips had begun to writhe under the tantalizing fingers. "Take it off," he said. "What? The panties."
"No. The brassiere."
"Oh, you're naughty."
"Go ahead."
"No-o ... I couldn't."
"I'll take it off, then."
"Wait!" She spiraled the fingers around his rod. "Don't you want to take my skirt off first."
"No."
"But-"
"The bra, dammit!"
"Oh! All right, Tommy. You don't have to get rough. I'll take it off." A pause, as her teasing hand caressed the sensitive ridge of his phallus. "There, see? I'm unhooking it. I'm taking down the straps ... and taking it off. There. Can you see my breasts ? My tits?"
"Yeah."
"Tell me."
"They're-they're big ... big and round, and ... solid. They're all smooth and white. Except the nipples. Red nipples."
"Yes. Can you see the nipples getting hard?"
"Jesus!"
She curved her fingers gently around him and began a light, lazy, irregular stroking up and down, up and down. "You like them?"
"I-they're great," he got out. "They're just great!"
"Touch them."
"Yeah." He was raising and lowering his hips in a vain effort to somehow speed up her maddeningly deliberate caresses.
"Oh, Tommy ... I feel your hands on my naked breasts. Uhmmmm, they feel so nice ... rubbing ... feeling ... oooh ... stroking my nipples. You're driving me-"
"Lie down," he said.
"Lie down? Where?"
"On the floor."
"But I'll get all dirty," Nancy/Justine protested.
"I don't care. Lie down."
"But what about the rest of my clothes?"
"Never mind."
"But-"
"I want to do it on your tits," he said. "On my..." She was genuinely surprised. "Yeah."
"Oh, Tommy! You're terrible!"
His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and he writhed under her magic fingers. "I want-I want to put my cock between them. Then..."
"Yes?"
"Then squeeze them together and rub it against them until I come."
"Ohhh..."
"All over you."
She gave an excited whimper-which was not entirely unfelt-and her hand on his shaft speeded up. He was not far from climax. "All right, Tommy," she breathed.
"Lie down," he said in a choked voice.
"I am," she whispered. "I'm on the floor. Go ahead, Tommy. Do it. Do it now."
"Yes," he said, trying now, she knew, to delay the onset of tumescence under the steadily increasing rhythm of her knowledgable hand. "I'm-I'm taking out my cock."
"Yes. Oh, it's so big!"
He was trembling. "I'm putting it between them. Between your tits."
"Yes!"
"I m squeezing them together."
"Yes! Yes!"
"I'm rubbing it-"
"Oh yes! Oh, Tommy, yes!"
"Between them. I'm-"
"Ohh! Oh, yes! Oh, Tommy."
"I'm-"
"Yes, Tommy, yes!! "
"I'm ... comm-"
"Coming! All over me!. "
"COMING!! "
TWENTY
"You-you're not going to tell Mom about this or anything, are you, Sis?" Tommy said.
Justine laughed. "Are you kidding? She'd have a heart attack."
"Boy, you know it! Once she found a girlie magazine in my desk and she nearly beat the crap out of me."
"Food mother," Justine said. "You know, the reason I'm here for lunch today is so she can talk to me about my morals. She thinks I'm a fallen woman."
Tommy nodded. "You don't know the worst of it."
"What do you mean?"
"She's invited Father Corrigan to lunch, too."
"You're kidding!"
"Nope. She wants him to have a little heart-to-heart talk with you. In fact, after lunch she and I are supposed to take off so he can talk to you alone."
"What!"
"That's right. It's all set up."
"Oh, for god's sake!" she fumed. "I'll kill that woman. Damn it, I told her I couldn't stay long anyway. And I certainly don't need any lectures from any priest. Listen, maybe I'll just leave right now. Tell her I called and said-"
"Too late," Tommy said. He was looking out the window. "I see them coming."
"Oh, hell." In another moment she heard the sound of the front door opening. "Well, we better go down and face it. Zip your fly."
Tommy did so, blushing, and they went decorously downstairs.
Father Corrigan was a man of about fifty, who had been the priest at nearby St. Martin's for as long as Justine could remember. His hair was nearly all gray now, and he wore steel-rimmed glasses and the usual garb of the priest on a relatively informal mission, the stiff black suit and the clerical collar.
Lunch was an ordeal of small talk: the weather, Tommy's school work, Justine's job, the decline of the neighborhood, etcetera. And sure enough, when it was over and they were sitting with coffee in the living room, her mother made some feeble excuse to enable herself and Tommy to leave the house.
"I'm afraid I have to leave, too," Justine said.
"Oh, not yet, dear," her mother said pleadingly. "Stay and keep Father Corrigan company for a little while, won't you?"
"Yes, please do, Justine," the priest said. "It's been a long time since we've seen each other."
"Of course she will, Father," her mother said; and she was gone before Justine could protest, sweeping Tommy before her.
Justine sighed. "I'm sorry, Father Corrigan," she said. "I don't mean to be rude, but I really do have to go. There are some things I have to attend to."
"I'm sorry to hear that," the priest said. "Your mother particularly wanted me to have a little chat with you."
"Yes, I know she did. But really, Father-no disrespect meant-but I'm afraid it would just be a waste of time. For both of us."
"Oh? Why do you say that?"
She shrugged. "Let's just say we don't have very much in common. We see things differently. And neither of us is going to change the other."
Father Corrigan looked grave. "Your mother feels that you may be deeply troubled."
"Troubled?" She laughed. "I'm not troubled, Father. On the contrary, I'm happier than I've ever been. My mother just doesn't approve of my ideas of happiness. And I'm sure you don't either."
The priest took a breath. "People sometimes believe themselves to be happy without truly being so," he said. "Is it possible that you are confusing happiness with ... other things?"
"Such as what?"
"Well, pleasure, perhaps?"
"I see. And pleasure is bad, is that it?"
"No, not necessarily," Father Corrigan said. "Unless it goes contrary to the will of God."
Justine shifted impatiently. "Well, Father, I'm afraid I don't know very much about God. But if there is one, I can't believe that any pleasure-as long as it doesn't hurt anybody-could be contrary to His will."
"But the Church teaches us-"
"Oh, I know! Forgive me, Father, but I know what the Church teaches us. Original sin, and all that. Sex is bad-it is sex we're talking about, right? It's wrong, it's loathsome, don't do it, don't even think about it, because it's a sin. It's even one of the seven deadly sins-though what's deadly about it I for one don't know. It seems to have more to do with life than anything else I can think of!"
The priest smiled slightly. "Perhaps you're not quite as conversant with Church teachings as you think," he said. "It's lust, not sex, that is one of the deadly sins-which are called deadly, by the way, not because they are not lively, but because they give rise to others. But the Church does not condemn sex, in its proper place."
"Oh sure, if you're married, and you do it only with one person forever, and in the right way and for the approved purpose. That's deadly. And anyway, what's wrong with lust? It's fun, and it's certainly a natural impulse."
"There are some natural impulses which it is our duty to combat."
"Why?"
"Because they lead to evil."
"But who says it's evil."
"God does."
"Oh-" She had to close her mouth tightly to keep from swearing. "Then why did he give them to us in the first place? No, never mind, I know-there are answers, to that too. Free will and all. The Church has it all figured out. But I can't go along with it, Father, I'm sorry."
"Why have you turned away from the faith, Justine?"
She shrugged. "I lost most of my faith a long time ago, I guess because I felt my life was meaningless. But it kept on being meaningless because I held on to just the part of the faith we're talking about-the prohibition of sex, and I was miserable. Now I've found a new faith: sex. Or lust, if you like. And I'm fulfilled and happy."
"Are you really?"
"Damn it, yes! I'm sorry, Father. Anyway, that's why I can't believe this business of combating your impulses. It's unnatural. It only leads to frustration if you succeed, and guilt if you don't. Either way, it makes people unhappy."
"Not if they have faith," Father Corrigan said.
She was exasperated. "Really? Does that make it different? What about you, Father? You certainly have faith. And you've surely combated your impulses. Are you happy?"
"I believe so."
"And you've gone all these years-all your life-without having sex? Without needing a woman?"
"I am a priest," Father Corrigan said simply.
"Yes, but you're also a man. Haven't you been tempted? Don't you wonder what it's like? Don't you sometimes see a woman and wonder, deep down inside, what she looks like naked? Imagine yourself in bed with her? Don't you have normal lustful desires?"
The priest cleared his throat. "I will not deny that I have experienced the temptations of the flesh, particularly as a young man. But I have struggled to defeat them, and succeeded. I have subordinated my desires to the will of God. There, you see, is where true happiness lies."
"And you never regret what you're missing? Don't you wish you could succumb just once?"
"My faith has given me strength."
"How nice for you," Justine said curtly. The priest's complacency was upsetting her. His implicit condemnation of her new-found happiness made her angry. "So you've conquered all those nasty evil thoughts and now you're pure and sexless, right? You could be in the same room with a naked woman and it wouldn't bother you a bit. You could be in the midst of an orgy and be cool as a cucumber. You'd just call on-"
"Justine, I don't think-"
"Let's just see," Justine said suddenly. She stood up and began to unbutton her blouse.
The priest looked shocked. "Justine! Miss Jones, please! What are you-"
"What's the matter, Father? A woman undressing doesn't shake you up, does it? You've defeated those feelings, remember?" She had got the blouse open quickly, and now she pulled it off and threw it on the chair she had been sitting in.
Father Corrigan rose hastily, anger darkening his face. "I'm leaving now," he said, and started for the door.
Justine ran to get in front of him, then planted herself firmly against the door, her back to it. "Not so fast, Father!" she said, her eyes blazing. "What are you running away from ? Are you afraid of seeing me naked? Afraid you'll get dirty thoughts? Pure man of God like you?"
"Let me pass, Miss Jones," the priest demanded.
"Not yet, Father. I want you to see my breasts." Her hands went swiftly behind her to open the brassiere clasp. "I bet you've only seen breasts in religious pictures. Well, these are real. Look!" She stripped off the brassiere and dropped it on the floor.
Father Corrigan's eyes were stern, his mouth set in a thin line, but his face was reddening. He had begun to tremble, though whether with anger or something else, she couldn't tell. She cupped her hands under her breasts and lifted them, holding them out towards him.
"See, Father? These are breasts. Tits. They're God's work too, aren't they? Wouldn't you like to touch them? Just to know what they feel like?"
Father Corrigan deliberately turned his back on her. "I don't know what you're attempting to prove by this behavior, Miss Jones," he said in a gruff voice, "but you are simply making a fool of yourself, and worse. I find it deeply shocking that you should mock God by trying to corrupt one of His servants."
"Why won't you look at me?" Justine demanded. "Is a pair of tits too much for you? Where's your faith?" She stepped up to him quickly and clasped her arms around him from behind, pressing her naked breasts into his back.
"Stop!" the priest cried, trying to pull her arms away. "Stop that at once!" He managed to break away from her and turned around, his face redder than before. He started for the door again, but she stood in his path.
"Don't go," she said. "Don't go yet, Father, or I'll come after you and say you tried to rape me."
"Nobody will believe such a thing," Father Corrigan said, but he didn't move. His eyes, she saw, were trying very hard to stay away from her breasts, and not completely succeeding.
"You don't want to go, anyway," she said, and she opened her skirt and let it fall.
"Justine..." For the first time she detected a note of weakening in his voice.
"Look at me, Father." She stripped off her panties. "This is what a woman looks like. A naked woman. Do you like it? How does it make you feel?"
The priest said nothing, but she saw him swallow. His eyes no longer looked away from her body.
She took a step toward him. He backed away hastily, retreating until his legs bumped against the sofa.
She moved forward slowly.
"Justine..." he said pleadingly. "Don't..."
When she got close to him, she raised her hands to the lapels of his black suit-coat. She could feel him trembling hard. She pushed the coat back over his shoulders. It slipped off his lifeless arms and fell to the floor.
Then she put her arms around his neck and brought her body against his, pressing the length of her body tightly into him. His breathing became labored.
"It feels good, doesn't it?" she said softly into his ear. "It excites you. You want me, don't you, Father? Wouldn't you like to take me?" She shifted against him. "Tell me, Father. Tell me how much you'd like to do it to me."
"No," Father Corrigan said weakly. "No."
"Don't lie, Father, it's a sin. You do want me; I can feel it. You lust after me, Father Corrigan. You're lusting right now!"
"God help me," the priest groaned. "It's true."
"Of course it is." She took her arms from his neck and slid down his body until she was kneeling in front of him. His black trousers, she found, had a zipper just like those of ordinary men. And when she had pulled it down, what was inside was no different either.
She worked the stiff phallus out through his fly, stroked it a few times, then brushed it once, very lightly, with her lips. Then, with her mouth so close to the head of it that she knew he could feel her warm breath as she spoke, she said, "Do you still want to leave, Father? Still want me to stop? Just tell me and I will. I'll stop right now and get dressed and leave you alone. Just tell me you want me to stop. Go on, Father. Tell me."
There was a long silence.
She kissed the head of his shaft, softly and lingeringly. "Tell me," she whispered.
"I can't," Father Corrigan said hoarsely. "God forgive me. I can't."
Immediately, as if in reward for his admission, she took him into her mouth. Her lips slid up and down his length several times as her tongue caressed him, bringing forth a series of anguished moans above her. Then she rose and began to undress him. He stood motionless and allowed her to do so, as if his will were paralyzed.
When he was as naked as she, she lay down on the sofa. She stretched herself out tantalizingly, breasts winking up at him, one leg dangling to the floor. Her own excitement was rising rapidly.
"Come on, Father," she breathed. "Take me. Take me now."
"God forgive me," Father Corrigan said again; and then, with a sound like a sob, he lowered himself on top of her.
Justine gave a happy sigh and reached down to find him and guide him into her. He cried out as he entered her. She raised her hips to help him penetrate her fully; and when he had, she wrapped her arms and legs around him and proceeded to give him the best lovemaking of which she was capable. She wanted to make it so good for him that he would never forget it, so good that he would never again look down with such superiority on the pleasures of the flesh. She writhed and twisted against him, arched and squirmed, bucked, rolled and gyrated, and all without ever losing the steady, gradually increasing rhythm of her hips. Given his inexperience, Father Corrigan could do little but hold on to her tightly, gasping and moaning unceasingly at the unimagined pleasure she was bringing him.
It didn't take long; within moments he was groaning out his orgasm. As soon as it was over, he tried to pull away; but she held on to him, retaining the grip of her arms and legs.
"Stay," she whispered. "Stay. You can do it again." And ignoring his feeble protests, she concentrated on arousing him a second time, shifting her body beneath him, rubbing him with her thighs, contracting the soft clasp of her vagina around his slowly reviving flesh, until before long he was ready again. She took it easier this time, making it last longer, but still giving it everything she had.
"It's good, isn't it, Father?" she panted as her body churned under him. "You love it, don't you? You love my body ... and being inside me ... doing it to me. You love it, tell me you love it ... Say it, Father."
"God save me," Father Corrigan rasped, pleasure and agony warring in his voice. "I don't want to. You're evil ... You're so evil...."
She was furious. It maddened her that even while taking her, he was putting her down. "You rotten hypocrite!" she cried. "Look what you're doing, you prick! I'm screwing you silly, and you love it! You're wallowing in it! And look, Father, nothing's happening! No lightning bolts. No wrath of God striking you dead. Just you and me, Father ... fucking! And it's not evil, damn you ... it's good. Fucking is good! So fuck me, Father ... fuck me and love it!"
She redoubled her efforts. Her anger had greased her responses, and when he climaxed a second time, she came with him. This time she let him go, and he pulled away immediately and sat on the edge of the sofa with his face in his hands.
After a while he rose slowly and, with his back to her, began mechanically to put on his clothes. He looked old and tired.
Justine watched him with a curious, nagging feeling of frustration. "Well, Father," she said as he was putting on his suit-coat, "I suppose now you think you're going to hell, right? You've committed a sin, and you're doomed to eternal torment. That bit of pleasure put you in the fire forever. Is that what you think, Father?"
He still did not look at her. "I don't know," he said in a nearly inaudible voice. "I shall have to confess, and repent. And then I shall pray for forgiveness."
"Yeah, you do that," she said disgustedly. "And after you're forgiven you can go out and do it again."
"No," Father Corrigan said. "I will never be that weak again." v
Anger flashed through her again. "Sure, that's easy to say now, with a drained dick," she snapped. "But you just wait a while, Father, and see what happens. You go back to your little box and your beads, and you pray for forgiveness. And then you remember how it was. Remember what I looked like, and the way your cock felt inside me, and what we did, and how good it all was. And then see if your God can match that. Just see!"
"I shall pray for you, too," Father Corrigan said.
"It's a little late for that, Father," Justine said, and then she began to laugh as she realized how true that was. It struck her so funny that she couldn't stop laughing; she laughed and laughed, and she was still laughing when Father Corrigan went out, shutting the door behind him. And then she began to cry.
TWENTY ONE
It was her last night.
The week had gone by so swiftly she could hardly believe it; but there was no getting away from it-it was nearly gone and she had only a few more hours.
And she knew exactly what she was going to do.
All week it had been floating around in her mind. She had thought about it, debated it with herself many times. It would not be a good idea, she had told herself. It couldn't lead to anything; it wouldn't really do any good; in End it would just cause more unhappiness and sorrow. Forget it, she had told herself. It's in the past now. There is no future. Leave well enough alone.
But all the time she had known she would have to do it.
She would have to see George.
How could she go back without seeing him? Without telling him that she knew what a fool she had been, how stupidly wrong she had been to let herself lose him that way? Without telling him-showing him-how much she had changed? And how much she loved him.
Yes, she had known. And she had known she would have to do it on her last night, so that there would be no complications, for either of them. Just one night, and then goodbye.
And that night was here.
She dressed with particular care, and went out. It was a lovely night. She breathed deeply of the soft air. There would be no nights like this where she was going, she supposed. What would there be? She pushed the thought aside. Concentrate on now.
As she rang George's bell, her heart was pounding wildly. What if he wasn't home? What if he didn't want to see her? What if he had another woman there?
George opened the door. He looked surprised, but pleased. Relief washed over her.
"Justine!" he said.
"Hello, George. May I come in?"
"Well, sure! Please. I'm sorry, but I'm surprised to see you."
"I know." She went in, and he ushered her into the living room. She turned to face him. "George, I-I wanted to apologize. No, wait," she said, because he started to interrupt her. "Listen to me. Please. I've been so stupid. And I wanted to tell
"Justine, you don't have to-"
"Yes, I do!" she cried. "Don't you see? I was such an idiot! I drove you away because I was so-because I was afraid. Afraid of something I'd never had, something beautiful and-and wonderful. Well, I'm not afraid any more, George. Do you understand? I'm not afraid any more."
"Justine..."
"I love you, George," she said simply. "And I want you. Please take me."
He stared at her. "Justine, I well ... are you sure?"
To show him, she started to undress. Standing before him, she slowly took off all her clothes, not teasingly, but calmly and deliberately. As she bared her body to him, she saw desire grow in his eyes, and she was glad.
When she was nude, she stood quietly, letting him look at her. His face expressed his feelings. "You're beautiful," he said softly.
She smiled at him. "I'm not, really," she said. "But I'm glad I please you."
He came to her, and they kissed. It was a long kiss, and in the midst of it her heart leaped as she felt the unmistakable evidence of his desire surging against her loins. When they broke apart, he undressed, and she helped him. Then, with their arms around each other, they went into the bedroom.
On the bed, she rolled joyfully into his arms, and her body surged against him. He held her tightly; she felt the whole of his warm, hard length pressing itself to hers. She gave him her mouth, her lips sweet and yielding. Her tongue fluttered against his lips, then moved into his mouth, probing gently. Her hands stroked his back. He moved his own hands over her eager body as her legs caressed his. Her breasts molded themselves against his chest. He lifted his mouth from hers and bent his head to kiss one, moving his tongue over the quivering nipple.
"Yes," she whispered into his ear. "Oh, yes."
Her hips arched, writhing gently. Her hands explored further, sliding over his sides and down around his hips. Her fingers touched his erect staff. Passion pounded inside her.
"Now, George," she breathed.
She opened her legs to him, and he positioned himself above her. He found her moist opening and guided himself to her, joining them slowly. They gave a simultaneous gasp of pleasure. She let her breath out in an unsteady sigh as he closed the gap between them, sinking gradually, beautifully into her. Their loins pressed tightly together for a long moment. Her legs curled over his, using them for leverage to work herself even closer to him. As they started to move together, the legs began to climb, her eager thighs and calves sliding up his body gradually, until they were locked around him, drawing him to her.
They moved in a steady rhythm. She clung to him desperately, panting into his ear, writhing her torso as she felt his cock churning inside her. Her lips slid over his face to find his mouth again, her own mouth open and searching. He thrust his tongue into it, caressing the inside of it. She stroked the tongue with her own, moaning.
She had never felt such sweet passion. It proliferated inside her, filling her whole being. George moved faster, and she matched him thrust for thrust, her moans growing louder. Her arms and legs tightened on him, straining. They drove at each other. Her head rolled, her mouth still against his. She felt herself embarking on a long, final crescendo. Their movement began to accelerate steadily. Her head now fell back and her moans became cries as their bodies lunged faster and faster, rushing toward the beckoning climactic moment. She felt herself sliding over the brink of control, hanging there for a long moment of sheer bliss; and as she felt George's body spasm against her, she gave a final drawn-out cry and arched from the bed, plunging into the cavern of ecstasy.
They lay quietly for some minutes after they had subsided, holding each other. But she had not finished proving herself to him; she had only started. Soon her hand began to steal slowly over him until it found his groin again and fondled him gently. Then she started to slide down his body, kissing his chest and moving lower. He stopped her.
"Let me, darling," she whispered. "Please. I want you again."
He let her go. She moved still lower. She stroked his quiescent cock and then put her lips on it, caressing him sweetly. She stoked his lust with the soft persuasion of her pliant mouth and squirming tongue. She sucked and licked him until he rose again, as hard and stiff as before. Then she slid back up his body and positioned herself atop him, taking the rigid phallus into her waiting vagina. Her thighs lowered as she descended slowly over it. She smiled down at him and began to raise and lower herself in an easy tempo.
He moved with her, responding to her sensual motions. Her breasts bounced rhythmically. He reached up and held them in his hands, stroking them, exciting her nipples as they moved against his fingers.
After a minute he pulled her down against him and rolled her over, and again they began the long, exciting journey up the mountain of desire. This time her climax was even more satisfying than the first.
Later, they lay in each other's arms again. After a while, she began a campaign to arouse him still a third time; teasing him with every part of her body, wooing every part of him with kisses and caresses, going on erotic little excursions along his skin-now brushing him lightly with her tingling flesh, now plastering all of it at once against the length of him. Finally, he came to her again. This time it was long and slow and sweet, a prolonged and deliberate mating that sent a new kind of thrill through her. They moved without urgency, exploring each other, whispering, looking into each other's eyes as their passion mounted by infinitesimal degrees. It went on and on, every languid movement adding to their building desire, until it overcame them at last, and once again they moved fiercely together in a whirling spiral of need which culminated in the most shattering intensity that she had ever known.
When it was all over she lay beside him, her arms holding him close to her, her head resting on his shoulder. There were tears of joy in her eyes. It had been the finest, the most wonderful experience of all, more meaningful than anything that had gone before. It had been more than sex; it had been love. Sex was fine, exciting and beautiful at any time, but experienced with love it was the epitome of everything magical, an incomparable fulfillment.
And now she realized more than ever the depth and magnitude of her love for George. The love she had felt for him before seemed niggardly compared to how she loved him now, now that they had so totally shared each other. She didn't want to leave him. She wanted to stay with him forever, live with him, sleep with him, be his woman. Oh god, she didn't want to go back!
She wouldn't, she decided suddenly. She wouldn't go. She wouldn't.
Could they make her? How could they, now that she had found herself and her happiness? She felt strong now, stronger than they; her love gave her strength, made her sure that if she really wanted to, if she really exerted her will, she could stay here, here where she belonged. Wasn't love supposed to be more powerful than anything? Even the devil? Especially the devil.
She clung tightly, desperately to the man lying beside her, and she said silently to whomever was listening, whomever was waiting to snatch her away: I'm not going. Do you hear? I'm not going back. I'm staying right here. You can't take me back. I love George and George loves me, and I'm going to stay here with him forever. You have no power over me now; I know it, I feel it. There's no way you can make me go back, and if you think you can, you just try. Just try.
"Justine," George said.
"Yes, darling."
"You were good. You were very good."
She thought for a moment there was something strange in his voice, but she dismissed it. "Thank you, darling. It was wonderful for me too."
There was a long pause before George spoke again.
"What do you take me for?" he said.
She was bewildered. "What?" She raised her head to look at him.
He pulled away from her and sat up, his face dark with anger. "I said just what the hell do you take me for ? Do you think I'm stupid ? Do you think I'm a complete idiot?"
"George! What do you-"
"For Christ's sake!" he snapped. "All that time playing the scared virgin, the prudish little spinster. Then coming here and all of a sudden you're the sexpot of the year. Am I really supposed to fall for that?"
"George, you don't know what you're saying!"
"Oh, come off it, Justine! People don't change like that overnight. You just gave me the best damn lay I ever had. You didn't learn all that in a week!"
"Oh, George, don't, please!"
He shook his head. "My god, all those months holding out on me. Putting me off. So shit-scared of sex you couldn't even bear to be touched. Quite an act."
"It wasn't!" she cried. "It wasn't!"
"The hell it wasn't! That was supposed to get me so hot and bothered that I'd marry you, right? That was the idea. And when that didn't work and I walked out, then you play it the other way: come over here and turn into Cleopatra. Well, that won't work either, baby. Oh, you're great in the sack, it was a terrific performance. But if I want that kind of an act I can go to any whore in town."
Hot tears stung her eyes. "George, listen. Let me explain, please..." But how could she explain? He would never believe the truth. Who would? What could she say to him? There was nothing, nothing....
"Oh Christ, don't make it any worse!" he raged. "Don't give me any more lies!" He hit his fist against his knee. "God, I was a sucker; I really fell for it. I loved you! It put me through hell to stop seeing you, do you know that? I really thought you were something special. Repressed and uptight, yes, but special, someone I could love, not just another scheming slut!"
Now the tears fell, coursing thickly down her cheeks, falling onto her breasts. Sobs shook her. She covered her face in despair. "George ... George..."
"Get the hell out of here," he said flatly. "Get out of my bed, get out of my house. I never want to see you again."
Crying and shaking, she pulled herself off the bed, stumbled into the living room and struggled blindly into her clothes. Then she left the house. She didn't know how she got home. She ran all the way, seeing nothing, aware of nothing, sobbing convulsively, unceasingly. People looked after her curiously, but no one stopped her. Most of them were in a hurry to get to their destinations. It had started to thunder.
It was raining.
She walked naked into the bathroom. She took out the razor. She lowered herself into the water. She pressed very hard on the blade and drew it steadily, in a straight line, across her wrist. The water turned slowly red.
TWENTY-TWO
"It's time," Abaca said.
"I know."
"Are you ready?"
"I-I don't know. It went by so quickly."
"Yes. I'm sorry."
"Couldn't I..."
"What?"
"Stay here."
"No."
"Just for a little while."
"No. It's time."
"But I-I did well, didn't I? I've done everything I've been taught, and more. Doesn't that count for anything?"
Abaca shook his head. "I'm sure you've pleased them. But I've told you before. I did warn you, you know. Nothing can change ... ever. Come now. Take my hand."
"I'm frightened."
"Of what?" He smiled slightly. "A fiery furnace?"
"Well ... yes. I guess so."
"There's no such thing. It's a myth. You'll see. You will not be in pain. Now come; time is important. Take my hand."
"Take my hand!" She obeyed.
TWENTY-THREE
It was a small bare room, no more than a cell really, though there were no bars, just the gray walls, the bare floor, and one wooden object in a corner that looked like an abandoned chest. There were no windows and no doors.
On the floor near the chest a man was sitting, studying his hands. He didn't look up at her. It was hard to judge his age, but he didn't seem old, though his hair was mostly gray and he had a short gray goatee. He was wearing a tee-shirt and dungarees.
Was this ... hell? It looked like a dreary place to spend eternity. But at least there was the man. With a man it could be tolerable, perhaps even pleasant. In fact, she was already feeling the stirrings of desire. An eternity of lust. Why not?
She cleared her throat to get his attention. "Well, I ... I guess I'm here," she said vaguely.
Now the man looked at her. His eyes had a strange, unfocused look. "Silly thing to say," he said in a soft, almost whiney voice. "Of course you are."
She walked over to him and sat down on the chest. The desire was growing stronger; she didn't know why or how, but she was suddenly flooded with passion, and this man was obviously here to satisfy it.
She smiled at him. "It's just that I didn't expect ... this."
The man looked back at his hands. "No," he said petulantly. "Who'd have expected this? Maybe ... maybe witches and goblins running around sticking pins in you." His face twisted. "Or rats, thousands of rats, staring at you. Eating your flesh, and picking out your eyes. Or roaches crawling over your skin." He shook his head sadly. "No rats, no roaches."
What was he saying? Her blood was racing. She felt wet between her legs. She reached down and rubbed herself there. Oh god, she was hot. "Well, anyway, we seem to be here together, so why don't we make the most of it? Wouldn't you like to make love to me?"
"I found a speck of dust," the man said. "It was so tiny, I don't know how I found it. It was shaped kind of odd. It was ... pointed, it wasn't round. I thought a fly must have done it."
"Listen," she said urgently. "I want you, don't you understand? I'm so hot. Let's make it. It'll be good, so good...."
He looked at her almost angrily. "I'm not crazy. Flies eat. They have digestive tracts, don't they? Oh, you can't see him. He's too smart for that. But if you listen-if you concentrate and listen ... I close my eyes and I pretend I'm asleep. You must sit very still. Pretend you're asleep. And he comes out."
She tried to laugh. "It seems like a silly waste of time, pretending you're asleep so you can hear a fly. There are so many nicer things we can do."
"You don't think it's important. I know. But you'll see."
"Oh, look." She reached up under her skirt for her panties, raised herself up to pull them down, and took them off. Then she pulled back her skirt, pushed her hips forward and spread her legs. "Do you see what I have for you? Look, it's all wet and juicy. It wants you. See how the juice flows out of my hot cunt?"
He looked back at his hands. "You think I'm crazy."
"Oh please. Touch it. Stick your fingers in here. Or your tongue. I need a tongue. I want you to lick my cunt."
"He's here. Somewhere. I know it. Don't you see, I must pretend."
"Bring me your prick. That's what I want most. And I want to suck on it. I want to feel it in my mouth. Taste it. Then when it gets all big and fat and hard and slippery ... then you can stick it in my ass."
"I must pretend. I must pretend. If I fall asleep he could be out flying around. I'd never hear him."
"Oh please, it's right here, please touch me, please!"
"You have to listen or you'll miss him."
She had to get off, she had to, or she would become as crazy as he was. She put her hand between her legs and caressed herself, one finger deep inside her cunt, others stroking her clitoris. It only got her hotter. Her hand moved harder, faster, and she got hotter and hotter, but nothing happened. It wasn't going to happen, she realized. Something was wrong; she couldn't get herself off. She needed a man. She needed a cock.
"Oh please," she begged desperately. "Please! Just touch it. If you touch me I can get off. We'll get off together. If you'll put your cock in me. Just put your cock in me. That way I can get off. I can't do it by myself. Damn you. Touch me, please. Damn you! Look, when you're finished-when you're finished, I'd love to suck your cock. You won't have to do anything. Just lie there. Just, lie there and I'll lick you all over and I'll suck your cock and I'll suck your balls and I' suck your ass, your beautiful ass."
"Shhhh," the man said. "Shhh. Close your eyes. You'll see. I'm not crazy. He's here. You'll see. He'll come out. He's here. He'll come."
She stroked herself harder, she plunged her fingers in and out of her cunt, but it wasn't going to work, she knew it wasn't going to work. Not by herself. Never. Forever, not getting off. For eternity.
"It's right there. It's right there. Just touch it, and I'll get off. We'll get it off together. Damn you, I can't do it by myself! Just stick your cock in me and then I can get off. Please help me get off. Please touch me. Damn you. Damn you!"
The man said nothing.
She flung her head back in torment, her hand flailing frenziedly between her legs, calling now not only on the silent man but on anybody, anywhere, who could hear her, who could help her-Abaca, the Teacher, the world. "Help me. Damn you, please. Please help me. Damn you! Damn you! Please help me. Help me. Help me! HELP ME!"
