For our study, we selected women who, for one reason or another, fell into roles of passive submission. What sets these cases apart is that there is a profound difference between social classes in every case encountered.
In fact, two of the cases concern women whose submission is literally forced upon them due to their vulnerable position which allows them to be ruthlessly exploited by the wealthy patrons in whose service they find themselves. And in the other two cases, there is a direct relationship between the theme of sexual submission and the relationship between two social classes of markedly unequal status.
We feel that these cases and others like them can provide insight into the nature of control and domination, whether on a personal level or expanded to a more sociological perspective. These stories, told in the participants' own words make for a fascinating study into the depths of human response, particularly when such response is forced against the person's will.
ARIEL V.
Ariel, an extremely wealthy heiress, is forty years old, but looks much younger. She is aware of herself enough to realize that she no longer enjoys the luxury of youth and its delicacy, but she knows that she still is a very attractive desirable woman.
At age eighteen, her father's death left her the sole owner and manager of a truly massive fortune, one which she had no desire to administer or expand. By her own admission, she has made a living for the past twenty-two years entirely by clipping coupons on treasury notes, and opening envelopes containing stock dividends.
At our first interview, she was attired in tasteful, expensively chic outfit that gracefully traced the contours of her body without being obscene about it. Her overall effect is to project an aura of confidence, heavily seasoned with a sexual flavor.
Doctor, to tell you the truth, I was just so goddam bored!
That's all it was. I was bored out of my skull.
What was left for me to do? I'd already been to my chateau on the Riviera that year and found that boring as well. I'd been to Cannes for the festival, and let me tell you, that little affair just gets tackier and tackier every year.
I fucking bought an island off Greece ... I was in the Middle East in time for one of their civil wars, you know, one of those messy things ... I never can keep all those countries straight you understand, I mean the way they keep changing rulers and names and what all....
I'd already done everything that was worth doing and it was all just boring!!
Disgustingly boring!
And that's how it started. I wanted something new. Something different. I didn't know what it was, but I felt as though I'd already typed and classified everything in my world, and could instantly recall it no matter what I was doing or where I encountered it.
All the people were already people I either knew, knew about, or else were so like other people that I did know, they didn't have any surprises for me.
There were all the familiar things that you do at all the familiar places you go to, and face it, even if you've got my money, there's only a certain amount of things you can do with it before you start repeating yourself.
Well, I'd been repeating myself for about ten years (yes, those years right after daddy's death were quite heavily packed with experience. Raw, undiluted experience. I loved it.)
So I suppose I was vulnerable, or something. Anyway, when he first appeared, I was so completely not expecting him to be exactly what I was looking for, I nearly overlooked him completely.
But he didn't overlook me.
You see, there's this little organization I belong to, and we pretend that we do nice little things for the community, you know, so people won't say we're just rich and lazy. I mean, we are, and the things we do don't amount to bullshit and everyone knows it, but it lets us think we're doing something on our own, instead of having accountants, or business managers or husbands simply picking up a phone and having it done for us.
And one of the things we do is publish a historical newsletter about the city, and pass it around at Chamber of Commerce events.
And it's one of my little thrills to be able to do the entire layout all by myself. It's amazing, I get right down into it with scissors and paste and get my hands dirty and it was just wonderful!
And when it was finished, I'd take it to a printing shop that was down the street from my townhouse in the city.
That's when I started to notice him.
It was always a little thrilling to just walk down the street like any other person. I enjoyed blending with the common people, and, who knows, maybe some others like myself who were also out for a cheap thrill.
So, here I am, waltzing into this print shop, and I'm stopped cold in my tracks.
There were several customers waiting, two people behind the counter, but my attention was drawn to the man in the back working with the plates.
He had a thick head of long curly brown hair, and when he turned around I saw a bushy red beard, bushy but neatly trimmed.
And his hair too was clean, looking like it had been styled just to achieve that sort of carefree, almost wildly abandoned look. But his eyes.
They shot through the room and bored in on mine without mercy. I was stunned. One thing you usually get used to in the city is the fact that people seldom make eye contact. And if they do, and you catch them at it, they'll quickly look away. When it happens to me, I just assume that my image is so imposing that they feel intimidated or something ... (oh don't take me seriously, doctor, I'm just teasing ... ).
But to say the least, I wasn't prepared for the eyes that I found concentrating so fiercely on my own.
I imagined myself in a cartoon and could almost see dotted lines crossing the space between us.
Uniting us. Bonding us together.
I had no idea why, but that simple act of meeting my eyes and holding my gaze did exactly that, it established a bond. Shaky, of course, but a bond. The only trouble is, I didn't know what to do about it. I was just carrying my master for the newsletter, and I was already late for lunch.
But he stopped what he was doing and walked out to the front to help me.
The entire time he was helping me with my order, I kept glancing up from the master, where I was explaining some special problems, to his eyes, which I always found fixed directly on mine.
I would keep looking back down as I spoke, give a quick glance up, and then like a reflex jerk my eyes back down to my hands again.
I started to feel silly.
So, as I finished talking, I simply looked back at him and waited for him to make the next move.
He did, by taking the masters from my hand, giving me a sexy smile, still holding me at strict attention merely with his eyes, and then he went into the back. He came back out without the masters, wrote up my bill, gave me another sexy smile, thanked me, wished me a good day, and went back to what he had been doing.
I was crushed.
And the stupidity of it is, I didn't have the faintest idea what it was I'd have wanted him to do instead. If he'd made a pass at me, I'd probably have slapped him and found out who his boss was and gotten him fired.
But he'd done nothing but get my crotch wet.
And boy! was it ever wet!!
I could feel my thighs rubbing together with a slippery feeling as I turned to walk out of the store. My heart was racing and I felt dizzy.
Those eyes. Never have I seen such eyes.
They stayed with me, the rest of the day, not even as an image I was aware of.
It was like a melody that you can't get out of your head, till all at once you want to sing it for someone and can't remember the first note.
It wasn't till about eight o'clock that night when I was already engaged with two other rather pitiful males (and, I might add, reducing them both to waste) that I realized how much I'd been thinking about him.
That face! Like an Old Testament prophet's. I'd never seen such a placid face that hinted at so much churning underneath.
But those eyes. They laughed. They danced. They probed. They stared at my body, lustfully, then they laughed and danced some more while they watched the material fall limply to the floor.
That's how it felt. I could see him doing it to me, imagining me, thinking about me, and then laughing about it and calmly turning away.
I couldn't stand it!
Howard and Gerald, the two bores who were attempting to entertain me became real concerned when I sat up in bed and pushed them both away. One, I don't remember which, was trying to lick my pussy while the other was doing a totally inept job of sucking my breasts.
I casually tossed them off the bed and bade them good evening.
And then, the pacing. The hours of pacing.
I tried to sleep, but could smoke cigarettes only.
I wanted to relax but simply kept getting more and more tense, and so I continued to pace the floors and smoke cigarettes and wonder if I was going crazy.
I could think of nothing else but his hands on my breasts, his hands between my legs, his fingers running up and down my wet slit, pushing aside my cunt lips and pressing on forward deep into my body. I wanted to feel his hot breath on my face, his teeth on my nipples and his tongue racing over every square inch of my naked hot skin.
I played out the scene in a thousand ways that night, all ending with the same climax, he throwing me to the floor, tearing off his clothes and falling on top of me, raping me senseless while I fight him at first, then giving way to the untamed waves of orgasm his gigantic cock triggered from the depths of my cunt.
And that moment of penetration, try as I might, I knew I could never imagine it in a way that would do justice to the reality. In my heart, I knew he had to be bigger, much more so than any of the pale, weak-blooded bankers' sons and General's nephews I'd made my way around the country-club circuit with.
I knew his cock had to be enormous, perpetually hard and throbbing to get into my cunt.
I knew it.
It had to be. Suddenly, in my own thoughts, uncensored and uninhibited, I realized that quite simply, more than anything else in the world, I wanted him to fuck me.
Period.
I wanted his cock up my cunt.
By dawn, it had become a fetish.
By eight o'clock it had become an obsession.
By noon, I was propelled purely by the certainty that one way or another, I was going to get that cock up my cunt.
There was no other solution possible. It had become one of those things you simply define as being essential for your own survival.
Lord God! I wanted him.
And what was so strange, I'd never really gone in for developing obsessions about men before.
I'd had plenty of casual flings with people I'd never met until five minutes before I was fucking them, but all those were like games, easily played and easily won.
This was closer to my soul. It had my body and all my nerve endings in an uproar.
It was an obsession, and I had never been truly obsessed before in my life.
And the hold on me was so total, I couldn't even gain enough perspective on my situation to recognize that I was almost in a trance, under a spell.
I simply wanted him.
When I finally went back to pick up the newsletter, I'd forgotten all about the news letter. But I hadn't forgotten that face.
Neither, it seemed, had he.
He was serving people at the counter when I walked into the shop and immediately instructed one of the other employees to take over the customer that he had at the time.
"I'll be with you in one moment," he said in the same soft, utterly controlled voice. That was it! He was in control of himself. It was almost as if he knew exactly what image he projected, and knew furthermore exactly how to manipulate that image to the best effect. He seemed to know exactly how I responded to that image as well.
It was unsettling, because the way his eyes looked at me, I felt that he'd already been party to all the fantasies that had nearly driven me insane. There was still that acknowledgement of a bond between us, but also something else, something more familiar, closer. More intimate.
His casual talk was the same way. As if it were already a foregone conclusion that we were going to get together. Which, I'd been looking for when I went back, but I still had a lot of problems translating that feeling into actions.
Something about him made me close up, as if I had no thoughts of my own, simply waited till he pointed the direction.
Which he did, just as I was paying for the job.
"Oh, there's one other thing," he told me, almost as an after thought.
"Yes?" I said, already resigned to the fact that I was going to walk out without having made any contact.
He glanced around at the other people in the shop, lowered his voice just a little, enough to make his words gibberish unless someone strained hard to hear.
"I'd like your phone number. I'd like to give you a call tonight."
He said it with the same even tone he'd used to tell me how much the printing job had cost. This same voice now, however, sent my pussy into a spasm. Right there in the shop, I thought I was going to come all over my underpants. I'd already been oozing juice since the moment I'd walked in. I thought for sure that he could tell just what I was going through.
Suddenly my nipples felt like someone had rubbed them with sandpaper, so sensitive had they become. Each time I took a breath, the swaying motion of my breasts rubbing against my shirt felt like someone had attached electrodes to them.
I was actually getting faint!
It was like being in a bad movie.
Except that it didn't feel bad to me. But I still felt like I was out of my element, and that he had an advantage over me. At least here.
But let me get my hands on him when I was on my home turf! Then, I thought, we shall see who had the edge over who.
In a daze, I wrote my phone number on the scrap of paper he'd offered me, and then, almost as an afterthought, I wrote my address, apartment number and told him to just come by. Anytime would be all right. The earlier the better.
I felt silly, but I couldn't help myself. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to get my hands on his cock. I could hardly contain myself.
He never batted an eye, cracked any smile beyond the same, almost inscrutable one he always seemed to have, and actually made it very easy for me.
"I think I'll take you up on that," he said. "By the way, my name's Wade. Wade Trenton." He offered his hand, and I mumbled something about looking forward to seeing him.
The whole thing took maybe seven seconds, but I had no concept of time for the rest of the day.
I wondered why I had simply told him to come over. That didn't strike me as too wise on hindsight, although I couldn't have said why.
But as the evening wore on, my skepticism turned to pure fear that he wouldn't show at all.
Finally at nine thirty, by which time I was close to frantic, the doorman called up, with a voice that said he didn't think this bearded, long haired ruffian had any business with anyone in the building, let alone myself.
I assured him that the contrary was quite the case, and waited.
The bell rang.
I opened the door.
He stood there, still dressed in the same clothes he'd worn that day, a look of astonishment crossing his face.
"When you gave me the address I knew it was in a classy part of town, but I didn't think it was this classy."
He walked in, looking around with obvious approval in his eyes, although not with the look of hunger you sometimes see when delivery men have to come up to the apartment. They look around like starving beggars placed in front of a banquet table and told to just look and smell.
Wade gave no indication that he necessarily coveted my lifestyle, nor that he even approved, simply that the extent of my position was now quite plain to him, and he was ready to see what came next.
And do you believe it, I didn't know what came next. I offered him a drink, he requested straight tequila (I wasn't even sure if I had any of the stuff) and then I started to feel uncomfortable.
What was I doing with this person who I knew nothing about? Suddenly I wondered just what his past was, if he was married, if he had children, if, perhaps, he might have killed someone....
He stopped all my paranoid thoughts by placing his glass firmly on the table, standing up and walking over to me.
I simply stood and watched, fearing that if I made a move at all, it would be the wrong one. As it turned out, I needed to do nothing for the rest of the night but come, come, come, in a blizzard of spasms, twitching arms and legs and sweat, sweat and more sweat.
That boy worked up a sweat in me that I have never experienced either before or after in my entire life.
But all that was still just fantasy as I watched him cross the floor. He came over to me, took my drink out of my hand, and before he even tried to kiss me, which is what I thought he would have done, he reached out and grabbed each one of my nipples!
I was stunned.
And thrilled. It felt like I'd been struck by two bolts of lightning, one searing each breast. I think I let out a small scream, maybe just a tiny whimper, half in fear and half with unexpected arousal ... I remember him pulling me the last three feet between us, reeling me in like a fish by my nipples.
From that moment on, I was his.
Utterly.
I fell into his arms, cried out something corny like "Take me I'm yours" and waited for him to make me faint.
He planned to keep me conscious for a long time.
Like an exquisite torture, his foreplay stretched you past your endurance, yet you couldn't stop, or make him stop, or want to.
Keeping his hands on my nipples, he started to nibble my ear. His teeth were like tiny knives, yet he wielded them with the skill of a wood sculptor. I felt myself being peeled away by his teeth as they wandered down to my neck, down between my breasts, up to my face and back down to my breasts again. He chewed at my nipples through my shirt, then slid his hands beneath my blouse and started to raise it over my shoulders.
I stopped him then. I don't know why. Probably some mad fearful last-ditch effort to avoid what I already knew would be a descent into madness, heated sexual madness.
It was futile.
He took hold of my wrists, never once looking anywhere except my eyes, boring into me with his jet black drill bits of eyes, keeping me hypnotized almost.
"Wait," I gasped, still not knowing why I was resisting.
He just held onto my wrists, calmly showing me that he could have me at any time he wished. And he could have too, because even if I had tried to fight him, maybe screaming out, there weren't any servants at this apartment, and no one ever heard you from any of the other rooms. Even if they heard you they 'didn't hear'.
That's what really amazed me, his audacity. He, of course, had no way of knowing whether we were alone or not. But it didn't stop him. He later told me that he didn't think I'd have had anyone with me. Simple as that. He just didn't think I'd have anyone with me.
But, like I said, I was actually starting to fight him off, reacting to some fear of rape that had been drilled into me, I guess, when he stopped me with a single question.
"Isn't this what you asked me over here for?"
"What?...." I asked, and slowly stopped struggling. Finally, we were just standing there looking at each other. I started laughing.
"Of course it is."
"Well, isn't all this a little silly?"
I bit my lip and felt foolish, and nodded.
I was still feeling foolish as my blouse lifted off my head.
I felt less foolish as I watched his pants slowly drop, first to his knees, then to his ankles.
I felt simply aroused as I watched him unbutton his shirt, step out of his pants and drop his shirt to the floor.
He was naked! His cock was as I had imagined. Huge. Massive. And slowly, steadily swelling. Although not yet to full attention.
He stepped up close to me and undid the buttons on my skirt, peeled the material off my hips and stood back to observe me as it dropped to the floor. He placed his hands on my breasts and fell on my mouth with his lips and tongue and teeth. A full frontal assault! I was on fire!
He went straight for my clitoris. He had no trouble finding it, even though it's somewhat small, and usually remains beneath the folds of my pussy lips.
But instead of having to slide his finger back and forth through the top of my wet slit, he simply pressed right onto it. He knew exactly where it would be.
His technique of stroking my breasts was also one that I'd never seen equaled before.
He began with a very rapid fluttering movement all over the surface of my breasts, almost dancing with his fingertips across my breasts.
It was like a thousand millisecond jolts of electricity, all charging me in a chain of charges, setting my entire body aflame.
Then he began to move his fingertips around the rounded curves, bringing them with each stroke closer and closer to my nipples, never quite touching, always finding one more minute degree of space to' decrease the distance, until each nipple quivered and ached to be touched, squeezed, pinched, bitten!
I wanted him to chew me up. I wanted him to ravish me, to take my body and use it anyway he wanted. And I didn't want to have to tell him about it either. I wanted him to just know that's what he was to do, and simply go ahead and do it.
I needn't have worried.
He finally reached my nipples, and after pinching and squeezing them for a long time, he lowered his lips to them and took first one, then the other into his mouth, and finally, squeezing my breasts tightly together with his hands, he managed to get both nipples in at the same time.
He let his teeth press into them, and I could feel them growing harder and harder as he started to first massage them with his teeth, then bite them, then bite harder and harder.
It began to hurt.
Still I couldn't push his head away. I wanted it to keep up forever.
And he bit harder and harder still.
"Stop!" I finally gasped. "No more. I can't take anymore."
He stopped at once, looked me in the face with a sly grin and said, "Well, now we know what limits we have to move out from."
My eyes got wide in my head.
"Now wait just one little minute, pal," I said "don't tell me you're one of those weirdos who gets off on pain!"
He just grinned, said nothing and placed his finger back on my clit, which I noticed was actually outside of my pussy, peeking around to see what was going on. It found out real quick.
Wade started to hammer at it with the tip of his finger, scrape his fingernails across it, pinch it, push it, rub it, and play with it.
I felt my legs melting, felt my spine turn to jelly and was afraid I might collapse against him.
I did fall against his hand as it worked its way into my pussy, so that I was actually kind of sitting on it, letting it impale me.
It felt like a log, and he kept pushing more and more fingers into it, spreading the lips apart, working the juices around inside of me.
I began to cry and moan and whimper.
I saw stars.
I felt like a spring breeze and an arctic wind were blowing from the same direction. I felt earthquakes. I heard thunder. I lost touch with my body. And Lord, Lord, Lord, did I ever come! Phew!
Never had I come so fiercely. And it wouldn't stop. He just kept on stroking my clitoris, playing with it as he jabbed his fingers in and out of my cunt. I felt like my hips were being blown right out through my stomach.
And there was so much cunt juice pouring out of me that I almost believed I was melting.
A cosmic meltdown!
That's what it was.
And I sure was lost in the cosmos.
For long, long, minutes, I was absolutely out if it, didn't have the faintest idea who I was, where I was, what I was doing ... that is, I didn't have to think about what I was doing, because I was just doing it!
And what I was doing was coming!
And again and again and again.
I couldn't seem to stop.
But that was because he kept driving me higher and higher with his fingers inside of me, with his teeth on my nipples, his tongue, his body, the feel of his stiffening prick rubbing between my legs.
I was going mad wanting to feel more than his fingers in me. I wanted his cock and so I turned my attention to that spear of flesh at once.
I grabbed hold of the shaft, began to pump back and forth on it, felt the thing get totally stiff in my hands, and it felt like a piece of Steele.
I was amazed!
It was the biggest cock I'd ever held in my hands.
I wanted to hold it in my pussy.
I started to press the head against my clitoris and by beating on it with my fist, I could both masturbate him and myself at the same time.
I quickly came to another orgasm, and I could feel him start to rise up also. So I slowed down.
I certainly didn't want to blow the whole show before I'd even gotten a sample!
But I needn't have worried.
He could keep himself at the very threshold of orgasm for hours, drooling clear liquid in a constant stream as proof that his balls were loaded and ready to burst, but always that last final plunge he held off until he was inside me, pumping madly in and out of my cunt.
Only then would he come, and what a come it would be too!
Holding it back for so long, when it finally burst out, it was like a dam bursting.
But I get ahead of myself.
I was talking about beating him off against my clitoris.
It was a fantastic way to masturbate, and I'd urge everyone to try it, except that if you have something like Wade's cock handy, you don't need to masturbate at all, do you?
Well, finally we both got tired of faking it, and he pushed the head of his cock lower, down into the hole of my pussy and thrust his hips forward with a mighty push.
I gasped as I felt it rushing in to fill my entire cunt.
It was incredible!
I couldn't get enough, even though it hurt when he pulled it back out and shoved it back into me.
But I didn't care.
I wanted it to go on forever.
And it seemed that he could have if he'd wanted to.
He started out very slow, pulling his cock almost all the way out of me, till just the head rested right inside my pussy lips.
Then he would gradually push it back into me, savoring every minute fraction of an inch that it took to fill me up.
And I could feel it touching every single part of my pussy as it pushed back in.
Then out again in a long lazy movement, back in just as slow, his hips rolling down to my pelvis, me arching back up to him.
In and out, in and out.
It was fantastic.
And just fucking me slow like this, he took what seemed to be eons. Actually he must have fucked me really for about an hour like that, just slowly pulling his cock out, then letting it slide back in.
Out and in.
In and out.
Then a little harder. Still just as slow, but each time in or out was a faster, more stabbing thrust.
Down and into me.
Up and out of me.
My hips tried to follow his cock every time he pulled it back out of me.
But he always pulled away until I couldn't raise my hips any more.
Then he would pull just a little bit further, and I would think he was going to pull completely out of my pussy.
But he wouldn't, he would just hold it there until he decided that I'd waited long enough, then he would make a vicious downward jab at my cunt, shoving aside all the membranes and tissues that had pressed back together, ramming its way once more to the very bottom, pressing with its swollen head right against my bottommost wall.
Faster now.
And still harder.
In and out, in and out.
I was still standing up against his body, although clinging to his body would be a better description.
I felt like I was going to faint.
My head was spinning.
My stomach felt like butterflies were fluttering around inside.
I was floating on clouds.
I was sinking into the floor.
I couldn't think.
I could only feel. Can you imagine, Doctor, what it felt like for me, someone who thought of herself as being sophisticated and pretty well informed and educated sexually, finding out for the very first time what a proper fucking was all about? It was an eye-opening experience, I can tell you that!
He was really pounding into me now, hard against my pelvis with sharp slapping sounds, every time our bodies crashed together.
Back and forth, back and forth,.
Harder and harder.
And my screams got louder and louder.
I couldn't control myself, I babbled anything that came into my head and I probably said a lot of things that would sound silly to me if I could hear them replayed on a tape. But at the time, there was nothing else I could do.
I was helpless, a powerless slave to his cock, and I knew it, knew it in that first second that I felt it sliding all the way to the very bottom of my cunt and still press against the back wall.
I knew then that I would do anything to keep that cock available.
But even then, I was thinking that I mustn't let him know how much I craved it.
Which was foolish. He could easily see that I was a slobbering wreck and didn't have a hope in the world of getting anything under control as long as he was fucking me.
And he just kept on fucking me too, until he heard my moaning and groaning grow more intense, then he increased his pumping motions in my cunt, ramming it home with more and more force, again and again and again.
Finally, I came.
A real orgasm, from a real cock and it blew me into a thousand tiny pieces.
I felt myself splatter against the walls.
I felt every nerve ending in my body rupture.
I felt the air rush out of my lungs.
And I felt the heavens open, and the earth move, and all the other cliches. They all applied. I felt every damn one of the little suckers and for the first time realized that they were all absolutely correct. I'd just never felt it that way before. I knew better now.
I crumbled in his hands.
"Fuck me!" I begged.
He said nothing, but kept fucking me.
That's when I realized that he hadn't come yet. He was still fucking me as strongly as ever.
He'd slowed down the pace a little to let me fall back from the peak of my orgasm, but now I saw that we'd just gone through the first cycle. He's like a fucking machine, I thought.
And sure enough, soon I felt him shift gears again, and thought to myself, hold on, this ride's just getting started.
On and on through the night. I dimly remember him walking across the room with my cunt glued onto his cock and my legs wrapped around his back and then we were lying down on the pillows that I had scattered around the living room carpet, but the fucking was still the same.
Tremendous!
I really couldn't get enough.
"Don't stop, don't stop!!" I would gasp at random intervals, and he only grinned and then kept on fucking me.
Finally, when I was nearly unconscious, I felt him come. It was as mighty a torrent as you'd expect after holding back for so long.
I felt his hot juices spurting into me in a long stream, one wad after another squirting into my pussy.
"Oh, you feel so hot, so hot so hot." I screamed.
He still said nothing, though I distinctly heard him moan as his first load of jism started to squirt through the head of his cock.
But beyond that, he was pretty much a silent fucker.
Which suited me fine. I like a man who gets right down to business without a lot of bullshit.
But I'd never found a man who did it with such class as Wade.
After we'd finished fucking, I lay back against his arms and he lightly stroked my hair.
His hands were so amazingly gentle for someone who'd just made my body feel as though a nuclear reactor had just gone on the fritz inside me.
I was melting all kinds of goo through my cunt. Actually it just felt like molten wax.
Thick dripping gobs of it, all oozing between my pink pussy lips.
I was growing numb, my body began to feel like it was sinking into the carpet, and my thoughts drifted into strange spaces I seldom encountered.
He'd nearly put me out!
I suddenly woke up and realized that he'd fucked me so solidly and soundly and had made me come so hard that my brain had actually almost blown out.
I couldn't believe it. I'd always been so calm and in control whenever I'd fucked before. It had always been a favorite trick of mine, to seduce a man until he was a drooling slave, then abuse him unmercifully until he would have no choice but to flee and run.
Some of them never did, and they're still kicking around somewhere, and if they don't hear from me for five years, one phone call and they'll leave whatever they're doing, even if it's being married, and be at my service whenever I call, for however long I desire them.
But not Wade. Or so I thought.
But I had to try. It was too unsettling to know that he could do the things he could to me, without having something to hold over him in return.
I found it easily.
My money, of course, is the kind of thing few people can resist for long.
As a matter-of-fact, Wade was the first person I'd ever met who tried to resist it at all.
No one else had even given it a thought. It seemed to be the most logical thing there could be. Ariel has money, is willing to spend it, let's go along for the ride.
I was tired of riders. Until Wade tried very hard not to be a rider at all.
At first, he refused to quit his job, even though he hated it, would have given anything to be doing something else, or more importantly, to be doing nothing else so he could devote his time to writing.
That's what he did best, and there were several brilliant novels in him.
That's what he told me, and I had no reason to doubt him. He had such a look of fire and intensity, you knew he could do anything he wanted, if only he'd set his mind to it.
I wanted to help him, but he wouldn't let me.
I wanted him to move in, but he refused.
I wanted him to fuck me every night, and that, he was glad to do.
It got to be a drug, and we were both addicted to it.
As we dove further and further into each other's bodies, the natural barriers he felt about my money must have started to crumble, because he stopped complaining about me taking him to dinner, to shows, buying him clothes, paying his rent....
It didn't really take long. That's the problem with money like mine. It just sits there being an immense fortune. You don't have to do anything, and even if you ignore it, it's still going, to be an immense fortune, and you know it won't be going anywhere unless you start using it again.
After awhile, you. start to feel silly holding to principles. Principles don't matter to money like mine. Money like mine makes its own principles.
Soon, he was hopelessly hooked on my money, as hopelessly hooked as I was on his body. He quit his job, moved in with me, and soon, he began to lose contact with his old friends. They just didn't fit into the world I inhabited and he more and more wanted to at least be able to partake of the joys of that world, if not actually become a part of it.
He cut his hair, shaved his beard.
I don't know how it happened, but one day I looked at him, and he looked just like Gregory or Harold, or Aubrey or Winston or Sidney or any of a hundred rich mindless fools. He had stopped being something special.
At first, it was simple and silly. Chiding him in front of friends at a party. My friends, not his. His status was quite well known among my friends. They assumed that he was simply another in a long line of pets that I'd kept.
At first, they'd been dead wrong and had had no idea how far off the mark they really were.
But as time passed, the image became more and more appropriate.
He wasn't writing.
He wasn't working.
He was spending my money.
And after awhile, I stopped feeling like he had a right to spend it.
I actually began to resent him.
But his attraction was still too strong, and whenever we got into bed, his cock, which never stopped putting in anything less than superb performances, kept my doubts at bay quite handily.
He was always able to balance out any problems I might have had with his cock. It was my main excuse for living. I had to have it ripping through my cunt at least twice a day, often more, or I'd start to go out of my mind. It just annoyed me that he was able to become so lazy about it, to simply take the entire situation for granted, as if it was his right.
Which it was, now that I think about it. Anyone who fucks as good as that boy fucks should never have any trouble getting laid. They ought to make it his national duty to fuck, and keep fucking until all the girls in the land know what their cunts are truly capable of doing. I'd have never known if Wade hadn't shown me.
But I was getting so I couldn't stand him as a person. He'd started to become someone that I was actually embarrassed to be seen with, not so much because of anything he was, or how he looked, but mainly because of what he wasn't.
What he no longer was.
One night, I rebuked him loudly and long for getting me the wrong drink at a party.
I knew immediately that I'd gone too far.
I saw it in his eyes. Something of those bottomless black pits suddenly appeared, and this time, I thought that if I looked deep enough, I could see where they bottomed out at last in hell.
But only for a second. The look flared and was gone.
"You say things that you later regret, my dear," he said to me pleasantly, and I wanted to tell him that I was sorry, but something of the contempt that I'd felt when I scolded him still lingered, and I just gave him a cold look.
Then, still grinning, he calmly poured the drink I'd rejected down my dress between my breasts.
"I've always though this was a drink you should get to know," he told me, the same genial smile still on his face.
In fact, he did the whole thing with such a calm manner that only those right next to us were even aware that anything at all had taken place, and scarcely anyone at all had actually seen him pour the drink down my dress.
Well, I would have gone out of my mind and perhaps even struck him, but while I was still flabergasted staring at him in disbelief, he calmly gave me a little wave, said, "Bye", turned on his heels and was on his way out of the house.
By the time he got to the door, he had his bowtie and jacket off, and passing a large fountain in the front yard that had a naked statue spouting a constant stream of water, he stepped onto it, getting himself wet in the process, and draped his coat around the statue's shoulders and his bowtie around its cock.
Then he walked over to one of the car hops, told him to call a cab and started to walk down the driveway towards the highway.
I knew because I stood in the doorway of the house and watched him go.
I wanted to run after him, wanted to say I was sorry, but didn't because somehow, I knew that whatever I'd done to him, whatever emotion I'd triggered inside him, it was better than the placid pet he'd turned into.
But then the days turned into a week, and then it was two weeks, and halfway through the third week, I was going crazy.
Why didn't he call?!
Didn't he know how sorry I was?
Of course he couldn't have thought that I meant it.
But I heard nothing from him, and had no way to start looking.
Except, that money of mine, sitting like a large fat green slug in the middle of some bank vault, keeping the bankers in business while I slowly chipped away a piece at a time.
That was money that could unlock any doors.
I hired the best detectives in the city. It took another two weeks, but they found him.
He was living with a woman, a woman whose name I recognized dimly from long ago when he'd first started seeing me. Someone who had been a friend, lover, confident....
And now he was back with her, and she had taken him back, even after he'd left her for so long and gone through so many changes.
That didn't sound good. He might already be going through some kind of warped contrition and have already learned to look at me as some kind of horrible penalty that he'd mercifully been saved from at the last moment.
NO!
It couldn't be so.
I trembled as I drove across town to the address. It was far uptown, and the neighborhood was somewhat rundown. I stifled fears of rape and knocked on the door of the apartment. Fortunately it was a ground level apartment, because I don't think I would have been brave enough to walk up even one flight of stairs in the building.
"Who is it?" a voice called from behind the door.
"A friend of Wade's. Can I talk to you?"
I heard a whispered conference behind the door and then Wade himself opened it.
"Kind of slumming it, aren't you Ariel?"
"Wade, I just wanted to see you, to talk to you."
"Haven't you done enough to him?" asked the girl who now stepped out from behind the door.
I gasped. She was beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous. Her breasts made mine look old and sloppy.
That's how I felt all at once, old and sloppy.
I looked at Wade. He was naked except for a towel and I assumed that I'd interrupted them.
"How'd you find me?" he asked, then without even giving me a chance to answer he said, "Never mind. Why should I ask? You found me the way you find everything. You gave someone enough money and finally got what you wanted. It's a nice way to live Ariel, it just isn't for me. You got that?"
"Wade, I just want to talk to you."
"So talk."
I looked at the girl, who eyed me with unconcealed contempt.
"Alone," I said, looking back at Wade. "No." he said, firmly, and my stomach fell to my ankles. He sounded like nothing I could say would change his mind, that I'd already lost him for good and I had only to accept that fact and then everything would be OK.
Well, I didn't want to accept that fact.
"Wade, please let me talk to you ... alone. I really need to. It's important to me."
"Did you hear what he said?" asked the girl, her voice growing shrill. That gave me hope. If she'd been as confident of Wade's feelings as she tried to make me think she was, she would have stayed calm. Something told me that she had strong reason to doubt that Wade could remain steadfast for long against a concentrated assault on my part.
"I believe I was talking to Wade," I said, dismissing her as an insignificant crumb.
"Don't you dare take that tone of voice with me in my house. Wade, you can't let her talk to me that way. Stop her. Throw her out."
"I think you'd better leave now Ariel," he said, but he sounded like he was thinking something else altogether.
"I'll leave with you." I was going to shoot for the works.
"Like hell you will!" screamed the girl, and before I could do anything at all, she was on me, ripping my shirt, scratching my face, biting me, kicking me clawing me and above all else, hurting me.
"Stop this!" Wade commanded.
She might as well have not heard him. She came at me like a cyclone and I thought that I'd be torn into pieces.
Wade was on her though, lifting her away even though she strained and squirmed madly trying to get out of his grip.
"Let me go! Let me go! You're just trying to protect that cunt! After all the things you told me about her too, you just want to protect her!"
"I want to keep you from killing her. That won't help any of us."
"Let me go. Let me go damn you! Let me go!"
But it was no use. Wade had a tight grip on her.
"All right Ariel, you'd best leave. I have your phone number. I'll call you."
I wanted to stay, I wanted to be with him. But I left.
I waited another week before I heard from Wade.
"Lunch?" was all he asked over the phone, and I quickly agreed and told him where to meet me.
He was waiting when I got there.
"I wanted to break your neck when I saw you at her apartment," he told me. They were the first words out of his mouth. I blanched!
I felt my stomach turn violently as I groped for an answer.
He reached out and wrapped his fingers around my neck. He was gentle. Caressing. Then he got harsher. Squeezing. Pressing his thumb against my throat, pushing, harder and harder....
I was scared to death.
"Well," he said finally, after contemplating the sight of his fingers around my throat in silence for a minute, "I probably would still like to break your neck, but maybe I'd like to fuck you first. '
"That could easily be arranged," I told him, desperate, willing to do anything to get that cock back.
"I have no doubts that it could. I just don't know if I really want to stick my cock back into your slimy cunt any more."
I said nothing. I'd expected that he would have some anger to work out. That was all right with me. I just hoped he would work it out and still want to fuck me. Preferably without including the broken neck. "Take me to your apartment right now," tie instructed me.
"Let's go."
It took us ten minutes. I was quivering, I was so tense and excited. I had no idea what changes had gone on in him, but it was obvious that all the while he'd been turning into such a spineless fool, there'd been a far different person growing underneath. The night that I'd gotten the drink poured between my breasts was the first full fledged steps that person took in the real world. The Wade I'd come to know died that night. I was about to meet his replacement.
We walked into my apartment.
I felt a gentle hand touch my neck. His fingers wandered around in front of me, still dancing at my neck, rising up to brush against my cheek, returning to my neck, then touching my breasts, back to my neck....
My neck. That bastard wasn't joking, I thought to myself. No, he's just trying to keep me off guard.
And he was doing it too. I was seized by a combination of fear and lust. I wanted that cock in me, and I could feel how stiff it had already gotten when he stepped close to me, because he deliberately pressed his hips into my ass when he got behind me.
My body was quivering. His fingers felt so good, so damned good! I wanted him to touch me all over.
I felt pressure on my shoulder, felt him turning me around, facing him. I closed my eyes, getting ready for his kiss....
He slapped me so hard I heard bells ringing for five minutes afterward.
I let out a gasp, a shriek of pain and a shout of anguish.
He simply slapped me twice as hard on the other cheek.
"Stop it!" I screamed, backing away from him. His face still hadn't changed. He was the calm, controlled Wade I'd met that first night that we fucked. He slapped me with no more an outward show of emotion than when he'd fucked me.
He followed me across the room.
"Stay away from me," I told him, knowing that there was nothing I could do to force him to obey me.
He just laughed.
"Shut up, Ariel. You want me here, and you'll pay any price to keep me here. Now tell me I'm a fool, and I'll walk out and you'll never see me again. Otherwise, shut your mouth. And keep it shut."
He never raised his voice. Never emphasized any words above any others. He might have been a biology professor lecturing about the reproductive systems of plants, for all the emotion he showed. He didn't fool me. There was infinite menace behind those words.
At the same time, I knew he was Fight. I would have paid any price. And somewhere in my brain, I'd know that this would probably be part of the price. I didn't really expect it, but somehow, it hadn't come as a surprise when he'd first struck me.
I tripped over a small table next to the couch and tumbled over backwards. I half expected him to take me then, when my guard was down completely.
But he didn't, just kept to his steady pace across the room behind me, until he stood over me, grinning triumphantly down at my body splayed out awkwardly on the couch.
"Ariel, tell me to leave right now. Tell me to walk out. I mean it. You have that choice. It's the last time I give it to you. But keep in mind. If you don't have the guts to tell me to leave right this instant, you take whatever I feel like dishing out. And when I'm done with you, maybe I'll come back.. Do you understand me exactly."
I looked up at him, trembling with fear. I wanted him so much. I wanted to feel him fucking me, kissing me. And yes, even whipping, hitting, striking, beating me. Anything, so long as it was him!
I said nothing. I let the moment pass.
He smirked, fell to his knees next to the couch and without another word, loosened my jeans, my shirt and pulled the clothing from my body.
I watched everything he did in silence. I was afraid to say anything. I had no idea what was in his mind, but I was scared to death.
And more aroused than I'd ever been in my life.
He kept the smirk on his face as his fingers dipped into my pussy.
He felt like he was charged with an energy I'd never before experienced, but it sent me crashing through an orgasm instantly.
I began to shake and writhe on the couch.
He lowered himself to me, and I expected him to kiss me again, but instead, he grabbed my breast and pinched it so hard I cried out.
"Oh, Please stop!!"
"I said keep your mouth shut, you piece of shit," he said to me, and the calm tolerant grin that was so at odds with his words chilled my blood.
"Wade," I said, trying to sit up on the couch, "what are you going to do?"
I was whimpering and blubbering and was really scared out of my mind.
But that maddening hand was still in my cunt and as long as I could feel his fingers playing at my clitoris, I was only able to protest feebly. I wanted him to keep it up, and I didn't care what it cost me.
"Tell me what you want, Wade, please, tell me what you're going to do to me."
"I'm going to wait till you shut your mouth, and then I'm going to show you. At that point, you'll find out what I want to do to you."
I suspected that he really didn't have anything in particular, except getting revenge however he conceived it. He undoubtedly had a lot of anger inside and needed some way to vent it.
But, I was hoping that he'd get rid of it before he managed to do any lasting damage.
He slowly removed his belt from the loops in his pants.
"Sit up," he commanded me.
I did so.
"Move out here to the edge of the couch." Again I obeyed.
I was sitting still as a statue, trembling inwardly.
He stood next to me, watched the rise and fall of my breasts for a minute and then without warning, he slammed his belt down onto the tops of both breasts at once. The tip of his belt bit harshly into the side of my breast. It felt like a hot piece of metal had been placed against my skin.
I jerked my body around and was getting ready to scream again when he cut me short.
"Don't move! And don't say anything at all!!"
I didn't dare disobey.
He kept me in that position, waiting to see how I would hold up. I could feel every muscle in my body trembling from fear. He could see me too and I knew it must be giving him a feeling of power over me.
He brought the belt down onto my breasts again, then immediately followed it up with a back hand stroke that caught me full across my nipples. Then another down stroke, again catching my nipples as the leather belt ripped past.
Again and again he beat me on my breasts, leaving the rest of my body untouched. The bastard, he knew how much I loved my breasts and he was showing me that he had control over my entire body. And he was right too. Much more control than my money could have possibly had over him.
I learned that, and much more that day. I was hooked on him, more strongly than he'd gotten hooked on my money. He seemed to have kicked that habit with very little problem.
I wasn't so lucky.
Every time the belt fell across my breasts, across my back, my thighs, my spread cunt, I knew exactly how much I was willing to pay.
Anything. Absolutely anything.
I knew then that I'd never experienced the pure fact of my existence before until that day, when I felt him charging my body back to life the way he had when we first started to fuck each other.
I knew that I didn't want to lose that feeling.
I would endure his abuse, no matter how excessive.
He whipped me senseless that day, and when I was a babbling fool, unable to remember my own name, he fucked me.
A long hard savage fuck.
His cock stayed hard for hours.
He just kept spearing me with it, keeping himself to the same in and out motions, in and out, in and out, until I felt like my pussy was made out of hamburger.
Each thrust of his hips drove his cock painfully through my membranes feeling like it was coated with sandpaper.
And the walls of my cunt felt like they'd been rubbed raw with sandpaper for a day or two before he even fucked me. That's how bad it hurt.
But he didn't stop, and after a long while, even though it was killing me every time he slammed his cock hard into me, I began to moan and groan with a different tone in my voice. I could feel it, and I knew he could tell it from the sounds I was making.
I was getting ready to come. Inside my pussy, a fire was growing that would not be quenched until my body spun off into the wild spasms of coming.
I couldn't help myself.
What was happening was that I was getting raped, and I knew it, and I knew that I couldn't do anything about it.
But what bothered me, was that all I could think of through the pain was how to make myself come more quickly.
That's all I wanted. To come, and keep coming, and if it meant he would whip me on my naked breasts, or perhaps spread my legs and aim his whip at my soft flesh pussy, or maybe raise welts all along my back and ass and thighs, well, so be it.
I was in his power.
I was under his spell.
Once more, I was in love, though for the first time, I knew it.
Perhaps it wasn't the kind of love that most people experience, but isn't love the kind of bond that exists between two people, when each needs the other for their own continued happiness? That's what happened to me that night.
It didn't matter at all what I was going through. I'd nearly lost him. And now I had a chance to have him back.
It was all that mattered.
As the days passed, we started to settle into a routine.
He would never spend the night with me two nights in a row.
He would sometimes leave and not return for two or three days.
Once, he tied me up, whipped me, and then left me like that, my flesh burning like hot steel, my wrists and ankles bitten cruelly by the ropes ... he just left me and didn't return for over twenty four hours.
I wanted to kill him!
But of course, I said nothing, because when he finally walked in the door, the first thing he did was to immediately untie me and make love to me for hours.
And it was one of the best fucks we'd ever had.
His cock seemed like it was even bigger than usual, and longer too, slamming into the walls of my hot cunt without mercy. Pressing its swollen head nearly through my pussy membranes, ripping in and out like a steam driver.
And it went on for hours.
I was easily able to forgive him for making me think he was just going to leave me tied up, but I was afraid he'd do it again.
That's the main thing about our relationship now, that I don't have the faintest idea what to expect.
He pops in at all hours, and even though I'm not required to be there whenever he feels like having me, whenever he does want me and I'm not there, I know about it the next time, because he swings his whip a lot harder, just to let me know that I pissed him off and that I'd better clean up my act.
The whippings come at any time of the day.
And they can be followed by fucking, or preceded by it, or he can be fucking me while he whips me.
That's a lot of fun.
Usually he enters me from behind. My ass is arched high in the air, and I can feel his cock plunging deeply into me from a different angle, a strange angle, one that causes the head to scrape across the top of the inside of my cunt. It feels great, but it's only the start.
When he's been fucking me for a few minutes, or maybe longer if he feels like it, he'll pick up this small whip that he uses for just this occasion.
The first clue I have that the whipping is about to start is that I feel him dragging the tips of the leather strands back and forth across my smooth ass cheeks, and the combination of his cock constantly sliding in and out of me, and the soft electric tingle the leather sends through me make me start to come at once. I think he's just gotten me conditioned by now, sort of like one of Pavlov's dogs. All I have to do is to feel the whip touch my buttocks, or even just hear him pick it up into his hand and I start to shake and I feel my cunt start to quiver. What is happening to me!!!
Then, he begins to lay on the strokes with a steadily mounting determination. In the dense air, again and again the whip strikes me, ripping my flesh like barbed wire.
The pain blends in my body with the pleasure of his cock, to the extent that I can no longer distinguish between the two, as if they were just the same. He keeps it up, in both meanings of the phrase.
If he felt like whipping me for the entire night, I have no doubt that his cock would be plowing through me the whole time, and I am also equally convinced that I would never once stop coming.
That's the effect he has on me.
Unbroken orgasms, one piling on top of the other till I'm feel like my body is being reduced to a smear, a blur , a molten puddle of flesh and bones.
And it just goes on and on and on.
There are times when I get tired of it, wish he'd stop, times when he starts hitting me too hard and it really does get to be too much.
But part of the relationship, the way it's developed between us is that there's nothing I can do if that turns out to be the case.
He pays no attention when I beg him to stop.
And if he thinks I'm really serious, he'll just make the blow that much harder.
It's important to us that we both understand this, that we accept it as part of the rules of whatever game we're playing?
You look a little surprised that I'd say that doctor. Well, don't worry, I know it's a game, and maybe even a sick little game.
But I don't care. It's not hurting anyone, and it's making me feel like a human being for the first time in years.
It's nobody's business what we do, really.
Which, I guess, brings up the question of why I'm here.
I guess I was having a little trouble adjusting.
More than I'd thought.
I started crying one day, and couldn't stop.
Just started crying one day at breakfast.
Wade wasn't even there, but I knew he would be coming over later in the day, and suddenly, I knew that I didn't know how to see him.
How strange, I thought, to love a person who you don't even know how to talk to, and that's when I started crying.
I'm still not sure why, but I think it must have been too much.
To much intense emotion, to much fighting, too much fucking, too much pain, too much of my body being pushed to its limits and then beyond.
I cried, continued to cry when Wade came over, and cried the entire night, even though he didn't lay a hand on me.
Finally, he took me to a hospital, and now I'm out and seeing you, but I know that I "Will be seeing Wade again too. There's nothing I can do about it. It satisfies me.
Ariel's problem is a complicated one, functioning at several levels at the same time. She first has to come to the realization for herself that a relationship such as she had with Wade can be the most intense she'll ever experience and that it can also be the most dangerous.
She's already experienced some of the danger.
She suffered a small breakdown, and more are in the forecast, but given her unstable nature, and the total lack in her developing years of any kind of challenge against which she might have measured herself and come away with a firmer understanding of who she is, the chances are if she hadn't gone back to Wade, she still would have suffered that breakdown, perhaps even a major one.
She has a lot of self examination to go through before she can decide what her best course of action is.
Patsy R.
Patsy is a beautiful young girl aged twenty two. Beautiful is a word that can be overused in the city, but this young lady certainly warrants it.
She had long flowing locks of curly blonde hair rippling down to her shoulders like a shining waterfall.
She has a face that would keep anyone awake nights.
She has a pair of breasts that would keep anyone occupied all night.
The rest of her body is simply perfection in motion.
The only thing that offsets it is the haunted look, in her eyes, the quick darting jerks from corner to corner, even when she knows there is nobody else present in the room.
She trusts no one, fears everyone and has difficulty dealing with any aspect of her problem at ail.
I simply allowed her to start talking in whatever manner made her the most comfortable.
It didn't take long before she managed to start edging into the heart of the matter. We join her story already in progress.
So like I was saying Doctor, the music was just something that was always there in my life, and I got better and better at it, not because I was trying to be a success, or make money, but because I enjoyed doing it so much, I simply played all the time. I couldn't help getting better.
But I guess I always did have an ability to write songs. From the very first I was able to turn out good sounding melodies. When I was a little girl, I would sit at my grandmother's piano and just by listening for the sounds, I was able to put together chords that harmonized in slightly off ways, chords that worked well but not the way everyone else's chords worked. And I would start humming melodies to go with them, and even then I knew that I was humming decent melodies. It was just a matter of time before I started trying to put my own lyrics to my melodies, but again, there really wasn't any thought of working towards a career. I just got so much pleasure out of it that I did it all on my own.
But since I started so young, by the time I was eighteen, I was performing in small clubs, and finding out that I was able to entertain people.
Who knows, maybe I'd have gone on to a big recording contract if I hadn't gotten sidetracked the way I did.
But you were asking about that, weren't you?
Well, I remember, I was about nineteen. I was opening for a big name act at this club down the street from me that always featured some kind of obscure local talent along with its headline act, and tonight it was me.
So, I went through my set, did all my favorite songs, and found that some of the people in the audience had heard me enough to have some favorite songs of their own, which really made me feel great, like I was already building up a following.
So the point is, by the time I was finished with my set, I was feeling like I was on top of the business and that there wasn't anything I couldn't take on and succeed at, if I just tried.
I was ready to facy a challenge. I was ready to expand my horizons.
I guess that's why I was so willing to listen to what they had to say to me.
They who?
The man and woman who made their way over to my table after my set.
Jack, my boyfriend at the time was drinking beer with me and a couple of other friends, but soon they had to go and it was just myself and another girl who I was good friends with. Sherry was her name. A real cute girl and the two of us made a stunning pair, something we were quite aware of.
So was Jack. I could tell he felt a little uncomfortable about leaving me at the bar, but he had to go to work, and anyway, we weren't living together or anything like that. And I certainly wasn't a nun.
So when this man and woman came over to our table, Sherry and I were the only ones sitting there. The next act hadn't started yet and there was a low rumble of conversation all through the club, clattering glasses, an occasional hoot and a hollar. The usual bar sounds.
What they had to say however, made it seem as if there was no other sound in the world but my breathing.
"Good evening. We really enjoyed your singing," the man said. He was young, maybe in his early thirties but he still looked young, and the same was true of the woman. Both had a look of style about them. Not necessarily in their clothes which weren't all that expensive, but just in the way they carried themselves, you knew that they were used to being around luxury and class and knew how to act.
I thanked him for the compliment, and when they seemed to want to talk I invited them to sit down. I was still feeling like I had discovered a small core of fans and the thought made me feel a little giddy. If these two wanted to be my fans too, well, that was fine with me.
The man looked me over, as if taking one last assessment of me before getting down to business. He must have liked what he saw, because his next question cut right through all the bullshit.
"How'd you like to earn a lot of money and live in a very large mansion with all your needs and desires catered to, simply for doing exactly what you did up there on the stage tonight?"
I just stared at him, feeling at first that he was putting me on. But there was something in his face, maybe his confident grin, but something told me that he was very serious about what he'd just asked me, and that if I took him up on it, I'd find that everything he was offering me was just as he'd stated it.
OK, maybe that's a big judgment to make on the basis of one question from someone you just met and whose name you still didn't know, but I've always had a lot of faith in first impressions, and I trust mine completely
"I get the feeling that you're not kidding." I said to him.
"Well, good," he said, "because I'm dead serious. Allow me to introduce myself. My name's Roland Banks, and this is my associate, Lynn Archer.
She smiled and nodded.
"We really did enjoy your set. Your songs are original and beautiful."
I thanked her, but was more interested in hearing about the mansion and having all my needs catered to.
"What I had in mind," Roland went on, "was for you to come to work for our boss."
"Go on," I said, "who is your boss?"
"Zachary Higgens."
I just stared. It had to be a joke, I thought. Zachary Higgens, Chairman of the Board for the largest bank in the state, perhaps in the country. Zachery Higgens, last of the great line descended from the robber barons of the nineteenth century. Zachary Higgens, incredibly ancient, incredibly rich, incredibly senile, if reports were to be believed.
"You two go around trying to procure young girls for Zachery Higgens?" I asked. It sounded too absurd to be anything but a farce in the making. Still, I didn't dismiss them out of hand yet. I was intrigued and would have been a liar if I'd said otherwise.
"It's not quite that way," Roland said, smothering a small grin with his hand.
"Seriously," Lynn added, " we're completely on the level. The thing is, Mr. Higgens is ... how shall we put it, getting on in years. He grows tired easily and bored even easier."
"When we said that you'd do exactly what you were doing tonight, we meant it."
I looked at Roland, then at Lynn, and then I looked at Sherry. It sounded impossible. It sounded like a dream.
"Why would I have to live at the mansion?" I asked.
"Well, you see, you would actually be serving a very therapeutic purpose. You'd need to be on call twenty four hours a day. The man's sleeping habits can only be called random. He has no concept of time anymore, and if he wakes up at four in the morning and wants to see Gone With The Wind, somebody better be able to lay their hands on a copy before five in the morning, or heads roll. You see, it's a high pressure situation at times."
"I see that," I agreed. "And I'd only have to sing?"
"Well, you'd be taken on as part of the permanent staff. That would mean that officially, you would be on call to do what was required. But your special talents obviously would be the reason for you being there in the first place. I wouldn't make much sense, would it, if we had you doing something else while this beautiful talent that we feel would most definitely help Mr. Higgens just went to waste?"
At the time, it never occurred to me that they'd never answered that question themselves.
But I was getting excited. I felt good about this. I'm not even sure why, except that I was ready for something to happen, and this opportunity seemed to pop up on the perfect night.
I was feeling like I could tackle a challenge, and nothing else in my life seemed to be very challenging to me. Playing David to an old millionaire's King Saul might be just what was called for.
"One other thing," Roland warned me, acting like my acceptance of the job was already a foregone conclusion, "he isn't as senile as the news reports have made him out to be. His heart is a little unreliable now and then, and overall, his body is slowly wasting away, but his mind for the most part is sharp and alert."
"So what are you saying? What do I need to be on the lookout for?"
"He still remembers what women are all about. He has an admiring eye."
"But don't worry," soothed Lynn, "he's usually too weak to do anything about it."
"Yeah, but...." I replied, feeling the first bit of uncertainty dampen my spirits.
"Look, he's harmless. All that power, all that money, and underneath he's like a teddy bear. He's just a lonely old man, and he enjoys being entertained. It's really as simple as that."
"So what are the arrangements going to be?" I asked, realizing that by asking that question I may have already accepted their offer.
Sherry looked on in silence the whole time, but I could see that she was envious and even a little jealous.
I should tell you about Sherry here, Doctor, so you'll know how she fit in.
She and I went back a long long ways. We'd gone to high school together, and she was probably my closest friend. And when I said we made a stunning pair, I was right. We worked well as a team together.
"Would you want another entertainer?" I asked.
They looked confused.
"What do you mean?" asked Roland.
"Sherry and I have been rehearsing a duet act together," I said, hoping that Sherry wouldn't give away the fact that the partnership had just been created at that moment.
Roland and Lynn looked from Sherry to me and back to Sherry again.
"Well, how different is the music the two of you do? We don't want any hard rock type of thing, or disco or anything like that. We need music like you did tonight. Soothing, lyrical, beautiful, soft...."
"Well, since I still write all the songs, it should sound a lot like my music."
"But I play guitar," Sherry put in, which was true, although we'd never worked together, "and it gives us a chance to vary the sound from just a piano."
Roland and Lynn looked at each other again, looked back at us and then got ready to leave.
"Give us your numbers. You'll be hearing from us within the week."
As we watched them leave the bar, there was no way anyone could have convinced us that we were heading for anything short of the lucky break of our lives.
Later, Sherry and I talked about it and I pointed out that even if we didn't do anything except get together an act for an audience of one, it was still a step upward, simply because being within the scope of all that money alone was a definite jump from where we were now. With all that power lying around, even being able to plug right into a small fraction of it could move mountains compared to what we were doing with our lives now.
"It's just a question of depth," I told Sherry. "You don't want to put yourself into a situation that offers no potential. There's a lot that could be possible in a situation like that. Whether it will be possible is another question but the point is that none of it's possible right now. I say we do it." .
Sherry agreed and when Roland called, I gave him an unqualified yes, although I still wanted to know more about the details.
"Well, why don't you come on out this weekend. The two of you will be guests of the house and you can get a feeling for the atmosphere, the people, and most of all, you can meet Mr. Higgens. By the way, we've already told him about the two of you and he's most fascinated by the idea."
That made me feel good.
We set the date and then Sherry and I settled in for a long wait of two days until we were to go out there.
I was stunned the minute we turned off the main highway. Roland had described it as a driveway. It was a real road, and we seemed to drive on it for miles before coming to the fork that Roland had told us about.
"This is like going to another country," said Sherry, and I too fell a tingle, as if I was getting close to a source of fantastic energy and power and it was making my hair stand on end.
We finally came to the house, and I could only stare in amazement.
A long straightaway led up to the front door, and a long line of some kind of tree that I'd never seen before was on either side. They were long slender tall trees, very smooth looking from a distance as if perfectly manicured.
We were met by Roland and a servant who immediately took care of Sherry's car
"Welcome, welcome," said Roland, a wide smile on his face. "I'm really glad you could make it. Come on in, let them show you to your rooms, and then why don't you meet me downstairs on the patio for drinks in ... say, half an hour?"
That sounded good to us and we set off behind another servant while yet another servant carried our bags behind us.
The servants said nothing to us, but we could tell they regarded us as mild curiosities.
They left us in our rooms, and we wondered what we were supposed to do next.
"Oh, excuse me," I called out to a young girl who I saw walking away from the room further down the hall.
She turned.
"Yes ma'am?" she asked.
But I was staring at her blouse. It was incredibly revealing for a servant's outfit. Quite revealing indeed. She had very large breasts, and they bounced and rolled as she walked, nearly popping out altogether once or twice.
"Um, could you tell us where the 'patio' is? We were supposed to meet Mr. Banks there."
She gave us directions and was about to leave when I suddenly got impulsive and asked another question.
"Are all the women servants dressed that way."
She grinned and blushed a little.
"Yes ma'am. When we're dressed at all."
Then she gave a naughty giggle and started to walk away again.
"Wait a minute," I called after her. "What did you mean by that?"
"Oh no. I mustn't tell you. You'll find out for yourself."
And she was gone.
Sherry looked at me.
"That doesn't sound all that reassuring. Patsy my dear. Not too fucking reassuring at all."
"Don't worry about it. They said that he was a lecherous old bastard. It's probably the way he gets his jollies. You don't think he can still get it up do you? I can't imagine it. He probably just likes to look."
"So what are you saying, we're going to have to sing and play in the buff?"
"Sherry, would you look around you. Do you see where we are? Do you want a piece of this? Then shut up or you'll fuck it up for both of us which means that you'll fuck it up for me, and all of a sudden I don't want this getting fucked up for me. I think I can turn this to my advantage."
"I think you could find yourself having to entertain the old man in quite a few other ways if you're not careful."
"Now cut it out. You're just trying to scare me."
"Well, maybe someone needs to scare you."
But already I'd been drawn into the spell of the house, the atmosphere, the simple expression of a fortune so staggeringly huge, the normal human mind couldn't fathom it. .
I wanted it.
What I didn't realize also, was that being in this kind of atmosphere, and beginning to think, as I was, that I could take it on its own terms made me feel ... confident. Mature. Grown up. A confident woman. A mature woman. Sexy.
That was it. I felt sexy. I guess it was because I was so excited about just having the opportunity to be here, I was feeling good about everything. Which meant that I felt like I could take on anyone. I guess it's not surprising that I'd feel sexually confident as well. My fling with Jack was strictly a dead-end street and I'd know it for a long time.
It was like everything fell into place for me those first few minutes, and I suddenly wanted to take it all for myself.
I was to have the opportunity.
Roland and Lynn were waiting for us when we got to the patio, and somehow, during the conversation, we wound up being given a tour of the mansion, each of us going with a different person. Roland was my escort.
We walked down the halls and he pointed out various pieces of art, some of which were gifts from royalty, foreign governments, or personal gifts from the artists themselves. I was in awe of the place, and I slowly realized that I was in awe of Roland, so much so that I hardly noticed when his hand slipped around my waist and stayed there. He kept chatting, though by now I wasn't really paying too much attention. I leaned into his body and suddenly felt hot and wanted to fuck.
I guess it was just being so overwhelmed by everything, because I usually I don't respond well to passes from strangers. But I was already thinking about giving my life over to these people. Whatever the reason, I was very friendly to Roland.
"Here," he said, opening a door, "is one of the many period rooms in the mansion, this one, as you can see, styled in early American. Of course everything is authentic."
We walked into the room and I was stunned. It looked like a page out of a history book. There was a fireplace and large wooden frame bed with a trundle bed underneath and in the corner a spinning wheel and a complete array of other objects from the time, none of which I can remember now because just at that moment Roland's hand started to slide down my skirt.
I played like I was trying to pull away, but really didn't make much of en effort. His fingers went right for my slit and they stayed there, gently sliding up and down through the mushy flesh.
"What do you call this, a period piece?" I asked, and was thrilled when Roland laughed at my little joke.
"I'm glad to see that you've got such a healthy attitude about the place," he grinned, pressing his finger right onto my clitoris. I gasped from the sudden blaze of sensation that flooded my abdomen.
Without another word, he unbuttoned my blouse and lowered it down my shoulders.
Then my skirt was off and I was naked except for my panties, which were so tiny that they just barely covered my bush. Roland stood back and examined my body.
"You're as beautiful as I imagined you to be. " he said.
But I was getting impatient. No, I was getting hot.
"Take your clothes off. Come on, let's do it."
He grinned and did as I'd requested.
I was surprised to see how huge his cock was, and it wasn't even fully erect yet.
But it was rapidly getting that way, and I stared as it slowly rose further and further up in the air until it stood straight out from his body.
"That's something I've been wanting to play with," I told him, and he seemed willing to let me do whatever I wanted.
I dropped to my knees and took it into my mouth. The surface skin was already stretched tight, so stiff was it, and I had to open my mouth as far as it would go to get the head of his cock past my teeth.
The edge of my teeth scraped over the sensitive skin of his glans and he let out a low moan of pleasure as they did so.
"You like that?" I asked, "Just keep it up. And don't talk with your mouth full. And keep it full."
I knew when somebody meant business, and I couldn't think of anything I'd rather be doing.
His cock filled my mouth to the limit. I could hardly breathe, I was struggling so hard just to keep the thing inside my mouth.
But the pressure and friction must have really felt good to Roland because he started to moan and roll his hip almost at once.
I pulled it out of my mouth and started to nibble around the head. It was much wider than the rest of his cock, especially right at the base where it curves back into the shaft. Right there along that ridge, I let my tongue start a dance that sent him into fits of ecstasy.
"Oh God baby, you know what you're doing don't you. I told Lynn that you were a real pro, but I didn't know how right I was."
I kept on nibbling at the head of his cock, sucking on it and then taking the whole thing into my mouth again, and as I started to work it over real fast, I could feel by the way his body was responding that he was getting ready to come.
Then he pulled out of my mouth.
"No, not yet baby, I want to fuck you in your pussy first."
Well, that suited me just fine, because I'd been getting real wet for a long time and was ripe and ready.
I fell onto the bed and flung my legs out wide, opening the lips to my pussy and showing him the dark hole beneath that was just waiting to be plugged by his hot cock.
He fell on me and rammed his cock right into my pussy.
He was right on target too.
Straight up my cunt raced the head of his cock until it slammed right into the back of my cunt walls and stretched the membranes till it felt like they were going to tear.
"Oh, you're so big, you feel even bigger in my cunt than you did in my mouth."
"That's because your cunt's such a perfect fit, baby," he said, and he was right, I guess, because even though I was wetter than I'd ever been in my life, I could still feel the sides of his cock rubbing against my pussy walls as it slid in and out of me, in and out, faster and faster, harder and harder.
"Oh, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me fuck me," I cried.
"I'm fucking you as hard as I can," he responded, gasping for breath as he tried to pump his hips even faster.
"That's wonderful," I cried, "don't stop, please don't stop."
"I couldn't if I wanted to," he said, and that was fine with me.
His cock was one of the best I'd ever felt in my cunt. It was like having a live log jamming in and out of me.
Each time he thrust, I felt my pussy membranes stretching.
Each time he pulled back out, I felt my cunt ache to be filled again, and it was never disappointed.
In and out, in and out, out and in, out and in, the hard cock kept fucking me till I at last felt a mighty orgasm pounding its way to the surface of my body.
Before I could get myself back under control, I was coming, my body was going crazy with the insane spasms of orgasm.
His cock, feeling my body spill over the edge simply started to pound into me harder and harder.
Harder.
Faster.
Harder.
Faster.
I was lost in the sensation of his throbbing cock and my quivering pussy.
"Fuck me harder!!" I yelled.
He did it.
"Harder!!!"
Again he was with me.
"MORE, MORE, MORE, MORE,!!" .
And he didn't let me down.
The more I came, the more it seemed to power his cock until I was simply caught up in a perpetual come that had no beginning or ending. It was simply an on going situation, one that I never wanted to end.
But it finally had to.
I heard him beginning to groan and gasp and I knew that his own orgasm was near, so I started to ripple the muscles of my pussy like ocean waves pounding against his cock and within a few seconds, I felt his come shooting all through my cunt.
It was hot, and there was so much of it and my cunt was already so stuffed with his cock that it started to squirt out the sides.
"I feel it, I feel it!!!" I yelled.
He simply groaned and moaned some more.
Finally, he stopped pumping and I could feel his cock start to shrink back to its flaccid state.
Once it was limp, it looked all shriveled and wet, like an ugly worm. But I knew how dangerous it could be. It had just destroyed me and my pussy, and I could hardly wait for the chance to let it happen again.
"That was great," I told him.
He just chuckled.
"Did I pass the audition?"
"What do you mean?" he asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
"Well, wasn't that why you separated Sherry and me? To have a crack at me and see if I was the kind of person who'd get along well in this atmosphere?"
"Well, maybe that was part of it, but I wanted to fuck you the minute I saw you on stage that night. You really turned me on and you still do."
I blushed. I could never hear enough when someone was telling me that I was sexy.
"But really," I went on, "I talked to one of the maids, and she told me that they don't even wear anything at all sometimes. Is that true?"
Roland looked a little uncomfortable all of a sudden.
"Who said that?" he asked.
"How should I know? It was someone I saw upstairs."
"Would you recognize her again if you saw her?"
"I doubt it, and anyway, I don't want to get anyone in any trouble."
"Well, you wouldn't exactly get anyone in trouble, but we have certain procedures for doing things around here, and she violated one of the rules."
"What was that?"
"Well, for one thing, she wasn't even supposed to be up there when you first got to your room."
"Why?"
"Listen, maybe we should talk all this out later on, all right. I promise you, all your questions will be answered."
It was the first time I'd ever been aware that Roland was evading one of my questions.
It wouldn't be the last.
The rest of the weekend was idyllic. We sunned ourselves by the swimming pool, we ate some of the most magnificent feasts we'd ever seen, let alone actually put into our stomachs, and Sherry told me that Roland had taken the opportunity to 'test' her reflexes very soon after he'd tested me.
She said she passed with flying colors.
Neither of us could really see anything wrong with taking the job.
We finally met Mr. Higgens on the last day, and that settled it for us.
He seemed like the grandfather that I'd never known. A very kindly old gentleman, who just happened to be one of the most powerful men in the country, but we weren't to have any connection with that. Our task was simply to serve his tension, relieve it if possible, and try to soothe his restless soul with the curing balm of music. Or so Roland told us.
We found out differently when we officially moved in the following week.
They gave us a bungalow out behind the house, quite far behind, actually, in the middle of a grove and surrounded by trees.
The place was furnished and beautiful.
We couldn't believe our good fortune. Somehow, being away from the big house made us feel like we were separate from the day to day problems up there and that was fine with us.
We had no desire to become involved with the petty goings on of those people. After all, we still just thought of this as a very temporary position to raise our status and maybe pry loose a few cracks leading to that 'big break' that I was looking for.
But we were on call at all times of the day or night, as we found out quickly after moving in.
The inter-com unit in our living room buzzed. I heard Sherry stumbling out of her bedroom to answer it and looked at the clock on my dresser.
It was two in the morning!
"Patsy," Sherry called, "they want us up there. Right away."
"Oh God, I wonder what this is all about?" I mused out loud as we walked through the trees to the back entrance of the mansion. Roland met us.
"Good evening ladies. I trust you weren't disturbed from too deep a sleep."
"Oh, not at all," I said drily. He seemed to take no notice of it. "Follow me to the master bedchamber."
Both Sherry and I were curious to see Mr. Higgens in his private life. We'd read about him and heard about him and we'd met him. But now we were going to be admitted to his intimate life. It was a little thrilling.
When we walked into the room, we were shocked.
Mr. Higgens was sitting in a large armchair with a very elaborate robe wrapped around his shoulders, but opened at his waist. What amazed me though was the enormous erection sticking up through the material. It was huge, and it was quite obviously real. A maid, naked from the waist up was on her knees giving him what looked to me like an extremely professional blow job.
"I thought you said he only liked to look," I whispered to Roland.
He just chuckled. We were still standing just inside the door of the huge room and no one else had noticed us yet.
"This is a special occasion. Whenever he get what he refers to as 'the real thing' it's usually a cause for festive celebration all over the mansion.
Just then, two more maids, also naked from the waist up and wearing only frilly aprons and high heels below the waist walked in through another door. They immediately walked over to Mr. Higgens and began to stroke his face and body with their hands. He had a delighted, leering look on his face as they fed each of their breasts in turn into his waiting mouth. He slobbered all over their nipples just like a little baby. He was delighted. Like a little boy at Christmas.
"Come on, we'll make our entrance soon. Oh, by the way, could you take your clothes off?"
He asked it in the most calm tone of voice possible, but it did nothing to ease the shock.
"Wait a minute," Sherry started up, a very indignant edge to her voice. "You never said anything-"
Roland held up his hand to silence her. "Ladies, please, let's not argue. It's all quite harmless, as I'm sure you can see. What we are dealing with here is a very old man who occasionally manages to indulge himself in what is nothing more than a fantasy. Now, it's really not too much to ask. We don't want you to submit to any kind of ... well, I don't know what you're thinking, but as I told you, he does enjoy gazing on the female form. The naked female form. He is your employer. You do of course, have the option of leaving. But I must warn you, termination will be immediate, and you will be removed from the property will all due haste." Then he smiled.
"Now, come on ladies, all you have to do is put on these little aprons," and so saying, he produced from the zipper case he was carrying, two replicas of the aprons already worn by the women servicing Mr. Higgens across the room, "and these high heels."
He pointed to where two pair of heels had been set out for us.
Sherry and I looked at each other helplessly. It seemed kind of ... well, he was right about one thing. It wasn't as if we were being forced to become whores or anything, but it still felt like it. But we did it. It was two o'clock in the morning, and we had no doubts that we'd have been thrown out at once if we'd decided not to go along with what they wanted us to do.
So, we took off our shirts, and stepped out of our skirts. That's all either of us had put on, since we'd been told to dress quickly.
We stood there, naked, feeling a little foolish, but tied the frilly little aprons behind our backs and stepped into our heels.
"Got your guitar?" I asked Sherry.
"Right here," she said.
"Are your boobs in place?"
"They were the last time I checked."
"Well, I guess we attack."
Roland again chuckled.
"I'm glad to see you ladies have a good sense of humor about all this. You'll learn that it's just one of the little quirks about working here. Quite easy to get around, actually, if you keep the right frame of mind."
We looked back over to Mr. Higgens, and found that he probably wasn't thinking too hard about hearing songs at the moment.
He was still getting his cock sucked, only there were two mouths working on it now. The third girl had stood up on the arm rests of the chair he was sitting in and had her pussy stuck right in his face. He was licking it like it was an ice cream cone. Long slurping strokes of his tongue went from the bottom of her slit between her legs, all the way to the top, where her bright ruby-red clit peeked out between the thick folds of her pussy lips.
He was obviously not in a mood to be disturbed.
Every once in a while he would pull his head back and just stare at the pussy in front of him, as if he still couldn't believe it was there just for him.
Then his eyes would glaze over for a second and he would dive back in, coming up for air only when he had to.
The girls working on his cock knew exactly what they were doing.
One had his balls in her mouth, and each time she would move her head, Mr. Higgens cringed and groaned, but if she was hurting him, he made no move to stop her.
The other girl was just giving his cock one of the most thorough suckings I'd ever seen, including a few that I'd given myself.
She had the entire thing in her mouth, and I could tell by the way her cheeks were moving in and out that she was sucking really hard on it.
Then she would raise her head up a little bit, pull the cock out of her mouth and just concentrate on licking around the head and the soft underside of the shaft, licking up and down and around the thing till I could see for myself the shivers that were racing through the old man's body.
He started reaching down for one of the girls at his cock, and as if on cue, she shifted her body so that he was able to insert his hand into her cunt.
It amazed me to see the old boy getting off so much. And what was even more amazing was that the girls servicing him were getting off too. Unless they were just pretending to make him feel better. But I doubted it. He looked like he knew what he was doing when it came to stimulating cunts, and he was doing a real good job, with his tongue on one, and his fingers in the other.
Suddenly, without any sign of increasing arousal, he came. The girl licking his cock had it out of her mouth at the time and was running her tongue up and down the side of the shaft, licking down to his balls, running it back to the head, back down to his balls and then around in circles back up to the head.
When his jism spurted out, it was like a fountain had been turned on.
The thick gobs rushed out in quick succession, each flung into the air, then arching back, to land right on her cheek.
Every single one.
By the time he'd finished coming, she looked like she'd grown a white tumor on her cheek. The stuff oozed down her face, into her nose and mouth and Mr. Higgens seemed to get great pleasure from watching her slowly push it all into her mouth, using his cock to spread it around.
And then, the most amazing thing of all, he stayed hard!
I'd never have thought it. Later, Roland told me that whenever he was able to get an erection, he would always use a cock ring to keep himself hard for hours, but I didn't know that at the time. All I saw was this ancient cock spitting out cum like it belonged to a pair of eighteen year old balls, and then staying hard enough that it could plow through one of the pussies he'd been playing with as he'd gotten the blow job.
It staggered my imagination. I remembered reading that Fitzgerald once said that the rich were just ... different. Maybe that's what he'd had in mind, I thought.
The girl lowered herself onto his cock while he still sat upright in the chair.
Her back was facing him, and he reached around her body to hold her onto him by her breasts, which he grasped like two handles. I watched as the tips of his fingers pressed into and then disappeared into the rolling mounds of flesh that formed her tits. They were enormous breasts, as were everybody's who I'd seen so far. I began to think that my voice hadn't been the only thing that had made Roland consider me for employment at the mansion.
Stiff cock or no, he was still an old man, and so the girl did most of the work herself, raising and lowering her hips in a perfectly controlled series of movements, that brought a real fire into the old man's eyes.
Then, I saw him watching the other two 'maids' (I wondered if there were really any genuine maids in the place, or just women with big tits who dressed up in costumes) and again, as if on cue, they began to make love to each other, and it didn't seem like it could possibly have been just a staged act for his benefit.
They got down on the floor, and assumed a sixty-nine position at once.
"Yes, yes, that's good that's good that's very good!" Mr. Higgens cackled in a crackling ancient voice.
The two women's tongues sought out the other's clits and homed in on their targets.
As they kept up the flicking movements in and out of each other's pussies, I could see that they were beginning to roll their heads back and forth faster and faster against the dripping flesh, that they were moaning louder and that if they hadn't had an audience, it would have been very easy to believe that they were just two lovers going to it.
Mr. Higgens kept giggling and clapping his hands and it looked like he might actually have been fucked to another orgasm. If not, it wasn't for a lack of effort on the girl's part. She was obviously getting off on his perpetually hard cock and fucking herself into a blind frenzy.
Up and down rolled her hips.
In and out, in and out went his cock, the slurping slushing sounds mingling with the increased urgency of her breathing to fill the room with the animal noises of fucking.
I hated to admit it, but watching all this take place was starting to make me hot. I started to finger my clitoris, almost not even aware of what I was doing, but I guess I was getting bored just watching and waiting for my turn.
Sherry noticed me, started to smile and leaned over to whisper in my ear.
"Well, what the fuck, do you want to put on a show for the old man ourselves?"
"Why not?" I responded, surprised at my own enthusiasm.
She gave me a sly look and taking hold of one of my breasts, led me over to where the others were fucking and licking and sucking. It was a mad orgy of lust, and we were about to become part of it, something that would never have entered my mind, even a week earlier. I didn't stop to think then about how much of a change had to have come over me, but later I realized that it wasn't like me at all.
For instance. Sherry and I had never laid a hand on each other, except the usual body contact that takes place between friends. But I don't even think we'd ever seen each other naked before. And I know neither of us had ever made love with a woman before.
But doing it together suddenly seemed like the most natural thing we could do.
It was good, and beautiful, and yes, it was also fun.
And Roland obviously was pleased. At least he made no move to talk us out of it.
As we approached Mr. Higgens, he suddenly looked up and saw us. I doubted if he would remember the brief meeting we'd had earlier, but he wasn't looking at our faces anyway. He was looking at Sherry's hand leading me by my tit.
It was plain to see where his interests lay.
"Very good, very good, we are joined by two newcomers," he giggled again clapping his hands.
Sherry gave him an obscene smile and immediately planted her lips on my nipple and her hand on my pussy.
I felt like electrodes had been attached to my body.
Suddenly every muscle was on edge. Every nerve tense, alert.
Her tongue began a slow steady licking motion around my nipple and with every stroke, I felt like my breasts were swelling, growing larger and more and more filled with lust.
I didn't want her to stop.
Neither did Mr. Higgens, who, although still being fucked out of his mind by the girl who was even more out of her mind, never seeming to get enough of his hard cock, his attention had been switched from the other two girls to us.
Maybe he just liked the sight of new tits, or maybe he was really turned on, but I know I was really getting turned on.
And it was Sherry's tongue that was doing it to me too!
What a tongue! I swear, if I'd known how good she was with that tongue, I think I'd have forced the issue a long time before this.
First, she licked my breasts all over, running down between them, pushing them together, pushing them apart, rolling them around and always with that magic tongue right in the dead center of my nipple.
First one tit, then the other, then back to the first again.
She knew how to keep at one spot until I'd just start to want her to move on to somewhere else. She had an uncanny sense of timing when it came to arousing me.
Then, she began to work her way with her tongue down my body, crossing over the tight flat plain of my stomach, running through the thick forest of pubic hair, nestling finally at the top of the shiny slit running down between my legs.
There waited my clit.
But she didn't go near it. Not at first. No!
She licked down one side of my cunt lips, then back the other. She allowed her tongue to just barely graze against the tip of my clit, sending a massive jolt of sexual electricity through my body, but then she pulled away from it again.
Meanwhile, she moved her body around so that my face was buried in her cunt.
It was such a sweet smelling cunt too!
I loved to just look at it, but she was, well, doing such a good job on mine that I felt like I should return the favor.
So I ran my tongue up and down through her pink wet slit, and instantly felt a change in the pressure she was exerting against my pussy.
Back and forth like that, we began to feed on each other's energy, a symbiotic relationship that kept fanning the flames inside us higher and higher.
"Oh my," said Mr. Higgens, "they are something special, aren't they?"
I suppose we were too.
I do know that I never came as hard as I did that time with Sherry. When she finally pushed me over the edge, I lost all control, thrashing about on the carpet so fiercely that I got rug burns on my elbows and on my ass.
As it turned out, they were only the first of many marks that I would get on my body.
As Roland later explained it, what we'd seen and taken part in was a little rare.
Usually, he couldn't get it up at all. That created an entirely different set of problems. The simple solution was to just take his mind off of it, which was accomplished by loading him down with work, if there was any that he could be trusted to get his hands on (the main day to day administration of his business interests being given over to the Board of Directors, of course), or, by entertaining him. That's where the original purpose of our employment came in. We were supposed to sing for him and make him forget that he couldn't come.
Or, there would be other arrangements.
Those other arrangements were not quite spelled out.
"Come on," I told him, "let's cut the crap shall we?"
He looked at me with the same amused look of tolerance, but it was a little strained.
"Trust me. I told you there would be no unsightly kinks that you'd have to contend with on this job. Maybe the other night was a little extreme, at least against what you'd originally expected, but face it, you didn't fight it much, and unless my eyes deceived me, you found it to be a most enjoyable evening.
I had to admit that he had a point. Sherry and I had discovered an entirely new dimension to our friendship, one that we couldn't wait to explore every night when the lights went out, which, the past few nights, was taking place quite early indeed.
What it came down to though, was that the smiling, giggling happy little boy at Christmas was only that way when he could get it up, which didn't happen too often.
There was a mean side to him also, a side looking for revenge on a world that had kept him alive after taking away all the joys of being alive. That's the way Roland told us he phrased it.
He couldn't stand being old, and whenever he was forced to confront the fact that he was, indeed, quite old, he would go into a blind rage, and the only way to control him was to give him a safe outlet for his emotional outburst.
Whatever form that safe outlet took was not spelled out.
We found out though, and when we did....
One afternoon about a week after the first call had come, we got another. This time however, there was not even a pretense of telling us that we would have to sing.
"Well," said Sherry gaily, "shall we go suck each other's cunts for the old fossil?"
"Shhhh!!" I warned her. "I wouldn't put it past these creeps to have the place bugged. Face it, with the money they've got, they could afford to have it done so that we'd never know. If you can do something, usually you'll wind up doing it."
"Good point," she said, her voice suddenly lowered to a whisper.
We got there and Roland again met us.
"You'll want to get into your costumes before going in, he told us.
"Do you have them for us?"
They're right in here," he said pointing to a door.
When we came back out, I realized that I didn't even think twice about the fact that I was standing in front of him with my tits hanging out and my pussy covered by just a flimsy piece of cloth draped in front of me. My God, I thought to myself, I'm becoming a seasoned pro already.
"Oh, there is one other thing," Roland said, passing it off as an afterthought almost.
"Sometimes he likes his 'girls' to wear these little collars. It's all pretty harmless, really, but if you'd just put these on...." and he handed one to each of us.
As usual, Sherry was the one who looked the most openly skeptical, but as I examined the collar in my hand, I saw that it had four small metal loops imbedded into the leather. Loops for hooks. Or chains.
I didn't like this at all.
"Roland, what is this shit?"
"Patsy, Patsy dear, please. Trust me. I told you it's all pretty harmless."
"How harmless?" asked Sherry.
"Look, we're dealing with an old man who has fantasies. We all have fantasies. Right? Of course. Well, he like to see some of his acted out. That's all. Now just cooperate, and everything will be all right. Please?"
"No!" I said, trying to sound firm. Unfortunately, I knew inside that I wouldn't let myself get thrown out of this setting just just because I had a bad feeling about something. I would at least wait till I found out for sure. The only trouble was, if I gave in and put the thing on, and then found out that I'd bitten off more than I could chew, it would be too late. Too fucking late.
I put it on.
It was a perfect fit.
Too perfect. It seemed to have been custom designed to fit the contours of my neck.
That's when I wondered if maybe we shouldn't get a lock or two of our own for the bungalow.
Who had been in to measure my neck!?
Or was I just being paranoid?
Sherry and I gave each other encouraging glances and were led to the old man, but this time I saw that we were not going to his bed chamber.
Instead, we were taken to his living room. When we went in, a fire raged in the fireplace, and the room looked comfortable and cozy.
Except that Mr. Higgens was sitting in an enormous overstuffed chair, again wearing the robe I'd seen him in the last time we were here. But the look on his face!
No more the excited school boy.
Now he was a monster. A sadistic cruel monster.
He was comfortably reclined in the chair, his legs extended, his feet propped up on a footrest.
The footrest was girl!
She was wearing a garter belt and stockings, but nothing else, and she had been bound with ropes so that she was forced over into a huddled position, her naked back serving as a prop for his feet!
I'd never seen someone bound like that. She couldn't move any part of her body more than a quarter of an inch, if she could move even that much.
She was obviously frightened out of her mind, for I could see tears streaking her face. Her breathing was labored, because in her position, she could hardly get enough air into her lungs.
Like any wealthy millionaire, Mr. Higgens was being attended to by a maid serving him his drink with a glass on a silver tray.
But this maid, dressed in the usual outfit of high heels and apron had her arms and hands bound tightly to her body, so that she could only hold the tray.
She was gagged!
She was sobbing!
And then, as my astonished eyes watch disbelieving, she walked around to the front of him to offer the tray, and I could see the criss-cross welts of a recently applied whip.
I was frozen in my spot, unable to cry out, run or even think.
In that split instant, two people slipped up behind Sherry and me and before either of us could react or pull away or anything, they had our arms in a tight grip and were fastening leather straps around our crossed wrists. Tight leather straps, again that seemed to have been custom made. They slipped over my wrists and my hands were bound behind me. There was nothing I could do. I couldn't even tell how they were secured, but a quick check with my fingers proved that there was no buckle, or any other kind of fastening device that I might work loose. I was trapped.
I looked at Sherry and saw a mask of fear where there had been a pretty face only moments earlier.
"Yes, yes, yes," chuckled the old man. I looked around for Roland but he'd conveniently vanished. I'll kill, I thought to myself.
"Very good, very good," Mr. Higgens went on, "bring them on in. Yes, yes, do bring them on in. So very pleased you could join us, my dears."
I glanced behind me and recognized two of the women who had been servicing him the last time we'd been here. They looked back at me without a trace of emotion.
Mr. Higgens hand was up the apron of the girl who'd brought him the tray, and this time, it didn't look like he was too interested in making her come. He just wanted to play with her body and make her scared. He was doing a good job of it too.
"So, what do you wish to do to entertain me? Roland tells me that's why you're here."
I had no idea what to say, but I knew I had to say something. Maybe it all was just an elaborate joke, but I didn't see it that way. The leather collar and wrist restraints were real enough, to say nothiny of the welts on that girl's back.
"Come, come, speak up. No need to be shy, is there? No, no, not at all. Now, let's see, what shall it be?"
I could hear the sounds of scraping behind me, as if furniture were being moved across the floor.
I turned around and gasped.
It was a large frame, in the form of a cross, or rather two crosses. At least there were two vertical posts, with two horizontal beams running just where our feet and heads would fall.
I was panic stricken and wanted to run for my life, but knew that I was helpless.
I cursed myself inwardly for allowing myself to fall into such a trap.
But it was too late for that now. Trapped was exactly what I was, and I didn't see any way of getting out.
But we both struggled as we were led over to the frame.
"Let us go, let us go," I screamed, and Sherry did her best to kick at the girl dragging her.
But then I found out why they had the jobs they did. They were pros, when it came to some things.
I felt fingers being pressed into the base of my neck, and suddenly it felt like my entire head was a picture in a magazine and someone had just torn the page in half.
I stumbled, staggering the last steps to the frame, which I clung to for support. I didn't know what she'd used on me, but through the fog I could see the other girl helping Sherry pick herself up off the floor and I guessed she must have used the same trick.
"It will be so much simpler if you just cooperate," said Mr. Higgens, his voice sounding low and deadly now, not at all the high pitched cackle I remembered.
My body was numb with fear. I didn't know what was going to happen, but I suddenly knew that the stakes had just been raised and I didn't have enough to ante. And the bastards were going to take it out of my hide!
Still groggy from whatever she'd done to my head, I could only protest feebly as I felt myself being lifted up to the beams, felt my arms being stretched out and tied down, felt my neck and head being tied to the upright beam, my legs spread wide and my feet tied to the other cross beam. We were being crucified!
It couldn't be happening, yet it was, and we were helpless. Never have I felt so maddeningly unable to do anything for myself. I wanted to strike out at all of them, but there was nothing I could do. Nothing at all.
Then I watched the old man get out of his chair and walk over to us. I gathered all my spit and let it fly in his face.
He looked shocked for a second, but then he calmly took out a handkerchief from an inside pocket in his robe and wiped his face clean. He never changed his slightly curious, mildly amused expression.
"My dear, I promise you, you will regret that."
I knew it was all over.
He nodded to one of the girls who pulled the draw string on one of the many draperies in the room. I blanched inwardly as I saw the multitude of whips that was concealed behind the curtain.
Big whips, little whips, heavy whips, light whips, whips with several strands thick whips with-frayed ends, whips with balls at the tips, and whips that just looked mean.
Mr. Higgens walked over to the racks and selected three, handed them to the girl and nodded to us again.
Then he calmly walked back to his chair, propped his feet up on his human footrest and settled back to enjoy the show, his hand once more slipping up the pussy of the bound maid in waiting beside him.
They both stood before us now.
They came close and felt our bodies. Their hands had a smooth confident touch, as if they were very familiar with the turf and knew exactly what they were doing.
Strange, I thought, for them to have been so passive the last time and so strong and dominant this time. Not so strange though, when you realized that the person paying them could afford to buy exactly what he wanted. And obviously, he had.
I felt fingers probing my pussy, spreading the juices all around my thighs.
Whenever I get really frightened, my cunt seems to think I'm aroused because my juice really starts to flow.
She knew it too and gave me a triumphant look. She kept spreading my juice all over my skin, and I could see the other girl doing it to Sherry too.
I found out why when she brought the first stroke of the whip down on my thighs. The moist skin cracked, lightning had struck. I sizzled, I burned, I was in agony.
"Stop!!!!" I shrieked, but it was useless. We were in this for real, and the sooner we realized it, the better off we would be.
She stepped back and took careful aim again.
This time, the whip fell on my tits.
Right across the nipples! I felt like someone had just sliced through them with a straight razor!
Never had I felt such pain. Never!
"Oh, please stop this, this is mad!!" I yelled at them, but they could have been stone deaf for all the attention they paid me.
Again and again the whip fell.
Across my stomach, across my thighs, back to my stomach and down on my breasts.
Then she stood to the side of me, so as not to block Mr. Higgens' view, I guess, and she was able to whip both my breasts at the same time from that angle.
I felt like I was going to die. I'd never even known I could feel such pain.
I never wanted to go through it again.
It just kept up, without any let up at all.
Again and again, without mercy.
I could feel my skin turning to hamburger. I could feel my tits turning to chopped liver.
And my thighs just looked like graph paper. A complex matrix of criss-cross red lines that made the ones that had so frightened me on the maid seem tame by comparison.
Then she changed whips, picking up a long bull whip which she cracked a couple of times in the air to demonstrate that she knew what she was doing with it, as if I'd had any doubt, and then she started to pop it right at my nipples.
Each time, the tip of the whip, in order to make the pop that it makes when it's cracked right, breaks the sound barrier. That's why it pops. It's a miniature sonic boom. Well, at the exact moment the tip of that Godawful whip was breaking the sound barrier, it was doing it right on my nipples.
And I started to pass out. But they just laughed and threw water in my face, let me hang there a minute and started up again.
I saw that Sherry was getting the same treatment as I was, and I tried to think for a second whether or not there was anything we could do to get even. But of course there wasn't. We were up against the most powerful man in the country. And easily one of the sickest.
Then, when I was sufficiently awake, she started again, but this time, she found a different target.
My cunt.
Each time that whip cracked, it did so right at my clitoris.
God! what a feeling.
Pain, yet the most unholy mix of pleasure and agony that I'd ever found. It was awful, yet I came. Don't ask me how, but I did.
Maybe I'd been conditioned by all the coming I'd been doing with Sherry ... I don't know, but I did, and after that, it was over. That seemed to be the whole point of it, to make me come from pain.
Mr. Higgens got a real charge out of it. We waited a while then, nothing happening, and we wondered what they had in store for us next.
Mr. Higgens simply sat there and watched us as we hung from the frames, and played with the cunt of the girl standing next to him.
He indicated to the girl that he'd been using as a foot rest that she was to stand up, and one of the girls who'd just whipped us walked over to her.
It was strange to be just a spectator for a change, but somehow I had the feeling that we were going to be taking part real soon again, and not in a way that I'd necessarily look forward to.
I was right.
The whip mistress led the slave maid over to where I was fastened to the frame.
I wanted to scream out, to beg for mercy, to try once more to use reason on their twisted minds, but by now, it was beginning to sink in just how hopeless the situation was.
There was nothing that I could do!
These people had me utterly in their control, and not only us, but what seemed to be an entire squad of women whose only function was to serve the depraved lust fantasies of the old man leering in front of me.
I hated them all. .And yet, as I watched the blonde who only moments before had been bound into a footrest approaching me, I was struck by the perfection of her form, the exact curve of her breasts, the precise curve of her hips, the narrowing triangle of hair disappearing between her legs....
I was captivated.
She was so beautiful, I wondered in the middle of my own pain how she could have possibly become a victim of such bondage and servitude.
But then, I shouldn't have been surprised I guess.
After all, she could just as easily been wondering the same thing about me as she took the offered whip and approached, a slightly confused look in her eye.
"Whip her," the mistress said.
The girl looked as scared as I was.
"I said whip her."
She turned and looked back at Mr. Higgens, but he was to involved with the pussy standing by his side to worry about her problems. She turned back to look at me, and with eyes that asked me to somehow understand, she raised the whip.
It cracked across my breasts.
I felt pain once again sear my nerves, shattering any coherence to my thoughts that I might have been able to regain.
I heard myself start to scream, but seemingly from a long way off, as if I'd left my body and was no longer forced to feel my pain.
Except that I still could feel.
Feel each sharp bite of the leather. She was cautious at first. I shook within when I heard the mistress tell her to strike me harder.
"Did you hear what I said? If you don't perform satisfactorily, you will suffer the same fate."
She began to whip me harder. Again and again the leather strap cracked across my body, so unused to such pain, yet learning all too fast.
"Here, you clumsy oaf," the mistress told her, ripping the handle out of the frightened girl's hand.
She cracked the whip twice with expertly aimed strokes that cracked the tip right across my pussy.
The lips of my pussy, already burned raw from the last whipping, literally sang with pain.
I couldn't keep it in any longer and finally let out a mighty shriek of pain.
Mr. Higgens began to giggle and clap when I did so, and encouraged the girl to continue.
But she turned to the maid who had performed so unsatisfactorily on me, and instructed her to turn around.
"Oh please, please, mistress, please," she begged, but it was for nothing that she did so.
"On your knees," she was commanded.
Her eyes seemed to roll cross ways in her head, and I thought that I saw her actually begin to waver and totter on her feet, as if she could not cope with any of it and was simply going to faint.
"On your knees! SLUT!!" and then the whip cracked.
It caught her right across the left nipple and she let out a loud scream of agony.
"No more, please, no more!!!"
But I saw in her eyes, along with the fear, the unmistakable look of a hunger being satiated.
I was confused.
Who was performing here, and who was for real?
The more I watched, the more I realized that it was all both performance and at the same time, real.
The whips were real, and the pain they inflicted was equally real.
Yet, it was also a performance, and I was just beginning to realize to what extent.
They actually liked it! There was something more going on here than what first appeared to be the case.
I was astonished to see the combination of agony and crazed lust on the face of the girl writhing on the floor at my feet.
She shrieked in terrified anguish with every stroke of the lash, yet could not get enough.
Again and again the whip cracked across her tender flesh, leaving a matrix of bright red stripes covering every bit of exposed skin, yet she stayed right there soaking up the full force of each painful TH-wack!
Sherry was simply terrified, but I was ... well, if not excited, at least intrigued.
I began to think about the way I'd always fantasized about being tied up by my lovers. I began to wonder I if I too might actually be turned into a slave like those I saw before me.
The whip mistress recognized the look in my eyes.
She began to smile a cruel smile.
She continued to beat the girl on the floor, but her attention was on me.
See, she seemed to be saying. There is joy in this. It answers a deep dark craving of your soul. Don't you want it? Hmmmmm? Don't you want to feel the bite of my leather whip again? Wouldn't you love to feel the pain ripping through your back, your thighs so milky white, yet striped with red, through your soft moist pussy...?
She seduced me with her eyes.
She captivated me.
And then, she beat me.
Long, hard, mercilessly.
I never knew such pain before in my life.
Nothing had yet prepared me for this.
It lasted until I passed out.
No orgasms for me this time. Simply the cold dark needle of pain, the numbing narcotic of oblivion, and the savage track across the surface of my body, reminders of the abuse that had crossed me.
I awoke to the by now familiar sound of cracking leather across soft flesh.
I heard the counterpoint of female screams.
I opened my eyes, and watched as if in a dream, as Sherry was beaten into the same unconscious state as had I.
But Sherry resisted.
She did not hear the same luring song of the whip that reached my ears.
She instead fought them, with body and with mind.
And she paid.
Dearly.
It took her twice as long to succumb, so intense was her loathing.
I could see it etched in the lines of her face, in the rigid shape of her muscles as they bulged beneath her skin with every stroke of the lash.
I felt the throbbing rhythm almost in my own body, in my clitoris, in my breasts, across the surface of my skin.
I screamed with her in my mind, but I felt none of her pain and humiliation.
I instead sang with the newly awakened rhythms racing through me, raising my entire being to a drastically heightened tempo.
Sherry seemed to feel like she was dying.
I felt like I was just beginning to come alive.
And at that moment, I knew, no matter what it might mean to me as a person, as a woman, as an individual, I was going to stay in this place.
I would learn to suck up the whip, and to love it. I already wanted it. I wanted to crave it. I wanted to love it.
Needless to say, they realized that night, that Sherry was no longer suited for such work.
I don't know how they bought her off. Or scared her off.
But then, they could have bought off entire countries. I doubt a single frightened girl would have presented much of a problem.
I half expected that I might read of some investigation into 'a hysterical woman's incredible charges' but nothing ever surfaced.
I stayed on at the mansion. .
All further pretense of musical employment cast aside.
I knew what I was.
Each day as I spread my legs for Mr. Higgens, giving up whatever part of my body he desired, I knew exactly what I was.
When I was strapped to the frame, or hanging from the walls or bound into a tight little ball feeling the whip bending my mind with its impossible pain, I knew what I was.
I was an object.
An object of pain and pleasure, but most of all, an object for entertainment. It was my life.
MONIQUE T
Monique is a young girl from France, sent over here by her family to find gainful employment. As her entire family has been in the service class for the past six generations, it was only natural that she would seek work in the field for which she had been trained. As it turned out, she eventually was called upon to perform a quite different kind of service. Her story is an interesting one, and it is also a sad one.
I first met Lady Cynthia after I'd been working for her for over a week.
"Don't worry about her," said the upstairs maid to me during lunch on my second day there.
"She pops in and out, but she never really knows you're there."
"Oh, I don't know," said the kitchen assistant. "Sometimes she takes quite a fond notice, if you take her fancy. If you know what I mean."
Well, I have to admit I didn't, and when I looked perplexed, they started to giggle.
"Lady Cynthia...." Peri, the kitchen assistant was about to tell me, but then Hodges the butler walked through and they all shut up. It was like someone had clamped a lid around their mouths.
"Well ladies, I presume you have something productive to converse about, do you not?"
No one answered.
"Well, I do surely hope it was a mistake of my ears, but I could have sworn that the Lady of the house was the topic of your gossiping. Could I have been mistaken."
"Oh yes, yes sir Mr. Hodges. You could have been mistaken."
They stifled laughter, not with a great amount of success.
"Well," Hodges huffed and puffed, "perhaps, but something tells me not. Let's try to maintain a bit of dignity as we carry on our duties. Remember, it is not enough to simply perform the task, one must attain the proper state of mind, or all becomes mere artifice, simple rote memorization of moves. A lady of the stature of Lady Cynthia surely deserves more of a commitment than that. We aren't, after all, mere rented help. We are members of a class. A class with dignity. Please try to conduct yourselves accordingly."
With that, he was gone.
No one said anything for a moment.
"Is he always like that?" I asked. I had of course been interviewed by Mr. Hodges when I'd first applied, but that was only after I'd been passed by Simone, the maid directly beneath Mr. Hodges. It was Simone who ran the day to day service affairs, while Hodges orchestrated the movements of the family with the functions of the staff.
"Oh, he's just stuffed with it," said Marilyn, the upstairs assistant.
"He's an ass, that's what he is," said Peri.
I looked around.
"Where'd he come from?"
"Oh, you get used to that. He just appears. You never know what he's heard you say, and he never lets on. It's just to keep you off balance.
"What were you going to tell me about Lady Cynthia?" I asked, but Hodges sudden appearance had caught them off guard, and they weren't about to invite another.
"Later," Peri promised me.
I spent my first days directly under Simone, and so I managed to get a fairly good idea of how all the various parts of the staff worked. I found out later that my family history and training had marked me for a supervisory spot, but at the time I just thought that she was trying to figure out where to put me.
"Lady Cynthia insists on having tea every day at exactly four thirty. I'll show you how to test to make sure that it's the required temperature and strength. Believe me, she will have your hide if you're a fraction of a degree off. She knows how she likes her tea."
"I haven't even seen her yet."
"Well, yes, I was getting to that. She'll have tea every day at four thirty except on those days when she decides not to. Then, she'll call down and inform you that she won't be having tea that day, except that it's always a good idea to have some ready anyway, because usually on those days when she decides that she won't be having any tea, she will end up changing her mind and if you don't have it ready at once, she'll rant and rave for hours."
"She sounds like she's pretty hard to work for."
Simone quickly looked around to see if anyone had heard me. "Please dear, you must learn not to voice such direct opinions. It's not healthy, you know."
"I was wondering about something that one of the girls said the other day...."
But Simone cut me off.
"Don't you be listening to any gossip. You just learn your chores and don't go worrying about what don't concern you anyway. What happens between the people of this house don't concern us. We're the servants."
"But aren't we of this house also?" I asked.
"SHHH!! You're sounding positively radical with talk like that. Lady Cynthia would have your hide if she heard you talking like that."
So, a little confused, I nonetheless kept my mouth shut.
I didn't have a chance to get together with Peri and Marilyn again until that Friday. I'd been there for full week and was getting a good feel of the place from making the rounds everyday with Simone.
"So what were you going to tell me about Lady Cynthia?" I asked Peri in a whisper, remembering Hodges' sudden appearance.
Peri looked around and satisfying herself that there was no one to hear, leaned over to whisper back into my ear.
"Lady Cynthia sometimes takes some of the girls for herself."
At first I didn't understand.
"You mean to tend to her personally?"
"Well, yes, but not the way you mean it." I was still confused. "Well then how--"
Then I realized what she meant and felt foolish for being so hardheaded.
"Does it happen often?"
"Sometimes. It's been awhile though. She's got a lover from the city."
"What kind of a lover."
"She's an actress. Used to be very big on television. Played on all the soaps. But now she's washed up. Lady Cynthia is her only support."
I was intrigued. I knew little of American Television, but I knew all about the soaps. Even in France, we know what the American Soaps are.
"Who is she?"
"She used to play this woman on "The Endless Torment"; Katherine Grey. It was just like her life turned out. She became the mistress of this very rich man who treated her just awfully and she couldn't leave him because her career in dance was over and there was no place else for her to go."
"How long did she play it?"
"Fifteen years."
"Why'd she quit?"
Marilyn made motions like she was drinking out of a bottle and I understood.
"They gave her a script one day and she didn't realize until the last page that she was supposed to be hit by a car that day and die. That was it. No more Katherine Gray. And no more job."
I thought about all this, and wondered even more about Lady Cynthia, about what she must be like. I wanted to meet her. She sounded like a fascinating person.
I finally got my chance that afternoon.
"Come along Monique," said Simone to me. "We're going to take Lady Cynthia her tea."
She showed me exactly (remember, she said, exactly this way and no other) how Lady Cynthia liked her tea, showed me where everything was kept and we walked into the other room to ascend the stairs to where Lady Cynthia took her tea during the winter months.
"In the summer, it's so beautiful and usually you will serve her in the garden, but now we go to the conservatory."
"Well, well," I heard a male voice exclaiming behind me as we started to walk up the stairs, "who have we here. Simone, you've been holding out on me. Who might this vision of beauty be? Surely not one of the staff. Could we be so lucky?"
I noticed that Simone seemed to be trying to hold her temper before she turned around. Her dislike for whoever this was could be clearly seen in her face.
"So, so," he said with interest, following up to where we'd stopped on the stairs.
"We were just on our way to serve the Lady her tea...."
"Hang the lady! I want to meet Monique."
I could tell why Simone didn't like him. Yet, there was something about his arrogant manner that appealed to me. So much more like the men from my own country. There, it is nothing for the master to take a servant girl whenever he felt like it. I was wondering what they would be like in America.
He bowed with an exaggerated motion, took my hand and kissed it. Then, looking deeply into my eyes, he again lifted my hands to his lips and kissed it.
I felt my body tingle, and between my legs, I felt the gathering of my juices. I began to itch very badly, particularly at the tip of my clitoris. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to have this arrogant young gentleman plunge his hand beneath my dress and scratch my itch for the whole night long. From the leering look on his face, he wanted the same thing.
Simone was becoming restless.
"Lady Cynthia will be furious if we're late."
"Oh yes, yes, yes, you must always worry, mustn't you Simone? Well, I suppose that's how you earn your pay."
He looked straight at her and she couldn't even hope to meet his gaze. I suddenly wondered if perhaps once he hadn't madly plunged his hand beneath Simone's skirts, to scratch the itch he'd suspected lurked between her legs.
Then he looked back at me.
"I'll be seeing more of you."
And he was gone.
"Goodness, he certainly is an intense man, isn't he," I said to Simone.
She muttered something that I couldn't make out, but from the tone of her voice I decided that might not have been so bad.
We went on upstairs and entered the conservatory. Lady Cynthia sat on the sofa with her back to us as we entered.
There was another lady with her. As we approached them, I could see that Lady Cynthia was perhaps in her fifties, not really looking like an old lady, simply no longer one who could claim youth.
The lady with her, who I assumed must have been Andrea Forrestor, the mythical Katherine Grey, was perhaps ten years younger.
They both had looks of supreme boredom.
Neither paid us the slightest bit of attention. They had obviously been in the middle of a conversation and were willing to wait patiently until we were gone before resuming it.
Then, Lady Cynthia must have noticed that I was new.
"Well, Simone who might this be?"
"Meet Monique, madame. She's new. She comes very well recommended and I feel certain she'll make a splendid addition to the staff."
Lady Cynthia was looking me up and down.
"Yes, I see what you mean," she said, almost to herself. "Uh, Simone, I think that after you serve the tea, you should run along and let me get to know Monique ... on my own terms...." she said, a grin slowly creeping over the lines of her face.
Simone looked upset for a moment, but betrayed no other response. She set out the tea in silence and then, giving me one quick look that I couldn't decipher at all, she hurried from the room.
They continued their conversation, and at first I thought that they'd forgotten that I was here.
But then, Lady Cynthia looked up at me.
"Well, what are you just standing there for dear? Why don't you come over here where we can see you?"
I walked around and stood in front of the two of them. Her friend looked right through me, yawned and looked back down at a gorgeous cat that I could see was sleeping beside her. She began to stroke her ears and the cat started to purr.
But Lady Cynthia was literally licking her chops at the sight of me. I'd never known what it meant when Americans spoke about 'drooling over someone' but I learned that night. Because that's what Lady Cynthia was doing.
Then, she seemed to regain her composure for a minute.
"Well, tell me dear, how do you like it here so far. How long did you say you'd been here?"
"A week, Ma'am."
"A week. Well, I suppose they've been hiding you from me, haven't they. Or maybe from Roger."
"Oh," I said, when I heard the name. "I've met him already."
Her eyes narrowed to small evil slits.
"Have you?"
Her voice was like ice.
"Yes ma'am. He seemed polite enough."
"Yes," she said distractedly, as she looked for a cigarette. "Just wait till he rips your clothes off and rapes you."
"MA'AM?" I asked, shocked. She just sniffed.
"He's worthless. Absolutely worthless."
"Who, if I may ask it ma'am, is Master Roger?"
"My nephew who's waiting for me to die. He got wind of some story that I had an incurable disease a couple of years ago and he's been hanging around like a vulture ever since."
Her friend spoke up for the first time.
"I told you. You should simply have him shot."
"Yes, yes, I know," said Lady Cynthia, dismissing the statement as one that was so obvious that it needn't even be brought up.
"Well, why don't you."
The lady sounded quite serious to me.
"Andrea dear, we've been through all this. The trust does include him. If I gave him what he deserved, there'd be a messy investigation and I just haven't been in the mood to answer questions for the last year. You understand. And besides, I keep you insulated from him, don't I?"
Andrea looked at me for the first time as if she actually noticed that I was standing there.
"The stupid bastard tried to have her poisoned."
"Now, now, my dear, you mustn't go filling this poor child's head with a lot of gossip"
And with that, Lady Cynthia dismissed the entire topic, just when I was getting very interested. Who need American Soaps on television when you could live in the middle of one?
"Well, dear," Lady Cynthia was saying to me again, "why don't you come over here and be a little friendly."
I'd known this was coming. I'd been hearing the conversation I'd had with Peri a couple of days before the entire time that I'd been standing alone in the room with the two older women. I'd known that Lady Cynthia was simply amusing herself with small talk until she got around to making a pass at me. I really didn't have the faintest idea how to respond.
"Dear," said Lady Cynthia again, more insistently this time, "I asked you to come closer. What's the matter?"
I found myself walking over to where she was sitting on the couch. She was dressed in an elaborate gown, with a very heavy layer of make-up that still couldn't conceal the wrinkles forming around her eyes and mouth, particularly when you get close up.
But I could see that she had once been a beautiful woman and was still quite striking indeed. Andrea, on the other hand, looked like she had started to come apart at the seams quite early and had yet to admit the fact. She was perhaps the ugliest woman I'd ever seen.
I was right in front of Lady Cynthia now, standing so close I could hear the sound of her breathing.
"You are very beautiful," she told me, appraising my body with frank admiration.
"Yes," she continued, placing her hand on the inside of my thigh, "very beautiful indeed."
Then she sighed, and seemed to be looking a long way off.
"I was beautiful once," she said mournfully. I suddenly felt nothing like the pity she seemed to want me to feel. I felt disgust.
"Yes, I was beautiful, and men crawled for the pleasure of having me simply gaze upon them. Men would crawl miles for the honor of having me turn them down."
Her voice took on a hard edge, like a piece of broken china. The grip on my thigh got tighter, more urgent.
I suddenly wished that I was out of there, but knew that there was nothing I could do.
"Come to me, my dear," Lady Cynthia told me. "Come to me. It's all I have left, to partake of the youth and beauty of others. Come, don't deny a dying woman her last request."
I would have been stunned by such a comment except that Andrea let out a loud and cynical snort that seemed to be half laughter and half choking sounds.
Lady Cynthia calmly glanced in her direction and without a change of expression said to her "Andrea darling, perhaps you'd prefer to stay in town tonight."
Andrea's eyes got wide with both anger and fear, but she said nothing.
Lady Cynthia finally looked over at her again when a long enough period of silence had elapsed.
"As I thought. Please mind your manners."
Without another word, Andrea stood up and left the room.
Then Lady Cynthia looked straight at me.
"I want you darling. I will have you or you will be unemployed by this evening. Now, tell me, can we get along?"
I was shaking. I realized that this was a woman without emotions. She had been hardened to the point that people were not people to her anymore.
I said nothing, but by not pulling away or flinching, I gave my tacit approval.
I felt her hand sliding further up my legs, further, further, until suddenly with a shiver, I felt my clitoris being stroked through the material of my under panties.
I wasn't a virgin, but I'd had few lovers and none who knew what they were doing. I think this was the first time that someone besides myself had ever stroked my clitoris. The feeling was similar to when I'd masturbated, but so much more intense.
I was simply standing there, passive, mute and Lady Cynthia was, with a few deft moves of her hand bringing me to a point of arousal I'd never before experienced. My entire body felt like it was aflame. I began to feel the blood pounding in my ears and I felt my nipples grow tight and hard.
"Well," Lady Cynthia smiled, "you seem to agree with me in temperament. That's good. We should get along quite well."
But even though I was becoming very aroused by her, I still was repelled by her appearance, her personality. It was strange, being turned on by a person who you didn't like, but it was as though she was compelling me, ordering me simply by virtue of her position to accept her touch, her physical presence.
I had no choice.
And she definitely knew exactly how to bring me to the peak of passion.
Mon dieu! Never have I felt so weak in my legs and dizzy in my head. And she did nothing except stroke my clitoris.
Again and again her delicate fingers touched it, each time pushing me higher and higher.
I felt the insides of my panties growing wetter and wetter, and still she simply stroked me outside them.
I thought, surely she must feel what she is doing to me, how wet she is making me. I wondered why she did no more that what she was doing. But I learned.
I'd been used to clumsy boys who wanted to get things over with quickly to hide how inept they were. Lady Cynthia wanted to stretch thing out as far as she could.
"My dear, you're positively dripping," she said to me after what seemed like hours of silence.
"I know, ma'am, it's what you've done to me."
She chuckled.
"Yes, haven't I though...."
She slid a finger under my panties and for the first time, I telt the presence of something inside me that actually seemed to know why it was there. I was such an amazing revelation. She had me reduced to jelly in a matter of moments.
Deeply, deeply into the folds of my pussy churned her wanton fingers and my juices spilled freely over them.
"Oh, madame, you make me feel faint." I remember myself saying.
"Don't be silly dear, what I make you feel is good. Now come here beside me so I can make you feel even better."
I couldn't resist her and I knew it. She was far too strong and I didn't doubt for a second that she would have me out on the street if I refused her.
I sat down next to her and immediately she was on me, kissing me furiously. I could feel the thick layers of lipstick smearing across my cheeks and the flakes of her make up falling into my lap.
She plunged her tongue deeply into my mouth and her hand she shoved harder into my pussy .
"You like that, don't you dear?"
I said nothing, simply groaned deeply.
She chuckled again.
"Now darling, why don't you slip out of that silly costume, and we'll just have a look at the rest of you."
I stood up and unbuttoned my blouse, then unfastened my skirt. As I stood in front of her dressed only in my panties and bra she sucked in her breath.
"I was right, you are magnificent."
The sight of her still repelled me, but I blushed at the compliment anyway.
"I'm glad you think so, ma'am," I said in a demure little voice.
"Now, are you going to be shy on me?" she asked.
"I don't know," I said, feeling embarrassed.
"Take off your bra. I want to look at those amazing breasts of yours."
I unhooked my bra and felt my breasts spring out in freedom.
"Truly fantastic. Come here."
I leaned over her and she fed a nipple into her mouth and started to suck on it like a baby.
"You taste delicious my dear, you taste absolutely delicious, oh yes let me suck on you on your sweet little nipple that's so hard and tight and delicious...."
"Honestly Cynthia, you do lower yourself!"
The voice behind me cut through the mood like a knife through soft butter.
I quickly jerked around and saw Andrea standing there with a disgusted look on her face.
Lady Cynthia seemed to be actually a little embarrassed.
"Well dear, I didn't think you'd come back so quickly. You did seem to be rather upset when you stormed out of here."
"That's because I could see this tawdry little scene boiling up and didn't want to be a part of it."
"Well, I see you've overcome your inhibitions," Lady Cynthia smirked.
Andrea walked over to me.
"Wel,l well, you've wasted no time ingratiating yourself with your employer, have you."
I was getting confused. I felt like I was in a very compromising position and had no idea how to extract myself.
"Please ma'am," I said to Lady Cynthia, "could I perhaps be excused now?"
Lady Cynthia dismissed me with a tired gesture.
"Oh go, go. I'll discuss this with you later."
As I walked out of the room after hurriedly dressing, I could hear them start to fight.
"You really are becoming a bore, Andrea...." I heard Lady Cynthia say as I closed the door.
I was stunned.
I'd had no idea this was going to happen to me when Simone had told me we were going to serve her tea. And now, I felt like my entire world had changed.
The concept that I'd slowly built during my first week here had been totally shattered. I was now cast adrift on a very confusing sea of conflicting emotions that I could only dimly understand.
But one thing was undeniable. The fire in my crotch had not even come close to being quenched. I could only think of going somewhere quickly and giving myself release with my own fingers.
But as I started down the stairs, an already familiar voice called to me.
"So, how did you find my dear aunt?"
I turned around and there was Roger smirking from the top of the stairs.
"Please sir, I really must be going back to my duties."
"Nonsense," he said, slowly walking towards me.
"What do you mean?"
"The staff is quite accustomed to my aunt's ... peculiarities. They won't be expecting you for days."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, the last girl that went in there never did come back out. At least, not as a servant. No one knows exactly what happened to her, but she's probably living quite well now, just for keeping her mouth shut."
My stomach began to dance.
"But don't be alarmed," he continued, coming closer and closer, "I understand that with therapy, she was able to walk almost without a limp."
My mouth dropped open.
"And of course, the plastic surgery took care of a good deal of the scars...."
But then he was laughing and I couldn't tell whether he was joking or not.
"But don't listen to me."
He was standing right in front of me now. As he spoke, he began to finger the collar of my blouse.
"In fact, I'd say that talking in general was something that we might dispense with. What do you say?"
"I'm not sure I understand what you mean, sir."
"No more sir crap. I don't hold with all this class consciousness anyway. When I take over here, you'll all be set free."
He waved his arms expansively. Perhaps he thought of himself as Abraham Lincoln or something.
"Sir, I really should be getting back to my station."
He gazed at me through eyes that I suddenly realized were quite bleary.
"My dear, you shall accompany me to my room. I have need of your services."
"How do you mean sir? Is there straightening up to do?"
He snickered.
"You might say that. Yes, as a matter-of-fact, I think there's something you could straighten up real quick." .
He took me by the hand and led me downstairs, but instead of going back to the servants' quarters where I would have preferred to go, he led me to a different part of the house, to his room, or actually, it was a suite of rooms.
"Enter my parlor, my dear, and I shall show you wonders undreamed of in your tiny world."
I was captivated in spite of myself by his exaggerated manner.
"You have captured my soul, you little nymph. Now, come claim your booty."
And with that, he pulled me towards him, grabbed me tightly and started to kiss me.
"Your body drives me out of my mind," he said hoarsely, and without another word, he began to rip my clothes off.
"Please, you're tearing my clothes."
But he seemed not to hear me anymore.
I tried to get out of his grasp, but he had too tight a grip on my arm.
"Please, please," I cried, but still getting no response from him, without thinking I slapped him.
That seemed to snap him out of it, for he looked at me as though he were seeing me for the first time.
"You have spunk," was all he said, and then he slapped me hard across the face.
"Understand me well," he said, in a calm tone that mocked the words he spoke, "If you ever strike me again, I'll have your tits cut off.
Do you understand me?"
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"How dare you talk to me that way! You have no right. We deserve to be treated in a dignified manner, as befits our class!"
He just stared at me with a confused look on his face.
"Where the fuck do you think you are? France? Europe? Save the fucking protocol for over there. This is America darling, and there ain't a damn thing that's sacred over here. And the sooner you get used to that, the better off you'll be."
And then, as quickly as it had appeared, the vicious tone left his voice and' he started to pull me towards him again.
"Now, let's have no more of this foolishness, what do you say? Come on, come here...."
And his hands were on my breasts, already poking out of the tear in my shirt.
He grabbed each of my nipples, squeezing them hard, but not hard enough to hurt.
Then his hand was underneath my skirt and his fingers were probing deeply into my pussy, pushing aside the soft membranes and stirring up the juices that had already gathered there.
"Hmmmm, you feel like you're already hot as hell. Guess my aunt did a little number on you, huh?"
I didn't say anything, simply started to kiss him. I really didn't want to talk about Lady Cynthia at all.
He took the bait and said nothing else.
But his fingers were inside me, working in and out of me furiously. I felt the rising sensations or orgasm building fast to a climax. Lady Cynthia really did get me worked up. And now her nephew was going to complete the job.
He led me over to his bed, coaxed me back and then pulled my skirt down my raised legs, followed by my soaking wet panties.
He raised them to his face and sniffed.
"Ummmmm ... like a fresh bouquet of flowers, that's what they're like."
Then he sniffed again.
I was getting confused by him. One minute he would be entertaining, the next he would be quite threatening. I was on edge the entire afternoon with him.
He spent such a long time arousing me, and he was so gentle that when he finally entered me I was unprepared for the violent manner that he assumed.
Suddenly there was a change in his eyes, a sneer coming into his voice.
"How do you like this, you little French twat!" he said, stabbing me with his hard cock.
I let out a tiny scream, but he didn't stop. This time, he was right on target, and I felt the head of his cock sticking through my pussy lips, and start to burrow deep into my body.
Deeper and deeper, until it was pressing against the back..
"I asked you how you liked it?" he repeated.
"I do, I do," I assured him.
"Tell me. Tell me what you like."
"I like you, monsieur, I like you in me."
"You like what in you?"
"You. I like your cock in me."
"Say it again," he yelled, pulling his cock almost all the way out of me, then plunging it home once more.
"I like your cock in me! Your hard cock. I like to feel it in me."
"Yeah? Well what do you want me to do with it?"
"I want you to fuck me!"
Which he was doing quite well already so I don't know why he needed to be told, but if that's what he wanted, I wasn't going to argue. I was learning very fast here, that what ever the masters wanted, the servants had best provide as quickly as possible, with as few words as possible.
Again and again he plunged in and out of me with his hard cock.
Deeper and deeper.
Harder and harder.
As I began to come, I felt myself starting to lose control.
I had my arms wrapped around his back and the first waves of orgasm spilling out of my crotch made all my muscles tense up madly.
Without realizing what I was doing, I scraped my fingernails across his back, long hard scrapes that must have felt like a plane shaving across wood.
He let out a loud yelp, but didn't break his rhythm.
In and out, harder and harder, deeper and deeper.
I came and came and came and then I came some more.
It was delicious, but then I was already quite hot. But he was good. I remember thinking right in the middle that I was going to have to do this again as soon as possible. It was so much more fun than when I'd been with Lady Cynthia. She scared me. All Roger did was fuck me. I preferred the straightforward fuck.
When I felt him come in me, only then did he start to slow down. At last he was spent and rolled off me, gasping for breath.
"Jesus!" he panted, "Look at your fingernails."
I did so and let out a tiny cry of surprise.
"Yeah, that's right, that's me under those blades."
There were tiny pieces of skin stuck under all my fingernails.
"Oh, turn around," I told him, and when he did, I gasped. There were eight clear red stripes running over his back. Four in one direction and four at a cross direction.
"Shit, I guess you really got off on that, didn't you," he laughed, and then winced as I touched the scrapes.
"Oh, poor baby, let me get you something."
"No, I don't think so. Let 'em hurt. It'll remind me of you."
I wasn't sure how I was supposed to take that, but then he laughed so I assumed that he wasn't angry with me. I could still feel the sting on my cheek from where he'd slapped me, and secretly felt that he'd only gotten what he'd had coming to him.
But soon, I was getting nervous.
"Please monsieur, I must return to my station. It really is imperative."
"Oooo, it really is imperative," he mocked.
"Now you make fun of me. I cannot make love to a man who makes fun of me."
I pouted a little and expected him to play along and apologize and beg my forgiveness, but as usual, he surprised me.
"Don't kid yourself. I'll take you and rape you any time the feeling strikes me."
I looked him straight in the face and saw no evidence that he was jesting. Once again I thought that perhaps I'd have been better off staying with my family.
But then he grinned at me again, slapped me on the bottom and told me to be on my way.
"By the way," he said as I was leaving his room, "don't tell my aunt about this. It'll just make a lot of problems for everyone."
So. I was to have an affair with Lady Cynthia's nephew, while she continued with her own efforts to seduce me.
I could not believe the way Americans behaved. At home, we were much more discreet, and also quite a bit more sophisticated about such matters. I knew I had a lot to learn.
That night at dinner, no one said a thing about my prolonged absence from my station during the afternoon and early evening. In fact, no one said very much to me at all. I began to feel like I'd been carved out of the group, already set aside, made different somehow and I didn't like it.
"Well, I just don't understand why everyone has to be so strange about this," I finally said in frustration.
"Strange about what," said Simone, almost coldly.
Peri gave me a look that said 'shut up. stupid' and I did. But as soon as Simone had finished eating and left. Peri, Marilyn and the rest of the staff that was down there began to grill me very closely.
"Tell us, what happened, what did she do?"
"Did you really go to his room? She thinks you did, that's why she wouldn't talk to you."
"Well, I didn't know how to tell him no. He threatened to have me fired if I refused him."
"Oh, he always does that. He couldn't have anyone fired if he wanted to. Simone's just foolish."
"Why, did they have an affair?"
Peri's voice dropped to a whisper.
"She got pregnant. Lady Cynthia paid for the abortion."
Well, I thought, that certainly explained a lot.
"But tell us, what did Lady Cynthia say to you. Simone wouldn't tell us a thing when she came back down."
"Well," I said, playing coy, "she just asked me how I liked working here, you know, things like that."
"Oh, you're lying. Tell us," they said as if with one voice, but I decided to keep my mouth shut, which made them mad. Great, I thought. Simone thinks I've stolen her true love, Roger will think of getting revenge every time he rolls over in bed tonight and Lady Cynthia ... well, I had no idea what she was thinking.
I found out that evening.
There was a knock on my door. Peri, who shared the room with me answered it. It was Hodges.
"Tell Miss Monique that Lady Cynthia desires to speak with her."
I was filled with curiosity as I approached her door on the third floor of her mansion, and when I went inside, I was even more confused.
I couldn't see her anywhere. I'd heard her tell me to come in, but it was as if she'd simply vanished.
Then, I saw a foot hanging over the top of the couch that was off to one side of her bed.
I walked around the couch and saw the rest of Lady Cynthia.
She was standing on her head.
And she was naked.
Completely.
"Good evening dear, don't be shocked, it's simply my way of keeping my face young." I nodded politely.
"Oh cut it out. I can't stand to be patronized. Especially by a servant. Say something, anything, but don't patronize me."
I saw that her body really was in very good shape. Her breasts were large and looked firm, although in her present position, they just seemed to hang down into her face and I couldn't tell for sure what they really looked like.
"Step closer dear. I had something in particular in mind when I sent for you."
I did as she instructed and found myself staring right at the spread pink lips of her pussy.
"Now dear, what I want you to do, is to lick me until I come in a shattering orgasm. Does that sound easy?"
"Yes ma'am," I said uncertainly. For some reason, the prospect of licking her pussy didn't thrill me as much as having my own licked.
I stepped up to her from behind, and as I bent down to her cunt, her legs fell across my shoulders and wrapped around my neck.
As soon as I touched her clitoris with my tongue, she began to shudder and shake. Groans and moans poured from her mouth in an unbroken stream.
I licked harder and faster and she felt like she was starting to have that shattering orgasm she'd wanted, when all of a sudden I felt a finger slipping up my ass.
"Oh!" I squealed, pulling back and turning around.
I couldn't believe it. It was Roger!
I started to say something, but he just put his finger to his lips and motioned for me to get back to Lady Cynthia.
"What's the matter child," she asked just then, getting impatient for that shattering climax she was looking for.
So, as my tongue slipped into her pussy once more, I felt Roger's slip into mine. He must have know that his aunt would send for me tonight. But how had he gotten in?
It didn't matter, because what was more important was that his tongue was driving me as crazy as my tongue was driving Lady Cynthia.
As I looked over her cunt, down the front of her body, I could see her massive breasts shaking and jiggling like mounds of jelly. She was moaning now, writhing against my body, and her legs clamped tighter and tighter about my neck.
As Roger kept working my clitoris with his tongue and driving me higher and higher, the only outlet I could find was Lady Cynthia's pussy, which by now was quite wet and had coated my cheeks with its juices.
"Oh yes," she screamed, again and again and I felt her legs convulse in the mad sputterings of orgasm that she craved so.
At the same time, I felt Roger sliding his finger up my pussy and another on up my asshole and as Lady Cynthia collapsed into a mad dance of coming, I did likewise. I had no idea how Roger would escape detection or what his aunt would say if she caught him in here, but at that moment I didn't care. He was making me come and that's all I cared about.
Lady Cynthia was shaking so violently now, that it was getting difficult to keep my balance.
Then, Roger did something to me that I'm still not to sure of, but it involved pressing into my clitoris both from within my pussy and directly on top of it.
With a scream, I felt my legs collapse from under me, and the three of us fell into a single mass of bodies, twisted arms, legs and sweaty skin.
Roger started laughing. Lady Cynthia joined him.
"Well well auntie, you were quite correct. I think we've got ourselves a play partner for some time to come."
Lady Cynthia sat up from among the tangle of bodies, and gave Roger a big kiss on his mouth.
I was surprised, but I suppose I shouldn't have been. How else would he have dared to attempt this?
"Where's your friend?" I asked Lady Cynthia, hoping she wouldn't consider me too bold.
"Oh, don't worry about her. Whenever we get tired of each other, I send for Roger here, and pack-her off to Hodges room. They take good care of each other."
Hodges!? Staid, stately Hodges?
"But, I had the impression that she didn't particularly like men...." I ventured.
"Oh, she doesn't make love to him. Lord no. She ties him up and whips him."
"You're kidding!" I said, totally shocked by now.
"Not at all dear," said Roger. "Which reminds me, have you ever been tied up, Monique darling?"
"No," I said hesitantly.
"Well," said Lady Cynthia, sitting up. "You have a lot to learn."
"And this is the first day of school," added Roger.
MEREDITH S .
Meredith is a young girl in her early twenties. She has long brown hair, and while her story situation was not quite the same as some of the other women in our study, she does fit into the overall theme of subjugation by a dominant class. That she was at first a willing participant in no way counters the negative psychological effects that can return again and again like mental echoes, reverberating until at last, they can no longer be ignored.
It began the night that Edward told me he was leaving.
I was stunned. It was one of those thing that you never expect, and even after it's upon you, and you sift back through the events leading up to it, you find nothing specific, no clues you overlooked, no signposts pointing out the impending shock.
And a shock it was too. Five years we'd been together, five years of work and scrimping and saving and scratching together an existence for us both while he practiced his art, honed his craft and his skills, looking always for that break, simply another in a massive crowd of talent, some of it even approaching genius, all of it struggling for survival in an indifferent world that chose two, maybe three for its attention, casting the others aside.
I'd been our support, I'd brought home the paycheck, he supplied the dreams.
And grand gaudy dreams they were too.
All of it centered around that one final God standing above all else: recognition.
How many times did I hear him mouth the word as if a sacred can't, a talisman against obscurity and failure.
The art world thrives on failure. The failure of others. Each failure in turn represents one less career to stand as an indictment against your own. Each other failure justifies in some perverse way your own, somehow insulates you from your own lack of attainment.
Artists, I sometimes used to think, couldn't survive without the failure of their own friends. Survival of course simply meaning failure in someone else's eyes.
Obviously such an approach couldn't last long without some external prop.
I was Edward's prop.
I soothed his ego. I told him he wasn't doing the right thing. I kept him afloat when he was weak.
I believed in him.
That was what I had to offer biffs, beside my paychecks. It was something he could get nowhere else.
And then the magic struck.
Discovery.
A write-up in a weekly news magazine, complete with photos of selected paintings. Attention. Recognition.
It took five months, the total transformation of our lives. It seemed almost like we were part of a ridiculous coincidence. He spoke of it too, that whatever forces had sucked him up were only mildly related to him, if at all.
"If not me, then anyone."
That's how he looked at it.
Or so I thought. I was wrong. I found out in one quick shocking jolt.
The night he told me was a choice selection too. That day he'd gotten both a major commission, and had announced plans of an exhibition and national tour.
I'd expected that we would celebrate.
Instead I encountered a somber face when I arrived home, slow measured movements that were very unlike Edward, words that were carefully measured for their effect and a slightly apologetic, slightly frightened expression.
The announcement itself was remarkably cut and dried.
"Meredith," he said, calmly, so calmly a stranger might have thought we'd just the day before been introduced, "I have something to tell you. I'm leaving you."
He looked away for a moment just then. I remembered that later, how when everything had been reduced to its most basic statement, he couldn't look me in the eye. It became for awhile; the only thing that sustained me, that told me I hadn't been a total fool, hadn't wasted my entire life.
But he recovered quickly. No more than a second's weakness. Then it was back to the eye contact he was so good at affecting.
"I feel that I'd ... I need to develop on my own. I'm just discovering myself as an artist, as a creative being. I need to be able to expand in any direction without any kind of restraints...."
He looked like he was going to continue.
I felt it best to short circuit him as quickly as possible. I didn't think I could stand a long speech while he tried to explain it to himself.
"What's her name Edward?"
Did my voice sound calm enough, steady enough, mature and accepting enough?
I wondered. For the first time in my life, I had no idea how I sounded, looked or acted. I felt cut off from myself, as if gasping for breath and my brain hadn't even had time yet to deduce the cause.
He stopped cold, looked a little foolish and finally closed his mouth.
"She did an article on me a few months back. I started seeing her seriously a month ago."
"This is final? Make certain now, because I promise you, you'll never get another chance."
I hesitated before delivering such an ultimatum. Could I stand to see him remain unaffected by the irrevocable loss?
I could.
He seemed to shrug his shoulders with his eyes.
It was over and I had nothing.
Nothing except my confusion, my hurt and although it had not yet surfaced, my rage and humiliation.
We stood in our living room, in our apartment that I'd furnished, that I'd worked for, stood there facing each other, realizing for the first time how utterly alien we seemed to each other, and then, without another word being spoken, I turned and left.
I didn't slam the door on my way out.
I suppose Edward saw that as some small indication of my self control.
In truth, I simply never thought of it. I was already going numb, my nerves and emotions anesthetizing themselves with the shock.
I went to my car, got in and drove.
I have no idea where.
That's not true, of course, because I remember quite well where I ended up running off the road, but there is a blank spot in my memory between that soft muffled self controlled shutting of the door and of my life with Edward, and stumbling out of my overturned automobile, dizzily groping for the road, turning like a battered leaf towards whatever light I could sense with my closed eyes....
I don't know how long I drove, how many turns I took, whether or not I covered the same terrain again and again....
I remember only that there was a blur of images of Edward and the life he'd just torn from me flooding my thoughts, pushing me closer and closer to the brink of madness.
In that sense perhaps, running off the road was a lucky thing.
In a very fundamental way, it snapped me back to the real world.
I was lucky. I somehow survived the crash intact. I remember suddenly focusing on the road in front of me, as if I was just waking up.
I saw only the edge of the asphalt as it cut across my field of vision, felt the bone wrenching jolts as the car struck the rugged shoulder, suddenly saw everything go utterly dark, and in one last stabbing wave of panic, felt the world topple, spin crazily out of control.
Then, I was pressed against the side of my car, from what I soon realized was nothing more sinister than my own weight. My car was on its side.
I felt everything seemed to be intact. There was nothing that felt numb, nothing that seemed out of place.
I climbed out of the other window and hopped out onto the ground. I was amazed. There was no blood. I was in one piece.
But dazed.
And completely unsure of where I was, what direction I'd come from or even how to get back to the road.
Then, above me, I saw a moving red glow.
Tail lights!
I seemed to have rolled down a small embankment, and although it was rather steep, the rugged ground provided me with plenty of footsteps. As I approached the shoulder of the road, I heard voices, at first indistinct though obviously tinged with urgency.
"Down here," I then heard a male voice call out. "This is where they left the road."
I saw headlights as the car continued to back up, trying to focus the beams down in my direction.
I stepped into the light.
"Look, it's a woman!"
I heard a door slam and the approach of footsteps.
"Are you all right. Are there any others down there?" I shook my head. "No, I was driving alone."
"Are you hurt."
I felt hands on my body, feeling my shoulders, my arms my back, my ribs. Gentle hands, caring hands.
"I don't think so. Everything seems to move correctly."
"Well, we'd best get you to a hospital or a doctor at least."
I looked up into the lights and saw the outline of a tall figure. He wore an overcoat that even merely in silhouette struck me as perfectly tailored. He stood with an air of confidence. He appeared to own the night.
"Who are you. We should call your family."
I looked at him saying nothing.
"Are you all right? Is there someone we can call?"
It was as if I'd lost the ability to speak.
"Can you tell me your name?"
He was starting to sound concerned.
I finally looked away in confusion.
"No," I said at last. "I can't."
I looked up at him in sudden panic. "I can't remember."
He just stared a me a moment, then took my arm and led me back to his car.
It was luxurious. A huge car. I couldn't tell at the time what it was but knew immediately that I'd never ridden in a car like it in my life.
He studied me closely inside the car, gave instructions to his driver and then turned his inquiring gaze on me once more.
"You do seem to be unhurt."
"It's incredible," I responded, "but I think you're right."
I was beginning to panic however, I tried to span the gap that had suddenly separated me from whatever shadows I'd driven out of, but always there was that ... it wasn't even a wall. It was simply a nothingness. A vacancy where before there'd been ... something. But I couldn't focus on a single element of what it had been.
"We'll return tomorrow and have your car pulled up. There should be something that would give you a clue ... perhaps you have a purse, papers, a letter...."
I thought, and somehow knew that I'd been ... running. I saw myself, almost as if I were someone else watching a movie. I saw the scene, almost, knew instinctively that there'd be no purse in the car, that whatever I'd left, taking my purse with me had been the last thing on my mind.
But that was all.
The rest was a pit, a black hole into which my entire personality seemed to have been sucked without a trace. I had no way of reaching out for help, because there was no one. I remembered faces, but none of them seemed to be real, and there were no events that I could connect them with.
There was only this stranger. This saviour, almost. I looked at him again, studying his face for the first time.
He was older than me, perhaps in his early forties. Touches of grey showed in his hair. They in no way made him appear old.
He smiled and extended his hand.
"By the way, my name is Jason DeVries."
It was a name that suggested all the strength that I'd associated him with.
We said nothing else, but for the entire ride, I felt myself becoming more and more aware of his presence, his physical presence in the car with me. I could almost feel it, as though his hands were touching me.
"There's a doctor to look at you when we get to where we're going."
"Really, I think I'm all right. I feel like something would have started to hurt pretty bad by now if I'd been injured."
"You're lucky. Still, he's an excellent doctor. You might as well take advantage of him."
"Where are we going?" I asked. "To my house."
That was putting it mildly. It was like a separate country. We crossed the border when we turned off the highway, and then we seemed to drive for miles.
"This is your land?" I asked.
He nodded.
"All of it?"
He simply smiled. I suddenly couldn't stop looking at his eyes. They were mesmerizing.
I wanted him. I think back on it now, I recall every instant clearly yet it makes no sense. But at the time, there was nothing to consider. Obviously I was in a highly confused and agitated state. My mind was in the grips of a severe shock, on several different levels, and from several different sources.
Yet outwardly, my composure was calm, placid. I could almost believe myself that I was in control, that my thoughts were clear, well reasoned, that my motivation was nothing short of perfect logic.
But I was mad.
Crazed. Out of my mind. So much so that I'd broken away from it totally. So wholly alienated from what I'd come from that I could no longer identify myself with it in my conscious thoughts.
But as we drove further and further into his own private domain, I felt more and more insulated from the world I'd fled so madly.
I felt safe, protected, as if those hands that had first held me and supported me when I'd climbed back onto the road would somehow provide whatever support I would need forever more?
Insane? Without a doubt. You couldn't have convinced me of it at the time.
By the time we pulled up in front of his mansion, I was absolutely weak from desire.
I could recall nothing of my life, but somehow I felt that I'd never succumbed so absolutely to the waves of lust that I now felt pulsating through my body. It had the sense of being something totally new, whereas, even though I couldn't remember my name, commonplace things like riding in a car or being helped out of it by a gentleman felt quite familiar.
But the reaction of my skin to his touch ... that was from another dimension.
The entire night felt enchanted, touched by a bizarre spell that had granted me anonymity. A complete lack of identity and the inhibitions and restraints that go with it.
I was free.
I felt like I'd run for precisely this freedom.
I didn't know how it could possibly last, but I wanted to take advantage of it for as long as I could.
By the time we passed through the massive oaken doors, I was utterly overcome by thoughts of his body, his hands, his cock.
In the space of half an hour I had developed a total obsession, one that now had me completely in its control. There was no thought, no analysis, simply a blind reaction.
"Wait here," he told me. "I'll get Dr. Kendricks."
"Does he live here all the time?" I asked when he returned.
"No, he just happens to be my house guest this weekend. A lucky coincidence for you, I'd say."
The doctor came in a few minutes later.
"Hmmm," he said, examining my head. "Seems to be a nasty lump back here."
He touched the back of my head and I winced, feeling real pain for the first time.
Then he felt around the rest of my body, examined my eyes, tested my reflexes.
"You seem to have gotten off lucky. Aside from the fact that you can't remember who you are. But to be honest, in light of your very light injuries, I wouldn't worry about it. It's quite common, actually. Perhaps it was just the bump on your head, perhaps there was something you were trying to escape. It shouldn't be more than a few days before it all starts to come back to you. I wouldn't worry too much about it."
Jason thanked him.
"Well, my pleasure. So. I guess you'll be joining us for the duration, eh?" I looked at Jason.
"Well," he said, smiling, "obviously. It certainly wouldn't do to turn you out into the night would it?"
I just looked at him, tried to absorb every point on his face, the exact shape of his body. I had become thoroughly enchanted by him. I couldn't take my eyes off of him.
He thanked the doctor once more and when we were alone again, he offered me a drink.
I accepted with enthusiasm.
"I really can't thank you enough for your help," I told him. "I don't know what I'd have done."
He brought me the drink he'd mixed, but instead of handing it to me, he simply placed a finger over my lips to silence my chatter. His eyes held mine fixed.
His eyes seemed to bore through me, into me, seeing through my clothes, even it seemed through the barriers my mind had thrown up, right to the center of my soul. He seemed to understand some fundamental truth about me, something that went beyond a name, telephone number and an address.
I felt that he was touching me. Whatever and whoever I was, he somehow had managed to see it, and reach out to it.
Suddenly I was in his arms, he was kissing me, pressing into my breasts with his hands.
"Oh, take me, take me," I cried, my voice all at once heavy with the lust that had been growing inside me.
He placed his hand between my legs.
It felt like an explosion had been set off. From the center of my clitoris raced a torrent of sensations that blasted through to every part of my body.
I knew what it meant to melt in someone's arms. It was simply another way of describing an unexpected orgasm.
He slowly pulled my skirt up my legs and when the material was gathered in a bunch at my waist, I felt his fingers slipping beneath my panties, slowly moving through my patch of pubic hair, down, further and further until at last I. felt it begin to wiggle worm-like through the lips of my pussy, spreading apart the moist pink skin, finding its way beneath the folds of flesh to where my clitoris waited, engorged, begging to be touched, pressed, rubbed, stimulated in any way possible.
What was left of my mind was totally blanked out now by the craving for release. For physical release. For the muscle wrenching spasms of orgasm to rip through every fiber of my being, cleansing whatever torment there was driving my soul.
I wanted him to make love to me. I knew he would, knew that there was no other conclusion possible to the evening, yet I was impatient. Hopelessly impatient.
I wanted him now, wanted to feel his cock grow hard in my hands, feel his fingers probe deeply into every crack and opening in my body, feel him ripping the last shred of clothing from me, spreading my legs, plunging his hard cock deeply into me.
But he waited.
He simply kept up the maddening touch against my clitoris, gently kissing me as he did so.
I was transported, I was floating, and I was still standing with most of my clothes on, his arms supporting me, keeping me from falling. For my legs had long since gone limp.
His expert fingers brought me to orgasm after orgasm, never once touching me anywhere else on my body.
And I wanted it too. I craved it.
"Oh please," I finally blurted, "please take me. Rip my clothes off. Make love to me! Fuck me! FUCK ME!"
Instead of ripping my clothes off as I'd asked him, he calmly, deliberately took his time, opening my blouse, finally removing my skirt, letting my breast hang loose inside my opened shirt while he slowly began to kiss his way down my neck and along the curve of my breasts.
Finally he touched my nipple with his tongue and once more I felt the blinding sensations racing through my body.
A light touch, a faint scraping of his teeth over the hardened brown flesh, biting a little harder now, harder, harder until-!
Just as I tensed for what I expected to be a strong burst of pain, he instead began to lightly stroke my other breast while still licking my first one gently with his tongue.
Then he was back at my clitoris again, shifting back and forth ' 'm nm' breasts to my pussy, first one then the other, until my entire body became a single organ of arousal.
I was panting.
I was half insane with craven lust.
I finally could take it no longer and I attacked his crotch, almost ripping right through his pants to get at his already bulging cock.
When I at last held it in my hands, it was like coming home. It was everything that I'd fantasized.
Nearly three inches in diameter and fully ten inches long ... I wanted it in me right then and began pulling him by it as I leaned over backwards to lie on the floor.
He was still smiling as he removed his shirt himself, dropped his pants and finally stood before me naked. I'd never seen a more perfect speciman. True, at the time I could recall none of the other sped mans I'd seen, but the idea of a naked male body didn't strike me as anything alien so I felt certain that I'd have known if I'd come across anything better.
He was perfect. His muscles were tightly formed beneath his skin, unfettered by the slightest hint of fat.
I remembered thinking of him as a God when I first saw him. The comparison still seemed apt.
Then he was on me, ramming his cock against my clitoris, pressing into it again and again and again.
I came a dozen times before he even started to enter me.
But then, I felt it, the slow spreading of my cunt lips, wider and wider until I could feel the membranes being pushed past their limits, and still I was stretched, wider and wider until at last he was in me.
I was filled. Completely stuffed. It was delicious. And I knew that whatever it had been that I was running from, this stiff cock was exactly what I needed.
In fact, at that moment, I'd have willingly traded my entire past for the chance to keep that beautiful cock for myself.
Then he began to slide it back out of me, almost all the way, just letting the head rest inside my pussy lips.
I moaned a little, raising my hips to follow that hard shaft wanting it to return to my nest, filling me once more.
But he held it there, almost all the way out of me, until I begged.
And then when I had, he gave it back, plunging with one mighty thrust back through my body, splitting me in two.
I screamed A scream of delicious torture.
I wanted it to never end.
In and out, starting slow, then building up speed, always taking his cues from my response.
He timed every move perfectly. He knew how to wait until I was just past wanting him to increase the tension, and then he would give me just a little more than I was ready to take.
Always pushing me higher and higher until he was driving me like a steam piston.
My pussy felt like it was on fire.
Harder and harder, until at last, I felt the greatest orgasm of all start to gather inside my cunt.
When it broke, my entire body felt like it had exploded. I was dizzy, I was faint and at last, I passed out.
I don't know how long I was out, but when I regained consciousness, I was in bed, under thick comfortable covers, and he was standing over me. I reached out my hand and pulled him into bed with me.
"Don't leave me," I begged. "Please, Jason, don't leave me. I need you right now. I'm frightened. I don't know who or what I am, only that whatever my past, it hasn't ever included anyone like you."
He kissed me, saying nothing, but I felt safe, secure with him.
But his doctor friend had been wrong. Three days later, I was no closer to remembering my past than when he'd first asked who I was on the road.
It was maddening.
At the same time, I felt myself becoming more and more dependent on Jason, simply for whatever sense I had of my own personality. As far as my conscious mind was concerned, whatever I became through interaction with other humans had started the night he first made love to me.
A week passed, then two. We scanned the papers for reports of missing persons, he took me to a hypnotist, a psychiatrist, all to no avail.
And all the while, my need for him increased, to the point that I couldn't imagine myself without him.
Then one day, I walked into the house after a ride into town, and I stopped dead in my tracks. There, on the wall, was a painting. It was an abstract, but something about the swirls of blue, the bold slashes of red and orange, the sense that somehow, beneath the chaos there was a logic, if only it could be seen from its proper perspective, even though that perspective might be unattainable to mere mortals....
I'd seen that painting before!
I knew it!
I'd watched it grow, take shape, I'd seen it as a part of ... me. It was me, had me somehow within its nebulous forms and shifting colors.
"Jason, where did you get that painting?" I asked as soon as he returned.
"Oh, he's a rising young painter. He has an exhibition right now that's attracting a lot of attention.
"Who is he? What's his name?"
I was so intent, Jason realized that something was happening to me.
"Edward Shipley. Why?"
And I knew.
Not all of it. The story was still too large for me to see it all. But I knew.
"I'm married to him," was all I said.
Jason investigated, and learned the truth. Edward had made no effort to find me, had simply given me up for lost. Without caring a bit.
And suddenly, the past became something real for me again. Something that had nothing in common with the present I'd come to know.
Then Jason confessed that he'd known who I was ever since he'd retrieved my car and traced the registration. I was stunned that I'd never even thought of it.
"You didn't want to. That was obvious. I bought this painting thinking it might jar your memory. I was right."
I had become someone, only to find out that I was someone else entirely. Suddenly the pain and the hurt of Edward's rejection, so long delayed, came flooding over me in a torrent.
I felt stripped, I felt raw, as raw as I'd fell the night I fled my life with him.
I longed again for the blank wall that had shielded me from that pain. I longed for the opportunity to simply become whoever I felt myself to be, no what I had grown into, or been molded into.
I suddenly saw the weeks I'd spent with Jason as a slice of time carved out of the normal flow of my life.
Yet, rediscovering that life at last, I realized that there was no normal flow to it at all. I was lost. I was alone.
Yet, there was still Jason. Or was there?
I began to realize that he had seen me as a temporary distraction, perhaps a pleasant one, but certainly not a permanent fixture:
His world was so different from what I'd been used to, and it became more and more so with the reawakening of my past.
I belonged to no one.
But I wanted him. I'd grown to depend on him over the weeks, and that need else for me to go.
I was desperate, I was living at the edge of panic. My nerves were naked, burnt. I couldn't think.
He knew that. He had to have known it.
Yet, each day, he became more and more remote. Never cruel, simply colder and colder.
Finally, the day came when he was tired of me.
I begged, pleaded, fell apart in front of him.
None of it made the slightest difference.
He wasn't cruel. He simply was moving on. I had been an interesting chapter in his life that he was now bringing to a close.
I had no idea where I would go. Edward, I knew, was through with me, and even if he'd wanted to try again, I couldn't have stayed in the same room with him without wanting to rip his throat out.
I had friends, who'd been hurt when Edward told them that I'd gone to live with my parents again without even saying good bye. I had no doubt that they'd be glad to see me, that they might even be able to help me.
But they too were part of a life that had been ripped from me and I could no longer relate to any of it.
I was literally without time or place.
Dear Jason, to ease his guilt, if indeed he was capable of feeling it, didn't simply cast me out into the weather.
He provided me with a place to live, and money for survival.
I would have refused him outright, but he had his argument down cold.
"You've been through a lot Meredith," he told me and I realized that it was strange to hear him call me Meredith. It seemed to prove his point, that there were two parts of my life that could never be blended. Meredith was someone who had lived before. The person he knew had ceased to exist when she learned once more who Meredith was. It was best that I go away, find myself in solitude, peace, away from tension.
Oh yes, he sounded good. Good enough that I knew I'd be a fool to turn him down.
But I knew. I was once more being kicked out. It. hurt too badly for me to even deal with.
So I began my new life. Jason was good to his word. I had no difficulty meeting any of my living expenses. I was taken care of. . But I was alone.
When I finally was able to start venturing out into the world again, to think about maybe finding a job, the prospect was simply too overwhelming to deal with.
I knew that I could, if I had to, but as long as I didn't have to ... well, I somehow knew that Jason would keep me going. I never saw him anymore. All the details were taken care of by his accountants.
But I remained dependent against my will. That's not quite true. It-was against my better judgment. Nonetheless, I seemed to be powerless to assert myself.
That was a characteristic that showed itself with more and more regularity in the other phases of my life.
With men, I began to seek a strong personality, a dominant personality, one who would relieve me of the need to make decisions. One who would think for me and take care of me.
Whether or not to go to bed with a man became a simple question of his will. If he wanted to, we did. If he didn't, or wouldn't make the move, we didn't.
I seemed to have moved a hundred and eighty degrees from the person I had been when I supported Edward, when I had the responsibility, when the decisions were mine to make. I was becoming weak.
More and more, I sought out men who would not only dominate me, but who would literally control me. Who would bend my will to theirs, and then bend my body to their wills.
Bondage. It became a way of life. I needed more and more to be pushed to the edges of normalcy to simply keep any feeling at all.
Unless bound, I could no longer achieve orgasm.
And then the whips. I stopped feeling anything at all except pain. Hot searing pain. And I sought it out more and more, to the point that now I cannot enjoy a normal sexual relationship at all. I must be whipped, dominated and controlled entirely. I must be a slave.
Meredith's case, why certainly extreme, is symptomatic of many like her. She found herself in a situation where she could be easily exploited, and the experience has left her deeply disturbed.
CONCLUSION
What then have we learned from cases such as these?
The ability to derive pleasure of a sexual nature from being dominated is a strange one indeed, yet much more common than one would have thought.
We must remember, women in our society are naturally conditioned to be submissive anyway.
It is almost a natural reflex. The very sexual act itself, the penetration of the woman's body by the man's stiff cock forces the model of dominant/submissive partners.
While exceptions are everywhere to be found, it is nonetheless true that at the final moment, no matter what the psychological make-up of the two people involved, the act of sexual intercourse is an aggressive act, committed by the man on the woman.
It is his cock that enters her body, it is she who receives. It is he who determines whether or not the act will take place at all-simply by whether or not his cock is erect or not, while she simply accepts or rejects. The biological model then, is clear. Man is the aggressive/dominant while the woman is the passive submissive.
But we live in a world that has grown complex far beyond the biological' origins of our ancestors. The simple requirements of remaining alive, food, shelter and procreation of the race have been transformed by artificial social structures that derive from the original model, but which have at times so altered and changed the essential relationships that it becomes quite difficult to determine just where the lines should be drawn.
Women have now invaded the job markets once the exclusive domain of men.
Women now assert that they too have sexual needs that require attention of their mates, that they can no longer be considered passive bodies, the sole purpose of which is to provide a place for cocks to come into.
And men too are finding that the once rigid standards of masculine behavior are now shifting, becoming blurred, mixed with ideas and concepts that even twenty years ago would have seemed not only revolutionary but perverted and outright demented.
But we know now, men can be weak, can exhibit emotions, can in fact partake of an entire range of responses that once seemed to be the exclusive domain of women.
Who then, is passive and who is dominant.
Our studies would seem to indicate that the social structures exert a much stronger influence than the original biological role models. The notion of social class is similar to, but in many way quite different from the hierarchy on influence that rules the jungle. In the jungle, we assert ourselves through our physical strength.
The dominance of one class by another is possible not through physical strength and might, but because of something far more subtle. It is essentially a contract that permits such a relationship to take place. An unspoken agreement that two people, who in biological terms are quiet equal, nonetheless will consider one to be superior to the other.
This was the case with Monique and with Patsy. The fact that they were so easily led into the situations they described derived directly from the fact that they saw their tormentors as being socially superior to, and hence stronger than themselves. They might have had the will to resist, yet the social contract would not permit such will to exert itself, and in the case of Patsy, it actually determined the outcome of her attitude, which eventually became one of acceptance. Had she been ensnared into a similar situation by people she saw as being social peers, it is doubtful that she would have been so accepting.
Monique too was a victim of her conditioning. She accepted those who employed her as her social betters. Therefore, the fact that she might not want to take part in their activities had little importance. She was forced to accept, not by they themselves, but by the image of superiority they commanded.
