Almost one hundred years ago, H. Spencer Ashbee wrote about the pleasures of flagellation. He said that "this strange propensity, considered as a sensual pleasure, as regards both recipient and administrator" was undeniable.
In the course of this book, modern readers are given the chance to observe some of the strange propensities of a young woman whose pain-pleasure syndromes do not derive directly from the act of chastisement, and, in fact, this physical element of "pain" is only briefly touched upon. Yet the basic fact of debasement and chastisement is certainly present in this sometimes terrifying novel of sadism, degradation and rampant sensuality. The pain, in this case, is mental, and as Ashbee had pointed out about flagellation it becomes very sensual indeed.
For the uninitiated, pain may seem the very opposite of the pleasures of sex. Yet when one thinks about the subject of sex, one is often struck with the fact of certain elements of cruelty. From the friendly pat on the lovely round butt of one's girl to the sometimes sensual spankings that take place between married couples, to the more brutal fact of sex crimes, it is obvious to anyone that pain and sexuality are different sides of the same coin.
The following novel does not pretend to be a treatise on the subject of pain and pleasure. Its purpose is to entertain and, only by the nature of its frank and sometimes shocking material, to educate us into accepting that basic fact of mankind that we are all capable of letting our "baser" emotions take over.
Lilly, the heroine of this exciting novel, is the very ideal of a college professor's wife. She is highly intelligent, very beautiful and, like many intelligent and beautiful people, curious. Her curiosity, of course, is the story, and a wilder story of sexual degradation-and fulfillment, we might add-would be hard to find.
Fortunately the author does not burden the reader with Lilly's psychological hangups. Instead, he narrates them in a drama that tells the reader that the heroine has them and leaves the diagnosis up to the individual reader. This is not a technique; this is simply good story-telling, and like the classics, its message, if one could call it that, is secondary to the pace and excitement of the story itself.
Like classics, too, the story of Lilly holds well to its single theme. In this case, the real "letting-go" of what must run through a million women's minds, the idea of sexual bondage, helplessness and total dependency, is what happens to the heroine. At first glance the idea that any "normal" woman would want to experience what Lilly does seems preposterous, particularly in this age of "Women's Lib." But is it preposterous? If it is then all of Western folklore is nonsense. We would then have to assume that the handsome prince need not slay dragons in order to rescue the fair maid. And liberated financially and professionally, which women certainly are entitled to, one must still question whether women are "liberated" that much emotionally. And, as the man once said, neither are men and "hurray for the difference."
In this novel of Lilly, we are given a chance to look into the secret soul of a single woman, although by extension she could be almost any secret soul of any woman on earth. Lilly is human and if what she does with her life strikes the "normal" person as depraved, let him or her examine his own soul. Sexual fantasy, if one wants to call this very explicitly written book that, is as necessary to mankind as the differences of the sexes. Lilly is playing her own role, her real role and, while we may not agree with her method, she comes through as something less hypocritical than some of the women we all know-and some of the men.
In short, there are two overweening elements in this startling book, pain and pleasure-humiliation on the one side and a hedonistic element of a woman letting herself go all the way. At another time and another place, we might have been able to judge her for her actions, but today's morality forbids judgments. We can only judge what we know and not many are able to define morality for others. For most, Lilly's behavior may be reprehensible, but "one's man's meat... another's poison" is probably the only morality today with any validity. Lilly hurts only herself perhaps and that is in keeping with the ideal that we are all our own keepers.
Despite what Lilly does, she emerges pure. It could be argued that what she does lets others become less than pure, but we have to take the stand that Lilly never hurts anyone. The motorcycle gang's motto: "Owned By Ourselves" could be the same for all mankind. Those that used Lilly and became less than pure did it by themselves; ergo, Lilly remains innocent. Crude as the motto may be, it is still one of the truths.
And if this story seems to dwell on flagellation, which in a sense it does, then we must ask "What is wrong with that, if it hurts no one else?"
The Publishers
1
No man back in England would ever look at her that way! Lilly didn't know whether she liked it or not. Well, she thought, you just have to adjust. This was the United States, a small college town-and after all, the young man in the black leather outfit had no way of knowing she was a professor's wife, and not just one of the college girls that sat sipping Cokes around the university coffee shop. And that flattered her. She was eight or ten years older than any of them, and yet he was looking at her. And how he was looking!
"Pass the sugar," he said, and their eyes met again. He didn't ask, he commanded. And strangely, that thrilled her too. The other girls were staring, smiling at him, creaming their britches, as it would be said back in her native England. But he was ignoring them, only staring openly at Lilly's slim legs, her full tits, her tightly rounded ass sitting on the counter stool. She sipped the last of her iced tea. Silly, she thought, and tried to regain her composure. But his eyes! They never left her, and that, for some strange reason, had her breathing heavier. She paid her bill, and walked to the door, playing lightly with the fantasy of an hour alone with him-where no one could see. But this thought wasn't like Lilly, and that was even more confusing than his obvious lustful stare. Am I that eager for an adventure-something different? she asked herself. Nonsense. Bored and flattered, perhaps, but nothing more. She raised her arm to open the door but his hand was on it first, his eyes now burning into hers. He pointed to a motorcycle parked on the sidewalk.
"Let's go!" he ordered. Lilly felt her knees go weak, Maybe it was the crudeness of his male voice that made her obey without question. She hesitated, and then surrendered to the temptation.
"Let's go!" he demanded. The words gripped her. Dumbly, weakly, she moved to the shuddering shining machine, turned awkwardly, foot on the too-small chrome peg, skirt riding up on her thighs as he looked, smiling, at her flesh, she knew what his eyes were thinking, what his mind was assuming, what her own mind was struggling against. She tried to mount sidesaddle behind him.
"Cut that shit!" he sneered. "Get your ass over it, get up! C'mon!" He flicked his wrist. The megaphones spat smoke and a belch of motive unrest. Lilly reached out, knowing there would be no turning back. She gripped the thick leather of his jacket with her small gloved hand. She might even die on the machine at his hands! She raised her leg and mounted the peg in the familiar riding gesture. The contained power of the bike shivered under her foot, all the way up her leg. She gripped the back of his jacket with both hands, pausing in sudden comprehension of the immodesty she'd be displaying. But man and machine pulled her on. She swung her other leg up, throwing it over the back of the monster, the skirt of her dress hiking up to the tops of her thighs as her legs spread, quickly sitting down, feeling the warmth of the leather seat pad nudge up against her crotch, loosing one hand in a vain attempt to pull her skirt down a bit. No choice but to grip his hips with her inner thighs to conceal her underclad private parts.
Chung! The ringing sound of transmission cogs. Crack! The pipes running under her buttocks spitting sound. Whump! The bike leaps off the sidewalk into the street, she grabs at him with both hands, nearly flung off as the chromed steed charges down the lane, shoved up against him, her breasts pushing into his back, her face momentarily buried in his unkept hair as the bike hunkers to a perfunctory stop. Then the rage of noise and heat again. She flings her arms around him, portrait of an abducted rider, rape of a Sabine woman, forced to lock her arms around his waist, laying her face against the back of his jacket as the wind roars past, knowing she doesn't dare look over his shoulder without shitting in her panties for fear of vehicles and everything else sizzling past, hoping her feet won't slide off the small pegs which raise her knees high in the air.
Cold air rushing up her skirt, blasting at her crotch, the naked skin between stocking top and underthings, gritting her teeth as the bike yaws to left and right, whipping around corners, breaking for the riverbank expressway in a head-turning blur of shrieking metal and their two forms; lunatic how she let herself do this, her thighs rigid as she clamps her knees around him, leans forward as he settles down under the wind, her hair flying behind her, drowned in the roar of motor and torrent of air.
Her eyes tearing, Lilly sees the last snatches of recognizable university skyline as the bike heads upriver, irrational fear that the machinery underneath them will explode as he winds it up through one gear after another, until the wind is shrieking so loudly she can't even hear the cycle. Startled to find her hands locked together pressing against the flatness of his belly, hard masculine stomach banded with muscles, no softness, no yielding, excites her terrifically, and as the engine sings a high trumpet note of satisfaction, propelling them past every other vehicle in the thinning traffic, she becomes aware of the intense vibration under her, her body balanced on her sensitive crotch parts, almost numbed from the wind now that her skirt is blown back against her belly baring the white band of her panties to anyone quick enough to see under the high angles of her long legs, the vibration, song of resonant machinery, making lightning flux against the padded seam of her female parts, blurring buzz of the bike melting the fleshy fulcrum that is separated from the seat by the thinnest of fabrics, she realizes she's been stirred inside, the simultaneous heat and coolness down under the fulcrum betraying the fact that her intimate organs are secreting moist evidence of arousal, the small seat now like a delicious dancing whirring wedge shivering up in her crack, softening her, intoxicating her, as she lays her body down, molding it to the curve of his leather backside, eyes opening just enough to watch the green and gray of land and buildings slide past.
All thoughts leave her mind, and Lilly knows she never wants the erotic agitation welling up in her body from the piston-pounding pulsing to stop, she never wants to stop the ride she has volunteered for, submitted to, turning her back on her life and, in one weak instant, accepting all the excitement that makes her bite her lip now and press her wet shivering crotch down on the shuddering seat as she locks her arms tighter around him.
The tighter she held him, the more Greg thought he could hardly wait to get it into her. Looking down at her gloved hands locked around his leather-jacketed waist, remembering the glimpse of her shapely inner thigh as she mounted, he knew she was going to be even better than the bitch in New York last year. Her legs were so slender, but they looked so lush. And strong, shee-it, the way she was holding onto him with her knees, he knew he wanted her squeezing him like that, but not because she was riding his bike. There was something about fucking rich bitches, especially when they were all dressed up. It turned him on, almost as much as a hot old mama slithering around all covered with come and crap, begging for it. Yeah, something about these snotty bitches, they all needed the same thing!
The bike swung off the highway and careened up a dusty access road leading to a sheltered meadow near the county water reservoir. He pried her hands apart and dismounted, stepping back to take a long, devouring look at his prize.
Lilly could hardly believe the noise had stopped. Gradually, over the snapping sounds of cooling metal contracting under her, she opened her ears and eyes to the green glade they were in, still too weak to trust herself to stand up if she got off the motorcycle. She felt glued to the seat where the now-slushy warmth of her crotch mashed wetly underneath her.
Greg swore to himself as he realized just how beautiful she was. Real class, fucking first class, no question about it! Like she'd come right out of some high-fashion magazine ad for bikers, sitting like that on his hog, her skirt practically up around her waist, those long pale legs gleaming in soft contrast to the hard rigid lines of the motorcycle. Just from the way she was sitting, he knew she was hot. Like a goddamned virgin, he laughed to himself. Even better than giving it to them, he loved the way these snotty girls around the university got sexed up from riding astride the bike. She looked like a perfect candidate for the joke they had about the artificial cock they were going to install on the back seat so a bitch could do it on her own as she rode along.
"Ooooo, that was marvelous, absolutely marvelous!" Lilly sighed, awkwardly clambering off the bike, giving Greg a glimpse at her stained panties as she lifted her leg over the seat. A quick look at the tempting band of lily-white silk that stretched temptingly, tightly, over the mounding triangle that tapered down to the apex of her perfect thighs.
Before she got clear of the cycle, he stepped forward, placing a hairy hand on her bosom and pushing her back, making her lean against the steaming Harley. His other hand yanked up her skirt in a quick motion, baring the junction of her legs and then low-slung cradle of her panties. He jabbed with his forefinger, lewdly boring between her silken thighs with the digit until his fingertip was hooking up into the sodden squinching fabric that concealed her agitated bush.
"Son of a bitch! You're just running with it, ain'tcha? Got that pussyjuice running right down your leg, huh?"
"I beg your par... yieeee! What are you doing? No! Oww-stop! I say, stop! What's the matter with you!" Lilly shrank away from his obscene exploration of her body, her ears burning at his words. She tried to worm away but he quickly straddled her leg and pressed her back and down.
"No, leave off, don't. Don't you dare!" But Greg was pulling her panties off, hooking his strong fingers in the flimsy waistband and dragging them down, baring her creammy belly with its fine line of delicate hairs crawling between the dimple of her navel and the glossy, full bush of her protecting, pubic hair. Trying to keep her thighs together, the panties lodged at their junction, but Greg was working them down over her ivory hips, laughing as he held her down, eyes gleaming as the pelvic perimeter which framed her female treasure was exposed to him.
When he had the soiled silk down to her knees, he rammed his hand up between her tightly clenched thighs, skewering mercilessly up with his finger, momentarily diddling the delightful thicket of her moistened crotch fur and then expertly jabbing up and back, sinking his finger between the puffy lips of her vulva, right into the hot mush of her shivering sex, enjoying the way her whole body stiffened as his foreign foray penetrated her intimate slit, entering her furtive furrow which she had never dreamed of yielding to him, taking her easily, pushing up to find the smaller ruffled inner hole of her cream-lined cunt, and in, past the second knuckle, until he had accomplished his finger rape of her inviting, glassy channel.
Lilly gasped, suddenly panicked, and lashed out at his face with a swinging hand. Greg batted her arm away and gave her a short hard slap with his open hand. Stunning her, the first time in her life a man had hit her, causing a brief lunatic frenzy in her mind, and then a complete collapse of will. She was so amazed she couldn't even respond to the injury. Amazed that the chastisement seemed proper, that the afterglow in her burning cheek merged with the involuntary glow his finger was stirring up in the liquid cavity of her very loins, the glow of desire flooding through her from top to bottom, flushing all other thoughts and principles away, telling her only that finally she had met a man, savage and dirty as he might be, who expected complete submission from her.
The awakening was shattering. Hadn't she toyed with the idea, the daydream, of some male asserting dominion over her, even over her body? And wasn't it happening in vividly real life, more unexpectedly than she could ever have hoped for? Lilly stared down at Greg's hand as it worked between her legs. The absolute brazenness of the finger digging inside her, revolving around and around, stroking the rim of her vaginal vortex with unbearable friction, delighted her. Hadn't she tried to resist? Wasn't it clear that he'd stop at nothing, at beating her senseless, if she tried to resist? She looked into his face at last, studying the knotted muscles of his jaw, the hard lines, fiercely, arrogantly handsome, the matted, long hair which hung to his shoulders, the two days or so of beard, the Corsican hook of his nose.
He was a savage, even to the dark, almost black eyes. She couldn't meet his eyes. They were too busy watching his own hand, feasting on the spectacle of his own fingers sullying her sensitive secret sex parts.
Lilly gave a sigh and sagged a bit, closing her eyes as if to deny the guilt that lingered in her as her assailant responded by thrusting his finger farther up into her hot hole, driving it in to the hilt, then rubbing his callused palm against the jellying hair-lined fissure of her vulva with maddeningly sensual motions.
Greg rimmed the tight ragged perimeter of her cunt with the thick of his finger, knowing the circular movement of his digit against the ring of pulsating muscle would complete the disintegration of her half-hearted resistance. He reveled in the capitulation her body displayed as he forced his finger round and round in the seething defenseless slot, at the same time grinding the heel of his horny hand up against the firm overhanging beak of her pussy that sheltered the hidden nugget of her vestigial trigger. He moved away from her, deliberately breaking all contact except that of his rudely manual incitement in the oozing orifice between her bowing legs, leering at her as she struggled against the writhings that began to wrack her voluptuous figure, watching her grip the machine for support as her legs twitched and spread to accommodate his obscene assault, enjoying the confusion clouding her face as his circular probings of her organs evoked the strained, flushed look of mindless desire on her lovely face, hearing her breath quicken, chortling as she gasped with pleasure at the way his finger churned in the cauldron of her lush tissues.
The young woman threw her head back, the tendons in her neck standing out under the circlet of her expensive scarf. Her legs bowed out widely, her hips jerking slightly, as she was forced to abandon her body, her loins, her tufted, slippery sex to the ministrations of his crude impalement. This was what he had anticipated in that brief look they had exchanged in the shop-that this beautifully dressed, elegant, shapely stranger would witness her own dignity, her feminine bearing, dissolve, ebb away, replaced by the strong single-minded drive of animal desire, her costly clothes in disarray, her knuckles turning white, skirt bunched up around her slim waist, wet panties sagging salaciously around her knees, the taut, lightly-veined bowl of her groin gaping to his hooking touch, her red lips parting as she panted, the pink of her pussy gaping and squashing on his hand, and, at last, her hips swiveling clumsily when she could no longer restrain the fires he had unleashed in her loins, swiveling and thrusting down in a depraved exhibition of submission to his fingering, displaying a witless wanton need to be taken, to be used, to yield to him like a whimpering hot virgin.
He tried to pull his finger out of the molten maw of her twat, but the woman seized his wrist, shaking her head violently.
"No, no!" Lilly gasped, in an agony of lust unmatched except by the passion she occasionally inspired in her body with her own small fingers, using the same devastating stirring motions he was ravaging her with. "Please don't stop!! I beg of you, don't stop, not now! Ohhhh!" she groaned, baring her white teeth and tossing her head wildly. She closed her thighs around his hand, desperate to keep the hard spit of his finger within the itching, burning circlet of her cuntal orifice.
Greg laughed coarsely. She was twice as hot as he figured. She'd fuck herself to death on his hand if he let her, like a bitch on fly. Good, that's the way he wanted it, to have her so hot she'd beg him for it like a nympho. This rich bitch, begging him for his cock, the huge hard-on that throbbed in his jeans.
"Real hot, huh, princess!" he sneered, forcing her to nod in degraded response as he shined his hand up and down, pressing it against the hooded crescent top that concealed her clitoris. "Ready for it, princess?" She nodded frantically, professing the kind of willingness that would let him take her right there, leaning upright against the hot cycle.
"Not gonna cry rape, are we?" he demanded, giving his buried finger a twist that brought a moan of mixed pain and pleasure from her puckering mouth.
"Want me to fuck you, to-fuck-you-right-now-right-here-with-all-your-clothes-on?" he teased her, drawing each word out, working his finger in dexterous punctuation until she was nodding like a puppet on a stick.
"Say it, princess, go on, tell me!" he urged her, as her face knitted in ignorance and bafflement. "Ask me for it!"
"Please, can't we... I mean, will you, oh hurry! Please hurry!" Lilly babbled, unable to concentrate on anything but the crawling sicky sensations of ungovernable lust that tormented her belly and private parts.
"What's the matter, bitch? What do you want? What's your problem, princess?" he goaded her.
"Oh please, please, I'm so sexed up, I need it, please. What do you want from me. Ohhhh! Oh god, I can't stand it!"
Her words made Greg want her twice as much. But at the same time, he discerned in her frantic need to actually be satisfied, a new opportunity, a chance to really bring to life the fantasies he had entertained about the fancy broads he sometimes picked up around the university for a quick lay. This could be more than that. It hadn't taken much to reduce her to a whimpering cunt. A little more work, and she could be much more than a fast score. Much, much more, limey nympho that she was. He wondered if her old man had ever made her come, guessed not from the abandon he was driving her to. You couldn't tell with upper-class cunts. They were funny. She was amazing. Unless she was putting it on, he really had come on to something, and he knew intuitively how to handle it, how to set this opportunity up for a lot of future mileage.
"You want my cock, princess?" He watched her carefully, seeing her wince automatically at the message, but immediately overcome her reaction to the words and nod affirmatively. He undid his massive belt buckle with one hand, loosing the thick leather band around his waist, noting how her bulging eyes followed every movement, as she tossed and bucked atop his pivoting finger, futilely striving for release.
"You want my cock?" he repeated. She nodded, shook her head, her hair shaking out like a glossy mane. "Say it, come on, let me hear it!"
"I do, yes, I do," Lilly panted. He wouldn't be happy until she had sunk to his gutter depths completely. That's what he wanted, what he was forcing her to, to enter his world without any scruples or hesitations, to sink into the muck of his existence and parade her uncontrollable desire before him. She had always heard that's what all men wanted, but this was the first time a man had enforced his will this way, taking her step by step into an utterly surrendering role simply for the sake of his pleasure and for the obvious delight her yielding afforded him.
"Do? Do what, bitch?" he coached her, twiddling his finger in her torrid tunnel until she could scarcely stand the roiling ripples of need.
"I want it," Lilly hissed, hanging her head abjectly for a second, then jerking it up as he rooted into her body with such force that she was almost lifted from her feet atop his worming hand.
"I-I want your cock, I want it now. God, yes! Oh, how I want it! Fuck me! Fuck me with your cock, please. Oh please do, please. Please hurry!" The words came in a stream once the dam of her inhibition had broken. "I must have it, please, I must. Let's do it, hurry!"
"Come and get it, princess," Greg nodded, smiling lewdly and pushing his hips forward. There was no mistaking the gesture. Rolling forward on her feet, Lilly reached out, hesitated, then removed her gloves, dropping them to the ground, baring her dainty hands, reaching out with them over his arm that connected their bodies, grasping for the fly of his jeans, struggling with her small white fingers as he smiled down at her humiliation, trembling and fudging it but at last getting the buttons of the greasy denims open, one after the other, her eyes growing wide as she saw that he was wearing nothing underneath, wider still as without warning his fully erect and engorged penis suddenly lurched out of his fly, curving up in a thick heavily-veined phallic shank surmounted by a bloated purplish ball of shining glans that pulsed toward her, emitting a viscous drop of seminal fluid from its single eye as she recoiled from the consequence of her compliance with his lewd scheme.
"How about that? Can't wait to feel that inside you, can you?"
"N-no..." Hideous as it was, she knew he was right. She wanted more than anything that the ceaseless teasing of his finger should be replaced with the bludgeon bulk of his organ inside her. Her mind fought for control of her, telling her no. But the burning between her legs, the insatiable itching that ate away inside her, demanded a coupling, the depraved adulterous union of her dripping bird with his meaty sexual stanchion.
Greg pulled his finger out of her steaming hole so rapidly that a sensation of collapse accompanied the popping sound his withdrawal produced. She ground her thighs together, trying to control the hunger they framed, looking around for a suitable place in the grass to sprawl in wanton welcome for her kidnapper.
"Unh-un, keep your little ass right there!" he cautioned her. "Want to fuck now?"
"Good! Hoist your skirt up, all the way up, that's it, up around your waist. No, leave your pants where they are, right at half-mast. Now turn around!"
She obeyed, mystified, almost jumping an about face, showing him her delightful pair of jutting buttocks as she held her skirt up and rolled it about her tapering waist.
"Yeah, real pretty, princess, now bend over, right over the hog." He moved up behind her as she reluctantly bent over, semi-naked, leaning on the broad seat of the motorcycle, the fine line of her cheeks opening to a widening crack where the fleshy globes curved down to meet the backs of her thighs.
"Spread your legs, spread 'em good!" He imagined how the pinky hair-lined rims of her pussy were parting as she angled her legs apart, planting her heels in the turf. It was all he could do to resist plunging his rod right into her ass, severing the split between the two pale melons. But he crooked his legs, angling up under her until, when he rose up, the blunt head of his member insinuated itself against the heated damp of her genital gorge.
"Can you feel my cock?" he questioned her, deliberately teasing the gaping gully with his prick head, anointing the bulbous tip by rubbing it tenderly against her sopping pussy petals.
"Yes, yes I can, I can feel your cock. Come into me, now, now!"
"Anyone ever fucked you like this?" Greg asked brazenly, touching her body only with the sensitive tip of his rod, letting it skate up the creamy crack until at a certain point her outer fatty lips seemed to part for it, to pull at the rounded cudgel-end.
"No, no one," Lilly gasped, wriggling her buttocks, praying he'd slide into her before the tight bands of desire in her belly snapped from the tension.
"Like a dog, right? Like a bitch. Want me to fuck you like this?" As though he were giving her any choice but to accept his most perverted whim.
"Yes, oh please do, fuck me like a dog, take me. I can't stand the wait, please put it in, put your cock into me, please, I beg of you, pleeeeease!"
The pleas rang musically in the cyclist's ears. He nudged up a little more, savoring the way his bloated foreskin was swallowed right up between the soft slippery walls of the gulch her bending body presented to him. He pushed a little more and sighed with pleasure at the delicious thrill evoked by the inner noose of her vaginal aperture as it slid over the penetrating tip of his prick.
"Back up, princess, come on!"
Lilly rose up, fearful that he'd break contact, but moaning with joy as he straightened up behind her, sending the curving shaft of Priapic passion sliding up into the elastic sheath of her craving cunt. His hands jerked her blouse from the bunched skirt around her waist, swam up under the fabric, his fingers rudely shaking her swelling chest, poking into the lacy cups of her bra, pushing the garment up and off her tender rigidly-nippled breasts, then cupping them, taking the ripe mounds wholly in his hands, scouring the crinkled buds of her mammary glands with his callused hands, squeezing them until the pressure on her swelling flesh equaled the compression of displacement his penis made as it filled her cuntal canal completely.
"Bend over, princess, ah, farther... farther... touch your toes, ahhhh!" The clasp of her cunt was fantastic on his inflexible instrument of lust. He bent over on top of her, pushing his face into the rich mane of her musky-smelling hair, kneading her delicate tits in his horny hands, beginning, as she spraddled pathetically on all fours, to ease his blood-filled organ in and out of the sweet trough, her twat, turned back to him.
"Ohhhhhh, yes! Oh, yes, do! Do! Do! Do! Ohhhhh, you can't imagine, oh it's divine, oh! Come all the way in, all the way, fill me, all of me, fuck me, yes! Yes! Yes! Ahhhhh! Ay-yiiee! Ohhhhh! Ohhhhhhh! Faster, yes faster, yes do, I can feel it deep inside me, I can feel your cock all the way in me, right up in my belly..."
Her description was his victory statement, better even than the alternate surrender and suction of the spongy slippery socket he screwed his prickling, pulsating penis in and out of, ramming her buttocks so hard she nearly toppled beneath him, feeling his balls swing freely, swaying wildly with the load summoned by the exciting hardening spring of tension his cock was rousing itself to as it scudded in her jerking, sucking depths.
"Ohhhhh! Oh, darling, Ohhhh! Oh yes, come up, come up, ream me, fuck me, oh shit! Oh bloody hell! Oh, Christ, it's marvelous. It's never felt so good! So good! So damned good! Oh! Ohh! Ohhh! Ohhhh! Ohhhhh! I'm coming, can you feel it. My whole cunt is convulsing-oh shit! Oh, Jesus! Oh my god! Oh darling! Ooooohhhh! Good god! Ohhhhh! My cunt! It's on fire! I'm on fire! Agghh! Ohhhh! Yaaggh! Ahhhhhhh. Come my darling! Come! Now! Now! Yes, yes, oh lover, oh yesssssss-ahhhh."
It took a long time for her mind to return to thoughts of her husband, Wayne, and what her life with him had been like.
So very, very different from this!
2
They would go to bed together at first, in the Cambridge house the first two years. Wayne would come to her in his pajamas, looking like a little boy on Christmas Eve, all covered up in flannel armor. He would give her a few initial pecks on the cheeks and forehead-so bloody patronizingly. And then he would ask her if she wanted to make love! Asking permission, in his low rational voice, like a petrol attendant inquiring whether her tank was full. How she hated it, those requests, to which she had to accede before he'd make the slightest move. "Yes, darling, let's do." Even then he'd ask again, several times, as if he couldn't believe she really wanted him, or as if he didn't really want to consummate his flirtations. "Yes, Wayne, let's do, get on with it!" she'd be forced to grind out, all interest in the business long having left her.
And then he'd set to unfastening the bodice of her nightgown, carefully as a surgeon changing the dressing on a wound. Breathing heavily, murmuring the while, always stopping at each stage to ask her permission until she wanted to sit upright in the bed and scream her frustrations to the world: "Dearest, may I kiss your breasts; darling, does this appeal to you; Lilly, dearest, are you ready for me; darling, shall we finish or is that enough for you?" He would never stop picking his way through the course of lovemaking, never just fall on her and wordlessly, passionately, screw her until the wound-up tensions in her body burst and relaxed altogether.
And sometimes she'd be so frustrated by the whole performance that she'd involuntarily change her irritated denials to an affirmation, letting her temper, her physical frustration speak for her: "Darling, have you come yet, shall we keep on or am I tiring you, shall I withdraw now?" Yes, damnit, Wayne, get off, go on, I've had enough!
And she knew what his subsequent disappearance meant, since the one time she'd slipped out of the bed after him and silently padded down the hall, kneeling before the lavatory door and peering through the keyhole at her husband's doubled-up form-the portrait of contortion he presented, grinning in the feverish grip of eroticism as he finished whacking himself off. Lilly suspected that he welcomed the opportunity to withdraw in mid-coitus, that perhaps he used intercourse only as a means to get his wretched little phallic ornament stiff enough to effectively masturbate himself, once he departed from their marital bed.
Back in a minute, just going to the loo, he'd say, pulling her nightgown down over her loins as she brought her legs together and gritted her teeth at one more unfinished coupling. Off he went down the hall and Lilly knew, when she heard the surreptitious click, that he had taken to locking the door behind him for fear she might actually confront him in discovery of his self-abuse.
But she'd be lying in bed, no fear of bursting in on his abject, pathetic onanism. She'd be thinking of her stepfather, picturing him large and gruff, the mirror opposite of the skinny, soft-spoken effete university type symbolized by her unfortunate husband, Wayne.
How his voice boomed when he called for her in a rage. She'd freeze in her tracks in the gardens, at once thrilled and terrified by the sound of his voice, the particular tone of outrage he used when they were safely alone, her mother gone off the grounds, the servants on their holiday or erranded out of the main house. It was up to her either to run to the house and submit to him that much sooner, or to stay stock-still where she was, letting him stomp the garden, shouting for her, his footsteps on the gravel growing heavier as he threaded through the maze of bushes and openings and discovered her hiding place. Either way, she'd be snatched up and transported to the porch, crying with fear at the same time she was excited out of her mind. He'd sit down on the broad bench, leaning back in a reclining position, before throwing her girlish little form across his lap, face-down.
The ritual became so established in the course of the second summer that, when he had her pinioned over his thighs, he no longer even bothered to enumerate the crimes she'd committed, the errors responsible for his fury of castigation. Rather, he just defiled and cursed her in an unending stream of epithets garnered from his long life in various services, throwing at her phrases and expressions she had no inkling of but implicitly understood just as a dog cringes to the tone rather than the content of his infuriated voice.
So, he would revile her, burying her in a cascade of verbal abuse and insults as his great rough hands pushed the skirts of her pinafore up around her waist. Wretched, nasty little girl, filthy little creature, horrid toad must be punished, mustn't she, foul little excrescence, clumsy little bastard must have her lesson to remind her what a nasty criminal she is! He'd pant and puff, going on, ultimately to speak against her dead, real father, until she was weeping half-hysterically for shame and terror. Yet, filled with apprehension and panicky as she was, she was also agitated with excitement as his large, hairy fingers pulled her knickers down, baring her childish bottom.
He'd push the undergarment and her stockings down around her ankles and then pull her body over his lap so that her torso hung diagonally down from one side, her legs down the other, the fulcrum of her crotch resting on his own where, as her punishment progressed, she became aware of the most mysterious pressure.
Then the beating, harsh, fast and open-handed, stinging the tender flesh of her tiny buttocks until she wailed with pain. Sometimes, when he'd get carried away and really was beating her until the twin globes were agonizingly raw, she'd seize his leg with her diminutive hands and bash her forehead against his ankle in a frenzied attempt to blot out the awful torture.
Breathless, sobbing, half-sick from crying and pain, she'd be held in place over his lap, tensely awaiting a possible afterthought of a blow to her backside, when slowly, insinuatingly, his hand would worm between her undeveloped thighs, signaling to her that the beating was over, that she could unclench her pain-paralyzed buttocks a little, and relax the throbbing muscles and tendons that webbed across her small back and hairless legs. Still whimpering, with his other hand perhaps clenched in her hair or wrapped in a cruel grip around her neck, she would remain almost motionless, quivering, easing her legs apart a little to accommodate his outrageous advances at the seat of her body.
And the abuse would never stop, the verbal whipping and derogation. "Ah, y'little slut, y'filthy little tramp, you like to show me yer quim, do ye? Shameless, sluttish girl, open up yer legs, then. You're no better than to be whorin' at yer age, worse'n animals in rut, open up and keep quiet about it or I'll knock yer head off..."
Shivering, wanting what was coming, but so full of childish fears, of terror not only at his unpredictable brutality but of the vulnerability of the circumstances surrounding these early sullyings of her body, Lilly would spread her legs and give him the access he sought, allowing him to crook his hand against the very seam of her crotch, boring down with his thumb between the bubbles of her buttocks until he had found the puckered portal of her anus, while, with his index finger, he went so far as to actually penetrate the secret naked fissure of her sex and then, as she lay wriggling atop his intrusion, not understanding why she was feeling what she was feeling but revelling in the bizarre ticklish sensations that shot through her body as a result of the friction between her childish narrows and his violating finger, he more often than not jabbed his thumb into the excruciatingly tight tiny ring of her anal sphincter until she struggled in his lap like a rat on a spit. The more she shrieked and writhed under the surrogate sodomizing his digit administered, the more intensely her pubic parts rubbed against his upward-rooting forefinger. Like a child on a terrifying ride at the amusement park, her struggles and shouts not only revealed the real pain and shock she was suffering, but also betrayed the fact that she enjoyed the torments by which her depraved stepfather was taking advantage of her girlish charms.
Now, two decades later, the details of what he actually had done to her, the clinical questions as to whether he had or had not defiled her secret parts with his forceful finger, were vague and blanked out in Lilly's mind. What she did remember, vividly, was the thrill, the riveting mix of terror and anticipation as her stepfather seized her and prepared to throw her across his lap. From that point on, her body, her being, her life was no longer her own. Her clothes, modesty and decorum ripped from her, she had become used to being utterly dominated by a man, the innocence of her life ravaged by inexorable and insatiable male demands applied to her by brute force with a complete disregard for her wishes, her pain and her pleasure.
So it was difficult, if not impossible, to relate to Wayne's timidity, his shows of veneration for the female temple of her attractions, his obsequiousness before every fancied response she might or might not be undergoing as a result of his mouselike venturings into the sphere of sex.
Admiring Wayne as much as she did, with profound respect for his intelligence and scholarly dedication, not to mention her appreciation of all the qualities of breeding and background that made him such an eminently suitable solution for her sudden irrationally flustered uneasiness about marrying herself before she was forced to leave Cambridge and go down to the real world outside, Lilly had wanted to give herself wholly and lovingly. But from the first time Wayne had touched her, accompanying the caress with one of his simpering questions-"Too hard, my dear?"-she had known it wouldn't work.
For more than a half a year, she had borne it as best she could in Cambridge, offering up her body for his weekly conjugal visits, opening her intimate trough to his nervous penile stabbings, swallowing her anger at having to respond to his endless, inane questions-"Shall I go this way, from side to side?" "Does it bother you if I come all the way in, like this?" "Do you think you're wet enough? I think perhaps we could do with more."-even ignoring her own passion when he abruptly left her, pulled up his pajama bottoms over the angry red lance of his phallus and waddled off to the lav, there to finish in his own hand what he couldn't generate in either of them by straightforward screwing.
But Lilly found, as the pattern of their marital activities became-dearly and unmistakably defined to her, that even had Wayne brought her to orgasm, remaining in her longer, finishing out for both of them, merely coming himself in her rather than stealing away to selfishly discharge his load to himself, she could not stop herself from remembering her stepfather, from dwelling on the old impressions of being taken by a man, bent to his purposes by sheer force, used according to his strength and greed, captive, submissive, sacrificial, a pawn to masculine drive and desire.
They each kept many of their old friends and beaux after marriage and Lilly eventually sought the spark that would set the embers of her desire ablaze by letting boys from the colleges take her on legitimate sorts of outings during the afternoons. But for all the episodes of boating on the Cam, the tennis games, the rides to nearby villages and architectural landmarks around East Anglia, even the one liaison that finally did result in infidelity, in going to bed with a young tutor, a mutual friend of hers and Wayne's, who turned out to be a sexual coward so fumbling and inept when it came to the test as to make her husband seem a virtual Don Juan. Lilly found no satisfaction. Day by day, week by week and month by month, the index of her frustration level rose until it was no exaggeration to say, as some did behind her back, that for a beautiful young woman, she was probably the first of their circle who would go completely off her head, do herself in, or some such.
One day, however, she had driven down to London to register a painting she and Wayne had purchased on the continent. On the way back, for some inexplicable reason, she stopped for tea, not at some jolly little roadside inn or inviting village pub, but at a roadside cafe, an establishment catering to lorry drivers and the like. She sat alone in the plastic surroundings, nibbling on a horribly stale bun and trying to sip a paper cup of cold, flat tea when a roar had sounded outside and a great shining motorcycle had flashed into the nearby empty carpark lot by the petrol pumps.
Then, like a fast movie, the rider had dismounted, swaggered to the door while unzipping his leather jacket, flung it open, walked over to the jukebox, and crammed in a coin, waited by the counter until the music he'd precipitated summoned the young girl in charge from the kitchen, grabbed her at the same precise moment she seemed to register an expression of shock at seeing him, as though it were an unpleasant and unlooked-for surprise, spun her out from behind the low counter as Lilly watched from the other side of the room, and slap-slap-crack-slap-whap, belted the young bird back and forth across the face, making her head bounce as if her neck had broken, until she sagged to her knees on the floor in front of him; let go her arm and, sneering at her, calling her every name in the book in a flawless tell-off, finished off by planting his steel-capped cyclist's boot right in her young bosom and giving her a shove that sent her sprawling backward in a jumble of limbs among the aluminum cafe furniture. And Lilly, open-mouthed, mesmerized by the performance, had followed him as he stormed out, her eyes meeting his for a brief, inarticulate second as he yanked open the door and looked around in defiance at the nearly empty establishment before striding out.
She did not rush to the bleeding, half-stunned girl's aid. She did not take charge, call for the police or in any way exert the sense of responsibility and command that her breeding required of her in situations such as this where a level head was required.
Instead she gathered up her purse and gloves, hurriedly plunked down change for her tea and, guided by a growing panicked impulse of desperation, she bolted out of the cafe. The attacker was just getting aboard his great chromed machine. Over a distance of some forty yards their eyes met under the impassive masks on their faces. Lilly let his eyes take control of her, telegraphing with her own the unqualified meaning of her appearance.
Then, when she knew from female instinct that the message had been received as transmitted, she turned and walked around the building, picking her way through the mountains of garbage, of rusted automotive and lorry parts, hearing after a few moments, the heavy tread of the steely boots behind her.
Biting her lip, she cleared the waste and refuse that surrounded the back of the cafe and started down a tin-can-littered grassy path that seemed to lead toward a stand of trees in the adjoining pasture lands.
But suddenly a strong hand seized her upper arm. She froze. Her body was yanked around. She looked into the dark gleaming eyes that bored into her face, then dropped and raced down her body, making instantaneous evaluations of the attractions she carried under her city clothes. He pushed her back, several paces straight, then to one side, then without warning, shoved her. She reeled back and fell awkwardly to a depression near the path which might be considered discreet in the sense that she couldn't be seen if she didn't stand up or if no one else ventured along the path.
The cyclist dropped to his knees and then fell on top of her. He grabbed her head between his hands and mashed his mouth against hers, leaving her breathless, a victim of her pounding heart and of his spontaneous design.
Wordlessly he ripped open her suit jacket and blouse, sending buttons spinning off in all directions. He pressed down with all his weight, practically standing on his hands, making her breasts spread beneath the pressure, digging his fingers into the soft layered flesh until she nearly screamed with displeasure.
But even as he pushed up her skirt and slip, she felt the vital tightness in her pubic region that had been denied her for so long. The cyclist didn't even take the trouble to lower his pants. Just reached into his fly and brought out his rubbery organ, proceeding to take her panties between his hands and rip the silky fabric to shreds with the demonic temper of a rapist, his pecker rising crimson and enormous to the sound of the ripping cloth.
Sharp rocks dug at her backside as he pinioned her, jacking her legs apart with one knee before clambering between her trembling thighs. He seized a leg in each hand and drew them straight up in the air, kneeling in front of her crotch. With her calves resting on his shoulders, he pushed his stony penis down, as an engine-driver would kick down a starting lever, deliberately forcing it axially into her sex parts until the head was half-wedged into her cunt.
Rocking forward and down, he brought her legs up over her body, forced them down past her head, sandwiching her beneath his weight, the way in which she was doubled up automatically spreading the slot of her vulva so that his penis sank into the pulpy pit and, as he eased it home, penetrated her contorted frame so deeply she choked with the sensation of the rigid thrusting.
Effectively, expertly denying her any participation by pinning her feet over her head so that her ass was turned up to him he scoured her quim with rapid willful strokes of his rock-hard joint; he nevertheless stirred a passion in her body from the unnaturally deep engorgement of his pulsating penis in her clamoring depths that quickly flamed to a white-hot point of explosion.
Doubled beneath him as she was, the spasms of her climax shook her so strongly that her rider nearly lost his seat atop the smooth backs of her thighs and buttocks. Unconscious of the discomfort then, she sobbed aloud with pleasure and relief when the fury of the unprecedented orgasm ebbed and abated; then, before she knew it, it was coming together, a hot unbearable rush arcing out from the seething slit that his long lance scored on its way into her creamy crevice, igniting every nerve in her body, the cords in her throat standing out, phenomenal gurgling sound chugging from between bared teeth as she fought to keep from blacking out, to keep conscious as every joint in her frame seemed to fuse for an instant and then disintegrate, drifting away as she rolled and washed in the successive, endless waves of a second searing orgasmic release. So deeply did she go under in the backwash of this added apocalypse that she didn't even notice when the churning staff that hooked in and out of her shot off its wads of scalding scum into the farthest confines and crannies of her inner organs. All Lilly knew was that the weight had left her, that she could uncoil her body, easing her legs back down to the ground as the warm overflow of spunk trickled out and ran down her crack. The cyclist never said a word, wiping his dripping prick on a torn fragment of her panties, stuffing it back in his greasy, tight-fitting jeans, and walking away, leaving her lying in the muck, her clothes ruined, her body ravaged, looking every bit the rape victim except that she had never rejoiced at any event in her life as much as in his rape-savoring and treasuring the memory of it, every detail of how he had hurled her down, bent her into a ball so that his reaming would go so deep as to leave her sore inside for a fortnight afterwards!
That was being taken by a man! She was so inspired by the experience that the fervor she communicated to Wayne enabled them to actually conduct intercourse with joint climaxes for several weeks afterward, although eventually Lilly became so annoyed by his mannerisms, the pale imitation of his orgasms and those he brought to her, and her own restlessness that they soon reverted to habit, and she became once more the victim of her husband's coy reticence and her own fantasies of bizarre stimuli.
3
Lilly was compromised the minute she shouted for Greg to stop in front of the lane that led to the charming colonial house the university had provided Wayne with for the year. For, as she hurriedly dismounted, trying to set her clothes straight, the young German housekeeper, Theresa, who came with the house, was coming round the corner from a shopping expedition. Lilly had no choice but to fall in with her as they both headed up the narrow lane leading to the house, the roar of the motorcycle reverberating among the college residence halls lining the lane as her incongruous chauffeur blasted away.
She'd had barely two weeks to get to know Theresa, who was extraordinarily efficient about the house and in the kitchen, but who annoyed Lilly with her Teutonically aloof and knowing manner. She tried to keep her bearings, acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world for the wife of a visiting fellow to be dropped at her front door by a sleazy motorcyclist. But as Theresa opened the door and stood aside to let her mistress enter, Lilly saw that the young blonde was smirking knowingly at her.
Ashamed that her first indiscretion in a new life in a new country should have resulted in such abrupt discovery by a member of the household, Lilly fled upstairs without speaking to the girl and closeted herself in the bathroom. She was lying in a hot bath, her clothes heaped carelessly on the floor, trying to blot out the events of the afternoon, when the door opened and Theresa slipped in.
Lilly stared at the maid who, quite arrogantly, seated herself on the toilet top and gazed at her expectantly. She was so surprised by the girl's brazen behavior that she didn't know how to respond at first, whether to throw her out on grounds of respecting her own privacy, or put with the discomfort of letting her stay, even though she hated to lie naked under the younger girl's all-encompassing gaze, to find out the reason for her intrusion. Neither one of them spoke for several minutes, until Lilly realized with a start that the girl was inspecting her underwater nudity with something more than detached observation.
"I don't think we need tell Mr. Hansen about my ride. It quite upsets him to think about motorcycles-even though I've always ridden them. All right?" she asked.
"They are very dangerous I hear," the German housekeeper replied obliquely.
"Who is dangerous?" Lilly rejoined, thrown off balance.
"That motorcycle gang. You were riding with their leader. No? You didn't know? He has a whole gang. People say to me they're the most terrible bunch in the city. I believe it, too. But I've always wished they would take me for a ride. Especially on the little one's green motorcycle. It's so fast, like the wind."
"How do you know so much about them-this gang, as you call them?" Lilly interrupted.
"Oh, they moved in on the university's territory last year. They took over the Pinball Shop as their hangout, you know. They always stay around there. The one you were with, Greg, he's not there so much. But the others-most of the time, especially at night. That one, who dropped you here, he's very handsome, isn't he? If he weren't so dirty-ugh! they're all so-"
"That's quite enough!" Lilly cut her off curtly. "I think we'll just forget all about him. You must have things to do for supper."
"He's the best-looking of all of them, really," the girl blithely continued. "But maybe if he had a scar, you know, like a dueling scar, then he would really-"
"Theresa! Can we please terminate this conversation. I'd like to finish my bath and you should get busy."
"Would you like for me to wash your back, yes? Yes, sit forward," the girl instructed, bounding off her seat and kneeling by the tub, "and I'll scrub your back."
Oblivious of her protests, the girl had snatched up a bar of soap and was lathering Lilly's long tapering wet back, covering her glistening flesh with mountains of sudsy lather. Lilly tried to find words to rebuke the girl again and again, but finally yielded to the slavishness of the maid, bending forward, breasts against her knees and letting the strong hands soap her backside from the gothic nape of her neck to the flat base where her back met her buttocks.
What a peculiar girl, she thought. So absolutely dense in some senses, but so eager to please. And she certainly did know her business. Mmmmmmmmmmm, she thought, moving her shoulders as the blonde servant kneaded her flesh with both hands, massaging and loosening the stiffened muscles, her hands sliding sensuously about with the aid of the soapy lubrication.
"If madame will stand up for a minute," Theresa offered.
"That's all right, thank you," Lilly answered, her lifetime's modesty in front of other women and male friends overcoming her instinctive desire to follow the girl's instruction.
"Oh, please, if you will stand up for only a minute," the girl said, her voice infected with a slightly imploring tone.
"Very well," Lilly acquiesced, getting warily to her feet with the aid of the chromium handrails on the wall, complying with the request because it seemed to her that by asserting her status over the maid and filling the role the girl was asking of her, that any indiscretions about what Theresa had witnessed were most efficiently controlled.
No sooner was she standing erect, dripping water from the points of her breasts, her elbows and the rich thatch of her pubic hair, than the girl doffed her shoes and stockings and placing her feet in the tub, seated herself on the edge, her face at hip level to Lilly's naked body. Embarrassed, the older woman turned around, presenting the blankness of her hip and buttocks to the girl's eyes rather than the immodesty of her genital region.
The girl bent over and began soaping one of her ankles. With strong deft movements, her hands moved up, kneading and squeezing the supple tendons and muscles of her calf; kept moving upwards, massaging the column of her thigh until she stopped just short of the indelicate point where the leg merged in its hidden socket with the trunk of Lilly's body.
She looked down wonderingly as the housekeeper bent back down and worked her way up the other leg, fascinated by the girl's expert abilities and unsolicited attentions to her body and surprised at the way in which the massage had coated both her legs almost completely with a creamy white layer of soapy film. She wanted to check Theresa's ardent labors when the girl began to probe with her strong fingers in the rounded hemispheres of her buttocks, but it felt so delightful that she kept quiet, gripping the handrail lest an involuntary jerking reflex as the forceful fingers seemed to dig through her soft flesh to the knots of muscles deep in her buttocks make her lose her balance in the slippery tub.
From a distant corner of her mind's past, Lilly conjured up an image from Swallowhall School, where once she had let herself half-succumb to advances from an upperform girl whose reputation for interest in her own sex had been a legend. She remembered lying stomach-down in the meadow near the playing fields, submitting to the ostensible back-rub which had inevitably turned into an exploration of her adolescent femininity by the older girl whose hands crept between the backs of her thighs as she feigned innocence. Lilly blushed scarlet at the memory, struggling for composure, fighting back the picture from the past that Theresa's massage invoked as her hands swarmed around the sensitive nerves of her fanny. Not that she suspected the girl of any ulterior motive, as eager to please as she seemed....
But she was profoundly grateful when Theresa slid her hands up over her hips, strenuously searching for the tight tense muscles that balled in the small of her back where her spine curved in, then traveled upwards, centimeter by centimeter jarring loose the knobs of her backbone spreading and splaying her knowledgeable fingers over the tendons in her long, firmly fleshed back. Theresa was standing in the tub with her now, kneading the roundness of her shoulders, making Lilly shiver almost imperceptibly as her fingers slithered round the base of her neck and explored the craters above her collarbone, tickling her as they moved freely over the soapy sensual lather. She bowed her head, shutting her eyes as Theresa massaged the nape of her neck, unable to keep from tensing, shamed as it made her, as the devilish digits crept right up to the base of her skull-one of the triggers of Lilly's sexual being. But then the maid was massaging her slender arms, wringing the firm flesh between both hands as she applied the second skin of soapsuds, spreading it over the pale complexion of the young woman's limbs.
"Oh, that's really marvelous! You're a dear, Theresa," Lilly sighed, arching her shoulders to test the new elasticity the massage had brought to her body.
But the blonde servant kept on, taking advantage of Lilly's partial turn in the tub to begin covering the last expanse of her naked skin with soapy professional caresses, reaching down as she faced her mistress and quickly smearing fresh gobs of thick lather over Lilly's abdomen. Then, before the other could react or protest, circling up with her open palms and darting fingers, climbing rib by rib so that her subject awoke with a start as the hands neared the twin cones of her lovely breasts, the only part of her body still peeping in flesh-tones through the mask of white soapsuds. Too late-Lilly felt the stabbing sudden jolt of compromise shoot through her, similar to that of their encounter when her unknown ravisher had deposited her at the corner of the lane. Too late to speak without betraying her suspicions, without seeming to yield to the girl who betrayed no flicker of improper interest in what she was doing. And what she was doing, incredibly, was pushing up under Lilly's breasts with her competent hands, forcing them up in bulging mounds on her chest as she discovered the secret muscles of anchorage that underpinned the bared mammary mounds.
Only when Lilly shut her eyes, trying to seal off her consciousness as when examined by a doctor or leaned over by a dentist, sparing herself the visual link with such unpleasant intimacy, did the maid permit a wry trace of a smile, letting her face settle into a slightly arrogant expression as she slid her hands, palms open, deliberately up over the luscious thrust of her mistress' symmetrical bubbies, coating them with the slimy soap-lather, squeezing and titillating the heavy orbs, withdrawing just as the soft nubs of the pink nipples stirred with the stimulation she had given them and began to stiffen and swell, pushing out like two erotic dots of punctuation from the shimmering white coating that completely covered the naked bather's beautiful body.
So that Lilly was left with her rebuke unspoken, a lump in her throat as she opened her eyes, not daring to glance down at the tightening protrusion of her aroused nipples, but watching the maid step out of the tub and smile obediently at her with a deferential nod of her honey-haired head.
"I hope madame is relaxed now," Theresa lied, beating her strategic retreat as the white mass of her mistress' figure stood slackly in the tub, one hand clutching the chromium rail. "Perhaps a nap before the evening. I shall turn down the bed, yes?"
"Th-thank you, Theresa, thanks, that was very nice of you," Lilly mumbled, unable to restrain her wide-eyed questioning expression as the girl slipped out of the bathroom and closed the door, leaving her alone.
Lilly stood weakly for a moment, staring after the girl, only gradually focussing her eyes on the full-length mirror and then realizing with a shock that the snow-woman who stared back at her was her own luxuriously-soaped body, frosted all over in a perfect silhouette of her figure and adorned, like a cake discreetly ornamented, with the cherry-like protuberances of her nipples peeping out pinkly in the reflection.
Hesitantly she lifted a hand to her bosom, sensing with her palm the stickiness of the soapsuds that settled like whipped cream on her skin. Then she shuddered violently, all over, like a puppy as the touch of her own hand released the flood of emotions that had begun welling up since Theresa had bent to stroke her lower legs.
I mustn't, I mustn't, no backsliding, she exhorted herself fervently as the glistening unreal reflection of herself shimmered from the mirror in an uncontrollable shiver of erotic muscular release. No, no don't, she pleaded with herself as the hand in the mirror skated across the shining slope of her bosom. Ah, but it felt so good to press her fingers to the aching points of her nipples, to play with her breasts in the easy motions that the lubrication of the lather invited and facilitated.
Her reflection became a blur, her eyes clouding with desire as her caresses resurrected the immediacy of the passion she had experienced only hours ago in her act of surrender to the demanding black knight who had plucked her up off the street and borne her away.
She stood, legs apart, in a gathering reverie, head tilting back until she could scarcely see how her reflection mirrored the minuet her hands performed as they snaked up and down her ethereally coated figure to answer the growing need for contact, caresses, tactile communication that a thousand different nerves in her flesh clamored for. Her lips parting, mouth falling open, abandoning herself to the gratification that would embarrass her as much in recollection as it excited her now.
It felt like someone else was there, searching out her hidden specially sensitive places, tracing wanton patterns of fingering admiration and desire in the glistening suds that emphasized her nakedness; someone else's hands were raking her waist, rubbing the concave bowl of her belly, plucking at the burning tips of her hot breasts, sneaking down between her bowing thighs to search, in the thick creamy goop of the lather that had coagulated at the apex of her body, for the pouting pit of her bruised sex, rooting madly of a sudden, with frantic fingers for the spunk-splattered slit which pulsed once more with an undeniable hunger.
Hating herself even as she formed the open arch, with her thighs to spread her vulva for her own hand, gasping like an animal when her fingers made contact with the slushy parts that lay buried under the glacial mass of suds Lilly closed her eyes to save herself the spectacle of her reflected figure, contorting and twisting atop her own penetrating fingers, rivulets of sweat streaking through the white skin of lather with a tracery that betrayed the agitation attacking her beneath the pristine statuesque shell of foam, trying to shut her mind off from the truth of the physical lust that she was forced to answer through the most incriminating form of auto-eroticism, and thus never seeing, much less imagining, that the slavishly selfless maid who had started her down the road to this frenzied form of finger-rape she had been reduced to, was leering around the edge of the door, gloating over the sight of her mistress' abject surrender to the coarsest form of self-abuse and gratification.
4
Walking to a bookstore and ducking into another shop when she heard the blast of his motorcycle racketing down the avenue; forced to stand her ground and continue chatting with the wives of the president and two heads of departments two days later when the cyclist whom she didn't have to see to identify drew up to the curb and impudently gunned the engine into roaring bursts of noise that came close to upsetting the women who had engaged her in pleasantries before he thundered away; chagrined after her midweek attempt to inspire Wayne to some sort of sexual command and competence-a session that he initially protested he was too busy for, and that ended with an outburst from her as he withdrew his maddeningly half-erect penis from the yearning cradle of her twitching, out-turned thighs and padded off to the lavatory; annoyed and flustered at having to deal with Theresa, who, it seemed to Lilly, had begun to find a great deal of time during her day merely to hang around the same room her mistress was in, as if waiting silently and expectantly, like a predator, for Lilly to make the first move and-and what? Invite her to give another massage? Confide in her? Play along and ask why she was mooning about so? And, finally, the strain of preparing for the Sunday evening reception-by week's end and on the eve of her own party, Lilly was a keyed-up, walking armature of vibrating nerves.
"My dear, I hope you don't mind my saying that you really seem to need some rest. The party's absolutely delightful and you look even lovelier than when we first met, but you seem to be tense, my dear. It can take a long time to adjust to the United States-after all, this is the home, the breeding ground of what Munthe called the 'curse of America,' isn't it? I think, if I'm not being too forward, that all the noise and hectic rush of this country may be taking its toll. Certainly it must be a shock coming from the enclaves of Cambridge. I don't know how we stand it ourselves. The old root-hog-or-die reflex, mmmmm? But it's like the aftermath of a long jet flight, it can take you much longer to settle into a new environment than one realizes. Don't you think we abuse our nerves by speeding from time zone to time zone, Eric? To say nothing of making the transition between civilizations!
The tall, severe-looking woman from the Tenter for Independent Inquiry lifted her eyes from Lilly's nervously seated figure and glanced smilingly at her friend, Eric Bonn.
"I doubt if it was the transition across the Atlantic that affected Mrs. Hansen," Eric demurred, swinging the ice-cubes about in his nearly empty glass and winking down at Lilly who did not wink back-after all, she had scarcely met these people and they were discussing her, quite rudely, as if she had some disease they'd been assigned to investigate and analyze. What made Americans think that others were interested in their outbursts of solicitous-ness and cures!
"I think the tiredness you seem to find so marked in our hostess is more akin to the post-orientation exhaustion my freshmen subjects appear to go through. Here you are one minute in the world you're accustomed to, be it Cambridge, England, or Claremont, California. And then bam-you're set down in the midst of the university machinery which is cranking up all around you for a full school year's run at a pace, which after all, seems to eliminate a growing number of students, faculty, even administration, or perhaps especially administrators-look at the turnover in university presidents these days, higher than that of dictators in the banana republics-with every new year.
"Curiously enough, your husband seems to be taking to it like a fish. But after all, he's got his career, his position, his interests in the university all staked out and well-defined, hasn't he? It's much harder for you, kind of like making a new life and adapting to all manner of new experiences, many of which, I should judge are more unpredictable than the activities which your husband encounters in his schedule for the day.
"Then again, to refer back to the youngsters, I must say that women show fatigue in this kind of stress situation more readily than men, or girls than boys, although, surprisingly enough, they may achieve a sounder relationship with their new surroundings in the long run. But women have that capacity for being easily tired, don't you? Admit it now, isn't that true!"
"Certainly not!" retorted Liz Hamilton, the mannish-looking woman who had precipitated the dialogue. For some inexplicable reason she glared at the man who'd been addressing them, and heaved herself up from the depths of the couch she'd been settling into next to Lilly.
"It may be that your freshmen girls seem to be so much more tired out because they run around so foolishly, enchanted with all the attention they find they're getting in the first weeks of the term.
"But it has nothing to do with whether men have more stamina than women, I assure you, Eric. Perhaps," and her voice took on a grating edge, "if you got as closely involved with freshman men as you seem to with your co-eds, you might find that the sexes tired equally, mmmmmmm?" And as she cocked her head in a semi-sneer at her friend, the older woman dropped her hand carelessly to Lilly's knee, giving it a kind of affectionate woman-to-woman squeeze.
Except that the hand remained there, sitting on her lower thigh like a hot, itching brand as Lilly stared at it from the fog she was in and then looked up at Assistant Professor Bonn whose eyes were cold, glittering at her in an accusing fashion.
"Let me refresh your drink! she blurted, lumping out to get away from the worrisome touch of the older woman and taking Bonn's tinkling glass.
"Well, Liz! What a pity! The lamb may look tired, but she refuses to lie down for the presumptuous slaughter!"
"You may well talk of lambs!" the woman replied harshly, her voice at odds with the wistful glances she threw toward Lilly, who was making a torturous but successful escape from the room through the clutch of guests.
"That Mr. Bonn's glass, ain't it? Yes ma'am, he just puts it away, don't he?" laughed Colin, the West Indian bartender supplied by the university's catering service.
"Do you know him, Colin?" Lilly asked, raising a hand to her breast to still her shortness of breath, and eager to hear the young man talk to her in that musically inflected British accent of the Caribbean.
"Oh yes, Professor Bonn, he gets about, gets about, you know. Quite a figure 'round here. I think I see him nearly every party I'm at. Quite a charming man, isn't he?" laughed the West Indian, handing the refreshed drink back to Lilly. "But I'll tell you, Mrs. Hansen, he's a man with a reputation, oh yes! A curious reputation: Professor Bonn and the little girls fresh from home that he researches," he almost sang these phrases, but ended so abruptly, so enigmatically, that Lilly, after staring blankly into his eyes for a moment, had to recover herself and conquer her curiosity by nodding her thanks to the smiling domestic before she slipped away.
She was making her way reluctantly back to the room where the unsettling Bonn was, taking the longer route through the pair of living rooms that were connected by a short hallway which connected to a pantry when she was unexpectedly intercepted by Larry O'Leary, the blustering Irish poet-in-residence at the university that year, the counter-image of the representation of the British Isles that Wayne embodies in his quiet scholastic visiting-fellow's role.
"Ah! My luck is still running. Lovely lady, I thank you!" he said, catching Lilly around the waist as she passed through the darkened little connecting hallway and deftly plucking the drink from her hand.
"A glass of grog to keep the sap rising and the spirits rejoicing. To your health!" he exclaimed, gulping a swallow of the liquor that had been intended for Bonn, as Lilly graciously, if tensely, acknowledged the compliment, wishing she could extricate herself from his impetuous embrace. "To my health!" he offered, thrusting the glass at her so quickly that she had no choice but to drink from it lest she upturn its contents over her decolletage. The liquor didn't burn as it slid down her throat-a sign that she'd had more to drink than she was comfortably accustomed to or, as a hostess, than she should have indulged in.
"To you!" he stated in bacchanalian tones, swigging again. "To me!" forcing her to share his libation again. "To the IRA! To that precursor of our lamentable dispersion, the potato! And, god bless us!-to the redoubtable Miss Devlin, the hope of all of us progressive sots! Long live the free state and the full spleen, aha!" he exulted, setting the empty glass on the lintel above the pantry door.
"You've an uncanny resemblance to the aforementioned shade of the martyr-bound Joan herself. No one has ever told you that, no! Ah, but then you're so much prettier than herself. Libertarians are so grim, all of them. A woman should be soft and fair as summer's grass, radiating health as you yourself do! Give me the blush of young womanhood over the banners of warring factions any day, hey!"
He's raving drunk, Lilly told herself as the poet surrounded her in a wild embrace and pushed her back into the shadows against the door of the unused pantry. Trying, good-naturedly, to back away from his posture of ardent advances, she pushed against the door and it swung open so that together, they nearly toppled into the pitch-black alcove of the empty little room.
"Ah, I knew it, the priest's hole! So, a houseful of conspirators after all! A hotbed of Papist plottings, eh, and to think I nearly mistook the both of you for envoys of the Anglican establishment. What a windfall, this! No, not a word, m'lady. Seal our compact and our cause with a kiss from those fevered lips!"
"Mmph!" was all the protest Lilly could manage as the unruly Irishman clutched her to him and engaged her in a kiss redolent of whisky and unwashed teeth. Her amusement turned to alarm, and that to indignation as in the darkness, hidden from the murmuring noise of her party. Lilly was covered with kisses and indiscriminate caresses by her captor.
Her shock and confusion were transformed to astonishment when the Irishman plunged a hand down between her legs and brazenly began to stroke her thighs, lifting up her dress even as he retained her bosom in a fierce hug clasped to his own. But her hands weren't free to administer the sobering slap he deserved. She muzzled the temptation to call, half-seriously, for aid from the incriminating quarters he had trapped her in. And just at the moment when her feelings might have erupted into a sudden, rare display of anger at being assaulted in her own home by a barbarian stranger, she realized that her drunken admirer not only had the obvious will to rape her, but the blind masculine force to carry the act through. Right here, not a few feet in all probability from Wayne, who was wandering, absently looking around for his wife, and the houseful of guests, not a one of who suspected that their hostess was being ravished by the infamous, boisterous poet whose drunken escapades were already becoming the basis for a new folklore around the university.
This man, impulsive and arrogant, had ceased his swaggering and joking. The dark little chamber was filled with the sound of his panting now, intermingled and accentuated by the gasps of startled victimization that escaped the desperate Lilly. No, this can't be happening, she told herself as his fingers seized the cleavage of her lowcut dress and yanked the front of the garment down. No, she struggled, trying to discipline his wrists as his thumbs hooked into the band of her strapless bra and wrenched the supporting hammock down with such force that her breasts popped free of its cups like pale bubbles shooting to the surface of some inky black void.
My god, he's actually serious, he's gone right off his head! she admitted to herself as she pushed at his shoulders in vain, stalling for a struggling instant the mad act of his head lowering to her bosom, his wet mouth seizing one of the sensitive nipples that had burgeoned with crinkly tightness in the cool dark.
And then his hands were climbing up each of her thighs, hoisting her dress up even farther, his fingers hungrily scaling the firm flesh of the taut muscles along the backs of her legs. She staggered back, hitting a wall, frantically bucking from side to side to escape the fingers which tunneled up under her slip and found the hem of her panties and her hose. Her hands were like butterflies, powerless to prevent his raking the intimate garments down from her hips, snatching them from the scant security they provided to the hidden treasure of her femininity. He wrenched them, pushing them past her knees and then wrapping his fingers around the tense column of her soft thighs again, raised his hands inch by inch, scaling the swelling meat of her trembling legs with purpose and pressure.
"Don't, oh don't, please, doh...." she whimpered gaspingly, as thrilling jolts of sensual temptation raced through the nerves which, all week, had been tightening like screws deep within her unused body. But he wouldn't stop, lifting his shaggy head from one breast only to plunge his mouth to the other one, so that one nipple shrank with wet cold abandonment even as the other responded to his rolling tongue by pumping a furious rush of her hot blood into the horny tissue of the thickening nipple which he sucked greedily.
The moment she realized she couldn't fight him off, that he was a madman, possessed, assaulting her body with a ferocity and lust that rendered her a virtual prisoner to his passion, the only thought Lilly could frame in her sensation-wracked mind was to keep them from being found out, to control the noises that would give them away, that, at this point, would mean her ruin, half-naked as she was at the hands of the burly drunkard, if the sound of their struggles attracted anyone.
"Please, pleeeeease," she begged him, as his hands closed around the ripe globes of her buttocks, his fingertips digging up into her, his thumbs working apart the hemispheres and plowing the intimate cleft of her behind which was already exuding the faintest trace of moist excitement as she began to perspire from panic and pleasure at the unthinkable prospect of being laid in a closet in her own house.
But he darted from breast to breast with his mouth, catching her turgid tingling nipples and sucking them noisily into his mouth slurping his lips around the conical peaks of her creamy breasts as though he were starved for the cloying sweet taste of the nectar her pounding, suckled tits were capable of producing. She sagged against the wall, a sickening wave of helplessness but that very awareness filling her body with a need to be taken, to be used, dominated by his driving sex-force, merged with his own even at the incredible risk of discovery and depravity they were already locked into.
Her breasts felt as though they were ballooning as his mouth pulled at each slippery cone in turn. The muscles in her back were jumping and twitching with excitement. "Pleeeeease, pleeease," she crooned softly, but the tone of her request now inflamed her assailant with the message of her own rising passion, her abject surrender to ancient ritual that would rid her vulnerable body of all its tensions and frustrations. The words had become pleas for conquest, a moaning signal that she had abandoned herself to him, that he had indeed forced his mindless will upon her and that she was yielding this delicious figure and all its secrets-the tempting nature of which he had been fueling his curiosity with throughout the evening as he noted her cleavage, the lightness in her calves, the delicate sculpting of her neck and shoulders.
"Pleeeeease," she groaned, and her voice was husky now, urgent, hurrying him to finish his extravagant foreplay, his lavish lapping at her bountiful breasts. Her entire body was speaking to him. The hard nut-like nipples candidly suggesting how aroused she was; the movement of her hips; now jerking spastically toward him informing him that she had lost control of herself, that her body was answering only to his stimuli; the arching of her thighs inviting his exploration, renouncing her instinct for fidelity, chastity, and dignity and exposing her sex to the explorations he had won the right of pursuing.
And his hand slipped around, brushing the velvety sides of her fluff-tinged inner thighs. His finger hooked up crudely, jabbing grotesquely in a gutter-minded drive for that most sensitive, most easily abused part of her womanhood-pushing into the silk hairs of her crotch, driving between the hot puffy vaginal lips that are pried open, receiving the penetration as she catches her breath and groans, feeling the fingertip wedge apart the moist inner ruffles of her vulva, as with an uncontrollable little cry she throws her arms over her shoulders and hangs from his neck, tilting her pubis upwards to welcome the digit which he drives home, ramming it to the hilt in the feral flux of her hollow, which he can feel seething around his finger, clasping it with a fierce pulsing that betrays the intensity of her outright horniness. She babbles in his ear, "pleasepleaseplease, ohhhhh, pleaseplease!" as he inserts a second finger, stretching the cunt opening more widely apart, loosening the ragged knot of fleshy stricture which opens to the rippling cavity. Both fingers jabbing deeply up into her, causing her legs to dance helplessly, wantonly, as his manipulations loose the tide of her sexual secretions, stirring and skewering the elastic canal until its freely running wetness matches her outward loss of control, the pitching against his body, mashing her naked breasts against the rough tweed of his jacket as if to rip them off to still their burning, beginning the bucking of her hindquarters, the spastic contractions of her powerful abdominal and buttock muscles so that his fingers rake the succulent sweet depths.
Lilly, clamoring, elated because a man is about to give it to her, luxuriating in her collapse of will and principle, wanting only the unspeakable pleasure of his penis boring into the clamoring hollows of her channel, hangs on him, drowning her telltale squeals of lewd craving by biting his neck with her sharp little teeth, drives her hips 'round and 'round, churning her body frenziedly to quell the shock of his fingers withdrawing as with both hands he looses his pants and lets them drop around his ankles.
Then, with a desperate muffled cry, she slams her naked belly to his, taking her weight on her arms as her legs curl around his body, squeezing their loins together, her tufted crotch skating against his, the quivering hair-lined rims of her inflamed orifice gasping for the buffeting thrust of the firm cockhead that will precede the vital delirious sensation of his bulky rigid phallic shaft snaking into her, worming home up into the jelly of her agitated organs.
Lilly gave a little cry of loss, then of despair. Hanging by one arm, her other hand darts down between them to the alien grotto from which his genital instrument should be rearing rock-like. But, frantically searching like a woman who has seen her last infant child slip beneath the waters of a shallow pond, her hand gropes, paws at him, thrusts down finally between his hairy thighs as he mumbles in confusion, and there discovers the wrenching truth.
"Oh, oh, ohhhhh my god, no!" she cries, for her fingers have confirmed the appalling evidence of his dissolution. It is revoltingly small, soft, a wretched anonymous failure down there, drooping limply, obviously never meant to have attention drawn towards it in his condition.
Sobbing with frustration, she slid from him, snatching her hand away from the pathetic little victim of his inebriation. He couldn't see her tears running down her burning cheeks in the darkness, but was grateful as, instantly and coldly sobered, he mumbles on, gathering up his trousers and straightening his clothes to cover the foolish fact of which he hadn't even been aware when he began his attack on her seductive female ripeness.
Only Theresa saw him emerge, crestfallen, running his fingers through his unkempt hair, looking wildly around for a drink. Slipping into the hallway as if a sixth sense were drawing her toward her mistress, she found the door and vanished behind it.
Lilly hardly heard the door shut a second time. But from the momentary glimmer of light, the stealthy presence at her side, she knew it could only be Theresa. Choking back her physical grief, she let the girl wordlessly help her to her feet. What would have seemed utterly outrageous last week she took for granted now, letting the maid pull her panties and hose back up, the female fingers flitting around her pelvis and buttocks as if to remind her how cruelly she'd been disappointed by the male savagery that had just violated her private parts.
Theresa drew up the bra and Lilly raised her arms, allowing the girl to mould the lacy cups up over her dully throbbing breasts. Deftly, silently, the girl dressed her, even finding a small comb in her pocket to patch up Lilly's somewhat disheveled hairdo. It was all so efficiently done, so expert a performance that Lilly paid no attention, submitting to the ministrations of the girl who showed her willingness to be her maidservant without question.
But then Theresa began to stroke her arm as if to soothe her, the gentle caresses climbing higher and higher until Lilly became aware that the girl's hand was creeping toward her neck, petting her. She didn't stop to consider whether it was just an empathetic impulse for her distraught mistress that Theresa was professing by trying to comfort her, or whether the maid had some more devious sort of opportunism in mind. Coldly she brushed Theresa away and after a careful peep out the door, escaped out through the little connecting hallway. Quickly gliding to the kitchen, propelled by an unformed, unnamable but growing compulsion that seeped through her body like an icy fire, she grabbed an old trenchcoat from the back hall and left the house. Circled around in the shadows so that none of the guests might accidentally catch sight of her unseemly departure, believing without even thinking it that Theresa would cover for her were she to be really missed and queried after by Wayne or any of the rest of those goddamned callow men, Lilly drew her trenchcoat collar up high and glided out into the night.
5
She might have been cursing O'Leary as she clattered along the brick sidewalks to the fringe of the university area. Her mind might have been a stew boiling the image of her husband, the spectre of the Irishman, all recollections of the men who had failed her peculiar needs, who had turned her normal appetite into an insatiable craving by recklessness and folly. But her brain was at rest, immobilized in the grip of the unnatural fever that wracked her from her poised, determined facial carriage to her swiftly clicking feet.
Forced along on the tide of her dark invidious mania, guided unerringly by instinct past unfamiliar landmarks into the uncharted setting, she arrived within minutes at the grubby facade of the corner shop above which flickered the broken neon tracings of the sign "Pinball Emporium." Her small white hand gripped the worn handle of the sagging screen door and like a junkie approaching the last source, the only possibility of salvaging the mindless torment which ravaged her, she entered hoping, wanting, praying.
A galaxy of eyes shone at her as she walked along the counter which ran down one side of the sleazy establishment. But she saw only the familiar face, the harsh countenance she had counted on being there. Only when Greg's eyes gave no sign of changing expression, of admitting to the interest, amusement or suspicion that flickered around her, did her steps become uncertain until she stopped, falteringly before him where he leaned on one of the row of antiquated amusement machines. Still, her eyes held steady, greeting him, beseeching him, imploring him, revealing the nakedness of her soul, the bankruptcy of her being to his indifferent gaze.
"Well, princess?" he drawled, at last, spitting something casually off his tongue as he cocked his head and nodded at her in a manner that seemed to say: all right, little bitch, you've made the delivery, now beat it! Still she stood in front of him, only the restless shifting of her weight from foot to foot revealing the turbulence within her.
"What do you want?" His voice was cold and indifferent, as though she'd interrupted a meeting of his board of directors.
"G-Greg?" she quavered, trying out the name Theresa had fitted to the unlikely encounter that had been mushrooming in her mind and body since the minute it had ended days ago. His expression didn't rebut her finding. "Greg... please, can we...?" The incongruous tone of her distilled English nuances trailed off. She looked around, wanting to communicate to him her raging desire to be someplace else with him other than where they were, a poorly lit establishment featuring lazy, bug-ridden fans and cracked, curling slabs of ancient linoleum. But now the two of them had been surrounded by a curious circle of leather-jacketed black-jeaned youths, their faces a study in grotesquely hirsute and soiled eccentricity.
"Niiiice!" a voice said, and Lilly turned halfway around, regretting the move at once as it was impossible to tell which sneering, insolent or cunningly rapt face had offered the comment.
"Friend of yours?" a short stocky companion asked superciliously, a black eyebrow angling like a worm up his forehead.
"The broad who laid me the other day," Greg said matter-of-factly without looking at the questioner.
A haze of consciousness filtered into Lilly's unfunctioning brain: so the matter was on the public record already. A lot it meant! She had let him treat her like an animal and he had. Why complain? She wanted only one thing, and that more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. She felt as though some powerful current had been jacked into her body directly from one of the overhead cables in the street outside, charging her whole frame with an excruciating electric load. She burned, inside and out. She tried to shut off all her senses, to become oblivious to the gathering of cyclists waiting vicariously around them, and concentrate only on the heavy formidable figure she had fled her party to seek out, the vivid recollection of his dependable, domineering phallus making her quiver in anticipation.
"Outside," Greg said, turning on the heel of his black, greasy boot and striding with a bang through the flimsy door at the rear of the place.
Lilly followed obediently, rapturously, hardly caring how or where he took her, as long as it happened soon.
The door banged again, and again, several more times as one by one the others filed out into the squalid walled patio in which a single naked light shone on the litter of garbage cans and trash mounds. They formed a semicircle around Lilly, who stood facing Greg as he leaned back on a stack of packing crates, his mouth twisting slightly as a small grin cracked the coldly handsome mask of his features.
"Okay, princess what's on your mind?" he asked. And Lilly knew, without further thought or hesitation that he wanted to hear her say it, that if she was going to give herself to him, it would have to be absolutely, wholly, even to the incredible point of sharing the sickness which drove her to sacrifice every last iota of self-esteem before his mates.
"I need it," she said as levelly as she could manage, meeting the challenge of his no-nonsense brand of fealty head-on. "Liyuck last week." Her voice had cracked. The other youths pressed a little closer, sensing the extraordinary drama she was steeling herself for: the transformation from a seemingly aristocratic and beautiful young woman whom any one of them might have had trouble looking in the eye into a slut. She became aware of the crackling tension flowing between herself and the circle of spectators. The voice that might have saved her even at that point receded in the distance crying No, no, no, until it disappeared. And when it had, she felt almost clearheaded, knowing that now she was in effect prostrating herself before all of them, before Greg's entire court and retinue.
"I, I," she started, screwing up all her courage to master the weakness that was holding her back from her salvation, "want your cock!"
"Then come and get it," Greg replied laconically, nodding slightly to show that he understood how profoundly ready she had made herself for the self-abasement that was a necessary condition for their meeting on equal ground, where he was the absolute master and she the subservient vessel of his pleasure, pleasure she might hope to share in but that was only to be regarded as an accidental by-product of her bondage. Yes, her eyes said to him, on these odds I'm staking everything, if only you'll accept me, take me, have me...
Lilly took a deep breath, having passed her test. She unbuckled the trenchcoat and shrugged it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the muck of the concrete patio.
"Faaar out!" another male voice commented speaking on behalf of the male circle who were devouring the promise of her svelte body.
She took a step toward Greg, not quite knowing what to do next; wishing he would fold her into an embrace, do anything to her, but also aware that he had left the initiative solely up to her, leaving the choice to her whether to back out or plunge ahead into a world of sordid behavior that she could hardly imagine herself competent in, even as she felt her lust clotting in her body, demanding that she rise to the occasion.
For no particular reason other than her helplessness, she pulled down the bodice of her dress, remembering how eagerly the Irish poet had gone for her breasts. And then the low-slung brassiere, baring her delectable pale boobs to the welcome cool of the night air.
"Man, she's really horny, dig that!"
"I know! What a pair!"
"Get it on, baby!"
"Yaaaayhooo!"
Lilly stared steadily at Greg, the both of them ignoring the ogling of her naked back and outthrust breasts. What her eyes were telling him was the truth: that his friends were reversing the polarity of mastery-that by raving over her stunning nakedness, the way she bared herself to them, they were lowering themselves to her.
And Greg understood it all with the natural awareness of leadership. "Take the rest off, princess, what you do for me you do for any of my buds here," he told her, letting the message sink in, adding with his eyes that there was no hope of amendment or loophole, that he really meant it and if it happened to be his pleasure, she would crawl to any of these filthy gloating strangers just as she was now crawling to him.
Staring into his face, feeding on his eyes with the blank, dutiful look of a child who reinforces his subservience by keeping his attention focused on the figure of authority. Lilly pushed the dress down, automatically ruining the expensive apparel by letting it fall to the encrusted concrete. She unclasped her bra and was going to drop that, but one of the spectators snatched it from her hand and began stretching it, toying with it impatiently. She worked her half-slip down over her hips, stooping to push it off her thighs, her breasts swinging forward, nipples dancing duskily in the naked light. She stood up, excitingly naked but for the scanty armor of her panties, the sheen of her stockings, her shoes, earrings, and jewelry.
Greg looked impassively at her body. To her, a neutral look like that from the man she was throwing herself at was a negative look, a disapproving look. Quickly, only now aware that she was blushing horridly from a lifetime's habit of modesty, never so flouted even in her maddest fantasies, she shucked off the silk triangle of her panties and her hose, standing up naked before her potent god, her feet curling at the contact with the rubble of glass and crud on the cold concrete.
Chill as the night air was on her body, she felt feverishly hot, as if each pair of eyes that inspected her lithe supple body were a pair of arc lamps focused on her, matching the molten heat that flamed within her.
"Sweetheart, you can ride with us any old time, hot shit!"
"Look at that little pussy, really ready for it!"
"Ready, shit! She's a fuckin' nympho. Come on, rich bitch, let's see what they do in limey-ville!"
Lilly shivered, not at the unprecedented swill that was being mouthed over her, but at the thrill it gave her to realize that great as her want for the hard-driving force of a man's body mounting her lust-ridden figure, the animal excitement that surrounded her, as if she had thrown herself to wolves in a pit, was a power that all these begrimed toughs shared with. Greg, before whom she stood in worshipful quivering nakedness.
Seeing that even this was not enough, this strip she had done for his mates, baring her ripe desirable body in a fashion she hardly ever indulged in even in the sanctity of her own home, Lilly realized that her prostration contained forms she had never dreamed of, never before accepted in the miasma of sexual longing which she was experiencing as if for the first time in her life.
Hypnotized by the gleaming studded apparatus of the buckle that closed his heavy black leather belt, Lilly crouched down awkwardly, hands feeling her way in the filth, hunkering like a dog, the globes of her behind splitting to show the tempting shadow of her rearward crack. Then it seemed to come naturally, the depravity impelling her as if foreordained.
Kneeling in the grit and raising her body upright, in a position of homage made all the more dramatic by the clothes strewn around her, an expensive wardrobe trampled underfoot at the circle of onlookers, breathing heavily now, closed more tightly about her, she stared at the shining buckle, raised her delicate hands, and began to struggle with the massive ornament, bruising her fingers as she unlocked the metal tongue which pierced the crescent hole of the belt.
She looked up and Greg seemed to tower above her, looking down almost bored, as if even this were not sufficiently degrading a ritual. Flustered, she worked at the buttons of his jeans, remembering all too well that underneath, unencumbered by any gesture of civilization such as underwear, his longed-for male organs hung richly between his muscled thighs.
The fly of the jeans opened and she pulled them down inch by inch, exposing the horny groin which preceded the sight that she had never let her mind escape, which now lay revealed to her shining eyes not in the upright inspiring arch of erection-no, beautiful though she might be, lovely as her body was, fervently as she had debased herself before him and all his friends, she had not yet stirred the sleeping giant of his phallic fixture-but hanging down, pliant and passive, daring her to find in her craven woman's being the resources by which to awaken it. It sprouted out from the hairy bush of his loins only inches from her elegantly coiffed head, but it didn't stir.
She glanced up and found him still looking down at her, imperiously, crushingly, masterfully.
"Suck it, baby!" It wasn't Greg who had spoken.
"Suck him off, bitch, c'mon!" The next voice was strained, demanding.
Lilly looked up and around at the ring of faces, each bent closely over her, like a circle of pagans, commanding her unanimously to the unthinkable act which had only just now flowered grotesquely in her brain.
She turned back to confront the spectacle of his organ. Now it wasn't the impersonal embodiment of the universal male hardness which she yearned to be spitted on, ramming into the vacuum between her creamy thighs. It had suddenly become a phallic specter, a hideous, loathsome growth upon which she was being exhorted to perform an act of which she had only heard vaguely and then with disbelief and distaste.
But Greg's hands were on her shoulders now, drawing her closer to the vault of his hairy crotch. So closely she could smell the pungent redolent odor of his genitals, the acrid staleness of his petroleum-stained, unwashed jeans. His penis looked enormous, as massive in its natural state as, erect and livid, it seemed to be when cudgeling its way between her thighs, driving for the tender opening of her womanhood.
The pressure of his hands on her shoulders were unmistakable, vise-like grips guiding her to the position in which, surrounded by strangers and a nauseating environment, she was expected to baptize herself in the most bestial rite she could conceive a human being succumbing to.
"Open up, sweetheart!"
"Suck cock! Get it on!"
"Man, I can't stand it! I'm gonna come any minute now!"
"What a bitchin' body!"
"Eat the meat, rich bitch!"
The cracks and laughter swirled about her. Greg's thumbs were pushing at her jaw, forcing it open, making her part her trembling lips and form her mouth for him. Shutting her eyes, the sinking, sick feeling meeting the still fiery heat rising from the pit of her undeniable sexual narcosis midway in her body, Lilly bent her head to his demand.
The limp thick shaft of his member brushed her cheek and then she felt the soft bulb of the foreskin flick against her lips. Groaning a bone-rattling confession of her ambivalence, swallowing automatically to suck the metallic sour taste of revulsion out of her mouth, she let the head of the resilient organ penetrate the uninitiated orifice of her mouth. Greg's hands clasped around the back of her head, pressing her face to his groin, her nose in his pubic hair, as the whole of his rubbery meat buckled and then snaked into her oral cavity. She gagged momentarily, panicked as the dome of the cock-head settled in the top of her throat. Then, realizing she could breathe through her nose, her finely chiselled nostrils flaring, tasting the somewhat salty mysterious essence of his mass, she tentatively moved her tongue, rotating the gland around the parallel bulk of the spongy shaft.
It wasn't that awful, she told herself, not all that horrible-did men really treasure the experience of having a woman take them on this way so much? She had a flash of the phrases shouted at her by the other cyclists, several of whom were so incensed by the picture of the kneeling slender body burying its head in their leader's genital region that they had extracted their own tools, fondling and gripping them. And she suctioned, straining her head back against Greg's grip to avoid sucking the penis down her windpipe. He let her back off, giving her her head as it were, as she obediently blended the sucking exertion, hollowing her cheeks beneath the high bones of her face, with more tentative caresses of her tongue-tip, attempting to tactilely define and outline what her mind still balked at forming an image of-a penis in her mouth!
Slipping and sliding in the cool clasping suction of her mouth, it stirred. She felt it. Her mouth had to open wider. There was something more between her lips, a growing bulk shaping her mouth to an obscene oval, a pressure against the back of her throat as the crown of the engorging joint ballooned and inflated. She was driven back, the breath whistling through her nostrils, excited now that she had crossed over the abyss of unimaginable degradation and was stimulating her man to just the condition she ached so for.
Her tongue tested the amazing dimensions the penis was swelling to, flicking this way and that in examination of its elongation, the flaring tension of the dome, the hard cording of the veins, the rounded profile of the conduit that ran the length of its burgeoning underside, the granite stoniness the entire shaft was being changed into, and then, aware that this must be part of it, that a man would welcome the tricks of her tongue just as she had swooned under the divine sensations that male mouths and tongue had licked from her breasts. Lilly began abandoning her timidity, circling with her oral organ until she resolved on a saucy pattern of titillation involving the alternate stroking and revolving of her tongue around the taut blunt dome of his rising shaft.
Up she came, stretching her body to accommodate the forceful elevation of the now incredibly long, thickened prick, letting it rasp against the roof of her mouth as she glanced upwards in a signal of compliance and, as Greg let his hands go, began bobbing her head even faster than he had suggested.
Not hearing the lewd exclamations of awe and wondering comments of admiration from the others, or even Greg's perfunctory grunts of pleasure; or seeing the way several of the cyclists were standing over her, their fists flying up and down over their twitching blood-filled cocks; or daring to leave him, to break the rhythm of her pitiful enslavement either out of the mounting desire in her body or the latent, instinctive fear that her lusting obedience could only mean unpleasantness for her-Lilly gripped the backs of his thighs, then his buttocks, holding onto him as her head jerked up and down in a blur, her hair flying, a series of incoherent umphs, glmphs, urghs, gluuz, dribbling from her lips with the streaks of saliva that trickled down the angling rigid organ her body was crooked over, and constantly sucking, pulling draughts from his body as though his pulsing penis were a lifeline, her chest heaving, flanks running with glistening sweat, knees grinding painfully in the muck and rubble.
At last, when her breath was whining through her nose, her chin dripping wet, her mouth raw, her tongue aching from the very root, she felt his body stiffen. And shrieking, "Yes! Yes! Come, Greg, my darling! Come into me! Come in my mouth!" which merged as high-pitched animal whinnyings from her body, even as her brain warned her against the greed her pride and passion stroked her to, she wound her arms around his upright bucking body, sobbing gratefully at her accomplishment, feeling his buttocks convulse, his bristling balls slap against her neck as his hips lunged, ramming the flexing mass of his cock cruelly into the chamber framed by her straining jaws, as she struggled to accept his harsh lunges like a snake engulfing its prey, the scudding shaft raking her oral cavity, Greg yelled something, wound his fists in her hair, and jammed her head down on his mottled meat with savage force.
The jerk of his penis sent a tremor through her entire body. It spasmed in her throat and suddenly, drowning her involuntary scream of disbelief and innocent surprise, a spurting flood of scalding come shot into her, choking her, overflowing her lips as they worked aghast for air, dripping in stickly strings of scum from her chin to the glistening pears of her bosom. Jolt after jolt pumped into her and then there was another yell, a chorus of shouts all around her. Something splattered square on her back. Something hot and viscous. And then, too, on her side. And from close by, right at her face, splacking against her cheek. From every side, the beaten exploding rods of his companions erupting in carefully aimed jets of masculine seed, burning like tar against her naked body, covering her with mixed effusions of ejaculated lust as Greg held her and held her, keeping her bent and beaten until her mouth had received the last drops his volcanic balls had to offer.
6
"I don't know," Karen pondered as they stood before the house, "It doesn't look like the kind of a place a bachelor lives in."
"Pat said he's really good-looking," Linda offered, by way of encouraging them both.
The two freshmen walked up the porch steps of the large, dignified old frame house and rang the bell. They stood shifting anxiously, timorously, and then the door opened and Eric Bonn's face creased in a warm, delighted smile.
"Professor Bonn?" Karen queried him.
"Not quite a professor-yet," he grinned broadly, his eyes flicking quickly between the two young girls.
"Hi-well my name is Karen, and this is Linda, and a senior in our house named Pat, she told us-well that you pay to interview people, I really don't know anything more-do you?"
"Of course! Come in, come in!" he said expansively, stepping back and drawing them into the house with a studied sweep of his hand.
"Good old Pat," he chuckled, leading them down a narrow hall, both girls swiveling their heads at the collection of posters and ephemera that lined the walls.
"I have to rely on my friends and informants for subjects, you see. The university won't officially sanction my work so I can't run a classified ad like other research projects-you like that picture?-a friend of John Lennon's took it on the Isle of Wight. Can I offer you anything before we start? No?-let's just step in here."
Karen and Linda looked around the small, thickly-carpeted room. Its walls were lined with acoustic tile, as was the ceiling. In the center of the room was a broad low day couch with several pillows. It was faced by two armchairs placed against opposite walls. Bonn opened a door in the fourth wall.
"Just take a peek in here," he beckoned the two girls.
"Hey, it's set up like those seminar rooms in the psych department," Linda observed.
"That's right! Your dialogue is recorded here-it's a standard observation room."
"You're going to observe us?" Karen wondered.
"Right. Now here's how it goes," he answered, taking two little bottles of pills from a file cabinet in the small observation room. "You each get a pill; one pill has certain effects, the other pill is just placebo or dummy; the observation lasts for two hours, during which time you both do what you want in the room here. At certain times I will interject over the room speakers topics of conversation which you may or may not want to pursue."
"What kind of topics?" Karen asked.
"They'll be largely things having to do with your past, and many of them may involve your emotions and opinions about sexual matters."
"Oh goody!" Linda interrupted.
"What kind of people-besides us-do this experiment?" Karen asked him with studious inquisitiveness.
"All young women-like yourselves, girls who have been close friends for a substantial length of time."
"But how did you know we knew each other before?"
"I didn't," Bonn countered.
"Pat-Pat did!" Linda offered.
"Oh, right," Karen comprehended.
"Now here's how it works," Bonn said, his voice slightly edgy with impatience. "You won't see me for two hours. You may decide you've had enough and want to quit, or want to go to the bathroom, or leave. You can come back to the room if you want, or you can use the house to wander around in if you get fed up. Of course I'll pay you for the time spent in the room."
"Uh, what, uh," Karen started.
"Ten dollars an hour. Regardless of whether you stay for the two hours or leave before that time, I'll meet you back here and pay you in this room. But you won't see me for the next two hours. As far as you're concerned, I'm going to vanish, okay?"
"Check!" said Karen.
"Okay," Linda agreed.
"No matter what you may feel like doing or saying, there will be no interruptions and nothing to inhibit your behavior."
"What about the tape recording of our voices?" Karen remembered.
"You may have the tape when you leave if you like. It's used only for certain verbatim quotes to supplement the research I'm engaged in, and the quotes are anonymous, of course."
"Well, why, uh, I mean I'm just interested-like this isn't an official psych department experiment?" Karen pushed.
"It's an official Bonn experiment," he answered, winking at Linda whose face wore an expression of intrigue and anticipation. "Okay, here's a pill for you," he said giving Karen a tablet from one unmarked bottle, "and one for you," handing Linda another tablet from a similarly plain bottle. "There's water here," he showed them, opening a concealed trap in the wall to expose a recessed drinking fountain. "The bathroom's down the hall. You're on your own for the next two hours."
"See you," Linda said cheerily, as Bonn stepped into the observation room and closed the door, leaving the two girls in the quiet room.
It was about twenty minutes after they had taken the pills. They were sitting facing each other across the day couch from the two armchairs.
"Do you feel anything?" Linda asked her friend.
"Unh-uh," Karen shook her head. "Do you?"
Linda giggled. "It's weird. I don't really, but I think I do."
"I wonder what we should talk about," Karen said.
Linda giggled again, looking around the bare room. "Maybe we're just supposed to psych each other out."
"Wow, it wouldn't be hard, the room psychs me out all by itself," Karen commented, cocking her head as if checking out the absence of sound in their acoustically-panelled chamber. Karen tapped her foot for a few moments, trying to generate some noise, then stopped. She looked at Linda. Linda looked back at her. Her face was flushed as though something was exciting her. A faint gleam of perspiration shone on her forehead. She twisted in the armchair uncomfortably.
"What is it?" Karen almost whispered.
"I don't know, I feel really strange, like-oops!" Linda giggled uncontrollably and then checked herself. Her small teenager's breasts were rising and falling with her rapid breathing, straining against the thin jumper she had on.
Then Linda jumped up out of the chair.
"I'm going to lie down," she announced defiantly, standing unsteadily and then flopping down on her back on the broad couch. "Mmmmmmm-it's really comfortable!"
"It's funny," Karen said with a trace of pique in her voice, obviously envious of Linda's impulsiveness at appropriating the neutral territory of the day couch. "Funny there should be a bed in here."
"Well, it's an outasight bed!" Linda rejoined, spread-eagling herself by stretching out her arms and legs and then kicking off her shoes.
The two girls chatted for another fifteen minutes about midterm exams, some of the bizarre courses listed for the psychology department in the university catalogue, and then the weather.
"Does it feel hot in here to you?" Linda asked, turning her head, her red lips parted, in Karen's direction.
"Not particularly," Karen replied.
"Boy, I really feel hot, I swear!" Linda exclaimed. She stared at the ceiling, then glanced at her friend, then shut her eyes and giggled again. Then she suddenly sat upright.
"I can't stand it!" she announced. She seized the hem of her jumper and pulled it up clear of her buttocks and just as suddenly pulled it entirely off over her head.
"Linda!" Karen looked in amazement at the other girl who now reclined clad only in her bra and panties.
"So what! He as good as promised us two hours of privacy, didn't he? I just feel so hot, whewwww!-I really do!" She arched her back and stretched her full slender length, rolling her long naked legs in and out with childlike immodesty.
"Is it the pill?" Karen inquired. She'd never seen Linda act like this. Usually of the two of them, she herself was the first to initiate some crazy or compulsive clowning.
"It's my body," Linda said in a slightly furred voice. "My whole body, it tingles all over."
"Why don't you drink some water?" Karen suggested, a bit alarmed at her companion's condition.
"Unh-un, water won't help," Linda replied, her voice almost husky. She closed her eyes and Karen wanted to do likewise until she noticed that Linda was contracting her stomach muscles. They showed clearly in rippling bands above the waistline of her panties and moreover the contractions were tilting her hips up and down in what looked alarmingly like a pantomime of erotic tension.
"You're sure giving him his money's worth of observation," Karen commented dryly, unsure of how to communicate to Linda whose head was now rolling slowly back and forth on the pillows as though she was in a feverish dreaming state.
"I'm sure he could care less," Linda croaked. She raised her arms over her head in a motion that made her breasts bulge together, welling up out of the confines of the brassiere cups, and then brought her hands down flat on her sinuously tucking belly.
"FIRST LOVE," The two words filled the room, injected by invisible loudspeakers.
Karen looked around, mystified, then remembered that Bonn had said he would introduce topics of conversation. She thought about it for a minute, and then immediately reacted to his words by trying to dismiss the thought from her mind. But the two words had already conjured up an image of Randy, the whole summer of stop-and-go experiments with their bodies in his station wagon, her debate with herself about whether to wait, Randy's arguments and sarcasm about virginity, the unexpected loan of his older brother's apartment, the decision, the dope they smoked, how she had nearly had to fight Randy off, like a wild bull, then the renewed lovemaking, how he had brought her to the unbearable edge of lustful fulfillment with his seeking, sucking mouth, the hard pressure, sharp, splitting pain, and the wonders of their two bodies moving together-she would never forget opening her eyes and looking down to see for the first time the thick glistening rapier of his phallic rod rising and plunging between her legs, disappearing beneath her, under her, inside her!
Linda was remembering it too. The only real difference left between them was that they had gone from high school to the same college and she had arrived as a freshman virgin, unable to free herself of the barrier that Karen had let Randy sunder on the next-to-last night of their pre-freshman summer. She had made Karen retell the story of her deflowerment several times, using it in lieu of her own experience as she considered the proposals that came so thick and fast from all quarters of the university.
What had he given her! It felt like a great expanding ball of needles down deep in her belly. Tremors raced up and down her thighs. Her nipples were burning. Sweat, breaking out on the back of her neck, was scorching and tormenting her. For some reason she wanted it, her whole body wanted it. Raging with some fire, pressed down by the silence of the room, shivering almost uncontrollably. She couldn't get yesterday afternoon out of her head, the room overlooking the river, Santo's roommates leaving with snickers and flashes of the victory sign, Santo kissing her, undressing her, his mouth on her breasts, she begging him not to go too far-why had she stopped him! She wanted it so badly! She remembered Karen's description of how Randy had eaten her until she was about to explode, crying out for him to fill the aching hollow of her vulva by inserting the penis she had fondled and become familiar with for so long before allowing it to rupture her virginal vagina's membrane.
Linda's fingers crept under her panties and dug down into the soft pubic hair that grew thickly over the firm tapering hump of her pubic promontory. Her head was arched back, the tendons in her neck showing clearly, her lips baring the white edges of her teeth. Why hadn't she let Santo take her all the way? Why had she been so afraid! When she wanted it so much! Wanted something to fill the vertiginous void that had come to life within her as if even now Santo or some other had been caressing and kissing her, tempting her with brushing finger-strokes of her blazing thighs and soft sexual tissues.
"Are you all right?" Karen asked apprehensively, her eyes wide at the unmistakable sight of Linda's imminent masturbation.
"THE MOST INTENSE ORGASMS ARE SELF-INDUCED."
"Did you hear that!" Karen blurted, her ears burning.
"Don't get hung-up! Linda gasped in reply. "It's only an experiment, isn't it? Is it true-Karen, tell me, is it?"
Karen stared at Linda, whose face, nearly white and running with perspiration, was turned toward her. She was turned on, she was really turned on, Karen realized, recognizing how Linda's body was suggesting the contortions and excitement she had witnessed in her own during lovemaking.
"Is it?" Linda demanded insistently.
Karen shook her head, trying to clear it, her instincts telling her to walk out, to leave the impersonal close room which was having such amazing effects on her girlfriend.
"Tell me!" Linda groaned. Her hands had disappeared into her panties, the knobs of her clustered knuckles appearing beneath the thin fabric as her fingers all too obviously began brazenly manipulating her sex parts.
"I, I don't know," Karen hesitated, feeling even more compromised than Linda looked as she twisted and writhed on the bed.
"Linda, don't, what's happening!"
Linda had withdrawn her hands and was pushing her panties clear of her hips, revealing the tawny mat of her pubic hair, drawing her bare legs up to rid herself of the undergarment.
"I can't help it!" Linda said. Her hands were pressing between her thighs, sliding up with thumbs a-quiver, toward her own femininity.
"C'mon, let's go!" Karen said, rising from her armchair.
"No!" Linda shot out. Her body was on fire. Her legs spraddled out as if separated by invisible hands. She flung out an arm and caught Karen by the knee, looking up at her imploringly-
"I want it so bad, Karen, I've never wanted it like this, don't go!"
Karen stopped, trying to accept the sight of her friend's body-a girlish figure she knew almost as well as her own, that she had watched develop through high school just as Linda had watched her, comparing notes on the development of their breasts and hips, the flowering of pubic hair, the rising level of sexual curiosity and desire each had experienced, the frankness they had always shared even to current situations which college was introducing them to in such variety-her friend, almost sisterly, now lying with her body splayed out in a fantastic exhibition of wanton naked contortions.
"Is it true, Karen!"
Karen bit her lip, confused by the involuntary rush of memory which was flooding her brain, recalling her initial discovery of sexual power, the panic her own fingers had induced and the miraculous pleasure, the mixture of pain and delight that Randy's penis had stroked her bleeding womb with, the proficiency she had brought herself to before that, modeling her self-manipulation on the method of finger-fucking Randy had tempted her with for so long, the blinding intensity of climax she could come to by stirring her vaginal opening with stiff fingers, the several orgasms she had experienced in the first few months of college at the hands of male freshmen far more worldly than she.
"Oh, oh! Oh, Karen, I'm on fire. So help me, I-it's too much, ohhhh!"
Karen looked down agog at the lascivious dance Linda's other hand was performing in the virgin confines of her slick silky sex-slot. Linda was pulling at her leg. She fought to keep her balance. What must Bonn be thinking? Maybe he wouldn't pay them because they weren't talking enough! Could she be sure of his intention not to appear for two hours. And how much time was left!
"Take your clothes off, too, Karen!"
"Listen, Linda, I think we should go."
"No!" Linda yelled. She grabbed for the dark-haired girl with both hands, causing Karen to totter and topple onto the day couch. Instantly Linda's hands were tearing at her clothes like a possessed person.
"You're ripping, don't, Linda!"
"Take your clothes off, Karen, take 'em off!"
"All right, hold on, for Chrissakes, hold on!" Karen disentangled herself. Was she feeling some effects herself from the pill Bonn had administered? Was Linda acting natural and she the one who was being slowed down or retarded by some chemical agent?
Karen took off her sweater and unfastened her skirt. As she shed her outer clothing, Linda rolled over on her stomach, grinding her hips and pelvis into the couch and staring with lustful eyes at her old friend, incensed by the sight of Karen's pale naked flesh. All she knew was that she felt a sexual craving unlike anything-she'd ever experienced. And the familiar body revealing itself to her, just like so many thousands of times during their adolescent friendship, was flesh, raw sexual flesh.
"Do you remember, Karen, when we were about fourteen-when we camped by that lake!!!"
"Don't remind me," Karen blushed, remembering all too well how the two of them had shared a sleeping bag and a good deal else, laying the groundwork for their faithful friendship in an explorative, never-repeated foray into homosexual experiments.
"Hey, are you okay?" Karen snapped, seeing Linda roll over belly-up, clutching at her abdomen, her legs bent double.
"Oh, oh God, Karen, it hurts, it really hurts!"
"What hurts!" Karen let her eyes rove over Linda's body, startled to find that she was looking at her friend through covetous eyes, eyes that had prompted so many boys they knew to praise Linda's figure and sexiness.
"Ohhhhh!" Linda groaned. "I want it! I want it so badly. Karen, pleeease, pleeeeese!"
Karen found herself staring into Linda's eyes. They were the eyes of a stranger, wide and unseeing, glazed with a frenzy Karen couldn't identify, but which roused a strange empathy in her now that they were both nearly naked, sharing the bed.
"Ohhhhhh!" Linda groaned, the veins standing out at her temples and in a blue tracery around her lower body.
Karen's blood ran cold at the sound of Linda's moans, so unlike anything she knew in her friend's voice and soul.
"Ohhh god! Anh! Anh, anh!" Linda whimpered. Her arms were clutching her ankles, drawing her legs up over her body and Karen suddenly noticed Linda's vulva gaping up at her, its chaste pink lips unnaturally wet with excited effusions. She had never actually seen a woman's sex organs displayed so vividly. And Linda kept groaning with such intensity that Karen began to forget herself and her previous uptightness in near-panic.
"Linda, love, what is it, what's wrong!" she demanded, shaking her friend in a move that served to trigger wild convulsions in Linda's body and intensified groans.
Karen recoiled at the suggestion but immediately fought off her surprise in a new wave of love and concern for her tormented friend. She knelt on the bed and looked again at Linda's fully-exposed crotch which seemed to be winking open and shut. She remembered what a relief it was to finger herself though she had never approached the condition of desperate, helpless lust that seemed to be raging through Linda's golden body.
She crawled to a position facing Linda's upturned steaming crotch and biting her lip with a rush of contradictory emotions, tentatively probed with a finger end around the gushing pink crescent that lay split in the fur between Linda's straining thighs.
"Oh god Karen yes, yes!!" Linda shouted, unleashing her long legs and flinging them around Karen's neck. Before Karen even realized what had happened, her head was yanked down to the other's boiling basin, the strong legs scissoring around her ears and holding her captive.
That summer at the lake, they had thrown open the sleeping bag and taken turns tonguing the secrets of each other's bodies, exploring with the dainty furrows that were just showing tufted signs of maturity.
Now Karen's face was clamped against the slippery maw of Linda's sex as the prostrate girl buried her hands in Karen's hair and beseeched her for relief from the unknown forces that had ignited her mindless need. Karen gagged and resisted, gasping for air in the slushy wetness of the hair-rimmed labia that clamored at her face. Then she remembered Randy, looking up at her from his prone position between her legs, his face glistening with her own come, telling her how much he loved to eat her out, as much as he loved to screw her. And she felt the turmoil in Linda's body, distantly hearing the cries and fervent moans Linda was uttering, and opened her mouth in a sacrificial act of acceptance and aid that would launch the two of them into new orbits of intimacy and interdependence.
While in the observation booth, once he had adjusted the videotape recorder so that the passion of the two friends was transcribed in perfect detail for sight and sound, Bonn glued his eyes to the monitor hooked into the television set-up and began a slow, sure pounding of the meat which twitched like a crimson club in his fist.
7
Lilly hadn't been able to bring herself to venture out-of-doors for several days after the night of the party and her self-debasement at the Pinball Emporium. She stayed shut up at home, trying to shut her ears to the occasional sound of a motorcycle engine gunning in a swift era-cracking down-shift. She kept telling herself she had to think through her behavior, deal with it rationally, put the specter of Greg and his gang behind her. But the more she tried to collect herself rambling around the house, the more she became aware of the ominous side to Theresa's presence.
For one thing, the maid had taken to wearing very short black shirts and black net hose-not for Wayne's benefit certainly, since he was oblivious to Lilly, never mind any other female. No, Theresa seemed to take great pleasure in puttering around the house in the very rooms Lilly chose to compose herself in, dusting and straightening, always with her back to her mistress, bending over whenever possible, like a chorus-line tart, so that Lilly found it next to impossible not to glimpse the tops of her stockings, the bands of milky flesh between stocking-top and panties (black lace, of course), and the fine creases where Teresa's arrogant little buttocks plumped out. The sight only served to remind her of the first afternoon with Greg, her voluntary abduction, and the way he had taken her behind, making her repeat his gloating similes of canine copulation.
So that instead of putting Greg and the weaknesses he represented from her mind, Lilly began daydreaming, fixing more intently on the pleasures she had derived not only from her illicit surrender to the gang-leader, but also from the utter dominion the rest of his gang had exerted over her.
Between Theresa's flirtations and the restlessness prompted by her inability to control her daydreaming fantasies, Lilly was soon going up the wall. On the fourth day, in mid-afternoon, she finally dressed in street-clothes-a handsome wool suit-and ventured out, ignoring Theresa's sly farewell.
She walked quickly and deliberately away from Colony Avenue and the university, stretching her long legs in striding exploration to unfamiliar neighborhoods in the grimy city. Her head held high, she betrayed no emotion at the wolf-whistles and eye-rolling of bus drivers, deliverymen and passersby, who turned to admire her svelte figure and graceful carriage. But inwardly she glowed with satisfaction and reveled in the fluttery sensations deep in her abdomen that the admiration of complete strangers set off.
When her ears picked up the sound of the motorcycle, she suppressed her excitement, telling herself it was only another bike-rider heading somewhere in the city. But at the same time, her heartbeat quickened as several vague visions of being captured and borne away by another mysterious domineering rider danced in her head. All her breeding and background made her chin jut resolutely higher in the air, as if asserting her independence from anything so common as motorcycle enthusiasts or so vulgar as gang members. But the other side of her-the unliberated, frustrated sexual animal, so tortured by the ambience of her marriage, so vulnerable to the manners and morals of the highwayman rapine arrogance-posed her in the center of thrilling adventures of the sexual unknown.
One step after the other, she kept walking as the sound grew louder-unmistakable, unique, familiar, seared into her brain. She winced as the mighty engine spat and the wave of thundering noise and metallic heat came right up behind her.
"Let's go, princess!"
She turned around. It was Greg. He had happened on her even in this remote neighborhood.
"Hullo! I'm having a walk!" she tried gamely, unable to meet his glittering emotionless eyes.
"Walk's over, get on!" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
Two elderly women on a sidewalk bench buzzed to one another as Lilly bowed her head, hitched up her wool skirt to the tops of her thighs and clambered aboard the metal monster, sinking her pudenda down against the pulsating fulcrum of the motorcycle seat.
"Been looking for ya. Figured after the other night that you might as well come in with us."
Lilly didn't really understand him. But all further conversation was aborted as the engine roared several decibels louder and she grasped him around the waist to keep from falling off as the cycle leapt off the curb and shot up the street.
Houses, buildings, pedestrians whipped past. She felt dizzy from the yawing of the bike as it weaved in and out of traffic at speeds up to sixty miles an hour on the jammed city streets. Automobile fenders, truck tailgates, angry traffic cops brushed her legs as she cowered into a ball behind Greg, holding him around his waist, sinking her cheek on the cool leather of his grimy jacket, relaxing the muscles deep down in her crotch as her body vibrated with the rhythms of the powerful machine, knowing her panties were becoming soaked with the secretions that ebbed from her agitated female furrow.
She didn't know how much time had gone by when the bike stopped. Shaking the wind-raised tears from her eyes, she got a glimpse of the large building with cement block walls and a pointed tin roof. Then a corrugated steel loading door clattered up and the bike bolted forward out of the daylight and into the recesses of the shed.
There was a last barooming volley of racket from the upswept chrome pipes accompanying the downward rattle of the steel door and the bike skidded to a stop. Lilly blinked, clutching at the seat alone, hardly realizing that Greg had swung himself off the hog.
"Well fuckaduck, you found her!"
"Shit yes, I went looking for her, didn't I?"
"Arva, looky here, this is the broad we was running down to you."
"Get off!" Greg snapped.
Lilly almost held out her hand, as she would to a lover prepared to help her dismount, then flashed on the reality of her situation and awkwardly unseated herself from the tilting cycle which emitted oily burning smells.
"Hello, honey, welcome home," Lilly found herself looking at an unusually tall blonde girl with a heavy build and a leer on her coarse face.
"Hello, how are you?" she responded with a polite show of British cool, extending her hand.
The Amazonian blonde slapped her dainty hand with a large dirty paw. "Later for that shit, honey. This has to be the 'princess,' right, Greg?" she called in a raucous voice.
Lilly looked in the direction of the other woman's comment and saw Greg hanging his jacket over the back of a large cutdown leather armchair into which, with muscles rolling under his tight t-shirt, he collapsed.
All around her were bikes and more bikes, upright, on their sides, partially dismantled, at weird angles, displaying open crankcases and transmission housings. Chains hung from the dark raftered loft overhead and there was machinery of all sizes and shapes littered throughout the shed's vast interior. Rank odors of oils, gasoline and solvent filled her nostrils-along with the smell of gassy warmth coming from some old malfunctioning heating apparatus.
Lilly stood like a frightened rabbit, looking at the run-down furniture scattered around, and at the faces slowly coming at her from the windows. Some of them she recognized from the episode behind the pinball place. Others were new and strange, the strangest belonging to the several women who looked as though they might be her contemporaries. But it was so difficult even to tell male from female, everyone's hair was so shaggy.
She felt a secret rippling thrill through her state of apprehension. This had to be the gang's headquarters. Their lair. Their hideout. Here she was, smack in the middle of it, like a lady-in-waiting carried into the middle of an enemy camp. Distinctly different from all of them by her dress, her background, her education and position. She had come from her world, the university, alien to them except as territory to ride maraudingly through, to this low place they called home. Borne away into the underbelly of the city. Come to be with them? She shivered with excitement, feeling their eyes baiting her. Come to prostrate herself again at the feet of their leader? To show them she could subject herself to his every whim and accept his leadership as they did?
"Greg, man, why you bringin' this fancy broad down here?" she heard a voice ask. "Man, you gonna bring it down on all our heads!"
"Everything's cool, man. The princess's come down to earn her colors."
"Yeah? Man, I gotta check into this! She's got to fail, man, she don't even know which way is up. Too much!"
Several figures crowded around Lilly, looking her over. She smiled back at them awkwardly, wanting to show them she trusted them, that she could be one with them.
"This here's Little Man, princess," Greg said, as an enormous young man stepped up and nodded to her with a grin. "That's Sixpak."
"Me," a shorter man identified himself, squinting at her from dark little eyes that were framed by a greasy pompadour of waved-up hair.
"Hondo," Greg continued, and Lilly exchanged glares with another rough-looking tough.
"I'm Luby, Hondo's lady," said a filthy-looking redhead in an equally filthy jean outfit. Lilly tried to smile, but the smile faded as the chunky girl stared at her, hands on her hips, her jean jacket open halfway down, displaying a deep shadow of unfettered cleavage.
"Hey, Ratman!" Greg yelled to one of the darker corners of the garage. "Come here and meet the countess I been telling ya about."
There was a shuffling sound and the circle parted to let a deformed figure in black leather and bushy sideburns drag himself up to Lilly. She saw that one of his boots pointed out at right angles to his body and scraped on the filthy cement floor as he hobbled closer. His misshaped body-had he piled himself up in a cycle accident?-packed into the shiny leather made a grotesque sight. He leered at her and then took a long pull from what looked like a bottle of cough medicine.
"My old lady," he grunted, indicating the statuesque blonde who had initially greeted Lilly, "Arva Lee."
"Welcome aboard, honey," said the blonde. Lilly thought that she would be a striking woman were it not for her rough complexion. She was certainly imposing, at least a foot taller than Lilly herself, her dirty blonde hair tumbling down her back. Like a caricature of the lady wrestler, Lilly thought, but all in proportion.
"Roadrunner," Greg announced, and another hood winked at her.
"And Jolly-for the green giant. You ought to know all about that, coming from England. You oughta see Jolly's beanstalk!"
Guffaws and laughter from the others at Greg's comment.
"Meet my old lady, Mandy. Mandy, the princess. Princess, Mandy." The biker named Jolly parroted. A small brunette girl in high spike-heeled leather boots smiled with what Lilly thought was the most lascivious expression she had seen since Theresa, she smiled like Theresa, looking at her with an unnatural interest. Lilly saw her running her eyes up and down her body and turned away embarrassed, not wanting to encourage whatever vices Mandy was evidently proud of.
She was facing a youth who wore different, light-colored dungaree pants and jacket. His hair hung loose down to his neck and Lilly noticed with surprise that it was clean. He had on relatively unsoiled buff-colored desert boots that came high up his calves and in place of the heavy ornaments and junk that hung around the necks of the others, he had a simple thong with a weird, delicate sculpture on the end. To her amazement he took her hand and bending from the waist, brushed it lightly with his lips, then stepped back smiling.
"Awright, awright!"
"Yeah, that's Bruce," Greg said disdainfully. "He's from out West, but he's riding with us for now because none of us have figured how to kick the shit out of him. Bruce the poet!"
The youth named Bruce wasn't listening to Greg's description, but met Lilly's eyes for a moment with his own.
"So you really know what you're in to, princess?" he asked her in a soft voice.
Lilly was confused. She turned and looked over at Greg who was taking a can of beer from Luby's hand.
"I don't know, Greg! What now, now that I've met your friends?"
"What now, bitch, is you got to get tight with us. But you can't do that until we've all tried you out. Now if you pass, I say, if, and you can make it, well then you can ride with us instead of hanging around for didlyshit up at school there. And you get to wear the colors, turn around, Lub."
The redhead turned around. On the back of her jean-jacket was a crest with a picture of a leaping sabre-toothed motorcyclist.
Ratman was scribbling something on the back of a piece of paper. "I think we need, like we should get a statement from the bitch, Greg," he said, handing the paper to the leader.
Lilly wondered if this name-calling and deliberate rudeness was just put-on, or a natural part of the attitudes of this outlaw gang.
"Yeah, good," Greg replied, reading the piece of paper and beckoning for Lilly to come get it. "See, Ratman, before he got smashed up, he was a big man in his law class. Right up at the university there. He helps keep us out of court, or at least, out of the cage." There was snickering around the room. Several of the cyclists were lounging around drinking beer.
"Now you write a copy in your own writing," Greg instructed her.
Lilly, more amused than anything else by the language of the waiver which amounted to an advance confession that she had sought out the company of the bikers and disclaimed any liability for injury on their part, took a pen from her purse and copied the statement, signing her name and dating it. What a story! A gang that made you sign away your rights to sue before they got you on a motorcycle! Were there any Americans who weren't organization men?
She hesitated as the ink dried, realizing that she had linked her name to the gang, but then accepted the fact that if she were found out, it would more likely result from dying in a crash that someone she knew seeing the disclaimer and she handed it to Ratman. He blew on it as thought it were a check and hobbled away to file it.
"Well?" Lilly inquired brightly, looking round her. Bruce was shaking his head off in a corner-a gesture that gave her pause for the first time since she had rolled into the steel grotto.
"Well shit!" said Mandy in a brittle voice. "This ain't no tea party, baby!" The small brunette picked up what looked like a length of radio aerial and Lilly stepped back, flashing on the skinheads back in England who used the same sort of weapon to persecute colored people.
"Greg?" she said in a voice that quivered slightly. "What's going to happen to me?"
"That depends on you, princess. It's initiation time."
"Initiation? I'm afraid I don't understand!!"
"You're sure about her?" Mandy asked Greg, flicking the aerial swish-wish through the air.
"Yeah, get it on!" Greg nodded.
"Gimme the coat!" Arva Lee demanded. Lilly looked around at the wide circle of greasy males, and the three women who were advancing on her, and then at Greg. But he was drinking his beer, paying no attention to her.
"C'mon!" the big blonde repeated, holding out her hand.
Lilly reluctantly shed the coat and handed it over. It was dawning on her that she had really stepped into the adventure, perhaps over her head, but that the best and wisest course would be to go along and not rile any of the tempers that seemed to smolder in all the gang members.
"Take the dress off!" cracked the blonde.
Lilly saw Mandy nodding, her eyes glinting, the thin piece of aerial flicking in the palm of her hand. She looked around the garage, seeking a signal of friendship or trust from the gang, looking for Bruce who had spoken softly but now was nowhere to be seen.
"Hurry up!" Mandy urged her in a threatening tone.
"Greg?" she said plaintively, wanting at the very least some recognition or encouragement from him. This wasn't like that night where she had volunteered her submission. It was being forced on her, she suspected, and by women at that-an unexpected and unpleasant turn of events.
"Don't order me around," she responded, drawing herself up, trying to impose her dignity and bearing on the short brunette and menacing blonde.
"Listen, sweetheart," came a croaking voice. It was Ratman. "Don't get snotty. You want to treat us like animals, we treat you like one. Smarten up!"
"Yeah, cut the crap!" the blonde demanded. "Hurry up and take it off!"
"Take it off or get it ripped off," chimed the redhead named Luby.
Lilly swallowed heavily. This was new experience, being dominated by women. But their commands had begun to summon up her appetite for domination, the old need to be ruled, to be preyed upon. And seeing that the male members of the gang were beginning to look on with interest, like a group of new masters studying her ability to pass their inspection and possibly even ordeal, Lilly began to adjust to the three women as agents of the gang's collective will.
She reached behind herself and unfastened the wool top of her suit, letting it slide down her arms. Then the skirt, stepping out of it and laying both pieces of the suit on Greg's bike. She stood in the shimmering white of her slip, crossing her arms as if chilled and gripping her shoulders. The small brunette was positively beaming at the sight of her incipient nakedness.
"Take it off, baby!" said Mandy. The voice which had been brittle was now husky.
Lilly glanced around, noticing how they were all watching her. It was like being in the center of the arena, of the pit, like a captured animal. She knew her captors wanted to see her body, the same body that had aroused some of them several nights before when she had knelt before Greg and done that unthinkable thing for the first time. Hadn't that been proof enough for them that she wasn't mistress of her own passions, that she would readily yield to their power over her that was symbolized by Greg?
She hooked her fingers in the straps of her slip and began drawing it up over her head. There was a whistling sound and she felt a sharp crack of pain on her silk-encased buttocks. She gasped and stumbled backwards, yanking the slip clear of her head, undressed to her expensive bra and panties. Mandy was standing to one side of her and she guessed she had been struck by the thin metal rod. But then she glanced to her left and saw that Luby, the stocky redhead, was swinging a wide leather belt-the kind Greg and the others wore--and she realized that she had been hit by it. Her eyes went wide with questioning. The flesh of her posterior burned. Standing in her underthings, stockings and shoes, she looked like a trapped bird.
Arva Lee stepped forward without warning and grabbed her brassiere by the middle. She wrenched it violently, pulling Lilly off her feet before the fabric rent and gave away, causing her breasts to bobble free.
"Nice."
"Beautiful!"
"Right on!"
Lilly flushed, very wary of another blow from either of the women, unsure how to forestall it. Her hands hesitatingly rose to her naked breasts as the blonde reached out with thumb and forefinger.
"Don't-" But Arva Lee had seized one of her nipples in her large mannish fingers and was giving it a slow agonizing tweak that made Lilly bend to one side in pain.
"Owwww!" she exclaimed. Why were they treating her like this? Because they were jealous? Or just sadistic? She recalled her stepfather beating her childish fanny before violating her, the pain that had preceded her introduction to pleasure.
"Look at those tits!" one of the gang sang out. But Lilly was biting her lip as Arva squeezed and twisted the sensitive nipple. It burned, but she knew it was also swelling to an aroused, turgid condition.
"Not so hard, please! You're hurting!" she pleaded. But Arva only stepped closer and took one of her creamy globes in each hand. She massaged and kneaded them roughly.
"She likes it, the bitch!" Mandy commented hoarsely. "Look at her. Look at those pretty titties."
"Mmmmmmm," Arva agreed, digging her strong fingers into the milky flesh as Lilly's knees buckled beneath her. She remembered the older girl at Swallowhall touching her breasts; Theresa only days ago caressing her in the shower, and now, this stranger, this enormous girl mauling her bosom with ferocious female hands.
"Bring her over here, Arva," a voice called. The blonde gripped Lilly by a breast and hauled her over. The swarthy obese girl named Luby was seated in an old padded chair with broad stuffed arms. Her bluejeans were in a heap on the floor and she was slumped low on the cushion, her fat legs spread wide and hooked up over the arms.
Lilly registered the shocking sight of the redhead's hairy cunt yawning up at her. Her arms were being grabbed by Arva and the little brunette. The two women were forcing her to her knees. She looked around desperately at Greg, who was casually lighting a cigarette.
"Comere, princess, come to momma," Luby was chanting, reaching down and with her thumbs prising open the already parted rusty gash of her quim.
Arva had taken a fistful of Lilly's hair at the nape of her neck and was forcing her head between the fuzzy, bloated thighs. Lilly saw in a flash what she was being subjected to-ten times worse than the specter of male passion she had conquered so recently.
A wave of nausea swept over her as her nostrils filled with the odor of the redolent gaping pussy now only inches from her alarmed face. Not only could she smell it, she could see it on the thick soft lips that were spread wide, waiting for her. The stench of the cuntal blood caused her throat and stomach to constrict in a dry heave. Arva had let go of her hair and she reared away, gulping for fresh air to rid herself of the polluted vagina's foulness.
Instantly Mandy raised her arm over her head and brought the aerial whipping down on Lilly's "bare back, slashing her skin.
"No, oh please don't! Don't! You'll mark me!" she begged, trying to ward off Mandy's next blow which caught her under the arm and whipsawed a thin red line of blood at the side of her breast. Mandy's arm rose and fell again and Lilly toppled backward onto the floor, losing her shoes, her eyes tearing from the pain. Instantly hands caught her wrists and ankles, two of the men helping Arva and Mandy, holding her spread-eagled on the oily cement. Mandy reared over her, menacing the aerial in the air over Lilly's shrinking body. Then the arm fell and Lilly shrieked as the heavy wire scored both her breasts leaving a lash-like trace of blood across her bosom.
"No! No!" she screamed. "No more, please, please!"
"Promise Greg you'll be a good bitch!" Arva said, kneeling heavily on Lilly's arm.
"Oh yes, I will, I will," she cried. "I'm sorry, I will, I promise, oh please don't scar me, pleeease!" she wailed in terror and pain as Mandy flicked the sharp end of the aerial teasingly on the hump which mounded under her silken panties.
The hands released her. Luby beckoned with her finger, shifting further downwards in the chair, thrusting her soiled cunt over the edge of the rotting cushion. Lilly staggered to her hands and knees, her hose ripping and running on the rough cement floor. Shaking, fighting to control her tears, knowing she had to get a grip on herself to spare herself further cruelties, she approached the yawning hairy opening. Her spine shivered coldly as the rankness of the girl's unclean condition enveloped her once more.
But her aristocratic mouth opened. Her tongue appeared pinkly between her white teeth. Her cheeks brushed the insides of the flabby thighs. Her hands floated about uncertainly, then crept under the heavy legs. The wiry hairs of Luby's reddish thatch tickled her nose.
My god, what I, how have I...
Shutting her eyes, she probed with her tongue, feeling the hair. Explored downwards, shuddering as her lips encountered the feral wetness of the sticky sex portals.
Luby's hands closed on the back of her head and mashed her face against the dank opening.
Lilly forced herself to extend her tongue, pushing it between the swollen sour rims. She heard Luby gasp with pleasure and was pulled more tightly against her fat pelvis. Determinedly, summoning all her reserves of fortitude and self-discipline to overcome her revulsion, to prove herself to Greg and rise above the physical torture that the girls of the gang seemed all too eager to use on her, Lilly began eating Luby's pussy, foul as it was, clamping her mouth to it, coiling her tongue into the slimy chamber and rubbing her face in the fetid depths.
Her tongue ran up and down the cleft and swished from side to side as the fatty thighs clapped together around her head. Where air came from she had no idea. She felt buried in the hot yielding folds of Luby's groove, interred in the searing cavity which was turning into a frothing pit as she mixed her saliva with the excresences and waste that churned out of the rotten rims.
The more she was able to lather up the pussy which pushed down on to her face, the more diluted became Luby's essences. With a jolt of excitement and surprise, Lilly found the girl's tiny clitoris and bored in on it. The body above her recoiled as her tongue darted about the bud, teasing and lashing it. This was wrong, wicked, beyond anything she had ever imagined herself succumbing to, foul beyond fantasy-but so necessary, so vital if she was to successfully win respect from Greg and the rest of them. But what a price for becoming the property of another, for ensuring that Greg would fill the vacuum in her life left by Wayne and those other excuses for men.
Something cool and sensuous dribbled on her back, but she couldn't move her head an inch from the flesh vise of Luby's roiling abyss. She stiffened her tongue and sawed it back and forth over and around the stiffening clitoris, taking perverse delight in the grunts and cries of pleasure that sounded dimly above her submerged ears.
Warm liquids poured on her back now and seeped down to her buttocks, soaking her panties. Then something cold again, and something else, now cold, now hot, dribbled, poured, pelting onto her lovely skin, defying explanation. But she stayed with the heaving cunt, knowing her will was stronger than the fat girl's, although her tongue ached and felt like it might be ripped off as her captor finally tossed and shuddered violently, grinding Lilly's face against the steaming maw until the spasms she had triggered ebbed away in a tide of sweat and congratulatory curses.
Released from the flaccid thighs, her ears ringing, Lilly's nose was assaulted by a new blend of stinking odors. She had been drenched in liquids and reeked of alcohol and petroleums and wastes. And before she could discern the extent to which she had been soiled, Arva Lee leapt into the chair Luby had just tottered out of rubbing her hairy belly, and pulled Lilly's flushed, slime-covered face to her cunt.
"Eat me, suck my cunt like you sucked Greg's cock!" the big blonde demanded. And automatically Lilly opened her mouth as her lips made contact with the other's dry slot. She pushed out with her tongue, priming the hot outer lips of the large new pussy-almost grateful for its uncursed condition, although her body once again rebelled at the intimate contact and sensing of another female's genital organs.
But Arva's vulva was melting to her touch. The long pale lips parted easily. This was so different, a hot revelation, almost sweet-tasting in comparison. Lilly let her mind dissolve and bowed to the big blonde. She wrapped her arms around the seated Amazon's waist and dug in more deeply. Now she was sucking the juices down from the meaty gash. Her jaws worked furiously to increase the salivation. She pursed her lips out and smeared this great sweet pussy with abject fawning kisses. She felt Arva's big hands clench in her hair and draw her head up and she followed the lead, probing with her tongue deftly now, uncovering and exciting the hidden nub of sexual passion until it grew, extending like a small rudimentary penis.
Lilly's cheeks pumped in and out and her head thrashed as she tormented the distended wet bud. Her greedy mouth was nearly dislodged by the blonde's fevered bucking and tossing. But she hung on, keeping the tiny jewel in her vacuum-like kiss, scoring the glistening protrusion with slurping sucking dedication, drubbing it with her tongue until she could feel Arva Lee's booted feet beating heavily on her back in a tattoo of ecstasy.
"Hurry, hurry, oh fuck yes! Oh shitpisscunt-kikeniggerwopcock! Ohhhh! Ohhhh! Fuckinga-a-a-ayyy!" Arva chanted as Lilly launched a final frontal assault with her fatigued lips and tongue driving the heaving orgasm from the whomping whirlpool.
And then, abruptly, the blonde pushed her away, toppling her on her back in the pool of filthy scum the gang members had been christening her in.
Lilly was stunned with exhaustion and the shock of being discarded so rapidly. But she also felt a warmth in her own pussy and knew she would soon have to relieve herself-only with a man. She needed Greg, his friends, the inflexible armament of the male body plunging into the burning hole between her legs.
But the biker named Sixpak had fallen on her prostrate, befouled body, straddling her with his thighs, his greased hair sagging down in heavy glistening strands around his eager face. His hands went to the sides of her head and he worked her sore jaws open with his thumbs. Lilly's head was hauled up to her chest and then her whole body along with it as Sixpak struggled to his feet. His pants fell away and Lilly was faced with his massive-veined penis jutting out at her. Before she could even gather breath, his thumbs prising her mouth open, Sixpak jammed the head of his rigid staff right into her besmeared mouth.
She could only go slack as he worked the bloated member between her lips. But he didn't need her cooperation. The sensation of her lady-like lips on him inspired a frenzy of motion in his short legs and narrow hips. He staggered and weaved, hauling the impaled woman around the rough floor as he butted his swollen cock in and out of her mouth, his balls slapping their bristled weight against her lovely chin.
Her tongue resisted feebly as he savagely used her. She could only strain for air as her jaws were jacked further and further apart by his deepening lunges. And almost before she knew it, he grunted like a madman and bucked with his abdomen, nearly splitting the roof of her mouth with his livid organ. Lilly felt his cock swell and convulse in her mouth and instantly she was flooded with his come jetting down her throat.
She was still swallowing and hacking desperately, trying to clear her windpipe of the boiling gook he had injected into her being, when Sixpak pushed her away into the waiting grip of the roughneck called Hondo, whose old lady Lilly had been started on in this marathon of abuse.
Her stockings hung in tatters on her legs and her knees bled as he dragged her back to the chair by the wrists. And she would have sagged into the pool of urine, beer and used crankcase oil if her head had not been seized in his horny hands. There was no need to pry her jaws open. They hung open limply, drooling Sixpak's semen, as he twisted her head to one side. Bringing her mouth parallel to his erect, pulsing cock, he used her like a sponge, applying the wetness of her rubbery lips up and down the length of his hard penis.
Then he hauled her up onto her knees so that he could prod the purplish glans into the outraged orifice. Her neck snapped and seemed to rip away from her body as he corkscrewed her head up and down the marbled prick. Sucking, whining noises filled the air as her mouth, slimy with come and accumulated sleaze, feebly attempted to expel at least part of the male organ which spiraled violently into the elastic of her throat.
Lilly went stiff as a corpse. Convulsions of coughing began deep within her. But the reflexes only excited Hondo more and he wrenched her head furiously onto his bursting member, whooping with delight as her contracting throat pulled at his overwrought member and, simultaneously, she kicked and clawed at him like a drowning cat fighting for air, impaled on the phallus which now exploded, spurting and jerking a new clot-load of defilement into her half-dead being.
The sight of Lilly nearly suffocating and panicked before her collapse onto the floor had aroused the entire gang. They gathered hungrily around where she lay, her body soiled and stained, hair matted and plastered to the sides of her face but concealing none of her wan beauty, her legs twitching and crooking on the floor.
They bellowed with amusement as Luby lowered her jeans and squatting over her, loosed a yellow torrent of waste on the lovely porcelain body.
"Swim, princess, swim!"
Roadrunner held up a can of thick transmission oil and let it glop out in a brown heavy stream up and down her figure. Their faces swam above her. She didn't know whether she was conscious or hallucinating. But she sensed with deepening despair that it wasn't over, that this ritual into the cycling tribe had more to show her and demean her with. Her mouth felt like she was coming out of novocaine, battered and sore and thick with the scum that had been deposited there, with more of it drying to a shiny film on her chin and cheeks.
She wondered who would next force her to another violation. But she dimly heard Greg saying something, decreeing a change of pace.
Two of the gang took her under the arms and hauled her to her feet. With her feet dragging and chafing on the floor, they bore her across the garage to a metal frame from which hung a chain hoist for lifting engines. Using greasy rags, Luby and Arva Lee bound her hands wide apart to the bar on the hoist. She heard the gravelly clanking of the chain and felt herself being drawn up, hanging by her arms, wildly trying to find the floor with her toes.
Greg came forward, a knifeblade flickering in his hand. She tensed with fear as he slid it under the edge of her panties. The elastic and silk sheared away as the blade carved up, its point tickling her belly, leaving her naked but for the shreds of stocking that hung wispily to her legs.
They all stood for a moment and admired their winsome victim's pubic parts. Then Jolly stepped forward and emptied a cheap bottle of red wine over her head. The coolness of it trickling down her face roused her a little. She felt a hand probe between her hanging legs.
As the others looked on, Mandy's grease-covered fingers wormed their way into her pussy, violating the secret clasp of her pussy lips, spreading them and the goo around the feverish walls of her body's aperture. The chain clanked as Lilly twisted on the hoist, her loins inflamed by the brunette's touch. Deeper and deeper Mandy pushed, inserting two fingers into the actual passage of her womb, plumbing her in-sides. Involuntarily her legs opened to give the hand more access, fearing some new cruelty from the girl who had twice bloodied her already. She groaned as the two fingertips thrust up into her vaginal canal, titillating her lust.
Grins spread across the faces of the gang as they watched Mandy doing what she liked best: manipulating a helpless victim. Lilly's milky legs crooked up in midair, twitching like a frog's. Mandy's fingers slithered in her easily now, angling up into the wet tissue until Lilly began to moan aloud, her hips jerking and wiggling as the twin digits spiraled in and out, unleashing all the juices deep in her body.
New anointments of oil and sludge were poured over her, further disfiguring her creamy complexion, running in dirty streams down her breasts and tucking belly. Her cunt split open and curled upwards, flashing its pinky intimacy to them all. Mandy withdrew her fingers with a pop of air and began rubbing Lilly's clit, causing her legs to flail in the air like a child's toy as the finger set up a too-rough friction on the delicate tip of the vestigal bud.
"How about it, princess?" Greg called across the garage, his voice piercing the pounding in her head as she danced on the hoist, her arms nearly popping from their sockets above Mandy's coaxing finger.
"Waddya say, princess?"
A connection jumped in Lilly's brain-Greg, masterful Greg, was asking her! She worked her mouth and finally the words came tumbling out as they had during her first public submission. She had learned the lesson, and responded with a babble.
"Oh yes, Greg, I must have it! Please fuck me! Oh darling, please, fuck me now, give it to me, fuck me, ohhh, please, I want it so badly, oh!"
The gang roared with laughter, venting the tension of erotic longing they all felt at the spectacle of her writhing nude body hung up on the hoist.
The fingers left her now and Lilly looked down. Jolly was holding the narrow neck of the wine bottle toward her.
"Here you go, princess, stick it in, stick it up your cunt, c'mon!"
She leapt for it, mad to replace Mandy's fingers with anything that would fill the seething void between her shapely thighs. Whimpering, she swung out as Jolly teased her by bringing the bottle closer and closer, her feet pawing in the air as she tried to impale herself on it.
"Blast!" she cried angrily. "Give it to me then, won't you!" She lunged for it and rammed herself down on the glass neck, coating the tapering vessel with her slippery juices and rattling the hoist as she tried to suck it into her boiling cunt.
Finally, thank god! she thought, mindlessly fucking herself on the bottle which Jolly held up under her. It felt so good to have something working in there on the soft walls, spearing the palpitating lips, rubbing the ring of clasping muscles around the irritated sex-eye of her body. But suddenly her feet were seized and lifted up until she was crouching in midair. The bottle was pulled free from the suction of her cunt and before her stood "Little Man" shucking off his jeans.
Lilly's eyes bulged in her head as the laughter and whoops around her grew louder. For Little Man's erect member was pointing at her, twice as large as anything she'd imagined even in the delirium of dream-fantasies. It looked bigger than the base of the winebottle, springing from his groin like a flagpole.
She shook her head, looking for Jolly, wanting the bottle back. This was a bad joke, and an alarming one at that. Surely no woman could absorb a phallus that large and long-the size of a pony's-without tearing herself. They were just trying to shock her. Perhaps it was one of those artificial dildoes-a stag joke.
But it came closer, an enormous blunt-ended log raised in readiness for her. Her feet were being drawn apart remorselessly by those who knew what it took to aid their friend with the oversized equipment.
The three gang mommas pressed forward for the event. Lilly was trying to stand on the hands that supported her feet, but her legs were being spread too wide. She continued shaking her head in disbelief as the flesh mushrooming head of Little Man's cock-big as a sand dollar-was positioned against her crotch. Then her body was lowered and she realized there was no way out. But her slippery vaginal crevice merely skated back and forth on the end of the monstrous shaft.
Then Mandy came up behind her and inserting her index fingers in Lilly's crack, began to spread the crescent divide. Lilly, whimpering as the girl coaxed the elastic lips apart, gradually opening up the entrance, stretching it, separating the lips so that her vulva began to yield to the unbelievable insinuation of the massive penis.
She was helpless, able only to stare down incredulously as Little Man wormed himself up at her. Mandy had gotten the vaginal lips far enough apart, so that the bludgeoning head had half-disappeared within Lilly. The hoist clattered as it lowered several inches, letting her weight spit her on the thickening shaft. There was fantastic pressure between the sockets of her thighs, against the boneplates of her abdomen, which grated as Little Man's cock began to jack them apart. Mandy's fingers tugged harder, making her gasp with pain. The rims of her pussy strained and stretched to a wide oval, yielding bit by bit.
Mandy eased her fingers out of the taut pussy rim that ran in a thin ribbon around the domed cudgel of Little Man's appliance. She reached up and began pulling down on Lilly's shoulders, adding her weight to the forces that were working toward the awesome coupling.
Despite her protestations, her requests to them to go slower, not to tear her, to take more time, her feet were being pulled farther apart. Her pelvis was being pushed back under her until nearly all of her weight and that of Mandy was concentrated on the last millimeter of expanding cuntal crater that spread bit by straining bit over the great pillar. She felt a searing splitting sensation and knew that the head had pierced the portals of her womb with a dagger intensity as of deflowerment.
And the gang girls knew just how she felt. They had all been there, all knew that the constriction exerted by a normal cunt only made Little Man's cock harder and more cruelly compelling.
"Aghhh!" Lilly groaned as her body bore down more with fiery pain. "Aggha-gha! It's too large. I can't, oh I can't, uuuuunh! Ahhga-ga-ga-aaowwwww! Aaaannnh!" she screamed as Little Man jerked upwards and ran his marbled lingam a third of the way into her slender body.
Greg lit another cigarette, watching from his chair as his friend's enormous organ disappeared by scream-punctuated degrees into the bitch's body.
She was sinking inexorably, her crotch nakedly distorted, cloven grotesquely by his bulk. All her insides were being jumbled and displaced as the column ground up into her too-small abdomen. She could feel her womb already stretched to the bursting point, the sharp pain of his rounded cock-head pushing at the end of the elastic cylinder, and she began to wonder dazedly if they meant to do her serious harm.
Then the support was removed from her feet and with a sinking squinching grating motion, her body opened and she sank completely onto Little Man, filled to capacity, literally suspended by the dangerously-tortured top of her cuntal passage.
She bowed her legs and vised her feet together on his hips, the sweat running down her body, washing some of the filth and ordure from her skin. Little Man reached up and held onto the frame of the hoist. He pushed forward, carrying her back and up till she thought she would explode or his penis would rip right through her backside. Then he drew back swiftly, dragging some of the massive heft out of her. Back up and she sank down to his hilt with a screeching cry. Down and forward, back and forth, the leviathan immensity of his log began to loosen and lubricate itself in the silk-tight membranes her body had encased it in. The flesh of her ass was stretched taut as he began pumping up and down, pistoning himself into her body, each time nearly collapsing her insides with the suction.
They panted at one another. Lilly found Greg with her eyes. He nodded coolly to her. She grinned, suddenly elated. It wasn't so bad, she was doing it, you could see the grudging admiration in the faces of the gang riders who were sneering less and leering more.
She found new strength and grunted ferociously. Little Man's face split into a shit-eating smile as he felt her working with, rather than against him. Her panting cries rained down on him as they pumped laboriously together lubricating and facilitating the incredible union until Lilly felt her insides turn to a jelly, all her nerves clustered around the distorted cavity in which she was really receiving him. She looked down with a fierce wanton pride at the gigantic cock that miraculously appeared from inside her for more than a half foot while still far up into her. She ground her body down on it in a furious screwing motion, feeling every inch of the thick shaft slide up through her knot of pussy muscles.
She knew, as she looked at the faces around her, that she had succeeded. That she had been taken over into a new world. Mastered in a manner she had never even imagined. Subordinated to the ultimate test and received into a contract with all of them, the riders and their strange harsh women.
Little Man lunged more and more violently. Each stroke of his massive rod ignited cascades of passion within her, great showers of delight that arced up from the blazing tissues that were being kneaded and compressed by his cock. She responded by driving her tortured body past the point of pain to a new level of fulfillment. The fire spread throughout her body. A delirium of pleasure unlike anything she had ever experienced suffused her whole being. She shut her eyes and threw her head back, feeling her whole body as one great hollow sheath riding up and down on the surging power of the enormous penis. With no resilience left in her pussy, the spasms of successive orgasms shook her like a leaf. One after the other, in long waves, until she was crying for joy, devastated by the enrichment of passion and release that kept dissolving and welling up and dissolving and choking her up. And then Little Man's engine of rape seemed to enlarge yet another dimension and there was a slamming feeling, a buffeting as he exploded within her, shooting his volume of scalding erupting sperm up into her very soul, to the farthest reaches of the body so completely given over to his needs.
"I knew it, I knew it, what a good thing I sent Mr. Hansen out for the evening," Theresa clucked as she helped Lilly up the steps to the front door, looking back over her shoulder at the motorcycle speeding away into the night.
"Please, Theresa, I'm just going to get myself into bed," Lilly protested when they were upstairs in the bedroom. But Theresa wouldn't leave.
"Look at you, madame, it looks like you've had an accident, yes, I will draw you a hot bath."
"Fine, yes, thank you. A bath would be lovely."
While the maid was in the loo, Lilly escaped to her dressing room, shedding the suit and gingerly plucking the rags from behind her legs. There were dark traces of blood. Then he had ripped her after all. But it had been worth it! What a glorious experience, past all description. And she didn't seem to be bleeding still, probably just some small tears from the sheer size of him. But how to avoid Theresa?
"Eeeee!" It was Theresa. "What has happened, oh madame, are you all right, did they rape you?"
"Shhh, Theresa, please, the students will hear you. No, no one raped me. I-I just had an accident. Please leave me now."
"I will call the doctor, yes? How terrible. You must have attention right away. So dangerous to be bleeding there. I will call."
"No, Theresa!" Lilly felt weak. These struggles with the maid were getting beyond her. "I forbid you to call, Theresa!" she called. The maid stopped at the last minute and came back through the door. She wore one of her ingenuous expressions that Lilly could never quite decipher.
"But I was worried for you."
"Thank you, Theresa, you're very kind. But I am quite all right, see?"
"Ah, but let me help you then. I'll just help you into the bath."
"Uh-all right, thank you, here, yes, thank you." And there they were back where they started, and Theresa was undressing her after all, the very thing she had been trying to avoid in the first place.
Lilly ignored the maid's clucking and cooing over the numerous scratches on her legs and arms. Then, too late, she remembered the wounds from the aerial. As Theresa was lifting her slip off, she tried to grab it, but it was gone, and there were the blood-red slashes on her buttocks and breasts. Theresa whistled and came around in front of her. Lilly met her eyes for a moment and the maid was smiling slyly.
"What are you staring at?" Lilly felt crosser with herself than with the insinuating maid.
"Only madame's accident." Theresa's face went businesslike once more. "Come, the bath is ready."
Lilly settled into the foaming hot tub, easing the aches and strains and hurts that covered her body, recalling the dizzying sequence of foul and lewd events, and remembering in every detail the prodigious mating of her body to the youth with the enormous member.
Even after climax, it had had to be pulled by main force from her body, long and limp but too thick to be expelled by the elasticity of her sex. And then they had let her hang for so long afterwards while they drank more beer and recalled all their exploits in front of her. Until finally, Bruce and Ratman had cut her down and Arva Lee had helped her back into her clothes, and they had taken her over to Greg who was watching a television program. She had asked tremblingly, "Did I pass, darling?" and Greg had grunted and signalled the girls to give her a jean jacket that had the crest on it and the legend: "Owned By Ourselves," and finally Greg had stirred himself and they had put her on the bike, though she had screamed with pain at the contact between the firm seat and her throbbing pudenda. How long would it take to heal? They couldn't be serious wounds, just little cuts from the roughness of it all. Perhaps if she screwed more often after all, she'd have less trouble taking on any man, let alone Little Man.
Theresa had come into the bathroom and was busying herself straightening the vanity table, bending over in her short skirt, thrusting the rounded globes of buttocks in Lilly's direction.
Lilly fought not to entertain any thoughts of a liaison with the maid. Really, the thought of it was too dreadful! She wanted a man's love, the furious loving Greg had introduced her to, although she had suffered as never before for the sake of proving herself to him, and then he hadn't even done anything at the end, nor could she have tolerated it if he had made advances after the scoring Little Man had inflicted on her.
"Shall I wash madame now?" Theresa inquired eagerly, breaking into her mistress' thoughts.
"No, that's all, Theresa, I shall go to bed from the bath." Why wouldn't the maid behave herself and take the hint?
"But madame needs care... if Mr. Hansen were to see?" Theresa was looking at the stripe across her breasts.
"Never mind what Mr. Hansen sees!" Lilly rejoined angrily. The nerve of that little tart, it was almost a hint of blackmail! "You'd better look to your own business, Theresa, I mean it. You are excused!"
"But madame hasn't finished her bath, or uh..."
"You are excused! That's all, Theresa!" Lilly said haughtily, glaring at the maid as she reluctantly retreated and then left.
I'm really going to have to give her notice, she thought. The knowledge of Theresa's knowledge made her uncomfortable. No double agents skulking about the house! She would be Wayne's wife to all outward purposes, and do nothing to jeopardize his career. But she was ling to have her satisfaction too-the unique fulfillment she had found with Greg. And damned if she'd be compromised by some little chit of a maid!
8
The fortnight saw her as gracious and charming hostess to a soiree at which Liz Hamilton approached her with what Lilly definitely recognized as a lesbian propositioning, but she shrugged off the older woman's advances as indifferently as she did the cracks of Eric Bonn. As her wounds healed, she was firmer than ever with Theresa. And Wayne, spared the call to bed as never before, had never been happier flitting from the library to his seminars to his study. More than once Lilly laughed to herself when someone commented on how glowingly happy she looked-like realizing the sordid adventure which inspired the glow in the beautiful young Cambridge bride.
Toward the end of the second week, however, she began to grow restless, thinking more and more of Greg, imagining him more in fantasy than in the recent reality she had last seen him.
She chose a Saturday night-with Theresa gone for the weekend, and Wayne off at an academic conference. From the bottom of one of their steamer trunks in the storage basement, she recovered the faded grimy denim jacket with its spectacular heraldry. She bore it upstairs, clutching it covetously. Stripping off her normal clothes, she unwrapped the packages she had bought during the week, admired her body in the full-length mirror, noting that the wound on her breasts and rear had faded to a thin, barely noticeable line; rejected the impulse to put on underwear, remembering how Luby had worn nothing but the jean outfit, the way the bikers wore their leathers.
She drew on the new bluejeans-a skintight fit over her pert rump and graceful legs, pinching her waist just above the little pit of her navel. She knotted the black scarf of silk around her neck and then donned the jean jacket. It was a bit large for her, but she found that by taking in the sidestraps all the way, it tapered nicely from the thrust of her bosom down to her narrow waist. She turned around, admiring the way her hair cascaded down to the legend, "Owned By Ourselves." She ran the new leather belt, studded with small brass knobs, through the jeans and cinched the large brass buckle tightly. Then slipped on the fur-lined black leather boots, and stepped back from the mirror.
It was a complete transformation. Mrs. Wayne Hansen had become a stunning outlaw momma, a female rogue, a hard arrogant-looking bike bitch.
"Look at that sweet thang!"
"Who's the chick with the colors?"
"Hey bitch, turn around!"
"Goddamn, look!"
"Sheeit, it's the princess!"
"Parading around in her Sunday go-to-meeting colors!"
"Me first, man!"
"No man, I think I'll take her down first." The voice was soft but the grip on her upper arm was firm. It was Bruce, gray-eyed and admiring, steering her out the back door into the little yard behind the Pinball Emporium.
"Hey there, you're being rather presumptuous, aren't you?" she chided him.
"One thing about it," Bruce answered. "Like when you wear colors, you go down for one and all of us. Your old man's just another biker, first in line if he's here, but as he isn't here..."
"Didn't you disappear at my initiation?" she asked him, shielding her eyes from the harsh outside light and looking into his square-cut face. He was wearing the same sand-colored outfit she had seen him in at the garage. "Can't stand the sight of blood?"
"Hate to see a pretty girl get tore up," he nodded. "What's your real name?"
"Jennifer," she answered with scarcely a second's hesitation.
"Far out, Jennifer. Jennifer-juniper, like the song."
Lilly didn't appreciate the reference. "You know I'm not very keen on making love in all this squalor if that's what you had in mind."
"Of course, princess," he smiled warmly. "By the sea, rolling with the tides and the western wind?"
"Why do you stay out here?" she asked him, feeling a bit awkward insofar as she expected him to let his pants drop and use her in the manner the others' comments and whistles had suggested they were thinking of.
"Because I haven't left yet. But when I do, I'm going to take a good-looking woman behind me."
Lilly laughed. He was so American, so purely American, like the wanderers one met occasionally on freighters bound through the Mediterranean or the Indian Ocean. But she almost wished he weren't so pleasant, so gentle. It was too marked a contrast to the others, to the ambience of deliberate anonymity and degradation she had changed costume for, and his manners made her uneasy.
"Recognize that?" he asked.
She hadn't even been aware of it, but now she heard it. Cr-r-r-r-rack-r-r-r-cra-crow-w-w-w-w-w-! The unmistakable pitch and swift changes of Greg's bike. Her pulse quickened and she turned to the door apprehensively. He wasn't holding her. But he formed his lips in a suggestive kiss as she hesitated, then bolted back inside the Emporium and ran to the front door.
There, at the corner, was Greg, astride the idling gleaming machine.
"Hello, darling!" It sounded so corny but it was better than mimicking American slang with disastrous results.
Greg eyed her, showing no emotion as he appraised her outfit, just sizing her up with that cold stare he had that chilled her and excited her simultaneously.
"Still with us, huh?" he remarked laconically.
"Yes, yes I am," she breathed fervently. "Can we go somewhere, Greg, it's such a beautiful night, please take me somewhere. I-I need you, darling," she blurted, stepping forward in her sexy little boots and embracing him in a slump against his hard leather-clad body.
"I need you, darlin'," he mimicked, but he let her kiss his cold lips, opening his mouth as she thrust her tongue between his teeth to show him how strongly she felt.
"Okay, I can use it." He shut the bike down and stepped clear of it, kicking the sagging door of the Pinball Emporium open. Lilly followed close behind him.
"What's happening, man!"
"Hey, what's happening!"
"Hey, Greg, better keep that bitch on a leash!"
"Yeah, Bruce wants to eat her out of her socks."
Greg walked through the barrage of greetings and cracks and went out into the yard behind the building with Lilly following blushingly at his heels.
He turned to her, flicking his eyes up and down her bluejeaned figure.
"Okay, let's see it."
Lilly nodded and needed no further urging.
She unbuttoned the denim jacket all the way down and let her breasts jut free in the bright light for him. He looked at them and nodded, savoring in his peculiar silent way their milky symmetrical perfection.
"The rest," he indicated brusquely.
Lilly's fingers flew to her fly and unzipped the jeans. She pushed them down, the deep triangle of her glossy pubic hair widening out in the pale expanse of her flat belly and rounded hips as she shed the jeans to her knees, leaving her lower body completely naked, and then stripped both boots and jeans.
Greg unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his fly. He turned around and grabbing the garbage cans, lined four of them up in two pairs about two feet apart. Then he quickly grabbed Lilly by the waist and lifted her up between them. Instinctively her hands spread out behind her and found the lids for support. He swung her legs up onto the cans so that she was spread in a sitting position with her bare ass hanging between the two lines of cans.
He stepped forward between her legs, pulling his phallus out of his pants. Lilly signed with happiness at the sight of his swiftly erecting penis. Just as she remembered it, corded, aggressive, and distinctly empurpled with the blood pounding into it.
Greg bent down and pushed the sides of her jacket apart and seized one of her breasts in his mouth.
"Oh yes, my darling, oh Greg, oh yes!" she panted as he clamped and sucked the rubbery cone. She wished with all her might that she had milk in her breasts-refreshment for her black warrior prince, nourishment for his greedy mouth from the secret glands of her body.
"Oh darling yes, harder, suck them harder, bite them if you want to," she implored him as his mouth ducked from mammary to mammary, pulling roughly, setting the cones to burning fullness, the nipples erecting out in hard nut-brown stubs. There was an immediate response down deep where the cool air bathed her gaping crotch treasure-a tickling that turned to an itching, an empty pulsing sensation that grew and rippled up inside her body, matching the waves of fervor that seemed to bulge in her tingling breasts.
There was a slight sucking sound as he grabbed her ankles and pushed them further apart, a telltale clue that betrayed her rapid wetting-the mucousy coating that had started flowing down to prepare her sex organs for the coupling that the agitation of her breasts presaged.
He bent over her, forcing her to lean farther back, to lock the fingers of each hand around the handle of a garbage can lid as she hung precariously between them, conscious only of the hunger in her bowels and the imminence of his mounting.
"Oh my god, I can feel it, come into me, darling, put your cock in me-" Her thighs quivered as she spread them to the utmost, feeling the smooth head of his bulging prick skate along to where her silksoft inner flanks converged.
But he took his deliberate time, guiding his tumescent cockhead to the center of her slushy hair-rimmed crescent cuntal aperture. Fitting it firmly between the gasping lips that seemed to reach for it devouringly, and then hesitating, stroking the extreme flanges of her fissure with the bulbous pressure of his foreskin.
"Ahhhh, my god, put it in, darling, all the way in, oh Greg, oh my darling, your cock feels so marvelous. Ohhh!"
He had grabbed her underneath by the buttocks, holding her suspended as he ran the entire length of his penis sabre-like into the velvet scabbard of her fervent hot cunt.
"Ohhhhh!" she groaned, melting as a million nerves were sparked to life by the friction of his rigid curving shank sliding home.
"Oh yessss!!" she hissed, bracing herself on her elbows and heels atop the cans, spider-like as he withdrew to the very tip, collapsing the womb that had been filled for the first time in two weeks. Hovered momentarily, teasing her by withholding the plunge, feeling the edges of her pussy clasp him in a desperate clam-grip as she gasped and entreated him to re-enter.
"Gaaaahhhh!" she croaked joyfully as he came skewering back into her, stretching the flanges of her hair-lined twat with the widening log of his masculinity.
He clamped his hands down over her breasts again, pushing her down so that she hung with all her weight on the broad runway of the top of his shank, running it in and out of her as if to grind down the super-sensitive clitoris that retreated under the fantastic stimulation.
"Oh, ohhh! My darling, take me, Greg, take me."
Swiftly, with long thudding strokes that caused his balls to slap up against her dimpling buttocks, he fucked her with single-minded rapaciousness. Coming to a head of excitement and bursting physical satiation before her pussy had barely begun to react to the rhythmic stroking that cleaved her ripe genital gorge. Hardly panting, his fingers closing like steel traps on her breasts, his palms breaking out in a slight sweat on her rigid nipples, he lunged with a few last fast strokes.
"Ohh, ohhh, ohhhh, gaaaaa!!!"
She lifted her head just in time to see him slam home for the final time, catching a glimpse of the glistening horny pillar driving in under the hump of her pubis, and then feeling a burning buffeting splacking of his torrential seed ripping into the recesses of her hollow feminine vessel.
"Ohhhhh, ohhhhh," she moaned with mixed emotions, despairing that it was over, trying to suppress the involuntary jerking of her hips which needed to feed on more of the inflexible granite root that was turning to putty inside her, yet rejoicing that he had been able to use her so fully and forwardly.
"Don't leave me," she asked, but he pulled his flagging prick out of her loins, picking up her jeans and wiping it off before doing up his pants. "Oh darling, thank you," she sighed, clambering off the cans, touching her feet to the muck-strewn cement of the yard as his come squishing out of her cunt and trickled down her sleek thighs. "Do you want me again, Greg?" she asked him fervidly. "Do you want-I-I could arouse you again," she stammered, thinking with a flush of beginner's backwardness how she might stimulate him with her mouth and entice him back into her-it had been so good! So swift and intense-even, though she didn't climax, her body glowed all over with a happy loose feeling.
"Maybe later, princess," he said, doing up his belt.
He turned and walked into the Emporium, leaving Lilly standing in her open jacket in a joyful daze. After a few seconds, she looked down at her legs, at the dribbles of sticky sperm which were still ebbing from the charge he had filled her with.
Ten minutes later she was with Greg on his bike, zooming downtown. This was freedom, liberation, she thought gaily to herself as she hugged Greg's back, shutting her eyes and molding herself to the swaying machine as they hurtled along through the city, running red lights, cutting off pedestrians, startling motorists, waking up whole neighborhoods with volleys of exhaust from the upswept chrome maga-phone pipes.
She would follow him anywhere, if he carried her to the ends of the earth. What a godsend it was to be able to leave the university far behind, the senile professors, her impotent bookworm scholar of a husband, the leering two-dimensional academic parasites, her maid, Theresa-what did she know of a woman's real passions and needs?
And what a god Greg was to her, masterful, purposeful, how her body opened for him! It had been worth the whole nightmare ritual introduction to the filthy habits and pleasures of the gang to be accepted by him. To be used by him at will, to become his personal property, rewarded by his surging cock for her transformation from a proper, civilized young woman to a sluttish street-figure.
They were stopping. She opened her eyes. They were on a street full of nightclubs and dancehalls, neon lights winking brightly in characteristically artificial American rainbow colors. He was going to take her dancing, to one of his haunts! To show her off in the dives he probably frequented and was notorious in. Lilly hadn't been so excited since she had escaped from her parents in Pamplona to take her chances in the streets during the running of the bulls with a young English crazy who had swelled with pride at having a young well-bred debutante with him in the riotous city.
"Where shall we go first?" she asked excitedly as the bike came to rest at the curb. She hung onto Greg like a disciple, full of love for him, flattered beyond measure that he was according her real old lady's status by "taking her out on the town."
"I need some bread," Greg told her curtly. "Wait here," He detached himself from her and dismounted the machine, striding down the street.
She watched him disappear, momentarily mystified at his behavior. Then she settled back on the bike, sitting proudly as middle-class nightlifers swept past her, noses in the air, whispering to each other, about her, about the spectacle she made perched on the motorcycle like a proud outlaw, projecting the fact that underneath the dungaree outfit was the lush body of a young woman unfettered by any of the clothes and shields of normal life, alive, healthy, sexy, and, as the legend on the back of her jacket confirmed, not a part of the world of pedestrians, taxpayers and householders, but "Owned By Ourselves."
Greg reappeared from the crowded sidewalk. A young sailor in shore whites was at his side. Lilly beamed at both of them, welcoming her master, and announcing to his friend how proudly feminine she felt in her role as mascot, watchdog, guardian of the hog, mistress of the outlaw leader.
The sailor was young, good-looking. He was eyeing her in a strange way. Lilly suspected that if Greg saw how he was running his eyes over her body, he might belt him one out of the blue for daring to covet his motorcycle momma.
But Greg didn't even greet her, turning to the sailor, and announcing, "Thirty bucks!"
"Aw, c'mon, fifteen," the sailor said, bargaining.
A cold chill went down Lilly's spine, the same feeling she had gotten when Arva Lee had first spoken in the dark garage and said, "Welcome home, honey."
"Twenty-five, and she'll throw in a blowjob."
"Yeah?" said the sailor, his eyes lighting up. He was staring at her mouth, her full red lips, his eyes flickering with some dark anticipation.
"You never felt anything like it," Greg continued. His tone of voice was so different, almost like a salesman's. "She'll suck you dry."
Lilly suddenly realized what was happening, just as the sailor nodded to Greg, and Greg grabbed her by the arm, hauling her off the bike.
"Wait a minute, where?" the sailor asked.
"Over here, c'mon, I haven't got all night!" Greg spat, cocky now that the sailor had agreed and committed himself.
"What are you doing? Greg? Darling?" Lilly whispered urgently as he led her roughly into a dark alley that led back between two of the dance-joints. The sailor was padding after them, practically breathing in her ear.
"Darling, you wouldn't...?"
"Shut up, I need the bread. Shut your mouth or I'll kick the crap out of you," he advised her coldly.
They had reached the end of the alley. Greg jerked open a wooden door and dragged her inside. They were in a hall ringing with music from the bar at the front of the building. Greg crossed the hall and opened another door.
"Okay if I use the backroom?" he asked someone Lilly couldn't see.
"Hey, whaddya say, Greg, longtimenosee, sure buddy, go ahead."
Greg shut the door and led her down the hall. He opened another door and flicked on the light. They were in a dank storeroom, piled high with cartons and rubbish. In one corner there was an old-fashioned cot and a filthy washbasin with a single rusted tap and a piece of broken mirror wired over it.
"Okay?" Greg asked the sailor.
"Sure, it ain't the Ritz, but I ain't complaining. I don't guess I'd meet her in the Ritz, hah!"
"Twenty-five bucks!" Greg said, holding out his hand.
The sailor looked at Lilly, then at Greg. "Sure, okay," he responded, fishing in his pants-pocket and extracting a wad of bills. Lilly was staring at Greg. She saw his eyes flick calculatingly at the roll of money. The sailor peeled off five ones and a twenty and handed it to Greg. He took it and waved it in Lilly's face.
"Half an hour, tops. Don't screw around," he told her, then left the room.
She stood bewildered, looking at the door he had just walked out of.
"Hey, what's your name?" the sailor said enthusiastically, starting to take off his clothes.
"Uh, uh, Jennifer," she told him, struck dumb by the flash that she'd just been sold, she, Lilly Hansen, sold to a sailor like a common street whore. And simultaneously she realized for the first time that she feared Greg-not for his masculinity, for the cold passion that he dominated her with, for which she had gone to such lengths-but for his ruthlessness. He would beat me, she told herself, remembering the treatment the girls had given her in the initiation, the savagery they had employed as if they were constantly abused themselves and thus enjoyed taking it out on a newcomer. He had sold her-half an hour!-and she had to do his bidding, just as she was now doing, undressing, and then feeling the sailor's body pounding over hers, pumping it to her, digging his prick into her until she came to a point of almost enjoying it; First into her cunt, and then into her ass, dog-fashion, the semen arcing up so unnaturally toward her spine, she felt the fires of lust explode deep within her, as if someone had suddenly driven a stake of pleasure right through the taut expanse of crotch which separated quim and asshole. Her body shook, her nerves melted, she screamed wildly as a cataclysmic burst of pleasure ravaged the tightening bonds within her and exfoliated like a thousand Roman candles and Catherine wheels that seemed to lift her off the floor.
"Shit, that was too much, too fucking much!" the sailor swore, staggering to his feet, staring down at his soiled, dripping cock as though he didn't or couldn't believe they had actually achieved such a climax together.
Lilly moaned and crawled to the cot upon which she stretched, her eyes shut, trying to blank out not only all memory of the assault, but of the terrifyingly new and powerful way her body had betrayed her by in its response to what she had always considered the most bestial of acts.
She heard the sailor's footsteps thud down the hall. Then she thought she heard a cry of surprise.
Greg was waiting when the sailor emerged into the alley. It took the short sharp blow with a piece of two-by-four to fell him. He was separating the money from the other junk in the sailor's pocket when the door opened and Lilly stumbled out.
"My god!" she gasped, her hands going to her face.
"Pipe down," Greg said matter-of-factly.
Lilly took it all in, the mugging, the money Greg was pocketing, the sailor who had abused her so now lying flat on his face, unconscious.
"Just another navy boy for the shore patrol to mop up," Greg remarked. For the first time since she had known him, Lilly thought she recognized a glimmer of amusement in Greg's face as he slid his arm around her waist and walked her out of the alley toward the shining handsome motorcycle.
9
Lilly swaggered through the university yard, hands thrust in her pockets, pretending not to notice the various students and groundskeepers whose heads were turned by the sight of the beautiful woman decked out in riding suit, her patch advertising the notorious bike gang, boots tapping on the pavement.
She had discovered that with her hair messed up and hanging around her head, there was little danger of being recognized. For the first time, she felt she was really living in America, for the "Ourselves" costume really arrested people. The way men looked at her-policemen, streetworkers, anonymous men in blue suits, was the real violence in the United States. And the way the kids looked at her-students, working people, hippies, high schoolers, gave her a feeling of all the changes the country had been going through.
Yesterday she had walked right past that crazy poet and nearly knocked him off his feet. And before that she ran into several faculty wives who turned up their noses so far at the sight of her outfit they didn't recognize her. It was a whole kind of freedom, an escape for the stultifying ambience of the house, Wayne and the university in general. The life ahead of her hosting teas, repaying compliments, attending lectures, soirees and university events stretched out like an endless highway of tedium, from which the only way out where the sideroads her double life afforded her.
"Hey, foxy woman!" an undergraduate called.
Lilly walked right past the two of them, humming to herself.
"You crazy, man?" his friend whispered. "If her old man is around, you'd really be screwed. Those bikers, man, they'd as soon stomp you as look at you."
"Yeah, I wonder if she was involved in that fight by the river..."
Lilly turned off Colony Avenue, her heart jumping at the sight of all the bikes clustered around the Pinball Emporium. It looked like a convention, and sounded like one as she drew closer.
"Get the fuck outa here!" Hondo said, pushing her roughly from the door. "Hey, it's you, shit, come in, couldn't see your face, get inside, come on!"
She was plucked inside and thrust among a milling crowd of the gang.
"Oh my lord!" she gasped.
The bikers were gathered around one of the pool tables on which Sixpak lay in a growing pool of blood.
"What happened! Greg, what's happened to him!!"
"Shut up!" Greg retorted. He was bleeding from a cut in his cheek. Lilly noticed that some of the other gang members looked bloodied, and that several of them were carrying the butt ends of broken-off pool cues like clubs.
"Look," Greg said to Ratman and the others. "We got to get him out of here. The university cops chickened out, but the city pigs'll be here any minute. Hondo, you take him on your three-wheeler!"
"You can't move him!" Arva Lee yelled in tears.
"Can it!" Ratman said, slapping up and across her face as she subsided tearfully into Luby's arms.
Hondo and Little Man hefted Sixpak off the table. His body looked inert and lifeless. They trundled him outside, banging his head on the doorjam and heaped him into the rumble seat of Hondo's built-up three-wheeled contrivance.
"Come on, split, clear out!" Greg ordered the others.
"My table, Greg, look at my table!" A short balding man was wringing his hands at the sight of the blood-drenched table with its torn felt top.
"Later for that, and get a cover on it before the pigs get here!" Greg barked.
Swept outside with the jostling cyclists, Lilly automatically climbed onto Greg's bike, shivering uncontrollably as Greg gunned it to life and they roared away in a yowling pack of spinning chrome wheels and blue exhaust smoke.
At the garage, Sixpak had been laid out in one of the cut-down chairs. Ratman was listening to his chest with a stethoscope he normally used to tune his twin-carburetors.
"I think he's gone, Greg!" Ratman pronounced.
"That little fucker must've slashed his nerves in the back of the neck with that bottle!"
"Teach you to keep your collar up!"
"Old Sixpak, man, done in by one of those fairies!"
"He got it from behind, didn't he?"
"You always get it from behind."
Luby arrived, driving Roadrunner's bike with Arva Lee sitting on the back, weeping hysterically.
"Get that bitch outa here, take her home!" Ratman shouted.
Luby nodded meekly, turned the bike around.
"Not on my bike, you stupid cunt!"
"Take the short!"
"Go on, clear out, I can't stand that crying."
The two girls got into the jalopy and drove out of the garage. Little Man hauled the steel door down with a crash. Lilly stood fearfully in the background, incredulous, amazed more at the passions in the gang than at the as-yet-undigested-fact that one of their number had died.
"Okay, we're going back, right?" Greg said.
"Right on!" chorused several voices.
"How do we bury Sixpak?"
"He wanted to go down at sea. Take him out to Lee's boat tonight and dump him in the channel," Ratman advised.
Lilly was astounded. One of them had been killed, and they were going back to mix it up some more?
"You can't leave him there!" she shouted suddenly. "Suppose he isn't dead?"
The gang turned on her with hostile, hard faces.
"He's dead!" pronounced Ratman decisively, limping over to the chair and throwing a greasy rag over Sixpak's ashen face.
"But aren't you going to phone the police or anything!" Lilly demanded, suddenly feeling slightly berserk at the insanity of it all. A jolt of shock passed visibly through most of the bikers.
"Police?" echoed Greg. He sounded almost stupefied, looking hard at her as though he didn't believe his ears.
"Or hospital at least-you've got to take him to a hospital at the very least, my god!"
"He's staying here!" Greg said flatly.
"But you just can't leave him here, and you don't even know if he's dead or alive. What about his family, what's gotten into all of you? I can't believe you're just going to leave him like a dead dog!"
The gang members stared at each other, and then at Greg.
Suddenly Mandy appeared. "I told you she was bait, didn't I?" sneered the small brunette. "You got a lot to learn yet, sister."
"Yeah, and she better start now. Get the brand out!" Greg snapped.
Mandy clapped her hands with glee and bounded over to Lilly, tackling her and knocking her off her feet. Lilly fell heavily to the cement floor, stunned as Mandy sat on her stomach and feverishly undid her jeans. Mandy continued to sit on her as Little Man pulled off Lilly's boots and then with a wrench that dragged both girls several feet across the concrete, yanked off her jeans, leaving her naked from the waist down.
Lilly started pounding on Mandy's back when Hondo and Greg picked her up by the arms and carried her over to the engine hoist she remembered so vividly. They flipped her upside-down as she yelped in surprise, holding her by the legs as Mandy tied her legs apart, binding her ankles with rags to the metal beam.
"Owwwww! Oh! Greg, don't, what are you doing? Stop it! Set me down! Stop!!"
When they finished with her, she was trussed up with her thighs yawning open, revealing her hair-lined pussy and ass to them all.
"Heat up one of those piston rings!" Greg ordered.
Jolly turned on the torch tanks and lit the torch, sss-whup! Lilly watched upside-down, struggling, as Roadrunner held a motorcycle piston ring in a long pincer and turned it in the blue flame from the torch until it was glowing red-hot.
"No! No, my god, no!" Lilly yelped.
"Run it through her cunt like an earring!" Mandy said excitedly.
"Shut your hole!" Jolly snapped, "or we might run it through yours!"
Mandy sulkily walked over to the hoist, then suddenly grabbed Lilly by the thighs and clapped her face down on the furry gorge that lay upside-down like a split fruit.
"Greg! Stop her! Stooooop!" Lilly shrieked as Mandy began eating her cunt, digging with her sharp little teeth into the dry rut-rims that lay readily in the hairy maw between her lovely straining thighs.
Mandy ran her tongue around Lilly's vulva, slurping noisily, putting on a show for the others who gathered around to watch the small girl bury her face in the suspended victim's twat.
"Ahhhhh!" Lilly cried as Mandy's tongue whirred into her pussy, penetrating the inner lips and boring like a thick, rubbery small penis into her feminine treasure trove. Her brain felt scrambled from the mind-bending series of fast events, and the added impact of Mandy's tongue scouring her cuntal socket while at the same time the girl's saliva-slick chin grinding against her clitoris was almost more than she could bear.
"Oh, god!" she wept, "no, no, please!" she mewled piteously, casting her upside-down eyes about only to catch sight of Sixpak's grotesquely sprawled corpse in the chair with the filthy rag over its face.
"Numb her in the ass!" Ratman suggested.
Hondo went to the grimy refrigerator and took some ice cubes from the freezer compartment. Ignoring Mandy who slobbered away over Lilly's gaping cunt, eating hungrily like a starved animal, Hondo pressed the frigid ice to the skin of Lilly's naked left buttock.
"Ooooooo!" she squealed, as the nerves froze and went numb beneath the painfully cold ice.
"Ooooo! Ohhhhh! Ohhhhh, god, ohhhh! Oh! Oh!" Mandy had started thrusting her tongue rhythmically in and out of her tormented sex-hole, sparking involuntary thrills, of sexual pleasure from the salaciously perverted conquest of Lilly's cunt.
She couldn't help it. The numbness in her buttock coupled with the regular lunging of Mandy's incredibly dedicated tongue was stirring her befuddled senses with lustful sensations. She knotted her hair in her hands, shutting her eyes, trying to fight back the flood of sexual longing that was ebbing down through her upended body. But it was useless. Mandy had moved back, inserting a lascivious finger in her cunt and screwing it round and round. While with her mouth, she seized on Lilly's little clitoris and began a violent sucking that knotted every muscle in the hamstrung woman's body. Lilly felt herself growing faint, the blood pounding in her ears as her torso began helplessly twitching and dancing, thrusting the little nubbin of pleasure against Mandy's lathering mouth.
Greg took the pincers from Roadrunner, walking to the hoist with the almost molten cherry-red piston ring.
"She almost there?" he asked Mandy casually.
"Yeah, almost!" Mandy grunted, sucking Lilly's clit between her lips and jerking her head violently with motions that made Lilly think she was going to pull the distended protrusion completely off, but which instead started an inexorable peaking of hedonistic fulfillment that roiled faster and faster through her body.
"Annh, anny, annnnhhhh, annnnnhhhh, annnnnnhhhhhhh!" she chanted, swinging by her ankles as Mandy brought her to the very limits of orally-induced orgasm. "Ahhhhhh!" she groaned, her body beginning to spasm in excited climax.
"Now!" the gang members shouted.
Greg swung his arm holding the glowing metal circlet.
"Ahhhhhhhh!" Lilly moaned, feeling her whole body dissolve as her clitoris melted in Mandy's suctioning lips.
Ssssssssss! Greg held the piston ring against the bare, benumbed flesh of her buttock.
"Yeeeeeooooowwwwww!" Lilly screamed as the barbarous heat of the makeshift brand tore through her pain-center, blasting away the cloud of sexual surfeit that had nearly stripped her of her senses. The convulsions of her orgasm were transformed into a writhing reflex that made her curl up double, knocking Mandy away, practically somersaulting in her bonds as the fire seemed to leap from her ass and the acrid odor of burnt flesh filled the gang's nostrils.
Greg threw the smoking, skin-encrusted ring away. Little Man stepped forward with a can of heavy grease and swabbed a glob onto the sizzling O-shaped wound in Lilly's buttock. Then Roadrunner came up with a switchblade and cut her bonds and they set her on her feet.
Lilly staggered forward, her knees bent, feet spread for balance, her branded behind poking out whitely beneath her jean jacket, her hands floating in an agony of indecision around her rump, not daring to touch the place that hurt so acutely.
"Let's go!" Greg barked. "Time to stomp those mother-fuckers. Come on, we gotta finish up in time to give Sixpak his wake tonight!"
Through tear-blinded eyes, Lilly saw the gang mount their bikes. The garage was filled with deafening roars. The steel door rattled up, and then in a cloud of thunder they were gone, and she was left with the corpse and Mandy.
"Tell you what," Mandy said, taking Lilly by the hand and leading her to a chair. Mandy lowered her pants and lay back in the chair, dragging Lilly down with her. "Give me an eat good as I gave you, and I'll dress that for you. Otherwise, you won't be able to put your pants on or leave or anything, and you'll have to stay with him." She indicated Sixpak.
"Come on," she said, twining her fingers in Lilly's hair and pulling the sobbing woman's face to her sparsely tufted quim.
"Nooooo," Lilly begged her, unable to believe this new cruelty.
"You got no choice, baby, it's me or him. Besides, after your wild talk about the police and shit like that, if they come back and find you tonight, there's no telling what'll happen to you. You never seen these guys when they get a funeral on. Even I clear out then; come on now, come to mamma, open up those sweet princess lips and suck my cunt like you never done before!"
Lilly tasted her own salt-tears as she dumbly opened her mouth, feeling the hairs on Mandy's forward-thrusting cunt tickle her nose and cheeks. Blindly, like a trained animal, like a savage, she thought, little better-hadn't they even marked her body now! how would she hide it!-Lilly let the cool air flow around her wounded ass and snuggled as if for comfort between Mandy's little thighs, starting the licking and hollow-cheeked sucking that would bring the sadistic bike-girl to a swift climax and thus ensure fast relief for the brand-burn which seemed to have been applied to the very marrow of her hitherto unblemished haunch.
10
There was only one way out and Lilly took it. She hoped the two-week trip to England might convince her to leave Wayne and return to the United Kingdom and try to pick up a new life-perhaps moving to Greece. No that was out, as was Spain-what was happening to the world?-get herself a correspondence job in publishing or translating and settle down in some little town in Europe.
But by the end of the second week, though the neat circular burn on her behind had healed to a pink circle of scar tissue, many more, older wounds had been reopened. The family was out-she couldn't look her stepfather in the eye, much less stay in the same house. He had turned from a snake to a senile lecher, not caring who witnessed his mad passes at his stepdaughter. The family had fallen apart, she wanted no part of it. Cambridge seemed dreary, full of rabid or apathetic students. The country seemed even more on the decline. Even in London, she had a brush with a gang of skinheads that left her badly scarred. The only pleasant thing about the trip was Wayne's family who warmly hosted at their Sussex home, although their insistence that she pick up her old enthusiasm for riding got a bit tiresome. It must have seemed odd to them that she almost never sat down. God, the plane flight over-what an agony that had been. Time heals all, Lilly thought, sitting comfortably on the plane back to the States. How ironic that the only thing that made her miss England was Wayne's family-she wondered if they suspected just how disaffected she was in her role as Mrs. Wayne Hansen.
Wayne was away at another conference when she returned. But she immediately had to face Theresa when she stepped back into her life as Mrs. Wayne Hansen, mistress of her house. Theresa had found the "Ourselves" outfit while she was away. Lilly had been furious for a moment, then laughed it off. "Tell Mr. Hansen anything you like," she had retorted, as the arrogant maid insinuated indiscretions. "I had that made up for some costume parties and, what's more," she had lied, laughing to herself, "I'm having a similar outfit made for Mr. Hansen."
Now to give Theresa two weeks' notice and call the university hiring service for a new maid, Lilly thought brightly, as she stepped from the shower and dried herself, humming brightly and inspecting her face in the hand-mirror to see if the trans-Atlantic trip had aged her any.
The bathroom door opened behind her, but she didn't hear it. Theresa had sensed a showdown was coming after her play with the denim outfit she'd discovered in the cellar had failed. But immediately she was grabbed by the sight of the pink circle on her mistress' behind. It could only be!-of course!--just like the pink slash of a dueling scar! Theresa suddenly realized she had the upper hand, the definitive upper hand at last. She backed out of the bathroom unseen.
Lilly donned her riding outfit in her bedroom and strode out of the house, flinging an angry warning look to Theresa that she intended to rattle the maid with, in preparation for the announcement of her firing, which she was still working on.
She walked through the streets boldly, heedless of the fact that it was broad daylight, certain that no one in the university community would recognize her, glorying in the disguise, the transformation that the grubby outfit of jeans and boots and swirling loose hair effected.
"What do you want? Get out, I've had enough. Clear out!" The balding owner of the Pinball Emporium waved her away as though she were an insect harassing him. She noted the boarded up windows and wondered what had transpired in the two weeks she'd been gone that produced such a noticeable absence of bikers around the small shop.
She backed out, confused, and set off on a long walk, hoping, futilely she knew, that she might discover the garage deep in the bowels of the city somewhere. An hour later, and several miles from the university, she was rewarded with a blasting sound of motorcycle exhaust. She spun around. It was Hondo on the ludicrous three-wheeler. He drove right up on the sidewalk, scattering several pedestrians. Lilly realized with a jolt that he was to Americans as the skinheads in London had been to her-more than public nuisances, outlaws, in fact.
"Hey, princess, where ya been? Jeez, Greg has been wonderin' about you. He thought you might have copped out after that fight."
"No, nothing like that," Lilly laughed, swinging up into the three-wheeler's high rumble seat. "I had to go away after the blister you chaps put on my bum!" she shouted into the wind as they took off down the street.
"What happened to Sixpak?"
"Oh, we had one fuck of a party after we stomped the motherfuckers who offed him. We got on this boat, a friend of one of the guys, and we went on out past the three-mile limit-Sixpak never wanted to be buried in fuckin' America-and we tied him up with cable to all the old tire rims and shock absorbers and dead batteries we could find and slid him into the brine."
"Oh," Lilly nodded, trying to picture the drunken cyclists hoisting their dead friend over the side of the boat trailing batteries and auto parts designed to sink him to the sea bottom.
"What happened, to the pinball place?" she shouted.
"The pigs closed the old fucker down for a week. He gave us a lot of shit about not coming around. We were going to break his fucking neck, but we're staying cool for a while, not messing around the university for a while."
"Oh," Lilly said, saddened by the fact that her escape from reality wouldn't be so convenient, at least for a while. She wondered if she really wanted to keep up with Greg if it meant hanging around the garage which had such odious memories for her. In a way, the principal attraction Greg and the gang held for her was the alternate society so close at hand into which she could slip like a fish, riding around the university with them, sneering at the old biddies and the wet students she'd be forced to socialize with if she hadn't escaped in disguise.
"Where are we going?" she yelled, as it became apparent they were leaving the city.
"The gang's meeting up at the beach!" Hondo informed her. "You want to go, don't you? Greg'll be there-little sweet meat from your old man!" he sniggered. Lilly turned her head, blushing at the stark fact of what held it all together. She opened her thighs to the wind, hoping to cool her sticky tight crotch, the genitals which had gone dormant for a fortnight now, which clamored for attention and burned hotly at the least thought of Greg.
Hondo turned off the highway in the middle of nowhere and gunned the three-wheeler over a mile or so of hills, following what looked like a deer trail in the grass. Lilly was sure he was abducting her, but when they came over the last hill, there was shore and ocean, and a cluster of bikes and human figures.
As they drove up, wallowing in the sand crazily, Lilly saw that the bikers-all of them in their jeans and leathers-even at the beach, come to think of it, she'd never seen them with their riding togs off unless they were specifically engaged in sex or elimination-were all gathered in a wide circle, not so much as turning a head when Hondo drove up and br-r-rapped the bike engine to a halt.
Lilly stumbled across the sand in her city boots. "Greg!" she cried, waving at his figure.
He turned and eyed her as if he didn't know who she was. Then he recognized her. "Hey, princess, you mean that lesson didn't drive you away?"
She was flattered by his attention. "Heavens no, I must have been very foolish. I guess I just didn't understand how things were with you."
She wanted to throw her arms around him, to embrace him, and convince herself how badly she wanted his hard lean body with its sex. Instead her attention was drawn to the center of the circle the gang members had formed. They were standing around a young couple teenagers, who looked terrified. The boy had sandy hair and was clutching his girlfriend, a shapely blonde in a light pink bikini.
"Who are they?" Lilly asked, dropping her voice, sensing she had again walked into the middle of an episode. If only she could have Greg when she wanted him, and be spared these activities of the motorcycle gang!
"Well, this asshole thought Ratman's deformity was funny, you know, he was cracking jokes to his girl about it up the beach a ways. So we just brought him and his chick down here to teach 'em some manners."
Lilly shuddered, remembering how the gang had "taught" her a lesson. Still, she was so disappointed.
"You won't hurt them, will you?" she whispered, seizing the sleeve of Greg's leather jacket. His eyes lost their light, the brightness they had had when he saw her running across the sand to them. She had interfered again, she knew it, sensing that for the second time she had broken a code she didn't know or understand, that somehow put these barbarisms and collective vengeful rituals ahead of her relationship with Greg or his to her.
"If it were me," he said slowly, letting the two teenagers hear every word, "I'd drown them like dogs. But it's up to Ratman, whad'ya say, buddy?"
Ratman shambled over, his defective leg with its turned foot cutting a swath in the sand. He grinned at Lilly, looking her up and down closely.
"What would ya think," he asked her, reeking of alcohol and onions, "if I took that little cunt in the pink and fucked her. Hey, sweetheart!" he called to the terrified girl, "you a virgin?"
The gang members laughed.
"Shit, she better be a virgin!"
"Damn right, fuck her in the ass if she isn't!"
"And in the ear!"
"Right, and that'll just be for starters!"
Lilly's heart went out to the boy and girl who shook with every gale of laughter and lewd comment that the circle of bike freaks flung at them. Ratman looked at her with a fiendishly winking eye and yelled to the girl, "Well, are you or aren't you?"
The boy was coloring scarlet with shame, unable to protect his girlfriend from Ratman's interrogation. The girl was blinking her eyes-weeping, Lilly saw-too paralyzed to answer. She looked like a virgin, Lilly thought.
"Answer me, cunt! Are you or aren't you? Is she!" he demanded of the youth.
"Y-yes," he stammered, looking at her as if he might not know himself.
"Now I want to hear it from her. You know, we got broads here," he pointed to Mandy and Arva Lee, "who got ways of finding out, so you got nothing to hide, sweetheart. Now are we going to have to pull pretty little pussyrags off and check for ourselves or are you going to tell me?"
"I am, I, I am, I promise," the girl wept softly, mortified and shaking with fear.
"You sure-I'd hate to have to cut off a tit if you were lying to me!" Ratman threatened, sending the gang members into stitches at his browbeating of the hapless girl.
"Yes, y-yes, really, I swear," the girl said haltingly, nodding her head as the boyfriend embraced her more tightly.
"Well now," Ratman exulted, dragging himself back to Lilly. He took her hand and led her into the circle, close to the couple. Lilly saw that the girl had an unusually appetizing plump figure. She could sense how much the gang wanted to pile on her as they had on herself, to absolutely massacre her blonde, virginal chastity. The boy, freckled and hardly into a full beard yet, looked like no match for even Ratman. God, how he must be regretting his clever jokes at Ratman's expense!
"Now, you've wanted it, haven't you, sweetheart?" Ratman said leadingly to the girl. "Haven't you, haven't you thought about how nice a good fuck would be! With your friend with the big mouth here, or maybe someone else, some high school hero. You've come pretty close to getting that little cherry fucked out from under you, haven't you?"
The girl shrank from his coarseness, so dazed she couldn't speak.
"Tell me, goddammit, you gonna stand there and deny you never thought about fucking?"
The girl nodded, then corrected herself in a panic and shook her head.
"Say it," Ratman said, leading her through the ordeal of self-debasement Lilly knew so well.
. "Say it, tell me you've thought about fucking about losing that little cherry!" Ratman demanded.
The girl looked piteously around the circle, then back at Ratman. She nodded her head again, dropping her eyes.
"What? What's that, speak up so we can all hear you!"
"Y-yes."
"Yes what!"
"Y-yes, sir!" The girl looked as if she were going to move her bowels right in her bikini pants, Lilly thought. She felt an impulse-frightening to herself-to end this silly ordeal.
"Don't give me that 'sir' shit!" Ratman stormed. "Save it for your old man, save it for your teachers! Fuck that 'sir' bullshit! I want to hear you say it just like I said it: 'Yes, I've almost gotten fucked.' Say it-you've felt like getting fucked."
"I-I," the girl tried, breaking out in fresh tears which made salt streaks on her pink cheeks. "I... there...."
"Sometimes..." Ratman prompted her in a school-masterish voice.
"S-sometimes..." she repeated softly.
"I want..."
"I w-want..."
"To fuck..."
"To fu-fu-fuck..."
"Now say it all!" Ratman had his eyes shut, his fingertips together, like a Sunday school teacher.
"S-sometimes I-I want to fuck... ohhh!" she gasped, burying her face in the boy's shoulder, her shoulderblades and buttocks quaking with deep sobs of shame.
"That's what we need," Ratman said approvingly, "a little more honesty all around. Now," he turned to Lilly, "let's take it from the top: What would you think if I took that little cunt in the pink and fucked the daylights out of her righteous virgin twat!"
Lilly looked back at him steadily, allowing the gang no more laughter on her account.
"I think..." she tried to think just how to stop him since it was turning to a test of wits, but unable to clear her head, "I think you ought to let her go, she's done nothing to you, after all."
"Well, how 'bout this," Ratman said slyly. "I won't rape her if you lay her little prick of a friend."
Lilly's heart missed a beat. Was he really talking to her! How had she gotten so involved? Ratman was smiling. There was no way out. He had trapped her, knowing the gang, down to the mommas, would just as soon have it either way. Lilly glanced at the girl and saw that she was staring at her boyfriend as if the prospect of his copulating with anyone else was even more unthinkable than being raped in front of him herself.
"Sounds like a good idea, princess," Greg said, as if they were discussing the stock market.
"Can't miss," Ratman remarked loftily, "we all have to share the burdens, all of ourselves, when it comes to teaching people not to be animals. See, this fink made his girl think I was an animal. I made her think she was an animal. Now she's got you thinking you're an animal. Welcome back, princess!"
The laughter of the rest of them brought her out of her stunned state, and she realized suddenly and laughed herself. "Well done," she complimented Ratman, hoping he was just playing a head game.
"It'll be well done when one of them is," he said mercilessly. "Either her with me or you with him!"
Lilly saw some movement in the circle. It was Bruce turning and strolling down to the ocean. Bruce! She hadn't even noticed he was there, he was so quiet. Now for the second time, this gentle puzzling figure was turning his back on her.
"Bruce!" she called. "Take me home!" Her voice rang in her ears like a little girl's.
Bruce turned and looked at her, his eyes neutral yet kind. "You're Greg's old lady," he said simply. "Ask Greg."
Lilly spun around, beseeching Greg with her eyes to let her out of this nightmare, this chesslike trap which had suddenly vised her in.
"I don't give a shit if you split with Bruce," Greg said, spitting onto the sand. "You can take the fink along with you, but the pink cunt stays here and gets fucked."
Her heart sank. There was no way out. Bruce turned again and walked down to the surf where he started nonchalantly skipping stones. Lilly gazed after him, more envious than she had ever felt in her life of this silent young man who handled himself so coolly, involved with the gang just as she was, but able to keep such a remarkable distance from such disasters as she now was caught up in.
Ratman shuffled to the couple. His hand came out of his pocket with a knife. Ch-click! A long pointed blade. He feinted toward the boy with it.
"No!" the girl cried out as the boy darted back from the gleaming point, breaking loose from her.
Ratman smiled, silently gesturing to the boy to remain at bay. He turned to the girl who was transfixed with terror, slid the knifepoint up between her bulging breasts, slitting the bikini which dropped away and fell limply to the sand. Ratman let the back of the knifeblade rest in the honey-soft groove between the naked white-banded breasts that had been exposed to all of them.
"Don't! Please!" Lilly begged him.
"I ain't gonna wait all day," Ratman told her curtly, moving the edge of the knife down the girl's narrowing body, the pressure of his hand leaving a white line in her skin without scratching or breaking it.
"You don't want to see him get started with that steel," Hondo advised Lilly. "He's likely to cut the cherry right outta her."
"And eat it too!"
"I want a tit to hang on my iron if we're going to get to cuttin!" said Roadrunner.
"So do I!" said Mandy. There was raucous laughter.
Ratman grabbed the frozen young girl by the wrist and reversed the knife, bringing it blade up between her legs, inserting the sharp curving point precisely at the point where her inner thigh met the crease of her hipjoint and the band of her pink bikini brief panties.
"Don't, don't," Lilly pleaded silently, the knuckles in her fist turning white.
The girl was whimpering, not a muscle moving as Ratman delicately got a sliver of the point up against the line of her crotch and slowly slit the bikini vertically, baring the dark blonde thatch of soft, tender curls to the raunchy band as the panties opened up, then parted completely and fell away leaving the girl utterly naked.
Lilly had an instant flash from childhood-seeing, as a small child, the face of a woman upon whom a bomb-loosened brick wall was toppling. That same lifeless look in the wide eyes, the same expectancy of certain catastrophe was chiselled across the young girl's soft apple-pie features.
After all, it wasn't like a question of morals or anything, God knows! She was just so furious with Ratman for involving her in the logical conundrum, for putting weight-the entire weight of the gang's expectations and decisions-on her shoulders. It was such a copout!
"All right, leave her alone!" Lilly said.
"Awwwwww," Ratman rejoined. "I don't know, I'm really dying for a taste of her." He slid the knife back under her naked crotch apex. "Want to get fucked now, sweetheart, for the first time?"
"Shit, if Little Man gets it on, it'll be the last time!"
"No." The girl's voice was high and crystal-clear, like a single bird chirp.
"But you'd rather get fucked than get cut?" Ratman nodded.
"Y-yes!"
He was driving her to the wall. "You made a bargain!" exclaimed Lilly, stepping forward. She felt like pushing Ratman back, but when she got a look at his knife-bright eyes, she didn't. "Come here!" she said to the boy.
He shifted uneasily and cast a dolorous look at his naked girlfriend, at whose chaste pussy Ratman poised his sharp blade.
"Never mind that!" Lilly rebuked him. "It's me or she gets it, can't you see that?" She was unbuttoning the jean jacket as she spoke, and she whipped it off, letting her breasts bobble free. With disgust she saw his teenager's eyes pop at her nudity. Americans were so upset by a stranger's nakedness.
"Take eet off!"
"C'mon, Ratman, lay off the cunt, the princess is gonna do her stuff!"
"Isn't there even a blanket?" she asked. No one in the circle moved.
"Take him dog-style!" Greg barked. "That should keep the trash out of your box!"
Lilly blushed, but bit her lip. She was determined to keep the poor girl from being ruined. Hard as it might be to watch her boyfriend make love to another woman, she'd get over it faster than she would a gang-rape! Unbuckling the belt and loosening her fly, she pushed the jeans down over her luscious hips and the shallow concavity of her belly.
"Lookey there, you got a brand on you!"
"Dig the princess' ass!"
"Whooooeeeeee!"
Lilly stopped; she'd forgotten about that-the brand! Curse them, it didn't matter now. She shed her boots and jeans and stood completely stripped to the buff, throwing her hair over her shoulder. Both the boy and his girlfriend were gawking at her, as though they couldn't believe she was actually doing this.
The sun felt good and warm on her nude body. After it was over, she'd take a swim, she thought. Maybe Bruce would come in with her. What a marvelous day, and a marvelous beach to swim and sunbathe nude on. Too bad these wretched kids had had to stir up this storm which had almost engulfed them. Lilly felt quite confident now. Ratman thought he was so damn clever, did he!
Something was wrong. The boy wasn't moving. In fact, he wasn't responding. He was just looking dumbly at her. She stepped toward him. He stared at her, like a wooden Indian. She hadn't figured on this. She glanced at his bathing shorts. No sign of the characteristic bulge. Christ! she thought, now bloody what?
Gritting her teeth she stepped right up to him. He had a smooth, almost hairless body, nicely muscled, but quite young, nonetheless. Lilly reached out hesitantly and slid her palm over the hot skin of his chest.
"Come on," she whispered, "let's get it over!"
He looked blankly at her. She dropped her hand to his stomach, feeling the muscles jump under the skin. Then, on a sudden impulse, she slipped her hand down between them and felt him through his shorts. Nothing-just the squishy softness of slack genitalia. Lilly heard peals of laughter ring around the circle. She saw the gang members settle down on the sand and get comfortable for the show.
She looked at Ratman. He nodded arrogantly at her, gesturing at the boy with one hand while with the other, he held the razor-sharp blade dead against the furry fold of the stripped girl's pristine pudenda.
"He wants one of those blowjobs you do so well, princess," Ratman sneered. Greg smiled a crooked smile. The boy's eyes flickered as if digesting some knowledge about Lilly. But he still made no move.
"Do you want him to go ahead and maybe injure her!" she hissed at him, unable to understand his apathy and recklessness.
The boy took a deep breath and began fumbling with the drawstring of his bathing shorts. There were snickers and guffaws from the gang members and the girls. Lilly blushed crimson in the sun, silently swearing every oath she knew at Ratman.
He pushed them down, revealing what was probably a normal apparatus, but it looked dismally small as it cowered limply against his fuzzy testicles.
"Come on then, get it up!" Lilly said urgently, slipping an arm around his waist and deliberately brushing his body with her breasts which hung loosely in the warmth of the sun. She scudded her nipples, like soft raisins, across his chest and belly, circling up and down with her body, then sliding the moss of her pubic patch against his thigh, dragging herself up and down so he could feel the intricate fleshly fissures of her secret places on his skin.
Nothing.
She slipped a hand down between his legs and looked directly into his eyes as she curled her fingers around the silvery orbs of his sliding balls, her palm tickled erotically by the first-growth hairs on his silk-soft scrotum. She toyed with his balls, exploring the unexpectedly delightful secrets between his almost smooth thighs, remembering her first introductions to sex, the fumbling fondling caresses she and her lovers had shared at that age. She moved her hand up and gripped his flaccid penis, wrapping her small fist around its pliant projection and sliding the ball of her thumb provocatively back and forth over the slit-punctured foreskin that protruded from her clasp like a little bell.
Nothing.
Lilly was growing aroused herself, and a little desperate. If she couldn't induce an erection on him, she'd have made a fool of herself and satisfied Ratman's perverse demonic design as well. She thought of lying down, but the thought of getting sand in her sensitive pubes repelled her.
"Think of her," she whispered, drawing him so close and agitating his cock with her fervid fingers. "Imagine I'm her! Imagine you're going to make love to her. Come on, help me, you've got to help, can't you?"
He groaned, awkwardly sliding his arms around her, draping his hands down over her buttocks, playing his fingers half-heartedly over her swelling twin spheres.
"That's it!" Lilly urged him. "Kiss me, here! Kiss my breasts, kiss them!" she ordered him, arching her back and thrusting her beautiful milky-white cones up at him. He stooped and bumped his face clumsily against her bosom. "Kiss them!" she demanded, jamming a nipple against his mouth. His lips parted slightly and she screwed the soft reddish nipple between them, pressing the bud against his teeth.
"Lick it! kiss my nipple, suck it, suck it!" she commanded. He touched his tongue timidly against the protruding gland she had inserted in his mouth like an anxious mother. Good god, had he never even made love to a girl!
Nothing was happening.
"Time's running out," Ratman said harshly. Lilly didn't have to look to know that the girl was still weeping, still standing stock-still for fear of moving and slicing herself on the dagger he was holding right in the crease of innocent little labia.
Despairingly, Lilly dropped to her knees. She did look over her shoulder, her eyes meeting those of the girl, exchanging unspoken female messages of pragmatism and sympathy with the naked girl whose face was now worried with looks that might be jealousy in spite of herself at the spectacle Lilly made kneeling in front of the boy she had come so trustingly to the beach with.
Lilly opened her mouth as the boy stood dumbly. She looked up at him, trying to elicit some erotic interest in him, to get him to relax, to accept her, to accomplish what he must achieve if they were to save his girlfriend from intolerable pain and indignity.
The gang members were silent, intently watching, as during that night of her prostration before Greg's body. She shut her eyes and ran the tip of her pink tongue around her lips, wetting them for the unwonted task. Then she wrapped her arms around his hot, taut buttocks and drew him close to her face, bracing her knees in the sand.
At least he smells clean and fresh, she thought, her nose grazing his pubic hair as she hunted for him with her open mouth. The foreskin of his dangling diminutive phallus grazed her lower lip and with one upward gulp, she enveloped his strange unstirring penis.
She heard his gasp and in response she pulled on his small root, pushing her face up until his balls were shoved backwards by her chin. She had it all in her mouth now. A new sensation-to have the whole thing in her mouth, like a cocktail sausage, able to swish it around with her tongue, to suck on its rubbery softness like a piece of sponge candy.
He gasped, an indeterminate sort of sound.
"Jerry!" It was the girl, unable to control her emotions at seeing the boy being consumed before her very eyes, his penis swallowed by a strange woman who buried her face in his groin as she had rarely dreamed of doing.
"Shaddup, sweetheart!" rasped Ratman, moving the blade back and forth slightly to remind her that one flick of the wrist would open her to the navel.
Lilly let the small cock trail toward her throat and thrust her tongue out to lick at the drooping balls that had felt so liquid in his slack fuzzy sac. As she pushed and probed at each ovoid testicle, she felt the first stirrings of his masculinity. His penis was responding to the suction she was exerting, swelling slightly, then burgeoning out as she forgot about his testicles and concentrated on suckling his enlarging prong.
It was coming now, at last, pulsing and growing in her mouth, thickening so that she had to back off to breathe as the foreskin mushroomed in the wet cavity of her shameless oral embrace. She moved her head back and forth, pulling at the limber engorging column with her lips, skating her tongue around the flexing head.
It started rising, jutting up beat by beat as she retreated, still sucking and teasing the sensitive glans, bringing all her knowledge of the male vulnerability to kisses and tonguing caresses to bear on his rising staff. Up, up, until her head was bent over it, bobbing up and down, urging him to full hardness, not wanting to lose the game, to have him go limp on her and fall.
Quickly she reached between her legs with one hand and boldly inserted a finger directly into her twat. She started stirring, manipulating her ring of pussy muscle, generating the flow of sticky slippery juices that would facilitate his entry. Her body was ready for him, releasing after a moment's self-stimulation, torrents of oozing wet that changed the hot tight hole she was fingering into a wet welcoming trough of wild wanton expectation. His penis surged in her mouth, twitching so strongly she feared he might be coming prematurely.
"All right!" she gasped, tearing her glistening lips away from his scarlet bulging rapier. She fell backwards onto the sand, holding her buttocks high as she could, avoiding direct contact with the beach.
"Come on!" she told him, as he stood transfixed at the sight of her splayed straining thighs and the coral-pink slit revealed to him as her hairy crotch gaped open and upwards.
"Come on, for heaven's sake!" she snapped, all too aware of how quickly the fickle male organ could deflate and defeat her purpose.
He got to his knees slowly, unsure of how to proceed. Her hands beckoned to him frantically, guiding him between her quivering calves, helping him to mount up over her arching hovering belly with its prominent, hair-covered mound of Venus held in mid-air. She seized his penis when he got into position, pulling him to her by the thickened hard sheath, pointing the passion-inflamed head at the hungry maw of her vagina.
"Jerry!" screamed the girl, covering her face with her hands.
"Stop that!" Ratman spat, jerking her wrists downwards, making her watch the sacrifice her virgin vulva might have been destined for.
"Hurry, come into me, push your penis right into me, into my cunt," Lilly entreated the boy, fearful he'd become distracted by the girl's mewlings and weepings as she saw the distended phallus she had undoubtedly regarded as sacred and reserved for her magic day, poke at Lilly's ready, yielding slushy hole.
"Yesss! Yessss! Push harder!" she told him, lowering her hips to ease the entry of his pulsing hot prick in between her inner labia, through the noose of her cunt that guarded the palpitating passage of her velvet-wet womb.
He pushed gravely, his domed prickhead wedging between her pink-edged portals. Then he felt the clasp of her cunt seize his foreskin and pull the rest of him in, the intimate mucous-lubricated slot of her sex absorbing more and more of him until he had completely disappeared under his amazed eyes into her body and his glans butted the end of her cuntal cul de sac.
The sensation set off a reflex of animal instinct in his body.
"Noooo!" Lilly cried as he drew back, his wet cock sliding out of her.
"Ooooooyes, yes!" she gasped gratefully as he plunged back in under his own power, driving his granite-hard staff deeply into her body, bearing down until her legs collapsed and her buttocks hit the sand.
"Yes, yes, yessss, that's it, yes!" she chanted, encouraging him as he thrust faster and faster, taking to the delicious friction of his prick gliding in and out of her gulping genital groove like a seal to the water.
"Oh, Jerry, Jerry!" the girl sobbed, wringing her hands.
But he was lost to her, grunting and puffing, collapsed on top of Lilly, his chest crushing her breasts outwards, hands hauling on her shoulders as the muscles in his loins and back, legs and butt coiled and uncoiled with swift rapidity, sending his penis diving into the dewy depths of his first flat-out fuck.
Lilly groaned, wrapping her legs up around his back, hugging him to her doubled-up body so he could feel all of her, feel that he was splitting her like a peach with his new-found manhood. Make it good for him, she told herself, so even the indignity of performing will quickly be forgotten.
"Urrrr, uuuumph, uhhhhhh, huhhhhh, uhhhhhhhhh!" His grunts and pants became heated, faster and faster. His prick literally flew in and out of her, raking her cuntal walls with a speed that left her breathless. And then he was clenching, clutching, the veins standing out in his neck and on his forehead, heaving, gasping, bouncing up and top of her as if suspended from a giant jackhammer, stabbing until all she felt was the blur of his massive lust sledgehammering against her clitoris, and then with a cry of delight he was over the top, his body convulsing, his prick seeming to rise up inside her and with a mighty contraction, erupting in a flood of white-hot seed that jetted into her with searing pressure, squinching back out the sides of her cunt as he performed the last of his fading fucks and jerks and went limp atop her excited body.
Lilly pushed him off, so rapidly that his wet shrinking cock fell into the sand. She jumped up, saying nothing to Ratman whose face looked disturbed, but running down to the ocean, leaping with joy at her success, feeling the glutinous jizzum dribbling down her thighs, dashing into the cold surf and flinging herself headlong into the white swirling foam of a breaking wave.
When she came up for air, Bruce was stripping off his buff-colored denims. She spluttered and pushed the hair out of her face and went rigid with the shock of seeing his naked body coming toward her, like a blond god in a Renaissance painting, his stunningly muscled body highlighted by the glint of reddish-blond hair, his genitals as magnificently sculptured as those of Michelangelo's David.
A great elation seized her. She felt as though she were a million miles away from the scene that had just happened on the beach. She began loping through the surf, holding out her hand to Bruce who came bounding to her in great showers of seaspray, taking her hand, running with her as another wave curled, peaked and crashed around them with a force that sent them both to their knees, bodies brushing together as they went under, a split-second reconnaissance of hands feeling the curves and muscles of their exuberant bodies-a sudden flash of lightning in Lilly's brain: this man, this gentle, romping poet, touching her, lifting her up out of the hissing sea wash, embracing her, holding her as a woman ought to be held, as she'd never been held before....
She came back up the beach breathlessly, feeling clean and exhilarated. Then stopped dead in her tracks. A piercing scream, like that of a shrill seagull, rent the air. It was the girl. She was spread-eagled on the sand, the bikers pinning her arms and legs, shackling her as Greg-it was Greg himself!-balanced atop his rigid penis, the purplish swollen head of which was jammed between her tight vaginal virgin lips. He was slowly deflowering her by easing the sheer weight of his body down onto her hymen, letting it slowly, torturously rip and tear and shred under the ponderous pressure of his cruel cock.
They were raping her after all! She saw it all. Ratman turned and winked at her.
"Your bargain!" she gasped, reeling with the implausibility of it all, doubly shocked when she registered that the boyfriend was merely sitting by, staring at the victimized girl, not lifting a finger to help her.
"Shove your bargain up your ass!" snarled Greg, grinning evilly as he bounced a little, letting his massive penis bear down on the straining trampoline of the precious little hymen Lilly had gone to such length to preserve for the screaming, hysterical girl who was about to be ravished and defiled in every sordid way the lust-filled gang could devise.
Holding her clothes, Lilly reeled away, trying to shut her ears to the shrill screams of agony and terror that came from the girl's laboring chest, upon which Ratman, bending over his sexy little prey was delicately incising his initials in thin bloody lines on her quivering mounded breast.
"Why don't you do something!" she asked Bruce, her eyes blazing and tear-filled with frustration.
"For the same reason I don't stick around to watch you, Princess-so I don't have to live with it afterwards."
He led her to his shining Norton, helping her on with her clothes, assisting her onto the big red bike, then mounting himself and with one fierce kick, bringing the deep-stroking engine to life so that its blast drowned out the cries of the girl, the gulls and Lilly's twisted emotions.
California! For three days Lilly had had little else on her mind. She was still trying to digest the remainder of that afternoon with Bruce, hearing his philosophy over and over again in her head, marveling at the simplicity of his behavior, recalling how, in fact, he hadn't been there when she'd been initiated into gang ritual, or when Sixpak had been abandoned and she'd been branded, or even at the beach disaster.
"Get involved only with what you can take with you," he had said. "There's too much happening in this country to get caught up in non-constructive purposes."
And then he had invited her to California. She had stewed and squirmed that afternoon. My name isn't Princess, or even Jennifer, she had started to explain, making a clean breast to this man whom she had ignored for so long, but to whom she now felt so enormously attracted.
"I know," he had said, "I know who you are, Mrs. Hansen." Her jaw had dropped at least a foot. And then he had explained: To think that he was actually enrolled in a poetry seminar at the university with the great Flaubert Powell. It had absolutely vanquished her. All the time he had known about her double life, her crossing the tracks. For he had been doing the same thing-for somewhat different reasons, true, but that seemed irrelevant now that they had discovered each other. Or rather, that she had discovered him.
In those three days Lilly had set many things in her life straight. "Wayne, I'm going to leave you," she had said firmly.
"Oh... perhaps you're right, it really hasn't worked out after all. You wouldn't do anything to jeopardize my career, though, would you? Where will you go?"
"California."
"Well, take some money, dear, and do write occasionally."
He was unfazed, and that's when the cute idea hit her.
"Thank you, Wayne. And if you would do one more thing for me. It's Theresa, the maid. She has insisted... demanded, actually, that I meet her at Eric Bonn's laboratory for some silly research experiments this afternoon. No sense in my starting them if I'm not going to be here to continue them. Theresa was quite set that I be there at one o'clock. Will you go in my place? It might prove interesting for you." Lilly smiled, devilishly.
"Huh? Oh... yes, one o'clock... I'm free. Be happy to."
Yes, Lilly thought, you poor dear, you might find it more than interesting!
And then she had gone to her room and put on her riding outfit. When she came back down the stairs, Wayne looked at her with amazement.
"How... how, my dear are you traveling to California? Or are you going to a costume party first?"
"By motorcycle, luv, by motorcycle."
True to his word, it was ten o'clock and she heard the roar of Bruce's bike out in the driveway. "Bye, dear. I'll write."
