Tuesdays were special for Cassandra Priambani. She could either immerse herself in her financial research or, on a glorious September day like this one, set her portfolio aside and indulge herself. No appointments, no board meetings, and no engagements with special interest groups begging for money. Indeed, when she had heard the weather forecast the night before, she cancelled lunch with her daughter. Their regular mother-daughter bonding could take place on another day.
This would be Cassandra's time; an autumn day this magnificent was rare. The forecast called for clear skies with very little wind, and ninety-degree warmth. She would go where she could enjoy the sun and sea.
She set out early that morning to reach her destination not so much out of eagerness, but out of longing to enjoy it for as long as possible. She parked her steel grey convertible BMW at a trailhead. She was glad she had left the ostentatious red Lamborghini at home. The BMW had drawn its own share of admiring glances, or it might have been her long red hair snapping wildly in the breeze, a driving hazard remedied by her oversized Louis Vuitton sunglasses.
She paused to tame her hair, shouldered her bag, and set out for her destination. Soon she was gliding along a path lined by oleanders. From time to time she brushed a hand along their succulent emerald leaves, fingering their edges. It was a tactile urge, a need to reconnect to her favorite place. The path led to a deserted dune that Cassandra fancied her own. The real pleasure would come from relaxing there, but the two-hour walk gave her time to clear her head.
Yes, clear your head, Azizam Kasandra. Clear heads make smarter choices, her father's voice bubbled up unexpectedly. He was long gone, and that bit of advice had usually come from across the family chessboard.
"Yes, Baabaa joon," Cassandra murmured to herself, then glanced downward out of habit and saw her blood-red Gucci sandals accenting her long legs. She had assimilated wholly into American culture, both in behaviour and in dress, abandoning her Muslim upbringing. Would Dad approve of that choice?
Her parents were refugees from Iran. Cassandra hadn't grown up poor, but money had been a concern. As a child, she vowed that she would have money enough to do and buy the things she wanted. She had made good on that promise at least.
Other promises would take a little more time: a good husband, assuming there was such a thing. Her nose wrinkled on its own.
Yes, maybe the failure of her first marriage still bothered her a little. Cassandra usually sensed things coming, but she hadn't foreseen that particular crisis. Eight years into their marriage, she became convinced that Hector, her ex, was having an affair. No one believed her. Cassandra exacted her revenge by fucking, over the course of eighteen months, several of his close friends and a few of his co-workers for good measure. He had managed to be furious while lying through his teeth. Even her daughter didn't believe Cassandra's claims about her father's indiscretions.
With Cassandra's apparently one-sided adultery, the terms of their divorce settlement was harsh. Over half of her sizeable wealth was awarded to Hector. She was outraged at the time, but that was five years ago, when she was forty. Since the divorce, Cassandra had tripled her worth with some outright crazy―some would say psychic―stock market plays.
Cassandra had been visited by eerie premonitions all her life. When she turned eighteen, she had felt a strange urge to buy an obscure penny stock. She knew nothing of the stock market, and online trading was non-existent then, but she was determined to follow through, so she contacted a broker. The broker thought she was nuts—gorgeous, but nuts—and tried, to no avail, to convince the red-headed beauty to invest her hard-earned measly thousand dollars in something solid like IBM. But, within a week, the share price of the penny stock leapt up to thirty times its initial value. She sold the shares, collected her winnings, and promptly quit her waitressing job.
Over the years, her trading skills continued to sharpen. Cassandra quickly learned that the real money was made from scandals, frauds, and crises. She also became more sophisticated, making out like a bandit on a Canadian gold stock, Bre-X, that rose from a under a buck to more than $280 per share, at which point she sold. Bre-X then collapsed like a spent cock once the gold fraud became public knowledge, but not before Cassandra had bought a load of put options on it. The dot.com bubble of 2000? She rode it like a cowgirl, taking it long and deep, to the hilt, and then got off in time to suck it dry for a tidy profit, the proceeds of which she then cold-bloodedly spat out and used to short Cisco and Amazon for mind-boggling gains.
Cassandra no longer cared about Hector's settlement. She had recouped it with ease. She liked money, but money liked her more. It showed; Cassandra kept herself well.
She had dressed casually that morning, though her taste still showed in the easy way that money did. Her thin, white lace camisole did little to hide her bullet-like brown nipples shifting beneath. She had debated whether to wear anything underneath her short black sports skirt for the walk to the sand dune. Cassandra often loved the sensation of exposing her bare, hairless sex to the air—she treated herself with monthly wax sessions at an exclusive salon and had, in fact, endured a waxing just three days ago, so her pampered legs and pussy were freshly denuded. Today though, she had donned a white, French lace thong, one of her more recent, costly splurges.
The spring time of her youth may have slipped by, but Cassandra Priambani's summer was treating her well. She looked like, felt like, and was worth significantly more than a million bucks.
Take that, you cheating bastard. She indulged in a self-satisfied smile. Living well really was the best revenge. Well, that and fucking well.
That thought prompted a lewd memory from a hot summer night four years ago. A younger man in his twenties had chatted her up at one of the meat-market bars. He was attractive and she was horny, so they naturally went back to her penthouse condo. The sex was wild that night. The young man maintained his exuberance for prolonged periods and had remarkable powers of recovery.
Oh, why mince words: He fucked my brains out. She chuckled to herself, her cunt pulsing a little at the memories as she strolled towards her destination.
That all would have been sweet and dandy except for the fact that the young man ended up being the son of one of the board members of Agamemnon Resources. When Cassandra saw the young man—smirking from the back rows—at the annual general meeting later that fall, she was startled and momentarily embarrassed, but she maintained her aloof professional facade. However, the young man, it turned out, was not a gentleman—in other words, he bragged about his exploits to his father and other shareholders—so that within days the rumour mill was awhirl with whispers regarding 'Cougar' Priambani's cock sucking abilities and enthusiasm for anal sex with younger men.
And so what? Now everyone knows I enjoy sex—big fucking deal.
One of the many benefits of financial independence was that it allowed her to give a rat's ass about what others thought of her.
Besides, she honestly didn't understand what the fuss was about or why anyone concerned themselves with her bedroom tastes. Didn't they have better things to do?
A rustle to Cassandra's right brought her up short at the end of the path, where the trail disappeared into the sand that would lead to the dune. She turned and scanned but didn't see anything. She waited for several breaths but heard no further noise.
Why so jumpy? she chided herself. It was probably a rabbit or a squirrel. She re-shouldered her bag and resumed her brisk pace into the sand.
The ground rose steadily, becoming the steep lee of the dune. It was tough slogging, especially in the growing heat, but finally she reached its top. From there, Cassandra absorbed the vista. The sea appeared in all its beauty in front of her. She lost herself in the view. The peace she experienced here, her special place, always helped her re-center. She sighed, breathed the scent of the salt air, and then ambled down the hot sand of the dune.
Her favourite place was at the bottom of the dune, far enough away from the path to avoid other beachgoers. There, if the mood struck her, she could indulge in sun bathing au naturel. She had already decided, even before she set off from home, that today she was certainly going to enjoy the sun on her entire body.
Cassandra dropped her satchel, dug into it, and removed a large, colourful, hand-painted Yogyakarta batik fabric. She spread it on the sand, sat on it, kicked off her sandals, and absorbed the brilliant view.
"It is unusually hot for September, isn't it?" she said aloud, though she knew she was alone.
She was at ease here, confident in her solitude. Time spent at the dune, with only the sun, wind, sand, and water as the only audience was a treasure.
Cassandra had considered bringing her current lover to the dune, to her special place, but she was worldly enough to know that their lust would last another few months before it slipped into a routine. And she was wary; when the relationship ended, what then? The sand dune was her singular and private place, and she wanted to keep it that way.
The calm expanse of the sea and the pale blue dome of the sky glowed in front of her. Cassandra could stay like this for hours, staring at the vastness of the elements, losing herself in them. The tremulous shimmering of the light on the surface of the water was enchanting, making her feel as if she were a child watching a magic metamorphosis through a kaleidoscope. She lifted her eyes to the sky and followed the faint contours of some thin strips of white cloud scattered in a hazy pale blue. A seagull flew in slow circles, as if caught in the same lazy spell. Heat waves rose from the sand, distorting the landscape.
Eventually, she shook herself out of her torpor. Perhaps it was the warm caress of the Sun on her limbs, or maybe, and more likely, it was the knowledge of how precious and fleeting a day such as today was, but the fact was that she suddenly yearned to strip off her light clothing and to sunbathe in the nude. Normally when she visited the dune, Cassandra's initial hour or two were spent reading and relaxing before giving in to the urge to lie naked in the sun. But today she wanted to waste no time in shedding her clothes, and with them, the conventions of society and even society itself. She wanted to integrate with nature as soon and as completely as possible.
Cassandra looked over her shoulders and scanned the area. Nobody, she decided, was about, and experience told her that it would stay that way. It was such a secluded place. Cassandra had tanned nude in this spot innumerable times in the past. And in all those times, only once—last summer—did an older gentleman stroll by while she was exposed.
Cassandra thought back to that day and recalled her unease and worry when, while sitting on her blanket, she had first seen him on the path heading towards the dune. She had made quick mental notes on the whereabouts of her cell phone and garments while slamming shut her thighs and covering her breasts with her arms and hands. However, the man had seemed embarrassed to stumble upon her and had kept his distance, making a wide detour when he walked by with no acknowledgement of her presence.
Upon realising that she was safe and that the man's intent was to ignore her and to respect her privacy, she had stopped covering her tits and had even relaxed her thighs so that they were even wider apart than when the man had first appeared. She remembered watching him walk away and wondering—now that he was leaving and that she was evidently out of danger—if he would at least glance back in her direction. Cassandra then imagined how daring and exciting it would have been if he had said hello and chatted to her for a moment before continuing on his journey.
Her fiction went so far as to picture herself remaining cool and unconcerned about her nudity while she conversed with the fully clothed stranger. In her imagination she sat with her thighs insouciantly apart, casually leaning back on her hands, facing him. And while they spoke about the weather or the latest current event, she would have watched with delight the darting of his eyes from her ample tits to her bare cunt.
But that was all fantasy. The reality was that today was a rare and good opportunity for Cassandra to relax in the pleasant warmth of the sun. Summer was at its end, and she was aware that it would be months before her body would experience the pleasure of being kissed and caressed by the sun again.
With those thoughts, Cassandra pulled her white camisole over her head. She was braless, so her sizeable tits jiggled loose, suddenly bare to the sun. She rubbed them a bit and then gave the fleshy orbs a light squeeze. Several twirls to her nipples with her thumbs and forefingers interspersed with several sharp tugs had the effect of fully rousing them. Her nipples, now awake and hard, sent throbbing, urgent signals to her cunt.
She stood, unzipped her black skirt and pulled it down, lazily folding and putting it aside on a corner of her batik, on top of her camisole. Still on her feet, she paused, as if adding a dramatic effect for her own benefit and for that of the elements, before putting her fingers under the hem of her white thong. She lingered again before dragging her underwear down her legs. Finally, with a fluid movement, she stepped out of the flimsy garment, tossed it on top of her skirt, and stood naked in front of the elements.
The simple sensation of the air on her bare skin thrilled her. She felt immersed in the surrounding nature, as if the sand, the sunlight, the warm air, and the ocean were embracing her from all sides and touching her everywhere.
She knelt down on the batik and lay on her belly, her back and bum exposed to the sun.
In her bag she had packed some food and drink—a banana, a bottle of Riesling, strawberries, and some dark chocolate, all insulated against the heat. She had also thrown in, at the last minute, a novel she had picked up in a second-hand bookstore. It was pulp, trashy, mindless, and explicit—perhaps too explicit. But she felt lazy today, so she chose it to indulge herself while enjoying its lustful descriptions.
The novel was a period piece, 17th or 18th century—Cassandra was not even sure since her attention centred on other, prurient details in the story. The book dealt with the wife of a baron, Lady Louisa, who falls spectacularly under the spell of a younger nobleman and becomes his mistress, pandering to all his needs, which become wilder and more outlandish with time.
Cassandra felt so sensual now that she was naked under the sun, so she resumed her reading of the lusty tale. She went from page to page with eager attention, for the story had now become more and more erotic. She was intrigued by the psychology of the heroine. In her public life the Baroness is a mature and respectable noblewoman, and she shows an arrogant attitude and an aristocratic aloofness. However, when her husband is away for his frequent engagements in the capital, she is free to pay visit to her current lover, who is younger than her and so haughty and roguish in his manners. And when she is with him, she loves to play an entirely different role. A week ago, at the apex of ecstasy, Baroness Louisa had said, "Yes," promising to entertain her lover and his friends by assuming the role of a maid at their disposal.
And Louisa is revelling in this position, craving to be used by them as they desire. But what particularly excites Lady Louisa is the fact that all of them—not only her lover but also his friends—know who she really is and how she has accepted for that weekend to be at their service. It was likely that in the future she would meet them again at some formal reception in one of the country manors at which she would attend as the Baron’s wife. She would be superbly detached and would show no sign of recognizing any of them. But they would remember—and she would remember too—how they took liberties with her body when she served their dinner, and what happened later in the billiard room when her young lover had the sudden whim of ordering her to bare her breasts so that they could pour drops of brandy on her nipples, tasting it from her exposed, burning flesh. And more and more outrageous memories of the following night when she had to satisfy all their needs and desires in a wild orgy in which she behaved as the most accomplished Venetian courtesan.
Oooh, this is so hot, Cassandra murmured.
Her mind was feverish, and for a moment—perhaps longer—she wondered how much she identified with Baroness Louisa, and as she read, Cassandra envisioned herself in the same wicked predicament, satisfying the needs and desires of four young men in a wild orgy.
Cassandra took a deep breath, put the book aside, and stretched languorously. Her pretty, brown nipples had risen erect and dew now seeped from her bare womanhood.
God, I’m so horny.
Indeed, Baroness Louisa and her adventures had ignited a maddening itch between Cassandra's thighs, so much so that the urge to touch herself—in the open, in front of the elements—was enormous. Oddly, even though she had frequently sunbathed in the nude in this special place, never before had she masturbated in front of the elements at her sand dune. She tried to ignore the throbbing and lay on her back while struggling to empty her mind.
But the Sun seemed intent on kissing her entire body; yet he focussed his energy on her swollen sex, which he considered beautiful, pushing her closer to the edge.
Cassandra's thoughts wandered back to the Baroness and her delightful dilemma, of how the Baroness let her body be used by the four young men over and over again. She was now openly imagining herself as Lady Louisa.
The oozing from Cassandra's cunt was now a flood, which did not go unnoticed by the Sun. The Wind, too, could smell her arousal, so he encouraged Cassandra by lapping her body with a warm, gentle breeze.
Cassandra's fingers drifted to her rock-hard nipples with the intent of gently rolling them, but instead she found herself tugging, squeezing, and pulling them. The sensations travelled directly to her vulva, redoubling the wetness and heat escaping from her cunt, coating her in slick fluids. She wanted nothing more than to vigorously touch herself to fulfilment.
God, I have to stop, she lied to herself.
She sat up with her thighs splayed, allowing the fire and dampness to pour from her core, all while the Sun kept his eye and focus on her glistening folds. Cassandra sought to ignore her body, so she retrieved the food from her bag in the hopes of diverting her attention. She instinctively reached for the banana, her hand, with brightly manicured fingernails, grasping the curved yellow rod.
Oh, I think that would lead to trouble, she moaned to herself and quickly released the phallic fruit. Deep down, she knew why she had packed a banana, but she continued with her charade of resistance.
Cassandra then turned her attention to the wine. The bottle, still cold, was plastered by beads of sweat. The elongated shape of the Riesling bottle distressed her further, prompting her to remember a kinky episode with a friend of her ex-husband. Cassandra nestled the icy bottle against her waxed vulva hoping the coolness would dull her lust. But she did this against her better judgment. She knew that on a hot day such as this that the chill of the bottle against her bare cunt would feel wonderful, and, unsurprisingly, soon found herself ever so slightly moving her hips against it so that her rifted lips lovingly cradled the bottle.
However, with much self-restraint, at least in Cassandra's mind, she removed the cold bottle from against her cunt, undid the screw cap, and, leaving her legs lewdly apart, poured herself a glass into a tumbler she had packed. Her excitement had caused her throat to dry, and the cool, crisp wine was delicious, so she drank too fast, emptying her glass. Immediately she poured herself another glass and drank that as well.
The Sun stared at Cassandra's wetness, and in approval continued to illuminate and heat her body. The Wind, too was delighted with her beauty, and he fluttered zephyrs over her sensitive flesh.
Cassandra sighed and dug into her bag to retrieve the packet of strawberries. They were so red and ripe, the texture delicately rough. She dipped a berry into the wine and then sucked on it, relishing the alcohol. She sucked on the strawberry as if it were a lover, gently caressing the tip with her tongue. Deliberately, Cassandra dragged the berry down her neck, and continued to her cleavage. Finally, she teased her nipples, pressing the strawberry, wet with wine and saliva, onto them.
The Sun, the Wind, the wine, and Lady Louisa seduced Cassandra to abandon herself. She brought the berry to her mouth, ate the tip, and then squashed the remainder on a nipple. The fresh juice and soft pulp spread on her breast and the sticky sensation excited her.
She imagined offering her breast to a lover’s mouth so that he could savour the delicate and inebriating mixture of flavours. Incited by her fantasy, Cassandra gathered together the bits of squashed strawberry, brought her fingers to her mouth and cleaned them with her tongue.
Some of the strawberry pulp fell on the sand, waking the Earth. He now watched Cassandra, joining the Sun and the Wind in their admiration of the naked woman. The Earth, with help from the Sun, further warmed the sand beneath her, causing beads of sweat to form on Cassandra's smooth brown skin.
She reached for another strawberry but her fingers ended up in the chocolate, which had become a melted mess in her bag. She was too horny to worry about ruining her leather bag, so she licked some of the chocolate off her fingers, then impishly placed her hand on her tit, leaving chocolate fingerprints on it. Cassandra repeated the same design on her other breast. After examining the chocolate markings, she decided to draw an arrow. She started at her cleavage, ran a line of chocolate down her belly, past her navel, and ended it just above her clit. She was laughing, enjoying herself, and playfully drew an arrow head. She now had a chocolate arrow on her body pointing at her bald cunt.
Cassandra lay on the blanket again and tried anew to calm herself, but it was a lost battle. The wine's effect made her mellow and languid, yet her fervid imagination was on fire. She couldn’t even say for sure if she were remembering scenes from the novel or if she were elaborating them, spurred by her own lust:
Louisa arranges a vase of red and yellow tulips on a windowsill while a friend of her lover shamelessly caresses her derriere and then forces her to bend over so he can take her from behind like a stallion. Louisa is summoned by a bell in the bathroom where she finds another house guest who steps out of the bathtub and commands her to dry him with some rough cotton towel. She kneels beside him on the floor and executes the task with scrupulous care, when, all of a sudden, he roughly grabs the back of her head and presses her face to his groin, pushing her lips towards his tumescent phallus. In the deep of the night, in the master bedroom lit by pale flickering candles, the three guests share Louisa, treating her as she needs and wants to be treated, as a submissive slut, while her lover, slumped on an armchair, watches and masturbates lazily…
Cassandra had to cool off. The intense heat, so unusual for that time of year, her immense arousal, the wine, and the Baroness's exploits had her in a frothy sweat. She rose and walked to the ocean's edge. Cassandra expected the water to be cold, but when she gingerly placed her foot in the gentle surf to test the water, she found that it was warm and inviting.
The Water smiled with pleasure, knowing that the woman would enter his domain, allowing him to envelope her nakedness and beauty. The Sun, the Earth, and the Wind watched without jealousy, and each of them urged the Water to caress and taste her curves and folds.
Cassandra waded in. The water had never been like this before. In her previous visits, she would skinny dip momentarily, enduring the cold water for a few brief minutes before retreating. However, today the ocean was unusually pleasant and benign. She went in, deep enough to cover her pinging nipples. They ached from being erect so long. But the water seemed to excite them even more. Her hands drifted to her nipples, tugging and twisting them, causing delightful synaptic transmissions to her cunt, which she began to touch and finger.
The Water saw the woman's exposure, saw her open and ripe sex and stroked it along with her, feeling and tasting her essence as she bathed in his element.
She could have climaxed in the water, but Cassandra again exercised some self control, came out of the water and walked across the sand. Water drops clung tenaciously to her skin. Sand coated her feet and covered the back of her calves as she walked. The breeze was gentle enough to agitate her nipples, but not strong enough to cool her. The sun continued beating down its heat.
Cassandra flopped onto her back on the sand, next to her sheet. She could not rein in her imagination; she could not suppress the wild course of her fantasies. But in fact, she could, if only she exerted her willpower, but why should she?
Why repress herself in such a place, in such a moment? After all, she was alone and she came here to indulge herself. The only witnesses to her sensual abandonment were the elements who loved her and who knew her intimately: Of all of them, the ardent and mighty Sun was her favoured, and she craved for his eyes to set upon her body.
Cassandra lay on her back, absorbing the Sun's attention, his rays, his heat. She was feverish with thoughts of Louisa and her slutty behaviour. She was especially aroused by the description in the story in which the men, all four of them, take rapid turns vigorously fornicating with the Baroness. This takes place one afternoon in the library, on a couch. Lady Louisa is called to attend and simply told to undress. Then, without ceremony, she is instructed to lay on the couch and to prepare to receive each man. And she obediently does. The first is Jeremy, youngest son of the Duke with whom she had once had a brief affair. As they copulate, the Baroness notes that Jeremy resembles his father in many ways. After that, she loses track, not caring who is upon her using her sex for his pleasure, aware only that she is an object of desire and lust, and that is all that matters.
The men take turns ejaculating their seed into her womb, and after collapsing upon her, she supports their entire weight while feeling their manhood soften within. But no post-coital bonding takes place. Instead, abruptly, each rolls off her, vacating her well-used sex momentarily until the next one mounts her, crudely inserts his hardness, making her writhe in lust, and fornicates with her until he too erupts inside her.
It goes on that way, with Louisa losing count, concentrating instead on the desire that she evokes from each man, enjoying her power in inciting their repeated arousal and milking it from them one by one. The Baroness wonders: Have they completed two or three circuits with me? No matter—she is satiated, as are they.
When they finish with the Baroness, her vault brimming with an earthy melange of their manly essence, they abandon her, discussing their latest investments as they walk away. Cassandra was struck at how Louisa cherishes the fluids brewing inside her, how she keeps lying on her back, and, not wanting to spill their precious sperm, how her knees remain elevated while she places her hand over her sore, raw sex to keep their collective seed inside her.
That part of the story drove Cassandra wild. She was with dizzy with craving, and her swollen, overheated cunt was fermenting with readiness.
Cassandra opened her thighs, eventually widening them so that the soles of her feet were together and her knees flopped to the sides. She was gaping in this position: The Sun could now see all of her secrets. The Wind, too, fluttered about her sodden blossom, savouring her smell and taste. The Earth, also, could sense her need and continued to warm her body from beneath. Water drops still clung to Cassandra's skin, so that the Water was able to savour her taste.
She touched herself, but she avoided her clitoris, knowing that she'd explode upon contact with it. Not yet. Cassandra wanted to draw out the luxurious sensations of arousal, more intense than any that she had had for some time. Her hands slid along her hips, then moved down to stroke the prominence of her buttocks. Her fingers then inched up from beneath her elevated thighs to her cunt. She imagined a lover watching her while she indulged in wanton display. Her fingertips fluttered about, lightly touching her smooth outer labia. After a brief debate, she pulled apart her hands, opening her cunt to the scorching eyes of the Sun and the other elements, showing them her core, inviting them to kiss her in her most secret of places.
I want to be horny like this forever.
She held herself open for a while, but then Cassandra's touch went for her centre, her finger easily sliding between the slick, thickened lips. A second finger joined in, and then a third, as deep as she could insert them.
In no time Cassandra's knees rose into that oh-so-familiar position. If a passerby were to stumble upon her, even from a distance there would be no mistake as to what she was doing.
But her fingers weren't enough. She removed her hand from her steaming cunt and hurriedly grabbed the banana. Its tinge of green and firmness told her that it was underripe, which suited her perfectly. Quickly, she took the fruit and positioned it at her opening. Its tip was pointing upward, and Cassandra anticipated how gorgeously it would scratch the itch at the top of her cunt.
The Sun, Wind, Earth, and Water were aroused by Cassandra. Each lusted for her, but they continued to gaze in admiration as she exposed herself to them. Now she was about to satisfy herself for them, and they watched with anticipation.
Shamelessly, Cassandra eased the banana inside her slit. With no restraint it slid in and out, and she enjoyed the friction and the sensation of being filled. Her smooth cunt welcomed the organic dildo, and she felt like a primitive woman who took her pleasure spurred by her animal instinct. The only remains of the social life were the images floating in her mind: the picture of Louisa and her wild romp in the library of the noble country house. Heavy curtains, rows of elegant volumes, mahogany pieces of furniture, costly carpets, colourful tapestries, an imposing chandelier. And yet a sophisticated Lady turned herself into an obedient maid who lay on a couch and offered herself to four arrogant men to discharge their semen inside her hole.
Cassandra closed her eyes and concentrated on her pleasure. She imagined Louisa’s lover, the last of the row, ejaculating inside her with vigorous thrusts while shouting obscenities. The idea of being in Louisa's place, insulted as a street whore, her cunt brimming with spunk, brought Cassandra near the edge.
She pumped the banana vigorously and jerked her hips to feel it deep inside. She thought of her smooth vulva and longed for it to be eternally inviting, attractive, and desirable. She opened her eyes and craned her neck to stare at her pouty lips embracing the banana pumping her cunt. She felt so wanton and lusty, and for an instant it was like she watched herself from outside: a woman lying on her back on the sand, her thighs open, her cunt filled with a banana. At that moment her orgasm began, and she erupted fiercely, engulfed by waves of pleasure.
Panting and moaning, Cassandra rode the waves of gratification until they subsided and a mellow, warm sensation invaded her limbs. Completely relaxed, she was immersed in a dreamy state, so she remained in the same posture for long, beatific moments: eyes closed, legs open and bent at her knees, the banana protruding obscenely from her cunt.
The elements watched her with their ardent eyes. They knew how much Cassandra loved them, and how eager she was to offer herself to their senses. Before they had only ever seen her naked, but now that she had pleasured herself for them, they were mad with lust and wanted desperately to have her.
It was then that a cloud appeared, obscuring the sun. Cassandra wasn't sure, but thought that perhaps a small tremor had jostled the ground beneath her, which she found amusing, given the intense orgasm she had just experienced. But the soothing breeze had also stopped. She thought this strange, so she raised her head and looked at the water while keeping her body in the same position in which she had masturbated. She was dumbfounded, for she had never seen anything like it before. The ocean was like a mirror; not ripple could be seen on it.
Cassandra suddenly had a feeling of being watched. She turned her head to the left, and in the distance a man stood at the edge of the dune, perhaps two hundred yards away.
She was startled, paralyzed by surprise. Her heart thumped, yet she was even more astounded when she heard him calling someone and saw another man emerge from the bushes, and then another from elsewhere, and then one more. It was immediately obvious that they had positioned themselves strategically, blocking her exits other than the ocean. She was trapped. They started walking, albeit slowly, in her direction, closing in on her. And although she wasn't sure due to their distance, the men appeared to be naked.
Panic rose within her, petrifying her. Cassandra only barely remembered to breathe as the men steadily approached, closing their circle on her. She wanted to get up and run, but couldn't.
They were headed towards her, of that there was no doubt. And there was a troubling confidence in their unhurried gait. They continued their approach, never taking their eyes off her. All four of the men appeared young, in their twenties. They were also sporting erections. As they walked their cocks waved menacingly back and forth, occasionally slapping against their abdomens, and their heavy balls swayed with their steps.
Suddenly, Cassandra realised that her thighs were still spread open and that the banana was still lewdly wedged within her. And it was obvious that the men had seen this. Finally, she snapped out of her state of disbelief. Quickly she rose—the banana plopped out of her cunt and onto her batik, with most of the yellow fruit glistening with her juices—and fumbled with her clothing. But to no avail: She couldn't get anything on.
"Fuck! My phone—where's my fucking phone?!" she screamed.
In a panic, she turned her bag upside down and shook it. Finally it fell out. She grabbed it, pressed 9-1-1, but then her heart sank: She had forgotten to charge it last night. The phone was dead.
She could hear the men laughing.
Oh God, I'm so scared.
Cassandra frantically scooped up her belongings. Flight was her only thought. Some of her things fell, but she didn't care; she just wanted to get the hell out of there. But where? She was encircled and at least a brisk two-hour walk from the nearest road. They were sure to catch her.
A low, melodious voice calmly called out:
"There is no point in running. You are surrounded, and we would catch you in any case. And if we have to chase you, then it will not be nearly as pleasant."
His words petrified her. Cassandra stood, frozen, clutching her things against herself in an attempt to hide her nakedness.
They reached her finally, encircling her. Cassandra, although scared, still had some of her wits about her, so she made mental notes of their physical features for the police report she feared she would soon be filing.
Three of them were Caucasian. The fourth man was black, short, and heavy; he also sported a thick curly beard that matched his afro hairdo. All four had abundant body hair and all appeared muscular and fit, even the heavy black man. Their ages were hard to gauge. On one hand they seemed young, in their twenties, yet on another they seemed ancient, almost timeless.
One man, the one who called out to her, was taller than the others; his cohorts constantly glanced at him, waiting for his next move, suggesting that he was the ring leader of this awful invasion. Unwillingly, she admitted that he was handsome: He had blonde hair, the face of a predator, the body of an athlete, and his bearing seemed firm, but also elegant.
The other two Caucasians were of average height and build. One of them was red haired and had a weather-beaten face not unlike a sailor; his blue eyes were sunken within a well-creased face. The other had long jet-black hair that went down to his shoulders. His hair was wet, greasy. But his eyes were what stood out most to Cassandra—they were pale, vacant, lustreless, what one would describe as fish eyed.
Cassandra noted all these details, but against her will, her eyes kept darting back to their prominent, menacing phalluses. Cassandra tried to avert her look, but their tumescence was impossible to ignore—all four of them were very well endowed, and all four of them were fully erect.
The tall one spoke. "We were watching you. That was quite the show. Very enthusiastic." His voice was deep, composed, unhurried. His enunciation was perfect, with a noticeable lack of contractions in his speech.
Cassandra felt herself redden even more as her mind replayed how only moments ago she was in such bliss, lying on her back, under the belief that she was alone—naked with the Sun—in her special place, manoeuvring an elongated fruit within her cunt until she exploded in ecstasy.
Oh God, did they hear me moan and scream? Cassandra wondered with humiliation.
But any embarrassment was far superseded by the sheer terror of her immediate situation.
The tall man then spoke to his partners in another language. It was unfamiliar to her; she couldn't understand a word of it, but even more vexing was that she couldn't even place it. Cassandra couldn't speak French, German, Arabic, Hebrew, but she could identify them. Yet the language these men spoke was utterly unrecognisable, which added to her anxiety.
One of the other men replied, laughing, and came up to her. Cassandra tensed, awaiting an assault. But he smoothly took her bundle of belongings from her.
Cassandra was momentarily relieved that she hadn't been attacked, but she immediately cupped her hands over her sex to shelter herself. She awkwardly adjusted her arms to cover her breasts, to hide her jutting nipples, all while keeping a hand over her vulva. Her nipples were erect and hard, sending continual tingles throughout her body. Cassandra was ashamed at her body's betrayal: She was shocked and distraught at the wetness and heat pouring out of her, bringing her close to tears. How could her body react like this?
Suddenly, to her horror, the banana fell from the bundle that the man had taken from her. The fruit embedded itself in the sand, comically straight up and down. All of the men burst out laughing. Impossibly, her face flushed even more. The man who spoke English picked it up and held it in front of her face. Meanwhile, two of the other men were busy spreading out her batik.
"You were pleasuring yourself with this, were you not?"
Mortified, Cassandra said nothing while staring at the banana, now three-quarters encrusted with sand. Her hands and arms were still in front of her, forlornly sheltering herself.
He repeated his question, but there was an unnerving tone to his voice that compelled her to respond, that convinced her that answering was the wiser choice.
Meekly, she acknowledged, "Yes."
"Yes, you certainly were. We watched you fucking the banana," he stated. Every word he said was spoken with precision and clarity, even the 'g' in 'fucking'.
Cassandra's humiliation increased. But she was also angry. So Goddamn angry.
How dare they intrude upon me during such a private, personal moment! How dare they do what they're doing! Yet she was terrified to speechlessness and kept her protestations to herself.
"You are very beautiful—very, very beautiful. More beautiful up close than from a distance," the tall one added.
He approached her; she trembled with fright. He took her wrists, delicately, and moved them aside. She was now exposed, and she shook with unbounded dread.
"Leave your hands to your sides," he commanded pleasantly.
Although his voice was not menacing, Cassandra sensed that she would be prudent to comply. He stepped back and examined her. The other men joined him. Their eyes roved over her body. Cassandra wanted to cover herself, but she reconsidered and kept her hands by her sides as instructed.
The tall one turned to his friends and asked, "Is the lady beautiful?"
In a thick accent, one of the other men replied, "Very, very beautiful," all while holding on to his prodigious erection and eyeing her up and down.
"Did I not tell you two months ago that she was magnificent?" the tall one laughed while jocularly slapping two of his comrades on their backs.
Cassandra's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. She wanted to scream her outrages but nothing came out.
How long has this bastard been stalking me? How long has he been violating my sanctuary? she fumed.
But her fury quickly subsided. Fear took over; she was so scared, terrified.
Yet her body was not helping her. It was deluded, and it sickened her. She was disgusted at the tingling in her cunt, at its persistence; she was appalled at the wetness oozing out of her, at its sticky warmth on her thighs; she was horrified that her flesh was ready, even eager, to copulate.
The tall man, the English speaker, was now holding his cock, stroking it slowly while centring his gaze on her vulva. His hard cock looked angry and powerful. Its girth was jaw dropping.
He spoke again. "Where we come from, the women do not shave their vulvas. It is a shame, for it truly is an attractive practice. I adore the unimpeded view. For whom do you shave? Your husband?"
Cassandra wanted to curl up, shrivel into nothing—vanish—and then awake from this nightmare.
"I asked you: For whom do you shave?" he repeated with quiet authority.
Obviously, Cassandra was not going to explain to these brutes that she didn't shave but instead was waxed. So she kept her answer short and simple.
"Yes, I shave for my husband," she said through a choked voice, praying that now that they thought that she was a married woman, they would lose interest or take pity and abandon their cruel game.
"A dutiful wife, indeed. And I would wager that you perform fellatio for your husband. Correct?"
Oh dear God in Heaven, please don't let them hurt me, prayed the previously agnostic Cassandra.
"I asked you: Do you suck your husband's penis?" he queried. His voice remained even toned, but his hand, meanwhile, quickened the stroking of his shaft.
Cassandra was lost and without hope. With resignation she whimpered, "Yes."
"Such a good wife!" the tall man exclaimed. "A man is blessed to have a wife such as you!"
He spoke again, the tall one, this time in that unintelligible tongue. His friends listened while the tall one chattered and pointed at her cunt. Near the end of his speech, he suggestively stuck his thumb in his mouth. His meaning was blatantly clear.
The short black one nodded, smiled, and replied in the mysterious language. When he finished replying, they all burst out laughing.
Eventually, the English speaker turned and addressed her. "Do you know what my friend says?"
Again in that voice—so deep, so unruffled.
She said nothing, looking only at her feet while shaking with terror.
"I asked you: Do you know what he says?" he repeated with otherworldly calmness.
Cassandra wanted to scream: How the fuck would I know what he says, you degenerate bastard!
But she didn't.
"No," she replied timidly.
"Well, allow me to translate. He agrees with me that your vulva is lovely. To be exact, he compared it to a blossoming flower, yet he is convinced that it is even more exquisite once its petals are coaxed open and covered in dew—a sight which the four of us await with eagerness," he added with unnerving serenity.
Cassandra visibly winced at his words and started to cry, yet he continued with his translation.
"My friend also said that only the prostitutes in the capital city of his country shave their vulvas and perform fellatio. So he is surprised that your husband would allow you to do these things and questions whether you are in fact married. But, he also added, whether married or not, he doubts that you are a prostitute, your predilection for fellatio and impaling yourself with inanimate objects notwithstanding. Nonetheless, he believes that you enjoy vigorous intercourse, and not just with bananas. Is he correct?"
Oh please, someone help me, she cried to herself.
A shiver ran along her spine. It was a wave of fear accented by the tiniest, yet undeniable, undercurrent of excitement, and it made her sick. She was incapable of answering, paralyzed by her demoralizing melange of emotions.
“Is he correct?” the tall man repeated.
Instinctively, she made a move to run, but the tall one grabbed her wrists. She struggled to get free, but his strong hands held her captive.
“No, no, no. Not like this. There is no way for you to escape," he stated bluntly.
“Why are you so rebellious?” he added with a more mellow tone. “We do not like the idea of forcing you. We would much rather that you cooperate. And we are convinced that you would experience intense physical pleasure from the four of us.”
Oh my God, they will do with me what they want.
Cassandra was shaken by a deep sensation in which fear, disgust, loathing, and excitement were indistinguishable. The latter—excitement—was involuntary, a betrayal of her soul by her flesh, for her mind was decidedly aghast at her predicament. Perhaps as a weird reaction between her psyche—which wanted to flee her body—and her awful, overwhelming situation, she had a strange vision of herself as if she could see from without. She saw the scene from above, as if she had become for an instant the eye of the Sun. She saw a beautiful, mature American woman standing naked on a lonely beach, captured in her own land by four foreign men who appeared from nowhere and are ready to have their way with her. She saw their naked bodies close to each other, the woman kept in the middle as a prisoner, and the four robust men threatening and intimidating her with their impressive erections.
However, it was a temporary escape, for her state of mental displacement disappeared as suddenly as it had come. She was now back in the gruesome scene, sensing the frightening reality of the situation, that the men who surrounded her were intent on raping her. She was entirely at their mercy.
The tall one smiled: “You know, you have a delightful buttocks, and we love women with a shapely behind. It is a pity that in our lands that the women do not display it so shamelessly in public as you American women do here.”
The derision and arrogance in his voice infuriated her. She reacted automatically and replied with defiance, “Here, we're free to do what we want. If in your country women are slaves, all the worse for you!”
Rage, fear, tension, and excitement were all boiling together in her emotional outburst.
He stared at her impassively for a long moment. Cassandra knew that if they wanted, they could take her by force, brutally showing her how much she was a slave in her own land. But there was a glint of admiration to his gaze.
The tall man continued to look at her straight in the eyes. It was a penetrating stare that burned her morale. He approached and stood close enough to Cassandra so that the tip of his hard cock poked her belly. She could feel its heat—it was like a branding iron, searing her abdomen. Then, with one hand he caressed her hip while with the other he squeezed one of Cassandra's breasts as if he were in a supermarket selecting fruit. While continuing to fix upon her eyes, he pinched her nipple, pulling it outward.
Her sigh surprised her, shocked her, and made her furious with herself.
"Yes, that felt good, did it not?" the tall one asked her.
She wanted to say, No. It did not! You're assaulting me, you fucking creep!
However, she was interrupted by a warm, heavy pressure on her buttocks. The short black man had just pushed his erection against her backside, near her anus. Simultaneously, the two other men closed in on her sides, also close enough to have their hard, large cocks lay against her flesh. She was their prisoner, and she could sense the scent of their male bodies, the strength of their muscles, and the fierceness of their desire.
Cassandra started to openly sob. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she heaved her shoulders in despair. All she could do was beg them not to harm her.
"Please. Please. I beg you. Please don't hurt me. I have money! Lots of it! Please—I can give you all you want!"
All four were now against her, their erections pressing against her, their immense upward-pointing shafts barricading her like a mare in a stall.
The tall one, who was in front of her, bent his head down to her ear and calmly whispered, "Oh, you shall give us what we want, but it shall not be money. Here is what will happen: You are going to have sex with us. You will choose with whom you will fuck, one at time. We will take turns enjoying ourselves—each of us with your beautiful body, and you with each one of us. When we are finished, we will leave you. You will be free.
"However, if you do not comply, if you resist, then we will take you simultaneously, by force and with brutality. I leave it to your imagination as to how you would accommodate our phalluses in such a situation. In addition, I cannot guarantee your safety in this circumstance.
"So, you see, we have given you a choice. Tell us, whom do you pick? Who will fuck you first? Do not hesitate, or we will take you at once."
Cassandra audibly and visibly bawled throughout the tall one's hushed speech. She had no choice: One way or the other, she was going to get raped. But in order to survive, she had to go through the humiliation of choosing her rapists, one by one.
The taller man stepped back. With slow, deliberate gestures, he caressed his penis and aimed it at Cassandra as an offering. Her eyes involuntarily fell on his long cock, on its uncovered crown coated with foamy moisture. It looked like a plum and against her will, her mouth watered.
He stroked it blatantly and commented with a honeyed voice, “This one? Do you want my cock first?”
His greasy, long-haired friend then stepped away from her and stood next to the tall one. He too, gripped his cock, pointing it at her in a sort of competitive display and as an inducement for her to choose him. His erection was shorter, but thicker, with veins that bulged out prominently, and in a way it looked more menacing and aggressive than the other. Cassandra couldn't help remembering that he had rubbed it against her hip.
The red-haired man now left her side and joined the other two. He stood sideways, showing Cassandra his cock, its length and girth as astounding and frightening as that of the others. The three men stood in front of Cassandra, stroking their cocks, obscenely displaying their hardness to her. She was trapped, and, in degradation, forced to compare the cocks of three bastards who had molested her so lewdly and were about to assault her so grievously.
Meanwhile, the black man still stood behind her, gripping her waist, his cock still pressed against her ass.
"It is time to choose," the tall one stated flatly.
Perhaps because she could not see him and because he was not part of the bizarre and nauseating display in front of her, Cassandra, through tears and a quaking voice filled with foreboding, said, "The man behind me."
The tall one translated. Exclamations, congratulations, and laughter erupted from all four men. The black man then guided her from behind, his cock continually poking her bum, towards her expensive batik.
When they reached the stretched-out fabric, the black man said something in the strange language.
"He wants to take you from behind. Get on your hands and knees," the tall one commanded pleasantly.
Cassandra's will and resistance was broken. As a self-preserving mechanism, Cassandra had shut her mind off in a desperate attempt to detach herself from her body. Robotically, she complied and accepted, adopting the posture of a mare ready to be mounted. She could not do anything else. She could only struggle in vain against their overwhelming male force.
A nonstop flood of tears sprung from Cassandra's eyes.
Yes, if you want me like this, subjugated and helpless, then go on, serve yourselves, take me. Enjoy my body. Give vent to all your lusts. I knew from the very beginning that it would come to this, with me at your mercy, impaled on your monstrous cocks, Cassandra cried to herself.
When she had assumed her position, the black man grabbed the inside of one of her knees, and pulled it outward, spreading and opening her sex. The black man's finger immediately stroked her cunt, at which point he excitedly shouted something in their tongue, causing the others to laugh.
The tall one spoke to the black man and then came close to Cassandra, knelt down in front of her, his cock inches from her face, and translated.
"My friend says that you are as slick and slippery as the hillside pathways after a heavy rain. We are delighted that you are so eager to fuck with us. Nonetheless, since he is the first, I have instructed him to enter you slowly before he becomes vigorous. We do not want your sex to become raw and sore prematurely.
Cassandra howled piteously at his words, words which reinforced both the terrifying events about to unfold and the duplicity of her body.
With his cock at Cassandra's opening, the black man started to inch his way into her while gripping her hips. As instructed, he progressed slowly, allowing Cassandra's body to adjust to his intrusion.
Cassandra gasped as the large cock began its gradual invasion. Through tears, she tried to take her mind of the indignity of her situation. She tried to think of other incongruous things, to divorce her mind from harsh reality. She succeeded for a while, considering various stock options, thinking of upcoming board meetings, and reflecting upon her childhood.
However, once the black man's cock was buried inside her and he began to slowly pump, Cassandra could no longer think about currency markets. She could only think about the massive cock inside her, about how it was lightly bumping her cervix. Her mind was still appalled at this assault—and would remain so during her entire ordeal—but her body was responding with acceptance.
“Oooh, you bastards!” she exhaled.
Yet, in contrast with her words and her wishes, she pushed back wantonly with her derriere, meeting one of his thrusts so that he impaled her wholly. It was the silent yet eloquent sign of her surrender.
Up to that time, the black man had been fucking her at his leisure—gently, one would say if it weren't for the gruesome fact that she was being raped—but when he saw Cassandra, his victim, respond and push back with her ass, he began to pound her.
Normally, Cassandra did not orgasm easily through intercourse; however, when the black man gripped her hips and began spearing her as hard as he could, she exploded. Despite her horror, her despondency, and her sorrow, and against her will, her body erupted violently. Her cunt quaked with tremors, sending waves to radiate and refract within her.
After Cassandra's orgasm, the black man lasted only several firm strokes before he pulled her back onto his cock as deep as possible and began to fill her core with his hot, magma-like cum. His ejaculation seemed to last forever, for when he withdrew his cock it still spurted so that he spattered her back with viscous, white-hot fluid. The earthy, pungent smell of his cum permeated the still air.
Throughout her rape by the black man, the tall one had remained in front of her, his cock inches from her head. He now spoke again.
"Very good, my love! You moan so wonderfully when you climax! With whom shall you copulate now?"
You fucking bastards! Wasn't it enough that you're going to fuck me against my will? What type of inhuman monsters would force me to choose my rapists?
The tall one pressed his cock into her face and said, "Choose, or you will fellate us while you copulate."
The heat of his cock seared her cheek. Frightened, she informed the group that the red-haired man was next.
Again, there was mirth and cajoling among the four thugs. The red-haired man approached Cassandra, who was still on all fours, and caressed her bum before he fingered her now sopping cunt and spoke in the foreign tongue.
"He wants you to lie on your back; he wants to look in your eyes while he fucks you."
Cassandra began to sob, but with no options at her disposal, she lay on her cum-soaked back as was demanded of her.
The red-haired man mounted her, slid his cock into her sodden sex, and began to rape her. At first she tried to lay impassively, but eventually the invasion of her body by the new cock caused her body to react. Her legs lifted involuntarily, allowing the man to plant himself completely into her. The man lay atop her, pressing his hairy chest into her breasts, with his face inches from hers while moving his massive erection inside her. He then spoke in the unknown language.
"Open your eyes," the tall one instructed her.
She did as she was told and was confronted by her attacker's eyes, inches away from hers. What she saw terrified her. Within his blue eyes she saw brutal power and strength, like an eon of hurricanes and tornadoes.
The red-haired man now gritted his teeth and fucked her as hard as he could. Cassandra screamed in distress, yet her flesh not only opened itself to his wild assault but also responded to his slamming by bucking back at his fearsome thrusts.
Her orgasm arrived with whirlwind rapidity. She threw her head back, still screaming, and soared out of control to her climax, all while he maintained the pounding of her cunt. Her climax was like a howling vortex of sensations, twisting her into the stratosphere, her body thundering with pulsations.
Cassandra, beside herself with grief over her physical reaction to the latest assault, cried yet again over her misfortune, all while the man continued to satisfy himself. However, to her relief, the red-haired man came quickly thereafter, initially spurting inside her, but then withdrawing to spray her tits and belly with an inhuman volume of cum. When he finished discharging, he said something to his cohorts, and disengaged himself from Cassandra.
After the red-haired man had finished with her, the tall one knelt next to her. He lay his huge organ across her face. Cassandra was impassive, emotionally spent.
"No? Not even a little suckle?" the tall one tormented her. "Nevertheless, he said that you copulate with wonderful enthusiasm. I am awaiting our coupling with much anticipation!"
Cassandra continued to lay motionless, staring past him into the still darkened sky. She didn't respond to his taunts, but she was upset by the willingness of her body, by her wetness, and with the ease with which she had climaxed with her first two attackers.
"This brings us to a vital question: Who is next?"
Blankly, Cassandra simply pointed at the man with long, dark hair and said, "Him."
"Ah, you want to save the best for last? I am honoured, my lady," the tall one cooed.
Of all her attackers, Cassandra was repulsed the most by the long-haired, fish-eyed man. He now fell upon her with a stormy vengeance and began to ravish her. Cassandra's repugnance was further reinforced by the sliminess of his skin, which was tight against her belly and breasts. It was a relief, in a bizarre sense, when he decided to kneel upright between her splayed legs thus minimizing his contact with Cassandra's skin. He now held her ankles, wrenching them apart, and pumped his cock into her. Like the others, his massive erection filled and stretched her cunt, bottoming against her cervix with each of his ferocious thrusts.
Cassandra's body again betrayed her, so that after several vigorous thrusts by her assailant, she was once more in the throes of orgasm. Tsunamis of sensations washed over her, each one larger than the previous, until their crests became so immense that they broke over her and swept her away. It was a long-lasting climax, drowning her in a whirlpool of spasms and convulsions.
Similarly, the fish-eyed man did not last long. Upon reaching his climax, he stopped thrusting, sunk himself as deep as he could within Cassandra and released his pulsing streams of semen. The force of his ejaculation shocked Cassandra: She actually felt the forceful squirts of his brine splash within her like a crashing wave.
When the fished-eyed man had finished ejaculating, he withdrew abruptly. Cassandra, relieved that that particular ordeal was over, was now shuddering with dread at what awaited her at the hands of the tall one. She feared him, but she feared her bodily reaction more so.
"Now my sweet lady, it is my turn. Prepare yourself, for I will fuck you hard," the tall one sang to her.
Cassandra trembled as the tall one approached her, his cock waving menacingly with his movements. Her legs were closed, as they had been after each of her rapes. The tall one sank to his knees, grabbed her ankles, and yanked her thighs wide apart.
The tall one stared at her now raw cunt and mocked, "Oh Gods be praised, my friend was correct: Your blossom is exquisite now that the petals are enlarged and gaping. The honey that issues from it, evidence of the industry of bees, is most divine. Allow me, with my stinger, to add my honey to this most welcoming of flowers."
And with that, the tall one plunged his immense cock into Cassandra. It was like a searing, white-hot beam, causing her to wail not only from wretchedness but also from shock due to the inferno and fullness that was now within her. The tall one was true to his word; he fucked her with savage force, banging against her clit with his pubis and knocking upon the entrance to her womb with the blunt tip of his blazing rod.
Her orgasm burst with the suddenness of a supernova. Millions upon millions of quanta of disconnected thoughts and memories exploded from the surface of Cassandra's brain, dissipating into the immense cosmos. And all through her climax, the rapist's cock seared and churned within her.
When the tall one climaxed, his fiery cum burned within her cunt, causing her to squirm with soreness. He then pulled his cock out from Cassandra and kept ejaculating over her belly and tits. The heat from his sperm was as hot on her skin as it was within her cunt.
It was over—or so she thought. When they informed her that she would need to submit to them again, she was spent and displayed no emotion. However, to her dismay, when they raped her again, she once more climaxed with each of them despite her attempt at detachment. This time, during their second circuit, they each took longer to ejaculate, so that Cassandra's sex became raw, tender and red from the vigorous intercourse she was forced to endure.
Finally, they were finished with her. Wordlessly, the four criminals walked away, each from whence they originally came.
As soon as the four men vanished from her view, the clouds lifted. The sun filled the sky. A gentle breeze came up. The surf began to wash and recede upon the shore. The earth seemed to tremble just a little before again becoming static.
Cassandra collected her things and began the long trudge back to her car. She was weary and understandably jumpy at the slightest noise. Fluids leaked out of her as she walked, but she resisted wiping any away, determined to leave as much evidence as possible.
When Cassandra reached her car, she collapsed in the seat and bawled. Convulsions of grief shook her entire body as she rested her head against the steering wheel. Eventually, Cassandra's tears abated. She knew she had to go straight to the police to report the assault and to submit to examinations. However, at that moment, she had one of her visitations and prophecies.
She could see—not imagine, but literally see—the police and medical report; she could even see the typeset and the signatures at the bottom.
The police report would contain a description of the men as provided by Cassandra, but it would state that no gang members from any criminal elements known to police fit the descriptions of the alleged assailants. There was mention of the score of language tapes that were played to the alleged victim to help her identify the nationality of her alleged attackers, yet no positive identification was obtained.
But there were also several paragraphs detailing Cassandra's past sexual affairs, both during and after her marriage. There was also a description of the clothing Cassandra wore. The alleged crime scene, the report would declare, offered no evidence since the sand was shifted by wind and surf. When she saw all this in her vision, Cassandra knew that the police would treat her case with little seriousness.
The vision of the medical report, however, is what truly distressed her. It would show that no traces of semen from her clothing, body, or vagina were detected; however, copious amounts of an inorganic liquid was found on her body and within her vagina. The report would also state that no foreign DNA was detected anywhere on her body or possessions. It would also mention the absence of bruises on her body other than her vagina. However, the recovery of significant amounts of banana, strawberry, chocolate, sand, and bits of paper—which forensics determined originated from a wine label—from her body and vagina would be cited. The report would conclude that the inorganic fluid was a lubricant of unknown origin and that the vaginal bruising was most likely self inflicted due to overly energetic masturbation with a banana, wine bottle, and possibly other objects. The report would end with a recommendation for psychiatric evaluation and counselling.
Cassandra's vision allowed her to see that her rape would be dismissed and that the publicity of the story would be devastating to her. She would be viewed as an oversexed, middle-aged woman who dressed provocatively, who had numerous sexual liaisons in the past, and who wanted for some bizarre reason to perform an elaborate prank on the police.
Cassandra began to sob again. It were as if she had stumbled into the path of the dumb forces of nature—The Sun, the Wind, the Earth, and the Water—blind, unfeeling forces that collected its victims indiscriminately and that were immune to the cries, pain, and protestations of the unfortunates. It were as if she had encountered impulsive forces that carried out its destruction with impunity and disregard to mortal pleas.
Cassandra left the top of her convertible up, locked the doors, and drove home.
She decided not to report her rape to the police.