In these enlightened times, most of us tend to lose sight of the fact that not everyone engages in sex the way most of us do ... which is through mutual consent of both parties. And even then, when both parties are involved of their own free will, not always is the act carried out in what would be called a normal manner.
No, for many, there is one more essential ingredient. Whether the male or the female requires it is really irrelevant to the purposes of this study. The dominant image is the same regardless: a naked female, bound and tied, passively waiting to submit to her tormentor. Her quivering body, her soft milky breasts shaking from fear, and the moist patch of hair between her legs, damp with fear, damp with arousal.
It is this image with which this study is concerned. Read, and learn that not all are committed to the notion of freedom, whether it be freedom of choice, or simply freedom of movement.
CASE HISTORY ONE
SUBJECT: Merele M.
AGE: Nineteen
INTERVIEW ONE
Merele has a look about her of thriving vivaciousness, from the bright sparkle in her flaming red hair, to the nearly defiant thrust of her breasts as she tugged hard against the buttons of her blouse.
She did not particularly dress in an overtly sexy fashion ... it was simply in the way that she carried herself. She projected an air of confidence, which was all the more strange when I heard her story. In a less assertive personality type, an experience such as hers could very well have resulted in a severe mental block to any kind of sexual activity. It speaks of her well-adjusted personality, to say nothing of her libido, that she has been able to avert such difficulties. That she remains firmly together in her mind however, does nothing to detract from the harrowing experience that she was forced to endure, at the hands of her sister, no less.
Jenette always had guys flocking around her. That's my older sister. Two years older, to be exact. The interesting thing about us, though, is that we look an awfully lot alike, and I started to grow breasts nearly two years earlier in my life than she did. The result being that by the time she was in high school, I was already competing for her in the looks department. We both knew it too.
But there was one area that she'd left me far behind in the dust in, and we also both knew that. She'd started fucking and really enjoyed it a lot. I was kind of afraid to, and so, it stands to reason, that although we usually did a lot of things together, and we always had a lot of boys hanging around, it was my sister that they were there to see.
I was treated with a good deal of respect, mainly because my tits were just about as big as Jenette's, but they knew that if they wanted to get a good feel, as well as a good deal more, she had the playground, while with me they'd just be window shopping.
I didn't mind though. I felt that I was too young to start fucking. But sometimes it got a little frustrating. I have to admit that.
I also got a little annoyed sometimes at the kinds of guys that my sister would hang around with, just for stupid reasons like they had cars or money or stuff like that.
Bob Sykes and Jimmy Mathers, for one. They were good buddies, always hanging out together, and they both, at one time or another had the hots for Jenette.
They used to call me 'the cute little punk' which would drive me wild. But Jimmy had a car, a rebuilt '66 Pontiac Firebird, and it was really a classic item.
I guess it made sense that if they ever wanted a couple of good-looking chicks to be seen with, they'd come by and look up good old Jenette and Merele. Jenette liked to tease them, and I just liked to be a smart ass to them, and they were kind of nice but basically real stupid. Jenette knew it, but she still fucked them anyway, although not a lot.
"What do you see in them?" I asked her one time.
"They ride around in a nice car," she'd answered honestly.
"Yeah, but doesn't it get kind of tiring, both of them always hitting to get into your pants?"
"Oh ... I wouldn't say that. It's kind of a fun game that we play."
"Don't the two of them ever get jealous of each other?"
"They don't seem to. Like I said, no one's talking about falling in love or anything like that. It's just fun. Good, clean, fun. It's also good wet dirty sex, but that's just the reward for playing the game right."
"I don't think I really understand," I said.
"Don't worry, you will."
She eyed my body as she said that. "You know, I'd have killed to have tits like that at your age."
"You know, sometimes I don't feel like I deserve them."
She laughed. "Why on earth would you say something like that?"
"I mean, like, I know they look good, and there are always these guys hanging around me and I know it's because they like the way my body looks ... but I still don't really know what to do with them. It's like you just said. You would have killed for tits like these. I guess if you'd had a set, you'd have known what to do with the guys that came around."
"Oh honey, you'd better believe it."
"See. That's my point. I don't think that I do. Not yet."
She studied me. "Merele, are you really still a virgin?" I nodded.
She smiled. "I think that's cute. No, really, I do."
"Cute!!! Cute!!! Look, Sis, that's the last thing I need anyone thinking about me, that I'm cute. Understand?"
"Hey, hey, take it easy. Just kidding. Look, Bob and Jimmy are coming by and we're going to ride out to Quentin Park. Sound interesting?"
I said that it was, but I really wished after we got there that I hadn't come.
They had some pretty good pot, and a lot of beer, and by the time we got there, we were all loaded, which would have been all right, but then, Jenette started to act trashy with Jimmy, and pretty soon, they were gone.
Leaving me to answer the obvious questions that Bob would want to ask. Like "What's the matter, don't you like me?" and "Aw, come on, you have to lose it sooner or later."
"I know that," I patiently explained, "but don't I have the right to make the decision for myself?"
I could see that he was annoyed with me. Apparently that wasn't part of the game the way they played it. He went off to the car and sat in the front seat, getting drunker and drunker, smoking more and more joints, and I was left alone to sit on a large rock and look at the lake.
I didn't know why, but there just wasn't anything about the idea of fucking that seemed to appeal to me. Not with Bob Sykes, at least. Or Jimmy Mathers, for that matter, although judging from the sounds that occasionally drifted out of the woods, Jenette shared none of my problems.
I could hear her squealing, and laughing, and once in a while I could hear Jimmy's voice saying one thing or another, and pretty soon, acting like the little kid that I still was, I decided to go spy on her.
I'd forgotten all about Bob by this time, and stealthily crept through the woods until I came to the edge of a clearing.
I had never seen two people getting it on together like that, even though I'd talked about sex a lot with Jenette, and I knew what it was all about, and I'd even seen some fuck films. But of course, I'd never actually watched two people getting it on, so when I saw my sister sitting on a moss-covered log, naked, with her legs spread, and Jimmy down on his knees, with his head between her thighs, I could only stare in fascination.
She had a beautiful, slim body. I didn't get that much of an opportunity to see her naked even ... once in a while in the bathroom, getting dressed for some function or other ... but face it, by the time you get to high school, you don't go around naked and neither does your sister.
I noticed that even though there was a resemblance between us, that she had a much more mature body. I don't know what it was ... her breasts were a little bigger, true, but there was something else as well. Something in the way that her bones protruded beneath her skin giving shape to her contours, something about the way her muscles were stretched from joint to joint ... she just looked like her body had had more of an opportunity to mature ... as if whatever hormones were making her want to fuck, had had a lot longer time to work on the rest of her body as well. I sighed, and kind of wished that I could feel the same desire myself. After all, there was a guy back in the front seat of that car who would have been overjoyed to provide me with the lessons that I lacked.
But I felt nothing more than a curiosity as I watched Jenette lower her fingers to each one of her pouting, full cunt-lips and spread them apart.
She pulled them out and pulled them up, and I saw Jimmy's tongue narrow to a small point as he zeroed in on her clit. I knew what that was, I can tell you that, and I'd even managed to make my own do what it was meant to do. But it was still strange to watch it happening to someone else.
He started to shake his head from side to side, slowly at first, keeping his tongue very very tight in relation to the rest of his head, so that whatever movements he forced his neck to make were instantly transformed to his tongue and went straight to her clit.
Then he started to shake his head faster and faster, keeping the tip of his tongue to her clit.
Then he started to shake his head faster and faster, keeping the tip of his tongue right on her clitoris.
She started to squeal, started to coo, and giggle, and I could see that her breasts were quivering as well.
"Oh, oh, watch it," she said, "that's too hard. Not so hard."
But Jimmy just chuckled and kept on.
I saw a frown cross her face a second, but then it was gone, as Jimmy went into it shifting into high gear. I watched as Jenette opened her legs wider and wider, and then saw two of Jimmy's fingers slid up and vanish into her cunt.
I was getting more and more curious, and started to crawl around the edge of the clearing, wanting to get a better look.
It really was kind of a silly looking activity, I thought to myself, as I moved closer and closer, but there certainly must be something that was fun about it. Maybe I could figure out what it was if I got a closer look.
When I was able to poke my head up again, Jenette had shifted her position, and now she was leaning back more, with her legs opened on either side of the log. I stared with open fascination as I looked at her shiny pink flesh that peeked between that patch of red pubic hair. Her bush, like mine, was soft, and the hairs didn't seem to be as kinky as some girl's that I'd seen, and as Jimmy's fingers worked in and out of her cunt, I could tell that it was really starting to drive her crazy.
Suddenly, a hand clamped over my mouth!
I cried out, but there was no sound escaping from my lips, other than a muffled grunt and a groan.
I looked around in wide-eyed horror, totally unable to think or reason my way through anything.
Whoever it was had my mouth totally covered, and I couldn't even breathe. This made me more frightened, and I started to thrash about and kick wildly.
It was useless. He was far too strong.
I still hadn't really been able to regain my thoughts on any kind of a coherent level. But then, I smelled something familiar.
Beer!
And pot! And another smell ... cheap after-shave lotion, the kind that I remembered on Bob Sykes!
And suddenly everything became clear. He was trying to scare me, the bastard.
I started to really struggle with him, but he lowered his mouth to my ear and said, "If you want your sister to find out what you were doing, just keep it up."
That was my first mistake. I don't know why that suddenly sounded like a horrible thing, but he said it in such a threatening manner. Jenette and I have always had a good relationship, and I know that even though she'd have been a little annoyed if she'd known that I was spying on her, she wouldn't have thought that it was anything weird, and she wouldn't have gotten mad.
But I let him scare me, probably because I was already scared.
He squeezed my mouth harder, and said, "You hear? Huh?"
I nodded my head, and he let me go. I almost screamed out, but I thought that it would make me look silly.
"You're a cute little thing," he said, and I noticed that he was just kind of wavering there on his feet. All right, sure the ground was a little soggy, and it wasn't all that level ... he was fucked up out of his head, and I really don't think he had too much of an idea what he was all about.
"Why don't you loosen up a little bit, girl? Huh? Come on, it ain't gonna hurt you to start acting human, is it?
"You could take a lesson or two in that yourself," I said, being a smart-assed little sister again.
He got a mean kind of look on his face and started to come towards me.
"I wouldn't, if I was you," I said, but he didn't pay any attention, just started to lurch towards me, and I suddenly realized that he couldn't catch a train with tickets in his hand and someone to lead him to the platform, let alone catch me in the woods. I started to giggle, and laugh, and taunt him. I just kept backing away, skipping out of reach every time he lunged for me.
I could tell that he was starting to get really pissed off, and the longer I evaded him, the more pissed off he got.
His face started to get red, and he was muttering under his breath. I could see that he was trying to take it as a joke, but he was just too fucked up on drugs and booze to keep things under control.
Suddenly he started to run.
I squealed and turned around to run from him, and for about a hundred feet, I was able to keep well out of his reach.
But all at once it felt like I'd stepped off the edge of the world.
Everything spun, and I felt like I was falling, and then it was all wet, and I couldn't help myself. I screamed.
Only, there wasn't any scream.
I started to flail about, slashing my arms through whatever it was that I'd fallen into.
That's when I realized that I'd run headlong into a real icky mud-bog, and even now was lying face down in it.
Hands started to pull me from the mud, and Bob started to laugh.
"You look like a monster in one of those cheap horror flicks," he cracked.
I was a mess.
My clothes were completely covered in gunk, and on top of that, the mud stunk.
"Guess you're gonna need to wash that shit off," he said.
"Where?"
"Come on back to the lake, and just go jumping in, and I'll fetch a big beach towel from the car. Sound good?"
He was being nice, and for that reason, I didn't trust him for a second. But I knew at least when my options had been reduced to zero, and so I walked stiffly back to the lake.
"Okay," he called from the bank when he'd returned with the towel, "just toss your clothes up onto the sand, and then, I'll come down with the towel and you can wrap it around you."
I was feeling real foolish, and couldn't help wondering if maybe I wasn't making too much of being self-conscious of my body. I could just imagine the way Jenette would handle this. With a lot of class, I'd have bet. I know that she would have just used the situation to tease Bob even more, and maybe she'd have fucked him, and maybe not, but there would never have been any doubt in his mind that she was calling all the shots.
I struggled out of my clothes, and first shook them real good in the water to try and get all the slime out of them before it had a chance to dry and settle into the material. Then, one by one, I tossed everything that I'd been wearing up onto the bank.
He picked up my panties and went "Ooooooweeeee!! Look at these gems. Ain't they purty. Hey, can I sniff them?"
"You're disgusting," I said, and meant it.'
I was crouched down in about five feet of water.
"Okay," he said, "here I come."
I realized that he'd get his trousers wet, so I finally decided that there wasn't any reason to act so foolish.
"Never mind," I said, standing up. My breasts broke the surface, and as I marched steadily towards the shore, he stared at me in open-mouthed awe.
"Damn, you're better looking than your sister," he said, sort of staring at me stupid like.
I felt my waist rise above the surface, and then my pubic bush, and my thighs, but by that time, he seemed to have gone into a trance.
"The towel ... Bob ... the towel?"
He shook his head. I was standing right in front of him, but he'd almost looked like he didn't know what was going on ... like he'd forgotten who I was and what we were doing there.
I wrapped the towel around me and picked up my clothes, rinsing them one last time in the lake water to get the sand off of them, and then we walked back to the car.
"I wonder how long they're going to be?" I said.
"If I know your sister, she'll keep Jimmy going just as long as that boy'll put out."
I didn't think I liked the sound of his voice.
"You make her sound like she's an animal or something." He smirked.
"She's a machine, if you want my opinion."
"That's a terrible thing to say," I protested.
"Cut the shit. She knows what she's doing ... which is more than I can say for her little sister."
"That's enough," I said, feeling cold. I wished that we could be home right then. I set my clothes on the hood of the car to let them dry out.
"I'm glad there's still some sunlight left," I said.
"What for. I think you look pretty cute wrapped up in that towel."
He was looming over me.
"I think you're pretty drunk, you want my opinion."
"I don't."
I didn't say anything, and waited till he opened the front door on the passenger side.
Then I opened the back door and got in. I saw that he'd been holding it for me, and that he looked pretty pissed that I'd ignored him like that.
He slammed the door shut and then opened the back door.
"Slide over," he said.
"What are you doing?" I asked, trying not to sound scared.
"I mean that I want you to fucking slide your sweet ass over on the seat so I'll have room to sit beside you."
I was shivering in my towel, but it wasn't just from the cold.
"Bob, stop this."
But he wasn't paying any attention to me at all.
Instead, he just shut the door, and turned to look at me. I saw that his eyes were targeted firmly on my breasts that protruded beneath my towel.
"Stop looking at me like that."
"Suits me," he said, and then, he just reached over and grabbed the towel and pulled them off my tits.
"I'd prefer to look at you like this any day."
He let out a loud guffaw, and then he was all over me.
I was squirming, and started to scream, and then he grabbed my breasts so hard that I thought I was going to die.
"I've been wanting to get my hands on these tits for a long fucking time, sweetheart, you know that? I've been doing a hell of a lot of thinking about these things."
He was going crazy. For some reason, he'd just kind of drifted into this really strange place standing on the shore, watching me come out of the water, and he hadn't snapped out of it yet. If anything, he was much weirder than he'd been when he was chasing me through the woods.
I felt him spreading my thighs, and even though I struggled against him as hard as I could, he was able to start stuffing some fingers up my pussy.
I let out a shriek that was the loudest thing that had ever come out of my mouth.
I heard voices around the car, and suddenly, I heard my sister's voice.
"Fucking maniacs," she was saying, and then the door was opened, and there were people around me and someone reached in and yanked Bob off of me, and Jenette was asking me what had happened.
"And your clothes, what happened to your clothes?"
I was hysterical, sobbing, and more frightened than I'd ever been in my life.
There was a family outside the car too. I guess my screams had attracted them from their picnic or whatever they were here for, and he was saying "I'll call the police. You want me to call the police?"
"I looked into Jenette's eyes, and saw that she had a kind of disheveled look about her, as if she'd had to throw her clothes on fast.
"Merele, what the hell is going on here?" she asked again.
I tried to speak, but nothing would come out. I just kept on crying.
She looked at Jimmy helplessly and at Bob accusingly.
"What's going on here?" she demanded.
He frowned. "Look, don't go crawling over me, all right. I mean, I don't fucking have anything to apologize for."
"Do you want me to call the police?" asked the father. "I've got a police radio with fifty-seven channels on it. I'll call the police."
"Hey daddy," said his fat kid, staring in at me through the window, "she don't got no clothes on."
"You get away from there," his father yelled at him. Turning to his frail wife he said, take them back to the tent. This isn't the kind of thing kids should be exposed to."
I was just sitting in the back seat, sobbing, and finally, Jenette, realizing that something had to be done, asked the man if he'd drive us to a store with a phone so we could call our father.
"Aw, come on," whined Jimmy, "that ain't necessary. We'll give you a ride back. Bob'll be good, won't you Bob?"
Bob just scowled.
"Look, I'll talk to you two later, all right," said Jenette, and collecting my clothes, she led me out of the car and followed the man.
"I still think you should call the police. They're scum. They're real scum. I can tell. Scum like that should be put away and disposed of. They're vermin. You kill rats. You loll cockroaches. You should call the police."
Jenette thanked him, but I could see she was troubled. She turned to me and said, "I don't care what happened, that's not like Bob. I hope you've got a good explanation for all this."
Her doubts and suspicions were unmistakable. I felt suddenly very much afraid and very much alone.
INTERVIEW TWO
I decided to stop Merele, simply because that provided all the necessary background, and I wanted her to be able to start out fresh when getting into the true essence of her story. She continues:
Jenette was mad at me. I could tell from the moment that we got home.
"I guess I was wrong about you, little sister," she said, really leaning into the word 'little' almost taunting me with it.
"What are you talking about?" I asked. "He really tried to rape me."
"Uh-huh. Is that what he did? Or was he just reacting naturally to a beautiful body?"
I was confused. "What are you saying, that it's my fault that I have big tits or something?"
"What were you doing running through the woods to fall in that mud-bog anyway?"
"Well ... " I said, reluctant to tell her that I'd been spying on her and Jimmy Mathers.
She let the subject drop, but somehow, the two of us were never quite so close again. She started to go her own way, and I stopped hanging around her and her friends. I felt a little depressed about it, but I guess I thought that it was for the best. We didn't bring up the topic of Jimmy and Bob again, and I noticed that neither of them came around very much anymore anyway. I figured that she probably blamed me for that.
Until one day, I saw her with a new boyfriend.
His name was John, and he was a freshman in college, and lived off campus, right down the street from where we lived.
I was just amazed by him. He was so much different from Jimmy and Bob, and really from just about anyone else that Jenette had ever hung out with. He was mature. He was sophisticated, and he seemed to know what he wanted out of life, and where he was going.
Pretty soon, he became a regular fixture around the place, coming over for dinner, staying late to watch TV with Jenette, and sort of becoming a permanent fixture around her.
"Are you in love with him," I asked her one day.
"I don't know. I might be."
"How do you know?"
"Well, I don't feel like playing games with, him. That's one way that I know."
"Is he as good as Jimmy Mathers?"
She gave me a sharp look. "What do you mean by that?"
"I was just wondering if he fucks as good as Jimmy, or any of the other guys that you used to fuck."
"He doesn't treat me like that. He treats me with respect."
"You mean you haven't let him fuck you?"
She was looking annoyed. "Merele, don't you have something else you can be doing?"
"Well, excuse me. I didn't know you were such a tight-ass."
"Shut-up."
"Gosh," I said, idly, pretending to talk to myself, "I wonder what Good Old John would say if he knew that you used to fuck anything with a cock."
She bounded across the room and grabbed me by the arm.
"You little twat! Let me tell you one thing right now! You keep away from him with that big fucking mouth of yours. Do you hear me?"
"What are you trying to do, pass yourself off as a virgin or something?"
"What if I am?"
"Oh ... I don't know. Maybe it might mean that you know he wouldn't want to have anything to do with you if he knew what a slut you used to be. Letting ignorant assholes lick your pussy out in the woods, and getting pissed at your little sister because she wouldn't let a guy rape her."
For a second Jenette's eyes crossed, and she seemed to come slightly unhinged.
I thought she was actually going to hit me.
"I promise you, you brat. I'll kill you if you ever say anything to him."
I giggled at her.
"It just occurred to me that if it's a real virgin that he wants ... he's going to be real disappointed when he sticks it in you for the first time. Now, me ... I'm the genuine article. I'm-!"
I was just teasing her. I wasn't being serious. But I never got a chance to finish my sentence because she hit me right across the face.
"I'm not kidding you, Merele, I'll kill you. This is it. There is no more friendship between us. None. Ever again. Do you understand."
"The question is: do I agree?" I shot back and walked out.
I was glad that I'd managed to conduct myself with a bit of dignity, but to be honest, when she hit me, I felt a little like I'd lost my last friend in the world. Things hadn't been real chummy between us for a while, but it never occurred to me that she'd take something like that seriously. It really hurt, both the sting on my cheek, and the thought that my sister, once my closest companion, would think so little of me.
Well, fuck her, I thought. If she wants me to accept punishment, I'd damn well better have the opportunity to commit the crime.
And so I decided that I was going to wreck her relationship with John.
I didn't expect to get my chance so quickly, however.
I was upstairs the next afternoon (it was a Saturday), and there was a knock at the door. I was up in my bedroom waiting for my friends to come by and take me swimming with them. All I was wearing was a pretty skimpy bikini, which wouldn't look at all out of place at the lake, but which might look pretty strange if I was to walk down the street. So I slipped into my beach jacket, and walked downstairs to answer the door when the bell rang again.
"John," I said, opening the door, "I don't think that Jenette's here."
"Oh," he said, sounding disappointed. "I'm surprised. I told her that I might drop by this afternoon."
"Oh ... " I said, nodding my head, giving him a little sympathetic smile.
"You don't have any idea where she might be, do you?"
"No ... " I said, purposely looking like I was stalling, trying to avoid telling him something unpleasant.
I was almost ashamed of myself when I saw how quickly he snapped at the bait.
"What's the problem," he asked. "Do you know where she is?"
"No ... not really." Then, after a pause, I said in a serious voice, "She really knew that you were going to come by today?"
"Yeah ... I mean, I told her that I'd probably get off work early and that I'd come by and see if she wanted to do anything. We didn't have a date or anything, but she said that she'd be here."
"Oh ... " I said, as if everything was suddenly clear.
He looked at me quizzically.
"Jenette ... " I began, but then I paused. "No ... never mind."
"Never mind nothing," he said. "What were you going to say?"
"Nothing, really. Look, I'll tell her you were here, all right."
"No. Hey, come on, Merele, don't do this to me. I need to know what's going on. You were going to say something."
"Well ... no, seriously, I wasn't. I'm sorry if I gave you that impression. I'm sure that Jenette's just gotten ... hung up somewhere. She probably ran into a good friend somewhere and is just shooting the shit and losing track of the time."
He frowned. "I don't believe you."
"Look ... I mean, what's the deal? Are you two supposed to be getting serious about each other?"
"Well, I thought we were."
"Oh ... " I said, sounding like I felt sorry for him.
He looked at me with an even more puzzled expression.
"It's just that I really never expected Jenette ... no. Never mind. I won't talk about my sister."
"Stop doing this to me!"
"Stop doing what to you?" As we talked, I let my jacket fall open, slowly, so that now, he was able to see my two breasts, and from the suit I was wearing, he was able to see a great deal of them.
"Look, why don't you come in and wait," I suggested.
"Do you think she'll be back soon?"
"No way of telling."
I was being careful the whole time to say absolutely nothing that I would have to deny later. In the entire conversation I hadn't actually made a single charge or accusation against my sister. It all just sounded that way to John.
He did come in, however, and though he was nervous at first, pretty soon, he was talking animatedly about his classes (creative writing, mostly) and his plans (to be a writer, obviously) and without even planning on it, it developed pretty fast that there was a really fine communication between us.
I was casually sitting across from him on the sofa, and I could see that he was giving me a pretty good examination. I could also see that he was developing a fairly good bulge in his crotch. I was tempted to make some kind of move on him right then, but decided not to. For one thing, I wouldn't know what to do. And for another, I thought about what Jenette had said about his preference for virgins. I was pretty anxious to test that theory though. I suspected that he was just a victim of one of Jenette's crueler manipulative games.
But then, my ride came, and I had to go.
"Listen, John, I ... I'd like to talk to you some more ... sometime. I mean ... you know, if that would be okay with you."
I stood close to him, and saw that he was eyeing my body hungrily. I couldn't resist. I looked down at my breasts, and said, "I guess I sort of remind you of Jenette, huh? I mean, that's what everyone says. Most people can't tell us apart from the neck down."
"Oh," he said, looking flustered, "I really wouldn't know."
I had to follow through. I couldn't resist.
My eyes got wide, and I said, sounding shocked, "You're kidding!"
He looked confused.
Then, acting like I'd said far too much already, I said, "Look, John, we ought to talk some more, sometime soon. All right?"
He nodded and I bounced out of the house. As I drove off with my friends, I saw him walking slowly towards his car, and he stood there a long time, looking after me till we'd turned the corner and drove out of sight. I knew that I had planted the seeds of doubt, but I didn't know what to do about it. I was a little frightened at the implications of what I'd done, and half expected Jenette to be livid when I got home. But strangely enough, she was sweet and pleasant.
"Did John come by today?" she asked.
"Uh-huh. He stuck around for a few minutes, but then I had to leave so I ran him off."
She nodded, appearing unconcerned.
"He seemed pretty surprised that you weren't here."
"Really? Well ... that'll do him good. I'd hate for the boy to start taking me for granted."
I was beginning to understand Jenette a lot more than I wanted to. I was also getting a much clearer picture of the relationships that she used to have with guys like Bob and Jimmy. It looked to me like those were really the only kind of guy she deserved.
That night, I had dreams about John. His handsome rugged face, his curly blond hair ... I thought that Jenette was a fool to be treating him the way she was treating him, and at the same time, I was starting to feel a desire to fill the void.
I suddenly realized what was happening. I wanted him!
I wanted to be able to hold him, to stroke his hair ... I wanted to feel my body pressing against his, to feel him ... feel his cock against my thighs ... pushing between them ... pressing against my moist lips ... pressing into them, separating them, moving inside me-!
I bolted upright in bed. I'd never before had such a direct, overpowering fantasy about a man before, and even now, I could feel it's power still working on me, making me itch between my legs. I didn't have any choice. Almost as if it was being guided by another person, my hand went to my thighs and began to nestle between them.
My hair was already warm and wet.
At the first contact, I was shocked to see how much juice had already begun flowing out of my lips.
My thighs were slick, greasy feeling and when they rubbed together, there was almost no friction at all.
I touched myself on my clit.
There was an instant charge of sensation racing back through my body, seeming to short out all my nerve endings, sensitizing the surface of my skin, causing goose bumps to break out all over my body.
I felt a tingle crawling up the base of my spine, and when it got to my neck, I had to shake myself to stop the shivers.
My nipples had grown totally stiff and erect, and when the tip of my finger slid between my pussy lips, I felt a stiff, hard clitoris, with a shaft that seemed to extend far back beneath the folds of warm, moist pink flesh between my lips.
The slightest touch caused my muscles to respond, all through my abdomen, all up and down my legs, up my back, through the base of my neck ...
I had never felt such sensation from my clit before, and now, as I began to play with it and finger it directly, I felt something totally new and unexpected wash over me.
I felt like the inside of my body was opening up, as if a pit was forming within me, a pit that threatened to literally swallow me whole.
I felt dizzy, I felt myself spinning. I felt the bed starting to roll as if I was a raft on a storm-swept sea ... I heard a moan escape from my lips, but didn't feel as though it was my own, that I was responsible for it.
And then, more quickly than I would have ever suspected, my brain went totally blank, and I was seized in the grips of something that far exceeded anything I'd ever forced my body to experience before in my life.
I won't say that was my first orgasm, because I had masturbated before.
But it sure was the first one that showed me why orgasms were such a strong influence on human behavior.
I went out of my mind.
I scraped the edge of my fingernail over the surface of my clit, gasped for breath, thought I was going to pass out, and then went on and kept it up anyway.
My muscles all slammed into a full state of contraction, I could hardly breathe, and I'd have sworn I heard the Star Spangled Banner playing somewhere. Crowds of people were chanting "Block that point, Block that point," and I saw confetti drifting down from the sky.
Planes passed by information.
The sun came out from behind a cloud.
Winter turned to spring.
Lightning flashed.
And then, at last, I was still ... lying in silence on sweat-drenched sheets, gasping for breath ... feeling one overpowering impulse driving me. I wanted that to happen to me again. I wanted John to do it to me. And it didn't matter to me how it had to happen. I was going to steal him.
The next day, after church, I was out in the back yard, and I saw Jenette getting ready to leave on her bicycle.
"Going to see John?" I called out, cheerfully.
"No. I've got a date with Jimmy Mathers today."
She paused, shot me a quick glance and then decided not to bring up the awkward topic of the last time that I'd accompanied her with Jimmy and his demented friend.
"Have a good time," I said, trying to muster as much sisterly concern as I could.
She rode off, and then, after only a moment's hesitation and contemplation, I had made up my mind.
I too got on my bicycle, but I rode off in a different direction.
I remembered John talking one time about the boarding house that he lived in, and sure enough, down on Delancy Street, there it was, a large, white frame house, two-stories high, with a perfectly manicured lawn, and surrounded by azalea bushes. I imagined that they would be gorgeous in the spring-time.
"I walked up and knocked on the door. A pleasant faced elderly lady answered.
I asked her if John lived there.
"Well, of course he does," she said, all smiles. "You know that as well as I do, sweetie."
I was confused a moment. Then, I realized. "No Ma'am, you're confusing me with my sister."
She frowned, peering closely at my face. Then she put her glasses on to make certain.
"Well, I do declare. That beats all, I'll tell you that. I've seen a family resemblance before, but this is uncanny."
I smiled sweetly. "Not really." I said.
She pointed upstairs and told me how to find John's room.
I knocked.
There was a moment of silence, and then I heard a thump, and a hurried shuffling sound.
Then there was a nervous query from behind the door, "Who's there."
"Um ... this is Merele, John. I wasn't sure if you'd be home ... "
There was another moment of silence, and then he opened the door.
He looked a little nervous.
"Well, hi," he said, laughing. "I sure didn't expect to see you over here. You've caught me in an awkward situation, I'm afraid. I was just getting ready to take a shower."
"Oh ... really," I asked, sounding highly interested. That in turn, seemed to catch him off guard.
"You wouldn't mind if I came in and waited for you, would you?"
"Huh? Oh. No ... no, I guess not. Was ... there anything in particular that you wanted to see me about?"
"Yeah ... for about two hours. Or longer, if you have the time."
I felt my heart pounding, and my legs were shaking and felt weak. He stared at me. I knew that he could very well order me out of the house, tell my sister everything and fuck things up good.
Instead, he slowly opened the door and let me in. He was wearing a towel, and it didn't look like much else.
I walked in, and sat down on the edge of his bed. He looked real nervous.
"Maybe I shouldn't have come over," I suggested.
"Well ... I don't know that I'd go that far," he said, still looking a little nervous.
Then I said, "I just wanted to see you. Is that all right?"
He slowly nodded, never taking his eyes off of me. That's when I noticed the magazine sticking out from under the pillow on his bed. I don't know why I did, but I impulsively reached for it, pulled it out and was staring at the cover before he realized what I had done.
"Hey!" he yelled.
But it was too late. I saw a girl on the cover, her legs spread wide open, her pussy gaping for the camera, all hot and wet and pink.
I looked up at him.
"I can't believe you need a magazine like this, if you're dating my sister," I told him. Now I realized what he'd been doing when I knocked on the door.
He looked supremely embarrassed.
"Hey, John, you don't need to feel weird. I did the same thing last night."
He looked at me, looked straight into my eyes. "Really?"
"Yeah. I was thinking about you."
His eyes opened wider.
Then I looked down at the towel that was wrapped around his waist.
There was a bulge forming at the center, and I couldn't restrain myself. I'd already decided that he didn't object to me being there. Nor did he seem to object to anything that I might have in mind.
"What did you mean about your sister," he asked me.
I waited a moment before answering his question, and then told him where she was, who she was with, and what they were doing, and what they'd done in the past.
He looked incredulous.
"But she told me she was a virgin and that she wanted to stay that way till she got married."
"She probably figured that you wanted to hear her say that."
"Well ... no, I wouldn't say that, although it's kept me interested in her. But I sure didn't expect her to be a virgin."
He looked stunned and hurt.
"I wasn't sure if I should have told you or not ... " I said.
"Why did you. I think I'd almost have preferred not to know."
"And live a lie?"
He shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
"Don't you know why I told you?" I asked, reaching for his crotch. His cock was stiff, and I could feel it already throbbing.
He stared at me wordlessly.
I squeezed on the glands, rubbing the terry-cloth of his towel over the surface.
He closed his eyes and let out a soft moan.
"See ... you thought you wanted her, but really you wanted me ... right?"
He looked confused.
I suddenly realized that even though he was a college freshman, he wasn't all that mature, or experienced. I actually felt a lot older all of a sudden. Much more so than when I'd gotten up that morning. I felt a thrill of exhilaration. I was growing up! I was growing up!
I pulled the towel off of his body, and couldn't help but gasp at the size of his cock.
"Seriously," I said, "Jenette's let this thing go to waste the whole time you two have been dating?"
He nodded.
"Well ... I'll be honest with you. I'm a virgin ... (his eyes widened at that), but I'm sure willing to use it the way it was meant to be used."
He stepped closer to me, and since his cock was right in front of my lips. I licked at it.
He moaned and his hips jerked madly the second my tongue started to lick over the head of his cock.
There was a clear drop of fluid already forming in the tiny slit at the center, and when I touched it with my tongue, I tasted a salt flavor.
I glanced up at him and saw that he was just staring at me in wonder. I imagined that he'd never considered this a possibility. After all, if Jenette wouldn't put out for him, why on earth would her little sister?
Ha! Why indeed!
Actually, I didn't know. I was almost behaving according to instincts that I didn't even fully understand. All I knew was that my years of indifference to men were over.
I found that his cock was far too big to fit in my mouth, and I suddenly was afraid that I wouldn't be able to fit him in my cunt either. Face it, I wasn't really looking for a lot of pain, but I knew that I wasn't going to lose my cherry unless I faced up to it, and that included a bit of pain. Listen, I'd read the books, the manuals, the guides, the fuck magazines, and whatever else there was that would tell me what to expect when I finally crossed the line.
Well, I was crossing.
My pussy was on fire, much more so than the night before, and I wanted nothing more than to have him touch me, suck on me, to play with me.
"Lick my pussy," I asked him. "Please, would you lick my pussy?"
I remembered Jenette and Jimmy Mathers out in the woods, and now, the recollection came back at me with a force that I hadn't felt at all that day.
He gently pushed me back on the bed, and while I kept my hand on his cock, he started to undo the snap on my jeans, and then he slowly pulled them down my legs.
He had a soft, gentle way about him, and once again I thought what a fool Jenette was to let him go to waste, while she spread her legs for the likes of Jimmy Mathers. But, like she said, there were rules to the game, and I knew that I certainly didn't understand them.
He started to kiss the insides of my thighs.
Already the sensation was nearly too much.
I started to moan.
He moved further up my legs, coming closer and closer to my cunt. I knew that my juices were flowing all over the place, that he was already tasting the secretions from the depths of my body. It made me feel kind of weird, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. He took the edges of my lips, pulling them apart like the petals of a new flower blossom, and then I saw his tongue coming out of his mouth, aimed right at my clit.
There was already a throbbing ache between my lips, and I knew that it was centered right at my clitoris. The thing was literally glowing, like a little chip of a star.
He touched it, and fusion proceeded, forthwith.
Fusion ... isn't that what fuels a star? Explosions, heat, all that sort of thing? Well, that's what was happening inside me.
I saw the universe rip into tiny little shreds of experience, I saw my brain from the inside, I was out of my body and saw myself from the outside.
All from that tongue.
I couldn't believe what he was doing to me.
He had the most perfect touch, and he knew exactly how to apply it, too.
I cried out, I shook my hips at him, jammed them into his face, and generally lost all control that I'd ever thought I had.
He made me come, almost at once. I remember one final choked cry, and then all was blank.
It was like my mind had turned to pure white heat, no substance, no world to perceive, just a sheet of pure white, mindless sexual heat.
My muscles were spastic, my voice, such sounds as I was capable of, was pure incoherence.
I have no idea how long it lasted, or if he repeated it, or just what was going on. I only know that he made me delirious. He made me crazy.
And then, suddenly, I was feeling something else. His cock was at the opening to my pussy, already hot and wet and well lubricated from his tongue.
"Do you really want this?" he asked.
I gasped, loudly, "Yes ... yes ... yes ... " and as if to punctuate my pleas, I arched my back and pressed my pussy hard against the head of his cock.
It so happened that he'd already Set the glands against the opening to my hole, and by shoving my cunt at him, I managed to perform the hardest part of the ritual myself. Which, now that I think on it, is the way that it probably should be.
His cock literally ripped through my flesh.
I felt the membrane that had once been my maidenhead open with a grinding tear, and then, it was no more.
I was deflowered, I was no longer a virgin ... I was a woman. And I'd managed to snake my rotten sister in the process, a fact that wasn't lost on me as John's cock sank on through my cunt and settled into my body.
"Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh," I moaned, totally out of control now.
He started a steady series of motions in and out of my wet sopping cunt, each of which I tried to answer with my hips.
Our timing was right, our precision sure.
It was as it was supposed to be, beautiful, delicious, and certainly memorable.
Poor Jenette, I thought, he'll never want to look at her again. That suited me fine. I had not only discovered what the joys of fucking were all about, I'd also managed to discover something that I doubted Jenette had ever even come close to.
I think I was falling in love.
He came in a mighty torrent of sticky white jism, flooding my pussy, squirting from his cock and oozing out the sides, between his pounding shaft and my stretched wet lips.
I felt a sudden release as his cum made the movement of his cock slippery and gooey.
He continued to thrust though, again and again and again, and finally managed to bring me to another orgasm, this one longer, harder, and more intense than anything I'd experienced yet.
It was magic. It was bliss. I suppose I'm a fool for thinking that it could have been totally untarnished. But at that moment, lying in his arms, feeling his hot, sticky cum oozing from my cunt, I thought everything was perfect.
He seemed to agree.
"We'll have to tell your sister eventually," he said, and I knew that he would want to see me again.
Like I said, it was perfect.
When I finally dressed and left, kissing him hard and long, and telling him that if he had any more thoughts of that magazine to please call me, my own thoughts were lazy, drifting, fuzzy and disorganized.
I felt like I was walking on a cloud, as if my brains were clouds. I didn't pay attention to anything.
Certainly not the '66 rebuilt Firebird that was parked across the street.
I didn't see my sister sitting there in the back seat, her eyes cold and clear. I didn't hear what they were saying. I just unlocked my bicycle, which I'd foolishly left on the front porch.
Then, I rode down the driveway, and started down the street.
I heard the car start, but didn't really pay any attention to it. I heard it screech out from the curb, but my thoughts were still lodged somewhere between my legs.
It wasn't until I reached a deserted stretch of road at the end of the street that was maybe twenty-five feet from the intersection, that I noticed the car.
That's because it cut right in front of me, nearly knocking me off of my bike, and forcing me to come to an abrupt halt.
My sister jumped out, and so did Bob Sykes and Jimmy Mathers.
They worked very fast.
"Hurry," hissed Jenette, "before someone comes.
Bob slipped a gag around my mouth, Jimmy pulled me off of my bike, and while Jenette unlocked the trunk of the car and stuffed my bicycle in it, Jimmy and Bob piled me into the back seat of the car.
They got back inside, and it was only then that I was able to start to struggle.
"Hurry up," said Jenette, "she's feisty when she's pissed off."
The two of them flipped me over on my stomach, and even as I was finally finding the impulse to struggle, I felt my hands tied behind my back.
Jenette stuck her fingers up my cunt.
"Look at that," she said, spitting the words out, "there's cum up there, as well as blood."
She looked down at me.
"So, little sister, you snaked me out, did you?"
I was screaming, but of course, the gag made it futile.
"Well, I think you're going to find that your sexual experiences are just beginning. Today is going to be a day that you'll never forget. Jimmy, why don't we head out to Quentin Park."
Jimmy shifted into high gear, and with a screech of rubber, was off like a shot.
Bob, laughing dementedly said, "It'll be like old times, won't it darling? Yep, it'll be just like old times.
CONCLUSION
As I said, fortunately, Merele managed to survive the ordeal that her sister subjected her to, although she was in the hospital for several weeks. Her sister, I fear, is still in the State Mental Hospital for the Criminally Insane, and her two accomplices should be eligible for parole in another ten years. Merele went on to marry the man who deflowered her, and today is a well adjusted young woman. It must regrettably be admitted, however, that cases of her sort, with such recoveries are indeed rare.
CASE HISTORY TWO
SUBJECT: Rhonda P.
AGE: Twenty
INTERVIEW ONE
Rhonda is a sophomore in college, and if I was pressed for a single term description of her, I would have to say 'Beach Bunny'. That most closely describes both her outward appearance and the activities that she is most attracted to.
Her hair is a very light blonde, and even in the artificial light of my office there were golden sparkles running all through it. Her skin is a deep tanned hue, and she carries herself with provocative poise, which I assumed to be the product of many summers of attracting boys along the vast California coastline. She was confident, and even when describing her ordeal, did so with a sense of self-assurance that indicated that no lasting scars seemed to have formed on her mind. Nonetheless, her case serves as virtually a textbook example of how an attitude towards the world such as Rhonda exhibits can indeed be a serious drawback in certain parts of the country, and certainly when confronted with specific cultures.
Hi, Doc. So, what do you want me to do ... just start right in? You mean, just start talking, huh?
All right, whatever turns you on. Hey, I'm just kidding, really. I know you're doing a serious study. That's why I agreed to tell you what happened to me. But look, don't go trying to analyze me or anything like that, because I don't think I'd be all that hot about it.
I mean, I'm really quite pleased to be just who I am, and I don't need anyone telling me that I need to be someone else, or telling me that what I am isn't all that good.
Okay? I mean, so long as we got that straight, I'm cool with the whole situation.
But it's true, I did get raped. I got the ever loving shit raped out of me, if you want to know the truth. And I hate to say it, but it was scary as hell, but it was also kind of interesting. Don't ask me to explain it, and please, don't try to explain it to me. I'm perfectly content to let things sit the way they are. I'm just a little weirded out by the fact that ... well, let me start at the beginning.
They said that he was going to be trouble for me.
That's what all my friends said.
"Stay away from him," Karen said in fourth period algebra.
"He's got a reputation," said Roseann in study hall.
"You're biting off a lot more than you can chew," said my gym teacher, Ms. Cox.
They were all talking about Rodney Blanchard ... a.k.a. Rod Grunt, a.k.a. Slutboy Slime, who, along with his band 'The Mucous Membranes' had already become something of a legend in my home town. They'd created a pretty big stink the previous summer when Rod had bitten the head off a live baby kitten during a concert. Well, there had been an investigation, and the local A.S.P.C.A. had gotten in on it all, and there had been editorials decrying the crumbling state of America's youth, and the band had guaranteed themselves more publicity than their music would have ever gotten them.
I'd only heard about this, however, not having been at the concert.
Rod was known around town, having been born and raised there, but he was that special class of youth ... the 'drop-out' that guidance counselors and parents speak of in hushed whispers, lest the mere association by thought of the phenomenon might cause the phenomenon to reproduce itself in other, innocent youths.
Hence, when word got around that I'd gone out with Rod Grunt, it sort of catapulted me to instant fame among the girls I hung out with.
The funniest thing about it is, I didn't even know it was him, when I first met him. In concert, he wears black lipstick and clown white-face, has a Sci-Fi suit that looks like it's made out of aluminum and generally tries to look creepy, spooky, and outrageous.
When I saw him, he was just lying on a towel in the sun on a half-deserted stretch of sand.
I was first attracted by his ass.
It was a nice ass, a real nice ass, in fact, and I'm a gourmet when it comes to asses on men. It was good and round but not too big ... nothing's worse than a big ass on an otherwise hunky guy.
His was nice.
He was lying on his stomach, wearing mirror shades, and looking off to the side in my direction as I was walking down the beach with a friend of mine.
I nudged her in the ribs.
"Cindy, check it out," I said.
She giggled, nervously. "Oh you ... " she said. Cindy was a virgin and she knew I wasn't, and I think she liked to hang out with me, hoping that whatever had made me no longer be a virgin might somehow rub off on her, without her having to actually spread her legs for somebody.
"It doesn't work that way, Cindy honey," I told her, again and again, but she'd always just giggle, and she'd keep tagging along with me, for reasons that continued to elude me. I didn't mind ... she was cute enough, and she was real sweet and she'd done me some good turns and all ... but it could be a real pain in the ass if we met two guys and they seemed hot to trot, because we'd ride off with them and I'd always wind up feeling self-conscious about sitting in the back seat with some guy's fingers up my cunt, while she was feeling awkward and nervous in the front seat, worrying what would happen if she got raped or something.
"Cindy," I told her once, "you're just going to have to take the plunge."
"I know ... I'm just afraid. And I hate it when some guy starts to fumble with me and doesn't know what he's doing either. It's like he wants me to guide him or something.
"Well you silly thing, why didn't you say so! You just want a firm guy who knows what he wants, right?"
"Well ... "
"Enough said. This summer we're going to get your ass laid, if it's the last thing we do, is that clear?"
She nodded.
Which is what we were doing on the beach that bright, clear, Saturday morning.
We were trying to get Cindy's ass laid.
Mine too, but I knew there wouldn't be any problem with me. The real problem was to get a cock up Cindy's cunt without warping her mind in the process. That girl had some fucked up notions about cocks and fucking in general.
"He's looking at you," Cindy said to me.
"How can you tell?" I asked her. "He's wearing mirror shades."
But then I saw Rod's head move on the towel, and I had to admit, it looked like he was not only awake but that he was following us with his head, keeping his eyes pretty much focused on us as we approached him.
"What are we going to do," asked Cindy, suddenly realizing that we were walking right up to him.
"We're gonna see if he knows what time it is."
"Huh? I don't get it? All you have to do is ask me. I have a watch."
"It stopped."
"No it didn't."
I looked at her.
"Sure it did. Come on, Cindy, you aren't really that dense, are you?" She frowned.
"Oh," she said, suddenly catching on.
"Excuse me," I said when we were within earshot of the guy on the towel, "but could you tell us the time?"
He didn't respond, merely lay there watching us, moving his head to keep a perfectly straight line between his eyes and our breasts, until we were standing right over him.
"Excuse me?" he finally asked.
"Well ... we were wondering whether or not you might be able to tell us the time, I mean, like, because we need to make sure that we, you know, like, are aware of what time it is so we won't be late or anything."
"Late for what?"
"Oh well, we're supposed to meet our parents later on this evening and go out to dinner with them."
He was just staring at us.
"What are you, just visiting here or something?"
"No ... well, yes ... we're in school, or at least I am, and my sister's going to start in the fall and that's why she's up here with our parents, you know, to check out the campus and all."
Cindy was looking more and more astonished with every word I spoke, because ever single bit of it was pure total bullshit. We weren't sisters, though we did look kind of alike, and we weren't in college, we were still in high school, even though we looked a lot older than we really were. Of course, he wouldn't know that.
"You always bullshit them," I told Cindy later, "always. The reason is so you'll always be reminding yourself how easy it is to bullshit them. Always."
She didn't understand when I explained it to her, and she certainly didn't understand now, when I was demonstrating it in practice, but fortunately, she had the good taste to keep her mouth shut. That would have been pretty embarrassing, if she'd blurted out that everything I was telling him was a lie. Of course, I figured that he was probably taking for granted that at least 95% of it was a lie anyway, because he looked like the kind of guy who understood the game, and knew the rules. The rules were, you fed bullshit, until things got a little too tight, and then you vanished. Period. No attachment. No commitment. You rode a wave till it broke up on the shore, and then you dove right back in and waited for another wave. The fun was in the ride. It didn't matter what the wave was, although there were better waves than others. But that just meant that some rides were better than others. The ride was everything.
Rod sat up.
"So, you ladies need to know what time it is, huh? Why don't you have a seat."
We sat down beside him.
"Well ... I'll tell you what time it is. It's time to cut the bullshit."
I saw Cindy flinch out of the corner of my eye. She didn't realize that Rod had just scored a home run. Believe it or not, there were some guys who actually would have said "Gee, I don't know, I don't have a watch" ... or else they'd have just looked at my watch and told us the time and gone back to sleep.
"I don't have the faintest idea what you mean," I said to him, acting real innocent.
He just smirked at me.
"Look, why don't you cut the shit. So, look, what's the deal? You ladies really on a schedule, or are you, as I am tempted to think, just out cruising, and sticking that bullshit story about meeting your parents on the end to give yourselves an escape route?"
Cindy was stunned, surprised, and very very nervous.
"Listen, Rhonda," she said, and I cringed inwardly. Never, never are you supposed to let them know your real name. It just isn't very cool.
But she went right on, without even realizing that she was being pretty uncool ... "Listen Rhonda, I think I just remembered something that I need to do."
I just leveled my gaze at her.
"What's the problem with your friend?" the guy asked. "What's wrong sugar, you're acting like you don't like me, or what?"
"Oh, she's all right," I interjected.
"Not really," he said. "You aren't bad. She's giving off bad vibes."
Cindy was looking more and more nervous, and finally she just stood up and said, "look, I'm sorry, I think I need to go. Are you coming, Rhonda?"
I felt really pissed at her, and suddenly didn't want her hanging like an albatross around my neck any more, and really regretted that I'd gotten involved with her.
I looked back at the guy, and saw myself reflected in his mirror shades.
I saw also that I had a pretty good body, and that it was being shown off to maximum effect by the skimpy bathing suit that I was wearing, and suddenly, I felt a very strong attraction towards this guy who seemed so totally detached, so utterly uninvolved, so completely unmoved by anything.
I looked up at Cindy and muttered, "Look, "I'll give you a call, all right?"
She gave me a long hard look, and then she turned and walked down the beach.
The guy watched after her, impassively, then turned to me.
"Too bad. We might have gotten a nice threesome going."
"Well ... " I suggested, "it's not too late. You wouldn't have a friend, would you?"
He smirked.
"I don't go in for threesomes that count like that. Me, I take on two chicks or I take on three, or I just take on one, it doesn't matter. But I don't share them with anyone else. It just don't work that way."
I thought to myself that he was possibly the most arrogant sonofabitch that I'd ever met, but that didn't stop him from looking like a prize stud, and the more I looked at him, the more I realized that I wanted him.
"So, what's you got on your mind, little lady?" he asked, sounding pretty bored by the whole thing.
I eased myself over across the sand next to him, and said, "I don't know, but I was kind of counting on you to help me make up my mind."
He stared down at me, and said "You got nice tits, you know that?"
Ordinarily, I would have been turned off by a guy saying something like that to me, but he tone was so matter-of-fact that I didn't really take offense. It sounded like a perfectly natural thing for him to say to me.
But I guess I blushed, because suddenly he laughed.
"Hey look, you want to go find your friend, go ahead. I'll be here for a while."
I said "No, I don't, really. I think she was acting pretty stupid, if you want my opinion."
"Yeah, well I'm inclined to agree with you," he said. "So look, you want to go back to my van and smoke a little dope, maybe get friendly?"
"Yeah," I said. "By the way, what's your name?"
"Rodney," he replied.
I couldn't help but laugh.
"What ... did I miss a joke or something? You laughing at something maybe I ought to know about?"
"No ... I'm sorry, but you just don't look like a Rodney."
He laughed, a short, humorless laugh.
"I'm not," he said.
I asked him what he meant, but he wouldn't say anything else. He just got his towel and said "Come on. I got some dynamite Columbian."
We walked off the beach and back up the hill to where he'd parked his van along the roadside.
That's when I saw the logo on the side of the van. "Slutboy Slime and the Mucous Membranes."
I looked at him. "That's you?"
He nodded.
"You're the leader?"
He nodded again.
"You're the one who bit off the head of ... "
"Hey look, did you come here to talk or what? I mean, I could be sleeping on the beach now, you know. I mean, what do I need this for?"
"Sorry," I said meekly.
"Yeah, well see to it that you keep your act in check from now on, all right."
He unlocked his van and when I got inside, I was surprised to see that he had a pretty nicely decorated van on the inside. The outside wasn't worth shit, but on the inside, he'd put in shag carpeting, and there was an ice-box and he had a guitar, and there were curtains on the windows.
"Aren't you afraid of getting ripped off?" I asked him.
"No," he said. That's all he said.
I was already getting used to the fact that he was one of the stranger people that I'd met, but he still wasn't nearly as weird as his public image would have suggested. In fact, he was pretty normal.
He wasn't lying about the Columbian either. He pulled out a huge bag of green leaves and buds and rolled a cigar sized joint. As the sweet fumes circulated around the van and were blown away by the beach breezes, I felt the effects right away.
"Ooooo," I said, as my legs started to go to rubber.
He laughed at me, the first time I'd seen him show any kind of genuine amusement all morning.
"So look," he said, as the joint started to get down to the roach, "do you want to fuck, or what?"
"Oh ... I don't know," I said, not used to such a direct approach.
"The fucking hell you don't know. Why else did you come stumbling up to me to ask me what time it was, and let your friend walk away like that? Huh? And why else would you feed me full of such a bullshit story like that, if it wasn't to get my attention, and then get my cock?"
"What do you mean bullshit story?" I asked, trying to sound indignant.
"Cut it out. I don't remember your name, but I remember seeing you back when I was in school. You were a few years behind me, right? Yeah, well, I split that pile of shit, and you're still there, and you wouldn't be in no fucking college yet, so why don't you cut the crap. Like I said, it's time to stop that bullshit."
And so saying, he took one last drag on the roach, looked it over carefully, decided that it was indeed finished and tossed it out of the van.
Then, he calmly pulled me to him and kissed me. Hard.
I surprised myself, not only by not resisting, but by kissing back just as hard if not harder.
"There you go," he said, laughing at me again.
He was already pulling my top off, and as soon as my breasts were bared, his hands were all over them.
"You feel nice. Real nice," he said, pinching one of my nipples.
"It feels nice to have you touching them," I said.
He looked a little annoyed.
"You don't need to talk all the time, do you? Christ!"
He was pretty unpredictable, and he was about to start really getting on my nerves, but what the hell, I thought, I was in the mood, and a cock's a cock, right? That's how I look at it,
And as it turned out, shutting up wasn't such a bad idea after all. He was pretty smooth when it came to a woman's body. He began to play with my nipples by flicking the tip of his finger across them, and then by starting to pinch them at first soft, and then harder and harder.
I started to feel my pussy ooze juice, and the itch in my clit got a lot stronger, until all at once, I was starting to moan loudly. I looked up at him and asked "Am I making too much noise?"
He stopped what he was doing and said, "Now you sure as fuck are. Why don't you just shut the fuck up? Just be quiet. Just don't say anything. It's easy. You simply sit there, and try your best to make no sound. Got it? Nothing. Nada. Except for moans. You can moan. I like to hear moans. But forget all this word crap. Words are lousy anyway. Who the fuck needs them. Right?"
His hands were on my breasts again, and he was playing with my nipples.
"Right?" he asked me again, this time pinching my nipple as he asked.
"Oh! Yeah, right. Whatever you say. Hey look is your name really Rodney?"
He pinched my nipple again.
"All right, I get the message. Really I do."
He was lowering his head now, bringing his lips down to my nipples, and as he pressed my breasts together, he started to shake his head back and forth, rapidly, letting his tongue flick across each nipple. They quickly grew stiff, erect, and I could feel them starting to throb and pulse, as the rate of my heartbeat began to rise.
I felt the tingle in my clit getting stronger and stronger, and as I looked down at my bathing suit, I saw a stain appearing at my crotch. I hadn't gone into the water yet, so it could only have come from one spot.
He put a nipple into his mouth and started to suck on it, hard, and then even harder.
"Oh," I said, "easy, please. That hurts."
He paid no. attention to me.
"Ouch! Really, that hurts, Rod."
He looked up at me.
"You really don't like this much, do you?"
"I don't like to get hurt!"
He frowned, raised his eyebrows, and then settled back to look at me.
"What's your problem? Huh? How come this has to be so fucking complicated? You're a good looking chick. What do you have to go around giving a lot of directions for? Huh? One thing I can't stand is a chick that gives directions."
I stared at him, thinking to myself, this guy just isn't worth it.
Then, he reached over to me, grabbed my hand and pulled me over to him.
My naked breasts were dangling right in his lap and I could feel his stiff cock through the material of his suit.
He pushed my body down, pressing my breasts against his crotch, and then I felt one of his hands starting to slide down the back of my bikini bottoms.
He was pretty much getting on my nerves by this time, but then, my chronic weakness got the better of me.
He touched my clit, and damn my libido, I was his to do whatever he wanted from that moment on.
"Hey," he said, "you're pretty damn juicy, you know that?"
Then I looked up at him and said, "Hey, are you going to fuck me, or are you going to provide a running commentary, for the love of Christ!"
He grinned at that, and from that moment, I knew that there was a communication and a rapport between us, although it was just a little bit perverse.
He started to slide his fingers in and out of my cunt, and I felt how slippery I really was up there.
I could hardly feel any friction at all from the movement of his fingers.
"Mmmmmmmmmm," I said, as he started to finger my clit in earnest, hoping that he wouldn't find that too wordy a reaction.
He didn't.
In fact, I felt him start to roll his hips harder every time I made some indication that I was getting aroused.
I was lying on the shag carpeting alongside him, and as I grew more and more aroused, I finally started to move my hands down to his crotch.
His bathing suit was pretty tight, and pretty small, actually, and when I touched his cock, it actually pushed its way out over the waist band of the suit.
"My, my, my," I said softly, stroking the sides of his shaft.
He began to pull at my suit, trying to get it down over my hips and off my slender legs.
"You wear this thing pretty tight, you know that?"
"Look who's talking," I said, "you can't even keep this thing of yours covered up."
"Yeah ... well, when live got someone like you working on it, I don't necessarily want to keep it covered up, now do I?"
"Oh, I certainly hope not."
I punctuated my sentence by wrapping my lips around the head of his cock.
His hips jerked as soon as I did.
In fact, he was pretty aroused in general. I could see that goose-bumps were breaking out all over his body, rippling up and down his thighs, and the veins in his cock were starting to stand out in sharp relief from the rest of his stiffened shaft.
He kept shoving his hips up towards my face, and I just let his cock slide into my mouth, and back out again, and into it and back out, trying to keep my lips wrapped around the edge of my teeth as a cushion.
Meanwhile, he was moving his mouth further and further down my body, leaving my breasts to his fingers while his lips edged closer and closer to my bush.
I helped him take the rest of my bathing suit off, and then, did the same thing with his suit. His cock was literally quivering by this time, and it looked like it was so stiff and erect that the surface of it was in danger of splitting.
We began to get down to some serious sixty-nine action, my tongue racing up and down his cock, his slipping in and out of my pussy.
He started to nibble on my clit, taking the whole thing, along with a large part of the loose, fleshy membranes surrounding it, right up between his teeth.
He bit on it, but to my surprise, he was very gentle with it this time, not wanting to hurt me.
I didn't expect it. He'd come on real hard and unconcerned, and then, all of a sudden, he was doing things to my clit and my cunt that I'd never felt before.
"Oh GOD!!!" I cried out, feeling a jolt, of electric sensation ripping through my abdomen.
He just worked slowly, deliberately, letting my clit wiggle in and out of his mouth, pressing against it with his tongue, stroking it with his lips, and all the while, moving his fingers around inside of my pussy, flaring them to stretch my membranes, stirring up all my juices and in general, driving me crazy.
I was finding it more and more difficult to concentrate on his cock, even though it was stuck right in my mouth.
He had one of my outer lips in each hand, and had them stretched apart, forcing my clit to pop up from the folds of flesh that hid it.
I closed my eyes, held my breath, but still wasn't prepared for the feeling.
He raked the tip of his tongue, tightly compressed now into a stiff piece of muscle, right over the bud of nerves. He started to shake his head, the same way that he'd done when he was licking my breasts, but now, the sensation rushing through my clit was even more intense, driving me further and further out of my mind.
He kept it going, never varying the maddeningly slow pace, or increasing the light, feather-like touch.
It was pure insanity. I felt myself turning to liquid.
All my muscles were going into violent spasms, and I was finding it more and more difficult to control myself.
Finally, I couldn't, no matter how hard I tried. I began to jerk my muscles spastically, to scream, to roll around beneath him.
His cock was still in my mouth, even though I wasn't really aware of it, or concentrating on it.
But when I started to thrash about, I guess it must have had a positive effect on him, because pretty soon, I felt him starting to roll his hips around at me, pushing them towards my mouth, jerking harder and harder. Like I said, I wasn't really paying too much attention, what with my clit getting worked over like that, but then, all at once, I paid real close attention.
He shot off, right in my mouth, and it was a huge orgasm too. Thick wads of heavy white cum washed all over my teeth, tongue and the inside of my cheeks.
Wad after wad came out of his cock, and it seemed like he would never stop coming.
"Oh, yeah," he groaned, as he emptied his balls into me.
Then, he dug into my clit and my cunt with a renewed vengeance, all the while keeping his cock in my mouth.
I could taste a steady stream of his clear liquid as it flowed out of his cock, even after the peak of his orgasm had passed. He had a lot in his balls, and it seemed that there still might be more waiting, since his cock never really got soft.
But he was focused on my clit.
He finally let it out of his mouth and instead took his finger and started to flick it over the erect bud of nerves, alternating with the tip of his fingernail which he literally scraped over the tip.
I screamed, I moaned, I groaned, and then, like a storm finally unleashing all its power, I came.
I felt all my muscles slam into a spasmodic dance, contracting fully, and then releasing, only to immediately contract again.
I felt myself straining, simply to keep control, which was difficult in any event.
I came for an infinity of time, came till I felt like I was going to pass out, I came and I came and I came, and all the while that tongue of his, and those mad delicious fingers kept ripping across my clit, again and again and again, until I finally felt my body seem to disassociate itself from the world, and felt my mind drifting off into a delirious, delicious dream world, where there was no pain, no awareness ... simply mindless pleasure.
I don't know how long I was like that, but I was brought back to the real world by the sound of clapping. People were applauding!
I quickly sat up and to my shock and horror, there were several faces peering in the still opened doors of the van.
I'd completely forgotten the fact that we were parked by the road, and even though I hadn't heard any cars driving by, it appeared that we'd been found out anyway.
Rod sat up and stared at them. I expected some kind of explosion, but he just stared with a strange expression.
Then he looked at me.
"Rhonda ... right?"
I nodded.
He waved towards the still applauding people.
"Meet the Mucous Membranes."
INTERVIEW TWO
Rhonda's first interview continued, but I decided to edit it at that particular spot, since the preliminary material had been covered. The essential points in her story, I feel are the willingness to open herself up to new situations, to say nothing of opening her legs up to new cocks. By her own admission, there was very little that she was reluctant to explore, in terms of sexual experience. That is essential to an understanding of the remainder of her story, which becomes pretty hairy indeed. After detailing a growing attachment to Rod Grunt and her acceptance into the inner family of the band, she takes up her story with her decision to go out on the road with the band.
"What do you mean it's a simple thing. It is not!" I yelled at Rod. "You're talking about dropping out of school. That's not simple."
"What the fuck do you care about school anyway?" Rod asked, sounding bored, the way he did whenever I disagreed with him. Rod had this idea about women, that could only be described as 'primitive', and sometimes it got on my nerves. I guess he was really a chauvinist. It was as if the sixties and the liberation movements of the seventies had never happened.
"Rod, there's no harm in getting a degree?"
"Bullshit. All you'll ever need a fucking degree for is to get a job, and let's face it. You're never going to work a day in your life."
"Well I like that!"
"What's the difference? It's true. You'll find some rich guy to take care of you and let you live the life of leisure that you're convinced that you deserve."
"Rod, you're starting to piss me off."
He shook his head, almost disinterestedly.
"Nah ... no point."
"What do you mean, there's no point."
He shrugged. "I mean, what difference does it make ... you know? I mean, we all just keep doing the same things anyway, no matter how we dress it up."
"Oh cut it out. Every time I back you into a corner, you start up with this obscure philosophical shit that makes no sense."
"Neither does staying in school."
I started to really burn. I hated it when he got the best of me in an argument, because to be honest, he was pretty inarticulate, when it came down to a question of saying something that had any substance.
But he was right too, in a way. I hated school, and he knew it.
"Look, it'll be a great opportunity for you," he said. "Get out of a rut. See a little piece of America."
"Oh, that's just what I need ... a little piece of America."
I knew that my folks would have a shit fit if I dropped out of school, but then, I got to thinking about what he'd said.
The truth was, I could always go back. Instead of taking a summer break, I'd just take it in the winter.
"At least, that's what you can tell your old man and old lady," he smirked when I thought of it.
"You have nothing but contempt for everything, don't you?"
He thought about it for a moment, then pulled me over to him.
"Nah ... I got respect for my cock. And I also got respect for the way you suck on it."
"Yeah? Do you have respect for my cunt too?"
"Well, sure! I mean, I always respect cunts. They're the one thing that always deserves respect."
"Oh yeah ... " I asked, feeling his fingers starting to creep up inside my skirt. He was sort of an asshole, and he knew it and didn't really try to be anything else, but he sure knew how to turn me on, and that was something that he was very confident about and with good reason too.
I felt him starting to press the tips of his fingers against my clit, and knew that already my panties were getting wet in the crotch.
"You know I'm right, baby, why don't you just admit it?" he said to me, soothingly as he caused my panties to get wetter and wetter.
I felt my resistance melt in the same way that the insides of my body felt like they were melting.
I was turning to syrup, and it seemed that every time he touched me, the same thing happened and it was happening faster and faster each time, too. I think I already knew that I was getting hooked on him.
And you know, off stage, he was fairly human, once you made allowances for the fact that he held most women in contempt and considered them little more than sex objects.
On stage, however, was another story. On stage, he was nasty, abusive, crude, and seemed to delight in nothing so much as taunting the crowd with insults.
He'd stand up on stage, make obscene gestures to everyone, throw stuff at them, (once he emptied a carton of eggs at a high-school dance) and otherwise invite disaster. It never seemed to come.
I couldn't figure out why not. There would sometimes be a really thick current of venom, and it would seem to be flowing both ways, both at the crowd and back to the band. I'd just hold my breath some nights and wait for somebody to hop up on the stage and start beating the band to a pulp, but it never happened, and after a while, I got used to the fact that the level of abuse was just part of the act, that some people didn't consider the evening entertaining unless they were insulted and abused to extreme degrees.
But all those experiences were at clubs around the area.
Rod was talking about going on the road with them ... it was a tour that would last at least nine months, and would take the band as far east as Louisiana, and as far north as Chicago. Quite a road trip. They wouldn't make a lot of money ... enough, after expenses, to make it worthwhile, but they'd at least get a chance to spread their name a little bit.
I was hesitant, although Rod's carefully probing fingers were hitting me with a logic that I could find no argument for.
He stroked my clit, ran the tips of his fingers over my lips, stroking harder and harder, pushing against my asshole ...
I was simply moaning in his arms, as his soothing voice kept asking, "How about it, Baby, how about it?"
What could I say? Finally, I had to give in. I couldn't stand it. He had me trapped out on a ledge, so to speak, hovering right over the edge of coming, but keeping me back.
I rolled my hips against his hand, but he kept on pulling it out of the way, kept on refusing to let my body spill over into the release that it craved.
"What about it, Babe?" he teased, tickling my clit just enough to keep me right at the leading edge of madness.
Finally I gasped, "Yes, yes, I'll do it. I'll go with you."
He smiled triumphantly at me, and then rammed four fingers up my cunt.
I gasped aloud from the shock of sensation that accompanied the attack, and at the same time, I felt my body start to quiver into a mad, delicious orgasm, one that caused me to tighten my thighs around his arm that was still buried in my crotch, and jerk my hips to increase the sensation of his fingers against my clit.
"You won't be sorry," he assured me. "Just think. If you didn't go with me, who'd do this to you?"
"Don't worry, big shot," I teased, "I've never had any trouble finding people to fuck me, and I wouldn't have any if you split."
He grabbed me around the neck and started to squeeze.
"Don't joke like that!!! EVER!!" he spat through clenched teeth. The immediate transformation in his face was nothing short of frightening.
I'd never seen him acting so intense toward me. I couldn't really believe it.
"Rod ... I was kidding. Honest, I was just kidding."
As quickly as it came over him, the spell of anger left, but I would see it restate itself, and to a much more emphatic degree, in the near future.
I was right about one thing.
My parents had a shit fit, and threatened to cut off all support, but through a combination of politics, simple good luck, plus a healthy ration of daughterly bullshit, I deflected them at last. They gave their grudging support, if only because they saw that there was nothing that was going to stop me.
"You're sure that this group can support themselves?" my father asked me.
"Yes Daddy."
"Damn it all, Rhonda, I don't want you at the mercy of some rock-and-roll maniac."
"He's not a maniac, daddy."
"Says you!"
"That's right! Says me."
I knew he'd fuss and fume the way he always did, and then he'd shut up, and I was right. And so, I left with the band.
The first few weeks were pretty smooth. The clubs that they played in were all pretty receptive to what they were doing, and we slowly worked our way across the southwest, through the deserts that could get pretty cold in winter time, a lot more than I'd have suspected.
Texas seemed to never end.
I started to get the feeling that we'd fallen into some strange country that had no borders ... once there, you were trapped for life, as if Rod Sterling, instead of Rod Grunt was in charge of the journey.
That's when some bad omens started to pile up.
There was a flat tire, and while we were parked beside the interstate highway trying to fix it, a highway patrolman pulled over. We were scared shitless that he'd search the van. There were so many drugs stashed away inside that none of us would have seen daylight again till way after we were thirty-five.
"What the fuck kind of name is that?" the cop asked, staring at the side of the van.
"Oh ... " Rod said, non-comittally, "the kind that we use to attract stupid questions."
"Hey boy, you getting smart with me?"
"Not trying to ... but then, I guess I wouldn't have to ... oh, never mind."
"Boy," said the cop, stalking over to him, "I think your attitude sucks."
"Look officer, all I want to do is to get this tire changed, and then I assure you, I'll be out of the county just as fast as I can go."
"Yeah ... that's what I'm afraid of. We got speed limits here, you know that?"
It was obviously just a mindless bit of hassling. I couldn't believe that the cop really meant any of it, or gave a damn one way or another.
Finally, Mick the bass player came out of the van.
"Hey, cool it," he said to Rod, who gave him a dirty look.
"Officer," said Mick, "he's just a little cantankerous. It's been a long trip and the last thing we needed was this flat tire. If we don't hurry, we might even miss our next gig."
The cop frowned and had to have the term 'gig' explained to him, but he finally got back in his car and left without any further threats.
"You'd better drive real careful," said Mick to Rod when we got back into the van. "They'll have a description of this van flashed out to every yahoo with a flashing light on top of his car, and you can just count on it."
So, we were real careful in Texas, and managed to avoid getting arrested ... although Jake the drummer and Rachet the other guitarist got in a fight in a dive in Houston and we had to flee for our lives real fast.
Then came Louisiana.
"Where's this fucking hole," Mick asked.
"I don't know," grumbled Rod. We were pulled off the side of the road, having just crossed the state line from Texas, and he was scanning the map.
"It's supposed to be called Lafayette, I think ... yeah, here we go. Looks like it's about 50 miles further down the road from Lake Charles."
"Christ, what the fuck are we doing here?" said Mick, obviously squirming. "I've heard a lot of crude stories about Louisiana."
"Yeah, remember the movie 'Easy Rider'?"
"That was twelve years ago, stupid, and besides, that was a lot of bullshit anyway. This is Cajun country, and they're a real gentle bunch of people."
"Yeah," said Mick, "have you ever heard any real Cajun music?"
"No ... I don't think so."
"Well, it doesn't sound like what we play. I have a feeling they won't take real kindly to what we have to offer."
"You're paranoid!"
"Damn straight."
When we got to town, I started to get paranoid too. The place seemed to be civilized enough, but when we pulled up to a gas station to ask directions, we noticed that there was a crowd of pinhead types hanging around the drink machines, all of them looking us over with marked disapproval written across their faces.
"Where'd you say you was heading?"
"It's called 'Smiling Jack's'..it's a club. You know, booze, music, dancing ... "
"Oh yeah," said one of the pinhead, wandering over, scratching his chin ... "that's that hippie place out on State Road 55."
"Hippie!" Rod said, indignantly. "Look boy, this is 1982, you got that? There ain't no fucking hippies in this van."
But the guy wasn't listening. He was staring.
"You know how to spell that?" he asked in a slow steady voice, heavy with menace.
"Spell what?" asked Rod. The other pinheads all started to gravitate towards the van.
"Boy. That's what."
"Do I know how to spell Boy ... is that what you're asking me?"
He nodded, grinning real ugly like.
"Yeah. Spell boy."
Rod looked at the others, as if they'd reassure him that their friend was a little crazy, but they were all looking real hard. Hard and serious.
"Okay, I'll bite. B-O-Y. Boy."
He grinned back at Rod.
"That's 'B' for bad, 'O' for onery, and 'Y' for Why the fuck are you calling me boy, boy? Boy."
They all moved a little closer to the van. "Slutboy Slime ... " read one of them off the side of the van. Then he nudged another one in the ribs. "What do you think. You think they're faggots?"
"Could be. Could be. Of course, they got a chick in there with 'em. Most likely they're just perverts and degenerates, and not really faggots."
"Rod," I said, "let's get out of here. You know ... as if turn on the engine and put it in gear and floor the accelerator."
"Smiling Jack's, huh ... " one of them mused. "I think we'll have to come on by and catch you all's act. Yessir. I surely do."
"Don't do us any favors," Rod muttered, paying for the gas and screeching out of the station.
"Oh God," said Mick, "I knew we should have stayed out of Louisiana. I knew it. Christ, I remember 'Easy Rider'. Oh God, we've had it."
Jake the drummer and Rachet the other guitarist seemed to agree pretty much themselves.
"Maybe we could just jump the contract," Jake suggested, but Rod gave him a withering look that shut him up.
"If that happens, we can kiss working for Arnold (they're agent) ever again, or anyone else in town, for that matter. Now just shut up, and let's go. We'll be fine.
We found the place without any trouble, and to our relief the owners were pretty human. We told them about the encounter with the pinhead types at the gas station and they just laughed.
"There's a lot of mixed culture here. The Klan's real prominent every so often too."
"The Klan! As in Ku-Klux?"
"You got it. White robes and hoods ... the whole bit. But there's a thriving sub-culture too, and they're the ones you all are going to be playing to."
But that night, as I was helping to take money at the door, I saw one of the goons that we'd seen earlier in the gas station.
They were pretty easy to spot, because they all had G.I. flattops, that didn't seem to be any kind of punk cut statement. They were flattops because that's the way they thought hair should look.
"Hey darling," one of them said to me, giving me a wink.
I ignored him.
"Cover's six bucks," I said in my firmest voice.
"Sure, sure, honey, I'd love to cough up six bucks to hear a lot of scum make a lot of scum music."
"Christ, would you look at this place," muttered one of the other guys with him. "Talk about your degenerates, and your perverts ... "
"So who said you had to come," I asked.
"Hey, darling. You telling us we aren't welcome?"
"I think she's saying she don't want us in there, Earl," said another one right away.
I could see where it was all leading, so I shut up, and took their money and hoped that things wouldn't get out of hand.
The set started, and I kept my eyes on the crowd, trying to see if anyone was getting ready to pull some shit.
Rod was up on stage, doing his usual assortment of tricks ... picking his nose, pouring beer all over himself and throwing the empties back at the crowd, calling them every rotten name he could think of.
"You people are slime ... " he sneered, and they cheered.
"You people are scum!!!" he declared viciously, and they cheered even louder.
I guess they didn't have any bona-fide anarchists in town, and since the Mucous Membranes were the genuine California article, I guess they thought that they were getting a real media event.
They weren't ... they were just getting a lot of bullshit, and all the band members knew it, but it was all right ... the money was good, and everyone went home happy ... or at least they thought that everyone went home happy.
I kept scanning the crowd, looking for evidence that the cretin pinheads from the gas station were going to start something, but there wasn't anything that looked out of the ordinary.
It was getting hot.
The music kept getting louder and louder. As Rod started to throw beer on the crowd, they responded in kind by throwing more beer on each other.
It was starting to get real weird, and I was feeling kind of like I was in a funk anyway, so I decided that I'd go out for some air.
The set had about twenty minutes more to go before they took a break, and I just didn't want to wait that long.
I walked outside, and took a deep breath of air. It was winter, but in Louisiana, that still meant mild to warm weather, and this night in particular was quite comfortable.
But compared to the sweat box inside, it was almost chilly, so I walked over to the van to get out a sweater.
I had the side door opened and was rummaging around inside when suddenly I heard someone walking up to the van, and then, without a word, they climbed in.
I was surprised. I thought that the band would be playing for quite a while yet.
That's when the hand clamped over my mouth.
"Hey Earl," I heard a voice saying, "why don't we just poke it to her right here?"
"Because, you dumb ass," another voice replied, "I don't feel like getting caught."
"Oh hell, we ain't going to get caught. We'll be done before anyone comes out here."
"Nah! Come on. Jump start this sucker."
I recognized the voices as the morons from the station, and with a steadily sinking feeling in my stomach, felt the van shudder as they were able to get cranked up almost effortlessly.
He still had his hand clamped over my mouth. I could scarcely breathe.
I began to struggle, hard, even before they got out of the parking lot, but a hand grasped my breast almost at once and put a stop to that.
The pain from that harsh squeeze was just about the worst thing I'd ever felt in my life. It was to be rapidly exceeded. Again and again.
"Where we going?" the goon in the driver's seat asked,
"Just drive," said Earl. I figured out that he was the one that Rod had been talking to that afternoon, and he was the one that was holding me so tightly now.
"Come on, Earl, you ain't gonna hog it all for yourself, are you?"
"Yeah, Earl, come on, we said that everyone would get a crack at her."
"Yeah, but everyone didn't even come along with us, did they? So that shoots that all to hell before you even get it off the ground, don't it? Now, the only question is, since we've already eliminated the idea that everyone gets a crack at her, just how far the exclusion's going to extend."
"Earl J. Fontenot, I don't know who the fuck you been talking to, and what the fuck you're trying to say right now, but if this is some fancy kind of way to say you ain't letting me have a crack at her, I'm going to break your fucking neck, you hear?"
There was a chorus of muttered grumblings. I tried to tell how many of them there were, but it was impossible.
Earl finally laughed and said, to my utter dismay, "Hey, you know I was just kidding, right?"
"So ... then let's get to it!"
And with that, I felt hands all over me.
Earl's hand was still clamped over my mouth, real tight, and I couldn't even say anything, let alone scream, but there were other free hands to rip my shirt off, my pants, and then, as I felt the cool night air hitting my naked thighs, my panties.
I was so scared, I was trembling. I couldn't think, I couldn't do anything except try to struggle out of those powerful hands that held me in their grip.
But every time I tried, I felt harsh hands on me, squeezing, pinching my nipples, hurting me badly.
Finally, Earl took his hand away from my mouth, I assumed to climb on top of me and start fucking me.
I immediately started to scream.
It was the loudest scream that I could manage, boiling up from the very depths of my gut. It was a scream of fear.
The van swerved and the driver said, "Christ! Shut her up, would you. That scared the fuck out of me."
"Aw, you're just a pussy anyway," said Earl.
"You're scared of everything. You are."
Then he turned to me.
"Shut up," he said, calmly.
I kept on screaming.
"I said shut up!"
He raised his voice a little, but he was still speaking calmly.
"Hey come on, shut her up, Earl," said a dim shadowy figure over by the door.
"Yeah, that's starting to hurt my ears."
"Yeah, shut her up, come on, shut her up."
Muttered grumbles, angry shouts, and through it all, the piercing sound of my vocal cords as they shattered themselves, and seemed to strive to shatter the window glass as well.
"I mean it," said Earl. "I'll shut you up if I have to."
But something had control of me. I couldn't shut up, and couldn't have if my life depended on it.
I saw his fingers curling up into a fist, and saw his arm rear back, before it even sunk into my head what was getting ready to happen.
And then I realized, just when it was too late to duck.
His fist flew through the air, and I stared at it as if it was a film loop in a science class, watched it cutting through the air, and could almost see the waves of air currents flowing off of the blunt face.
Then, my world splattered like a carton of eggs thrown out of a moving vehicle.
I saw lights, heard bells, heard laughter, heard children crying ... no, it was myself that I heard crying ... and I couldn't stop.
Then, I lapsed into a semi-conscious state, and wasn't aware of much of anything at all.
Hands were on me.
Hard hands, cruel hands, hands that had no concern for my body or my feelings.
Hands that didn't mind hurting me.
I felt hands pulling on my breasts, felt fingers pinching my nipples and tugging at my pubic hair, and felt my arms and legs being roughly pinned to the floor of Rod's van.
Rod.
I'd already completely forgotten about him.
I was thinking only about my survival, and at the moment, that didn't include Rod, or any of the band.
It was purely a matter of mercy on the part of these morons, and to be honest, the prospects didn't look too hopeful.
Earl was unbuckling his pants now. I could hear the jangling of his buckle in the dark, and then I heard his zipper coming down, and knew that he was going to go first.
"You boys hold her down real good and solid, you hear," he said.
And then, his massive, smelly bulk was on top of me.
I felt him pressing against my frame, his big pot belly crushing down onto my slender waist, and worst of all, what felt like one of the largest cocks in the world pushing against the opening to my cunt.
I felt a stab of panic sear straight through my nerves and explode my brain cells.
It made all of my muscles go utterly tense.
Earl seemed to get a real charge out of that. He whooped and hollered.
"Whooooo-boy!!! I like 'em when they squirm."
He slapped me along the side of my ass. "Yeah honey, let's have a little more!!!"
He slapped me again.
"Come on, I say, let's have a little fight."
I couldn't believe how utterly stupid he was being. In fact, he was so totally unbelievable that a part of my brain simply refused to accept that it was happening at all.
That, of course, was bad.
I was starting to drift off, when he slapped me across my breasts.
With a gasp, I jerked solidly back into the here and now.
"Darling, you better do what I tell you to do, you hear."
I heard myself respond, but my voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere else, as if I was listening to somebody else talking.
"What do you want from me. I'm ... I'm ... "
And then, I lost it completely. I started to cry, and couldn't stop.
"Hey Earl, maybe you should kind of go a little easy on her."
"Jimmy Bob, you shut your fucking mouth, you hear?"
"Hey look Earl, I was just ... "
But Earl paid him no attention whatsoever. Instead, he started to slap me again, this time on the face, and on my ass, after he turned me on my side.
They were solid, hard slaps too, and each one seemed to be even harder than the one before.
"Come on, damn you!!!! I want a woman with a little spunk!! Let's have a little fight out of you, you hear? Come on, squirm!!!"
He kept on slapping me, and I swear, if I'd thought that he'd really have stopped, I would have tried to struggle, but I was just paralyzed from fear.
Finally, he had enough, and I could see his face glaring at me in the dark.
"You fucking pieces of shit. What the fuck did you have to come here for? Huh? Why can't you smart-ass pieces of shit just stay out there where ever it is you belong?"
And then, as if to punctuate his anger, he slammed his cock into me.
"Oh GOD!!!" I cried. "Oh GOD, that hurts, it hurts, it hurts."
"Yeah!!!" hollered whoever it was that was holding my arms down.
"Poke it to her," squealed the person at my legs.
The driver started to cheer and whistle.
"Go Earl boy!!! Give it to her good."
I knew that I was with total animals. There wasn't a thing that was going to save me, unless somehow, I was reported missing and they managed to find the van.
I wasn't able to think about anything though. I was just frightened. Totally scared I out of my wits. The head of his cock spread I my hole wide.
I felt the enormous length of the thing creeping all the way into my cunt, creeping all the way through all of my soft, slushy pink membranes, until it was pressing against the back wall.
Then, to my horror, I realized that he wasn't all the way in yet, that there was still more to go!
He jerked once more with his hips, and I felt like I was going to be torn in half!
"Oh GOD!!!!" I shrieked, and once again the whoops and yelps filled the van.
"Go to it Earl!!!"
"Yeah, but you better save some for the rest of us, you hog."
"Yeah. Boy, this is going to be better than the night we got Mary Sue Leudeux after the prom!"
They all snorted and smirked and yelped at that also.
I was getting used to the idea that I was prisoner of nothing more than a pack of depraved animals.
I began to seriously consider the possibility that I wasn't going to get out of this alive.
At the very least, it might well be a long time before I could walk straight again.
Earl's cock was starting to pound in and out of me now, ripping through my body like a knife through butter.
I wasn't all that lubricated either ... I'm a little kinky sometimes, but I like to at least be able to consent to whatever's going on. Rape has never been one of my prized fantasies. I just wasn't all that aroused by the situation.
I was in agony!
The friction from his cock was like sandpaper as it raked in and out of my cunt, scraping more and more harshly against the sides of my walls.
I held my breath, I gritted my teeth, but nothing would ease the torment.
At least he was starting to move faster, and even though it hurt like crazy when he began, I knew that it probably meant that he'd be shooting soon, and I was right.
Pretty soon, I heard him gasp, and then there were a couple of violent contractions and jerks of his hips, and almost at the same time, that awful scraping feeling went away, and was replaced by the greasy, stickiness of his cock slurping through its own cum.
He was grunting and groaning all the while, and seemed to be off in some dream world, all the while he was shooting into me.
I could feel his hot jism gushing out of his cock, I could feel the fullness of it, and I could also feel the change in the way that his cock felt inside my cunt.
I could also feel that hunk of meat almost at once start to wilt.
"I think he done shot his load, Jimmy Bob," said a voice out of the darkness.
"Yeah, it do look that way. Good, now it's our turn."
"Yeah. Come on Earl, pile off, and let someone else have a crack at that crack."
"What was it like, Earl?"
"What do you think it was like? Cunt's cunt. That's all. You have a piece of ass, it's the same as every other piece of ass. You stick it in and you get your rocks off. That's all."
"That may be all, but damn it, that sure is enough!"
"Yeah!"
"Damn straight!"
"You said it."
"No shit!!"
They were all getting pretty rowdy, actually.
I was getting used to the idea that it was going to be a long night. But I'd decided that I could survive it. Once I got Earl's cum in me, no matter how much it hurt to get to that point, the rest of the night would just be a repeat of what had already taken place.
So I thought.
"My turn," said another voice. I still couldn't make out any faces. There were just forms and shadow, and occasionally, as we'd drive past a street light or something, I could see outlines of bodies, and make out faint facial features, but I still couldn't have truly identified anyone by their face yet. Perhaps by their voices, but not their faces.
I could see someone moving over towards me, and then he said, "I think I want to fuck her in the ass."
My heart sank.
I couldn't believe it! That-meant that I'd have to endure the whole thing all over again.
But Earl vetoed the suggestion.
"No, don't go fucking around with that. You won't be able to fuck her in the cunt then."
"Why not!"
"Because you'll fuck her up, that's why!!"
"Christ! Listen to you. What do you think you just did?"
"I fucked her! That's what she was built for. I didn't fuck her up any."
"I want to fuck her in the ass."
"You'll just get the van smelling like shit."
"Damn you-!!"
Then they actually started to fight over whether or not I was going to get fucked in the ass or in my cunt.
I couldn't believe it was happening. It was like a bad dream.
Then, all of a sudden, a burst of hope shot through me, and a blast of adrenalin hit my muscles.
"Someone's coming up on us real fast!"
"Who?" said Earl, jerking around.
"I don't know," said the driver, but they came screeching out of that side street and they're getting ready to pass us."
"Where the fuck are we?" asked Earl.
"I dunno, I been listening to what's going on back there."
Earl looked around outside.
"Holy fuck!!! You asshole, you been driving around the same neighborhood. That goddamn club's only a couple of blocks away!!!"
The car came screeching up beside the van and immediately began to try to edge it off the road.
"Shit!!! There's some crazy motherfuckers in that car."
"That can't be those stupid band boys, can it?"
"Don't think so."
The car started to crash into the side of the van, and I was even a little dubious about whether or not it was Rod ... I didn't think he'd risk hurting his van for anything ... not even me.
But they forced them to pull off the road.
Needless to say, in the confusion, no one paid any attention to me, and so I was able to sort of blend into the background, and for a second or two, just vanish.
That's when I decided that I'd have to take matters into my own hands, if this was going to end up right.
I saw Earl up on his knees, looking out the window.
"Okay ... " he was saying, "when they come up, we wait and then we all pile out and beat the fuck out of them, you got that?"
He'd completely forgotten about me.
He never even knew what hit him when I sank my foot into his balls.
There was simply a muffled groan, and then he keeled over like a harpooned whale.
"Holy shit," said one of the faceless wonders in the dark.
"Rhonda!!" shouted a voice from outside. My heart raced. It was Rod.
"ROOOOOODDDDD!!!!" I screamed, once more in my loudest possible scream.
Everyone jumped, suddenly remembering that I was in there.
I jumped to the double side doors and flung them opened before anyone could stop me.
I piled out of the van, totally naked, and bit the dirt.
There was a loud scuffling sound going on all around me, and I could hear the voices of the band and a couple of people that they'd brought with them from the club as they quickly took care of the rest of the morons in the van.
It had seemed like a long night already, but now, at last, it was over.
CONCLUSION
Rhonda's experience was harrowing, to say the least, and in a more timid sort, might very well have produced an aversion to strangers, a fear of sexual encounters, or any of a host of other sociopathic tendencies, all of which would be considered totally normal in light of the attack that she suffered.
She has pretty much avoided all of these nasty side-effects, however, and has managed to continue her life with the band, having become its business manager.
There is just one little thing, however.
She refuses to ride in vans.
CASE HISTORY THREE
SUBJECT: ANITA.
AGE: TWENTY-SEVEN
INTERVIEW ONE
Anita is a famous author, (Anita is not really her name) who has written quite frankly and openly about female sexual habits and practices. Her story is one that points to the fragile nature of women's roles in our culture still, and also focuses on the question of the position of the artist in society, and what the relationship between artist and fan should be.
She is a beautiful young woman, who nonetheless is understandably shaken by her ordeal.
She managed, however, to discuss it with me quite frankly and openly, much the same as she had dealt with similar topics in her books. I found her to be utterly charming and a delight to know.
Well doctor, I was simply another obscure academic poet until I published my first novel.
My poems had appeared in all of the best magazines, but who reads poetry, right? Except for other poets, that is.
Then, I published "Freefall", and everything changed. It was a best seller, it got reviewed in all the major magazines, and I started getting invitations to appear on talk shows.
Suddenly, I was being talked about as if I was an aberration, someone who had a lucky first shot. No one really thought that I could actually write. I'd just gotten lucky, seemed to be the general contention. This, despite the fact that I'd written a very long, well plotted, extremely humorous, and thought-provoking novel.
The main reason seemed to be the fact that the message of "Freefall" if there was a single message that could be distilled into a quick phrase, was that women like to fuck too. All right, I'll admit, that isn't a particularly revolutionary idea, but you think about it for a minute, and then tell me how many books by men have you read, that deal explicitly with sex from the woman's point of view? None, is my contention. That's what "Freefall" was about, one woman's sexual journey, from the usual inhibitions that all women face, to a genuine joy and acceptance of her sexuality.
Now, as I said, this isn't a particularly revolutionary topic, except that revolutionary seemed to be the only word to describe the reaction to it.
Of course, it was also a best-seller, so that may have had a little bit to do with the fact that I wasn't taken all that seriously. Art isn't supposed to sell. The masses are asses, and all that ... ergo, something that sells cannot possibly be art.
Now, when I first started getting asked to appear on some of the talk shows, I was flattered, and my ego told me to go for it. Go for it all.
But I started picking up on this kind of negative sentiment right away, and I have to say that I got pretty defensive about it, that I then got pretty pissed about it, and that I started coming on real aggressively.
This seems to have annoyed a few folks too.
My image started to really wilt.
Thus, when I first met Robby, I wasn't in the mood to trust anyone from the 'general public' whoever the fuck they are ... but at the same time, I really needed to hear someone say that they thought I was good. I needed validation. I was getting along all right ... but I needed to hear someone else tell me that it was so.
I was vulnerable, in other words.
So ... that's how I met Randy.
Randy was ... in a word ... gorgeous.
I met him at one of those typically atrocious autograph sessions, one of those 'Meet the author' affairs at a book store here in town.
And, to my satisfaction, there was a halfway respectable turnout, more than I'd have expected.
Everyone was polite ... and they were also apparently genuine fans ... except for one or two honest-to-god critics from the papers who'd dropped by just to pick up some free copy and maybe an incriminating quote or two. It's really a vicious environment out there, and they're just waiting for you to fuck up and step on yourself, and even if you don't, they're only too glad to tell the world that you have. I've learned to be quite wary of the press.
That's when I saw Randy in the store. He was standing near the back of the crowd ... I could see that he had a copy of my book with him, and I was hoping that he'd come up to have it autographed.
Then, I caught myself. What was I saying! I wanted him to come up to have his book signed ... because damnit, he was gorgeous, that's why, and why shouldn't I. It didn't occur to me then that I would actually pick him up, and as I just mentioned, my natural tendency was to censor any thoughts along those lines out of my consciousness.
But there was something that kept me thinking about him, and every time that I happened to glance up, I saw that he was still watching me, although he didn't actually get in line to have his book autographed. But his eyes kept meeting mine, every single time, and I was starting to get just a little bit beside myself.
There were several other people milling around besides the book store employees, and I recognized the literary critic for one of the local TV stations. I'd met him before at a party and found him to be a perfect asshole. He quickly reinforced my perception of him.
"I couldn't help wondering," he asked, "why you chose to waste an obvious talent on subject matter that comes pretty close to being pornographic."
I smiled sweetly.
"Are you saying that pornography cannot be considered art?"
"No. I'm just asking why go to such lengths just to write a dirty book."
"I wasn't. And I didn't. And I'd have to question whether or not you even read the thing."
"Oh, I read it, I assure you, and I also found it pretty fairly stimulating, which I have to assume was your intent. But again, my question is why?"
"Why did you find it stimulating? Well, I'm sorry sir, but you'll have to answer that one for yourself."
"Oh ... I see. You feel that disposing me with a quick flippant remark is the same as providing an intelligent response, is that it?"
"I'm not sure that the question itself is intelligent enough to merit an intelligent response. However, I'll do my best," I said, sweetly. By this time, people were crowding around, hoping to hear a genuine literary argument in the making.
"First," I began, "if you'd actually read the book, as you claim, you would almost certainly have noticed that it is not, as you put it, simply a book about sex. It presents a contemporary contest for the social evolution of one woman, who through the use of metaphor, symbolizes the awakening sensibilities of all modern women."
"Oh, I get it. It's just a feminist tract, right?"
I continued to smile patiently and ever so sweetly.
"The way you say that, I get the feeling you would consider it unworthy of your time, were that the case."
"Well, I'm not here to argue the role and relationship between art and politics, but I would say that a book that has a political ax to grind is not necessarily going to be as concerned with aesthetic values."
"And that," said a voice from off to the left, "is an inherently sophomoric and essentially stupid statement."
The critic looked up in surprise, and there was the gorgeous looking male that I'd seen earlier.
He was walking up to the front of the crowd now, and soon, the two of them were engaged in a lively discussion, he defending my book as quite sound literarily, and the critic refusing to take a stand either way.
"You sound to me like you simply came here to pick a fight with her," he finally said, and the critic, not really able to deny it, dropped a sarcastic crack and bowed with exaggerated politeness towards me, and then made his exit.
"You were quite gallant," I said to him later on, when I was getting ready to leave.
"You warranted it," he said.
"Well, I'd love to show you my appreciation. Would you..perhaps ... be free for dinner?"
"I would," he said at once. "As a matter of fact, I happen to be a fine cook."
Hmmmm, I thought to myself. Might easily be biting off more than I was willing to. chew here ... but then, according to my book, an open attitude towards sexual encounters was becoming the accepted way of doing things these days. How would it look if I was afraid to practice what I preached.
He smiled.
"Look, I don't want you to think I'm pressuring you."
"I assure you, that's hardly the case," I said lightly. "It would be impossible to pressure me, unless I was willing in the first place ... in which case, it would no longer be pressure ... hmmmm?"
"Never argue with a writer," he smiled. "I'm Randy."
"And I suppose you already know my name," I replied.
"Unless you use a pseudonym."
"Not at all. This is me. One hundred per cent."
"If you want to know the truth," he said, "I'm not even sure why I said I could cook."
"Can't you?"
"Oh, sure. I'm a great cook. But I've never asked someone over after I've just met them."
"Why not?"
"I guess because I'm too shy?"
"Oh, are you now?" I laughed, taking his arm as we left the book store. I couldn't tell if he was running a routine on me the whole time, but I knew one thing. I felt extremely comfortable talking to him.
"Yeah ... " he said, sounding a little self-conscious.
"So why, if you're so shy, did you come on to me so strong?"
He just looked at me for a moment and then said "I guess I'm really impressed by your book, and want to get to know you better."
"Really? And maybe you think that because of my book, I'd expect guys to come on real strong."
"Well, don't you?"
"I'll be honest with you, Randy, I don't know what I expect. Just because my character is right up front doesn't mean that I am."
"Yeah ... but you didn't turn me down."
"But I haven't accepted yet, either."
"But does that mean you're going to turn me down?"
"No. As a matter of fact, it means that I'd love to have you cook me dinner."
"Hot damn! What do you like?"
"What do you cook."
"Whatever you've got in mind."
"Randy, how old are you?"
"Huh?"
"How old are you?"
"Um ... I just got out of school."
"Is that the way you talk to girls your own age?"
He frowned. "No, I guess I don't."
"Why not?"
"Because they wouldn't think I was real."
"All right. I just was wondering."
I felt very confused. It was so unlike me to be going home with a stranger, and even more unlike me to be going home with someone who was obviously so much younger than me.
But there was a kind of excitement with Randy, and I could feel it. It was a rising tension inside my body. He was so seemingly innocent and naive, that I couldn't imagine him having any ulterior motives.
We got to his apartment, and I was impressed.
The neighborhood wasn't first rate, and neither was the building, but the place itself was beautiful. He'd done a lot with it.
"I'm amazed that you don't have a girl living here.'
"Why's that?"
"Oh, this doesn't have the look of a single guy. It's too nice."
"There was a girl here."
"Oh? No longer, huh?"
He shook his head. "Split."
It seemed like he didn't want to talk about it, which was fine with me. The last thing I needed, after letting myself get picked up, was to spend the evening listening to sob stories about a girl who split. In fact, there was a scene in my book about that very thing. Quite humorous, if I do say so myself.
He went out to the kitchen and returned with two glasses and a bottle of wine.
I was amused by his sense of style, but I have to admit that I found it difficult still to take him seriously, simply because he was so much younger than me.
But it was getting easier and easier. He poured the wine without speaking, handed me my glass and we sat together on the couch, sipping our wine, and just sort of getting used to each other's company.
I was feeling more and more relaxed with him, and still couldn't say why.
We weren't engaged in a lively conversation or anything. But there was just something about him, an air of confidence that belied his years ... I'm not sure, but I wasn't feeling any regrets about having come back to his apartment with him.
Then, he kissed me.
It seemed to come naturally, at exactly the right moment. I was ready and waiting for it,-and as if reading my thoughts, he simply leaned into me and kissed me, first turning my face to his with his hand on my cheek.
A tingle raced through me as his lips touched mine.
He was a good kisser, not wet and sloppy, but neither was he dry and nervous.
"You don't act like you're shy of women," I said.
He looked hard into my eyes, as if trying to find the right words.
"Is it because I'm older than you?" I asked. "Is it harder for you to relate to woman your own age?"
"You aren't all that much older than me," he said.
"Old enough."
He kissed me again. Then he said, "Look at it the other way."
"How's that?"
"You're young enough."
I started to laugh, but he kissed me again and I couldn't get any sounds out except for a pleasantly surprised moan, and a sigh.
I realized that it had been a long time since I'd felt a man's arms around me, since I'd allowed myself to relax in the company of another human ... I'd spent a long time on my book, and although it was about a woman's sexual encounters, it wasn't written from any that were going on at the time. I didn't want to think about it, about how my husband had left me ... about the pain, the loneliness. I just wanted to feel Randy's arms around me, feel him pulling me close to him, feel his hands on my body, on my breasts, on my nipples, pinching them, squeezing them, massaging them ...
I'd forgotten completely about dinner.
I felt myself starting to breathe hard, felt the space between my thighs starting to grow steamy and moist.
"You have a very sensual touch," I said to him.
He smiled, still looking shy and self-conscious.
"Does that embarrass you?" I asked.
"No ... I just don't know how to reply," he said.
"Very easily," I told him. "Just keep doing what you're doing."
I felt his hands on my breasts now, pressing in on them hard, both of them, taking the mounds of flesh between his fingers and pressing it tightly together.
He was growing steadily firmer and firmer in his treatment of me, but he wasn't hurting me, not at all.
In fact, I kept thinking to myself that he could easily get a little rougher with me if he wanted.
Truth was, I hadn't been laid in a long time, and I hadn't even really been thinking too much about what I was missing ... not until I began to remember what it was like, that is.
The mounting heat between my legs, the itch in my clitoris that kept needing to be scratched more and more ... I needed to feel him at my pussy, needed to feel his fingers probing around between my legs, up underneath my panties, pressing into my wet slushy lips, spreading them, opening them, pushing up inside them-!
I let out a moan.
Leaning into his body, I raised one of my legs up, placing my foot on the couch.
My crotch yawned invitingly beneath my skirt, and he knew it. He had only to take his fingers, start to trace a path along my legs, moving higher, higher, along the inside of my thigh, coming closer, closer to that moist patch of kinky hair ...
But he held back.
At first I thought that he was just nervous and shy still and just didn't quite know how to get down to business ... but as he continued, I began to realize that I was in the hands of a very knowledgeable lover. It surprised me too, because he really did a good job of coming off as an inexperienced, well-meaning but mildly awkward young man.
As he continued, however, I found myself falling into the pace that he was setting, adjusting my rhythm to his movements, and finding that with each passing second, I was growing more and more aroused.
Basically, what he was doing was letting me get hot, making me want more, and holding back, never giving me quite as much as I was ready for, never holding back so much that I simply lost interest.
It was growing into a very exquisite, sophisticated torture.
He started to play with my breasts, and then, only after my nipples grew firm and hard beneath my blouse, did he start to unbutton the material.
He pulled it aside with new button that he unfastened.
Lowering his lips to my body, he longingly, lovingly caressed the revealed flesh with his lips and his tongue, licking lightly over my skin until I could feel shudders rippling all through my body rippling out from the point where he was kissing me.
Then he would unbutton the next button, repeating the procedure.
He finally had my entire blouse unbuttoned, and I was ready to rip my bra off myself, if he didn't hurry up and do it, but he simply kissed the mounds of flesh spilling out over the sides of the cups.
D-cups, I might add.
Hey look, I'm not a slut, and I don't advertise myself, but I know a good body when I see one, and every time I look in the mirror, I see one.
He knew it too.
That's when it occurred to me to check out his own level of arousal.
I brought my hand down between his legs, and as a groan escaped his lips, I felt one of the hardest cocks I'd ever felt in my life.
It seemed to be huge too. I couldn't help feeling a thrill. Gosh, I thought, is all that for me?
I squeezed my fingers around the area of his crotch, and started to massage his tool, but he pulled my hand away.
Looking me sternly in the eye, he said, "First we tend to you. Then, you tend to me. All right?"
"What ... ?" I said, confused.
He smiled.
"I insist," was all he would say. I couldn't really complain. He knew exactly how to drive me higher and higher with passion, and he was unrelenting.
He brought his lips down to my breasts, and as he planted a line of light, delicate kisses all around the exposed flesh, he gently played with the catch, unclasped it and pulled the cups apart without my really being able to feel it.
Then, he took both mounds of flesh in his hands, carefully avoiding contact with my nipples which by this time were stiff and erect and aching to be touched and stimulated, and he started to lick in complete circles all around my breasts, both of them.
He continued to move in concentric circles, growing smaller and smaller all the time, coming at last to the outer edge of my nipples.
But he still refused to touch them.
He was licking my breasts, licking between them, licking along the underside, but he kept pulling away when he would approach my nipples.
I started to moan.
"Please, please ... " I said, my voice scarcely a whisper.
"I will. Patience, please."
"No ... no ... noooo ... " I protested. "I need it. They need it. My breasts need you, they need your mouth. Please. Don't torture me. Please don't torture me. I can't stand it ... "
I wasn't even fully aware of what I was saying, so deftly had he pulled me over the line. Where I'd been fully in control of myself only a half hour before, I was now growing more and more crazed with passion. I couldn't believe what he was doing to me, just with his tongue.
What was more incredible was the fact that he hadn't even touched my pussy yet, hadn't even come close.
"Please, suck on them," I begged, trying now to manipulate my breasts into contact with that delightful tongue.
He dodged my advance.
"Not yet," he said, sternly, and I was momentarily taken aback by his tone.
"Don't you scold me," I said defiantly, and in response, he simply took hold of both of my wrists and pinned my arms against the - back of the couch.
"Randy, don't do this," I insisted, but I guess I didn't sound like I mean it, because he simply lowered his head to my breasts again and started to lick around the edges of my nipples once more.
I was getting annoyed, and I thought that it was from his attitude, but he was right to ignore me. What was mainly bothering me was the fact that he was making me more and more frustrated with every passing second.
He came closer and closer to the tip of my nipples, even licking over the rosettes ... and then, I felt it!
He let the tip of his tongue whip right across the throbbing tip.
I actually let out a scream.
He repeated it again with the other one, but then, instead of giving me more as I wanted and needed so desperately, he simply moved back to the larger mounds of flesh that my nipples were attached to.
But he'd done it ... he'd pushed me even higher on the scale of arousal, and now, somewhat able to see what he was doing, I was growing even more aroused with the anticipation that eventually he would satisfy me.
Soon, he was flicking his tongue across my nipples regularly, keeping up a steady pace, moving faster and faster, although keeping the pressure light as a feather.
I started to feel my body jerking, my muscles reacting to the slightest contact with my sensitive nerve endings in my nipples.
But my nerve endings in my pussy were even more sensitive, and they were begging for even more release.
INTERVIEW TWO
I edited Anita's first interview so that it would end at that particular point. After that spot, she had become side tracked by an episode in her book that related to nipples, and the various types of reactions that different kinds of material can produce in them.
While a fascinating discussion in its own right, it was not specifically relevant to this topic, and so, I told her that we should continue the description of her seduction at the hands of this young literature student when she returned.
She now takes up the narrative.
I can remember only that the more he played with my breasts and my nipples, the more aroused I was getting, and the more amazed that simply having my nipples stimulated could produce such an extreme reaction in me.
I was always one who loved foreplay, and in particular my nipples, but Randy was on his way to making me come, and never touching my cunt once. That was amazing! That was something that I hadn't even thought to put in my book!
"Please," I was moaning, although I'm not sure what I was asking him for. I just knew that I wanted more. More. I didn't care even what it was. I just needed to have my body stimulated, and I was rapidly reaching a point that it didn't matter what he did. Just so long as he kept doing it!
I spread my legs even wider, and started to slowly pull my skirt up past my knees on my own, hoping that he'd take the hint and finally start paying attention to my pussy.
To my vast relief, I finally felt his fingers begin playing around with my thighs, stroking the skin lightly, causing goose-bumps to form up and down my legs.
He started to stroke the inner portion of my thighs, lightly, more delicately than I'd ever felt it in my life, more so than I'd had anyone do it in my book.
Something suddenly occurred to me.
He'd read my book!
He'd read my opinions of men, of their general prowess as lovers ...
He was trying to show me that there were men who were better than the ones I'd talked about in my book!
I started to laugh, and at first I thought that he'd pull back and think I was laughing at him.
But he merely began to suck on my nipple, constantly this time, and then he looked up, let the nipple fall out of his mouth, and said "What's so funny?"
I was still chuckling when he put my nipple back in his mouth, and I almost didn't even bother to answer, it felt so good to just lie there and let him suck on me. But he asked again.
"I was just noticing that you're a lot better than anyone that I wrote about in my book," I said.
He smiled.
"I know."
"You're just trying to prove a point, aren't you?"
"Not really. Although I'm sure a point will have been most effectively made by the end of the evening. But dear lady, what I am trying to do is something much more direct. And hardly so intellectual. I assure you. Now, if you're through with your theories, perhaps we can get on with it,"
"Oh, pardon me ... " I started to tease, but his teeth came clamping down hard on my nipple.
"OH!" I cried out. "That hurts!"
"Shhhhh!"
He began to suck gently and soothingly on the same nipple that he'd just nearly bitten off.
As he did so, his fingers at long last seemed to be starting out on the final leg of their journey that hopefully would bring them right up between my legs.
He was moving them more and more strongly over my naked skin, up and down along my thighs, and I felt the tingling sensations rippling back and forth all up and down my body, covering my back-bone, all the way to the base of my neck, and all over my legs.
He moved closer and closer to my pussy, and I could scarcely breathe, the closer he got.
"Oh yes," I moaned, "please, touch me. Please ... I want you so bad. You're getting me so excited. I can't stand it!"
He said nothing, simply grinned at me and put my nipple back into his mouth.
I'd never felt my body charged like this, never felt myself so precariously balanced at the edge of control.
I felt myself in danger of simply spilling over the edge, simply dropping off in a mindless orgasm from which I'd never return.
I wanted it.
Oh GOD how I wanted it.
I had a feeling then, all at once, that my entire book had been written out of one long frustrating cry that there were just no really great lovers left, and that all the women walking around were doomed to be horny the rest of their lives.
I'd never actually come out and said as much, but from the way Randy was reacting to me, and more, from the way I was responding, I couldn't escape the thought that somehow, that was at the bottom of my conscious motivations.
He had read them, understood, and now, like an answer to a prayer, he'd come out of nowhere to fill my need, my silent need that not even I had been fully aware of.
He brought his fingers up to my crotch now, and without any further teasing, began to stroke my cunt outside my panties.
I could feel how wet the material had become, and I could feel how slick and frictionless the contact with his fingers was.
He pressed against the spot directly above my clit, pressed hard, and then just as quickly, he released the pressure.
"You feel wet," he murmured. "You've made me that way," I whispered back to him.
"How would you like to get wetter," he asked.
"Anything you say," I murmured.
He sat up, unfastened my skirt, and suddenly, I was nearly naked. My panties were sheer, see-through material, and I knew that my pubic hair was clearly visible beneath them, and so it was almost the same as being naked.
Except that the way he stared at me, and the fact that he was still stroking me over my panties made it even more sensual, more erotic, more arousing.
I was almost out of control now. There was a feeling all through me of a mounting fullness, of a rising pressure that needed to be released, and fast, or else I was afraid that I'd go out of my mind.
He continued to stroke my pussy, stroking the lips, my clit, which now was peeking through the top portion of my slit and was actually making contact on its own with the material of my panties, and he was even pressing against my cunt hole, forcing the material to slip up inside my cunt.
He continued to play with me, pulling the crotch piece aside, and actually making direct contact with my cunt.
But by this time, I was so excited and there was so much juice flowing between my lips, that I couldn't even be aware of specific things that he was doing.
Everything was simply blending into one grand blur.
I couldn't think, I could only feel. My mind was shorting out, but in its place my nerve endings were becoming supercharged, super sensitized to every tiny stroke of his fingers.
I felt my hips rolling against his hand, and at last, instead of pulling back to keep the tension and frustration high, he pressed back.
I cried out, and instantly jammed my hips harder, rubbing my pussy against anything that it came in contact with.
"Take off your panties," he said. "I want to see you naked."
I wasn't about to argue with him.
I sat up and grasped the elastic waistband so hard, and pulled so urgently that I heard it tear a little.
"Easy, easy," he said, laughing, "you're going to want to wear them again, I'm sure."
"God ... not if you're around, I won't. I just want to lie here and let you touch me."
"Sounds fine to me," he said.
I pulled them off, and then, still holding them in my hand, I lay back on the couch, never taking my eyes off of him, and slowly, sensuously, as sensuously as I knew how, opened my legs, and revealed the pink inner membranes of my cunt to him.
He simply stared at me, taking all of me in.
"Do you like what you see?" I asked.
"You know you don't need to ask that question."
"If I really knew, I wouldn't have asked."
"What do you think the answer is?"
"I think I'm pretty good to look at, actually. But I don't know for sure."
He smiled.
"You're dynamite."
Then he lowered his lips to by crotch.
I held my breath.
Every single muscle was tense, taut with tension, the tension of passion and arousal. I waited as he drew closer ... closer ... closer ...
He touched me!
My body started to jerk wildly.
"Easy ... take it easy," he said, keeping his voice calm and soothing.
"I can't help it. You're driving me crazy," I said gasping.
"Good. That's the idea."
Then, he slipped his arms underneath my legs, right behind my knees, and slowly began to raise them up towards my head, spreading them apart as he did so.
I watched as his tongue slid out between his lips, and then drew nearer and nearer to my slit.
I let him spread my legs as wide as they would go, until they started to hurt.
"Oh," I said, making a face.
"Does that hurt?" he asked.
"A little."
"How about now?"
And while he kept my legs in the same position, he lowered his tongue to my clitoris that was sticking between my pink slit.
The tight little bud of nerves was literally quivering from lust and the crazed desire to be stimulated.
I needed that.
I needed it as much as I've ever needed anything in my life.
And I realize now that I needed it exactly as Randy was giving it to me.
"You really did read my book, didn't you?" I asked.
"Ummm hmmm. Particularly the part about eating cunts."
"Well ... I didn't phrase it exactly like that."
"No ... but that's what you meant, right?"
As if to punctuate his question and prove his point at the same time, he slammed the tip of his tongue into my cunt.
It felt like he'd set off an atomic bomb inside me.
I started to moan, groan, roll my hips, grind my ass into his couch, and otherwise behave in the thoroughly disgusting manner that woman in heat will fall into.
I couldn't help it.
He was driving me totally out of my mind.
It had taken him what seemed to be an infinity to get me to this point, but I thought to myself, it was worth it. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it gave me an added thrill to know that he'd learned all of his techniques from my book. At least, he'd learned how to make love to me.
Then, I thought of something.
I'd also discussed rape fantasies. The character in my book had a consistent rape fantasy and she discovers that she can't be satisfied until she manages to either dispose of it, or have someone help her act it out.
I shuddered.
In my book, she seeks out someone to help her act it out, and things get just a little out of hand ...
"Randy," I said, breaking the mood for a moment, "you realize that my book was a work of fiction, don't you?"
He looked confused.
"Huh?"
"Fiction. It was a work of fiction. As opposed to being an autobiography. You follow my meaning?"
He shook his head, but seemed anxious to get back to my pussy.
"Seriously, Randy ... " I said, but he slid a couple of fingers into my hole and started to work them around.
"How's that feel," he asked, ignoring my comment.
I closed my eyes, and just let myself get lost once more in the sensation of having my cunt aroused.
"How's that feel," he asked again.
"It's divine," I replied.
Then, taking each of my outer lips in his fingers, he started to open my pussy.
I felt the membranes gently stretching, opening, felt myself being exposed at the most basic, fundamental level.
He lowered his head again, this time bringing the edge of his teeth right down onto my clit.
He bit, not hard, but firmly.
It sent a shock wave shooting through me.
"Oh!! Oh my GOD!!"
"You like that?"
"Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh," was about all I could say. He just kept at it, biting gently, easily, not hard, but forcefully enough that I felt it searing every nerve ending in my body.
He continued, harder, harder ...
"Please," I finally gasped, "please fuck me. I need you to fuck me. I need it badly. Please, stick your cock in me."
He smiled.
"Really? Tell me again."
"Please. Stop playing games. Stop teasing me. It's cruel."
"Is it? Are you sure?"
"Randy, please stop it!!! I need you."
"What do you need?"
"Your cock!!! I need your cock."
He stood up, kicked off his shoes (I hadn't even realized that he still had them on) and then dropped his jeans.
He was wearing no underwear.
I gasped when I saw it, hanging there between his legs, so big, so thick, so stiff ...
It was a deep, dark, reddish color, almost the color of baked bricks.
The head looked like a large mushroom, and was an even darker hue, almost purple.
He began to fondle it, stroking it to bring it to full erection.
"Come here, and let me to that," I said, but he just looked at me with a funny expression.
Then he picked up my panties from where he'd thrown them on the floor.
"Roll over," he instructed me.
"What-what are you going to do?" I asked, once again apprehensive.
"I'm going to fuck you, if you ever shut up and roll over, that is," he said.
"Randy, don't hurt me," I suddenly blurted out, not even sure why I had.
"Hurt you? Why the hell would I do a thing like that?" he asked.
"I don't know. Please ... don't hurt me."
"Why would I want to do that?" he asked, his voice growing stranger and stranger by the second.
"I don't know. Why are you sounding so strange?"
He laughed, but there was no mirth in it. It didn't even sound particularly human.
"Randy ... stop this. What are you doing?"
"You tell me what you're doing? Why are you getting so paranoid?"
"I don't like your voice. It's starting to sound strange."
He chuckled again, and again it sounded very cruel.
But then his hands were on my legs, his fingers were stroking my cunt again, and as he gently prodded me, I rolled over.
"Up," he said softly. "Raise up."
I started to stick my ass in the air, and felt him begin to rub his hands over each of my buttocks.
The sensation was delicious, exquisite, and I could have stayed there all night and just let him work on me.
He reached between my legs again, touching me on my clit, pressing against it, spreading the juice that flowed from between my lips all over my skin.
I felt even more charged now, more than before.
I looked back at him, looked between my legs, and all I could see was his stiff cock and his balls dangling there behind me.
He took my panties and draped them over his cock, pulled them tightly about the base and started to stroke it with them.
I could see the silky material rubbing over his head, and there was a small stain at the tiny slit in the glands where clear liquid was already drooling out.
His cock was completely erect now, totally erect, and as he continued to stroke, I reached between my legs to touch it.
I was amazed.
It was so stiff that I would have sworn the surface skin was going to tear right open.
He kept it tight around the shaft, and brought it right up to my cunt.
I couldn't believe it. He was going to fuck me with my very own panties. Now there was something that he'd never read in my book either. As a matter of fact, it was starting to occur to me that he might very well have never needed to read my book at all to know how to drive me wild.
He started to push.
He pushed harder.
I started to moan. My panties were made out of a very slick, sheer, silky material, but even so, it wasn't the usual thing for the inside of my cunt to be feeling against it.
The delicate membranes and the smooth tissues were super-sensitive, and it would just have been maddening enough to just feel his cock slurping through me.
It was even more so to feel the thickness of his cock pushing that material in and out.
It took him several tries before he was able to get inside me.
He pushed, and then he pushed harder and harder still, but the friction was just too much.
Finally, he got an idea.
"Spread wide," he told me, and by this time, I was literally slobbering with lust. I needed to get fucked, and I needed it really bad.
I felt him playing around with my cunt, and then, suddenly, there was a feeling of something moving inside of me.
It was his fingers, and they were stuffing my panties up in me!
I was right, the feeling of that material was very very strange and alien to the inside of my cunt, but it felt good. Highly stimulating.
He pushed them all the way inside of me, and then, he said, "Now, we have to make sure that they're wet. We want to make sure that your pussy greases them up real good."
"How are you going to do that?" I asked.
I heard him pick up his pants, and at first I thought he was getting dressed again, because I heard his belt buckle jangle.
But I was wrong.
He had something else altogether in mind for me.
"Keep that sweet ass up there," he said, running his hands over my buttocks again.
I had no desire to shift my position, but I was getting a little apprehensive about what he had in mind.
All I needed was a good fuck.
I didn't want all these kinky additions to the routine. Or at least I thought I didn't.
Suddenly, I cried out in shock and dismay.
He pulled my hands behind my back, and yanked on them tightly.
At the same time, he slipped a cord around my wrists, and started to tie my hands behind me.
Tight.
I was being tied up, and suddenly, I realized that I didn't know this guy at all, I had no idea what he was up to, and he'd already stuck my panties up my cunt.
I wondered what else he was going to do that was a little (or maybe even a lot) abnormal.
I felt the first stroke of his belt across my buttocks, and knew the answer.
"Oh my God, stop this, Randy! Stop it."
He might as well have been deaf.
He started to swing his belt very hard, and very rapidly, bringing it down onto my buttocks again and again.
It really hurt too, and I started to scream.
I was trying to alert the neighbors, but he just laughed.
"You might as well stop. They know that I'm a little strange over here. I've played them tapes of women screaming ... things that I put together in a little studio that I have in a back room ... that way, they never think anything's amiss when they hear something like this."
"Randy, stop, please stop this."
"Anita, cut it out. What do you think I'm going to do, kill you? Now cut the stupid shit. I read your book. I know you better than you think. I swear, I don't even think you know what you put in that book. Have you even read it yourself?"
"I wrote it!! Please don't go telling me what's in my own book!!!"
"You ought to give some serious thought about what you wrote. This was the bottom line of everything you were saying ... that women have fantasies that never get any kind of release in the real world."
"That was my character, that was fiction, you idiot. OUCH!! God dammit! That hurts!!!"
He swung again, not answering me.
"Randy, that was a story. That wasn't me."
"It was exactly you, and you should know it. If you don't, you will. Read your book. See how you talked about the whip, the lash, pain ... you don't fool me. That book was an open invitation for someone like me."
I was getting dizzy, it was all so absurd.
He was whipping me, harder and harder ... I could feel the burn settling into my ass cheeks, and I could imagine how flaming red they must be getting.
"You'll see ... " he said. "You'll see that I'm right. You'll see."
He kept swinging, but at least he didn't seem bent on destroying me. He just kept the leather strap focused on my buttocks, and even though they were stinging fiercely, burning like they'd been set on fire, I found that after a while, I was even able to tolerate it.
Again and again, harder and harder, he continued to swing at my ass, hurting me, stinging me, burning me, whipping me ...
But dear God, he was keeping me aroused.
I felt it in my clit. The steady consistent tingling that I'd felt earlier remained, growing stronger and stronger all the while.
I was very much aware of the bulk of material inside my cunt, and could only imagine the effect this whipping was having on it, but I began to suspect that he'd somehow, in some way, been right. He'd second guessed me in a way that I'd never have thought possible.
Then, all at once, he threw the belt aside, and followed up the last stroke with two sharp slaps with the flat of his palm.
Then he immediately began to rub over the tender flesh, lightly, gently, soothingly, and as he continued to do so with one hand, he dug with the other into my pussy again, pulled out my panties, and held them against my buttocks.
I could feel how wet they were.
They were soaked clear through.
"I think you're ready now," he said, wrapping them around his cock.
Then, he began to press against my pussy again, and this time, there was no resistance.
His cock, wrapped like a demented sausage, slurped right into my body with a squishing sound.
I was oozing juice like an artesian well, and I could feel it flowing all around the massive cock, and seep in between the sides of his shaft, the material of my panties and the sides of my cunt walls.
It grew wetter and wetter, and soon, even the friction from the material was eased.
All I could feel was the constant in and out movement of his cock, ramming harder and harder into the well of my sopping hot pussy.
In and out!
In and out!
Out and in!
Harder and harder and harder and harder ...
When he finally came, I had already come several time, a dozen times ... I couldn't keep count.
I only know that the addition of his jism was hardly noticed, there was so much juice flowing around inside me already.
Well ... anyway, doctor, needless to say, I had to admit to him that he'd been absolutely right about me.
Not only that, but he became my lover, and he still is. And my writing has improved greatly since then.
CONCLUSION
To her story, I have nothing to add, except that, in this case, life mimics art, to a fine effect indeed.
CASE HISTORY FOUR
SUBJECT CANDY S.
AGE: Twenty-one
INTERVIEW ONE
Candy's case is one that shows conclusive that in not every situation does the application of bondage and forced sexual intercourse need to result in negative psychological reactions.
In not every case, is the so-call victim actually a victim at all. Take Candy for instance ...
"He's just so boring," I said to my friend Melinda, as we sat in the restaurant sipping our drinks, watching the crowds pass along the sidewalk outside.
It was hot out there, and we were both grateful to be inside where - it was air conditioned. We'd have been willing to stay there all afternoon, actually.
Except I had to meet Phillip, my husband, in exactly a half an hour. I was not looking forward to it. Phillip was the one of whom I spoke; or rather, it was my marriage to him, of which I spoke, when I said "It's the most boring fucking thing I've ever done."
"Well, darling, you never needed to get married to him."
"Sure I did. How else was I going to get a settlement."
"You're so disgusting."
"Not half as disgusting as he is. I tell you Melinda, I don't think I can take it much longer."
"Really, is it all that bad. I mean, honestly, deep down, where it counts?"
"He watches me like a hawk, and I don't stand a chance of ever getting out anywhere on my own."
"You aren't saying that he actually has you followed."
"Everywhere."
"I don't believe that."
"It's true."
"You mean, even as we sit here and talk, and sip our drinks like two civilized modern ladies ... someone's watching us?"
I nodded.
"I don't believe it."
"It's true. I swear Melinda, I'm going out of my mind."
My friend slowly shook her head. It had been only six months since I'd gotten married. Six months since I'd last seen her. She looked and seemed exactly as I remembered her. I wondered how much I'd changed.
"Tell me ... are there any ... benefits?"
"If you mean is the sex any good, the answer is no. It's lousy. Utterly lousy. I loath the sight of him. The only thing that saves me is that he can't seem to keep it up very much, and doesn't really bother me very often. But he has me watched all the time. The minute I leave the house."
"How do you know?"
"Because I was snooping around his desk one afternoon and I found photographs of myself. They had been taken only a couple of days earlier. All I was doing was going shopping, but I was stopped by a nice looking guy who asked me for directions ... the whole conversation was recorded on nice 8 x 10 glossies. I nearly died. I don't know what else he's gotten on me, but ever since that day, I've been very careful of who I talked to, and what I do. It's like being under house arrest, except you never see who's got hold of you."
Melinda said nothing.
"What are you thinking," I finally asked her.
"I'm plotting."
My eyes grew wide.
"Plotting what?"
"Revenge. Your freedom. And whatever else pops into my deviant little brain."
"Tell me what you mean. Look, Melinda, I don't want to fuck this up. I mean, I married the bastard because he's loaded, and unless I'm stupid, I can still come out of this with a nice hefty little sum of money. But I have to do it right."
"I know. I know. I'm thinking."
I knew from experience that she was most devious when it came to sexual manipulations. She'd gotten through college that way. Graduated near the top of her class and seldom opened a book.
She knew what else to open instead. "So, tell me dear, you say this abominable man ... what's his name?"
"Russell."
"Russell. What a boring name. You say dear old Russell doesn't have a lot of luck when it comes to fucking you. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"Hmmmm ... "
"Come on, Melinda, you have to tell me what you have in mind."
"Well ... you say he likes to take pictures, huh?"
"Yeah ... "
"Well, you know what they say. He who lives by the sword ... "
She outlined her plan, and it was so deceptively simple, and yet, so utterly perfect.
She met me the next day again for lunch, and as we'd planned, I had a bag from Bloomingdales with me. So did she. We had a delightful lunch, and then, when I left, I carried her bag from Bloomingdales out with me.
I don't know if the little gremlins were watching, but they saw nothing to arouse their curiosity.
I got home and opened the bag.
There it was, a tiny little box, and inside, a tinier camera.
"Don't let the size fool you," I remembered Melinda saying. "It's one of the highest quality cameras on the market. And you can hide it anywhere."
Again Melinda came to the rescue.
I simply hid it in the wall in our bedroom. It was so tiny that I was able to do it without anyone being able to see the spot. Unless they looked closely. Which I didn't for a moment expect Russell to-do. He was suspicious, and paranoid, but for that very reason, he'd think that he would know well ahead of time if I had any kind of plot in mind against him. I know he assumed that I was just waiting for a chance to divorce him. Well, what can I say. He was perceptive. And he was right.
But he never had a chance. The dumb bastard never really knew what hit him.
"Russell," I said to him one night, letting myself into his study.
He looked up.
"Candice, darling," he said in his predictably boring manner, "what a pleasant surprise. I must say, I don't see you here very often."
I held my breath. Could I go through with this? Damn straight I could. He was worth 50 million.
I walked around behind him, and noticed him trying to follow me with his eyes, as if he didn't at all like the idea of me standing so close, and yet out of his range of vision.
"Russell, I've got a problem. And I really need to talk to you about it ... except that I really don't know how."
"Oh?"
He turned around. I reached out and started to stroke his cheek, looking like a little lost waif.
"Tell me darling, what seems to be troubling you?"
"Oh ... well ... it's awfully difficult to talk about it."
"Yes, yes, I'm sure it is. The truly important things always are. But why don't you make an effort. I'll do my best to be understanding."
I looked down at my feet. This was the most important part. I remembered Melinda's words.
"Someone like that has a lot of repressed tension backed up inside them. He has an outlet of sorts with all the money and power that are his to command. Someone who doesn't have that kind of outlet might wind up poking a gun out of a fifth floor window and gunning down people in the street. But just keep telling yourself, down deep, he's got a lot of backed up hostility, and he wants revenge. He's a violent man, all the more so because he acts so timid and wishy-washy on the surface."
I plunged ahead.
"Russell, it's about our sex life."
I saw him getting red in the face. This was important. Let him think I was getting ready to call him a lousy lover, and then, hit him with the real salvo.
"Yes," he said, his voice hardened all of a sudden to a dull monotone.
"I ... well, I don't know how to say this. I don't want you to think I'm a strange person, or deviant or anything ... "
I bit my lip. Glancing up at him, I saw that his rising anger had stalled and was now replaced by a look more of puzzlement and curiosity.
"Go on ... " he said.
"Well ... do you mind if I sit in your lap?"
"What!? Oh ... heh, heh, no ... no, of course not."
I settled my firm little buns right on top of his cock, and even though I'd often been witness to his total failure when he'd try to get it hard, I felt it starting to grow stiff now.
"Russell, it's like this," I said wrapping my arms sensuously around his neck, "before I met you ... I ... OH! This is so hard."
"Now now, my dear. I think perhaps the best course is total honesty. You've gone this far ... you should go all the way."
"Russell, have you ever spanked someone?"
I felt his cock give a violent lurch. He struggled to maintain his composure, and for the most part, he succeeded, but I could tell that the effort cost him dearly.
"Spanked ... someone ... ?"
I couldn't look him in the eye.
"Yes," I murmured. "I'm sorry ... I know that's a terrible thing to ask. You must think awfully of me. I don't know what to say."
"Why don't you tell my specifically why you asked such ... a strange question."
I still wouldn't look him in the eyes.
"Well, when I was a little girl ... my ... my daddy used to spank me. He'd spank me real hard, and he'd use a thick, heavy belt. And what he'd do, is first he'd lay me over the edge of his bed, and then he'd pull my skirt up above my waist, and then he'd start to rub my bottom, and then he'd pull my panties down, ever so slowly, and then he'd leave them down around my ankles and he'd keep rubbing my bare bottom and then he'd take his belt and spank me hard!"
I got it all out in a quick rush. None of it was true, of course. I looked at Russell finally, and saw that he had just bought the entire bill of goods.
"Oh ... my ... you poor poor dear."
"Yes ... but that's not all. He did it when I was little. Real little. And ... and he kept on doing it. All the way up to when I was sixteen and seventeen. And he even spanked me sometimes when I was in college and would come home for a visit."
"What a monster," he said, scarcely able to contain the quiver in his voice.
"I know ... except that ... "
"Yes?"
I looked him straight on, right in the eyes again. He held my gaze.
"Except that by the time I was in college, I wanted him to do it. Do you understand what I'm saying? Russell, I wanted him to do it to me."
"Whatever for?"
"Because I enjoyed it. Do you hear? I enjoyed it. I loved it. I wanted it and I needed it, and he gave it to me, and he knew exactly what he was doing and why."
I started to cry.
I buried my face in my hands, and Russell began to stroke my hair.
"There, there my dear, don't cry. Everything's all right. Surely you didn't think I'd hold you responsible for something that happened ... so long ... ago ... did you ... ?"
There was a distant, almost dreamy sound to his voice, as if he was already lost in fantasies. I could pretty well imagine what was going on in those fantasies.
"Oh Russell ... that's not all."
"Oh?" he asked in. a small tiny voice.
"No," I said, still crying. "What I wanted to talk to you about ... "
And then I collapsed again in helpless sobbing.
He continued to stroke my hair.
"There there my dear ... please, try to control yourself. I'm your husband, and I love you ... "
I knew exactly what was going through his mind. I also knew that I already had him hooked, and could probably do just about anything that I wanted with him, now that he was already slobbering all over me. I looked at him, and the mad lust was there all right, smoldering right beneath his eyes ... he was already itching to get his hands on those sweet buns of mine. So ... Melinda had been right. Russell wanted to spank me.
"Russell, what I've been trying to tell you is, even though I've spent my entire life since leaving daddy trying to overcome it, I haven't been able to. Lord knows, I've wanted to. I've wanted to simply be normal ... but I haven't been able to. At all."
"So ... what is it that you're trying to tell me, dearest?"
"Russell ... would it be asking too much ... if I was to ask you to ... to spank me?"
He laughed a small, nervous laugh. Too much, I could almost hear him thinking to himself ... too much, why ... why no, not at all. I think we could probably manage something like that without too much trouble ...
I could see him rubbing his hands together, Vincent Price-like, and drooling like something named Igor ...
"Are you absolutely certain that such a drastic ... practice is essential for your pleasure?"
"Oh yes. Honestly, I wouldn't ask it of you otherwise. I surely know that you're far too civilized to indulge in such behavior purely on your own."
Again with the nervous little laugh.
"Well ... ummm ... how would you care to proceed?"
"Come with me ... into the bed room," I said, sounding like I was suddenly becoming quite heavily aroused.
So too, for that matter, was Russell. I'd never felt his cock to be so stiff.
Nor, for that matter, had he ever seemed to be quite so interested in my body, or in me at all.
Of course, I thought to myself, there was the one little unpleasant fact that I was literally going to have to submit to progressively harsher whippings, but that was a small price to pay. I already had my story worked out in minute detail. All that was necessary was for Russell to play his part, and I had no doubts whatsoever that he would play. And play. And play, and play ...
"Oh Russell," I bubbled, as we went from his den into the bedroom, "you don't know how excited I am."
He smiled a fatherly smile.
"Is that so."
"Oh yes. I know how awful this must sound, really I do. I appreciate it. I haven't known how to bring it up at all, and it's been so weighing on my mind."
"We should always ... be open with each other, my dear. Always."
"Yes. I'll remember that."
"Now, why don't you tell me what to do."
I quickly took my clothes off.
"It doesn't have to be anything elaborate, you understand. I don't require a lot of ritual. But I do so need to feel it. To feel ... pain, you understand."
He smiled. It was a smile as gentle as snow. And as cold.
"Oh yes. I understand. I assure you, my dear, I understand."
Then, placing one hand alongside my face, he stroked my cheek. With his other hand, he began to stroke the rest of my body, my breasts, my stomach, my thighs, my pubic hair ...
I was surprised. I'd never known Russell to take much of an interest in foreplay of any sort, at all. Ever.
Now, he was actually managing to get me aroused. Oh well, I thought, that couldn't really hurt too badly. I mean, if I have to get spanked, I might as well get a little sexual kick out of it, right?
Well, I was just kidding myself, because I didn't have the faintest idea what was in store for me. I'd never been spanked in my life. Or at least not since I was a little girl. And I certainly had never been spanked by someone who was drooling over the pure joy of hitting me.
But here was Russell, a demented gleam in his eyes, his fingers playing around my vaginal lips, and suddenly, he touched my clitoris.
I let out a gasp.
He smiled, again a cold, almost cruel smile.
"You seem to be aroused, my dear. We shall have to see if we can't arouse you even more."
I thought to myself, this is Russell's big moment. He's probably never been in a situation like this, ever.
He turned me around, and gently pressed me forward, so that I was sprawled across the bed.
"Now, my dear," he said, "you shall have to tell me how you would prefer this. It is up to you to set the parameters."
"Remember," I heard Melinda saying to me, "you have to hook him, and then reel him in slow. You have to take him up gradually. If you give it all to him at once, he'll just lose interest after a while. You have, to pace yourself, give him a little more each time. Keep him slobbering."
And then, she told me the one thing that I wasn't at all convinced of yet.
"And Candy, you'll be surprised. It's a lot of fun. I know."
I could still see the laughter in her eyes as she told me that. I guess I must have looked pretty shocked.
Russell's hand roaming over my buttocks brought me back to reality.
"Now, Candice darling, I'm going to begin."
Fine, fine, fine, Russell darling dearest, I thought to myself. Christ! Even when the man was being kinky, he was insufferably boring.
Then, he hit me.
I couldn't believe how hard it was. My God, I thought, is that how he lets me set the limits?
I moaned, and tried to move my bottom away from his hand, but I didn't fight too hard.
He started to settle very rapidly into a solid, steady rhythm, pounding again and again on my buttocks, and I endured the torment for a little while but finally had to gasp, "Too much! It's too much. Not so hard!"
He kept the same intensity for one or two strokes but then, reluctantly, it seemed, he eased off.
The sting was almost unbearable. I'd never felt anything so degrading, and so humiliating. I just kept talking to myself, repeating 50 million dollars, 50 million dollars, 50 million dollars. And I hoped that the automatic control on the camera was working properly.
I don't know how long that first spanking lasted, but I think Russell's hand finally got tired, because he was the one who ended it.
But it was only just beginning. I was truly dazed from the onslaught, almost in a dreamy, trance-like state, and when he stopped hitting me, I at first wasn't quite aware of where I was.
He already had his fingers in my cunt when I began to get my bearings again.
I was amazed when I realized that I was literally dripping with juice. My membranes and the inside of my lips felt absolutely supercharged, and without even thinking too much about what I was doing, I just rolled over on my back and looked up at Russell and said, "My God, fuck me. FUCK ME!!"
I was like an animal, beyond reason, beyond thought, driven purely by her instincts.
For his part, Russell seemed to be trying to maneuver with the biggest hard-on he'd ever had in his life.
I reached up and clamped my hand over his crotch, and just started to squeeze, making sure that I didn't catch his balls in the vise.
He moaned, he groaned, and then, as I unzipped his pants, he shot his load all over my hand.
I was crazed by then. All I could think of was that his cock wouldn't be hard enough to fuck me now.
I let out a loud moan of dismay, and quickly stuck my mouth up to the head of his cock, and began to suck up everything that came flooding out.
It turned out to be quite a lot.
Wad after wad rushed out of his cock, into my mouth, and slithered down my hot little throat.
All the while, I kept stroking it, milking as much as I could get from it.
There were a couple of hot wads still stuck to my hand, and so keeping up the stroking movements with my other hand, I licked the rest up too.
He tasted good. I was surprised to feel that way, but damn it, he tasted good.
Then, there was the problem of my cunt, which still needed to be fucked.
I started to stroke his cock harder, and wrapping my lips around the glands again, I started a series of movements with my tongue that would have gotten a stiff's cock stiff. Pardon the pun, Doc. But it would have. And come to think of it, that's exactly what did happen, because to both my shock and Russell's as well, the damn thing showed some very definite signs of life again.
"Mmmmmmmmmm," I purred to him, cradling his balls in the palm of my hand.
"Ohhhh, oh, oh," he said, just as surprised as I was to feel it getting hard again.
"You really got right on top of that thing, didn't you," I said to him.
He didn't seem to comprehend what I meant, and to tell you the truth, neither did I, and neither did I care.
I just kicked my legs up in the air, pointed to my cunt and pulled him on board.
To his credit, he knew exactly what to do from that point onward.
It slammed into my pussy like a steam locomotive.
I just lay there, holding on for dear life, letting him pound away, and you know, for a moment, I actually forgot that I was fucking him to keep his interest so he'd keep abusing me for my camera so I could take him to court and soak him for as much as I could squeeze out of him.
I forgot all that.
Instead, all I thought about was squeezing as much jism as I could out of him.
When he came, it was every bit as much as before. He slurped his cock all through my cunt, letting the juice ooze in between his shaft and my lips, getting it all over my thighs and my pubic hair ...
I came too. It was a mighty orgasm, and there's no doubt in my mind that the hard spanking that he'd just given me was responsible.
I tightened my grip on him, and began to babble and moan, all the while grinding my hips into his as hard as I could, trying to force that cock of his to plow an ever deepening furrow into my cunt.
"More, more, more, more, more" I cried.
"Aaaaarghhhhh!!!" yelled Russell back at me. I looked up at his face but saw that his eyes were completely out of focus.
He worked my cunt like he'd never been able to work it before, and then, he literally made me come again.
When the waves finally subsided, and we both collapsed in a sweaty heap on the bed, I knew that my plan was going to work. And what's more, I knew that I'd be able to have a few kicks while pulling it off.
