Opal Andrews has written two fabulously successful books for Surrey House, Inc. The first of these was The Chamber of Pleasures for Rated X (RX240) and the second, for Surrey Collectors (SC011), was Chain Me Again. Both of these best-sellers are still available directly from the publishers using the coupon in the back of this book-IF they are no longer available at your favorite adult newsstand.
In writing of the fantastic Miss Andrews before, we had this to say: "We are beginning to think of Opal Andrews as the Queen of Bondage. We first encountered her when she walked into our office at Surrey House, Inc. (wearing the highest-heeled, tightest leather boots and miniskirt we'd ever seen, by the way) with several manuscripts under her arm.
"She came in completely unannounced and almost disappeared in a puff of smoke (right behind a large black Mercedes limousine)....
"... Miss Andrews had arrived on the scene with a trunk full of sensational manuscripts and a burning ambition to write more and more. All very kinky stuff with lots of peculiar leather clothes and chains and degradation and 'Make me do it' written all over her."
As the months have passed, we have found no reason to change our words about Miss Andrews. Certainly it is apparent that she is continuing with her own fascinating games ... in private.
Here, returning to her favorite haunt, the especially equipped basement, the cellar of The Cellar of Degradation, Miss Andrews takes up the deviant story of little Marianne, the sheltered virgin, and her selectively promiscuous girl friend, Jeanne.
What happens to the two of them, when they stumble into the quaint old haunted-looking mansion, shouldn't happen to anyone who doesn't have a special craving for dank, dark basements fitted out with chains and torture racks of the most depraved type. Of whips and sturdy ropes and ... the most peculiar type of super tight rubber clothing ever imagined.
Only Opal Andrews can make it all seem so crushingly real, especially when the hooded figures arrive, hobble the girls, tie them down, and begin the ultimate in shameless sex rituals, using their very bodies as the altars of their incredible lusts.
Welcome to Miss Andrews' favorite pastime....
Fresh, sparkling new titles in the Surrey Collectors' Series reach your favorite news dealer or adult book store at the same time every month. We will be there waiting for you, along with the Surrey Collectors' Series companions, the Rated X books and the HIS 69 gay titles. Serious collectors of strictly adult reading will want them all, side by side on their private book shelves for definite re-reading and ready reference.
We want to make all Surrey House, Inc. books the perfect reflection of your reading and sexual desires and invite your comments at all times, so we can better serve you. We urge you to write us with exact details of what kind of books you would like to read, and any other sexual matters you are concerned about, IN ABSOLUTE, STRICT CONFIDENCE. It is not even necessary to identify yourself in any way. Only in this manner can we be sure we are giving you precisely what you desire. No matter is too complex for you to approach us with, and nothing is too difficult for us to attempt ... but only if you take the time to write us with your specific requirements.
Only you can do it. We here at Surrey House, Inc. only exist to serve you in these matters of great concern.
All especially significant letters will be answered directly, and all story suggestions will be turned over to our staff of writers all over the world.
-THE PUBLISHERS
CHAPTER ONE
"Aren't you ... afraid, Jeanne? I mean, you know. The sex part, and all that."
Jeanne sighed, pretending to be watching the road ahead while she rolled her eyes to the girl on the car seat beside her. She couldn't even laugh at her silly friend. Afraid? Of sex? Not Jeanne Short!
But she knew her friend Marianne was. Jeanne sighed.
"Why-no, I'm not afraid, Marianne," she said, wondering what the other girl would do or say if she told her she certainly hadn't been afraid while she and Joe had been balling last night! "I love him. That's what marriage is for."
"For SEX?" Marianne was horrified, shocked.
This time Jeanne had to chuckle. "Sure. I mean, there are other things, too. Liking someone helps. Companionship. But ... yeah, sex. Ever think about the marriage ceremony? Sliding a ring on a finger? A hard stiff finger slipping through a little round hole?"
"I don't believe it!" But Marianne shivered excitedly.
She doesn't even know who she is, Jeanne thought, and said, "Okay." She shrugged. "It's hearts and flowers and holding hands in the tulips and like that. And babies come by osmosis."
Marianne sighed and stared out through the windshield. "Now you're making fun of me."
"I guess I am. I'm sorry. But-oh hell! Bob loves you, Marianne. You know that."
"He says so," Marianne admitted. "But ... sometimes I think he just ... you know...."
"Wants your bod. Wants to screw you."
From the corner of her eye Jeanne saw the other girl shiver. But Marianne said, "Jeanne!"
Jeanne lifted a hand from the steering wheel and slapped it back. "Sorry. Isn't that what you meant?"
Marianne looked down at her knees. "Well ... yes. But to put it that way-"
"Sorry. Bob wants to fuck you. Better?"
"Jeanne, for god's sake!"
"Oh HELL, Marianne!"
Marianne sighed. "Yes. He wants to do that. To me."
"Try thinking of it a little differently, Marianne. He wants to ball, screw, fuck-"
"All right, ALL RIGHT!"
Jeanne chuckled. "Try thinking that he wants to do that WITH you."
Silence. The car rolled on, sucking up the highway under the hood and spitting it out behind.
Two girls, of the generation called, variously, "liberated" and "permissive" and "sex-happy." Neither of them quite old enough to inherit property-if there were anything for them to inherit. There wasn't. Jeanne was an orphan, she'd told Marianne.
Marianne was too, in a manner of speaking. Two years ago her father had vanished. Along with the widow just down the block. And six weeks later her distraught mother had been killed in the car accident. Marianne had found that she possessed the wreckage, a bank balance of $321.63, and the furniture in the apartment. She hadn't wanted it, hadn't wanted to stay there any more.
She had fled Detroit, lied a little about her age, got a job and a furnished room, and settled down to loneliness. Bearing always in mind the things her mother had taught her.
Her mother's attitude toward sex was obviously right, she thought. After all, it was that sexy wiggly widow that had tempted Daddy until he went off with her, the harlot! If he'd been as good and pure as Mom....
And now Jeanne said sex was something the man did with the woman. That wasn't what Marianne's mother had told her. It was what the man did to the woman, every now and then when the lustful urge came on him. That was what it was, a lustful animal urge in the male. Everyone knew that.
Didn't they?
Marianne shivered and her bra felt tight.
Of course, she thought positively, with a firm nod. Smug in her knowledge. So had her mother been. Smug. Which, of course, was why Marianne's father took off for parts unknown with that sexy widow, Gladys. Leaving Marianne behind with her mother, who thought sex was evil (because her mother had taught her so) and so had therefore never tried to do anything about her frigidity-or let her husband try.
And now they were both gone, and there was only Marianne, riding down Illinois 186 with her engaged friend Jeanne. Marianne. Smugly full of shit without even the sense or experience to know it. And scared to find out.
And all shuddery and tight in the bra when sex came up.
It was all a damned shame, Jeanne thought. Lord, Marianne was such a doll. All that long hair, fanning out so beautifully over her shoulders and back. Huge eyes beneath long lashes, and the kind of cute smallish nose Jeanne always wished she had-hers was very straight and there was quite a bit of it. Above her dimpled chin Marianne's mouth was lovely, wide and naturally pink.
The rest of her was nearly too good to believe. Pretty pink and white body, about five feet four. The bounciest round rump imaginable, above rounded elegant thighs and full perfect calves that dived into slim ankles. All warm roundness she was, without angles.
"Sex on wheels. A walking ad for womankind."
That's what Jeanne's fiance, Joe, called Marianne. To Jeanne, not to Marianne's face. Marianne would have been offended, they both knew.
Her belly was rounded just enough to make it interesting. That was obvious; Marianne was a prude, yes, but she certainly didn't dress like a nun. Today, for instance, she saw nothing wrong or inconsistent in her wearing flare-bottomed hip-huggers that fitted her womanly hips and buttocks and lower belly and pubic bulge like they'd been sewn on. And a slicky, silky blouse that was cut to fit everywhere except in the full sleeves.
In front, the fabric looked pasted to her full breasts, leaving no doubt that they were bigger than average.
Too bad about all this, Jeanne thought, after making the turn off the state highway onto a narrower, tree-lined road.
Too bad about Marianne. We could have been having such fun together-and lord! It's hard to believe that she's hardly even let Bob fondle those pretty titties of hers-through her clothes! He's crazy about her, poor dumb bastard. It's a damned good thing he's smart enough to know that no man should marry a poor little prude like this without being certain she'd change. That's what happened to her pore ole father, and finally he got tired of living with a damned nun and split, with sexy Gladys! Silly little Marianne!
(Little? Bet she couldn't get half her jugs into my 36-B bras!)
"How the heck far out is this place, Jeanne?" Jeanne jerked as Marianne's voice pierced her thoughts.
"A little farther. Up another road. I warned you-the house does look a little like something out of an Alfred Hitchcock movie! But Joe's crazy about it and says we can really make it into something-and it's not much money, either, for its size. It's too darned bad he got tied up today and couldn't come-but I really appreciate your coming out with me to look at it, Marianne."
"Brr! You make it sound like a haunted house," Marianne said. "What if you don't like it?"
Jeanne laughed. "I'll like it, Marianne. Joe does. That'll be enough for me. That's where it's at with me."
"Joe. And what Joe likes."
"Uh-h-huh," Jeanne nodded, and Marianne sighed. She sat there beside her friend, trying to envision honeymooning in that big old house, for instance, in Psycho. And thinking, too, about what Jeanne had said.
Whatever Joe likes.
Marianne sighed again. She admitted it freely. She liked the sound of it, the concept and the thought. Whatever Bob likes, she mused. Bob likes me! And I-I get so ... so warm with him ... so excited and....She shivered. I wish he'd be, uh, more ... persuasive (that's wicked!) or ... or make me, or....
She tried to hurl those thoughts out of her mind. She wondered what Jeanne was thinking about.
Jeanne was thinking about her man. Joe. And what Joe liked. She, too, shivered. She was thinking about what Joe had liked-just last night. In his apartment. After he'd undressed her and she had sunk back on the couch because that seemed what he wanted, and they'd already made it in his bed....
"You think you'll be okay, Jeannie, getting it from another man?" he had asked, grinning down at her while his fingers trailed over her bare breasts, tipping the nipples, teasing her, making her twitch and squirm.
"Yes, if it's what you want, darling," she had said, sighing and wanting him to stop talking.
He closed thumb and forefinger about one nipple and tugged it upward a little.
"With, me watching, sweetheart?" he asked, smiling.
She shivered. Yes! If he wants me to be screwed by another man, and he's watching-it'll be twice as exciting and good!
"Um-hmm," she breathed.
"Good! But not tonight," Joe said. "Tonight it's just us, darling."
"Joe."
"Uh-huh?"
"Screw me."
She saw excitement leap through him, sparked by her words.
Carefully he parted the delicate tendrils of hair to expose pink lips, pursed and firm looking. He bent forward to kiss that slitted ridge of soft flesh, and she gasped and sighed. Then she twitched, moaning, as he licked up, and then down the long slender crease. And she gasped and jerked when he buried his nose and lips in soft pinkness.
He felt the spasm of bliss that ran through her. His tongue slid into her to taste the wet flow he had begun. His shoulders kept her thighs at bay as he probed the top of that moistened slit with his tongue.
Her groan was loud when he found her clitoris and rolled it, several times. He felt it thicken. When she was moaning steadily and moving her hips in enticing little semicircles, he withdrew his face and slid himself forward. He eased forward, coaxing his way into the fleshy folds he had teased open with his mouth.
Slowly, with no intimation of urgency, he pushed his way up into the tightly-resistant canal. She felt the nudge of the silky fleshed but hard, blood-gorged head of his cock, then the pulsing heat of the big pulsing shaft behind it. She moaned and tensed beneath him, but he did not pause in his entering her until he felt the delicate strands of silken hair tickling his scrotum.
He had breached the pouting pink lobes and slid his prick home along the inner passage. She was full of his horny length. He was buried in her hot, liquid depths, and he relaxed and was still, savoring the feel of it. The glorious heat of her inner body. The soft wetness, all around his penis. The yielding mound pressing his balls.
He smiled, thinking about it, letting the thought titillate him: his lust-hardened meat was completely submerged within the now-gaping channel between her legs.
Then, just as slowly, he withdrew, letting his throbbing prick ease regretfully from the warm haven it had discovered and only begun to explore. He drew it all the way out and bent to kiss her belly as her darling twat lips snapped shut.
Her voice was throaty, urgent, faraway:
"Come ... back ... get into me...."
He went back. He eased her thighs still wider, feeling the utterly yielding softness of them and the tensing of the strong muscles beneath the skin. He worried open the tender lips. His swollen glans tickled the dainty hair out of the way. The lips vanished inward as, this time, he plunged it brutally forward to fill her with hard urgent cock flesh. She cried out, jerking. All the way, until his hard pelvis slammed into hers, and out again, the lips flowing outward now, following the emerging shaft. It glistened with her liberated inner secretions. He drove it back, screwing wildly into her tight, sucking cunt.
She did not scream this time; she moaned.
"Hun-n-n-n-nnnnghhhhh!"
Her hands fluttered to her breasts, grasped them, pushed them down into themselves. Firm white flesh telescoped. He pounded mercilessly up and down, in and out of the white writhing body, soft and yielding beneath his. His scrotum slapped again and again into the soft crease of her ass as he continued to piston his slick dick in and out of her gobbling gash. He could feel his balls tightening up.
She moved, and he raised himself above her on his splayed hands to watch the rolling and shaking of her soft tits, dancing to the rhythm of their mutual lunging. She was conquered, she was open, she was his, and she was responding and moaning and hunching up to him, seeking more and more of his deeper and deeper impalement as he sought desperately to give it to her, to skewer the long hard length of his throbbing penis way up into her thirsty slit.
Again and again the swollen spear of flesh imbedded itself between the fleshy folds of what had been snug resistance and was now a gaping, begging, welcoming gulf that challenged him to explore its humid depths.
He did not stop until he had inundated her, did not stop until she was writhing and screaming in her own searing release.
His semen spurted in violent spasms and he shot his hot animal lust in spurting jets into her reamed, pillaged, squirming depths.
Then they both collapsed onto the couch in his apartment, and the next day she was driving out the country road, taking Marianne to see the big old spooky house lost among the thick growth of trees.
CHAPTER TWO
The house was incredible. It was an immense old frame place, multi-gabled and porched, and looked like something out of another era-or, as Jeanne had said: a house designed for a Robert Bloch-Alfred Hitchcock movie.
They had driven up a long tree-lined road, and the house was tree-surrounded. Marianne felt as though she were a million miles from nowhere, that she had somehow slid back into a previous century. She sat there and stared at the place until Jeanne touched her. Marianne couldn't help it; she jumped.
"It's ... interesting," she said.
Jeanne was smiling brightly and seemed not to hear her friend's pallid comment. Gazing at her, Marianne liked the way the other girl's so-pale blonde bangs lay loosely, carelessly on her forehead, looking perpetually windblown and like they'd been hacked off with pinking shears. "Yes," Jeanne said, "isn't it!"
"Quaint," Marianne said.
"Oh, yes! And the marvelous trees!" Jeanne hugged herself, then squeezed her friend's shoulder. "Ooooh, let's go IN, Marianne!"
Marianne looked at her, looked at the house, licked her lips, and at last nodded. She reached for the door handle.
They approached the house, with Jeanne taking the lead-because Marianne was hanging back. The third step groaned beneath her foot. The porch creaked and gave with an unpleasant suppleness. Marianne was fearful of going through, at any moment. She watched nervously while Jeanne unlocked the door with a huge old key. The glassed door, amazingly, did not creak as it swung inward. Marianne was grateful. That would have been too much.
Jeanne flashed her a smile. "Joe said he oiled the hinges! Come on!"
They stepped in onto a worn old carpet beneath an enormous-and, Marianne had to admit, beautiful-chandelier that was suspended from the ceiling many feet above their heads. They were facing a magnificent staircase that went up to a landing, then made a right turn and went on up.
Marianne glanced back at a pattering sound behind her. "Oh good grief, Jeanne-it's starting to rain!"
"Just what we need," Jeanne said, spinning as she looked all about the interior of the palatial old house. "After all, the real estate man told Joe the house is haunted!"
"Jeanne!"
Jeanne laughed. Marianne's heart thumped. She laughed-nervously.
They went upstairs, slowly. The steps creaked now and again but the whole staircase was obviously solid. Upstairs: a hall. Rooms behind big paneled doors. Old furniture, eerily covered with sheets. Back downstairs. A huge dining room, the refrigerator and range jarringly modern.
The half hour they spent in the spooky old white elephant was about twenty-nine minutes too many for Marianne. She was delighted when Jeanne heaved a sad sigh and said they might as well start getting back to town. Marianne could have sworn she'd heard a noise, but Jeanne seemed to hear nothing, and so her companion said nothing about it. She tried to convince herself that she was being silly.
They went out onto the creaky porch and hesitated, gathering themselves. Then they ran through the rain to the car and slid in as fast as they could. They slammed the doors after them and, unobtrusively as she could, Marianne locked hers. After a last look at the big old house-which Marianne thought was even spookier through the shimmering curtain of rain-Jeanne switched on the key.
The starter cranked and cranked. And cranked. But there was never a sound of a spark.
"Oh, NO!" Jeanne wailed, slapping the wheel.
The rain sluiced down and ran off the windshield, not in drops or dribbles but in a stream like a sheet of water.
Jeanne tried again. The car wouldn't start. Points? Distributor? Not the battery; the starter was fine, and Jeanne suddenly blammed the horn. It was loud, even through the noise of the rain. She looked at Marianne.
"You know anything at all about cars?" she asked.
Marianne sighed. "I know where the gas goes. All that jumble under the hood is just a-a jumble. But listen ... there was a house, back on the main road. I mean ... the last road before this one. About a mile back?"
Jeanne waved a hand, indicating the water running in muddy runnels down the road.
"WALK? In THAT? You can walk a mile in that slop if you really want to, Marianne dear. But not this kid! Not in this rain."
So they sat there, waiting for the rain to slacken or for a miracle to take place under the car's hood. The rain continued to rattle down on the top of Jeanne's Nova. Now and again the dark sky flared alight with lightning, and thunder rolled with the sound of a bowling alley.
Marianne made the mistake of asking about the house, and why it was vacant, and how come the realtor had said it was haunted. All she wanted was some conversation, to keep talking so she didn't have to think. What she got was a horrible story.
The house had been occupied by a university professor and his young wife. He was a scholar, and pretty well known. He had done three books and a lot of articles on the Spanish Inquisition, as well as the reign of Pope Innocent III. And eventually he learned that he was too much of a scholar for his hot-blooded and still youthful wife. She wasn't making hay while the sun shone, but she was making it with plenty of young studs while her husband burned the midnight oil or pursued his hobby of working on the old cars he collected. He found out.
"No one can be really sure, because they just found her," Jeanne said, lighting a cigarette and staring out the windshield at the curtain of rain. "And nobody ever got his story, either. But it must have been something like this-" and she told the story to a wide-eyed Marianne.
First the angry scholar drugged his wife's after-dinner brandy. He had never said a word to her about discovering her infidelities. He merely sat there and watched her sip, then go limp with her mane of red hair dangling over the arm of the wingback chair. Then he took her to the basement.
"The-basement?" Marianne interrupted. "I didn't even know the place had a basement!"
"It does. I didn't take you down there," Jeanne said, "because-well, you don't want to see the basement! Professor Leinster was an expert on the Inquisition, remember? He had ... fixed the basement up."
Marianne shivered. She didn't want to hear the rest. But she was fascinated, mesmerized by the concept of Jeanne's story, and she hated to let her friend know what a chicken she was. She listened to the tale of how Doctor Leinster had punished his young wife Sara.
One thing he knew: that neither he nor any of his wife's lovers had entered her anally. She was afraid of that, of sodomy or buggery or whatever it should be called, anal intercourse. So she had refused, and her charms were sufficient to keep anyone from thinking too much about what he might be missing.
So, dumping her limp, naked body forward over a table in the basement and fastening her wrists with the straps he had screwed to it, Doctor Leinster stood behind her. Her upper body was on the table, with her big breasts crushed beneath her unconscious weight. Her legs hung off the edge and her feet lay loosely on the floor. That way the swelling jut of her backside was projected up and back, the twinned, evenly proportioned hills of her buttocks seeming to pout at him.
He stood there and gazed at the white cheeks and the snug long crease between them, and he stroked his penis until it was up, high and throbbing. He didn't want to hurt himself, but he didn't want to make the entry easy for her, either. So he used a little spit to moisten the head of his prick. Then he pulled her asscheeks apart and started feeding his long rampaging cock into the tight puckered slot between them.
The sudden pain partially aroused her, lancing through her so that it infiltrated even her drugged unconsciousness. She moaned and shivered, moving slightly, and her body tensed as she tugged reflexively at the bonds on her wrists. But even had she been wide awake and shrieking, she would not have escaped the form of painful rape her husband had his mind set on.
The huge blood-filled head of his dick sank deeper and deeper into the tender little brown hole of her back. He felt the warmth of a tight ring of flesh close around the knob. It clamped sweetly, automatically, all around his penis as he surged it into her.
He merely pulled it nearly all the way out, clung to her big trembling buttocks with both hands, and rammed it home.
Even he grunted at the pain as he rammed his thick shaft all the way up into her tight hot anus. His pelvis slapped against her buttocks and he ground into them, striving to penetrate her another quarter or even eighth of an inch. He enjoyed her helpless moans and writhing and her semi-conscious attempts to escape the big log cramming her rectal tunnel full of blazing hot. hardness.
Her much-used vaginal lips lay open and ignored, thrust hard and bruisingly against the table as he rammed it into her dark asshole. Her virginal ass seemed to clutch at him in an exquisitely tight prison of fiery heat. He hung on and grunted and rocked his body, stroking it hard into her, callously battering the soft cringing interior of her butt. It loosened gradually, although by that time he knew from the red streaks on his cock as it flailed in and out that he had torn her, ripped the soft delicate walls of her rectum.
He stood there and sawed it in and out of her cringing ass until his prick began to jerk and hot geysers of sperm exploded forcefully into her anal depths and inundated her bowels.
Then, gasping, he pulled it, brown-streaked, out of her and began to free her of the straps holding her to the table. Pink-tinged semen oozed out of her anus as he grasped Sara under her arms and dragged her over to tie her in a spread-eagled position between two of the basement's supporting columns. Her body at last stood there, limply, with her head dangling.
The soldering iron was already heating up. He went over and picked it up.
Holding the glowing soldering iron in his hand, he returned to the suspended figure of his wife. The redhead was still unconscious, her flaming cascade of hair streaming down. Her big breasts rose and fell, wobbling before her, with her breathing.
His hand moved out, extending the tip of the white-hot iron.
It touched, just touched the rounded side of her swelling left breast. She stirred instantly in her unconsciousness. There was a swift sizzle of red-hot metal against soft flesh. Then he twitched the awful tool away and lowered it. He touched it to her again, this time to the soft skin of her unprotected belly. It sizzled against the naked flesh.
The girl snapped suddenly back into the realm of consciousness, her eyes indicating her total unawareness of what ghastly business it was that wakened her. Then the pain struck into her brain. She screamed in agony and went stiff all over.
Now the iron was being drawn steadily, rather slowly, across the tender surface of her abdomen, leaving a hideous scar in its wake. And her torturer was chuckling, staring at the expression of horrified agony on her twisted face. Her anguish was too intense for coherent vocal reaction. She shook her head in wild disbelief, her eyes huge and staring. Sweat shone and rushed in glistening rivulets from her nakedness. She drew in a great breath and tried to speak-
-and her throat muscles were paralyzed by the searing shock of the iron, touching her bare breast. It sizzled into the soft white skin with both the sound and the smell of terror.
A shriek of hysteria ripped from her throat as the deadly tool was drawn slowly across, then around the luxuriant globe of flesh.
"I don't think any of your cocksmen will find you too attractive hereafter, darling," her tormentor told her. His words mingled with her ghastly screams, reverberating from the walls of the dungeon-like basement. And the smell of roasting flesh rose in the dimly-lit room under the big house.
The girl continued to scream. Her naked body jerked in violent convulsions as she writhed. But her attempts to escape the iron he plied so calmly, to break free of her bonds, were wholly and pitifully futile. The well-knotted cords held her there, stretched helplessly between the posts. Her body was at his disposal, as she had placed it at the disposal of other men.
Now he was following her movements with the hot iron, seeking to set it against her right nipple, then inward along the lovely inner curve of that breast. The helpless girl shrieked and jerked and her eyes seemed ready to pop from her face. She realized, then, that her husband was insane, that he had to be, for what he was doing could never go unpunished. And he was wearing a long, cowled black robe, like that worn by the high Inquisitors of many years in the past.
After perhaps another minute of the intensely agonizing horror, the naked woman sagged. She hung unresisting before her torturer, able only to scream as the iron moved to another portion of her sweating, twitching body. Lunatic shrieks wracked her vocal cords. Her eyes fluttered and flickered as she sought the comfort of oblivion.
Then she reached the highest possible level of pain reception, and overloaded, and she plummeted into the dark abyss of unconsciousness.
The robed man continued to draw the burning metal over the unprotected nudity before him. The smell of seared flesh permeated the basement. His wife's magnificently beautiful body underwent a hideous transformation as her flesh bubbled and burned beneath the fiery touch of his soldering iron, a modern touch to an ancient scene of horror.
He was sweating profusely by the time he began applying it to her face.
What happened after that was partially left to conjecture. He and his wife were not found until several days later. Both were dead. She still hung in the basement, a ghastly thing of scarred burned bubbled flesh out of the realm of American-International horror movies. He lay at the foot of the steps in the front hallway, still wearing the robe. Perhaps on his way up or perhaps in coming back down, he must have tripped in his own long black robe. His neck was broken. People talked-usually in whispers-about divine retribution. By means of his interest in the Inquisition, he had murdered his wife. And that same overweening interest had killed him. Had he not worn the robe, he might well have escaped.
Marianne was trembling violently by the time Jeanne drew the awful story to a close. She had never heard anything so horrible. Her stomach lurched and gurgled, threatening to hurl up its contents. She stared straight ahead, hugging herself. She hardly heard Jeanne as she tried the car again. The engine still refused to catch.
"I'm tired of sitting here like a dunce!" Jeanne snapped. "I'm going back into the house."
Marianne jerked her head around to stare at her, pale and wide eyed.
"Not ME! I'll wait out HERE!"
And she watched the other girl's slim, willowy hips and slithery-looking rump and long flashing legs as Jeanne ran back into the house. Marianne sat there and thought about the awful story and wished she were home. Or that she knew what to do about stalled cars.
Even had she looked under the hood, the naked distributor cap, with its wires pulled out and dangling, probably would have meant nothing to her.
About thirty minutes later a lightning flash so bright it hurt her eyes made her cry out and shudder violently, covered with gooseflesh. She glanced wildly about, lashing her face with her long hair. Then she fumbled open the door and ran, slipping and nearly falling, back to the house.
It was dark inside. She called Jeanne's name. Called again. Screamed Jeanne's name. There was no answer. Only the dark, silent house and the sound of the rain outside and the rumbling thunder like rolling logs. She called again, searching through the house on wobbly legs.
She found nothing. With her heart pounding, she ascended the broad, creaky staircase. At the top of the steps she again called out Jeanne's name. There was no sound. Her voice sounded hollow. Marianne began looking. She opened two doors and shouted into great ghostly rooms, then found a third door locked. She knocked sharply; called; listened.
The fourth door was different from the others. Tall and thin, with a plain knob. She turned it and pulled the door open. And stared.
The door did not open into a room, but a closet.
Inside was Jeanne.
Jeanne's booted toes were about an inch above the closet floor. Her arms were tied, straining, up above her head. Gagged with a strip of her own blouse that was pulled tightly and nastily between her lips, she stared at Marianne from immense blue eyes. Her ripped blouse hung loosely, torn, and through the rents Marianne could see the blonde's skimpy little pink brassiere. The lush white swells of her breasts spilled like melting ice cream over the cups, pulled high by her updrawn arms.
Below that she wore only her boots. Her straining, taut-drawn little stomach was no wider across than Marianne's hand. It and her slitted navel were very visible, and her long svelte thighs, but not her vulva.
A thick, broad strap of shining black leather was buckled very tightly around her hips. Around the tops of her thighs were buckled similar but slimmer bands of the same black leather. All three straps were pulled into the flesh so that it bulged above and below in white ridges.
Her pubis was obscured by a large round thing-a thick disk, not a sphere-whose purpose Marianne couldn't imagine, unless it was some sort of obscene loin-covering that was far more lewd and eye-catching than nudity would have been.
"Mmmm-gmmmm-mmMMM!" The muted, piteous plea emerged through Jeanne's gag the moment Marianne opened the door.
"Ye-e-e-e-eeeea-a-aaaAAAAH!" Marianne screamed, and she turned and fled in horror.
She had rushed down several steps before she stopped. She then turned, shivering, and went fearfully back. She couldn't just abandon her friend, helplessly suspended by her wrists in that tall, thin closet.
"Oh, Jeanne!" she whimpered, getting the gag out.
Jeanne's pointed little pink tongue ran swiftly over her lips. Some of her pale purple lipstick had rubbed off on the makeshift gag.
"For ... god's sake ... get this ... get this THI-ING ... OUT of me-e-e!"
Marianne shivered. She frowned. "What-what thing, Jeanne? Oh, Jeanne!"
"Oh god, Ma-Marianne-the straps ... thing ... oh god, so deep and big...."
Trembling, not understanding, Marianne attacked the buckles of the tight straps with fingers that seemed all thumbs. She sobbed and whimpered as she apologized to Jeanne: she had to tighten the buckles before she could get them loose. But they swung down at last, jingling. They had left angry red stripes all around Jeanne's thighs. Now Marianne saw that those thigh-straps were attached to the round thing pressing into the soft flesh of the other girl's pubic mound, which was also attached to the hip-strap.
Marianne unbuckled it. And shrieked.
Ssss-shhhh-lllllusssshh....
With a slow slithering and a wet, slimy, sucking sound, the disk began to move toward her. It was the base of a thick black rod-and the rod was emerging from between the pitifully wide-stretched red lips of Jeanne's vaginal mouth!
Slick-looking, wet and glistening, the long dildo slid out and out. It looked close to two inches across and-Marianne could not guess at its terrible length. Certainly it had been shoved way, way up into the delicate layers of spongy flesh inside Jeanne's dilated cunt-ssshhhllluPPP!
The slimy tip appeared in a rush and Marianne cried out and jumped back as it dropped at her feet. The head was rounded, like a mushroom's head, on a long black stalk.
The stretched, angrily red lips of the tall blonde's vulva writhed back together, no longer strained by the terrible plug. But Marianne saw they did not quite close now. They remained wetly ajar, pitiful looking and nearly naked with the pale, almost-white fringe of Jeanne's sparse blonde pubic hair.
A long, shuddering sigh trickled from Jeanne's mouth.
"Oh ... my-y-y GOD!" Marianne moaned, staring.
She saw the wet red stains on the dildo and on her friend's labia. It must have been forced into her, that monstrous imitation penis, and it must have torn its hellish way up into the delicately soft fissure of the girl's poor swollen pussy. Strange how much it looked like ketchup.
"Oh," she gasped, "thanks, darling. Now ... please ... my arms...." With terrible difficulty, Marianne stood on a mop-pail from the closet to get Jeanne's wrists free. She tried to ignore the rubbing of her extravagant breasts against her friend. "There!"
"Uh!" Jeanne grunted, and she dropped the short distance to the closet floor-and screamed, and plunged straight down as the trapdoor opened beneath her. Marianne's bucket-perch teetered on the lip of the square hole in the closet floor.
"JEEANNNNNNE!"
Jeanne was gone. The spring-mounted trapdoor snapped back up with a click before Marianne's unsteady bucket could tip her forward.
She tried to run, terrified and sobbing, and fell off the bucket. Cloth ripped. Wailing now, she wallowed on the floor and hurled herself to her feet and ran.
She clattered down the stairs, her hand growing hot as it slid racing down the banister. Only that hand kept her from falling in her blind flight.
She ran straight to the front door. Outside it had grown even darker.
And behind her there was a scream.
She froze. Slowly she turned, shivering. Directly ahead of her was the long broad staircase. Left of it, the parlor. To the right, a narrow little hallway. From it came the cry again, strangely muffled.
Jeanne. Oh, I CAN'T leave Jeanne!
Reluctantly, fearfully, but with true bravery, she entered the miniature hallway. She'd thought it was merely a little dark cubbyhole between the steps and the wall. But now she could just make out a door at the other end, under the stairs. The screams came from behind that door.
In the bravest act of her life, Marianne opened that door.
And shrieked out a ripping, throat-tearing scream that rang throughout the great house and lashed back at her, and back and back from the walls.
Before her stood a tall male figure in a long black robe-and the face framed by the robe's hood was an intensely white skull.
Hands gloved in black leather rose like shining black claws. One slapped against her left breast. The other hooked into the front of her blouse and ripped it down the front with a popping of buttons and a rending of cloth. Buttons clattered to the floor and rolled.
She could not even scream.
"Ah-as-uh-uh-ah-n-n-n-n-NO-O-O ah-ungh-"
Her legs quivered. Her body shook as her tight-brassiered breasts were forced into shimmering view of whatever eyes lay within the dark holes of that terrible skull face.
Then his gloved hand tightened on her breast.
Leather-clad fingers like supple steel wrapped around her firm full tit, enclosing it in a big paw. The fingers tightened. The skull-face stared at her. She gasped. Pain sparked in her. He squeezed. Pain lanced through her breast into her chest, flaring redly. He tightened his hand. Pain exploded, blazing out through her quaking mass of tit-flesh, arcing whitely behind her eyes. Her mouth dropped open and her knees tried to buckle.
The almost rigidly firm flesh of her breast was like so much soft, water-logged putty in his big gloved hand, oozing whitely out between the fingers, squishing between each black, band-like finger in startling contrast of soft white skin against gleaming black leather.
He increased the pressure. Her mouth worked. Her eyes tried to close. She felt sure the pneumatic globe of her breast would burst as the juices and muscles and veins and nerves and tissues and glands and the fine network of ducts within strained. They sought desperately to reaccommodate themselves to the suddenly limited space left by his gouging fingers.
Swaying on her feet, her hands like lead weights at the end of her arms, she gasped and quivered. Her eyes stared down at the ropy bulges of flesh spurting and bulging whitely out between the black snakes of his fingers. She stared, knowing that this apparition meant to rip it from her, to tear her breast bloodily away.
Who was he? Or-what was it? Why do this to her? Had Doctor Leinster come back? Did she resemble his monstrously murdered wife? Had some weird Satan-cult or witchcraft sect or Inquisition lunatics set up shop here, in this freaky old house?
Ah god, the PAIN! The terrible sizzling pain in my poor titty....In a moment one of the white bulges of flesh, shining brightly in incredible strain, would burst with an audible pop and release its crowded burden of blood and tissues-
Pain and horror and hysteria rushed together in a dark cloud that overwhelmed her.
She sagged, unconscious.
CHAPTER THREE
"Get your mouth open, you stupid cunt, or you'll be whipped some more!"
"Open your mouth, girl. It's big enough to hold a cock!"
The harsh voices brought Marianne's eyes wide open. The voices were cruel, relentless, and strangely muffled. She felt ill, and she was uncomfortable, and she knew that she was bound. She saw at once that she was in some sort of brick-walled dungeon, unbelievable as that obvious fact was. She realized that she was in the basement-the "specially equipped" basement where Doctor Leinster had murdered his wife.
That table with the straps-Marianne shuddered. The unconscious woman must have half-lain there, face down on it, while he rammed his organ up her back. And those two big round metal uprights-between them she must have stood hung, long ago, while he plied her with his ghastly iron. Her eyes rolled. Chains, leather straps, rings in floor and walls, ropes-all the paraphernalia of the medieval Inquisition.
There were others present. She understood why the voices had been muffled. The skull faces of the two black-robed men must be masks.
But Marianne hadn't time even to think about her discomfort or her fear for herself, or the unbelievable weirdness of this place, decked out and equipped by a madman so that it was not from the last century, like the house, but from centuries before that: from the Inquisition.
Marianne could only fix her eyes and stare at the totally naked body of Jeanne Short.
The slim, svelte blonde knelt directly in front of her, not ten feet away. She was turned in profile to her staring friend. Her pale hair hung in a swirled, tattered-looking disarray. Her naked breasts, clear and white and exquisitely soft like gardenia petals, hung loosely before her. Those beautiful hemispheres seemed endowed with a pride of their own. Each rosy-nippled bulge of firm flesh rose and fell palpitantly as she breathed.
Jeanne's powerful, muscular breasts were forced to jut from her because her arms were drawn back behind her. A leather strap confined the elbows and cords had been looped and wrapped many times around her wrists. Her slightly curled fingers lay just at the top of the swell of her gloriously naked and very round buttocks, cheeks that bloomed like the cheeks of peaches begging to be plucked and opened.
Before Jeanne stood a man swathed from cowled head to heels in a black robe resembling that of one of the holy monsters of the Inquisition. His face was skull-masked and his hands black-gloved.
But not every part of him was clothed. His massive sex organ jutted from the front of his robe. Marianne stared at it.
The big cock was viciously erect and pulsing with his every breath, so that it bobbed before him-and before the kneeling blonde's mouth. Marianne could not help staring at it as if enthralled. It was huge, thick, moist and throbbing with a great canopied head and a raised trace work of veins all along the high-pulsing underside. Beneath, she could see the bulging, hair-covered sack, like a furry purse stuffed with two big eggs.
"You heard, girl. Get your mouth open and ready for cock or we will whip you some more."
O my god, Marianne thought. He said whip you some more ... they've already beaten her! And ... and ... no! He can't expect her to take that big post in her MOUTH!
But he did, and what was more, the trembling girl before him obeyed.
Slowly, her mouth dropped open. Marianne saw that her naked blonde friend was helpless. She could do nothing else other than obey, degraded and debased, a quiescent well waiting servilely to be taken, and used, and discarded in helpless defeat and acceptance of her captor's obscene lust.
And now her mouth was open, waiting to be impaled.
No! Marianne thought. No-he can't get that THING in her. He could. He did.
The faceless man sank his swollen penis between the soft warmth of the girl's lips and hunched forward to drive it into her mouth until she must suck that fat, rock-hard shaft like a baby at the tit. Until the egg-shaped rocks nestled below gave up their steaming juices.
"Gl-l-lmmmfff!"
He slid the throbbing glans in and out of the warm, moist hollow of her face, feeling her tongue, her lips, her teeth, all pressed firm and tight around him. Her eyes bulged-as did her cheeks. The hard smoothness of his huge erection crammed her mouth to the bursting point. Stretching her straining lips wider, ever wider as it expanded a little more with each merciless thrust.
Marianne knew what he was doing. She could not even imagine it, but she could see it. He-he's fucking her in the mouth!
"Ah-ahgg-U-U ... unnnnghhh...." The kneeling girl gasped helplessly around her bulging face full of prick.
He felt her quivering tongue come alive in that shell-pink cavity. It lapped and circled his engulfed shaft like a python toying with the prey from which it will soon squeeze and suck the hot juices.
"Suck it, slut!"
She moaned and her eyes rolled piteously.
Standing behind her, the other man watched. They seemed to have forgotten their other captive. "Suck cock, damn you, or-" Jeanne sucked cock. The suction began--built-
He watched with eyes glazed with pleasure as her mouth worked, pulling steadily in and out on his inflamed prick. Her cheeks bulged. They inflated and sank, bulged and hollowed as she obeyed.
His hips began to undulate, then to jerk, as if possessed, the staring, shivering Marianne thought, of an internal motor all their own. His big slick hard-on sluiced in and out of the kneeling girl's face.
"Suck," he said again, remorselessly. "You're going to suck it, you numb-clitted whore, till cum squirts out your fucking ears!"
Marianne shivered at the barbaric words, and she saw that Jeanne, too, shuddered.
Her straining mouth hollowed around the long pink cock column entrenched in it. Her tongue swept over the throbbing vein bulging its underside. He shuddered, closing his eyes within the mask. It all felt as though he'd dipped his dork in warm oil-but her mouth was alive, magnificently, sexily alive and moving on him. He couldn't hold back, couldn't just wait quiescently while the slavish little blonde sucked him off.
Tensing his buttocks under the flowing robe, he ravaged farther into her hard-working mouth, filling the soft warm cavern from cheek to bulging cheek. He shoved it hard in an effort to find her tonsils with the big head of his cock.
Marianne watched, shivering and feeling tentacles of horror and twisted sexuality wriggle about in her belly. She saw that long hollow tube of his distended maleness ram and gouge into the hot, wet, softly rubbery hole of the other girl's face. Her head jerked and rocked back as he jammed hard into it. Again and again, forcing her head back and making her arch her back as he fucked her face.
Marianne's eyes bulged as she stared at the fantastically erotic, savagely degrading scene. Strange sensations swirled about within her body and brain as she watched the robed man's total mastery of her friend. Her own breasts heaved as she saw black-robed knees crushing Jeanne's lovely naked tits back into her chest. His body lurched and hunched and Marianne heard the juicy sloppy noises as he whipped his saliva-coated cock in and out of the girl's face.
Then the rapist jerked and shuddered all over.
Grunting and gasping, he emptied his enormous balls into the girl's face.
His jerking prick filled the warm wet interior of her conquered mouth until it was sperm-flooded. Her breasts heaving, her stomach coiling and curling in tickling, passion-aroused sensations she would never admit even if asked, Marianne watched the faceless man blow his rocks into the helpless, stuffed face of her friend.
She saw Jeanne's throat begin to work in a desperate gulping attempt to keep from choking on that bursting dam of thick spewing cream.
Shuddering, Marianne saw the little rivulets of whitish semen that trickled from the corners of the other girl's mouth.
It did not occur to Marianne that this marked the end of one activity and the beginning of another, that all attention had been concentrated on Jeanne. Now her immediate degradation was at an end, and now they would naturally begin anew. With a new victim for their lusts.
Marianne heard the little slurping, sucking noise, and then she watched his penis come sliding obscenely out of Jeanne's face. A thin thread of glistening semen strung out from its tip to her lower lip, quivering. His spent prick dropped, emptied, and the thread that connected him to the face he had raped broke. Jeanne was gasping. She hung her head, swallowing again and again. Kneeling there before him.
Slowly, the skull-masked face of her rapist turned toward Marianne. She gasped in a swift deep breath. The other man, too, was turning his cowled head her way. They stared in silence. Petrified with fear and apprehension, she stared back.
"Well, bitch, how does your tit feel now, hmmm?"
"Oh-h-h...."
"That bad? I really doubt it. You've been unconscious for hours," Jeanne's rapist said. "Long enough for us to order this slutty friend of yours to suck cock and listen to her refuse. So she got a taste of the whip." He turned, partially, and swung up a robed arm. The black cloth flapped and rustled in the air. His finger, gloved in gleaming black leather that was so tight and supple it must have been doeskin, pointed.
Slowly, Marianne's head twisted so that she could see what he was indicating. She gasped and trembled. She was looking at a smooth-planed, varnished plank screwed into the wall. Into the plank had been screwed six hooks. And from each hook hung a different sort of whip. One was terribly long, so long that its plaited end lay on the floor like a thin black snake. A bullwhip, she thought-or, considering what it did indeed resemble: a black snake whip. She had heard of them, but never seen one. It looked too long and cruel to use on an elephant, much less a human being.
Beside it, from a loop in one end of its grip, hung a considerably shorter and slimmer version of the same whip, one plaited thong. And beside that was a four-tailed thing, an abbreviated cat o' nine tails, a martinet without spikes. The fourth lash was a slim quirt that looked terribly stiff and that the shivering girl knew would bend only slightly, coming down like a thin club.
Whip number five in that frightening panoply of vicious-looking black leather was another cat. This one had three tails, and the end of each was knotted into a ball of leather that she knew would snap down and leave both a terrible sting and a nasty red mark.
The sixth implement of torment was a broad thing that resembled a paddle, except that she could see it was of leather. It was about a foot long and four or five inches wide. And there were four holes through its business end, bored in a little diamond pattern.
As if he had gauged the slow movement of her eyes, the faceless man said, "The leather paddle is holed, you see. That way it moves more rapidly through the air. Otherwise its own width would slow it down. Too, those holes raise the nastiest blisters."
"Unnnnnnghhhh...." Jeanne gasped, kneeling limply with her head hanging.
The robed man stepped around her and half-bent to pat and rub her naked buttocks in a gesture so familiar, so intimate, that Marianne closed her eyes and swallowed hard. She felt her own bottom flinching in automatic sympathetic reaction.
"This slut is also familiar with the other item hanging there," Jeanne's rapist and now fondler said, in that strangely muffled voice. He nodded his head toward the wall again. "-As I think you may remember," he added.
Marianne's fearful eyes followed the direction of his nod. She blinked and swallowed. Yes, she remembered it. She stared at the leather harness and the dangling black cylinder.
"A little item some women use to amuse themselves when they are manless," he explained.
The other man still had not spoken. "A dildo. It can be strapped on, you see, for one woman to fuck another. Women do that. Perhaps those that seem as afraid of men and of sex as you? A 'nun's delight,' it's also called. Whether anyone else has ever thought of reversing it, I don't know. We did. Rather than wearing it spearing out from her so that she could fuck like a man, your friend Jeanne wore it strapped backward so that it speared into herself." He swung his hooded head back to Marianne.
"It will go into you just as easily, I'm sure. You have plenty of capacity in your cunt, haven't you?"
Marianne went all hot and knew she was flushing scarlet. Her body quivered in indignation.
"No! How dare you talk to me that way? No, I haven't, you-you thing! There's no room at all in my-in me."
Silence, while faceless skulls stared at her. Then he walked over to her. Marianne started to defend herself with upraised arms, felt sharp pain, and learned that she was tied. Her hands were behind her, and her moving fingers felt the roughness of brick. She was bound against the wall, and probably to it. She had been so intent, so mesmerized by the sight of Jeanne's ordeal, that she had never thought to check. And now he and his words and his whips and dildo had held her attention.
She could do nothing when his open palm started swinging toward her but squint her eyes shut. She did, and cried out as his leather palm slapped loudly against her cheek. Her head roared and her eyes were instantly filled with tears and she felt her hair swirl over her shoulders.
"How dare YOU talk that way to ME, you stupid little CUNT! You are bound and as helpless as a stupid little cunt can be! You are ours. No one knows you are here, either of you, and no one will come for you. You had better try very hard to keep us happy!"
His hand slid down from her face to her chest, then down the long upper slope of her breast. She squeaked as his finger and thumb suddenly tweaked its soft pink tip.
Her eyes snapped open. She stared down at herself.
"AAANNNNNYNYNNNNN-NO! AA-A-A-A-A AAGGRRRR!"
She saw her own naked tits, hanging before her rounded, slender body. Unclothed, unbrassiered while she had been unconscious, and all fat and white and swollen-looking and juicy. They had started developing when she was twelve years old, and she wasn't sure that they had stopped yet. She was built like something dreamed up and drawn by Al Capp, all round-hipped and tiny-waisted and bulge-breasted.
And they were naked, pointing helplessly to either side of the robed man with their crinkled little pink tips set in shining darker haloes. Before, he had grasped and tortured her brassiered breast, after ripping her blouse loose. While she was unconscious, he and his nameless, voiceless partner had relieved her of the bra. And now the obscene monster had caressed her naked breasts and squeezed the pretty little tip of one!
"O-o-o-o-o-mmmmm," she moaned, feeling anger and outraged modesty and intense and humiliating shame. No man had ever seen her bare bosom, much less touched it. Only Bob had stroked and squeezed, and that very little-and through her clothing. She'd been taught early on the shameful sinfulness of letting a man see or touch her body, and particularly her breasts. They were something for a girl to be proud of, to flaunt and stretch clothing over-and for her to be selfish with.
Now she had been seen and fondled, and by a total stranger without even so much as a face or any interest in her other than as an object!
The horror and humiliation of it overwhelmed her and she sagged back against the wall, gasping. She continued staring down through tear-blurred eyes. She was unable to look at him, even though he had no face other than that terrible death-mask. It was silly, she knew, unreasoning to be ashamed. This was not due to anything she had done. But she was ashamed. And suddenly weakened, and relieved of a great deal of her pride and courage.
She felt very vulnerable and very small.
Except in the breasts.
There she felt very vulnerable-and even huger than she was. She suddenly wished that she were titless and hipless, totally uninteresting to this cruel creature who fondled her coldly, wearing leather gloves, and who thought so little of women that he blew his balls into Jeanne's face and filled her delicate woman-hole only with a shining harsh imitation cock of wood or hard rubber or plastic.
There were only a few things she could be sure of. That she was a prisoner. That she was at their mercy. That they would do what they wanted with her, as they already had, and as they had done with Jeanne. That men with the power these two had over two women, two captive women, would not be curbed or checked.
And finally, she could be sure that these were men. Neither was the specter she had thought when she had first encountered the long black robe and the fright-mask upstairs, in what must be the doorway to this basement-dungeon. Neither of them was Doctor Leinster, alive or otherwise. They were two men who had set themselves up in this abandoned house.
And now a nasty chuckle came from behind the mask of the man who had raped Jeanne's mouth.
"'How DARE you' blah blah blah," he cried, in a ridiculously high voice that was a mocking, bad imitation of hers. "Good LORD, girl! That's a phrase you find only in Victorian novels and on bad television-meaning most television. Where have you BEEN all your life?"
She couldn't help herself. They were monsters, they had hurt her cruelly, or one of them had, and stripped and bound her, and beaten Jeanne and face-fucked her. But, despite all that, she was intimidated by his making fun of her.
Marianne felt small. Inadequate. Like a little girl, cowed by a caustic-voiced and sharp-tongued adult.
She had been shuddering, whimpering, and leaking tears, like a frightened and shamed woman whom they had humiliated deeply.
Now she began to cry. Like a little girl.
"Tits and hips like a fertility goddess," he said, "and she wails like a ten-year-old. Well. Let's see which she is, hmmm?"
The other man came forward. Marianne shrank back against the wall. Bound, she hadn't anywhere else to go. Her buttocks pressed the rough, chill wall. She knew that she was naked down there too, but she tried to ignore the fact. So long as she couldn't see her own obscene nudity, so long as she did not look down....
"Please-uh...."
That from Jeanne, still kneeling on the stone floor with her arms bound behind her. She could not get up by herself.
"Oh. Little Miss Cocksucker wants up! Here, Dirk, give a hand. Up against the opposite wall with her, so she and the cry-baby can look at each other-and admire each other's naked pussies!"
Dirk, Marianne thought. She would remember that. A common Dutch name, but here it sounded exotic and even sinister. A dirk was also a knife. And-was Dirk mute? He still had not spoken.
"You called me by name," he said, in a voice even more muffled than the other man's. No, he was not mute then.
"Oh." The other man turned back to Marianne, casually. "Yes. Names." He waved a full-sleeved arm. "Marianne, Dirk. Marianne, I am Sandor. Now, Dirk."
Sandor, she thought. A European name. Sandor and Dirk. She didn't believe it. They didn't have accents, and she felt sure the names were false ones. They would keep their true identities from her and Jeanne, but give these rather exotic names so that the two captives could supply their ugly thoughts with names.
Now she watched while they raised the naked blonde, with a great deal of lecherous fondling and caressing. Her friend had quite a nice body, Marianne noticed, very slim and svelte and ripplingly supple. And very nice titties. She couldn't help but make the mental addition: but rather more pendulous than mine. A shame, since they 're not so large.
They pulled Jeanne to the wall opposite her, perhaps twenty feet away. She put up little struggle. Marianne was beginning to sneer, when it occurred to her that they had beaten Jeanne's resistance out of her, while Marianne was unconscious.
The two men pulled Jeanne's arms out to either side of her long naked body and secured her wrists in leather bracelets that were bolted to the brick wall. They did the same with her ankles, forcing her legs apart but not stretching them, as her arms were not stretched. But her slender thighs were drawn well enough apart to open the deeply pink lips of her vulva. Marianne closed her eyes. It was like a mirror....
The man who had raped Jeanne's face, Sandor, stood in the center of the basement dungeon and twisted his black-hooded head from one bound captive to the other.
"I'd never thought about it before. Notice how sexier the blonde's cunt is than the other one's, Dirk!"
"Unnnnnnh!"
The throaty groan escaped Marianne's throat totally against her will. Yes, she knew she was naked. But she had managed to blot it from the forefront of her mind, to avoid looking down and to pretend that she was not lewdly, obscenely naked before the gazes of these two bestial men and her friend Jeanne. She let her head sag-to one side so as not to see her own nudity-and stared fixedly at the floor. Hot tears ran down her cheeks to splash down on the cement floor.
"The blonde hair," Sandor went on, "is not only considerably more pale, it's sparser. The pussy lips show up so much more, and look so much more vulnerable-and sexy. Hmm." He lifted a gloved hand to his chin-or to the base of his mask.
The other man, the robe he called Dirk and whom Marianne thought of as being younger, spoke for the second time.
"Yes," he said, in his mask-muffled voice. "Simple. Let's shave her bush!"
Marianne's stomach knotted up, her breasts heaved, and she broke out in a chill sweat. She stared fearfully, pitifully at them with tears stinging her wide eyes. Her body heaved and quaked with sighs and sobs. She was a churning bundle of nerves in a lovely package of naked flesh, awaiting the inexorable. She could not even cry out.
"Urn. Yes. Let's get her on the table and shave her pussy!"
CHAPTER FOUR
Marianne's hysterical and tearful cries had no effect whatever on the two men. They released her from the wall and forced her to lie back on the big table. It was long, thin, a slab of wood on four legs. There were leather straps with buckles screwed into it here and there.
She clamped her thighs together in supreme embarrassment, to rob them of their view of her up-thrusting pubic mound, its mossy covering, and the fine pink gash that ran down its center.
Her legs were jerked roughly apart. Suddenly the skull face of Sandor was bent over her, close to her own wide frightened, tear-glistening eyes.
"Be still," he said menacingly. "You're going to be shaved so we can see your pretty pink pussy. You'd better begin to control yourself, to be still. Otherwise you'll just get yourself cut."
She twisted her head aside in anguish. More hot tears flowed.
She lay there on her back and stared at the wall while they drew her arms up and made them fast with two of the straps, then similarly strapped down her ankles. Her body formed a long white line on the tabletop. Like a patient oh a long-ago operating table, before anesthetics other than whiskey and a bullet to bite. Her flesh twitched and quivered.
"Hunnnnnh!" she gasped in shock, when a gloved hand ran over her hips and belly, lightly, as though reverently. Enjoying the sensual femaleness of her. Strapped down on her back, she was helplessly presenting the whole of her naked body to them in a magnificent tableau of swells and fluid indentations and secret hollows.
"Oh, please ... do-o-on't!" she whimpered, then, "Ao-owww!" as another hand slapped down on one naked mounded breast.
"Be quiet, be still, and relax. You'll only make me mad," Sandor's voice said, muffled and hollow and insistently menacing. His hands continued to roam her.
The soft glove slid down her belly into the furry copse of her pubic hair and squeezed lightly. He could feel the soft bulging shape of her virgin cunt beneath the silky hair, a firm swollen ridge with an unopened, hairline slit down its center. She moaned and twitched as he ran one finger up and down it, watching the fine hairs furl aside and close in behind his moving finger, like the wake of a small craft.
"Uh-unnnnnghhhh!" she groaned, when he teased a finger into the tremulous groove and tickled her inner lips. The warm fleshy flanges of her outer lips parted reluctantly and gripped his fingertip snugly. What a hot tight little box, he thought, with excitement coursing through him and promising that he had not totally expended himself in the blonde's mouth. Virgin pussy, waiting to be opened up and probed and plumbed!
Deliberately he wiggled and twitched his finger in farther, until he felt resistance, the curtain of thin flesh that held her vaginal mouth closed and marked her as girl rather than woman. Again she grunted, this time in a mixture of fear and pain and humiliation, as he exerted a little pressure to stretch the hymeneal barrier, just a little.
He slid his finger out of her cunt. Plenty of time later to stretch and break that cherry-curtain-and not with a finger, either! His balls tightened and throbbed at the thought.
The man he called Dirk had left, and now he returned with a small bucket of warm water, along with a couple of small towels and a safety razor and an aerosol can of shaving cream.
The supine girl eyed the shaving paraphernalia with tear-misted eyes and listened as the materials were set down on the table, between her thighs. The straps on her ankles held her thighs well parted so that they had unobstructed accessibility to her furry genital mound.
"Oh, please don't!"
Deliberately, Sandor moved up the table a little and again slapped one of her naked breasts. She moaned and was silent. She tried very hard to lie perfectly still and to pretend that none of it was happening. But she started convulsively when the towel, loaded with very warm water, came down onto her glossy pubic bush. She jerked her head from right to left and back, chewing her lips.
Dirk lost no opportunity to squeeze and caress her firm-fleshed, malleable genital flesh as, gloveless now, he made certain it was well saturated with warm water. Her breathing stepped up. His eyes moved up to the rapid rise and fall of her big thrusting tits, lifting muscularly free of her chest as if yearning to take to the air without her.
"All!" she gasped aloud, when she felt the force of the lather he spewed onto her wet nest of pubic fur. They she lay shivering while he spread it about with his fingers.
It was an awful ordeal, terribly humiliating and constantly fraught with fear. Humiliating, because she had to lie there, naked and helplessly strapped down, while the two men shaved her pussy. Fearful, because she could feel the pull of the razor and expected at any moment to feel the hot sting of its bite into her flesh. She quivered all over, but did her very best to lie still and to control her breathing and her reflex actions.
Jeanne watched the two men in their meticulous shaving of her virginal friend's soft pink loins. She saw them slide a finger within the cleft of Marianne's uncharted pussy, pressing a thumb outside to stretch that soft elastic lip upward while the razor was slowly, carefully drawn along its outer surface, cleaning it of every trace of hair.
They spent many minutes over their task, obviously fascinated. And they performed the job so that any obstetrician would have been delighted at his well-prepped patient. When they stepped back at last to view their work, the girl on the table was totally hairless between the thighs. Her gloriously swelling cunt was a glowing hot pink, almost red, naked and soft-looking as a child's fledgling pubis.
"It's beautiful!" Dirk said.
Sandor nodded. "What's it make you think of?"
Marianne twisted her face toward the wall and screwed her eyes shut. Now the cruel pair added to her torment by talking about her as if she were a thing, or a pet, or were not present. Her loins tingled, and she wanted to scratch. But she was grateful that they had been careful. They had not even so much as scratched her. She had fully expected to have a vulva covered with blood by now.
"Think of? SEX! Oh-you mean a child?"
"Yes. A child's soft, smooth cunt. Tight and hairless. As totally open and accessible as a cunt can be-and still remain closed."
"Umm. A child. Surely it's time she was made a woman."
She was just beginning to wonder about that voice-even muffled, wasn't it familiar? But those words made her forget, and forget her bonds, too. She lurched violently as though she could tear herself loose from the table. She knew what their idea of making her a woman would entail.
Sandor laughed. "That comment woke her up! But let's massage a little aftershave into her sweet, naked pussy."
The girl made a squeaking noise. AFTER-shave! Alcohol! Her newly shaven, raw flesh twitched at the thought.
She was frightened at the prospect, but they used skin lotion, and apart from the unwelcome feel of their bare hands running over her, kneading and fondling and caressing as they rubbed it in, she loved it. It was lovely and cool and soothing, all slithery over her sensitive flesh.
They spent many more minutes rubbing it in, because it was an erotic experience they enjoyed. There was considerable probing between the soft lips of their fingertips.
Then they came to the head of the table, one on either side, and looked down at her with their frightening masks.
"Now," Sandor said. "It's time. It is high time, and PAST time, that you were relieved of your troublesome cherry!"
"Oh, no-please don't ... please don't do that to me! Oh, ple-e-e-e-eease, no."
"Don't do it!" Jeanne cried from her standing position against the wall. "Don't fuck her! You KNOW it will hurt her if you ram your big prongs up in her poor little cunt! She's been saving it all these years-"
"Shut up, slut," Sandor snarled.
Jeanne's voice became more piteous and pleading. "At least give her a choice-couldn't ... couldn't you let her do what-what you made me do, instead?"
There was silence while the two death-masks gazed down at the supine Marianne. She lay waiting tremulously for her decision. Nervously, her tongue ran out to wet her lips.
Sandor chuckled. "Look," he said. "She's licking her lips in anticipation! What a nice little pink tongue-that would feel nice wrapped around your cock!"
She hastily closed her mouth.
"Would you like to suck Dirk's meat, Marianne?" Sandor asked, trailing his fingers casually over her naked breast.
She jerked her head back and forth in a strong negative.
Sandor stepped back, bowed, swung out a hand in an "After you" gesture. "Dirk, she has decided. Deflower our virgin princess!"
"NO! No-oh no no no, no-o-o-o-oooooh!"
Dirk began. First covering his hands with lotion, he began fondling her. His hands slid wetly over her belly and down onto her mound, slippery with lotion. They moved up to tease her shuddering breasts, drifted into her armpits and out along the undersides of her bound arms. She gasped when he picked up the bottle of lotion and poured a dollop onto the up-surging mound of each of her breasts.
His hands returned to those jiggly big tits then, rubbing the lotion into them, shaping the flesh, stretching it and pushing the mounds down and squeezing, rubbing his thumbs over the pushy nipples. Marianne groaned and sighed and chewed at her lower lip. Unwelcome thrills sang through her body. What he was doing was soothing, relaxing-and arousing, too. Deliberately firing her, building in her maiden body an anticipation of the sensual probing that was to come.
He moved his hands over her, fanning the deep inner fires of her passion. He was sure they were there. Unkindled, or kindled but well-banked perhaps. Never ablaze. But there.
She could not hold back her pleased little sighs and gasps as he set about arousing her. Her white mounded tits, gleaming with the lotion, rolled and quivered on her chest with every sighing breath she took. Her stomach lurched in response to a sudden tug of sensual longing.
Now his hands fondled and pressed the inviting, enticing arch of her cunt. Knowledge of his gaze and his arousal and the feel of his hands made her skin tingle. Gooseflesh rippled across its surface, faded, rose again. Again anointed with lotion, his hands came down to her thighs, just above the knees. They began to rise, sliding upward toward the V at her thighs' apex. Slipping up the silky skin sheathing the rounded columns of fine flesh. Now he was teasing her. Closer ... higher ... closer....
She shivered. Desperately she tried to deny what her mind knew; her loins wanted attention....
His hand kept rising, sliding under her to caress and cup the tight globes of her rump where they thrust brashly against the table, holding her vulva well up in a naked pink offering. The first touch into the crease between them was like electricity. She jerked and shivered, all over. And she did not protest. Her teeth dented her lower lip.
With his hands on her, he bent over her. She could not see his face, could not lift her head to see as he pulled the mask out to free his mouth. He kissed her body. Her thighs, her hips, the flaring sides of her buttocks, pressed outward by her own weight on them. Her belly, her breasts. She moaned at the feel of his tongue trailing over her nipples. He did it, all of it, lingeringly and thoroughly.
She would never have submitted to any of this. But she was helpless. Bound and naked, a captive. She had to submit. And her body loved it. She had denied it too long. A craving rose in her, flickering up like a single tree in the forest, flaring and then flaming to ignite everything around it into a roaring, uncontrollable conflagration.
She moaned and twitched, trying not to writhe on the hard table beneath her. Her breasts felt tight and achy.
His hand pushed her face to one side and his face pressed into the softness of her hair to breathe its clean woman-odor. His mouth brushed her ear, lips moving. She shuddered. The craving gnawed hungrily in her breasts, in her belly, between her legs. And his too. She was still, quiescent, ready.
But she said, again and again, "Please ... no-o-o...."
How I wish my arms were free so that I could-no ... NO! What am I thinking!
She continued to moan and continued to protest softly. That was the code, the way things were done. The male seduced, the female protested. And he was seducing her. This was not rape! He was forcing her body and her brain to want him. And he was succeeding.
His hands toyed and caressed, on and on, tits and belly and thighs. One lotion-slick hand slid down to the very pronounced mound at the base of her belly. It moved there quickly and stroked her bulging pubis. He caressed the soft, pursed little lips. She sighed and moaned.
"Please ... no-o...."
Her breasts rose and fell rapidly. Shuddering, shaking, pushing upward with strength and firmness. The warm, hard swells thrust up their turgid tips, rosebuds rising from haloes that were a deep, hot pink, as though ablaze with sexual yearning. And his hands caressed her naked, fat little labia.
She lay still, soft and quiescent, allowing him to manipulate her.
She whimpered fearfully when he came up onto the table, but he continued his gentle caressing. Her thigh twitched when she felt the great hard bulge between his. Her eyes were closed. She did not want to look. It was going to happen. He was going to do it. She did not want to look. She did not want it to happen. She wanted it to happen....
She knew when he took it out, and she felt it: smooth, hard skin, like a bone covered with satiny flesh, hot and quivery as it kissed her naked thighs, a pole of it. Moist at the tip, crying with its need for her, weeping sticky little tears.
She trembled and moaned. Do it, do it, fuck me-"No-please, no-"
She knew he would anyhow. He was arranging himself between her outstretched legs. She kept her eyes closed. The touch, then the surge of his penis against her soft vaginal lips was a jerk of sheer lust.
His hands fondled her soft mounded pussy, eased over her breasts and toyed with the hard surging points. She lay still, cowed and acquiescent and waiting to be impaled and ravaged. His hands pried open her loins, hot and moist, until her soft lips sighed open. He found what he had sought to bring from her-the slippery juice of her lubricating fluids from within her unopened cunt.
He moved to open it.
Kneeling between her splayed thighs and hunching over her, he pushed forward. He ignored her moaning, twitching protests and worried his swollen shaft into the dewy introitus. She gasped. He leaned forward onto her, letting her feel his weight. Her soft breasts flattened and rolled springily and warmly beneath him. He jammed his fleshy dagger into the clutching sheath and effortlessly entered the soft lower mouth. It seemed to suck him avidly, but she trembled and groaned.
"Uh-ummhhhh...." She felt the pressure, knew the big knob of that skin-sheathed bone was pushing impatiently against the natural curtain stretched across her vagina. "Ohhh-"
He was inside, the head of his cock ensconced within the grip of her soft naked lips and he could no longer restrain his desire to plunge into her soft squirming vitals. He had not fallen upon her and raped her. He had aroused her first. Now she would have to feel the pain; now he had to fuck her, and forget her needs and feelings.
He shoved, strongly. His prick rushed forward.
"All!" Her eyes bulged as wide as her mouth.
The big head of his prick stretched her hymen as far as it would go, and pushed, and quivering delicate skin tore, and he rushed into her with his prick wearing her hymen around its shank like a red collar. He had reduced her chastity to bleeding ruins in a swift bursting thrust.
"YYIHAAAIIG-G-G-GH-H-HHHHH!"
That piercing shriek and the convulsive jerk of her bound body announced the end of her days of maidenhood. Tearing her maidenhead from her, he buried his cock up her cunt and lay gasping atop her.
He lay there without moving, feeling the incredible tightness of her maiden slit, the throbbing heat within her that grasped him and held him as if lovingly, as if unable to get enough of him. He held it there and held it there, letting her grow accustomed to the feel of a pussy-full of hard, hot, boiling cock.
He felt the tenseness drain from her and slowly, slowly, he eased himself back out of the grip of her tight oven of sexual flesh. She sucked up a great breath and held it while she lay there with fixed, apprehensive eyes. Her face squirmed. But he knew she felt far, far less pain now. "It only hurts for a little while" was an old, old expression that made people laugh. It was also totally true. Whether pain was yet giving way to pleasure in her, he didn't know. But he did know that her pain was fading, that she had felt its highest intensity.
He pulled his cock all the way out, raised himself on his palms, and looked down.
His erection was coated with the sweet oily slime of what was obviously a highly aroused and very sensual cunt-and with the blood of her destroyed hymen.
She was staring at his masked face in surprise and consternation.
"Is-is that-all?"
With a chuckle, he hurled himself back into her.
"Unnnnnghhhh!" This time she only grunted.
The soft, deeply pink lips of her shaven vulva clutched at him like raw red fingers. He pushed, and his powerful tool bored on into her, searching for the bottom of her cunt. She gasped out a hard hot breath and quivered. Her breasts trembled as she filled her lungs again.
He dragged it out of her again, all the way out, and within his mask he grinned at her little moan. Then he sent it plunging back into her as though seeking another hymeneal barrier that must be smashed. Her eyes dilated and her body trembled. And now the languid, sensual look of an aroused and needful woman veiled her eyes. They softened, but behind them there was the soft glowing light of sensual fire.
Holding his prick still in her, he both increased her arousal and teased her, by stroking her arms, her hips and flanks, her tight little belly and the heaving white mountains of her breasts.
"Ohh, ohhh, o-oohhhhh, a-aaaahhhhh!'" she gasped beneath him, and it was almost a song.
Grinning, trembling with the need to screw and to blow his tight-clenched balls into the extremely nubile and virginal body he had taught and coaxed and forced to want him, he settled down to the serious business of fucking hell out of her.
He pulled far and rammed into her hard and deep, groaning and eliciting a returning grunt from her as he again drove all the way into her hot wet cavern with one rigid jerking flex of his hips.
He fucked and skewered hard in and out of her. Never had he balled so furiously, never had his asscheeks clenched and pistoned and hurled him forward with such complete abandon. His thick throbbing cock blazed in and out of her. He swung his hips, opening her wide, slapping yielding and never-touched inner surfaces with the frantically pumping pole of his prick. Her eyes stared up at him and her face was tense with concentration. He realized that she was tightening her own buttocks beneath her and apparently pushing with her feet, urging herself to him, fucking her ravening cunt on his cock. Soft wet lips followed each easy withdrawal of his plunging penis as though anxious to keep him inside and afraid that it might not return to skewer her once more.
The weight of his body and the force of his pounding strokes smacked and crammed her squirming little ass down against the unyielding table. His heavy meat whipped in and out, sending its full width and length pistoning into her again and again, diving for her depths. Hot moist walls clasped greedily, hungrily about him each time he plunged it in between them.
His initial ravening lust slightly relieved, he now concentrated on dragging the harsh furry hardness of his pelvic bone over the node of sensuality at the very top of the cleft his cock held wide and pumped furiously. She began to grunt and gasp. Perspiration appeared in the exposed pits of her upraised, bound arms. The size of her big mounded breasts increased and the nipples thrust themselves a little higher, quivering and reaching upward.
Her body sang, trembling in the grip of a magnificent climax that sent shudders jolting throughout her twitching voluptuousness. It made her shriek with ecstatic delight as she came explosively. Her arms and legs jerked hard at leather bands that bit into the skin and left angry red marks. Her pussy clamped down on him like a hot wet vise, and it grew even hotter and wetter.
He groaned and sagged, his body stiffening and jerking. His tight-clenched balls began emptying themselves frantically into her. Seething liquid seed spurted and splashed up into her uncharted depths. Jet after jet gulped from his imbedded cock to drench her hungry, clenching pussy.
He sagged on her, gasping and exhausted, and wished desperately that she were not a bound captive, that this had not been rape, however, tender, and that he could lie here and hold her in his arms.
And Marianne lay on her back with his hard robed body on her and his exhausted penis shriveling slowly in her flowing core. Her eyes were bright as she stared at the ceiling.
I've been raped, raped, my god I've been raped, actually grabbed and tied down and raped, fucked, screwed, pounded, RAPED, and his sperm's sloshing around in my pussy, and I came, and he came-oh how horrible, how awful, I've been raped!
I wonder how soon he'll be ready to do it again?
CHAPTER FIVE
Marianne grunted, then lay there basking in the lovely afterglow of sex when Dirk raised his robed body from hers and got off the table.
Oh, shut up, Marianne thought, but she said nothing.
Then she heard a loud slap and Jeanne's moan. Marianne chewed her lip. Her "rapist" had been so tender, so careful and mindful of her pleasure that she had forgotten she and Jeanne were captives of the pair, and that they were far from lovers, but cruel captors.
Now Jeanne had gotten herself slapped, over her friend. And Marianne immediately felt guilty about the enjoyment she'd got from Dirk's reaming of her hot little hole.
"Get that one off the table and let's tie this big-mouthed bitch down on it and use the bullwhip on her!" Sandor stormed. "I'll teach her to call ME names!"
Marianne tilted her head back as Dirk came to start unstrapping her wrists.
"Please," she said in a soft voice, "don't whip her. She didn't mean it. She just-she's just sympathetic."
"DON'T WHIP HER?!" Sandor's voice blared, and Marianne lurched violently. He was standing right beside the table. Looking back and up at Dirk, she hadn't seen him approach. Sandor's gloved hand now came out to pinch one of her softened nipples. Marianne yelped at the sudden flash of pain.
Suddenly Sandor chuckled. "Wait-I'll tell you, little Miss Bare-pussy. Would you like to SAVE your friend from getting her skinny ass whipped? Hmmmm?"
He wrapped his hands around her plump tits and squeezed them as he spoke, pulling and tugging.
She looked up at him with soft eyes like liquid pools of pleading.
"Yes," Marianne said. "Don't beat her. What-what do you want from me?"
Her arms were now free and she eased them down, feeling the tingle of returning circulation. She rubbed one arm with the other and chafed them with her hands while she lay there looking up at him. She was the picture of submission, anxious to please, her sprawled, lithe body coated and gleaming and running with perspiration and her plump little pink lips leaking Dirk's semen from between their close-pressed inner surfaces.
"First," Sandor said, "you can suck my cock."
"Oh, no!"
He shrugged. "There's how much your friend thinks of you, Marianne. I don't like being turned down any more than being called names. Your butt will be even bloodier now than I intended!" He started to walk over to the array of whips dangling from the wall.
"I'll do it!" Marianne sobbed. "I will, I will. But I never have, I don't know how-"
"It comes easily," Sandor said, pausing. "But I just want you to suck it up, on your knees. After that it goes into your hairless cunt."
"All, all right," Marianne agreed in a tiny voice. Dirk had freed her left ankle and was working on the right.
Sandor laughed harshly. "Easy, isn't she? I think you taught her to love a cuntful of cock, Dirk! Hm-but you must beg for it, Marianne."
"What? I don't ... b-beg?"
The skull mask nodded. "Beg. I want you to suck my cock, but I also want you to keep yourself to ask if I'm not ready to stick it in you, and I want you to use the words, not beat around the bush. I want you to beg me, and suck, and beg me some more, beg me for my cock in your slimy drooling hairless snatch, beg me to fuck you blind."
She shivered and averted her face. She saw what it was he wanted. He wanted to reduce her completely, to demean her and degrade her until she was so deep in humiliated slavishness she'd be a mindless thing for him to play with. He wanted her violation, her degradation to reach the uttermost limits of servility and disgusting ignominy.
She couldn't! She couldn't suck his nasty cock, couldn't beg the nasty monster to fuck her! Dirk, possibly, but-Sandor? He was the evil, sneering, mocking one of the two. How could he possibly ask her to-?
But she knew that she must. Either she reduced herself to the sniveling begging whore he demanded she emulate, or he would use that terrible long black whip on Jeanne. Marianne shuddered. Each lash of that awful length of braided leather would cut her open, tear off bits of skin and cover Jeanne's cute little bottom with weals and cuts and oozing blood!
Marianne sighed. She had no choice, not really. He had trapped her.
Dirk finished unstrapping her.
"Sit up," Sandor said, and she did, with her naked breasts swinging and jiggling. She gazed at him with her teeth in her lower lip.
"You are to keep your eyes on me," Sandor told her, "and my cock. Don't even glance around. Your goal is to get it up, because you want to get it up in you, to get yourself screwed good and hard and deep. Understand?"
Her eyes rolled to Jeanne, swung back to Sandor. Marianne nodded. Her voice was very tiny, barely audible. "Yes."
"You'll have to talk louder than that," Sandor said.
"Yes. I understand. I-I will. I will do it."
"Good. Get off the table."
The floor was cold, pressing up against the soles of her bare feet, and she felt demeaned already, just having to stand there before him, naked and trembling. She felt a little spasming twinge from her loins, and remembered that no matter how lovely it had been, she had been torn open. She wanted to look down to see if her hymen were bleeding down her thigh or if that were Dirk's semen she felt. But now she began to play Sandor's nasty game. She would not take her eyes off him. She was aware that Dirk walked up to the other end of the basement, near the steps. Probably to sit down and watch, she thought, understanding that he was exhausted from balling her.
Sandor drew his penis out the flap in the front of his black robe. It was elongated, but far from hard, swinging out of his hand. He waggled it at her. She stared at it. Cock, she thought. Cock. That's what I had in me. It hurt-but only at first. After that-it was lovely! Maybe his will be, too. Is there a difference in the feel of cocks inside one's body? I wonder-is his bigger, or smaller, or the same? Are they as different as breasts?
God, she thought with a tremor deep in her belly, what if I should meet a man whose penis is as developed as I am in the titties? He'd tear my poor little hole up!
Wee-wee hole, she remembered. That's what her mother had called it. But it wasn't. Now she knew. It wasn't a wee-wee hole at all, it was a fuck-hole. And that wasn't a tinkler she had had in her, or that Sandor was proffering to her. It was a cock, a fucker. A fucker to go in a fuck-hole.
She shivered as a twinge of sensual flame flickered through her.
"Well?" Sandor prompted.
She bit her lip. Took a deep breath. Raised her eyes from his cock to his face-to his mask.
"I-I want you to fuck me. Will you? Will you fuck me?"
"Sorry, baby. Hasn't been long since I came the other time," he said. He waggled his limp dick. "I'm just not up to screwing you right now, Marianne."
"Umm-but-uh ... well ... I-let me s-let me suck it up!" she finished, all in a rush. There. She'd got it out. Now-the thing was, could she suck it up? Could she stand to do it, and would she know how to do it properly? Oh-what if she hurt him, with her teeth?
"O-oh, baby! You want to use your pretty mouth to get it up for me to shove into you, Marianne? Oh, baby, what a girl you are! Well, we can try. How are you going to do it?"
She hesitated, thinking. "I'll ... I'll kneel, right here in front of you, and lick it, and suck it, and-umm, would it help if I took your n-nuts in my hands?"
"Oh, yes. Oh, Marianne sweetheart, just kneel right here then, you sweet hot little cunt, and get your mouth on me!"
She knew Jeanne and Dirk were watching, but she pushed that out of her mind. He had forbidden her to look at anything other than him and his genitals anyhow. Good. That would make it easier, doing it in front of them.
He studied her as she stood there. Naked. Really naked, without so much as a single pubic hair remaining to shield the tight plump bulge of her pubic mound and the sweet red slit down its center. Fine flaring hips, a tucked-in waist, and lovely big heavy-looking balls of flesh hanging there before her on her chest, the finest set of tits he had ever seen outside of a strip joint where some no-talent, mildly pretty girl got a job pretending to dance because she had jugs like footballs-and usually hanging down onto her navel. Not like this girl.
And that sweet mouth-he shivered in anticipation. What a joy to have that clamped around him while she slicked her tongue over his cock!
It stirred, just at the thought, and the man who called himself Sandor had to jerk his eyes upward and put his mind on something else. He wanted HER to get it up, not his own brain!
Slowly, in a beautifully sinuous movement, she sank to her knees. The cement floor of the basement was both chilly and harsh beneath her knees. She hoped she could get him up and ready soon, so she wouldn't have to spend much time here on the floor. The table was hard and unyielding, yes. But it beat a concrete floor.
She gazed at his unerected penis, and she licked her lips nervously.
"Oh, baby," he said, "your tongue is beautiful!"
She sighed, made firm her resolve to do it, and bent her head forward to her repugnant and shameful task.
Slowly she raised her hand, slipping it up to dup his scrotum from beneath. She felt the egg-shaped stones inside, sliding slipperily as if his bag were full of oil and they were loose inside. It was crinkled, and soft with curling hair just like that they'd shorn from her own loins.
She bent her head closer. She could smell him, smell strong maleness, and that other aroma must be the semen Jeanne had not licked and sucked from him. Marianne shuddered at the thought.
Then she had another thought, leaping strange and unbidden into her mind as she bent her sweet mouth toward the prick of a total stranger.
I wonder if Bob would like this?
Bob! Bob! I can-he can-III let him fuck me now! I mean-what was Jeanne's phrase? I'll fuck with him! Oh-that was it. All she had to do was pretend this was Bob. That would be nice....
She slid her tongue out and under the drooping head of his sagging penis. It didn't taste at all foul. She licked it twice, just across the tip of the head. She heard him groan.
"Ummm," he said, "that's it-your tongue feels wonderful on the head, Marianne!"
She used her tongue to slurp his cock up, and now she felt the tip of the big pulsating snake in her mouth. That was easy. She held onto his balls with one hand and the base of the prick with the other, and she closed her eyes. Then she gripped the big prick firmly with her mouth and sucked hard and plunged him into her throat.
Instantly, she gagged and had to release half of it. Her nose had been in the sweat-smelling mass of his dark curling pubic hair.
"Eas-s-sy, baby, take it easy, Marianne baby," he said soothingly. "Don't be so EAGER, darling. You'll strangle yourself! God, you must REALLY want to get yourself fucked, baby!"
She tried to ignore him, knowing he was mocking her.
Again she thrust her mouth far down the length of his cock so that the silky fleece of his crotch tickled her nose. Her lips were soft and warm and smooth, forming a tight resilient ring around him and moving slowly down the stem, sliding more and more of his meat into the humid warmth of her face. Surrounding it with liquid warmth, she wiggled her tongue over the underside and felt it throb.
"Glp-uglll!"
It was growing, lengthening and broadening, and trying to snuggle down into her throat. She let some of the lengthened shaft slide out of her mouth, then remembered the other part of her task. She backed her mouth off the growing hard-on.
"Put it in me," she said, squeezing his balls. "Fuck me!"
"Suck it, baby," he said, and she blinked and firmed her lips, then opened them wide again.
She caressed the rigid staff slowly and her tongue tickled the tip, to send shudders of pleasure through his body. Her hand grasped the bulge of his tightening ball-sac and massaged it as expertly as she could. Her tongue darted slitherily up and down the hardening rod of aroused flesh. She wondered how it could get any stiffer without splitting-but it was.
Her lips slithered around the broad tip, making him shudder. Slowly, she began taking more and more of its new length and breadth into her face. A thrilling sensation suffused his groin as he felt the warm wet hole surrounding his orgam, closely.
"Glglgllll," she gasped again, but this time his hands held her head in place as he felt the soft crown of his penis touch the back of her throat. The adoring tongue became more active in its sweet caresses.
"Oh, please," she gasped, "it's so big and hard-run it in me now...."
He bent over to put his head close to hers and she wondered why he was almost whispering. "Use the words, bitch," he murmured, and pinched her nipple.
"Uh! O-o-o-ohhhh...."
She slurped up his cock again and began moving her head up and down, fucking her own face, sliding the wet cock in and out of her mouth with soft sucking sounds. His pulse accelerated with her ministrations to his throbbing pole of lust. He wanted to get it in her.
"Won't you fuck me now?" Her voice was soft and pleading submissively, plaintively. "Won't you stick this lovely big hard thing up my pussy?" She shuddered. She'd never said anything like that before.
"What is it you want, baby?"
"I want you to fuck me! I want your cock in my cunt, juicing in and out! I want you to ball me. It's all big and hard-shove this fucker up my fuck-hole!" She spoke with more vehemence. She was getting excited.
She felt his saliva-slick prick jerk in her hand in response to her exciting words. She knew a pleasant feeling was spreading throughout his abdomen. Her excitement was also growing. She cursed her hot body.
"Please," she begged, wanting to get it over with but becoming excited, hearing her own words, thinking about the big pole she'd had in her before and what it had done for her. "Please, I want to get screwed. I want it good and hard and deep. Oh, please, fuck me no-o-o-owwww!"
"God, Marianne baby, you're such a hot-cunted little slut. Can't you wait? You really want it now?"
"Fuck me," she urged him, slavishly on her knees before him with his big throbbing hard-on in her hands.
"Okay, Marianne sweetheart-just stay right there on your hands and knees," he said. "I'll give it to you from behind, like the bitch in heat you are!"
She frowned at that, but he didn't mean it. He shoved her backward. She cried out as she went over onto her back on the hard, cold cement floor. Her head banged and she was grateful for her mass of hair. Nevertheless she saw bright flashing lights for an instant. Then, still robed with his cock thrusting out before him like a big red handle, he dropped to his knees between her thighs.
The tiny eye in its tip seemed to stare at the soft flesh of her plump, hair-naked lovemound and its delicate labia, so pink and tender, so yielding, pressing closely together as if glued. He pushed.
"Ah-unnnnnggghhh!" she grunted, as it came sliding into her.
The broad-headed cock opened the pink lobes of her outer pussy lips and shouldered them aside. Her face contorted. It hurt again! He pressed a little more, and those outer labia sighed open for him, opening the way to the soft slippery inner walls of her girl hole.
Entering her just-opened, almost virginal cunt was like fitting on a damp glove. He forced it deep into her melting flesh with all his lustful strength. Then he planted his palms on either side of her body, balancing his body above hers to free her-and to slam his cock down into her molten crack from a greater distance.
"Uh-uggggh-ah-owoh-oh-oh-uh-uh-uh," she grunted, as his lunging lurching body pounded her naked ass against the hard cement floor. Helplessly, she was rocked and she slithered with every hard ramming drive. The floor felt as though it was scraping the skin off her buttocks. She squirmed to lessen the pressure. Naturally that reflexive clenching of her asscheeks beneath her made her writhe and bob up and down, grinding her butt into the concrete and her crotch into his.
He thrust and thrust, now gripping her shoulders tightly with both hands and slapping her body hard and noisily with his. He was forced to crawl, using his booted toes, for the force of his lunges was making her slither along the concrete floor.
"Yiiii! Ow-w-w-wwww! ahh, ahh, ahh-owoo!" Her panting gasps were a mingling of passion and grunting responses to the hard slapping of his hard body-and to the pain of her naked ass being shoved along the harsh floor. To save her elbows from being skinned, she had to grasp his shoulders.
He continued lunging like a savage, pounding away into her slushy cunt, grunting and panting with each ramming lunge of his thick penis into her luscious interior. Her inner glands opened up and drooled around his flailing prick. He moved hard and fast, screwing her deep. Her body tried to escape the rump-skinning floor by ramming upward to his, undulating and squeezing around his engulfed meat.
"Uh," he grunted, suddenly stiffening. "Unngghhh...." He ceased his movements.
Suddenly her eyes snapped wide, as though in terror.
"No! NO! NOT YET! I haven't co-"
He slapped her, then jerked his cock out of her running slushy swamp of a cunt just as it started to spurt. A warm dollop of semen splashed onto her belly and he moved swiftly forward, still jerking in orgasm. She was still howling that he was too soon, and she felt the hot splashes pattering onto her jiggling sweating tits. The final jet just made it to her mouth and she clamped her lips shut an instant too late to keep from getting a splattering slurp of semen in her mouth.
She lay there wide-eyed, tasting it with mingled feelings of disgust and high interest. And she was sobbing. Her vagina felt afire, but he was through. Already he was rising from her.
"Okay, Dirk?"
"Check," Dirk called from the other end of the basement.
Sandor stared down at her. "All right, little slut. Get your ass up and come along. Stop playing with your hot box, damnit!"
"Uh-please ... I didn't ... I mean...." Her anxious fingers were plucking, playing feverishly with her inflamed cunt. Her legs remained wide open. "I didn't cu-u-u-um-m-mmmm ... please ... so close...."
He bent, jerked her hands aside, and rammed three fingers up into the wet gaping red-lipped hole.
"Ya-a-a-a-a-a-agnnnnnghhhh!"
Her body tried to double up, but just that swiftly he jerked his fingers out of her itchy swamp again. He straightened.
"I said get UP!"
Whimpering, Marianne rose. Her cunt was afire. She wanted to come. Her rump was fiery, too, but for a totally different reason. And her back hurt. She wept and her big tits jiggled and bounced up and down as her shoulders quaked.
"All right, darling whores," Sandor said. He moved across the basement to release Jeanne. "The party's over. It's time for you two cunts to go back to town."
"But-"
"Your clothes are upstairs. They're torn a little, but-that's your problem," Sandor chuckled.
Marianne glanced confusedly around. "But-"
Sandor slapped one jutting naked cheek sharply. "Move out, little cock-lover! And don't bother telling the police-we won't be here."
"Our car won't start!"
Dirk laughed, gesturing the naked girls up the steps. "It will now."
He was right. Ten minutes later, clutching their tattered clothing-if not their dignity-about them, the two young women were heading back to town. Jeanne's car had started without a sign of recalcitrance. They now knew that the two men had done something to the engine while the girls were in the house the first time.
"Marianne."
"Hmm?" Marianne was staring unseeingly at the instrument panel, deep in her confused thoughts. "Thanks," Jeanne said.
"Hm? What?" Marianne gave her a puzzled look.
"You saved me from a whipping."
"Oh. Yes. All-all right." Marianne patted her friend's arm.
They drove on in silence. Then: "Jeanne? What-what should we do?"
Jeanne sighed. "Think anybody'd believe us?"
Marianne thought about that. At last she shook her head. "No," she admitted, in a tiny voice.
"I don't think so either. I think we'd better just not talk about it."
"Umm. Are-are you going to tell Joe?"
"I-I don't know, Marianne."
CHAPTER SIX
Marianne did a lot of thinking over the next couple of days. A lot of confused thinking, complicated by ambivalent reactions as to what had happened to her-and conflicting emotions and thoughts as to what she would do in the future. How would she behave? How should she behave? She knew what she wanted to do, and what her body wanted to do. But would all her years of upbringing allow her to be liberated without feelings of guilt?
She wasn't sure. She thought she might be afraid to find out. She had a Friday night date with Bob, to go over to Jeanne's apartment and play board games with Jeanne and Joe. Careers and Clue, probably, over a few drinks. Maybe Bob would help. Maybe he would be pushier than he had been, more persuasive, persistent and insistent.
She also paid considerable attention to her body. Her shorn vulva both intrigued and embarrassed her. It was so naked!
Inside, it seemed none the worse for wear. She slid a finger up into herself without difficulty and without pain. She had lost some skin from her rump, abraded off on that nasty cold basement floor. She gave the globular cheeks a lot of attention and a lot of cold cream.
Fortunately, her period had ended only the day before that terrible trip out to the house. She was sure she was in no danger of pregnancy, then. But, embarrassedly and hopefully, she went in to Doctor Patterson. After her examination and advice, she took her prescription for the pill straight to the drug store.
Bob picked her up Friday night with his usual smile and compliments on her appearance and her attire. He wasn't what she'd call handsome, really, but he was far from ugly. And he dressed like he knew what clothes and colors were and he was nice-attentive and complimentary. She had found that he had opinions, and that she trusted them. He acted as if she were a person and a friend, and she appreciated that more than if he'd looked like Paul Newman.
"Want to just stay home and neck?" he grinned. She was sure he had combed his hair before he left his place, but already several strands were down close to his eyebrows.
She laughed. "And-"
He shrugged. "And watch TV, maybe."
"You mean neck," she said.
"Yeah, actually that's what I mean, but it's called watching TV."
"You don't even mean neck," she said, which was pretty dangerous for her. She was trying.
He shook his head, smiling. "True. Want to go to bed?"
"Not right now," she said, and he laughed, and they went down and got into his car. He drove over to Jeanne's. Joe was already there when they arrived, and he looked very serious.
Jeanne spoke hurriedly: "Marianne, I've told Joe. About the house."
"Oh, hey," Bob said, "yeah, I forgot. You two went out to Joe's dream house the other day, didn't you? What do you think of it, girls?"
Jeanne and Marianne looked at each other. Then Jeanne went to fix them a drink, without answering.
Over the course of the next couple of hours and a couple of drinks-the two young women went through the story of their incredible experience. They were frequently interrupted by two astonished and obviously angered young men, with excited questions.
A few details were skimmed over. Neither Joe nor Bob was told of Marianne's enforced humiliation to save Jeanne from a beating, or the circumstances of her second balling session.
"You didn't call the police?"
"Christ, Bob, they didn't even tell me!" Joe cried.
"But-my god, baby, you were RAPED!" Bob said, sitting beside Marianne on the couch and staring at her. "TWICE!"
She nodded, staring at the rug. "Yes," she said. "That's right. And that's exactly why I didn't want to tell anyone. Including the police and including you-maybe especially you."
He patted her shoulder. "You were afraid of ... my reaction?"
She nodded.
"I'll tell you mine," Joe said. "I'm mad as hell. At somebody. Not at Jeanne." He was sitting on the arm of her chair, and he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.
"That's about it," Bob said quietly.
"But-how can we ever be natural?" Marianne wailed.
They skirted that question. They talked a long while, and they reached only two decisions. First, they would keep the secret among the four of them. Second, Joe and Bob would drive out to the house tomorrow to see what they could find. And return with a "report."
"None of us has to work tomorrow," Joe said, "and of course Monday's a holiday. We'll have plenty of time to talk about it."
Marianne nodded. She'd said less than any of them. She was aware that Bob was sitting very close. Now he knows I'm not a virgin any more, she thought sadly. Now he knows I've been ... broken open. So he's sitting here assuming we're going to bed as soon as we break up here tonight.
And I guess I want to, too. There isn't any reason to hold back any more. I like Bob-maybe, probably, I love him. And it would be all good-not even a little hurt, because Dirk and Sandor saw to that.
But-darn it, I wish I'd been able to decide when! I wish it had been Bob! I hate to start screwing now, after all these years-just because some rapist decided it for me!
"Marianne?"
"I'm tired of talking about it," she said firmly. She sat suddenly forward on the couch. "And it's certainly too late to start a game, even if any of us felt like it."
Jeanne checked her watch. "It's barely midnight."
Grinning, Joe said nothing. Fine with him. As soon as the others had gone he'd start getting down to some plain and fancy balling with Jeanne. All this rape talk had him excited as hell.
Bob rose. "Well, Marianne wants to go, and I can understand that. What time tomorrow, Joe?"
"Let's go out there early. Can we try to leave at eight in the morning?"
Bob shrugged. "Yeah, okay. I'll pick you up, right?"
There was a silence, then Jeanne said quietly, "He'll be-here."
"Oh, yeah," Bob said, and he and Marianne left. He wrapped an arm around her and held her close on the way down to the car.
He drove her home quickly. Neither of them said a word. By the time they were approaching her apartment door, they still had not spoken. She turned to say something, and he closed her mouth with a kiss.
She accepted the electric darting of his tongue into her parted lips and sucked at it. Her hands were as firm and alive on his back as his were on hers. Her tongue darted eagerly to meet his. Already liquid heat was rising in her vitals, and her breasts felt fat and tight. His hands slid down her back, rushed down over the bulge of her skirted rump and moved beneath the silken contours of her cheeks. He cupped them warmly, pulling her belly and the firm hump of her mound hard against him.
The kiss must have lasted five minutes and by the time she broke away from his mouth they were both panting.
"Marianne ... darling...." His hands moved, kneaded, squeezed, cupped her butt.
"Bob ... no."
He stared at her. His hands froze. Yes, she thought, she had been right. This time he wasn't trying to make her, as always-as was only natural for a man with a woman. This time, though, he had been assuming that they'd bed down.
"But-"
"But? Yes, Bob, say it. Go ahead and say it."
He frowned, his eyes meeting hers steadily. "Say it? Say-what?"
"You know. What you've been thinking. What you're thinking now. I haven't an excuse now. I've been fucked. A rapist took my maidenhead. So-why not? Isn't that it?"
"Well, I-"
She sighed. "Sure. You see now what I meant when I said we could never be natural."
"Oh, baby-let's talk about it."
"Not-tonight-Bob!"
And she went inside and was soon crying into her pillow, and Bob left angrily and was soon shooting off into his pillow. Angrily.
After a while Marianne thought about what might have been.
"No, baby," he could have said, "I want you and I've wanted you for a long time." And he could've just-made me. Taken me!
Or, damnit, I could have said something like, all soft-voiced:
"Bob ... darling ... take me to bed."
She could see it, back of her reddened eyes, as she lay on her bed with one hand on her shaven pussy. She'd have stripped only to her bra and pants, and when he kissed her again, his hands would have slid straight down her back into her pants, under the elastic and down over the smooth, taut mounds of her provocative asscheeks. She had no illusions about that. She knew damned well they were provocative.
She tightened and flexed them in his hands and rammed her tongue into his mouth, trying to stab into his throat and tickle his tonsils with it.
His hands came out of her panties and clamped to her hips and wiped her silky little panties down onto her thighs. Her skin was warm under his hands, warm and quivery with anticipation. She moved her legs, chafing them together to get rid of her briefs. They plummeted at last and her own hands went to his hips and slid his shorts down the same way.
She gasped. "Oh, Bob! So BIG!"
He smiled in that no-comment, proud-male way and pulled her against him while his hands went around her to the catch of her bra. He fumbled, at last got it loose. Smiling almost shyly at him, provocatively looking up from under her long lashes, she hunched her shoulders and bent slightly forward. The harness slid down to clink and rustle on the floor. The shining slopes of her breasts flowed downward a little and the matched, elongated globes came swinging unblushingly out. They jiggled and rippled creamily. The sight of them tickled his groin with a surge of desire.
"Oh, Marianne," he said, deliberately imitating her with a big delighted smile. "So-Big!"
Then he pulled her to the bed ... here ... this bed on which she lay alone, starting to sob again while she played with herself. And she could not keep her mind off Jeanne and Joe. She knew damned well what they were doing!
She was right.
"Maybe I oughtta tie you up and fuck your face," Joe said and grinned, gazing at Jeanne's long slim naked body, hung with longish pears of tits like ornaments on a Christmas tree.
She laughed and came hard against him. "Not necessary," she said softly. "But it might be with Marianne."
"To hell with Marianne," he said into her ear. "I'm busy."
They got busier. In a moment they were on her bed and his hands were playing over the firm taut curves of her asscheeks, while he caressed her nipples with eager lips. Her hand slid up between his hairy thighs to cup his heavy, hairy balls from beneath. The fleshy morsels of her nipples rose to meet his touch and his fiery tongue. His lips nursed on one rising pink bump, titillating the haughty little berry with his tongue and sending waves of heated desire surging through her.
Her hands slid over the length of his body, reveling in its hard meatlessness. Sliding her hands onto his small, tensed buttocks, she smiled at him. His scrotum tightened and raised its battle standard until the big glans rubbed against her. His fingers kneaded soft, pliant flesh. Again their lips met and merged.
They scrambled closer, rumpling the sheet.
She opened her thighs naturally, with swift willingness. She could feel the hard pole of his cock between her legs, rubbing over the soft hollows of her inner thighs. Her hand slid down, in, found it, and her fingers teased and rubbed the heart-shaped head of that throbbing shaft. Her hand felt eagerly over its intense heat and throbbing thickness. She tugged, and felt it climb higher and higher toward her hot core.
Then she seemed afire as the big tube of hot flesh glided into her smoothly, opening her, stretching her, filling her body with cock.
"Ah-h-hhhh," she gasped, as it came in and in.
The soft slopes of her milky bosom flattened and bulged out at the sides, crushed by his chest.
For a moment she was still, sighing and kneading the flesh of his shoulders with both hands. Then her leg swung up over the backs of his in an effort to fill herself with as much thick prick as both their strengths could force into her. He grinned, gripped her, and lunged hard. Bulging meat rammed into her. He was entrapped in moist, tight-muscled softness. He gripped her to turn her.
The pressure of his body forced her onto her side, which made her grin and roll willingly. Marianne, she thought, was just a baby-but there's still plenty I don't know about balling! Now they faced each other on their sides, smiling.
He held onto her cheeks and fucked strongly in and out of her, watching every inward lunge and every outward flow of his prick, the glistening-slick shaft emerging to drive back in again with jolting power.
"It's beautiful," she murmured. "Oh, darling, beauti-uf-ful!" She clung to him, working to match her hunches to his.
"You're beautiful," he told her quietly, and his ramming cock whipped like a well-oiled piston in and out of the ever-expanding, ever-moistening softness of her succulent twat.
He pulled her atop him, lunged up into her a few times, and rolled again, screwing her as they flopped onto their sides. Then he turned her onto her back again. She spread her thighs wide in total submission to him, enjoying the ramming, probing fullness inside her and seeking to suck in still more of it. He jerked and hunched, slapping her naked body with his.
Inflamed lust throbbed through her. Her blood pumped fast and hard as she writhed her smooth belly beneath him. She felt both of them begin to break out in the hot sweat of lust and lustful activity.
He levered himself up on his forearms, rising above her, removing his weight from her so that they were linked only at their sweat-slippery crotches. He pumped down into her, stroking long and fast so that with each lunge she felt the entire length of his cock slide through the churning liquid silk of her interior.
His long sluicing strokes stirred and thrilled and rocked her, branding her with the heat of his passion and striving to make her body sing. His body jarred against hers and her breasts jumped. The hard bone of his pelvis ground down over her clitoris.
She loved it. She gloried in it. She could hear his cock suck out of her flooding vaginal swamp in preparation for another fierce return. She moaned and sighed ecstatically, her fingers writhing over his body.
She tried to find and gain control of the proper muscles, to keep the hot pole of lust engulfed in her demanding cunt, gripped tightly by firm cunt-lips and resilient inner flesh in a tight clamping that urged him to harder surges into her open body. He was streaming sweat now, from every pore.
Feeling him stiffening, she whimpered. She began a steady, lascivious little chant:
"Cum ... cum ... cum...."
The hot flesh within her started jerking as his semen spurted into her. He ground into her, gasping, draining his balls in an ecstasy of frantic lust and satiation. Warm waves of sperm jetted deep into the wide-stretched chasm of her womb, foaming up from his balls in hot gushes that sluiced into her.
Then he was empty, and he sagged weakly down onto her.
She held him close and ground herself against him, rubbing her squirming, twitching clit against the harsh fur of his pelvis until she too came, squealing and squeezing him hard.
Bob came all too early. Joe groaned as he left. Jeanne slept until Marianne called, suggesting that they wait together for the "report" on what their men had found at the old house.
Since Marianne was up and had had breakfast, she came over to Jeanne's apartment. In a few minutes, over coffee, Jeanne learned that her friend's hangup remained. How awful, Jeanne thought, that two people could both be hung up and frustrated, and each knew that the other was the key to the solution-and still they parted and masturbated, each thinking of the other! Sick, she thought, sick!
The phone rang at ten. Bob and Joe asked them to come out to the old house.
Marianne had more than just a few misgivings, but naturally enough Jeanne did not, and Jeanne prevailed. A few minutes later they were again in Jeanne's car, on their way out of town to the big old house in the trees-and Doctor Leinster's Inquisitorial dungeon.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jeanne complimented Marianne, on the way out to the country house, on her obvious bralessness. Marianne wore a puffy-sleeved blouse of pale purple tucked into her jeans, and the front of her blouse was very animated with every move she made.
She admitted a little nervously that it was the most daring thing she'd ever done.
"Well get your mind off it. You look beautiful." Jeanne sighed. "Oh, here's our turn. Marianne, maybe I should apologize for saying it, but-I swear I think you could've used about two more DAYS in that basement with those two sex-nuts!"
A few days ago Marianne would have looked shocked and horrified and said "JEANNE!" But now she just sighed and was silent.
Wow, Jeanne thought, she agrees!
They arrived to learn that Bob and Joe had found nothing, neither Sandor nor Dirk nor any sign of it. But they were both obviously very excited about the house-and the dungeon. They showed the girls an armful of shining black rubber.
"Jeanne," Joe said excitedly, "you've GOT to put this on! Both Bob and I've tried to get it on too tight. But-"
"What do you mean, on? What is that? Looks like an armload of inner tubes."
"Lord, it sure isn't that," Bob said. "It's a SUIT, a rubber suit! We found it in a cupboard in the basement-along with some other things."
Bob held it out. "Go put it on, baby. I've got to see it!"
Jeanne took the gleaming rubber uncertainly, then turned to Marianne. "On one condition. After I model this-this whatever-it-is, Marianne has to, too!"
A little persuasion was required, but at last Marianne, rubbing her hand over the nylon-lined rubber, agreed. And Jeanne went off to try it on.
"God," Joe said, when she returned, "DAMN!"
The face was Jeanne's, and the long blonde hair. And the hands. But the rest of her looked like a nude black woman, all gleaming and shiny and beautiful. All three of them stood staring as she grinned and pirouetted.
Marianne shook her head. "If it fits Jeanne like that," she said, "I won't even try. She looks like she's wearing a second coating of skin. I'll never get into it!"
"Huh," Jeanne said, "quit bad-mouthing my bod! Besides, it stretches! Even those knockers of yours will fit in here!"
"JEANNE!"
They all laughed. With repeated reminders of her promise, Marianne at last accompanied Jeanne into the second-floor room where she had changed clothes.
"Isn't this just scrumptious!" Jeanne cried, waving her black-encased arms about her at the room. "They've uncovered everything, those lovely men, and-wow! That Prof Leinster had some money, boy!"
Marianne looked around with large eyes. They were in what was obviously the big house's master bedroom. The chairs and table were huge, massive, some dark wood with velvet seats and backs, red. One wall was a great mirror, in three sections that showed the rest of the room. One section was cracked, in one corner near the floor, a shame.
But the room was absolutely dominated by the bed. It was enormous, fabulous, a massive canopied bed with a great dark spread that looked like velvet. In the center was a gold-stitched circle, surrounding a large L in gold script.
"Enough bed there for a family of ten!" Jeanne said and giggled, grunting as she fought to peel off the rubber suit. "Or all four of us!"
Marianne rolled her eyes but said nothing. Now that certainly wasn't likely!
She had to help Jeanne out of the suit. Jeanne gave her a little pep-talk about how much it would mean to both men, seeing Marianne's voluptuous body moulded in it. Then Jeanne waved, grinning, and left the room.
Marianne began getting herself-with difficulty-into the black rubber suit.
It was like putting on those new vinyl boots, forcing and rolling it on. But this covered everything, and even the sleeves had to be rolled and tugged and coaxed onto her arms. The nylon lining helped a little, and so did the zippers.
There was a zipper up the side of each calf, each wrist, and another that ran from throat to crotch, and farther, partway up in back. There was a large silver ring pull at either end, she discovered, meaning that the rubber body-stocking could be opened either down from the neck or up from the crotch. Broad leather bracelets formed the cuffs, with buckles and rings. The same arrangement formed the bottoms of the suit's legs.
Then she had to laugh. There was a big square zipper at the back, from hip to hip. It would open to drop a flap, baring the buttocks, just like a suit of old-fashioned long underwear.
Rubber long johns, she thought. What a nutty thing to do!
Then she found the circular zippers on each side of the skin-tight suit's chest, and she gasped. Very handy for a nursing mother-if a nursing mother would or could ever wear such a wild outfit! Pull those zippers all the way around-and out came two big circles of thin, nylon-lined rubber to let the breasts thrust whitely out of the gleaming black rubber!
It did not fit her like a second skin. It was tighter than skin. It moulded her body in every curve and hollow, showed several of her ribs, and seemed to pull her together like an all-over girdle. Her buttocks were squeezed so tightly together that she could already feel the moistness of perspiration between them.
That was the main thing she noticed about the suit-it was hot. No thicker than doeskin and just as shiny and malleable, it was rubber, and rubber does not breathe or it would not be waterproof. Then, moving just a little awkwardly because of the extreme constricting tightness, she looked into the mirror and noticed something else.
Her breasts were twin bulges that made the rubber gleam with an almost-white pair of highlights, centered sexily by the circular zippers. And-each nipple showed clearly through the garment!
Too, it moulded her hairless mound and even the pussy lips as if it had been stitched specifically to cover her body. She squeezed her eyes shut, but had to look again.
My god, she thought. This is just like being naked-but about ten times sexier!
Now she had to give herself a pep-talk, and at last she made it: she would go down and let them see her. She was sure she'd blush. But she hated to be such a chicken about everything, such a prude. After all, it's a little late for such childishness, she reminded herself. You're not a virginal little know-nothing any more, Marianne darling! Now go show off your bod!
She went downstairs, called out, and received an answer from the basement. "We're down here," Jeanne called. "C'mon down, costumed heroine!"
Grinning at that description, Marianne went down. She trembled just a little as she descended. This, after all, was the scene of an experience that could not be called one of the most pleasant in the world!
They stared at her, all three of them. The men's eyes looked glassy as they gazed at her. She was right. The suit was tighter than skin, and it was about ten times more sexy and breathtakingly inviting than nudity.
"Whoever made that suit," Joe murmured, "should've been God! He sure did even more for Marianne's bod than Bod did!"
Jeanne laughed, glancing at him a little nervously, and suddenly Marianne felt a little less embarrassed. She was making even Jeanne a little jealous! She sighed.
"It's also hot," she told them. "Very hot. Now you've seen it, you salacious oglers, I'll go take it off."
"Not-just-yet," Bob said firmly, coming to her.
She frowned a little at his tone and his eyes, but she allowed him to take her hands. A moment later there was a little metallic click, and her wrists were linked before her.
"Hey-y-y-y-I didn't know it did that," she said, tugging. "Good grief-is this suit some kind of restraint-thing?"
"Among other things," Bob said quietly. He still held her hands, linked at the wrists by the rings set into each leather "bracelet."
"Bo-ob-"
He was backing her up to the big long table, and suddenly its thick edge was gouging into the voluptuous curves that swelled sharply, lushly from the base of her spine.
"Ow-hey-the table's hurting my bottom-owww! BOB!"
He had shoved her backward. Her feet flipped up off the floor as her back slammed down onto the hard surface of the wooden table. Then, before she could even begin to think of what to do in the face of this shocking behavior on Bob's part, he was around the table and had a grip on her linked wrists again.
In seconds they were drawn far back above and behind her head and secured to the table, which was equipped with several straps and clamps.
"Uh-unnngh-Bo-o-ob ... Jeanne ... somebody ... I can hardly BREATHE!"
Her butt was against the table's edge. Her arms were pulled back and above so that her shoulder blades were forced down against the table. To have lowered her feet to the floor would have brought intolerable pain. As it was her body was terribly strained, and she had to work hard for each breath. Her big breasts shoved the front of the black rubber suit upward in twin bulges.
"Hey, come on-sto-op!" she called. "Let me up!"
"Not-bloody-likely," Bob said grimly.
"My god-what-what are you Doingggg?" she cried fearfully.
"Just showing you this charming old house's finest features," Bob said. "And making sure you hold still while I let you listen to something. Apparently they left it here-what did you call them? Sandor and Dirk, wasn't it? Your playmates?"
"PLAY-l-listen? To wh-wha-a-a-a-at?" She trembled, straining, already terribly hot in the non-porous suit and far from comfortable.
"To the cassette on the tape recorder they left behind," Bob's voice told her. He was behind her, which meant above her as she lay on her back, bound, and she could not see him. Or Jeanne or Joe, either. "Listen!"
Click.
"I-I want you to fuck me. Will you? Will you fuck me?"
Marianne gasped. O my god! Oh no, no, no-o! It was her voice, from the other day, and the recording continued.
"Sorry, baby. Hasn't been that long since I came the other time. I'm just not up to screwing you right now, Marianne."
"Umm-but-uh ... well ... I-let me s-let me suck it up!"
"O-oh, baby," Sandor's voice replied, and he agreed, and told her to kneel. Then she was saying that she would, that she would lick it, and suck it, and asking him uncertainly if she should take his balls in her hands.
"NO! No-o-O-O-O-OOOHHH!" Marianne screamed, writhing and twisting about on the tabletop, almost in the center of the basement-dungeon. Now she knew what Dirk had been doing, out of sight: he had been recording her sickening, obscene begging for Sandor's meat! "NO! PLE-EASE! Don't listen to that-don't make me listen to that! Oh, No-o-o-oh!"
"We've already heard it," Bob's voice said, and it was far from pleasantly conversational. "We listened to it over an hour ago. And then we called you and Jeanne to come out here. You phony slut!"
"Oh no, Bob, no-NO, darling, that's-I mean, he MADE me-"
"Sure he did," Bob said.
Click. "-kneel right here then, you sweet hot little cunt," Sandor's voice said, "and get your mouth on me!" Click.
Bob's voice: "You sweet hot little cunt," he snarled.
Marianne sobbed and twitched, trying to pull her arms free against the totally unrelenting power of her bonds. She heard the Click as he switched the recorder on again. And she heard Sandor again:
"Oh, baby! Your tongue is beautiful!" And then, "Ummm, that's it, your tongue feels wonderful on the head, Marianne!"
"Jeanne-for god's sake-JEANNE! Tell them! YOU HAVE TO tell them, Jeanne! I just did it to save you from being whipped!"
She had shouted through Sandor's next words, but now she heard, distinctly, wet squishy noises. Sucking. And her own voice, gulping around a mouthful of cock. And she heard her own voice: "Put it in me! Fuck me!"
And Sandor's reply: "Suck it, baby." He sounded almost bored!
The rubber suit made little squeegee noises on the table as Marianne jerked and wiggled violently, panting and sobbing.
Now she heard the slurping sounds. "Glglglll," her voice gasped and gurgled from the tape, gulping around a hot mouthful of Sandor's fuck meat. The unwillingly listening girl moaned and sagged, panting hard. She was covered with sweat beneath the rubber suit. But the tape went on ... and on....
"Oh, please," her little voice gasped, pleading, "it's so big and hard-run it in me now ... Uh! O-o-o-ohhh...."
She realized that this was when Sandor had told her to say the words. And I wondered why he whispered! His voice isn't on the tape there. And-no, oh, NO! But the thought that now seared its way into her brain must be the truth! Jeanne had been tied over against the wall. She must not have heard the bargain in its entirety, just that Marianne would be screwed to save Jeanne from being whipped. But she must have thought the begging was-all Marianne's doing!
All SHE knew was that I'd be fucked to save her-she didn't know I HAD to say all those things!
She heard the click as the recorder was turned off, then Joe's voice: "Wow," he said, from behind her where Bob was, "I never knew. You've been mighty close-mouthed about that hot-pantsed pussy, Bob!"
Marianne groaned.
"Don't be silly," Bob snarled. He sounded closer. "She's done nothing but play keep-away. A cock-teaser, that's Marianne. She-"
"Stop it!" Jeanne cried. "She let him screw her to keep him from whipping me!"
"Oh, yes? That right? Well what about all that BEGGING?"
Marianne tried to twist her head around to see them, but she couldn't. "He made me! He TOLD me to beg, and-and everything. I HAD to! He was going to beat Jeanne with that awful whip. She was NA-ked! Please-I'm not-I wouldn't-Oh no-o-o-o-o!" She broke off, weeping.
"Jeanne?"
"Well-uh ... I didn't hear that," Jeanne admitted. "I didn't hear him say that she had to-you know, beg and talk that way. I thought she was-uh-I mean ... well, the other one had made her cum, and-oh lord. Why do you have to ask ME? I'm going to untie her from you bullies-Ow!"
"No you don't," Joe said. "Hey, you've been covering for her! You still are! You bitch!" Then there was the loud sound of a slap, and Marianne heard Jeanne's help of pain. The other girl was pleading. She tried to twist her head around to see the scuffle she heard. But she couldn't. She could only balance herself there, painfully. She heard cloth rip and Jeanne squealed and begged.
"No no, no, Joe baby, sweetheart-not me-e-e-e-EEE!"
"Marianne," Bob's voice called, and it sounded as menacing as Sandor's. "All that begging and pleading, all that language you used, begging for him to dick you-he MADE you do all that?"
"Yes, yes oh god yes, Bob, I swear! I didn't WANT to! I didn't even ENJOY it!"
"Those were not moans of pain," Joe pointed out. "Here-hold still, woman!" And Marianne heard Jeanne squeal again.
"I-I-he made me like-I mean...." Marianne trembled, stuttering. How could she ever explain, how could she ever make them believe that Sandor's raping her, like Dirk's, had turned her on, that she hadn't wanted it, but had enjoyed it-after a while. She had already said-oh god! Now they really think I'm lying!
There was a deathly silence behind her. She waited, panting for each hard-drawn breath with her body stretched and trembling tensely and her skin crawling with sweat inside the sweat suit to end all sweat suits. Then she heard it, the sound of doom.
Click.
"Won't you fuck me now?" her voice begged. "Won't you stick this lovely big hard thing up my pussy?"
"Yes!"
Marianne's eyes dilated and she cringed. Bob stood over her, between her thighs at the end of the table. "Sure I will," he said, "since you beg for it so sweetly! Here-let me get your pussy out in the open!"
"BOB! No, no! Please no, no, don't do that-PLEASE!" she jerked and heaved her body, slapping the table with her rubber-clad ass and jerking wildly at her bonds. Her legs flailed the air.
But he was between them, and he planted a hand at the base of her belly and slid a finger through the lower zipper-pull with his other hand. She squealed and moaned and sobbed and pleaded-and then she heard the zipper, felt the lessening of pressure at her vulva. Tight-stretched rubber snapped open to plaster itself to suddenly exposed, violently pink flesh. Suddenly she felt a rush of cool air over her secret flesh.
"Oh-Bo-ob," she groaned miserably, "please don't ... oh, no!"
The sudden shocked grunt was jerked from her throat by the sudden thrusting pressure of his hand between her legs. He seemed to be trying to grind his fingers up into her, to crush her pubic mound, to stab with his fingers through the obscenely hairless lips and into the raw flesh beyond.
"All sweaty," he muttered. "Hot in that suit, aren't you? Aren't you grateful to have your cunt cooled off in the air? Christ-not a hair on it! All naked and soft and sweet-here!"
"Y-u-u-ug-g-g-gghhhh!"
He forced the gasping moan from her by shoving a finger up between the pink, fleshy quim-lips and into the grasping sheath of her cunt. He jiggled it smartly in and out, then plunged it deep and whipped it all the way from her. She grunted and jerked. He held his finger up before her face. She sniffed at it and stared helplessly up at it through tear-filmed eyes. The finger was glistening, coated with a wet, slimy-looking film.
"Oh, Bo-ah-Owwww!" she cried, when he rammed his finger back into her.
"See the juice, slut? You love being played with, don't you?"
"Oh no, no-o-o, no, please, darling...."
"PLEASE? How sweet! Starting to beg already! For that I'll give you a treat-TWO fingers up your-what did your lover call it? Your hot box."
She grunted as the soft labia were forcibly splayed by the forcible intrusion of two of his thick fingers. They crammed up into the warm moistness of her woman-parts. He thrust on, ignoring her gasps and jerks and her contorted face, until his knuckles were pressed hard against the pliant, hairless lips at the center of her body. His fingers delved into wet inner softness, thrusting, moving callously inside her in a deliberate attempt to widen the pulsing slit and the hot inner cavern of her vagina.
"Uh-um-mm-m-mmmm...." Her body quivered on the table. Her dangling legs swayed. Her eyes closed and her mouth sagged weakly open.
The top of his finger just touched the small, erect mound of feeling at the top of her satiny labia. It glistened wetly, redly, itching and throbbing for attention. Deliberately, he jiggled his finger against it, making her quake and sigh and gasp. She nearly fell, hunching to his hand, responding with humble sexual submission to whatever he chose to do with her. She grew hotter and hotter and gasped for breath.
Jerk as she would with her rippling torso, she was helpless to alleviate the punishing sexual imprisonment that now held her as tightly as her bonds of leather and cord and metal.
"Joe?" Bob said, and Marianne heard the click of the machine starting again. Joe must have tied Jeanne! It was-it was Sandor and Dirk all over again-and yet WORSE, because she knew these people-and Bob, she ... yes, she loved him, she didn't want to hurt him or let him know that-
"Won't you fuck me now? Won't you stick this lovely big hard thing up my pussy?" Her voice, from the tape.
"Why of course, darling," Bob said, grinning as he stood over her, and she winced as he whipped his fingers out of her damp cleft. "Be glad to!"
She came alive again. "NO! Oh no, Bob, not you, not YOU-oh my GOD! You CAN'T!" Straining hard, she got her head up off the table. Her eyes flared wide. Bob was reeling out his cock, and she saw that it was tall and fiery red and broad and thick. It looked bigger than either Sandor's or Dirk's. A hot ripple of erotic response rushed through her, but she ignored it. No! He couldn't-not her Bob-he couldn't, wouldn't just ... do it to her as they had, so callously and coldly, as though she were only a slave to be used, a fuckhole with a body built around it!
But her own voice was begging to have its hole filled, as the tape spun on:
"I want you to fuck me!" Her plaintive plea was loud from the recorder. "I want your cock in my cunt, juicing in and out! I want you to ball me. It's all big and hard-shove this fucker up my fuck-hole! PLEASE, I want to get screwed! I want it good and hard and deep. Oh, please, fuck me no-o-oo-owwww!"
"God, Marianne baby," Sandor's voice said hollowly, "you're such a hot-cunted little slut. Can't you wait? You really want it now?"
"Fuck me," her own voice said, and it was almost a command this time. Urgent and throaty.
And his relenting reply, as if he were really put upon and doing her a favor: "Okay, Marianne sweetheart, just stay right there on your hands and knees. I'll give it to you from behind, like the bitch in heat you are!"
Marianne lay back on the table with her legs dangling. Between them stood Bob, at the end of the table, with his big throbbing sex meat standing straight out. He moved forward.
"Okay, Marianne sweetheart, just stay right there on your back like a whore," he said, imitating Sandor. "I'll give it to you standing up, like the hot-cunted slut you are."
"No-please! Oh please don't do this to me this way, Bo-uh!"
He had already moved swiftly to insert the knob of his red cock into her drooling naked vulva. He strained until he had gained full entry between the wet, cloying lips. From the recorder came the sounds of grunts. Gasps. Moans. Sighs, and more grunts. The sounds that had dribbled from her loose mouth while Sandor balled her.
Marianne lay there, a long line of straining black. Her head rolled on the table top, framed by her hair. Beneath the rubber suit, her sweaty breasts heaved. She sobbed continuously. She heard Joe turn off the tape recorder. And Bob filled her grasping hairless pussy with hot cock and started to move.
A few days ago she had been a virgin. Even now she had housed a man's strong shaft up her vagina only twice. She was still tight-and her position made her even tighter, flattening her cunt into a little inlet leading into a strait that firmly gripped the big cruiser sliding into it.
She grunted and groaned as he pumped. Her anguished eyes could see only the basement ceiling. After all this time, Bob-her Bob-was balling her. But he wasn't doing it in love, he wasn't making love to her. He was screwing her hard and fast and angrily, standing up while she lay bound. Angered and believing that she had played the unfuckable tease with him while playing the whore with Sandor, he rammed it into her hard, to hurt.
He groaned, revelling in the unbelievable tightness of the hole in which he buried his straining prick. He pulled it out until only the head was sticking into the tight cleft, then shoved it in all the way. It seemed to grasp and grip him clingingly, as if her body was begging him to shove his big red prod up her cunt. It began lubricating freely and his progress was eased.
The girl lay back, stretched and strained because of her bound wrists, gasping and moaning softly, twitching her rubber-encased hips, her face flushing deeply red and her belly quivering beneath the sexy suit.
He shoved his throbbing hunk repeatedly into the hot, sticky slit with hard lunging strokes. He had soon gained her uttermost depths, aided by her helpless inner flow of lubricating juices. He felt the pressure of her elastic inner flesh all around his engorged fuck tool. He slid his hands up her body, which felt strange, all skin-taut rubber. Lying forward on her, he deliberately crushed down onto the ripe fullness of her breasts, so round and constricted inside the hot suit. She groaned and looked piteously up at his face.
He stood there and leaned far forward, fucking, crushing down on her with his chest riding her mounded tits. Those resilient globes of carnal perfection tried to resist with the strong musculature of their youth as his chest sought to crush them.
It was a standoff. They rolled and rippled beneath him as he stepped up the power and force of his deep thrusts into her hot wet interior. He jerked his shoulders to grind down on her until she gasped in pain.
But pain was not all she felt. Her body was responding with total disregard for its discomfort and her mental anguish and the fact that this was one more of the only kind of "lovemaking" she had had: rape. An unbidden but totally uncontrollable rapture began to build in her. She had to fight to prevent sounds of pleasure from coming up out of her throat. She felt a tickling, a twitching, a series of hot flashes, all running through the cock-stuffed hole that formed a molten pathway to her womb. Her belly, so terribly hot beneath the suit she hated, was alive with sexual tingles. She couldn't seem to close her mouth.
He stood, taking the weight and pressure of his body off her and allowing her breasts to rise-but only slightly, so tightly were they pressed down against her chest by the suit of unyielding black rubber. His hands slid down to grip her hips, just above where they joined her legs. He held tight and hunched hard.
The lunging viciousness of his standing strokes increased so that his pelvis smacked like a furry paddle against her bulging mound and open slit and the scalloped fringes of her loins. She could feel his crotch-hairs tickling and prickling her shorn pubis. She heard the smack of his crotch into hers. And she felt his hardened cock dipping deep into the far, far hidden recesses of her quaking belly.
From Bob, from Marianne, and from the tape there now issued the same sounds: sighs and gasps and grunts and smacking flesh. The sounds of madly screwing couples. On the table, Marianne gasped and broke out into a new hot sweat as his hand slid over the black rubber and onto pink flesh. He began to roll her clitoris beneath a fingertip and it had the same effect within her as rubbing together two dry sticks in the forest: flames began to dance about in her cunt and squirming belly. Slicking in and out of her, he rolled and rolled that erect little nubbin of super-sensitive flesh, until she felt her body as though afloat on a lapping, undulating sea of rising sexuality. She began to strain for the apex of sex, her orgasm.
From the tape recorder came the topper. Her plaintive, pleading, almost sobbing voice.
"No! NO! NOT YET! I haven't cu-"
Marianne sagged weakly, closing her eyes. Now they knew. Now Bob knew. Now they had heard her pleading, and she had been pleading. Sandor had spurted, and she hadn't yet cum, and she had begged, lying there on her back with her legs open and her hand rubbing, rubbing-
As Bob's hand was rubbing now, while his huge handsome cock, stiff and hairy and pulsing, jerked in and out of her palpitating inner cunt.
"All right, little slut," Sandor's taped voice said. "Get your ass up and come along. Stop playing with your hot box, damnit!"
"Uh," Marianne heard her taped voice grunt, "Please ... I didn't ... I mean ... I didn't cu-u-u-um-m-mmmm. Please ... so close . ... "
Then she heard her cry, and Sandor's loud command for her to get up, and she remembered how he had rammed his fingers into her.
Now, behind her, came Joe's voice: "That didn't sound like something she was ordered to say. If it was-she oughtta get the Academy Award for Best Actress!"
She groaned when Bob jerked his finger off her clit, although he kept himself plugged into her electrified socket. "Damn it, Joe," he cried, and his voice sounded tortured. "Stop it! I've TOLD you I love her, remember?"
That was just one more blow. Marianne sobbed. He loved her. He loves me. And now-now....
Unfortunately it was very difficult for her to think of anything else right now but how badly she needed the return of his pressuring finger on her clitoris. It seemed to itch and wiggle, trying to attract attention.
He reached down and pressed it between thumb and forefinger, like a nipple. Then he rubbed it a time or two. And then he stepped back. His juice-slick cock sucked out of her tight wet pussy with a s-s-shhhuckkk sound. She jerked violently and moaned.
She whimpered. She opened her legs wider. Fires tore at her guts. She humped, crushing her buttocks painfully against the gouging edge of the table. She sobbed and flailed her head. No, she thought, no, no, I don't want to say it-no, noBut Bob had planned his action. He didn't want to give her a great deal of pleasure, just a taste. Unfortunately he had to deny himself an orgasm, but-it was worth it, watching her writhe and hunch that way, her red-lipped snatch trying to snatch his vibrating cock back into its hot mouth. He had at last screwed Marianne, and it had been good, mind-blowingly good. And he had pumped her pussy and tickled her clit almost to the point of orgasm.
Now he would leave her hanging there. He thought of all the nights he had left her at her apartment and had driven home: hanging. To undress, and get into bed and think of her. He hadn't even needed a magazine or any sort of pictures while he lay there beating his meat. All he'd had to do was think of her, visualize her naked and beneath him. So many times he had done that, until it had been close and he had wrapped the cloth around it and turned over and crammed it into the fold of a doubled-over pillow and shot off while lying atop it, imagining himself on top of Marianne.
No, he thought, he had plenty of time to cum. Right now holding back his own orgasm was worth it, to make her squirm. After all, he thought, orgasm was the end of it. He had screwed her. But he was far from through!
And now she rewarded him, spurred his sadistic pleasure and tightened his balls with a few words, plaintive, pleading, almost whispered in a tiny voice.
"Please," Marianne murmured, lying there helplessly with her legs open and her red-lipped crack staring up at him. "Please ... not yet ... I'm so close...."
Bob grinned and walked away from her. She sobbed aloud.
"I'm sorry," Joe said quietly. "Maybe-maybe you can take the ring back, huh, Bob? I mean, rape's one thing. That happens. But that tape-Christ! She was begging, balling with the guy, not being raped. And when she didn't get her rocks off, she actually squealed and begged him for it. And this bitch covered for her-Jeanne! WAS she lying there playing with herself?"
Marianne seemed to hear them through a roaring that she knew was in her crimson ears. She was so hot, and the tape, particularly the final part that Bob had saved to prove that she was lying-it was all like an overwhelming weight on her, dragging her down and crushing her to the table. And now she had begged him, too.
He loved me, she thought. He bought me an engagement ring. Oh, Jeanne-now ... please ... LIE for me! HELP me-e-eeee!
"Darling," Jeanne said from behind the table on which Marianne lay, "you're hurting me-please untie me. I-I didn't mean to-yes! Yes, she was lying right there on the floor, on her back. Naked, with her legs still open and his-his-his semen coming out of her. And she was trying to bring herself off with her hand."
"God-DAMN!" Bob groaned.
Marianne echoed his groan, if not his words.
Bob walked back around to stand in front of Marianne. He stood there staring at her superlatively sexy, rubber-encased body. She saw his face through a mist of tears that rushed down her cheeks and pooled on the table beside her head.
"Bob-darling ... I'll do anything. Please untie me ... don't stare at me like that ... don't hate me-
"I don't know if I have the right or not," he said. "I love you, and I actually bought you a ring. I really thought all that phony cock-teasing stand of fishness of yours was just some kind of good-girl hangup. And now-I heard that." He sighed, shaking his head. Then his voice went harsh and stern.
"I think I have the right!" he said. "I am judge and jury, and executioner too! Damn your lying, teasing ass, I'm going to punish you myself!"
"Darlin-n-nng! What-no! What-what do you mean?"
"I mean," he said quietly, staring into her eyes, "that I am going to use these whips. I am going to whip hell out of you!"
And then his hand came out from behind his back and he showed her what he held. The long thick length of plaited leather with the thin, knotted tail. The black snake whip.
"And Jeanne," Joe said from behind her, "gets it too, for lying and trying to cover up for her!"
Both women began to sob and whimper aloud.
Both men walked over to the cupboard where they'd found the tape recorder ... and began pulling on the black robes.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Don't use that whip on her, Bob-you'll KILL her," Jeanne screamed.
"Oh, no," he answered, black-robed and swishing the long whip through the air with a frightening noise. "Not in that suit. She'll feel every lash twice as much as if she were naked-but I'll never break the skin."
"No-oo-oo-o," Marianne cried, writhing at the end of her chain, circling her beautifully moulded buttocks, working her rubber-sheathed legs. The basement lights flashed off the outermost curve of each of her bold asscheeks, highlighted the thrust of her rounded calves against the black sheath of rubber. "No, darling-pleaseYA-A-A-I-I-IGGGHHHHH!"
The whistling descent of the long lash turned her pleas into a shriek of terrified pain. He had surged the whip down to land with a loud crack across her buttocks. It pounded pain and punishment into the soft slopes so that she screamed and started violently forward, her face streaked and glistening with tears. Fire rose in her tightly-sheathed bottom, a flickering, licking flame. Shudder after shudder flowed through her black-bound body. She sobbed hysterically and her head fell forward.
The straps at her wrists protested with creaks of straining leather. The chain rattled above her. Slowly, quivering violently, she re-planted her feet and stood upright. She had been leaning far forward, held up only by the chain running from her linked wrists to the ceiling.
"Good girl," Bob's voice said from behind her. "VERY good."
Then he rushed the whip back, and forward. A scream burst from her as it flashed across both halves of her undulant ass, flicking the quivering bases just above her thighs. Her head fell forward again and jerked from side to side, switching herself with her own luxuriant hair.
He watched her writhe and toss and jerk and shudder, an exciting figure of gleaming, taut blackness. He saw her thighs tightening in a ridiculous effort to alleviate the pain above. She pressed them tightly together, her ankles rubbing with squeaking rubbery sounds, her body rising another half inch onto her toes. He was sure they ached already, each of her ten little toes, in the enforced strain of her position and theirs, as her body's sole supports. Her fists clenched in pain and she wagged her ass slowly, as if trying to create a stir of air to cool its whipped hotness.
A shriek burst from her throat as he delivered another stroke with all his force. Her lashed buttocks surged back and forth in a slow undulation, crammed together into one slightly flattened sphere by the extreme tightness of the black suit.
He stood there and watched the fantastic sensual display of that stretched, straining, weaving body so tightly and beautifully sheathed, and his cock created a tent in the front of his robe. Lord, he thought, touching it with his hand, I haven't had such a hard-on since I was thirteen and saw Mrs. Thompson's pussy under her desk in classroom 7-A!
He drew back the whip and swept it forward in a cracking sidearm motion, watching it slap across her upper back and snap around to plant a stinging kiss on one rubber-shielded tit. And he listened to her scream.
Tears trickled down the girl's soft cheeks and a sigh involuntarily escaped her parted lips. It HURT, oh how it hurt! Stinging, burning-
Sweating and groaning, she shuddered each time he struck and the lash bit excruciatingly into the tight-clenched thrust of her buttocks. She was scarlet, her head bent in shame and subjugation. Tears fell in rivulets down her cheeks. Sweat poured down her sides, inside the seething suit.
The only sound she heard, aside from her own, were the high-pitched wheep of the lash followed by its loud CRRRACK!
It came again, curling around her, lashing her back and stinging her breast like a hundred needles, and she cried out in pain. She felt it, felt it, again and again, fire and agony across her back and her breast and her trembling, flinching ass, and it HURT.
It was so frightening. She was dazed, whimpering in pain and fear. Her bosom was bathed in an unholy fire of agony and she was forced to labor for each breath. Her buttocks flamed. She was sure the suit was even tighter, for she must be swollen from the lashes. She was helpless and defenseless, able only to stand here as he had bound her and take all the horror, all the punishing lashes he cared to slash down on her and the jutting shining black cheeks of her ass.
She wished that it were tiny, hideous-or fat, perhaps, so well padded she might not feel the awful lash as searing lancets of fire each time it sang and fell. She wished she were dead. No, no, she wished she had made love with him last night. He wouldn't be so angry with her if she hadn't continued in her old ways, even after he knew she'd been screwed and after she knew she had loved it. She whimpered. Her breath came in gasps. She writhed in horror and fearful anticipation. And she was beaten.
He guided two more lashes across her back to inflict on her the exquisite punishment of the whip's knotted, snapping tip across her bulging tits. She ripped out ugly sounds from her throat and sobbed pitifully.
Then he walked around to stand before her.
Her feet were on the floor, but she was stretched so much that the level of their eyes was much closer than usual. She gasped and shrank from the sight of the whip. Her eyes dilated as she looked at it.
Bob had untied her, then pulled her to her feet with her wrists still linked before her by the rings set into the leather "bracelets" forming the cuffs of the rubber suit. He had glanced past her.
"Joe."
She had half-turned to see Joe over against the wall, turning a big wheel set into the bricks. It made a ratchety, rat-tat-tat noise and a chain jiggled. She frowned, lifting her gaze.
She saw that a slender length of linked metal, like a bicycle chain, ran from the wheel up to the ceiling. Following it with her eyes, her head back, she saw that it ran through loops of steel, bolted or screwed into the ceiling, then swung straight down above her.
Just as she lowered her head to give Bob a wide-eyed look, there was a little clink-and her linked wrists were attached to the hook at the end of the chain. Her eyes flared even wider. She jerked her arms and backed away.
"B-Bo-o-ob-n-no...."
He ignored her. He walked past her to the wall. She saw him take hold of the wheel as Joe backed away. Bob started turning it. Both of them looked weird, menacing, figures out of the bloody past, in the long black robes. His sleeve flapped as he turned the wheel-the other way. Tat-tat-tat, and the chain began rewinding on the wheel's axle.
There was a sudden tug at Marianne's wrists.
"No-stop-sto-O-O-OP!" she called. But her arms were pulled up in front of her. She was helpless to stop it.
"Stop? Not-bloody-likely!" Bob said, turning the wheel a click at a time.
"Bob! No PLEASE! Joe-STOP HIM! Quit it now ) o-w-w-wwwww!"
Her pleas went totally unheeded. Her arms were pulled straight up over her head. She felt the strain, and she rose to her tiptoes, swaying, one long line of gleaming black rubber magnificently gripping every curve and contour and sensuous bulge of her body.
Bob looked at her with narrowed eyes, then turned the wheel back, one click. She was able to lower herself off her tiptoes, but just barely. She stood balanced on the balls of her feet. She was totally helpless. She wouldn't even be able to kick, without losing her balance and yanking herself painfully by her upward-straining arms.
"Another of this charming old house's finest features," he had said, and then he had begun to whip her. She trembled, straining, terribly hot and aching. He had paused only to come over and zip down the suit to cover her crotch, reddened by the pummeling of his body and his wiry pubic hairs.
She had screamed, writhing and twisting at the end of her chain, as the whip leaped out to implant its burning kisses on her body.
She had sobbed and twitched, trying to pull her arms down against the irresistible power of chain and ratchet and locked wheel.
Shudder after shudder had run through her burning, rubber-moulded body. The chain rattled and the suit creaked as she jerked and wiggled violently, panting and sobbing.
Trying to turn to give him a piteous stare,-she had nearly fallen. She could only balance herself, thinking that if she lost her balance, she'd tear her arms out of their sockets. She could only stand there and take it, take the vicious long-whipped lashing he dealt out to her. Her tears were falling to make a dark spot on the cement between her feet. Her body seemed to drag down, against the unyielding chain.
And now he had left off to walk around and stand before her again, black-robed and red-faced with the awful whip in his hand, trailing down and behind him like a sinister serpent. She saw his face through a flooding flow of tears that rushed down her cheeks and splashed into the dark spot on the floor below.
"Uh," she gasped, when he wrapped an arm around her suspended body and pulled her face to his. That only added more strain to her tensed arms. He kissed her, but it was a fierce, mouth-mauling, head-twisting kiss that made her feel like things she'd seen in movies: the maiden captured by the pirates or the Mongol barbarians. Beaten and kissed roughly and fondled and fucked-but the fucking always took place off-camera.
She knew that if he chose to fuck her again, here, it would very definitely be on-camera.
"You'll make out," he said, releasing her and ignoring her little moan as her body swung an inch or two. "Just think how terrible it would be if you were naked."
She trembled at the thought.
He nodded. "Frightening, isn't it? Your skin would be hanging in ribbons and you'd be leaking more blood than tears and sweat. Leaving that suit on you is probably more than you deserve. You'd better thank me for it."
"B-Bo-ob-" she pleaded piteously.
He brandished the whip and she shrank and trembled.
"Th-thank you for ... for leaving the suit on ... me," she murmured in a tiny voice, and she knew that he had forced her down, reduced her by this cruel and humiliating bondage, to a quivering bundle of dazed and degraded submission. A flood of scarlet rushed over her face as she realized that she was totally powerless and defenseless, and that she was thus his slave.
He put out a hand to touch each bulge of her breasts beneath the suit. He nodded. Then he walked around behind her again, taking the fearful whip.
She waited in silence. She waited in fear, poised on the balls of her feet with her body stretched and trembling tensely and her skin covered with sweat inside the gleaming black sweat suit.
He let her hear the whip hiss back with an angry snap. Her eyes flared wide and she made a gagging sound of awful anticipation.
He struck, swinging the long whip sidearm so that it rushed forward in a long thin curving line. It took her at the side, just below her armpits. The length of black leather flipped around to slap her tits hard, with a sharp slapping sound. Her whole body convulsed and a shriek of agony tore from her burning chest.
Only the skin-tight rubber suit, she knew, had saved her from having both her nipples torn off by the cruel lash.
Her arms and legs strained, her calves bunched. She exerted every ounce of strength she possessed against her bonds of leather and steel. She might as well have tried to hold back the wind. Her shoulders heaved with sobs and she murmured faintly.
A shiver of terrible dread quivered through her as the whip dropped from the bulge of her tits and slithered down her body to the floor, as though caressing her. Then he snapped it back to himself. To prepare, she knew with horror, for the next stroke.
He snapped it a couple of times in the dank dungeon air to test its resiliency-and to watch her apprehensive shudders and the fearful tightening of her buttocks within their rubber sheath.
Her breasts heaved convulsively-and the whip caught them again, right across the tips. She jerked violently and felt needles of hot pain, stabbing. A hot tremor shook her.
He snapped it back and forward again-again letting it snap angrily across her big breasts. And again. And then again.
It was fun, he thought, sweating with exertion, to whip a woman across the tits. Especially when they were big bobbly jugs like Marianne's. And especially when they were tightly encased in rubber, so that the blows would sting like fire, but would not mar the soft white skin at all.
Thinking about those swollen-looking knockers of hers, he walked back around to stand in front of her again.
Over her shoulder he saw Joe, standing there beside Jeanne, who was bound to one of the many rings and U-bolts set into the walls here and there. Joe, too, was tit-interested at the moment. He had one of Jeanne's excellent milk-duds balanced on his palm, bouncing it steadily, absent-mindedly, while he watched Bob's punishment of Marianne.
"Oh-h-h ... Bob ... please...."
He gazed implacably at her. "You'd better just call me Master," he said. "Remember that ... slave."
She merely stared piteously. "Say it, slave!"
"Y-yes ... Master...."
He smiled. His hands rose to the shining bulges stretching the chest of her rubber suit, almost whitening the black rubber where their incredible firmness forced it to strain over their thrust. She flushed as his knowing hands slid up over the luxurious bulging mounds. He felt them, pressing with his fingers, imitating the crude gropings of an untutored lover.
But it was not the lover's role he played now. Her soft rubber-moulded breasts were grabbed and squeezed hard by brutal, callous hands until she cried out in pain at the fierce digging into the soft flesh. It still smarted horribly from the whip-lashes.
Smiling at her contorted face, he tormented the hills of her tits, like enormous fruits, firm and intensely ripe as though ready to burst. "Do your tits hurt, slave?" She nodded. He squeezed hard. "Ah-owww! Yes, Master!"
"Yes-what. Tell me."
"My-my tits hurt, Master."
"Uh-huh," he said, nodding. "They need air." Then he unzipped the near-circular flaps of the suit. The generous, nearly spherical jugs sprang out to jiggle and jounce before her. They were pink with the suit's intense inner heat, and covered with perspiration. It dripped sexily from their red tips-redder than usual because of the bite of the whip they had taken. Cool air rushed over the suddenly naked balls, and their crinkled red tips became rigid crests in an instant. They looked like they were jumping out at him.
Now it was naked breast-flesh that his hands sank into, and his head rushed forward. He darted his tongue out at one naked tit and she shuddered in delicious pleasure as the tantalizing wetness traced around her areola. He tasted the faint saltiness of perspiration. Then she felt his lips close on the spearing nipple. She cried out in ecstatic pain as he sucked it hard into his mouth.
Little moans escaped the powerless girl's throat as she felt his grating teeth worry over the ripe berry. She shivered in humiliatingly obvious pleasure at the small stab of pain that lanced through the convulsively heaving breast.
At last he withdrew his teasing mouth from her nipple and kissed the area between her breasts.
"You hot-cunted slut! That appeals to your masochistic nature, doesn't it? You know you deserve punishment, don't you?"
She sobbed. "Yes, Master," she gasped.
"I ought to bite this thing till the blood runs!" His hand slid caressingly along the vast underside of one huge fleshy melon. It was wet with sweat. He had the suspended, helpless girl writhing and moaning under the clever caresses of his ungentle hands.
Barely maintaining her balance, all she could do was writhe against the chain that held her in a straight tense line that just touched the floor. Her muscles and nerves jerked and twitched with strain.
She sucked in her breath sharply as his mouth closed on the inflamed pink crest of her other tit. She moaned and quivered, staring at the top of his dark head, feeling his mouth suck in the distended bud and roll it between his teeth, warbling it around in his mouth and dabbing at its very tip with his tongue.
His teeth tightened. She caught up a sharp breath. New sweat popped forth onto her forehead and trickled down her cheeks and nose.
His teeth sank in, denting the flesh, and he moved his head to make her cry out at the grinding of his teeth over that so-delicate flesh.
"UH!"
The sudden shocked grunt was jerked from her throat by the abrupt thrusting pressure of his hand at her crotch. Once again he was mashing it, twitching the lips aside, spearing a finger up into her.
He kept his mouth on her nipple as he began whipping his finger rapidly in and out of her. The way became increasingly wetter and easier as her Bartholin glands trickled out their warm lubrication.
Her body quivered. She sighed and rolled her eyes. She began to hunch, helplessly, submissively fucking herself on the finger that juiced in and out, in and out, in and out, in and-
He kept it up until the muscles of his arm developed a tic, jumping with the strain. Minutes passed. More and more sweat covered her and coursed from those portions of her body he had bared. Obscenely: she was a woman of black, with pink face and tits and cunt, everything else covered and moulded, with her hands high above her head.
The rubber suit squeegeed and the chain rattled and she moaned and gasped as she hunched. She could not help it. His finger moved and moved. Running in and out. A long thin very hard little cock. Finger-fucking her. And her body juiced. And moved, fucking itself on his finger. His knuckle kept ramming her twitching clitoris, and she needed that, she needed ... if he'd just keep it up ... just a little longer....
He jerked his finger out and she wailed in frustration. Once again he had hoisted her, like a puppet on the end of his string, nearly to orgasm. And once again he denied her that release, reminding her that he was the master and that she was slave to his body, his hands, even his finger.
She trembled as he wiped his slime-glistening finger on her bobbing pink tit, then licked and sucked until all her inner juices were gone, tucked away in his mouth.
He stood there, gazing at her while he moved his mouth and ran his tongue over his lips. His eyes wore a faraway look. He nodded.
"Not bad," he said reflectively. "Not a bad-tasting cunt, all in all."
She groaned in humiliation and let her head sag weakly forward.
He gave her bare breasts a tweak, each of them in turn, and his thumb and forefinger were not gentle.
Then he walked around behind her and immediately she tensed up in anticipation of some new pain and defilement. What would he do now? It was so much worse when he was behind her, when she could not see him!
"Ah!! Oh no-no-o-o-please, Bo-I mean, Master-no! Please don't do that! Ah god, how can you?"
First he had cupped each of her buttocks, which were flattened at the sides and crammed tightly together and thrust boldly out by the grip of the suit. Then he had begun opening the zipper that ran along both hips, framing her ass, and across the top of the cheeks. He drew it up her right hip. Then across, and she felt the cool air, very welcome, as the flap began to come open. The extreme straining stretched tightness of the rubber suit forced it to leap apart and tug against the loosening zipper. He ran it down her left hip.
Her beautiful big white ass fairly jumped out at him. The flap hung down over the upper parts of her thighs, and now it looked far too small to cover the burgeoning white swells he had liberated. On both sides they were framed by black, and above and below, so that they looked even sexier, even whiter, even more bold in their firm young thrust.
He stood there, invisible behind her, and ran his questing, fondly caressing hands over her naked buttocks.
She hung quivering and whimpering, staring at nothing. She could only feel. And she felt reduced now to the absolute bottom limit of degraded, humiliated subjugation and slavery as he played with her naked ass.
How could he do more to me than this? she thought in anguish. How can he degrade me further than to make me beg him for cock and an orgasm, than to make my body come alive to his finger, than to suck and lick and play with my titties-and now to stand there and play with my bottom, all of it just like I'm some kind of thing, an object for his amusement?
No, she thought, this is bottom!
But she was wrong. For behind her, her robed master was thinking about bottom, too. But in a different meaning of the word. Fondling and pressing and caressing the big cheeks of her bottom, he was thinking that despite Dirk and Sandor and his own cock that had penetrated her tight cunt, she was still a virgin. In her bottom.
There was still a hole in her left to be deflowered, a fuck-hole as she had said obscenely to Sandor. And that hole, Bob thought, is mine to deflower!
CHAPTER NINE
Bob had lowered Marianne, and she was so weak and strained from her long-standing, stretched position that she had sunk limply to the floor. He had made her get up, though, and forced her to walk around the dungeon of Doctor Leinster. Parading her for the others-naked white tits jumping and dancing, her hairless little cuntal slit flexing and seeming to wink, her naked buttocks tightening and relaxing, flexing and trembling as they pistoned, all with every step she took.
Her naked parts were far more naked, with the rest of her encased in the midnight rubber suit that clutched every other inch of her flesh.
Joe had been busy, too.
Marianne saw that Jeanne stood with her back against one wall. Her arms were drawn out beside her, not strained, but enough to prevent her from moving more than one step away from the wall. Leather cuffs enclosed her wrists, and spring-clamps on those cuffs had been snapped into U-bolts protruding from the bricks.
Joe had torn her blouse loose down the front. She had left off her bra, after trying on the rubber coverall, and her bare breasts hung before her. They were longer and not quite so large as Marianne's, less firm but intensely erotic and quite beautiful nevertheless. A sheaf of her long blonde hair ran loosely down one long white slope, curling almost over the very pale areola and buttony little nipple.
Rather than remove her hip-huggers altogether, he had dragged them down and left them around her booted ankles, so that they hobbled her. She hadn't had any panties on-she liked the feel of the inner seam of her tight hip-huggers, snugging up against the crack of her lightly-furred vulva. It was so sparsely strewn with hair that was so pale and so silky, growing in a little line up the lips rather than in a triangle, that from a few feet away her pussy mound looked as naked as Marianne's. It nestled there between the tops of her thighs, nicely framed by the two sides of her ripped-open blouse.
This time Bob had walked Marianne up to the table and forced her to face it, then bend forward while he secured her linked wrists just as he had before. She was less uncomfortable, with her feet on the floor and her upper body bent forward, although the table top was chilly and harsh against her bare tits.
Now the two men, both looking even taller and so strangely sinister in the black robes, stood over in a dim corner, talking in low tones.
"I'd like it," Joe said. "I'd like to see it. And don't tell me you wouldn't enjoy it. She sure knows how to do it! And it'll blow her mind, Bob, having to suck your cock!"
"You're sure-she's your fiancee."
Joe nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure. Ready?"
"Okay, buddy."
Bob walked over to the big table, tested it for stability. It was stable all right. The thing was incredibly heavy and could, he mused, be adapted into a fine pool table-if someone would rather shoot balls than shoot from the balls!
He sat on the side of the table, scooting back a little with his legs dangling, and reached under Marianne to play with her naked tits.
Her bound, forward-bent position gave her a choice of reactions; she could either like it or lump it. She moaned and was still as his hand roamed and fondled the barely yielding firmness of her full hanging knockers.
Bob watched while Joe loosed his wife-to-be from the wall, then brought her over to the table. He stood her before the seated Bob, measured with squinted eyes, and glanced around. He saw what he needed-a four-legged stool, like a piano bench.
"Don't move," he said, giving Jeanne's arm a squeeze, and he went over and got the stool. He grunted. It, like everything else in this dungeon-like basement, was heavy. He brought it over and nudged Jeanne aside to set it beside the table, just below Bob's dangling feet.
Jeanne stood there nervously rolling her eyes and biting her lips. He had hooked her leather-cuffed hands together before her, and she had walked over here very awkwardly-the snug-legged hip-huggers were still caught around her ankles.
"It's your turn to get whipped, baby," Joe said. "Kneel on that bench, facing Bob."
"B-but-my-my bottom is bare!"
"Yeah, well, I won't use the same whip. Just one to give you one hell of a good tail-warming. Kneel."
"J-Joe darling-"
He jerked her arm. She staggered off-balance, with her tits swinging loosely. They slapped together and shuddered apart as she regained her balance. A large tear slid out of her eye and glistened on her cheek. With Joe's assistance because she was both hobbled and wrist-bound, she got into a kneeling position on the bench. Joe winked at Bob from behind her. Her face was just on a level with Bob's crotch.
She turned her head to watch nervously while Joe fetched one of the whips from the wall-rack. He chose the short, thick, leather paddle.
"Darling," she whimpered as he took up his position behind her. "Why do you have to do this? I didn't do anything!"
"You lied to protect Marianne," Joe said. "And you were going to untie her, too. Besides, you're right in a way, though. I don't have to do this. I WANT to!"
Then he grinned down at her back. Her tight-cheeked, shapely butt pouted up, looking made for spanking. She waited, trembling, as an excruciating terror enthralled her.
He swung the leather paddle back and watched her buttocks tighten just before the broad strap landed with a loud smack, across both cheeks.
"YOWCH!" she cried, and she lurched forward. Her chest struck the edge of the table. Her breasts swung wildly beneath it. Her face plunged into the front of Bob's robe. She groaned. Joe had not swung hard, and she knew it-and was thankful. Her bare bottom felt ablaze.
Her body prepared itself automatically, her white cheeks taut with anxiety and expectation of the next slapping blow of harsh leather. It came, rapping hard onto the pretty globes and deepening the red hue left by the previous swat.
"OW-W-W-W-WWW-ooh! HURTS!"
"It's going to hurt a lot more," he said. "I'm just warming up. You KNOW I'm stronger than this!"
"Oh, darling, pl-EASE-"
Whap! "Yow-w-w-wwww!" Her tits heaved frenziedly and she groaned and shivered as he smacked his leather paddle down again onto her tender, quivering rump. He had struck harder.
"Oh! Ah! Oh-my-god ... I'm on FIRE!"
"Bosh-I hardly swung it! But I'm going to, baby, and there's one way you can make it easy on yourself-KEEP it easy on you."
"Oh, baby-anything!"
"Simple," Joe said, poising the leather paddle on high. "All you have to do is suck off our friend. You're right in position."
Marianne gasped.
"Joe!" Jeanne cried.
S-sla-A-APPPPP! "AAYAAAAANGH!"
Bob opened his robe to show her his cock. It was up, erect and red and gleaming, throbbing before him and seemingly yearning for her pretty, pale purple lips. He had never seen her without plenty of super-sexy eye make-up and lipstick of pink or pale purple, the shiny kind that made her lips look sensuously wet. He hadn't told Joe, but his cock had leaped when Joe had suggested that he get head from Jeanne. He had thought about those sweet sexy lips wrapped around his prick more than once.
Jeanne stared at it. Slowly she raised her eyes to Bob's face. He acted nonchalant, looking past her at Joe. CRACK! She caught another of the hard-swung swats across her reddening ass. A red flush was now imprinted over the firm young curve of each glowing cheek.
"Ah ) JESUS!" she gasped, not so loudly this time. Her eyes were streaming hot tears. She had really felt that one. She couldn't help moving her fleshy, streaked tail, wagging her hips in an attempt to stir up a little air to cool the hot flesh.
"Bob-how COULD you???" Marianne groaned, then groaned again as he pinched her dangling breast. She too was leaking tears, already identifying with Jeanne's humiliation and her awful decision.
"D-darling ... you-you really want me to-to ... to do it?" Jeanne stammered, in a small girlish voice.
Joe gave her a light swat across her quivering, projected ass.
"Yes," he said. "We both want you to. Really."
"All-all right, darling. Just-please ... go easy on my poor tail ... I don't want to bite him."
"You even act like biting him and I'll go back over there and get that four-tailed whip, sister, and snap it up between your legs!"
"Uh!" Jeanne lurched as if struck, and she pressed her thighs tightly together. Her eyes were fixed on Bob's upstanding pole of hard thick flesh. Her tongue ran out over her lower lip, moistening it.
She would never have done it otherwise, she was sure. But she had a little thing about this mutual friend of theirs. Marianne had told her about Bob's lovemaking-his pre-lovemaking, that is, always short of the real thing-and Jeanne had noted the full look about the crotch of his pants a number of times. It was nice, these days, with men wearing pants that were nearly as tight at the tops as women's, and identically flared or belled at the bottoms.
Now she'd have a taste of Bob's handsome cock-and no one would know that she was far more willing than she acted! After all, she mused. I'm being forced to! I HAVE to. I'd RATHER have it in me ... but sucking it is okay....
She heard the rustle of Joe's robe behind her and knew he was drawing back his arm for another hard swat across her very hot rump. She moved her head forward. Bob watched her head come closer and closer to his seething hard-on. Behind her, Joe bent far forward to see his fianc'e's face descending on his best friend's big standing prick.
If he hasn't before, Joe thought, the big single stud will sure as hell envy me now! She's the best cocksucker in the state! She proved that a hell of a long time ago.
Jeanne went after it.
First tasting the bulging head with her little pink tongue, she ran her mouth straight down the long thick tube of Bob's cock until it thumped the back of her throat and brought forth a gagging little moan. As fiery lust surged up through his groin and made him tremble, Bob felt the suction and watched her cheeks sink in as she applied it expertly.
Hot damn, he thought, she's really going after it! My best buddy's girl-and she's working on my cock like we've been lovers for years. One thing I have to give to Joe-he's a happy man! She knows what she's doing-he's been getting plenty of this!
His hand played and pressed and fondled Marianne's naked tit while he watched Jeanne's lips bulge into a taut ring around his cock staff.
Go, little cocksucker, he thought, go!
SLAP! Joe brought the supple paddle down again, and Jeanne lurched forward until her nose was in Bob's pubic hair. A gagging sound slid out around his engulfed prick and she backed up quickly, gasping and swallowing in an attempt to keep from being sick. She had seriously gagged herself.
She sucked furiously, her mouth clinging sweetly and her eyes rolling upward to catch the glazed expression of pure pleasure in his eyes. He was wincing in pleasure at the feeling of her hot wet mouth covering and enclosing his throbbing dick. He sat quivering, letting his eyes go shut, shivering, enjoying every instant of her intensely sensuous attention.
The only thing that could possibly be missing, he thought, was her hands weren't free. He visualized her fingers as holding him, trailing up and down his hairy outer thighs before slipping around to clutch and massage his asscheeks.
Behind the sucking girl, Joe swung the hard leather paddle again. And again. He wasn't putting his full force behind it, but he was using it on his fianc'e's ass with enough strength to redden the flesh and sting hell out of it. Staring down at that cringing, reddening, swaying butt made him lift an eyebrow and roll his eyes at Marianne. Her up-thrust and out-thrust bottom was in profile to him, but-
She was so available-
He struck Jeanne's butt a little harder than he had intended. Bob grunted and jerked as she lurched forward and her teeth scraped down his cock. Joe looked guiltily at his friend and Bob gave him a weak smile. Jeanne licked his throbbing staff apologetically.
He trembled, listening to the liquid sounds of another man's intended wife around his prick while that other man watched. He watched it slither in and out of her face, glistening with its coating of saliva, burrowing deep into her saturated, sucking mouth. Just beneath the spearing pole, her lurch had flung her thrusting pink-tipped breasts onto the table. They were perspiring and quivering wetly, excitedly.
Her mouth worked pure sorcery over his cock. She licked and sucked it with tongue and lips and throat, making it throb and vibrate in the wet tight shelter of her face.
He had thought to let her suck it up good and hard and long, then walk around behind the bound Marianne and stick it into her. But now he changed his mind. The attentions of this woman's mouth were too expert, too exciting and good. He would leave it in her face, and he would cream her throat, give her a bellyful, and see how she and her future husband like them onions!
He moved forward a little on the table, hunching to make his prick jab at the softness of her mouth's inner lining and down her throat.
"L-gll-l-lggllllg!" she gurgled, when the fatly swollen head of his surging penis gagged her.
Easing back a little, she bobbed her head and moaned over him. Her cheeks sank deeply in, then ballooned, sank again as she sucked. She was bobbing her head, sliding it up and down to stuff her face with cock, caressing him with her softly shimmering blonde hair and sucking his cock with loving single-minded ness. Behind her, her intended husband watched her suck his friend's cock, and as if in retaliation, he swatted her again across both cheeks, his black-sleeved arm almost a blur as it swung left and then right to catch the flaring sides of her tight round buttocks in swing and back swing.
She wagged her glowing flushing ass and sucked, bobbed her head and sucked, licked up and down his shaft and sucked. And then he gasped, shuddered, and went rigid.
His mouth-ensconced prick burst and sent charge after charge of wet heat flooding into her face. Her cheeks suddenly snapped out round-sided as he blasted her mouth full of sticky warm cum. "Gl-l-lplp!"
She sucked and swallowed, sucked and gulped, her hot wet mouth housing his exploding prick and her throat working wildly to drink down each spurting load of life-giving sperm.
It ceased at last, and she moaned softly, easing her head slowly back along the already-wilting shaft and then over the flaring head. He stared down with glazed eyes, watching the drool of his semen at the corner of her mouth. She sagged then, as his penis sagged. Her chin lay in the folds of his long robe. Her fiance smiled across her bowed back, his eyes on Bob. Depleted, still trembling from his spurting climax into the face of a superbly accomplished cocksucker, Bob returned the other man's smile weakly. It was fun to think of them as already married....
Then Joe pointed down at his robe, opened it to display a hard-on that looked ready to pop, and nodded his head meaningfully at Marianne. Bob frowned. Joe patted his "wife's" red-streaked ass and Bob shook his head, touching his chest. Grinning, Joe reached under, thrust his hand between Jeanne's thighs, and plunged a thumb up into her pussy.
"Ung-ummmmm!" she sighed, stirring restlessly without lifting her head, while Joe looked questioningly at Bob.
Bob glanced down at Marianne. She had watched, fascinated, but had now turned her head the other way on the table. She was quaking all over, whether with aroused sensual emotions or with lust, he could not be certain. He grinned. Yes! Why not! Without a word, Joe had asked if he could dick Marianne in the ass, and Bob had definitely refused-that hot tight track and its defloration was something he was reserving for himself. Undismayed, Joe's eyes and squishing thumb had then asked the same question about Marianne's cunt.
He was asking Bob if he could step over behind the girl, helplessly bound in place with her butt in the air and her thighs apart for balance, and shove his prick up her cunt.
As if she were mine to give, Bob thought, smiling and reaching down to stroke Marianne's dark, tangled hair.
By god, she IS! And I'll play Eskimo with Joe. My woman and my hospitality for yours, Cocksman First!
Grinning, he nodded to Joe. Joe returned the smile and popped his thumb out of Jeanne's soft wet cunt.
Again Jeanne grunted, but Bob was already helping her off the stool.
"Here, baby, let me help you on your feet. I want you to see something!"
"O-o-o-ohhh ... be careful! My poor tail's sore!"
Grinning, Joe swatted it with one cupped hand. He tossed the leather paddle to Bob, once he had Jeanne standing. Her long breasts bobbed before her. Her leather-cuffed hands were still bound together, linked before her crotch. She wouldn't meet Bob's eyes.
Bob reached down with one hand and lifted Marianne's head from the table. She rolled her sad dark eyes up to his face in an unspoken question. If she only knew the other silent questions that've just been asked, he mused with an inner smile-and the answers!
He showed her the broad leather strap. Her eyes widened and her teeth fastened in her lower lip. She ripped her gaze away from it and looked pitifully into his face.
"You do any yelling or jumping around, missy, and you're going to feel this thing on your naked TITS," he promised her. With the hand holding the paddle, he reached beneath her and dragged one full breast forward until it was folded strangely, its nipple pointed at him, its snowy surface all rumpled as he tugged it unnaturally upward.
"All-all right. I'll ... I'll be good, Bo-I mean, uh, Master. But-but what-what are you going to do?"
"It isn't what I'm going to do," Bob grinned, holding her chin in one hand and her dangling, pink-tipped jug in the other.
Then her eyes flared wide at the totally unexpected shock of two big male hands clapping to her buttocks. She jerked, abrading the under-surface of her unheld breast on the top of the wooden table.
"Yi-i-i-i-i-i-e-e-eeeee! NO! You CAN'T! DON'T LET HIM, NO NO! Oh, GOD, seeing you with your penis in her face was terrible enough-but you CAN'T just sit there and let somebody else FUCK ME! No, no no, my god no NO, Bob!"
Her breast thumped to the table as he released it. He made a sweeping, magnanimous gesture with the whip-hand. Her eyes followed the swishing leather fearfully.
"Your master giveth and he taketh away," he said. "Right now, my sweet slave, I giveth you to my friend."
CHAPTER TEN
Jeanne stood with linked wrists and her own tight pants hobbling her ankles. Her breasts dangled out of her torn blouse, and she stared as her man stood behind the other woman, with both his hands on her projected asscheeks.
Robed from head to ankle, Bob sat on the side of the table with his legs dangling. One hand was on Marianne's shoulder, forcing it a little to one side to display her other breast. His other hand held the flexible, broad leather paddle. He was gazing implacably down at the moaning, whimpering girl.
She stood at the end of the table, its edge against her lower belly because her body was bent forward along the table. Her out-stretched hands were secured to it, far beyond her head.
And behind her, also robed but with his huge erect prick standing tall and mean-looking and fiercely erect before him, was Jeanne's husband-to-be. He had clamped his hands to Marianne's naked buttocks. He stood behind her with his feet between her parted legs. Thumping her inner ankles with his, he forced her to widen a little the space between her legs.
Robed captors and rapists and bound, nearly naked captives and chains and ropes and leather straps and whips; the equipage of an ancient torture chamber. Only Jeanne's torn blouse, striped nylon, betrayed the fact that this scene was of the twentieth century and not one long past. Even the lights set all around the walls were gas. The electricity had been turned off in this old house long ago, after its previous owner had monstrously murdered his straying wife.
Marianne quivered and whimpered in numbed disbelief, terribly hot and sweaty and itching in the skintight suit of black rubber that left bare only her hands and face and her sexual attractions. Just a few days ago she had come here, to this same medieval place of horror, a virgin. And two strangers in black robes had raped away her long-cherished cherry. Now it was two men she knew-and yet they too seemed strangers. They wore the same black robes, and she had been whipped and fondled and fucked and teased, denied orgasm.
Thus had Bob showed his contempt for her, and by his calling her slave, and, she thought, by his refusal to unload his sperm in her. He had instead chosen his friend's girl and her sucking mouth as the depository for his sperm. And now, making her slavery a reality, making her a piece of chattel he could use or give away or loan, he handed her bound body over to her friend's fiance!
Every muscle of her enslaved body trembled in ultimate, exhausted subjugation and desecrated shame. She lay submissively half-on the table, with tears leaking from her dazed eyes.
She trembled and moaned, feeling the bursting head of Joe's pulsating cock as it rose up between her thighs and nudged the firm lower curves of her naked buttocks. She could feel it throbbing hotly against her. In a moment, she knew, that rigid mast of another woman's husband-to-be would rush in past the soft protective folds of her vulva-from behind, as Sandor had said, like a bitch in heatand deep into her moist hot belly.
She twisted her head to look up at Bob.
"Darling ... master ... please ... don't let him do it! Don't let still another man fuck me! Oh god, darling-do it yourself! Fuck me yourself! PLEASE!"
Her words were marvelously elating, and Bob felt his balls give a little jump. He was sure they had gone immediately to work, renewing his resources. Good. He had plans for his cock.
But right now he was content to watch Joe put his into action. In Marianne.
She'll either hate the sight of me, Bob mused, or she'll love me forever. But the Rubicon's crossed now!
He ran a finger down her cheek and bent to kiss her nose.
"Be still, slave. Otherwise my friend Joe might think we don't love him!"
"O-o-o-o-o-ohhhhh ... how could you POSSIBLY!?!"
Bob's voice was harsh. So was his hand, suddenly gripping her face. "Hush now. Don't forget my promise. You be a good little slave and take Joe's nice big cock in your cunt and-you'll get a reward!" he added, suddenly thinking a new thought. "Be a BAD little slave-and your big fat tit gets whipped!" He bent close. "And, after all this time, my darling slavegirl-I do appreciate your invitation. Don't worry. I will fuck you. And fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck you-"
She trembled violently at the thrills his words set off in her. She was already resigned to the fact that she was indeed a hot-boxed slut. Also she knew that she had better do her best to keep Joe-otherwise, with her newly discovered intense sexuality, she'd probably be out on the streets, spreading her legs for everything in sight and screwing her way across town.
Meanwhile Joe had had enough talk. His hands pressured the cheeks of the girl's ass, broad and large-cheeked, excitingly different from Jeanne's, apart. And the swollen head of his throbbing penis pushed the pink lips of her pussy apart. It was strange, feeling no hair at all, and he resolved to shave Jeanne's pussy right away.
What the hell? he mused, if you don't groove on a shorn baby-smooth pussy, all you have to do is wait a while. It'll grow back! Most people were afraid to experiment, that was all. That's why he always bought Jeanne's bed-wear-and took it off. Meanwhile: he pushed.
"Uh-uh-ummm-oh-ah-ummmm...." Marianne gasped and groaned as she felt still another cock, her fourth in as many days, nosing its insistent, bulbous-headed way up into her furless little snatch.
Holding her asscheeks apart, he pushed.
His cock slipped into the moist cleft of her pussy and into the warm depths beyond.
She groaned, jerking her hips as she felt the hot piercing pressure and his pelvis crushing hers down against the unyielding wood of the table's edge. Good God, she thought, I'm being fucked again! Four times in four days-and by FOUR MEN! I wonder if he'll spew his goodies up my fuckhole? Oh-and lean get a little pressure on my clit from the edge of this table without anybody's knowing about it-ummmmmmm-yes!
Hanging onto her buttocks, he tightened his own asscheeks into tight-clenched balls and rammed hard and jerked fast and rammed hard and jerked fast and-His cock slid and slithered and reamed in and out of her. Her hot wet sluicing juicing pussy seemed to pull at it, hug it, kiss it all around its width as he tucked it in and out of her from behind. It was good, it was better than good, it was glorious, and he fucked her hard and fast with a constant splat of his hips against her nice big cushions of asscheeks.
His thighs walloped her ass as he increased the speed of his lunges.
She didn't have to rub her yearning pulsing hard-on clit against the edge of the table. His hard strokes did that for her. True, he banged her bulging pussymound into the table harder than she might have wished-but she was getting the stimulation, the clit-strokes she needed, and she was learning that she could not only take a little pain and discomfort, she rather liked it.
After all, her entire experience was that pain and the delights of sex were inseparably intermixed.
Can't have one 'thout t'other, she thought, moving her weight from one foot to the other so that her upturned backside wobbled and she could feel his hard club banging around way up inside her pussy. You takes your pain and you gets your fuckin'.
She was so deep in her thoughts and so caught up with ever-rising sensuality that she totally forgot herself and her usual image.
"Hot damn-sock it to me, baby!" she called out, doing her best to ram her ass right through his navel.
The eyes of the two men met above her writhing, quivering rubber-clad back. They stared their astonishment at each other. Then they both grinned. It had happened! She was turned on-there was sure as hell no doubt whatever about that! A born sensualist, she had long been denying herself just what she needed and wanted. Now she promised to become the hottest thing on two legs-which would be hard to close, with her holding them open in hopes of getting more reaming, ramming cock between them!
And Joe socked it to her, with gusto and delight.
Both Jeanne and Bob stared, and there was astonishment in both their faces. Not at Joe's whipping, lunging, deep-screwing body or his hands digging furrows in Marianne's out-thrust asscheeks. Not at the sweat pouring off Marianne's face and the bare breasts rubbing about on the tabletop.
No, it was Marianne's response that surprised and shocked them-all four of them.
The feel of his hard, swollen, meaty root whipping in and out of her dilated cunt suffused her vaginal channel with overwhelming desire. She was exerting all her strength, hurting herself to shove back against him, trying to get every centimeter of his big soothing probe up her sucking cunt. Her breasts slapped the table sweatily, trembling fruits shaken by the winds of emotion. Her legs tensed. They were rigid and quivering with strain.
Her body was a smooth, hot sheath around him as he pummeled faster and faster into her pussy from behind. His balls ached in unbearable tension. Swollen and sperm-filled and sweaty, they swung to slap the lower bulge of her vulva with every hard ramming thrust into its cleft.
Fire raced through her writhing body and her mouth spewed out frenzied animal sounds.
Each of his lunges up her pussy's long hot channel rammed her lower belly against the edge of the table and she shuddered at the sweet agony of her constantly assaulted clitoris. Shock after hot painful jarring shock tore into her pelvis.
"Uhhh-unnnnngghhhh-uh-uh-uh-uhhhhnn-n-nnnn!"
She was sure her throbbing clit was a bleeding ruin, rubbed and thumped constantly against the harsh wood. Its rough stimulation sent little lancets of pain up into her taut belly.
He grasped her buttocks, hard and tight, and ran his cock swiftly in and out of her. It was wet and slippery with the copious oils of her juicing inner glands. She drew in her breaths in quick, shuddering inhalations, helplessly in love with the feel of his broad thick penis pumping her pussy and the slap-slap sound of his inflated scrotum against her burning flesh.
She screamed.
Her shackled arms twitched and jerked and her fingers curled as if to rake furrows in the table top.
Then it came, bursting and shaking her. Wave after wave of paroxysmal pleasure washed through her churning guts in an orgasm more intense than anything she had ever experienced. Every ounce of strength seeped from her with the receding orgasmic tide. She screamed and gasped and contracted inside until she was panting, gasping, drenched in perspiration.
Her spasmodically contracting cunt clamped around him in a series of hot firm squeezes like a milking hand. His eyes grew huge and staring and his robed body quivered. He stiffened, shuddering.
Then his pulsing cock jerked to completion, spitting its liquid seed far into that clutching pussy. It puddled within her, a flame-hot reminder of her total, abandoned submission to him and his thrusting cock. He ground his hips into her resilient buttocks until he was empty.
Then he lay limply forward over her up-tilted ass and back. He was unmoving except for his gasping breathing. He was a dead weight, wet with sweat. Beneath him, she was hotter than she had ever been in her life and her eyes began to see only waving red.
At last he heaved himself erect to lean against the table, gasping. He grinned at Jeanne. Rather hesitantly, Jeanne smiled back. His limp, cum-streaked penis dripped juices from the cunt of another woman.
Marianne's knees had sagged. She was held up only by her bound wrists. Her hands were white where the tight leather bracelets were not letting the blood flow. Her cheek lay on the table in a slick wet spot of her own sweat.
"Marianne," Bob said, touching her tangled hair. It was damp.
She neither moved nor answered.
He frowned and lifted her head. It was a sagging, lolling weight, hot and very wet.
"Good lord, she's fainted!"
Joe laughed. "Now that's a compliment. I've never screwed Jeanne unconscious!"
"No," Bob said frowning and moving quickly to release her hands from the table. "It must be the suit. She's burning hot and wet. She must be covered with sweat in there. Help me' get the damned thing off of her."
"Wait," Jeanne said. "It's chilly enough down here as it is. If you take that suit off, it would feel like ten below zero to her. She'd catch a chill and wind up with a cold or worse. Joe ... darling ... is the water turned on here?"
He nodded. "Yeah, I had the realtor take care of that. Matter of fact I had him get the electricity turned on, too." He glanced around. "No reason to use electric lights down here, though."
"Why don't we take her upstairs," she suggested. "I'll run a nice very warm bath while you men get that suit off of her."
Bob sighed. "Sure, we have to. But it sure does seem a shame. This rubber skin suit is the sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life. Compared to this, bikinis and nudity are rated GP!"
But he carried the terribly hot, limp girl upstairs. Joe pulled Jeanne's pants up, and they followed Bob up to the second floor.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Joe," Jeanne said when he had unlocked her wrists, "I need a bath, too."
"Right," Joe said. He joined Bob in the grunting struggle to get the too-tight suit off the unconscious Marianne. "Just get the water running."
"Right," she nodded, and she headed for the bathroom that adjoined the big master bedroom-with its huge bed-where they were. She paused in the doorway. "Darling ... my fanny's still sore."
Joe glanced up at her.
"And I love you," his fiancee said, and went into the bathroom. The two men heard the beginning rush of water into the tub.
It took them over ten minutes to get the suit off of Marianne-ten sweaty, grunting, cursing minutes. The nylon lining was sodden. She was wet and flushed a deep pink all over. Sweat actually ran onto the floor from her and the suit.
Joe stood and gazed down at her. "That's some sexy woman you've got there, buddy."
Bob looked meaningfully at the bathroom. "That's some sexy woman you've got there, buddy."
They both laughed, and Bob carried Marianne into the bathroom while Joe left. He said he had an errand to run and Bob didn't question him. The girl in his arms occupied his attention. She had stirred, and moaned, but she was still unconscious.
The tub was half-full of rushing, steaming water, and Jeanne was bent over it. She was naked, providing Bob a startling view of her up-turned rump. She looked around and her eyes widened as she saw that it was Bob.
She straightened up quickly.
"Oh! I expected Joe!"
"I think at least three of us four are past embarrassment," he said. He went to one knee beside the bed and lowered the unconscious girl into very warm water. She was already covered with gooseflesh. In the soothing water, she stirred and sighed. Bob held her up in a sitting position.
"Yeah," Jeanne said, "I guess we are. Boy, she's so titsy! And I'll bet she's melted an inch off her waist in that suit, poor baby." She hesitated, studying Marianne with one eyebrow lifted. Then: "She grooved on it, Bob. You've got yourself one hell of a turned-on woman." She sighed. "That makes two of us," she murmured.
"We'll see," he said.
"Should I tell you about a wild idea I had?" He shrugged.
"Wow, the Lord and Master role sure fits you well! Anyhow, it was down in the basement. I'd just given you head, and there I was watching my man screw a sexy doll. And I had this wild thought. This huge old house-what a groove if we ALL moved in here!"
Bob looked at her, then rose and stood aside. He held onto Marianne's shoulder while Jeanne stepped into the tub, facing the other girl. It was an old-fashioned tub, white and large and deep, with four feet made to resemble paws, not one of the handsome new squared-off jobs just about big enough to bathe a six-year-old. As Jeanne lowered herself into the water, Marianne moaned and moved her head. She sighed and blinked her eyes.
Bob left the bathroom, stood thinking for a moment, then went back downstairs to get his cigarettes out of his clothes. He was grinning. He didn't think Jeanne had seen him easing her pants and ruined blouse out of the bathroom with his foot. He had picked them up in the bedroom, and now he left them in the basement. Joe's shirt and pants were gone, he saw. He brought his shirt, along with Joe's undershirt and a couple of other items, up from the basement.
He sat smoking in the big bedroom, listening to the sloshing of water and the girls' secret whispers and murmurs. That they both giggled from time to time was a source of delight to him.
They were still in there a half hour later when Joe returned. He bore good tidings: wine and beer and salami and cheese and rye bread and mustard and a bag of ice-and a jar of Vaseline.
He undressed and resumed the hooded black robe while Bob studied the jar of petroleum jelly thoughtfully. Joe chuckled. "Just in case you, ah, cut yourself or get galled or something, Bob." He walked over to the bathroom, hesitated, and went in. Bob heard Marianne's squeal.
"I've brought food and drink," Bob said. "Get your ass out of there, Jeanne. Marianne, your Master wants you."
Bob grinned. But he wore no smile when Marianne emerged from the bathroom several minutes later, positively glowing. She wore a huge towel, draped like a serape so that it covered her big hobbling jugs and her loins.
"You're overdressed," Bob said. "Get that towel off."
"Oh, darl-Master, please," she said softly. "I was so hot in that suit-and now I feel chilly...."
"Drop the towel."
After a moment's hesitation, the girl dropped the towel. She stared down at it. But after a while her head came up, slowly. Naked, she met his gaze. Bob smiled.
"That is one hell of a beautiful womanly body," he told her, "and it's criminal to cover it. But here. Put on my shirt. You may button one button. You choose."
She chose the fourth of five buttons, and she was a knockout in the blue-striped shirt that was far too large for her-everywhere except in the chest. There she bulged it out and created tension lines with her big bosom, its inner curves crowded together in the open front. The button she chose to close was just at her crotch, but as soon as she sat down her nudely shaven pussy was beautifully visible. Its lips and the area at their tops, around her clitoris, were still unnaturally red.
Joe relented and allowed his naked girl to wear his shirt, too. She was equally fetching, particularly since he had forbidden the securing of any of the buttons.
After lighting five candles of assorted sizes, they flipped off the lights and ate. The wine bottle was passed, and Bob and Jeanne tucked away two beers in very short order while Joe and Marianne swiftly reduced the level in the tall slim wine bottle.
No one tried to act totally as if nothing had happened, but no one said anything about what had taken place, either. Marianne was obviously making an effort to be natural.
All four of them were having a finishing-up beer when Joe spoke unexpectedly. "Jeanne, let's go back downstairs. There's an idea or two I had...."
Jeanne glanced at Bob, at Marianne, and back at Joe, She nodded. The couple left. Marianne sat still, not taking her eyes off Bob.
"Marianne."
She jumped. "Yes!"
He smiled. Yes. She was ready, and willing. Whipped and debased, screwed and mistreated, she nevertheless did not hate him. Nor, he thought, did she fear him. It was more respect that he sensed in her attitude and tone and saw in her eyes. The slave-master business was a game, and it had been necessary down there. It had worked, too. But it was a game, and although they might play at it, he didn't even want it to be true. He wanted a woman, not an obedient cow. He thought he had one. The girl had been ready, ready to ditch her mistaken teachings and false beliefs and silly attitudes about sex. But she hadn't known she was ready. Sandor and Dirk had seen to that, or to the beginning of it, anyhow. And now he-and Joe of course-had eased her along another stage, into a new existence.
"A long time ago, down in the-dungeon, I made you a double-barreled promise." Deciding to test her reaction, he used the harsher words directly: "Just before Joe fucked you."
She quivered. Her teeth appeared and dented her lower lip. Her eyes flickered, but she kept them on him. Yes, he thought, she's made her decision, too. He went on:
"I promised to use that leather paddle-thing on your titties if you kicked up a fuss-and I promised you a reward. I meant it."
She nodded. "I said something too," she reminded him softly. "I begged you not to let Joe-fuck me. I begged you to do it." She paused, apparently having a wrestling match with her eye muscles, which wanted to lower her gaze. She won and looked steadily into his eyes as she said, "I meant it."
The candles flickered and cast strange shadows about the room and on the faces of the two people sitting there, rather tensely.
"Good," Bob said. "Hate me?"
She shook her head. "No," she said, and added in a quiet voice, this time lowering her eyes, "I love you ... Master."
He was on the point of saying "You don't have to use that word," when he thought better of it. He wouldn't say it, yet. Continue the game. Obviously, they both enjoyed it. Obviously she was that kind of woman. She would never strap on a set of ill-fitting balls and join the screechier of the fem libbers; hell, he agreed with the others. He saw no reason to pay a female editor fifteen thousand while a male with the same job got twenty, or a male professor fifteen and a female with the same education and degrees two or three thousand less.
But he had a belief in who should be dominant at home, and he wasn't about to change his mind. Obviously, Marianne agreed.
He held out a hand to her. "Come here."
She came at once, her breasts hanging before her, jiggling and hobbling and swinging restlessly until one dark nipple peeped at him out of the shirt she wore. She stood before him. He sat on the edge of the enormous bed. Again their eyes met in the flickering candle-light.
"Take off the shirt now, Marianne."
After a moment's hesitation, she unbuttoned the one closed button and peeled off his shirt. He took it from her and tossed it into the big chair she had just vacated. And sat there, his eyes and senses drinking in the intoxicating beauty of her naked body, still shiny and almost glowing from her long warm bath.
"You're beautiful," he told her. "It's a beautiful, beautiful body, Marianne. And-I swear, I think that rubber suit that looks so marvelous on you took an inch off you every place but where it shouldn't come off."
She gave him a wan smile. "Maybe-maybe we ... should put it on me again ... every now and then...."
He opened the front of his robe. "Give me a hard-on. Use your mouth."
He had done it, said it, in another test of her reaction and obedience; was she really changed so quickly? Was the love she professed really the all-encompassing kind, rather than what she had thought or at least said previously, a thing apart from sex?
Yes. She went to her knees before him at once. She looked at his genitals with her head cocked on one side, as if studying the conformation of his lower belly and hairy crotch and balls and his penis-which was neither limp nor erect. Then she bent her head forward.
Her tongue ran out, moist and pink, to touch the tip of his prick as though tasting it, testing the feel of her tongue against it. Then, almost at once, she was lapping and swishing her tongue all over and around the head and the thick stem. One hand supported her on his thigh. The other came sneaking in between them to cup and feel its way over his scrotum, thumbing, fingering the slippery stones inside, exploring through the thick growth of curling hair.
He shivered in response to the overpowering sweetness of the darting wet serpent she loosed over his cock. Suddenly she took it into her mouth. Her lips clamped, so that his engulfed prick seemed beset by a thousand needles, stinging fierily.
He watched his sexual flesh vanish into the warmth and delicacy of her mouth. His cock began growing, lengthening and thickening. She trembled, squeezed his nuts, and slithered her tongue sexily all over the growing shaft sticking out of her face.
He reached down to run his hands into her armpits. His palms pressed the bulging outer sides of her breasts as he lifted her. She let his cock swing out of her mouth, rising because he wanted her to, and then he kissed her. His mouth moved slowly and tenderly over hers. Her lips trembled beneath his, opened. Their tongues met and danced over each other.
Then he pulled her onto the bed.
Her eyes were shining. "Are you going to put it in me now?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Isn't that my reward?"
He chuckled. "At the time I didn't think you'd look on that as a reward."
She turned her head aside. "That was a thousand years ago. Don't remind me. I'm sorry. I-I liked it, most of it. That surprised me. I mean I like you in, uh, in charge. But-I've been screwed four times. And never yet with any kind of tenderness or love."
"Be patient," he said, and bent his head to the big mounds of her naked white tits. He kissed them firmly. Then his tongue was sliding over the soft silken skin, dipping and curling over the softly colored berries at their highest points, stabbing at them with his tongue. He licked as he held and squeezed the hard, up-surging swells. She sighed and moaned, moving restlessly on the huge old bed and reaching up to stroke his cheek and hair with one trembling hand. He let her feel the moist tip of his cock against her thighs, and he felt her part them with a swift quiver.
His hands and mouth and swirling tongue eagerly worshiped her impatient bosom until the nipples tightened to rigid cores in the lush masses of white flesh. She pushed them into his face, grinding the nipples into his mouth and against his teeth until they hurt, and yet cried out for more rough attention.
He backed along the bed, along her body, letting his lips caress her quivering flesh. His tongue teased her navel. Then he trailed his lips down over the bulging pink triangle of her vulva and onto the moist lobes framing the hairless cleft.
"Ummm-uh! Ah-ohdar-ling-g-g-gggg!"
He wiggled his tongue between the soft labia and tasted the inner surfaces of her juicy cunt-lips.
"ah! Oh, my-my god-o-o-oh-h-h, DAR-lingggg!"
Indescribable thrills ran through the astounded girl as he slicked his tongue over her throbbing clit and speared it between her bulging pink lips. He tasted the melting flesh with his licking, sucking mouth, and he loved it. His tongue plunged into her, deep and daring. She squirmed with increasing passion and her moans became a constant trickle from her open mouth. She felt the tip of his sweet tongue deep in her cunt, quivering and licking about inside, making the dewy juices rise and flow within her and increasing her ecstasy until she was a writhing, twitching, moaning prey to his demanding attentions.
His hand slid beneath her, fondled the firm cheeks of her butt, tickled teasingly into the warm crack separating them. She grunted and lurched her wet pussy up against his face when she felt the tip of his finger pressing against her tightly coiled anus. She gasped and groaned and thrummed her heels on the bed in reaction to the lust that was writhing and yelling inside her.
His finger teased the tight little opening to her bowels and his tongue traced and teased the slit of her vulva, slickering up to run over her pulsing clit again and again.
He let one arm swing over the side of the bed, found the jar of Vaseline just where he had left it, and open. He ran his two longest fingers in to the first knuckle, then slid them out and held her left hip up off the bed while he slipped that hand beneath her.
Her clitoris throbbed in response to his busy mouth and lashing tongue. His tongue slipped and slithered in and out of her slobbering lower lips with wet swishing noises. His fingers eased into the crack of her ass. She sagged back onto the bed as if trying to sink through it. Her arms stretched back over her head so that both her bulging mound and her beautiful round tits protruded in passionate invitation. His slippery fingers found her little anal mouth and tickled at it while he sucked at her clitoris.
Then he opened her with a Vaseline-slick finger and began sliding it up into her hot tight asshole.
"Ah! A-aan-n-ng-ghhhh! Oh-aowww-uh! O-o-ohhh ... b-ba-baby ... what are you DOING?"
Didn't know about that, did you? he thought, twitching his finger in her anus. All sorts of sexually arousable little nerves in here, and they connect your sweet little asshole to its next-door neighbor-the cunt I'm eating out for you, baby doll!
She continued to grunt and gasp out sighing squeals of surprise and pleasure and slight pain that was little more than a transitory discomfort, far transcended and overwhelmed by the blissful pleasure of his gentle, well-lubricated finger sliding up into her ass.
He lifted his mouth above her juicy cunt long enough to tell her to turn over. He kept his hand in her crack, but his other hand guided her, hoisting one thigh so that when he returned his lips to her pussy, he was enclosed in the smooth firm warmth of silky-skinned inner thighs. And her cheeks were parted, so that his tongue had full and easy access to the tiny rear aperture it probed.
He eased it out, making her grunt and jerk, then pushed it back in. This time he impaled her to the second knuckle of his middle finger, sliding well over two inches of stiff finger through her anus and into the hot incredibly tight rectal passage.
Her body quivered and jerked, all over. Her thighs clamped his head and suddenly he was blind and deaf, enclosed in sweet savory woman-flesh while he ran his finger in and out of her ass and his tongue in and out of the slippery running lips of her excited pussy.
Wait until I show her how both of us can do this at once, he thought, feeling the growing ache in his jaws as he fucked her with his tongue. So we're different heights-all we have to do is lie on our sides and curl around a little. I'd do it now, but-
But he had something else in mind.
He lifted her thigh with his hand, listening to her impassioned moans and whimpering as he slid his head from between her legs. She had been clitorized high and close to orgasm and then left there so many times that she was already resigning herself to its happening again.
With her lying on her side, he eased his finger out of her anus and hunched up close behind her. His bulging, throbbing, anxious cock sought the soft and softly slashed bulge between her thighs, all moist and slick with both her cuntal juices and his soothing saliva.
She groaned and wriggled backward when she felt the pressure of the broad, blood-gorged head of his prick nudge up against her itching, thirsty pussy from behind. The labia parted submissively before the insistent thrust of his hard prodding flesh and it skewered in and in.
"Ah-umm-mm-mmm-mmmm-MMMMoh-h-h YES!"
His pelvis was cupped around the bulging soft pillows of her asscheeks. His cock was well ensconced in her wet pink pussy folds. He jerked hips and legs and buttocks, fucking swiftly in and out of her. Sounds of high pleasure came trembling from her throat and she dug at the sheet with excited fingers. Rapture coursed hotly through her belly, then heightened: he had swung his arm over her upper hip and had his hand at her cunt.
He lay behind her on his side and sent his cock spearing in and out of her turbulent vaginal chasm, and all the while his fingers continued the caressing and tweaking and sexy manipulation of her clitoris that his mouth and roving tongue had begun.
She jerked and squealed and jiggled, thrusting at the bed with hands and feet to ram herself back against him and onto the impaling probe filling her slick wet pussy. Her clit felt enormous, throbbing and pulsing, sending wave after wave of liquid heat flickering through her to roast her belly and make her scream. Pounding waves of blood slammed through her lolling head.
"You're a virgin still," he murmured, "and you don't even know it!"
Her orgasm exploded deep in the pit of her belly in a billowing wave of intense heat.
"Dar-lingg,-ah-ah-oh-oh, DARLING!"
Jerking her head from side to side and cramming her cunt back onto his ramming cock, she screamed and murmured and sighed out her hot wet orgasm.
He felt the floodgates open up, way inside her. His engulfed prick was bathed and coated with even more juice from her wildly functional inner glands. He felt the change in her body, the sagging flaccidity of post-climax, the release of all tension and the sudden soft flaccidity of her entire body. It was the moment he had sought and waited for.
He pulled his cum-coated cock out of her sopping cunt, adjusted his aim slightly, and pushed.
The ease with which his cock ran up her ass surprised him.
The strong firm muscles in her anus tightened, grabbed the fat head of his prick and squeezed it angrily, denying it further entrance. But he was insistent and her ass was already opened and widened by his Vaseline-smeared fingers, and relaxed from her orgasm, and his prick was coated with the juice of her own orgasm. Her sphincter collapsed like a weakened gate before the invader's battering ram.
Instantly she had an ass full of cock.
Oh, lord, he thought, the heat!-the tightness! It was unbelievable, like nothing ever. He would never tell her, but-he had screwed many a soft snug cunt. But none had ever been as exciting, as gratifying as the rubbery inner skin of her vise-like anus.
He lay there behind it and revelled in the feel of it, while she remained very, very still, gasping and trying desperately to accustom herself to the big log he had shoved up her ass. It hurt-but only a little-and she could feel the hurt easing, going away-and she couldn't understand that-he had the best fucker she had had in her ... Sandor's had been the longest, but she had learned quickly that it was the thickness that counted, how well-filled her pussy was, not how deeply probed.
She couldn't understand why that thick cock up her back hadn't torn her wide open and bloodied her fearfully.
"Uh-oh ... Bob ... darling ... uh, Master ... this is ... this is wicked! You shouldn't-we can't...."
He stroked her trembling white hip. "More bullshit you've got to get out of your head, sweetheart. We can. We should. We are. We will. And-I TOLD you, you were still a virgin!"
"Oh-I didn't understand ... you mean, you meant-up there in my ... my-"
"-your ass," he supplied, remaining still although now it was taking all his will power not to fuck hell out of her hot tight asshole.
"-uh ... my ... my ass, yes, darling."
Suddenly she sighed. "Yes-how lovely! I was still a virgin for you!" She wiggled, just a little. Carefully and tentatively.
"That's old-fashioned talk, and only a selfish bastard would insist that his woman be a virgin," he told her. "Or a dummy-who wants to have to break in some tight-assed virgin the hard way?" He flexed his hips a very small way.
"But-um ... you, you are! You have to-there must still be a lot I don't know, isn't there? I mean-I didn't even know you could do this!"
He clamped his hands onto her hips, firmly, with slapping sounds. "Not me," he told her. "With us it was the easy way. I didn't have to plead and cajole and all that shit to break down all the old-time inhibitions your mommy stuck you with. I SMASHED 'em! And now, slave, get up on your hands and knees with your tits swinging while I fuck your ass!"
He felt her tremors as his words sent hot quivers of excitement running through her. She groaned as she raised herself, immediately as he had ordered, onto hands and knees. He rose with her, not letting his prick escape its pleasantly tight and hot cage. Kneeling up behind her, he held her with a hand tightly clamped to the burgeoning side of each of her big white asscheeks. They quivered in his hands.
His engulfed cock felt less fiery hot, softer and more flexible now, as her long rectal channel grew accustomed to it. It seemed malleable now, rather than a hot thick poker. But still her asshole gripped and squeezed him until he was sure his big tool must be white and bloodless and an inch or two longer.
He pulled. She moaned and trembled. His cock emerged. The tender flesh of her anal ring followed it out, stretching rubberily along the big plug of his penis. He let it ride out until only about an inch was left inside, then shoved. He ran it back into her, folding her coiled little hole in on itself and making her wiggle and scream in a stinging maelstrom of pleasure-pain passion.
With his hands tightly compressing the firm hard globes of her ass, he began grooving it in and out of her. His prick bored into her, plowing the spongy furrow of her bowels.
Suddenly she began to move. Her dangling tits slapped together as she swayed her bowed, kneeling body tentatively, sighed, and started moving seriously. She began a rocking-horse motion, forward and back, sliding her sweltering anal hole up and down the pole of his groin. The succulent, resiliently rubbery flesh of her buttocks smacked his pelvis with a regular rhythmic pressuring.
He grinned. She not only liked it-she obviously loved it! He wondered how many Mariannes there were, thinking they believed one thing and all ready to be turned on. He slid his prick smoothly in and out of the dark hungry hole she proffered so willingly. The pace of his strokes increased until her tits jiggled and made wet fleshy noises, slapping each other as they swung and bounded beneath her jouncing body. She moaned in passionate rising need and ground her ass back against him, almost hard enough to hurt.
He knelt high, his hands planted firmly on the flaring cheeks of her gyrating rump. His hands held them ajar while he watched the smooth warm length of his tool slide in and in until his hairs were jammed into the long crease between her cheeks. Then he pulled it back, only to shove it up her ass again.
Abruptly he shuddered. His fingers clutched her buttocks.
"I-I'm coming," he gasped. "Going to be still-move, darling, move! Jack me off with your ass!"
"Oh, yes, yes, YES!" she gasped. The last word came out in a loud cry as she began jerking back and forth. Her cheeks splatted his groin, lunged away, and came jamming back again. The long hot tunnel of her rectum slid up and down the shaft of his shit-slick cock like a soft, tight-clenched hand. That he wanted her to do it, that she was doing the fucking, excited her more than anything else that had happened. Balancing herself on her knees and one hand, she reached back under her bowed body and began rubbing her pulsating clitoris in little circular motions.
"Yaaagh!" she cried, for she felt the first hot jetting spurt of semen when his cock flung it up into her bowels.
He groaned behind her, jerking and thrusting deep with his spurting cock to cream its steaming contents deep into her guts. Its juice leaped into her in a pulsing stream that did not abate until she had felt and received every ounce of his copious seed way up in her intestine.
As the last little jerk emptied his balls, her hand fell away from herself. Sweating and sobbing, she sank down and quivered in her orgasm. He sagged down with her, maintaining his prick in her rectum.
This time, properly in bed and sighing and moaning in the warm sweaty aftermath of orgasm, they both drifted off to sleep.
Jeanne and Joe found them that way when they came into the room less than two hours later. With their hands twined together, the two stood there and gazed at the naked couple on the bed.
Jeanne smiled up at him. "Tired?"
"What do you think, bitch? You sucked so much cum out of me down there that I think I'll be empty for a week!"
"Oh, I doubt that," she giggled. "But-let's be sneaky and quiet, and join them. After all, it is a big bed!"
And they crawled in without waking the others.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Marianne awakened slowly to the delightful new-found sensation of a mouth and tongue sweetly sucking and licking her soft pink labia and the inviting red slash between them.
She sighed, gazing rapturously up at the ceiling. "Ohhh, baby," she murmured, sliding her own hands up to toy with her nipples.
She felt him work his tongue through the soft lips and then slither it titillatingly in between them. She lay on her back with her legs opening wider and wider in a wanton display of her naked body.
"Uh," she grunted, her belly tensing and jerking when his teeth sought and teased her clit, tugging it out of its snug little sheath and caressing it with the tip of his tongue. She began to exude trickling perspiration, and she sighed in rising sensuality.
"Oh-ohhh ... uh-umm ... oh, darling, that's so ni-i-ice ... so good-"
Then her eyes widened. A face appeared above her and came down and down. Long blonde hair swung down to tickle her chest. Then Jeanne's face vanished and Marianne was looking at the top of the other woman's head. While Jeanne sucked her nipple.
"I-uh-Jeanne ... no you can't-we ... oh, BOB!" She had recognized his hand, wrapped around one of Jeanne's down-swinging tits and squeezing and relaxing, squeezing and relaxing around it, as though he were trying to milk the shapely blonde.
"HMM?"
Marianne gasped. Bob's head had appeared above Jeanne's, from behind her. He was smiling down at Marianne, his brows up questioningly.
Bob! Behind Jeanne, playing with her down-swinging tits! But the avid mouth was still at work on her cunt, licking and sucking and tongue-fucking.
Then who-?
She tried to rise. She fell back. She knew it was Joe, mouthing her just as delightfully as Bob had. Jeanne's fiance, with his mouth on Marianne's smooth pussy. And Jeanne herself, bent over her, avidly sucking away her nipple until it was a long hard bulb, thrusting up into the blonde's sucking wet mouth. And Bob, behind Jeanne, playing with her tits-and what else? Where was his other hand? That squishing noise, Jeanne's moans and quivering wriggles....
Marianne squeezed her eyes shut, then blinked them open again to stare up at the ceiling. She was sure that Bob had a finger inside the other woman.
Marianne felt shock without horror. She only wondered: which available hole of the kneeling woman was Bob piercing with his slicking finger?
It didn't matter. It was all too lovely. They all love me, Marianne thought. And-I love them. How wonderful, in this world, that four people can-
But I'm not doing anything!
At once she swung a hand over, found Jeanne's other swinging, dangling breast, and began rubbing the downward pointing nipple vigorously. Marianne's hand brushed Bob's, at work on the other long teardrop tit.
There were movements all around her, and then Joe's mouth had left her vulva and he was coming up to lie beside her. He smiled, and it was only with difficulty that she avoided jerking her head away from his kiss. But after a few seconds she kissed him back. Her free hand went searching. She found his hairy thighs, his cock. It was long and wobbly, not quite stiff. She began fondling it. He grunted, grinned, and pushed Jeanne's head away. Then he settled down to suck at one of Marianne's big up-standing nipples.
Jeanne turned around and Marianne stared at her gleaming white buttocks as the blonde knelt up on the side of the bed, facing away. Bob was standing there, and he smiled down at Marianne as Jeanne slid her hot wet mouth down the broad shaft of his cock. He extended a hand, fingers outstretched. Marianne reached out and up to touch his fingers. They exchanged a firm pressure.
Then Marianne lifted Joe's head from her breast and slid down and down in the bed to see how his cock tasted.
She was soon learning all about its taste, sucking it into her mouth and lapping it with her tongue. It quickly came alive under her tender oral ministrations, lengthening and bulging out in her mouth. He wiggled a little, curling, and his hands came down to her head. Holding it between both his palms, he guided her mouth off and on his prick. She held her lips wide and let it slide in and out.
"Unnnngh!" she grunted, barely remembering in time not to clamp her teeth on the throbbing erection filling her face and stretching her jaws. She had just been speared, from behind, straight and deep up her wet cunt.
Oh, she thought, smiling around Joe's big penis. Poor Jeanne! I've got both men-one in my face and one where it counts! Um-uh-so good, ramming in and out-feels like Bob's raping mehow lovely!
Oh, wow, she thought, sucking hard and revelling in the big slithery rod poking firmly up her snatch. Just think if we ALL moved in here-lord, with BOTH of them, and Jeanne too, I might make up for all the fuck time I've been losing all these years!
Then the thought struck her of how fascinating it would be to be Jeanne right now, watching while two men made a sandwich of her. How lovely to watch them both screwing with Jeanne! Thrills of rapture shot through Marianne's belly at the lasciviously erotic mental picture she evoked.
She began bucking her cunt strongly back on Bob's cock and sluicing her mouth up and down Joe's, just as ardently and strongly.
I'll never, never tell anyone-but how grateful I am now to that awful Sandor and Dirk for-for what they did! Now all I have to do is manage to get the three of them to agree with me: that we should all four live here together!
Behind her, pumping swiftly in and out of her cunt and wondering idly if he would hurt her if he slipped it out and poked it up her ass where she obviously liked it, Bob, too, was thinking.
I already paid them-but this is so wonderful, she's such a wonderful sexy woman now, maybe I should give ole Dirk and Sandy a bonus for doing such a good job, even better than I'd hoped when I hired them to try to shake Marianne's Victorian brain loose! Yeah-and now all I have to do is persuade her to go along with Jeanne's suggestion-for all four of us to move in here, together!
