Message-ID: <16811eli$9810290550@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/16811.txt>
From: kellis <kellis@dhp.com>
Subject: {Kellis} "Late Curiosity" ( MF nc) [2/2]
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; charset=US-ASCII
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <Pine.LNX.3.96.981028192857.24152C-100000@shell.dhp.com>


<09:31>
    "Are you comfortable, Lucy?"
    "Huh!  That's not one of your brighter questions, Tiger."
    He went around to each of her manacles and clamping the limb with one
hand, made sure that the hasp was loose enough to rotate on her skin.
When he was satisfied, he removed her mask and stood for a moment looking
down at her.
    "Felt any pins and needles?"
    "Pins and --  Oh."
    "Have you?"
    "What if I did?  Would you set me free?"
    "I'll rub it out if you tell me where you feel it."
    "Will you?  Why so solicitous of a sudden, Tiger?"
    "For this step I want to minimize distractions."
    "That sounds ominous."
    He shook his head.  "I won't harm you, Lucy."
    "Won't you?  You were less sure of it a minute ago."
    "I said that it might <hurt> you, though I didn't think so.  There's a
difference."
    "Between <hurt> and <harm>?  Huh!  And you've lost your erection.
That worries me even more."
    "It'll come back."  He grinned.  "For this one I'm using my other sex
organ."
    "Your <what>?"
    His grin became a chuckle.  "You have a talent for sounding
incredulous.  Didn't you hear the joke about the old man whose doctor
said, 'Show me your sex organ,' and he stuck out his tongue?"
    "You propose to hurt me with your <tongue>?"
    "A real talent, Lucy!  But I'll not <harm> you!"
    "Now <I> am curious!  Do you have a very long one?"
    He laughed.  "Long enough.  It's not the length;  it's the speed."
    She studied him, saying at last, "If I sound incredulous it's because
what you say is preposterous."
    "Not preposterous at all, as you're about to find out.  I told you:
this is the most unmentionable act of all."
    He let himself down prone, stretched out before her, arms over her
thighs, face in the vulva, and applied his tongue slowly and gently at
first.
    After a moment she snorted.  "Well, that's certainly not
'unmentionable.'  It even has it's own word:  <cunnilinctus>.  You're
obviously educated, Tiger.  I'm amazed you don't know it!"
    But his response was only to continue his ministrations, very
gradually firming the tongue.  Her hips twitched.  His tongue moved
faster.
    "Tiger," she said softly, "I'll admit you wouldn't have to chain me
down for <this>!"
    Soon her hips began to rotate.  At that sign his speed increased.  She
began to shudder when the firm tip stroked her, lifting the clitoris as
fast as he could move it.
    Grunts timed with his strokes became a ragged moan.  Her hips rotated
with abandonment as the crisis approached.  Suddenly her whole torso
arched powerfully, as with an electrical shock.  He clamped her buttocks
beneath him, tongue continuing to work the sensitive flesh mercilessly.
Now she screamed, a mindless cry of utter agony, wavering on and on.
    Suddenly it choked off and she fell still save for heaving breast.
His tongue continued for a few seconds but elicited no further reaction.
He raised up over her, dripping saliva on her belly.  She lay slack, head
thrown back, eyes open, staring blindly at the pipe-riddled ceiling,
panting for breath.
    He took the time to wipe his chin with another paper towel and don a
condom before stretching himself upon her in the usual position.  She
responded to his thrusts almost immediately, moaning inarticulately,
sphincters clipping him, soon fetching his second orgasm.
    Tiredly he backed away and got to his feet.  She was breathing deeply
with mouth open, eyes closed, face again turned away.  He wiped both
bodies with paper towels, carefully patting her pubes, then set about
cleaning up the several articles scattered around her.  Everything, even
the soiled paper towels, went back into the briefcase.  He used a last
paper towel to polish the empty soda cans, leaving them among the shreds
of her clothing.  Finally he took down his own clothing and began to
dress.  He saw that she was watching him.
    "How do you feel, my dear?"
    "I don't know," she said after a while, adding, "That was cruel,
Tiger."
    "Was it?"
    "You know it was.  It would kill someone with a bad heart."
    "I made sure you were healthy, Lucy."
    "What was so unmentionable about it?"
    "The continuation."
    "The what?  Do you mean to say you <knew> how it would feel?"
    "Up to a point.  Every woman I ever licked before pushed me away hard.
They've all said it's unbearable after they start to come.  I wondered
<how> unbearable!"  He chuckled slightly.  "And now I've learned only a
little more than I knew before.  <You're> the one who's just been
educated!  Aren't you lucky!  I don't suppose you'll tell me how it felt."
    "It was terrible.  I thought I'd die."
    "Did you pass out?"
    "I ... don't know."
    She said no more until he was knotting his tie, when she asked, "Are
you going to just leave me here?"
    "As I told you:  with a key in reach.  And that garment bag.  And the
cooler.  It's untraceable and has no fingerprints.  There's one can left
if you're thirsty."
    He stood by her right hand.  "Move your hand down as far as you can,
Lucy."
    "Down?"
    "Toward your foot...  Okay, move it back up.  Thank you."
    He stooped and placed a white metal key where her fingers had rested,
then rotated the manacle around that wrist until the keyhole was aligned
with her palm.  "After I leave take up the key between finger and thumb,
put it in the hole and twist it clockwise.  I have verified that it's easy
to do -- that is, if you're right-handed.  You are, aren't you?"
    "Yes."
    "All right."  He stepped over her and took the briefcase.  "One last
thing, for what it's worth.  My grandfather was right.  He said, 'A stiff
prick has no conscience.'  But I find that a soft one does.  I regret
mistreating you, Mrs. Grainger, and hope that you suffer no further
unpleasantness.  Would money make you feel better about it?"
    He took a roll of bills from his coat pocket and laid it on the
canvas between her thighs.
    She warned, "Money won't square this!"
    "I suppose not.  Anyway the police will want to see if they can trace
it.  Well, good-by, Mrs. Grainger.  May we never meet again."
    "T-tiger, what if I drop the key?"
    He looked away.  "Don't drop it."
    Her eyes, soft with worry, hardened as he deliberately turned his
back.
    He clambered onto the box, opened the circular door and exited
quickly, pushing the door nearly shut behind him.  The transformer hum was
loud in the deserted room.  He reopened the briefcase long enough to stash
the hosiery removed from his head, then ruffled his short hair before
easing the steel door open and stepping out into the basement corridor.
    

<11:37>
    He sat over the reference book, turning a page occasionally, glancing
up at every motion on the street observed through the large bay window
across the room.  He studied his wristwatch, comparing it once again to
the clock on the opposite wall, his worry growing.  Where were the police?
Where was Lucy?
    He sat in the public library across the corner from Lucy's building,
enjoying a clear view of both its entrances.  In the hour and a half since
his arrival at this seat Lucy had not appeared on the street.  Nothing
unusual had appeared at all.  Only two people had gone into the building,
both women.  Three men had come out.  That, too, was hardly unusual.  This
was an office building, not a department store.  The firms that leased its
space were the eight-to-five type, among them no doctor and no lawyer.
    He considered possibilities.  Had Lucy and the cops set a trap in case
he came back -- despite his assurance of being in another city tonight?
By strolling to the window he could see a block in either direction down
both streets.  As far as he could tell all the parked cars were empty of
occupants.
    Or had Lucy simply gone upstairs to work, explaining that Aunt
Agatha's call was a false alarm?  After all, he hadn't really harmed her.
Yes, he'd treated her tits a bit roughly and her anus might be sore,
though he'd been careful with speculum and penis and heard no complaint
while using either.  But his roll of bills had totaled $500.  If she'd
told the truth about her finances, she might find it preferable to shut up
and keep it.  Also, she might wish to avoid the pity and notoriety that a
complaint would release, though recalling their conversation, he doubted
that one.
    Or had she simply dropped the key?
    That was the possibility that worried him.  He had laid the key on the
sloping canvas.  She would be nervous, over eager perhaps.  Suppose in
reaching for it, her fingers had clumsily knocked it away.  She could die
of thirst in there before anyone chanced to come.  The forged note was too
clever.  It could be days, weeks, before anyone wondered enough to check
on her.
    He straightened up, knowing full well that he could never put her fate
from his mind with that possibility outstanding.  He had to learn at least
if she was free.  He returned the book to the reference shelf and went to
the pay phone in the hall outside.  After four rings a strange female
voice answered, "Bookman Supplies."
    "Could I speak to Mrs. Grainger, please?"
    "I'm sorry, sir.  Mrs. Grainger was called out of town suddenly.  Can
I take a message for her?"
    "No, thanks.  I'll try tomorrow."
    He hung up and stood for a moment, deciding how to proceed.  A public
rest room was just down the hall.  It was a three-staller, he saw,
standing in the door, and deserted at the moment.  Quickly he stripped off
necktie, jacket and white shirt, burying both in the large garbage barrel
halfway down the mass of soggy towels, along with the towels he and Lucy
had soiled.  Out came the spare shirt he'd meant to wear on the plane,
dark plaid, totally unlike his tan suit jacket.
    He looked around.  The rest room showed no evidence of his visit.  He
took up the briefcase and walked out.
    

<11:48>
    He met several people, some vaguely familiar, in the building lobby.
It was nearing lunch time, of course.  He'd already noticed that maybe
half the building descended to the surrounding restaurants to eat.  That
would serve him when he came back out, he thought;  he could blend with
the crowd.
    He saw no police, none in uniform, at least.  He eschewed the elevator
and descended the stairway, waiting until the hall was empty before
opening the door.  Above him on the stairs he heard laughter and
footsteps:  people descending from the mezzanine.  Should've taken the
elevator!  He cringed away from the rail and nearly ran down the two
flights to the door with the large green B.  He pulled it open far enough
and slipped inside, letting it sigh closed behind him.  The corridor was
empty.
    He paused to take a relieved breath and listened carefully at the
steel door.  Dimly he heard the transformer humming behind it.  Finally he
opened it just enough to put in his head.  He saw no one.  The furnace
door was still slightly open, just as he had left it.  The edge of it
glowed from the light within.
    He entered the room fully and stood inside the closed door, listening,
ready to spring back through it.  The transformer hum was loud enough to
grate upon his nerves.  An idea struck him.  He was just an employee of ...
the shipping firm on the third floor ... ah, Northern Freight ... sent to
the basement for a box of computer paper.  A new employee.  Now where
would that paper be stored?
    Silently he lowered the briefcase to the floor beside the door and
slipped down one narrow space between stacked boxes.  He turned at the
back wall and came forward on another aisle.  Two or three such passes
convinced him that no police had staked out the store room.
    He took a deep breath, opened the briefcase long enough to extract the
disguising hosiery leg and pull it over his head.  He marched to the
furnace door, flung it open and peered inside, confirming what he now
fully expected.  Lucy Grainger lay naked on the canvas, still chained as
he had left her.  And the white metal key glistened below her, well out of
reach of chained hand or foot.  Though he had greased the furnace door to
open silently, he knew that she heard a change in the transformer sound.
Her head came around and her eyes locked with his.  He saw real relief on
her face.
    He bent onto the box and stepped down to the canvas.  "Lucy, Lucy, are
you truly that clumsy?"
    Her body lay smoothly rounded, nipples dark on the white skin gleaming
with the slightest perspiration.  He sighed.  "You look good, Lucy.  If I
didn't have a plane to catch ..."
    She licked dry lips.  "I wondered if you'd come back."
    Briefly he looked around.  The money lay where he'd thrown it, the
drink cans among her ripped clothing.  Everything was the same.  He
stepped over her leg, stooped for the key.  "All right.  I'll unlock your
right hand, but don't try anything.  I'd hate to hurt you after all --"
As he spoke he knelt, hands reaching for the manacle.  He saw that there
was something wrong with it, some strangeness in the geometry of hasp and
ratchet.
    "What--" he started to interrupt himself.  Her hand twisted and fast
as a striking snake she slapped his outstretched wrist, snapping the
manacle, whose wide open hasp had only been laid over her arm, tightly
upon him.  In the same motion, before he could overcome his surprise, she
rolled away from him and bounced to her feet.  He realized belatedly that
she was free as a bird.  She had obviously undone all four manacles!
    "What the hell --"  He knew that his mouth was hanging open.  He
started to rise after her but was brought up very short by the chain on
his wrist -- his right wrist, too.  But he still had the key!
    He looked at her, expecting her to bolt through the furnace door.  She
only stood back, well out of reach, nakedly grinning at him.  The little
fool!  He still had a chance.  He forced the key into the manacle lock and
twisted -- but it wouldn't turn!  Getting a better grip, he tried again
and again, varying the angle and depth of penetration, twisting so hard he
bruised fingers and thumb and bent the key.  All to no avail.
    She got up on the box, reached through the opening and closed the
circular door that he had left open.  She turned around, sat on the edge
of the box and stared at him impishly from under the same hat, its lace
now crushed beyond redemption.
    "What have you done to the key, Lucy?"
    She grinned.  "What was it you said about fate delivering me to you?
You may be right, Tiger.  Fate is involved here.  I knew it soon as you
threw down that key.  It looks identical to the one that opens my
strongbox.  But it's not identical, is it?"
    He regarded the key closely.  "This is the wrong key?"
    "You just proved it, didn't you?  The other consideration was my
judgment of your character.  You never told me a lie, Tiger, at least not
about what you meant to do.  That and the little speech just before you
left suggested that you might actually have a conscience.  Then, when I
warned I might drop the key, <you looked away>!  I decided, what the hell,
it wouldn't cost much to find out.  I could've gone to the cops -- still
can, you'll notice -- but you were probably also truthful in your claim
they'd never catch you.  I'm sure you've taken many precautions.  I was
willing to wait all afternoon, but I did get thirsty.  I'll tell you,
Tiger, if you'd been five minutes later you'd've caught me going after
that last pop can."
    He jerked on the chain hard enough to pain his wrist, but he knew as
no other how well the chain was anchored into the firebrick.  Still on all
fours, he turned back to her.
    "Now what?"
    "Now you put on the other three, starting with your ankles."
    "What?  You're crazy, Lucy, if you think I'll do that.  I'll make a
deal with you.  Get dressed, throw me the right key, and make a run for
it.  I promise to leave you alone."
    She chuckled.  "I don't believe you quite understand the situation,
Tiger.  I am a woman who's been most shamefully raped and abused.  True,
you've left little evidence aside from a few bruises, but--" she waved
about her "--this could hardly be for anything else.  If I run upstairs
and start screaming, you'll think the whole world has fallen on you."
    He thought about it.  "You said 'if.'"
    "That's right.  It's up to you, Tiger."
    "If I put on the other manacles, you won't run to the cops?"
    "That's the deal."
    "How do I know you won't?"
    "In fact you don't, Tiger.  But I'll tell you what you told me:  I
always keep my word.  And if you don't put those manacles on <now>, I'm
going to lower the boom."
    "But I'll miss my plane!"
    "You'll miss that either way."
    She watched as he resignedly squeezed the manacles closed over his
ankles.  He lay on his back and stretched out his left arm.  "I can hardly
do this one alone."
    "Yes, you can, Tiger.  I know.  I've practiced it.  Open it all the
way and lay your wrist on it."  She squatted near his arm.  Gathering his
muscles, he made one attempt to grab her knee but his hand was inches
short.  She shook her head.  "None of that, Tiger.  Put your arm in there
as I said."
    With ill grace he obeyed her.  "Now bend your hand over the moving
part and force it to close."
    She leaned over him watchfully.  Suddenly her hand lashed out and
snapped shut the slack that he had carefully left in the hasp.  She raised
up on her knees, grinning in satisfaction, then went to his ankles.
Timing his motion he tried to snatch the foot out of the one left
purposefully loose, meaning to trip her against him, but it wouldn't pass
the heel of his shoe.  In a moment she had caught the ankle and forced the
manacle fully closed.  Again she shook her head.  "Did you think you could
hold me with your foot, Tiger?"
    She stepped over him, reached down and pulled the hosiery from his
head.  He saw recognition in her eyes.  "I've seen you before.  You've
been following me around, haven't you?"
    When he didn't answer, she smirked, "In some ways I know you better
than I know anyone else!"
    She turned away from him and opened the garment bag.  "I was afraid to
check this out earlier.  What've you got for me?  Hmm.  Interesting."
    He watched her don underwear, slip and dress.  "It seems to fit fairly
well," she admitted, "but it's not <me>!  It doesn't match my shoes,
either, not to speak of my hat.  Damn it, Tiger, why didn't you bring a
mirror?  Where's your briefcase?"
    When he remained silent she shook her head.  "Cat got your tongue,
Tiger?"
    Finally she took up the roll of bills and stuffed it into her purse
without bothering to count it.  She stood over him contemplatively, then
knelt beside him and fumbled at his wallet.  He heaved his hips against
her legs.
    "Hold still!" she commanded crossly.  In a moment she succeeded in
removing the wallet, stood and placed it in her purse.
    "I'm going to get us some lunch.  What'll you have, Tiger?"
    "Damn you!  Give that back."
    She ignored his protest.  "My stomach says it's lunch time and your
wristwatch agrees.  Want anything?"
    "Cheeseburger and fries," he gritted.
    "I'll see what I can do.  Now don't go away, please."
    She grinned and passed up through the door.  He saw the handle rotate
behind her.  But she was back immediately, bearing his briefcase.
    "Look what I found, Tiger!  It's yours, isn't it?"
    Without waiting for his answer she popped the snaps and rummaged
inside.  "It's yours, all right.  Here are those surgical shears.  We'll
have fun yet, Tiger."
    She laughed at his wince.  "And you <do> have a mirror!  Good for you,
Tiger."  She set the small camp mirror on the box and twisted this way and
that before it, removing the remains of the hat and fluffing her hair.
    "At least you hardly bothered my lipstick," she observed, smiling at
him.  "Remember, now, stay put!"
    She took a paper from his briefcase before closing the lid.  He
recognized his air ticket folder.
    "That's useless to you," he complained.
    "You think so?  Well, <you> don't need it any longer!""
    She disappeared again.  This time he heard the change in the
transformer hum that meant she had opened the steel door.  He strained
against his bonds, hoping in vain for some evidence of loosening in the
brick, but succeeded only in reaffirming the excellence of his anchors.
Soon he gave it up and lay panting, wondering what his fateful god had in
store for him now.
    

<14:22>
    "Well, it's about time!" he declared when he saw that it was Lucy
Grainger following the armload of bags through the circular door.
    "Whew!" she breathed in relief, jumping down from the box on which she
left her shopping bags.  "Did you miss me, Tiger?"
    "I didn't think you were coming back."
    "And that worried you, did it?  Oh, no, Tiger, I'll not be meaner than
you.  Here."  She took a smaller bag from a larger one and approached but
stopped just short of him.  She contemplated his bonds.  "Have you found a
way to surprise me, too?"
    "You know better than that," he admitted.  "I hope that's food."
    "It is.  A cheeseburger with all the trimmings."  She unwrapped the
sandwich, stooped and held it for him to take a bite.  While he chewed,
she laid his sandwich on the canvas beside his head, rose and emptied
another bag.  She placed a carton of drinks in the cooler, took out the
can remaining from the morning and opened it, stopping to give him a taste
of it and to feed him another bite of the sandwich.  To his surprise she
began to remove the clothing he had bought her, hanging it carefully in
the garment bag, pausing after each item to feed him another bite of
sandwich or another sip of drink.
    On one such she grinned and said, "I think I'll keep calling you
Tiger, though I know exactly who you are.  I have a good friend in the
county offices.  She says your wife and you just sold a house in the
Bluewood section.  Moved out of town, have you, Tiger?  Mind telling me
where?"
    "Yes."
    "That's all right.  I know where.  You submitted a change of address
at the post office.  I know <all> about you, Tiger!  I know where you went
to school, where you've worked the last five years, where you work now.
I'll bet your dean's eyes would pop if he could see you like this!"
    He sighed.  "What do you propose to do with this knowledge, Mrs.
Grainger?"
    "Oh, keep calling me Lucy.  Or even 'my dear.'  To answer your
question, I don't know."  She shrugged.  "Probably nothing, unless you
give me trouble."
    "Believe me:  you'll never see or hear from me again!"
    "But what if I don't want that, Tiger?"
    "Huh?"
    She smiled enigmatically.  "Did you think that only men have power
fantasies?"
    "Power fantasies?"
    She waved at the walls around them.  "That's what this is really all
about."  Her voice grew stern.  "You don't have the <right> to satisfy
your curiosity about women on any particular one, unless she agrees.  The
only way you can do that is to overpower her, as you did me.  You arrogant
bastard!  Well, guess what!"
    He stared at her.  "What is this, Lucy?  Revenge?"
    "Exactly!  And while I'm about it, I, too, have a few steps of
curiosity to satisfy!"
    She glowered at him until his eyes dropped.
    "But first ..."  She opened the briefcase, leaving it sprawled across
the canvas, and took out the surgical shears.
    "What do you mean to do with that?" he asked, knowing the answer.
    She sighed theatrically.  "Ah, Tiger, I do admire your hairy legs."
The shears came ripping up his pants leg.  He jerked but they veered away
in time.  She paused to open belt and fly before cutting across the
zipper, then repeated the entire operation on the other leg.  Pulling the
tatters of cloth from beneath him, she observed aggrievedly, "You could
lift your butt, you know."
    His undershorts were the work of a few seconds.  As she attacked the
plaid shirt, she said with a grin, "I got a surprising compliment because
of you, Tiger.  On my way out of the building I ran into Shirley Hastings,
who hasn't been known to say anything kind in the last ten years.  She
swore that the peach flowers printed on your dress matched my skin
perfectly, that I should wear prints more often.  The funny thing is, I've
never liked prints.  They're too busy.  I prefer simple, even severe,
clothing.  If surly Shirley is so overcome she has to compliment me for
it, maybe I'd better buy some prints."
    He winced as the shear point nicked his shoulder as it left the
sleeve, but said only, "Do you work with her?"
    "Used to.  She's one floor down.  I left and went with Bookman six
years ago."
    "If she speaks to your boss -- if anyone else saw you going out at
lunch time, how will you explain it?"
    "I'll tell them I was raped in the basement."
    "Will you?"
    She paused thoughtfully, hand gathering material to tug the shirt from
beneath him.  "Probably not, Tiger, though you've given me a problem
there."
    "A problem?"
    "Yeah.  Aunt Agatha died three months ago."
    "Uh-oh!  I was afraid of that."
    "Were you!"  She pulled the shirt remains free.  "Your clumsy note
goes best with a claim of being raped in the basement, especially since
<my> fingerprints are not on it!  But now Shirley has seen me in too good
a mood to've just been raped.  Can you remember the exact wording in that
note?"
    "Uh.  I think so.  I wrote it several times.  Let's see.  I believe --
Oooh!  That tickles!"
    The cotton undershirt would not rip.  Cutting it up one side to the
sleeve produced the complaint and a writhing torso.  She lifted the cloth
away from his skin.  "Sorry.  Go ahead."
    "It said, 'I just now received a call from Aunt Agatha -- actually
from the hospital.  They say her condition is even more critical than
before and I shouldn't waste a moment.  I'm sorry that you won't have
better notice.  I'll call you as soon as I can.'"
    "Huh!  That would be fine, Tiger, if she weren't in her grave."
    "Do you have another aunt?"
    "No.  She was the last."
    "Any relatives work with you?"
    "No."
    "Then invent one."
    "Do what?"
    "Make her your favorite aunt, helped your mother raise you.  You say,
'I wrote that?'  You were so distraught by the news that ... please excuse
me, Mr. Bookman ... you were a bit confused and wrote Aunt Agatha's name --
you were just thinking how this resembled Aunt Agatha's case -- instead of
Aunt ... Abigail?"
    "Hmm.  Raise your shoulder."  She pulled the T-shirt section from
beneath him.  "I don't care for 'Abigail.'"
    "Whatever, though it should sound similar.  How about Agnes?  Then
apologize for not rereading it before you left.  It would be better to
tell him this over the telephone.  Fairly soon."
    "Not too soon.  Shirley won't see Bookman.  Tiger, you're a slick
liar.  Is that what an English professor teaches?"
    "You may not have heard, Lucy, that I'm an amateur playwright."
    "Really!  What kind of plays?"
    "Period pieces, mostly.  Victorian era."
    She nodded.  "That figures.  When women had to submit, eh?"
    "Because in that era of primitive technology submission was to their
clear advantage."
    "So <you> say!  <I> say, along with Queen Victoria, 'We are not
amused.'"
    "I'm sorry, Lucy.  I'll try harder to amuse you."
    "Don't worry about that, Tiger.  You'll start amusing me any time
now."
    

<15:04>
    When they had drained another drink can, she threw it aside and stood
over him with a contemplative look.  "Are you ready for Step One, Tiger?"
    "S-Step One?"
    She grinned.  "Nervous, are you, Tiger?  Let's find out if a nervous
man is good for anything."
    She knelt between his legs and took the flaccid, nearly withdrawn
glans between thumb and forefinger.  "What a difference!  I can understand
why the girl was fooled."
    "F-fooled?"
    "Surely you've heard that one, Tiger.  It's an old college story."
    "Unh!"
    "What's the matter?  Did I pinch too hard?"
    "Would it do any good to complain?"
    "Oh, yes!  Every bit as much as it did me!"
    He sighed.  "Why don't you tell me the story?"
    "This skin certainly does stretch, doesn't it! ...  You want to hear
my story?  The biology professor said, 'Let's see if you read the lesson,
Miss Jones.  Stand up and tell us what organ of the body can enlarge to
ten times its smallest size.'  Have you heard it?"
    "I ... don't recall ..."
    "Miss Jones stands up, blushes and stammers.  After awhile the
disgusted professor says, 'It's the iris of the eye, Miss Jones, and I
fear that you will be sadly disappointed.'"
    "That's good."
    "Then laugh."
    "Ha!  Ha!"
    "Oh, Tiger!  What happened to all that enthusiasm you showed this
morning?"
    He answered dryly, "I am coming to appreciate your position of this
morning."
    "Of course.  You're lying in it.  Is this a circumcised penis?"
    "Ah ... yes."
    "'Cord.'  That's not a Jewish name, is it?  Or did your folks change
it?"
    "My family was never Jewish.  Surely you know, Lucy, that by now
circumcised gentiles outnumber Jews!"
    "How would I know that?  As you pointed out, I'm not that kind of
girl.  If you're not Jewish why'd you get circumcised?"
    "Ah, Lucy.  Only in America does a woman make such a decision."
    "Do you mean your mother had it done?"
    "Yes, before I was hours old."
    "Whatever for?"
    "It's supposed to reduce cervical cancer."
    "What kind?  But you don't have a cervix!"
    "You've noticed!  In fact that is one of my pet peeves."
    "Is that why you hate women?"
    "Dammit, Lucy, I don't hate women!  Quite the contrary!  Losing my
foreskin wasn't my mother's fault.  She merely agreed to a doctor's
suggestion that padded his fee.  The fault was widespread -- still is, for
that matter.  Early in this century medical researchers noticed that
Jewish women never got cervical cancer.  What was different about Jewish
women?  Jewish men, of course!  Ever since then the motto has been 'Off
with the foreskins!'  No one seems to have considered that Jews have a
very different culture, affecting all kinds of personal habits, including
diet.  Many things are different about Jewish women besides their men."
    "So you only hate Jewish women?"
    "Lucy, I swear to you that I don't hate <any> woman!"
    "Are you sure, Tiger?  Not even me?"
    "Surely by now you know what motivated me this morning."
    "Tell me again."
    "Curiosity.  Only that.  I was kidding about the anger.  If I had a
woman's equipment, I'd be just as odd about it as she is...  You feel
curious, too, don't you?"
    She grinned.  "But you had an advantage.  The two or three porn flicks
I've seen were interesting and, as you suggested, educational, but not
something to hold your attention.  Here I am with an opportunity I bet few
women ever enjoyed, and hardly able to think of a <thing> to do!  Guess
I'll have to follow your lead, Tiger, with a few adjustments."
    "Ouch!"
    "Does that hurt, Tiger?  I hardly squeezed them.  Not nearly as hard
as you squeezed my boobs.  Ah, that feels strange!"
    He groaned.
    "They sort of roll over each other, like marbles in a bag, don't they?
Why do they call them 'stones,' Tiger?  They aren't nearly hard enough for
that, are they?"
    "God, that's nauseating!"
    "Really?  You feel it in your belly?"
    "Yes!  Please ... You'll make me sick ..."
    She grunted in apparent surprise.  "Look, the bag actually stretches,
if you take it above the stones, like this.  Too bad you can't see this."
    He groaned louder.  "I can <feel> it!  God, don't rip 'em off!"
    She nodded darkly, "That's how I felt when it seemed you would tear my
nipples off.  Hmm ...  What does it take to make this get hard again?"
    "Ah, sexual desire."
    "You don't feel sexual desire, Tiger?  Why is that?"
    He answered dryly, "Fear seems to inhibit it."
    "Fear?  What are you afraid of?"
    "That's obvious."
    She waddled up over his legs and sat astride his hips, feet hooked
over his thighs.  "Even though you've got a naked vag -- pussy, you would
say? -- rubbing your belly?  Hmm ... I wonder if ...  by god, yes, they
do!"
    "Do what?"
    "You can see it if you raise your head.  They harden like a woman's."
    "Are you surprised?"
    "Yes."  She reached behind her.  "But not your dick.  Isn't this
stimulating?"
    "It ... might --"
    "If you weren't chained down, eh?  Oh, Tiger, I hope you see exactly
how our roles are reversed."  She grinned.  "Now we find out who is the
more cruel."
    "B-but ... didn't you just say you'd not be meaner than I?"
    "'Mean' and 'cruel' don't have exactly the same meaning, Tiger."  She
leaned forward and brushed the hair back that had fallen into his eyes.
"For example, you licked me until I passed out.  That was cruel but it
wasn't mean."
    He chuckled weakly.  "That distinction may be too subtle for me,
Lucy."
    "Where are you ticklish, Tiger?  I believe you said here ..."  Her
nails ran firmly over his ribs, retracing the earlier path of the
scissors.
    He winced and twisted sideways.  "Oh, god, I can't stand it!"
    She desisted with a smile of satisfaction.  "To go on with that would
be mean but not cruel.  Do you see?"
    "Whatever you say, Lucy."
    "Hmm.  I know who could teach you the difference."  She raised up,
squatting across him, apparently indifferent that her pubes opened
against his belly.  They felt wet.  She hitched herself farther up his
chest and took his chin firmly in hand.
    "You shaved this morning, did you, Tiger?"
    "Yes."
    "But I can feel the whiskers coming back."
    "It's called five-o'clock shadow -- at least after five o'clock."
    "They grow faster than on a woman's legs, I bet."
    "Maybe.  I think it depends on the woman."
    "Open your mouth."
    He obeyed curiously.  Immediately she thrust two fingers past his
teeth and palpitated his tongue.  "Hunh --" he began, wanting to ask what
she was doing.
    She grinned at him.  "You could bite my fingers off, you know."
    "Unh-uh."  He shook his head slightly.
    "If you were crazy, that is."  Withdrawing her hand, she leaned
forward and presented her lips in its place.
    "Kiss me," she ordered.  When he obeyed, her mouth opened and her
tongue delved into his.
    After a few seconds she slightly withdrew and asked in evident
dissatisfaction, "Why won't you put your tongue in my mouth, too?"
    Because you'd bite it, he wanted to say.  Instead he took a breath and
mumbled, "All right."
    Again her mouth closed over his.  He slipped his tongue nervously
between her lips.  When her teeth closed on it lightly, he snatched it
back.
    She giggled.  "Don't you trust me, Tiger?"
    "I ..."
    "This is fun, a little bit, making you afraid.  I'm surprised at
myself.  But when does a woman get to do it?  Usually it's the other way
around."
    "Lucy, I did nothing just to scare you."
    "Didn't you?"
    "I'm sorry if it did."
    "I'll bet you are now!"
    She sighed fretfully.  "Lou could tell me what else to do with you."
    "Lou?"
    She cocked her head, regarding him thoughtfully.  "I'm not kidding
when I mention a problem with that.  A girl imagines what a man will do to
<her>."
    She held thumb and forefinger up before him, barely separated.  "I
came that close to inviting Lou over here when I talked to her this
afternoon."
    "You what?"
    "Relax, Tiger.  I didn't tell her anything.  Not yet, at least.  Her
name is Louisa, but she says to call her Lou, even though it can be a
man's name -- maybe <because> it can be a man's name!"
    "She's that kind, is she?"
    "Well, you wouldn't guess it by her looks.  She's still pretty, with a
full figure, though she's beginning to show her age just a bit.  She had
her tubes tied when she was young and claims it gave her very strong
appetites."
    "For what?"
    "Everything.  She's what the kids call a swinger."
    "Men <and> women, eh?"
    "Yes, and lots of them.  You wouldn't believe her parties!  But that's
why she'd be helpful here.  She's a great arranger.  You ought to see her
version of blind man's buff!"
    "I can imagine it.  Lucy, I didn't think you were that kind of girl."
    "Oh, I'm not.  I only went to one of her parties -- and left in the
middle of it.  But she still comes to see me once in a while.  She likes
to brag.  To tell you the truth, I get a kick out of her adventures, but
I'm too chicken to join them."
    "So she tells you all about it.  What does she <do> to you?"
    She licked her lips and looked away.
    "Are you a swinger too, Lucy?"
    "Huh!  Until today I thought I was a lesbian.  You're the first man to
have me since I went to that party."
    "Is that a fact!  So you and Louisa get it on, do you?"
    "No.  We only talk.  I should've said, you're the first <person> to
have me.  But I wanted her to.  I'm too chicken to tell her, that's all."
    She grinned.  "But look at me now, feeling of a man wherever I have
the yen!  I'll bet Lou never had a man tied down to do with whatever comes
to mind.  If I got her in here I'll bet her chin would sag past her
boobs!"
    "Lucy, you wouldn't ..."
    "Don't be too sure."  Her eyes lit.  "But she's the computer nut.  I
can <show> her!"
    She jumped off him and rummaged in his brief case, bringing out camera
and tripod.  "Tell me how to use this, Tiger."
    "Lucy, I don't believe I ought to do that."
    "Oh, no?  Well, think about this, Tiger.  Either Louisa sees you in
the pictures or else she sees you in the flesh.  Your choice.  But I warn
you.  When she finds you helpless, she's liable to go wild.  She might
even want to keep your dick."
    He cleared his throat.  "First you screw the camera onto the tripod."
    "Oh, I know about that.  Tell me about the digital controls.  What
does the 'Mode' switch do?"
    "Bring it here."
    She held it close to him and he patiently explained the sequence of
operations needed to make a picture and to display it on the LCD screen.
    When she stood back and aimed the camera at him, he called
aggrievedly, "At least put the mask on me!"
    "The mask?"  She lowered the camera from her eye and regarded him
directly.  "Wouldn't do any good, Tiger.  She'll guess who you are."
    "How'll she do that?"
    "She's my contact in the county offices."
    "Good god!"  He turned his face away from her.
    "Too late!" she crowed.  She took pictures from both sides, including
close-ups of his face and pubic region.  "Imagine Lucy Grainger
photographing a dick!" she chortled.  "I don't think I ever even used that
word where a man could hear me before."
    "It's a childish word."
    "You don't like my language, Tiger?  I can't tell you how sorry I am
to hear it.  This would photograph a lot better if it was hard.  Make it
hard, Tiger."
    He shook his head with a sigh.  "I couldn't do that even to save you
cutting it off.  Especially not then."
    "Fear?  You don't to need to fear me, Tiger."
    "Don't I?"
    "No more than I you.  How do you attach the remote shutter?"
    When he had told her, she joined him in the subsequent snapshots,
first kneeling over his shoulders and smiling proudly -- "Look at <my>
trophy!" she cried into the camera -- then kissing him, then biting his
nipple, and finally after careful arrangement, kneeling between his legs
and looking up to the camera with nearly all the soft penis past her lips.
    She raised her head with a smirk.  "I noticed that you didn't offer to
poke your dick in my mouth while <I> was tied here!  Why was that, Tiger?"
    "Huh!  The reason is obvious."
    "Well, for your information I can bite it off now any time I want to."
    He took a breath.  "I was thinking about that just now."
    She chuckled.  "Did you think it would make a great picture?"
    He choked.  "Surely that would be mean <and> cruel!"
    She took the wizened organ in hand contemplatively.  "I've heard of
women <cutting> it off an unfaithful lover.  Lou says it's a common
practice in Japan.  I wonder how many times they actually <bite> it off
instead.  I wonder how hard it is to do that."
    Her teeth closed around the base.  He groaned in anticipation, drops
of sweat appearing on forehead and chest.  But she only chewed lightly
before releasing him.
    "I'll bet it's not too much trouble," she observed confidently,
grinning at him, "no more than biting a chunk out of a turkey thigh.  What
do you think?"
    Explosively he released his held breath.  "Oh, <god>, Lucy!"
    "Did I scare you, Tiger?  Make your skin crawl?  Good!  That's how I
felt lying there, too."
    "Now, Lucy, what did I do that scared you so much?"
    She thought about it.  "Nothing, actually.  It's what you <might> have
done.  The scariest thing was fear that you'd kill me to keep me quiet."
    "But you know I planned too well for that to be a problem."
    She grinned.  "Do you think you planned well, Tiger?"
    He sighed.  "I thought so.  Now, of course, it's all undone."
    "Not necessarily."
    "What do you mean?"
    "It's not undone unless you undo it."
    He regarded her hopefully.  "Will you explain?"
    She grinned sardonically.  "What was it you said?  'I don't think I
ought to do that.'"
    "Why not?"
    "That would be telling."
    "Unfortunately I can't threaten <you> with Louisa!"
    "No."  She studied him thoughtfully for a moment, then turned to the
camera, standing it to one side with the remote shutter control retained
in her hand as she knelt on his opposite side.
    "Don't you need to pee?" she suggested.
    "Well ... yes."
    "Then go ahead."
    "Lucy, in case you hadn't noticed, men are different.  It's sure to
wet my leg, maybe my belly."
    "You mean you can't pee without handling it?"
    "If I was standing up ..."
    "Then it would droop, huh?  Well, go ahead anyway.  I'll hold it for
you."
    She took him in hand.  He shrugged and released his sphincter.  He saw
her hand close on the remote shutter control as she played the stream back
and forth on the canvas.
    He asked, "Do you think Lou would enjoy this?"
    "I know she would.  She did it to several men at that party I
mentioned.  Then she raised her leg and showed that a woman can squirt it
farther if she wants to -- that Lou, at least, can squirt it farther."
    "A woman's urethra is much shorter."
    "Her what?"
    "Pee passage."
    "That's what <she> said, too!  Hmm.  I believe it takes men longer to
go."
    "That's reasonable.  Perhaps you could get your friend to do an
experiment."
    She chuckled.  "Think you'd like to go to one of Lou's parties, do
you, Tiger?"
    "I might."
    "Finished?" she asked when his stream failed.  He produced a final
spurt before agreeing.
    "Will you try to beat my range?" he wondered.
    "No, I don't care who can piss farther.  Lou loves to <beat> men at
one thing or another, but I don't think men and women ought to compete,
despite what the feminists say.  Ugh!  Your piss stinks!"
    "I'm sorry."
    "Did you think I was going to drink it, Tiger?  As you reminded me
this morning, I don't care for the taste of it.  But there <is> something
else I want to taste while I have the chance."
    She looked at him steadily.  A pink spot appeared in both her cheeks.
    "Why, Lucy!  Surely this doesn't embarrass you!"
    "A little," she admitted.  "I've heard a lot of women describe it, but
I've never tasted it myself.  Some say it's good, some say it's awful,
some say it's tasteless.  I'm curious to find out.  Can you do it again,
Tiger, after this morning?"
    "I ... Maybe.  It's been a couple hours, hasn't it?"
    She grinned.  "If I promise not to bite it off?"
    "Especially that!"
    "But first ...  You're right!  I <can> think of other things to be
curious about!  What do you know about <male> anatomy, Tiger?"
    "Well, in case you've noticed, I have one."
    "Are you trying to be cute?  Where exactly is the prostate?"
    "Ah ... Pretty much directly above the testicles, I'd say."
    "I've heard that you can feel it, if you press forward inside the
rectum."
    When he was silent, she demanded, "Well, is that true?"
    "It ... ah ... may be."
    She grinned darkly.  "I <could> get Lou to ask you, but there's
another way.  Why don't I just look in and see?"
    "You don't mean --"
    "But I do!"
    Grinning, she took up the tube of jelly and squeezed it liberally over
her hand.  "Now, now, Tiger, quit thrashing.  As you assured me this
morning, I won't hurt you."
    "Your fingernails are wicked!"
    She extended one hand.  "Do you think so, Tiger?  I <try> to keep them
even, but it's a losing battle.  I'll be careful.  After all, I can put
them in <me> without cutting!"
    She spent a moment positioning the camera.  "Should've set the camera
first.  What d'you think, Tiger?  Will this jelly hurt it?"
    "I ... don't know.  Probably not.  Of course, if you got it on the
lens ..."
    She grinned, kneeling between his legs.  "I won't do that.  Now hold
still.  You wouldn't want me to look in the wrong hole, would you?"
    "What?  There's only the one."
    "I meant this little teeny one right here.  What did you call it, the
urethra?  Look at that!  I can get my pinkie nail right in it."
    His tossing ceased abruptly.
    "Hmm," she murmured, directing her attention lower, parting his cheeks
with the hand of the threatening nail while the other thrust forward.
"You know better than that, Tiger.  Loosen up!"
    After a moment she added, "That's better."
    "My god!  What are you putting in me?"
    "Only three fingers ... so far.  I thought I counted <four> in me, and
your hand is larger!  Hmm.  There's a kind of a lump here, in front ...
Feels like a groove down the middle of it.  Does that hurt, Tiger?"
    "N-no."
    "Even when I press this hard?"
    "Well, a little."
    After a while the woman mused, "She was right!"
    "Huh?"
    "I'm getting a clear fluid.  Well, almost clear."
    "I can ... feel it seeping.  I've done this, too, with my thumb."
    "But it's not semen, is it?"
    "I don't know."
    She bent very low.  Again he felt her mouth and tongue.  Her hand,
holding the remote shutter aloft, closed.
    When she raised her head, he asked, "Does it taste like semen?"
    She rose off him, spat in the corner, wiped her hand on a paper towel
and retrieved a drink can from the cooler.  She stood sipping it, studying
him, and remarked, "Lou said you can get a man to come by fingering his
ass.  But it's not <come>, is it?  You didn't feel a climax, did you?"
    "No."  He sighed.  "Lucy, you can read about that in medical books.
The prostate makes a fluid that nourishes the sperm after ejaculation.  If
you squeeze the gland you force that fluid down the urethra."
    She continued to study him.  "Three fingers were easy."
    He shifted restlessly.  She held up the drink can.  "I'll bet this
would go in, too.  See how gently rounded the bottom is, almost as if
that's what they had in mind.  Ever try one, Tiger?"
    "God, no!"
    "Let's find out."
    "For god's sake, Lucy, you'll freeze me to death!"
    "Oh, not <this> can, silly!  There's a warm one over there in the
corner.  I'll even pee on it to make sure.  Want a sip of this drink
first?"
    "Yes, please."
    She bent and dribbled the liquid into his mouth.  He sputtered, then
turned his face away.  "Lucy, it'll tear me."
    "Oh, I don't think so."  She stepped over him, stooped and held up the
speculum, squeezing its handles closed, observing with a smirk, "You <did>
boast of putting it in you!"
    She held the drink can beside it.  The swollen shaft of the speculum
was clearly wider.  When his eyebrows rose, she smiled sweetly and began
to coat the can with jelly.  He choked.  She chuckled and again knelt
between his legs.
    "Weren't you going to piss on it?" he wondered hastily.
    "Oh, it's warm enough.  Raise up a little."
    "Lucy, this won't work!"
    "I bet it will.  And it won't hurt as much if you cooperate.  Don't
clamp.  Push out instead."
    He groaned as she worked the slippery can back and forth, her
shoulders straining.  She sat back, her voice lighter.  "See!  Told you it
would go!"
    "God!  Feels like you've shoved a brick up me!"
    "But it doesn't hurt, does it?"
    "How are you so confident of that?  Had it done to you?"
    "<You> did it to me!  Didn't I just show you that the can is smaller
than the speculum?"
    "Umm."  He was quiet while she operated the camera, which suggested
another worry.
    "I once saw the x-ray of a woman's gut with a vibrator --  Lucy,
please, please tell me you didn't put it in so far you can't get it out!"
    "Oh, no.  All I have to do is poke my finger in the hole, pull hard,
and ... out it comes."
    He groaned loudly as she suited action to words.
    "See?"  She held up the greasy can, still impaled on her finger.
Suddenly her expression changed to astonishment.  "God, what a hole!  Why,
I could almost ..."
    "Lucy!  What are you doing?  You can't do that!"
    "Oh, yes, I can.  Hold still, or I'll squeeze you where it really
hurts!"
    After a moment of strenuous activity she was still.  "There, Tiger!
Past the wrist!"
    He groaned.  "Good god!"
    "Do you claim that it hurts?"
    "I -- I --"
    "Well?"
    "Y-yes."
    "You lie.  Lou and I did it to each other.  It only hurts at the
knuckles.  We stopped at the wrist.  I wonder ..."
    "Wait a minute, Lucy!  Wait, I say!  Put some more jelly on your arm
and, for god's sake, keep those fingernails tucked in.  A cut in there
could be fatal, you know."
    "Only to you, Tiger."
    He choked again.
    She marveled, "I swear your dick has drawn up into your belly."
    "Wh-what are you doing?"
    "Slathering the jelly on, just as you said."
    Her free hand positioned the camera.  She leaned forward again and he
felt pressure increase in his belly similar to a gas cramp.
    "Please, Lucy!  It's beginning to hurt."
    "Is it?  Gotta make a picture of this.  I'm up to my elbow!  Where
<is> that remote shutter?"
    She leaned down, laying her face on his thigh, grinning at the camera
and working the shutter button repeatedly.  "Lou would never believe this
without the picture."
    She readjusted the camera to include his head.  "This time I want
<your> expression," she explained, suddenly withdrawing the captive hand
as she snapped the shutter with the other, inducing him to produce his
loudest groan yet.
    He opened his eyes to find her wiping her arm with paper towels.  She
grinned up at him.  "What'd you think of that, Tiger?  You ought to see
the hole <now>!"
    "Oh, god, Lucy!"
    She nodded.  "I know it hurts a little, but not for long.  And from
now on you don't have to sweat getting thrown in jail.  No dick is as big
as my forearm."
    He took a breath and said dryly, "So you've done me a favor."
    "Right!  You do understand, don't you, Tiger?  And as you said, I've
satisfied <my> curiosity, too -- part of it.  I bet not many women know
what a <man> feels like inside!"
    "What <did> it feel like?"
    "Hard to describe.  If I don't tell you, will you go home and stick
your arm up your wife's bottom?"
    Before he could respond she added, "No, not your wife.  Some other
unsuspecting victim, huh?"
    He shook his head.  "I've seen pictures of hands up women's bottoms,
both places.  The Internet is full of them.  You didn't notice it, Lucy,
but I put my hand past the knuckles into your vagina this morning right
after I took the speculum out.  A rectum, though ...  The women who take
hands there seem to be ... <coarse>."
    "Coarse?"  She laughed in derision.  "You think a woman is coarse if
she lets men have their way with her?"
    "Well, when she's useless for any --"
    "After you <forced> me to do it?"
    Her mouth twisted and her cheeks pinked.  Hastily he objected, "Who
put whose arm up whose ass?"
    She took a deep breath.  "All right, Tiger.  Guess you think <I'm>
coarse now."
    "No, no."
    "Well, maybe I am.  And you're wrong if you think I didn't feel your
hand in me.  Look at this."
    She waddled up over his torso, until her toes fetched up against his
armpits, and thrust a still greasy hand fully into herself.
    His mouth fell open in astonishment.  "My god!" he exclaimed.  "And
you haven't even born a child!"
    "How do you know?"
    "Small nipples, smooth pink cervix, no mother's marks."
    She grunted, ceasing to argue, and stepped back.  She held up a wet
hand and chuckled.  "This stimulates me."
    "Kinsey found that touch is woman's best stimulus."
    "Kinsey is obsolete.  Bet he never stuck his arm up anyone's butt."
    "If so he never mentioned it.  Did you try that hand trick first on
yourself?"
    "After Lou showed me."
    "I can't believe how easily you did it."
    "Did I impress you, Tiger?"
    "I'll say you did!"
    She studied him pensively.  "You know, I'm beginning to understand
your motive."
    "Are you?"
    "When your partner is chained helpless to do with as you wish -- even
to kill him, if that's what you want -- it makes a difference, doesn't
it?"
    "A difference in what?"
    "In what you're willing to say and do.  It makes you more honest."
    "Please, Lucy.  You're scaring me."
    "Scaring you?"
    "If you get <too> honest, you'll never let me out of this cellar."
    She grinned but continued on her theme.  "I misspoke.  I mean it makes
you <willing> to be more honest.  Whether you are or not is another
matter."  Her smile vanished.  "And there's something else.  When you
moaned and groaned just now, I ... think I felt sorry for you ... just
because you were helpless.  I think I even felt protective.  Can you
believe that?"
    "Protective?"
    "You'd better believe it!  Else I'd've stuck it in you to the
shoulder.  Imagine getting to stick something in a <man>, for a change!"
    "What was it, Lucy, mother instinct?"
    "It could have --  Are you making fun of me, Tiger?"
    "Oh, no!  I'm grateful for it, whatever it was."
    "You should be!"  She eyed him thoughtfully.  "Huh!  I want a picture
of that."
    So saying she settled the camera between his legs and snapped with one
hand, eyeing the display from an angle, while the other hand held penis
and testicles out of the way.
    "Am I bleeding?" he asked, biting his lip.
    "Bleeding!" she jeered.  "You <are> very red in there!  Hmmm. I'll bet
I could put my foot in you up to the knee without any trouble.  Next
you'll tell me you've seen pictures of that, too."
    "I've seen a lot of pictures.  Most of that kind were middle aged
women who make their living by taking things into their anuses."
    "Their living!"  She stared at him.  "Who would pay them for that?"
    "Oh, there's a demand, all right.  Would you be so kind as to put the
corner of a paper towel in me and let me see it?"
    She shrugged.  "Why not?"  As she returned with the towel, she mused,
"I thought they paid to put into vaginas!  Or mouths."
    "As you demonstrated a moment ago, it's the young women who have the
capacious vaginas.  I guess the old ones do, too, but young vaginas are
preferred."
    "I'd hate to earn my living by letting people put things in my ass.
No blood.  See?"
    "Yes.  Thank you."
    

<15:40>
    She stood the camera away from him and stooped to examine his
wristwatch.
    "What's the time?" he asked.
    "It's later," she answered absently, turning back to the camera.  She
positioned it behind his left shoulder, looking down towards his crotch,
and adjusted the framing and the height of the tripod.
    "Not four o'clock yet, is it?"
    Ignoring his question, she went to the cooler and took out a can.
"Want a sip?"
    "Yes, please."
    She poured a thin stream into his mouth and took a swallow herself.
She took up a handful of paper towels, knelt between his legs and
carefully dribbled the drink can into his pubes, simultaneously scrubbing
him with the towels.
    He heaved violently.  "Good god, Lucy, that's cold!"
    "Sorry about the cold," she responded, still wiping him.  "I just
realized I'd rather taste sticky coke than the piss and everything else
you've got on this thing today."
    "Ow!"
    "What now?"
    "It's burning my ass!"
    "Yes, I guess it would."  She wiped more tenderly.  "How long does it
take an asshole to shrink back?"
    "I don't know.  Not too long, I think.  You said 'taste.'  What are
you planning, Lucy?"
    "I'll tell you."  She raised up to look at him.  "I'm going to find
out what it tastes like.  And I'm going to do to you what you did to me."
    "Wh ... what do you mean?"
    "You wanted to find out how it feels to go on after you've come.  I
intend to show you.  Unless it tastes so bad I have to puke."
    "Unless what?"
    "But I don't think it will.  Only one girl I know claimed it made her
sick, but she admitted being drunk at the time."
    She had spread the remaining drink upon the canvas between his legs.
After scrubbing it with the towels she stood erect and said in disgust,
"This won't work.  Is there any water on this floor, Tiger?"
    "Floor?  Well, there's a rest room down the corridor.  The toilet is
dry but there's water in the sink."
    "I'll not lie in your piss, Tiger -- sticky coke, either."  With that
she took the print dress off its hanger and began pulling it on over her
head.
    "Wait a minute, Lucy," he protested.  "Don't go out there."
    "Why not?"  She paused to regard him, peering out through the neck of
the dress, now down over her breasts.
    "Because once in a while the janitor comes here to get out his next
day supplies.  That's why I asked for the time."
    "Thought you said you'd never seen anyone here."
    "Until the late afternoon."
    She slipped the dress back off her shoulders and stood with hair down
in her face.  "It's three forty."
    "If he's coming it could be anytime before five-thirty.  I have a
suggestion.  Lie on me.  Reversed."
    She cocked lip and eyebrow.  "Would you bite me, Tiger?"
    He answered dryly, "I doubt even the wildest tiger would bite the one
who has his dick in her mouth."
    "You have a point."
    "And close the door tight, will you?"
    She snorted.  "Listen to who's giving orders!"  But she rehung the
dress.  Climbing on the box, she sealed the furnace door and closed the
latch snugly.  Turning back she stood over him and asked in a lowered
voice, "Could he hear us talking?"
    "Not over the transformer hum."
    "What if I make you scream?"
    "I ... I don't ..."
    "You made <me> scream, didn't you?"
    "Ah ... I don't remember."
    "Yes, you do."
    He sighed.  "The janitor might've heard you.  Of course, we know he
didn't."
    She nodded then asked, "Does light leak out of here?"
    "No.  Didn't you notice as you brought in the groceries?"
    "I didn't see any."  She regarded him speculatively.  "You know, it's
really to your advantage for us not to get caught."
    "I know that," he agreed.  "To yours, too."
    "How do you figure that?  Because of what's in the camera?"
    "Because we're just about even."
    "Do you think so?"
    "Don't you?"
    She didn't answer.  After a moment's contemplation she mused, "It's
interesting how things work out, isn't it, Tiger?"
    "Oh, yes," he agreed.  "Interesting!"
    "You're about to learn more than you expected.  And you should be
properly grateful."
    "For the education?"
    "For my restraint."
    "I --"
    "You may not've thought of it, Tiger, when it was your turn, but <I>
did!  You said you were curious.  Biting your dick off is nothing.  I
could take those scissors and find out what you're <really> like inside."
    "Ah, uh --"
    She grunted.  "What big eyes you have, Tiger!  Have you ever cut a
woman up?"
    "No!  Of course not!"
    She nodded.  "That has the ring of truth.  But why not, if you're so
curious about us?"
    "Well, the medical books are full of pictures of cut-up women.
There's nothing sexy about them."
    "Exactly, Tiger."
    "Why 'exactly?'"
    "'Nothing sexy!'" she repeated, adding with a sneer, "You and your
claims of 'almost scientific' curiosity!  It was never anything but plain,
ordinary rape, Tiger:  what you did to me and what I'm doing to you.  It's
the way kids play with beetles:  poke 'em and see how they jump.  That's
what rape is, you know."
    He stared at her, unable to think of an immediate retort.
    With a chuckle at his expression she stepped over him to his shoulder,
turned about and sank on her knees beside him, then stretched out with her
thighs over his shoulder.  Her elbows spread beside his hips.
    She grunted when she took him in hand.  "Can a man come without a
hard-on?"
    "Yes.  In a wet dream.  Or if ..."
    "If what?"
    "Before it can harden if it's handled vigorously enough."
    "Hmm.  I see.  I think."
    Lips enclosed the head, fingers the short shaft.  The fingers
fluttered longitudinally, the tongue radially.
    "You could enjoy this, too," he suggested, "if you'd shift your hips
over my face.  You certainly don't have to worry about <me> biting!"
    She released him long enough to reply, "No, thank you, Tiger.  This
time <you're> the guinea pig."
    "It'll make me come sooner."
    Her mouth and hand resumed without comment.  Soon, however, she drew
up a knee and centered her hips on his chest.  Her cool thighs closed
about his ears.  She wriggled backward until the sensitive folds met his
thrusting tongue.
    He knew her intention and feared for his sanity if she succeeded.
Once a playful Vietnamese whore had tried to keep him in suction as he
flooded her mouth.  It had suddenly become the most unbearable experience
of his life, never since equaled.  Now it threatened to repeat, and this
time he couldn't slap the hungry mouth away.
    He worked his own tongue furiously in the scented flesh, hoping to
distract the woman from her plan.  But his argument to her had been only
too accurate.  The odors in his nostrils were decisive.  His third climax
of the day spurted uncontrollably into the strong suckling mouth.  For a
moment he withstood it, as pain appeared in counterpart to the fierce
pleasure.  Howling unconsciously, he threw his head back against the
canvas, bones creaking under clamped muscles, his whole being a solid mix
of agony and delight.  He saw flashes of color in the instant before all
awareness departed.
    

<16:17>
    He felt her weight depart him and heard the sound of the cooler
disturbed, followed by the hiss of an opened drink can.  He felt drained
of energy but the pain was gone.  He raised his head to the sound and
blinked his eyes open.  She was watching him, the can to her lips.
    "Want some?" she asked, gesturing it toward him.
    "Please."
    She bent and dribbled it between his lips.  Cool and sweet, it burned
his tongue, reminding him of another contrast.  Licking his lips, he said,
"I passed out."
    She snorted.  "You sound surprised."
    "I only passed out once before in my whole life."
    She cocked her head.  "The same way?"
    "Oh, no.  Would you believe a gas cramp?"
    "A gas cramp!"
    "Fell straight off the john and smashed my nose on the floor."
    She chuckled but suddenly grew serious.  "Did I hurt you?"
    "Terribly.  But I don't need to tell you about that, do I?"
    "No, you don't.  Is your curiosity satisfied?"
    He took a breath.  "At the last I saw stars."
    Her eyes flickered.  "So did I."
    "Did you!  What about your curiosity?  How did it taste?"
    She thought a moment.  "Flat.  No flavor.  I was surprised."  Her lip
twitched.  "Lou claimed it would taste like bouillon."
    "That was my third time today.  Maybe the first is more flavorful."
    "Don't <you> know?"
    "Mmm.  Not really."
    "In that case you can show me tomorrow."
    Wide eyes searched her face.  She grunted.  "Don't look so worried."
    She set the drink can carefully aside, got to her feet and took down
the hanger of her clothing, saying, "No more games, Tiger."
    "What do you mean?"
    But she only proceeded to dress herself.  She erected his mirror on
the entry box, knelt and ran fingers through her hair, patting it this way
and that, muttering, "Why didn't you bring a comb?  Never mind, I know
why.  Why do you cut your hair so short?"
    "It's how my wife likes it."
    "Hmpf!  I don't think I like her much.  This wouldn't've happened
if she had sucked your dick like a good little wife."
    Her petulant tone encouraged him to ask, "Lucy, you're not really
sorry, are you?"
    She regarded him narrowly.  "You wish!"
    She began to unscrew the camera from the tripod.  He wanted to ask if
she meant to let him rot there.  Instead he wondered, "If you had a
husband, Lucy, would you suck his dick?"
    "And swallow?" she added with a sardonic grin.
    She shrugged.  "Why not?"  Her grin brightened.  "It's kind of neat,
isn't it?  Licking a twat can get your whole face wet."
    "So can a dick."
    "Not the way <we> do it!"
    "Lucy ... ah, if you want to please a man you should let up when he
comes."
    "Who's worried about pleasing?"
    She let the tripod fall to the canvas and slipped the camera into her
purse, taking something out.  He recognized his wallet.
    She faced him, compressing her lips.  After a moment she said, "I made
a copy of your driver's license and university ID just in case, because I
found my address on a paper next to the credit cards.  Did you plan to
catch me at home, too?  If you did, that's the 'in case.'  I put
everything back that I took out except the note with the address."
    She laid the wallet on top of the cooler and retrieved another item
from the purse.  It resembled --
    "This is your plane ticket.  It's still good.  I rescheduled you.
I've marked the flight number on it.  You have plenty of time -- if you
don't kidnap anyone else."
    "Never again, Lucy."
    "Yeah, I bet!"
    "Lucy, you're a marvel!  You rescheduled me?"
    She shrugged.  "I'm an experienced secretary, after all."
    She stood over him, purse in one hand, shoes dangling from the other.
"And now an experienced cock sucker.  Huh!  We know more things about each
other than most married people."
    "Yes, we do."
    "Damn you anyway, Tiger.  Don't you ever grab me that way again!"
    "I hope ...  I'd like to see --"
    "To see me again?  Ha!  What you really hope is that I leave you the
key."
    He licked dry lips.  "Yes."
    "I actually thought about unlocking you, let you leave with me.
There's clothes for you in that bag."
    She paused.  "I don't <think> you'd hurt me now."
    "No."
    "But you'd take the camera away from me.  I want those pictures,
Tiger."
    "You can have them."
    "I <will> have them."  She laid shoes and purse on the stepping box
and took out a key.  She bent and unlocked the clasp on his left ankle,
opening the restraint and pushing it away from him with her foot.  "See?
It's the right key."
    "I see."
    She walked carefully around him and stood next to his right hand.
"I'm not coming back, Tiger."
    "You aren't?"
    "So don't screw it up."
    "I won't."
    She sighed.  "I can't take the chance you'd drop it."
    She placed the key in the palm of his right hand and closed his
fingers over it.  Instantly she snapped herself erect, bending away from
his feet, presumably in case he should try to kick her, and dashed to the
box.  In five seconds she had opened the portal, scooped up purse and
shoes, clambered outside and clanged the iron door shut behind her, all
without a backward glance.
    
    

<Epilog>
    Returning from a lecture, he found a plain package delivered to his
office desk.  It had been addressed in a woman's handwriting, though not
Lucy's, and covered with postage stamps, suggesting that the mailer had
avoided the post office window.  No return address was evident.
    It contained his camera, apparently undamaged, packed with plastic
popcorn into a re-used shipping box whose previous labels had been
carefully removed.  On his home computer he proved that indeed the camera
still worked, but the pictures he and Lucy had taken were gone from its
memory.
    On a hunch he widened his regular scans of the Internet news groups.
In a few days he decoded a first of series from alt.binaries.pictures.-
erotica.bondage.  With an electric thrill he saw unmistakably his own
face, head raised, eyes clenched shut, behind the view of a merry-eyed Lucy,
one of his nipples between her teeth.  When the shock subsided, he spent
a moment admiring the crispness and depth of field before finding the
article header.  But the file had been posted anonymously through a
remailer.  The putative Louisa was indeed a computer expert!
    An hour later he downloaded the "morning" Lucy, face mask blurred,
breasts sagging to either side as mature ones do when the owner is
on her back, but birthmark and gaping vagina sharply focused.  He recalled
snapping that one just after removing his whole hand from her, while
wondering if the camera was stopped down enough for adequate depth of
field.  Apparently not.
    The entire series appeared over the next week.  When it was complete,
he counted eight in which his facial features were recognizable.
    He squared mental shoulders and waited for the inevitable
denunciation.  But recognition depends also on environment, or so he was
able to conclude when a year had passed without incident.  Apparently no
one connected a respected English professor, always carefully formal with
students and faculty, to this hapless wimp who couldn't get it up even
with an enthusiastic woman sucking his balls.
    Lucy's body showed to advantage.  Its velvet texture was evident
despite the digital grain.  The pictures in which she was prominent,
whether "dominatrix" or victim, were quite popular, appearing many times
over the next several months, reposted in many erotic newsgroups by many
viewers, few of whom took the trouble of anonymity.  But these were merely
copiers.  Nothing was revealed of the ultimate source.
    It had been a risky experiment, he decided, one that furnished all the
knowledge he'd hoped -- and then some.  It had fortunately ended without
exacting the terrible price anticipated after Lucy closed the manacle over
his wrist.  Curiosity satisfied, he vowed never to take such risks again.
    Then came a night with the Message light blinking on his answering
machine.  He played it back and heard Lucy's voice.  "The basement baggage
is available," she intoned as if reading a script, "for access at seven
P.M. on the twenty-fifth."
    Baggage indeed!  With those few words his hard-won contentment
vanished.  Dread warred with anticipation.  He opened a desk drawer to
verify that he still had the key to the building.  Of course it was where
he had left it, though somehow his pistol had shifted partly over it.
    He knew then that, whatever the decision, his life would never again
be the same.
    
END
    


-- 
+----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+
| <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> |
| Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>