/ Language: English / Genre:home_sex

The chamber of pleasures

Opal Andrews

Opal Andrews

The chamber of pleasures



Well, deare olde diary, here I am home early again from a date. This time it was with Larry, the Reverend Mister Collier's son, and I certainly had every reason to believe that his sweet kind gentle Lawrence would be different from other boys.

He isn't. We went to a movie, and he tried to hold my hand. I resisted, several times, and then when it seemed I had taught him that I am no easy girl who holds hands with just anybody at all, I let him. It was rather nice, although hands get a little hot and perspirey (I don't know if that's a word, but I refuse to say "sweaty"!) after a while. Anyhow, after a while my hand was not only hot and perspirey, my arm was tired and getting cramped, so I detached my fmgers from his and moved my hand to my lap.

He reached over there to hold it! With his fingertips touching me! I could feel them, right through my dress!

After that, understandably enough, I reached over with my other hand, firmly detached his from mine, and transferred it back to the arm of the seat.

He tried twice more during the movie, but I wouldn't have any of that.

Then, when the movie was over and we were getting into his father's car, he tried to kiss me.

"This is our first date, Larry," I told him. "I think you're moving just a little too fast, don't you? What would your father think, for Heaven's sake?"

He stared at me as if I were some kind of nut. I hate having to record the word he used, right here in my own diary, but I must if this diary of my Life is going to be honest. No, I won't! I can't! Weil, the word he used was the four-letter one, but what he meant when he said just two words was this:

"Screw Dad!"

(Understand that he did not say "screw", but the four-letter word meaning the same thing, and I will not record it here.)

I immediately went as stiff as a board, stared straight ahead, and ordered him to bring me home. He did, and without even apologizing. We did not say one word all the way home.



It will be three months tomorrow that Daddy's been laid off. He hasn't been able to find anything else. Poor Daddy!

Poor us! I can tell Mother's very very worried, and money is just terribly tight. Oh yes, that reminds me. Although I agree with Mother that brassieres should be tight, I have definitely outgrown both the ones I have. (Oh if only God had blessed me with a diminutive bosom, like Mother's, rather than these… well. I suppose I am admirably suited to nurse babies, some day when I find a decent man…

Anyhow, I've had these bra's since my Freshman year in High School, and they're not only old and frayed and not too white any more, I have grown since then! They pinch. Mounds of soft white flesh bulge over the fabric. If only Mother would let me go to bed without wearing a bra!

Ah well, our Victoria says with a sigh, it's time for bed. My poor bosom feels so tight and painful, in this too-tight bra. Perhaps I'll be able to go to sleep on my back.


All my life I have been taught not to touch my body, or to allow it to be touched. I have not, and I have been very careful when bathing, especially not to touch my furry little Mound of Venus or my breasts, even though they always tingle and feel they want to be massaged once they're free of those awful bras. Only Ted has ever touched them, and I slapped him so hard that night my hand was red and tingly for hours. Just his touch made my bra feel even tighter, and I could tell the tip of my breast had gotten longer; it hurt, from being squeezed into the bra. But that night of all nights I did not touch myself or even dream of removing my bra before going to bed.

I record this tonight because I was whistled at today, just walking down the street. It made me feel all sorts of things; sort of warm and tingly, and angry, and rather nice, too. After all, someone thought I was pretty enough to whistle at!

I came home and couldn't seem to stop thinking about it, and I succumbed to the sin of vanity.

I came up here to my room and locked the door and kept looking at myself in the dresser mirror every time I passed. And I passed it a lot. I realized I was walking around on purpose, just so I could keep looking at myself. Admiring myself!

If mother knew that!

Or Rev Coffler!

But if they'd ever known what I did after that…!

Well, I bathed. And came out of the bathroom wearing my robe. I couldn't help looking at myself again, some more, sort of checking. Is that a pretty girl, I thought? Is that the sort of girl men whistle at?

Oh gosh, I thought, is this the sort of body that incites men's lusts? Was I created a harlot, a Jezebel, in the body of a… a temptress, despite the family I belong to and the upbringing and beliefs I have?

I stood there in front of the mirror staring at myself. Just staring and staring. Large blue eyes, quite blue, and I don't know if I like that or not. They're sort of like a baby's eyes, they're always so much bluer than when the child gets older.

A perfectly ordinary nose, neither a button nor a handsome British one like Deborah Kerr's, but not a hook or anything, either, thank Heaven. (Ah, vanity, vanity!) A nice mouth, I guess; who knows about mouths? A little wide, maybe, to be honest, and a little full of the lower lip. And all this blonde hair.

"You look just like Justine," Mr. Grayson told me one day after Lit class in my Junior year, just before I had the asthma trouble and cost Mother and Daddy so much money and had to miss two years of school. (It's embarrassing, about to enter High School this fall as an EIGHTEEN-year-old SENIOR, for Heaven's sake! Besides, I'd rather just have stayed out, and gotten a job. Mother and Daddy need the help I could give them by bringing in some money. But Daddy and his pride! He wouldn't hear of it. HE didn't finish High School, he said, and look at him. Dinky house old car and now he's laid off and we're really hurting. I sigh.)

Anyhow, Mr. Grayson told me I looked just like Justine. "Justine?" I echoed, frowning. "Justine who?"

He laughed, making me feel sort of small. "There," he said, "that's just it. That little frown, the big wide blue eyes, so innocent, and that pursed mouth, so sensuous. That's your Justine look!"

"But who's Justine?"

He shook his head. "I shouldn't have mentioned it. She's the, ah, protagonist in a very wicked book. Its title is Justine. Actually I don't know if she was ever described or not. I don't remember. But all the way through I saw her as a soft pale blond with big blue eyes and a mouth like yours, wide, but with a full lower lip. Very sensuous. The perfect…"


He shook his head again. "I'm sorry," he said.

"The perfect what, Mr. Grayson?" Maybe I was flirting a little. Shameful me! But I was also fascinated, of course. I have had this terrible curiosity ever since I was a child. Everyone tells me it's going to get me into trouble some day. Humpf. Well, it hasn't!

"The perfect… victim," he said, in a low voice, and he looked at me so intensely I was paralyzed, like a mouse or a rabbit staring at a cobra.

Well, the bell rang, and that was that. And after that I was very careful not to be anywhere alone with Mr. Grayson!

Eventually, of course, very carefully and sneakily, I found out who had written a "very wicked book" called Justine.

I was shocked. I am still shocked.

Justine was a book written by… The Marquis de Sade! Everyone knows what a monster HE was! And I look like… oh, that's terrible!

I wander here in my diary, don't I? I must try to stop that, curb it. A wandering mind is an idle one, and one should have a fixed purpose in all things. I've heard that often enough, from more mouths than one. Even…

Um-hm! I'm wandering again!

I was about to write down what I did after my bath. Well… I stood there and kept staring at myself, and maybe it was an accident or maybe it was deliberate. I had been on my way to bed, after all, and I hadn't even bothered to tie my robe. It fell open.

There I was, staring at myself in the mirror, and… naked!

I… I studied myself. Shamelessly… and shamefully, how clever I am sometimes!… for quite a while.

The pale fringes around my eyes are like… are like… oh come on, Victoria, this is your diary!

The pale fringes around my eyes are like the almost invisible little fringe that hems, but doesn't even cover, the little pink slit right at the bottom of my belly. The hair there is tenderly, curling like silk all around and even on that little pink stripe down the center of the swollen place, the lips. (Silly to call them that; they're not a they, they're an it, and it's turned the wrong way to be a mouth, anyhow!

Rounded, snowy thighs that touch each other all the way down to the knees, and knees with delicate little dimples, and then legs below that that I still think are too calfy. Small feet, that's a blessing; surely my fanny is too much, all round and white and sticky-outy. Just too prominent and round to be decent!

Not much stomach to speak of, on that pale girl in the mirror, just a slight narrow swelling between the cradle formed by the hips, with a shallow, longish navel denting it just in the center.

But both that tummy and its navel are shadowed. Shadowed, by what it is that makes my brassieres so painfully tight and that makes Mother make me wear tight bras anyhow, and loose blouses. Well, tonight I really studied them. It, I mean, my bosom. In two halves. Even and equal and identical, as far as I was able to tell.

They stood there before me, round and very white and solid looking, pushing out from my chest as if they were about to spring free of me, to fly or float about in the air. So buoyant looking. Surging up and out, forward, with each breath I took. They bounced with every little movement I made, jiggling and rippling, sort of like Jell-O when you drop it onto your plate if Jell-O were white.

And with pink, pink tips set in paler pink circles like… well, like silver dollars, I guess, but whoever sees silver dollars any more? (Well, more people than see the preposterously developed halves of my ridiculous bosom, anyhow!) (What a thought!)

They don't droop at all, the breasts I am stuck with for life. They just stand there, jiggling and shaking. Looking like they'd make me float and float, if I were to jump.

I jumped.

They bounced way up, and when they come down it hurt. They dragged at me, and I realized they are HEAVY, and so now I know one good reason to keep on wearing those nasty tight brassieres!

I have a bra on now, under my nightgown as I write this. And I am going to stop. They hurt. They're very tight-feeling, as they are every month – right before The Curse begins. I can feel a little pain right at the tips. They've gotten long again.


Aunt Isobel is coming to visit us! How exciting! And it's been four months since Daddy was laid off; how terrible!


Another date. He tried to kiss me at the door. He'd been a perfect gentleman up to then. But he would have to put his hands on me and try to kiss me, right at the door. For a moment I felt weak, my eyelids heavy, wanting to close, and my stomach fluttered. But I was strong. I reminded myself. I tore away from him and fled inside.

This awful tight bra hurts again.


Aunt Isobel must be about forty, quite thin with jet, JET black hair and too much lipstick, pink. She studied me as if I were in a fair and she was the judge. Then she looked at Daddy and Mother.

"Doesn't look any the worse for that asthma, I'll say that. A fine-looking girl you've raised, George. And you too, Mary, of course." She looked again at me. "Don't let that go to your head, girl," she said, just as clipped-off and abrupt, and she swung her face back to Mother and Daddy. "She'd never suffer from asthma in Denver! And certainly not where I live."

Denver? I suppose not… but how could we go to Denver? Is the work situation… for Daddy… any better out there? And what would we use for money to move? Aunt Isobel has some money, I know that. But that doesn't make it ours!

I don't know if I like her or not. She talks like she has springs on her jaws snapping them shut on each word.


No time! I am not happy, but I am not wholly unhappy either. I just don't know. At least it will be a new experience, and I can understand that it will help Mother and Daddy a lot, the money and all. But I hate to leave.

I am going to Denver with Aunt Isobel. I've just packed. We leave in the morning. I'm going to LIVE there. Her companion and maid and… I don't know. Something like that. Someone to be with her. And of course Mother and Daddy won't have to worry about buying my food and clothing and everything. Aunt Isobel made it very plain that I would be expected to work.

Fine. It will pass the time, particularly if I find that I don't like Denver, or living with her.

I still don't know whether I like her or not, but I suppose I'd better. It's too late to worry about it now!

I admit that I am excited. I've crossed out three words already. It's time to stop. But will I get to sleep?


I don't know if I like Denver or not. I haven't really seen it. It's big, I know that. I've been here a month, though, and have scarcely been out of the house. Aunt Isobel has groceries and everything else sent in. I think she must have a lot more money than we thought. I don't even remember what Uncle William did before he died so young. Some sort of engineer.

And the house! It's big, it's huge. It's enough for ten. There are five bedrooms, for Heaven's sake. And two baths, and a dining room, and a basement, and an attic, and an enormous kitchen and a garage and even servant's quarters, out back, although no one lives there. She says we… we!… have eight acres. It's mostly trees.

Oh, and the other things!

I came out of the tub one night to find my robe gone, although I was sure I'd hung it right there on the wall. Sort of scared, I came out sneakily.

There in my bedroom sat Aunt Isobel! My robe was in her hands, and on her lap lay my brassieres… both of them! I squeaked, covered myself with my hands, and ducked back into the bathroom.

"What I thought," she said. "You're a large-bosomed girl, and probably injuring your health wearing those terrible old cotton bras."

Each of the last two words was said with great vehemence, and I heard ripping sounds. Later I discovered why: she had torn each bra, right through the cups, while she was talking.

"And this robe is a disgrace. And your panties. And this ancient gown! You must understand, Victoria… ridiculous name!… that I cannot have a ragamuffin living with me! Not one of those nasty little no-bra girls in the miniskirts, either, but not a ragamuffin! Now I am leaving this room. I am leaving behind one of my gowns, and you are to sleep in it tonight."

"But…" I started, peeping around the doorjamb.

She stared. Eyes like ice. Hair like midnight. Voice like a sword, cuts right through you. "BUT? But WHAT, Miss?"

I looked at the floor. "But… tomorrow… my underclothes…"

"Worry about tomorrow, Victoria, when tomorrow comes! Now go to bed and don't stir out of this room before eleven A.M.."

"Elev… b…" Oh no, I thought, I won't say "but" again! "Uh, breakfast, Aunt Isobel?"

"You really must try to stop questioning me, Vic… you know I really dislike that name? I shall have to call you something else. What's your other name?"


"Victoria Marie?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She shook her head. "Ignorant, ignorant. The name of a terrible English dictatrix, coupled with a French name, for mercy sake! Well. What have you always wanted to be called?"

"Umm… most everyone at school called me Vicky…"

"That is NOT what I asked," she snapped, and her gaze pierced me until I was sure she could see right through the wall and the towel I held before me. It was damp, and I was nervous about the wall. It was papered.

"I… ummm…" All I could think of was "Justine", for some ridiculous and perverse reason, but I was not about to say that!

"All right al right, I haven't all night. Step out here. Step out here in the open, I say! There. Um-hm. Now drop that ridiculous towel. Victoria Marie Oldenkamp! Drop that damned towel, do you think I am Satan's agent or something? I am not interested in your childish body, merely in trying to size up its measurements. Good Heavens, that someone with a past like mine could be taken to be interested in girls… Well. DROP it."

Trembling, feeling very humiliated and embarrassed and ashamed, I dropped the towel. I was close onto tears. Dreadful woman!

"Good… Heavens," she said, staring. "Good Heavens." She jerked her head up as though she'd been asleep. "Turn around." I did, and I felt as though my backside were going goose-pimply all over. I heard her little intake of breath. "Now present me with your profile."

I did so, staring straight ahead and blushing from the roots of my hair to my toenails.

"Heavens," she said, in a low voice. "You are just beautifully structured, girl! Unbelievable, I swear. Certainly that is the finest rump I have ever seen and you must be the biggest-titted girl in Colorado!"

I gasped, and stood there trembling, and finally I had had quite enough. Summoning all my strength and courage, I spun to face her.

She was gone.

I dived into bed and wept. I slept naked.

It felt glorious.


I have a new name. It comes from Victoria, but I'd never have thought of it. I don't know if I like it or not Aunt Isobel says it is just delightful, and that it is really just the opposite of the word "rebel" and thus fits someone as meek as I am.(MEEK! If she only knew I had spun around to tell her off! Aargh… that woman!)

My name is Tory. Thus sayeth Isobel, and so let it be done.

I sigh, and I record it here again, an admission and a statement:

I am Tory.

And it is only fitting that I should have a new name. For… I have all new clothing!

I don't know how she does it.

Yes I do; she ORDERS people, and they quail before that rocky thin face and that magnificent black hair and those iceberg eyes!

At five minutes to eleven, when I was still moping about my room, wearing, by then, her nightgown (all perfumey-smelling), there was a sharp knock at the door. Then it opened. A hand came in; hers. It held a box. It dropped the box. The hand disappeared; another box came in and was dropped. Then a third. Thump, on the floor, three white boxes with "Allen's" on them, in royal blue script, with a little crown.

"You have received these boxes in order. There are things in them that will fit you and probably some that will not. Hurry along and try them out, and when you've found what does fit, come right along to the library." That was my Aunt Isobel's voice, and that was all. The door closed.

Should I gush and gush for pages and pages, and talk about every thing in those boxes, or shall I try to be restrained and brief?

The first box contained five brassieres of some white artificial fabric, very slicky and smooth. They were unpadded and unboned. The first I tried on was too large, even for my bosom. The second fitted, and felt wonderful, but I tried the other three, too. Two of them were all right, but the second was perfect. I left it on, bouncing and pirouetting shamelessly before the mirror. I looked magnificent!

That first box also contained four pairs of dainty little slicky laboratory-fabric pants briefs! They were all white, and one was too small and I suppose the one I liked best was a shade loose. But I decided on that. Then there were two half-slips, a pale blue and a white. Both fit superbly.

When at last I went down, walking on air and yet feeling rather embarrassed, I wore a new bra and new naughty brief panties and a huge-collared blue blouse with very blousy sleeves and snug cuffs and plain white buttons, and a dark blue straight skirt. I carried everything else.

Aunt Isobel waited in the library, with a woman of about thirty-five or forty, I don't know, I'm not much of a judge. She was blond, short-haired, and wore a beautiful pants-suit just a little darker than sky-blue. It did not look at all indecent I never learned her name. Aunt I didn't bother to introduce us. She was from Allen's. Allen's is not the most expensive store in Denver, but it is far from cheap, I have learned that.

"What a beautiful girl!" the woman from Allen's said. "What a magnificent figure!"

"Isn't it," Aunt Isobel snapped. "Tory, are you quite sure you chose the underwear that fits best?"

I nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

She sighed, "I suppose I shall take your word for it. And the blouse and skirt certainly do. Well then. You have the sizes?"

The woman nodded. "I know what I brought, and all I have to do is check off what's missing."

"Good. This over-brought-up child is very, very modest indeed. All right then. One more of the brassieres in white, and one each in black and in blue. A half-dozen blouses in assorted colors… she waved her hand… and some skirts, and um, perhaps a wide belt or two. Hose… pantyhose."

I stood there with my mouth open. The woman from Allen's sat there very coolly, smiling and nodding and writing it down, and then she picked up the three boxes to go. As she passed me she stopped, smiled, and said, "You really are a lovely girl, Tory," and then she left while I stood there with a burning face.

"Before you say anything, Tory," Aunt Isobel said, "don't. That's all. I don't want you getting breast-cancer from those God-awful cinch-straps you came here with, and I can't abide the sight of the rest of that junk. When's your birthday?"

"October… eighteen," I stammered, feeling as though there were a hickory nut in my throat.

She nodded. "Good then. I am remembering your birthday early this year. Happy birthday. And start fixing us a decent lunch for a change. Going without breakfast for once won't hurt you."

"Aunt Isobel…"

"You're quite welcome," she said. Another dismissal. It was very hard for me, but I went to the door, heading for the kitchen.

"Tory," she said.

I stopped and half-turned.

"You answer very nicely to a very nice name," she said, and she was almost smiling. Almost. "And you really are very lovely girl. Shoulders UP! Chest OUT! But then you can't help that, I suppose…" She fluttered a hand. "Well, go along, go along, was up early and all I had was toast and coffee and I'll want a big lunch!" She got a big lunch.


Tory is a doll. Tory is beautiful. Tory has the most beautiful clothing in the world, and her Aunt Isobel isn't her Aunt Isobel at all; she's her fairy Godmother!


My curiosity peeketh. Aunt Isobel goes out some place at night. Out through the trees at the rear of the house. Where? I dare not even ask.


It has been nearly a month since I have written here. I have thought about it, but I have not felt like writing. Nor can I bear to write very much. I shall merely make a record, and try to do it without crying again. Aunt Isobel told me today that I have had red-eyes for a month, and she is getting tired of it. I am to "Straighten up, Tory girl!"

Mother and Daddy are dead.

Daddy did it. He was still laid off, and still not able to get other work, and too proud to take help from all these Federal things. So he killed them both. I hope it was an agreement… oh I can't…


That was yesterday. There's a big tear-blotch on the paper; these felt point pens run when they're wet.

Daddy and Mother were found dead in the car in the garage with the door shut and overcoats and rugs stuffed against it and the car windows down and the key on and the gas gauge on empty. Carbon monoxide poisoning. No note. There was an overdrawn notice on the living room table beside the lamp, and a piece of baloney and a half-pint of milk in the refrigerator. We went, with Aunt Isobel taking charge and bustling me along, thank God, and somehow we got through the funeral and burial and the life insurance man told her they would pay even though it was suicide: Daddy had a thousand-dollar policy and another one for thirty-five-hundred. The house was rented, of course, and the car worth about a hundred dollars.

She sat me down and stared into my face; she had to hold my chin up with one kid-gloved hand.

"Tory. Listen a moment, and think carefully. Do you want anything from here?" I shook my head.

"Nothing? Not even a remembrance? A letter-opener or an old lamp or an old teddy-bear or whatever? Nothing?"

I shook my head.

She told somebody she knew to sell the car for whatever it brought, auction or give away everything else, take anything he wanted, pay off the funeral home and anything else Daddy owed, and keep what was left as his fee. She turned aside when he started to talk, probably to say no, he'd do it for nothing, and she scribbled something out and signed it. She handed it to him.

We left. We returned to Denver. A week later a box came in the mail. She showed it to me, told me it was a memento from home, and asked if I wanted to open it. I didn't. She put it in the top of the front hall closet. It wasn't all that simple; we both had to sign legal thing and all that, but I think all that's over by now. I am an orphan. I live in Denver, with my fairy Godmother, who was my father's sister – and whom I call Isobel because she's tired of hearing "Aunt" and says it's a terrible waste of breath to preface her name with it all the time.

I wished I were dead for a long while, wished I'd been there to die with them. I'm over that now.



I don't know what to do. It's been a long month since I have written anything here, and I am not the lame person as she who wrote the last entry. And that girl, Tory, was not the same as the Victoria who first began this diary. Now I don't know what to do, and I should… I must… tell it to someone SO… this little book with all its blank pages and empty lines.

There is so much.

Our nearest neighbor, although there are eight acres here, is less than one mile away. Straight through the woods out back. I met him a few weeks after… after their deaths. He is Mr. Parker, and Aunt… I mean Isobel… calls him Erik. Erik Parker. A tall man, thin or rather slim, with large hands with long fingers. A great deal of black-and-gray hair, combed straight back from a high forehead. Beautiful gray sideburns, almost white in places. A very well-trimmed beard. Is he fifty? Forty-five? Fifty-five? I don't know. He has eyes every bit as piercing as Au… as Isobel's, but his are a deep brown.

He is a very handsome man.

He lives in a strange stone place that was some sort of gamekeeper's lodge long, long ago when not only our property and his but a lot of the surrounding area was one vast estate. His place ii surrounded by trees and grapevines and all sorts of underbrush. I don't think the grapevines bear. He isn't interested in agriculture.

He is as strange as Isobel. He lives alone… well, no. That's another strange part. There are a young man and woman living with him. She cooks and launders and does the housework, and the young man, I assume, does everything else there is to do.

I was very shocked to learn that they are not married. It is not only a strange, but doubtless a sinful household.

Mr. Parker, of course, has money. He reads a great deal, he says, and thinks, he says, with his great dark eyes piercing while he speaks and his beard writhing a bit, and he writes. Articles, and he says he is doing the story of his life and of all humankind. Whatever that means.

It is to his place that Aunt Isobel has been going at nights. Walking, through the woods, all alone, to return sometime before I awake. It is all too strange, and a little scary. I know why I have begun to write here but even as I write I am trying to talk myself out of it, what I am thinking, but the mystery, the suspense, is far too much for anyone, certainly, and definitely far far too much for anyone with my curiosity. I must try to dissuade myself.

No, I have only steeled my resolve.

I shall.

I shall follow her.


Oh no, no, no! I must be crazy, I must be going out of my MIND, I must have been dreaming! It just couldn't be! Nothing like that could be, surely! Not in this country, not in this century! Oh my God, I can't even write about it. No, No. NO!


It happened. I wasn't dreaming. I am sure, now. I was not dreaming, or hallucinating, or anything else other than seeing exactly what I thought I saw.

I will try to record it here, in every detail.

To begin with, it's been five days… or rather five nights, since I watched Aunt Isobel slip from the house and begin that strange and lonely walk through the woods behind the house. She wore a blouse and skirt, both navy blue, and boots. Since I had planned to follow her, I had slipped into one of the snug-sleeved blouses she recently purchased for me, and slacks, and I wore soft-soled house slippers so as not to make noise. I too wore dark colors; the blouse is red and the slacks black. And I followed her, through the woods. I was very careful to move from tree to tree and make no noise, and now and again when a branch rustled at my passage or a twig snapped beneath my foot I froze behind a free or squatted and froze. But to my knowledge my aunt Isobel did not even glance around. She just moved swiftly on through the frees, scrambled easily over the old rock fence at the place where it has fallen nearly to the ground, and approached the old house where Erik Parker lives with the young man and woman who are his servants: Lois and Miles.

The house was dark, but she went right up to knock at the door, anyhow, and I slipped in as closely as I could, behind a huge old oak not thirty feet froth the door. I saw her knock, and then I heard the voice from inside. "Who's there?"

"A wayward woman in need of counsel," she called back. Strange words! I frowned, wondering.

"There is no counsel here for wayward women, whore of the night!" I beard Mr. Parker's voice call back from inside, and I had to press my hand over my mouth as if to physically hold back my gasp. He used that word to my aunt; he called her that awful name! AND he was going on:

"Here there is only chastisement for your sinful body, which you must accept without question."

"I accept it," she replied, and I felt a prickling under my arms. "Strip, then, right where you are."

My eyes flared wide. Even in the darkness I could see that she obeyed, stripping off her clothing and dropping it right there on the little porch of that old stone house with its charming tiled roof. When she had finished, she announced that she was now naked… she said naked, not "nude"… and suddenly the door opened. She went into the dark house.

I stood there and stared and stared, listening without hearing anything at all. I was fearful, horrified, frightened… my emotions were many, and I trembled. I was sure that I had heard and partially witnessed some strange rite, and I felt certain that it was not the first time just such words and actions had taken place here.

I had not known the little stone house had a basement until I saw the light appear, near the ground. At last realizing that it came from within, that there were casement windows, I approached stealthily, fearfully, and with pounding heart. All sorts of shrubs and some mums had been planted there, and I scratched my arm and was just able to avoid crying out when I came into contact with a little thorny tree. Fearing I had made a noise they might have heard, within the house, I was still for perhaps a minute. It seemed, of course, like hours.

At last I moved further in, espying the window now. Staying just outside the square of light emanating from the window, I peered within. And my mind was staggered by a second shock far greater than the first, when I had heard those strange exchanges of words and had watched my aunt stripping off her clothing.

In that basement, or wine-cellar, or whatever it had once been, I saw my aunt and Mr. Parker and both Miles and Lois.

My aunt still wore no clothing, and I really believe my first reaction was one of astonishment at the fact that her loins were as smoothly-shorn as a child's, as a girl's before she reaches that age at which her breasts begin to swell and the soft fur begins to grow to conceal the mound and the nether lips of her sex. Those soft pink lips were very visible, obscenely bared, for my aunt's lower belly was entirely hairless. Furthermore, it was some time before I realized that she wore rouge or dye of some sort; at first I was so naive as to believe that the intensely red color of her puffy little lips was either, natural pigmentation or the fiery result of… what had been done to them.

She stood awkwardly, her bare thighs and legs apart, for one of those roughly X-shaped, spring-closing clothespins had been clamped to each of her nether lips. They drooped low, long red lobes that framed an open cavity into her, body, not, a tight line such as that which pierces my vulva as though incised with a single, swift drawing of a razor blade down the mound. (What a horrid thought! I shudder as I find myself entering here auth a terrible analogy!)

I tried to imagine the pain to those soft, so-tender lips, of having clothespins clamped to each of them and then left there, to squeeze and pinch the flesh and draw it downward as they dangled beneath her, between her thighs.

I do not know in what order to record all this. I shall put it down as each incredible portion rushes redly back into my staggering mind.

Around each of Isobel's ankles was a leather band with a huge buckle; the straps were perhaps three inches high, and thick-looking, like a shortened version of a hippy's belt. The leather was black.

She wore the same leather straps around her wrists, and another circled her neck, and I could see that her waist was fearfully constricted by the belt, also of black leather but surely five inches high, that encircled her. Despite her slimness, her flesh bulged whitely above and below that tightly-drawn and buckled strap. She was blindfolded with a strip of black, cloth, and her wrists were linked together behind her back; each of the straps was equipped with rings and hooks, making them resemble the horse harnesses one sees hanging in small town hardware stores.

Her breasts!

They were rather fuller than I had expected, and I am sure now that she wears no brassiere, not ever, which makes her look less bosomy than she is. Those soft, intensely white hemispheres were set well apart on her chest. They were not huge and perhaps they could not be called large, certainly not by comparison with my own bosom's twin lobes. But the tips, like her sexual lips, were incredibly red, and again I realized that her aureole and thick nipples had been dyed or painted with something; perhaps vegetable dye?

That deep red color was visible to me despite the fact that… that… ah horror!… that to each of her nipples was clamped another of those spring clothespins! They dragged each deep pink nipple downward, making it look long…

At last, with a sinking feeling, I recognized the other adornments to the satiny half-spheres of her breasts. I shuddered violently and closed my eyes, digging my nails into the palms of my hands. But I had to open my eyes and look on; I was totally incapable of not watching them!

Into each of her breasts, including the crimson aureoles circling the clothes pinned tips, had been thrust several of the thorns from the bush or slim tree I had just encountered! They varied from the thickness of a needle to that of ordinary pencil-lead, which is quite thick indeed to be stabbed into human flesh and left there to sting and throb! Most of them were about the length of an ordinary sewing-needle, and they protruded from her flesh at varying lengths; some had been thrust in deeper, perhaps with more force than others.

I could not understand why I had not heard her agonized screams while those terrible thorns were being imbedded in the enchanting swells of her bosom!

Thus have I described my aunt, whose body, I am forced and rather proud to declare, looked more like that of a woman of perhaps thirty than of forty, which I believed her to be.

Now the others. The monsters. Her tormentors. (Yes, I know, and I will say so now: the tormentors of a willing victim!)

Erik Parker wore a long brown robe with a thrown-back cowl. I mean a long robe; past his ankles. Had he been tonsured he'd have resembled a monk. As it was, just that robe, girt with a shiny belt of black leather matching that of his boots, added flavor of the Inquisition to that medieval scene of horror and obscenity; he looked for all the world like a monk with a full head of hair and a beard.

Nearby stood the girl Lois. I do not know how old she is. Perhaps my age? Fifteen or twenty, eighteen or twenty-five? I do not know. She wore a black body stocking that covered her from the tips of her toes to her chin, where it rose in a turtle neck. But… either that sheath of black that fitted her like her own skin had been made extraordinarily, or it had been altered with scissors and new hems. For, with shocking lasciviousness and unbelievable immodesty, it had been left open to reveal her naked and painted breasts, her lower sexual parts.

She too was shorn to reveal the intimate deft between the puffy, hot-pink lips of her sex; She too had had paint or dye applied to the enviable and deep swells of her breasts, which jutted forth from her black sheath in a display that drew the eye like twin, snow-colored magnets with rust-red tips.

Even as I stared at her, she plucked another thorn from the silver tray in her left hand, poised her hand while she took careful aim, and rammed it so hard into Isobel's left breast that the lovely globe bounded and quivered in the air. I saw my aunt's mouth open wide, but heard no sound. She only gasped, I thought, despite what must have been terrible pain; what a strong and brave woman she is!

(What am I thinking? I asked myself. She is here voluntarily. She is naked voluntarily. She submits voluntarily to their lascivious gazes and their torment, and this is not the first time! She is as much monster as they!)

As to young, well-built Miles;… I shudder and blush even at the memory of his display of himself! I stared and stared, shivering and yet trying to tear my gaze from him. Impossible; it was as though my eyes were fastened to his body by invisible chains.

He wore boots, blood-red tights, and a broad black belt, and one glove, on his left hand. And… his tights, like those of Lois, were open at the most obscene of places. From that hole… which I saw had been cut in the shape of a heart; what perversity!… jutted a great and swollen shaft of an angry pink color, with, a mushrooming bead that at once looked bloated and soft, not like the shaft which seemed iron-like to me as I stared at them through that window… and purplish in color. Beneath dangled-no, hung, for they did not appear dangling, which implies a looseness… a very tight-looking sac of flesh containing two large round objects.

I am seeing, I thought with horror and a tingling tightening throughout my body, I am seeing, for the first time, a man's sexual equipment! That… that is his penis, and those are his… his… balls!

I shudder again at the thought of that first shocking sight. The angry throbbing arrogant way that bludgeon of flesh stood out before his hairy loins!

Erik Parker, with his back almost turned to me, waved a hand, and Miles went behind my aunt. Seizing her linked hands, he pulled them roughly behind her. That of course forced the poor woman to bend swiftly forward in order to avoid having her shoulders displaced. Her clothespin-pinched, thorn-pierced and festooned breasts swung below her bowed body like great white pears from a windblown tree.

And then I saw the whip that Erik Parker held, and even as I saw it he was swinging it… up!

It lashed across the already-tormented breasts of my poor aunt! She was utterly helpless to protect the soft dangling flesh from the five angry strips of leather that lashed the twin pear-shapes! She jerked violently, but behind her Miles only planted his feet… I could see the tensing of the excellent muscles in his calves… and held her there, bent helplessly forward as if… as if proffering her sweet bosom in silent invitation to the lash!

The monster lashed them twice again.

Then, while Erik looked on and Miles continued to hold Isobel in her bowed position, the girl stepped forward… she wore a great deal of red hair, have I mentioned that?… and began to seize and jerk forth the thorns piercing her whip-marked, teardrop breasts! Now I counted, shivering and helplessly watching, as she jerked each thorn out and dropped them into Erik's outstretched palm.

There were nine. Five of them emerged to be closely followed by a bright red bubble of blood that soon swelled and over-weighted itself to race down white flesh and drop onto the floor. I saw old stains, there, from past bloody droplets!

And then further horror: Handing Lois his whip, Erik, bent forward to lick and, suck away the blood from those horribly mistreated globes of soft flesh! The blood flow soon ceased, so tiny were the punctures, and soon there were only the dark spots on her breasts to mark where the thorns had sunk into the silken white flesh and had been liked forth again by that vicious red-haired harpy.

Now Miles began to walk slowly toward the far wall, forcing my still forward-bent aunt to follow, backward, and forcing me to change my position slightly in order to see clearly. The poor mistreated ripe melons of her breasts jiggled and bounced and swung wildly.

The far wall was adorned with a number of large metal rings bolted in place in the stone. To one of these rings, about four feet up, Miles clipped the hook on one of Isobel's leather manacles. Thus he no longer had to hold her arms up, but she was still forced to bend forward. The pain must have been considerable to her, with her wrists drawn up behind her like that.

Miles then stepped around in front of her, quite close, and though Erik and Lois moved in on either side to peer down between his body and my aunt's forward-bent head, I was unable to see other than Miles back. His arms were slightly bent. Although I could not see his hands, I felt that they were in my aunt's hair, or on her face. I watched his buttocks tighten beneath the close-fitting leotards he wore.

I could not imagine what was occurring, so stupid was I… and so stupid am I still, really, despite what I have seen.

But when at last be moved away I saw that the ferociously purple-red head of his sexual member was glistening strangely. Then I realized it was wet! And finally, since I am not after all stupid, I knew what I had seen without seeing: that doubtless smelly monstrosity had been implanted in my Aunt Isobel's mouth!

Though I had not really, literally seen it, I knew that I had indeed seen it, even from the back. Just the thought of it was enough nearly to overcome me with horror and disgust. My stomach rumbled and writhed within me. I swallowed again and again to keep my supper down. Shiver after violent shiver passed through my body and it was not for many minutes that I realized I was clutching my own bosom with fingers like talons. They rose and fell heavily and rapidly with my accelerated breathing.

I must now record the rest of it.

Miles stepped aside and Erik replaced him directly before the pitifully naked woman bending forward from the wail. Again I did not actually see it… thank God!… but again I knew: he like Miles before him, was forcing her mouth to round wide to take into its tender warmth the great head of his swollen organ of generation!

After a time he stepped back, staggering a little, I thought. I wondered if she had bitten him. I suppose not; I suppose he was that greatly sensually excited by the lascivious and obnoxious act to which he forced her. Again he gestured and by this time I had decided that they were speaking, that Aunt Isobel had most likely cried out at the unexpected arid visions jerking of the thorns from her aching breasts, but that they had somehow contrived to soundproof that chamber, despite the window through which I watched them. At another gesture… doubtless accompanied by a sentence or two… from Erik, Lois moved quickly to him and knelt beside him. Slowly, he turned.

My head swam. My stomach knotted and my eyes bused. Again, unconsciously, I dug the nails of my left hand into my palm while my right hand pressed hard into my breast.

From his disarranged robe now thrust a great shaft of angry red flesh, veined and curving upward toward the huge dark tip which I could clearly see was wet and glistening from Isobel's ravaged mouth.

But now, even as I stared, that menacing cylinder of steely sexual flesh throbbed and jerked before the face of the kneeling Lois. She tilted back her head, closed her eyes, and opened wide her mouth. Wider. She put her hands behind her back. (I assume now that she was being instructed… commanded, more likely.)

I saw it clearly. He moved forward, bending a little. The huge dark head of his engorged and pulsating member touched her wide-held mouth. Then he plunged it within, and I was astonished to see the entire head of it disappear into her poor, mouth, and another inch or more of the shaft immediately behind that plum-sized crown was soon contained within the kneeling girl's face.

I saw the naked missile-shapes of her dark-tipped breasts quiver and quake as she gasped for breath… through, I assume, her nose. The nostrils flared. Her eyes remained shut. Her body was jerked, her hands still crossed atop her burgeoning rump-globes, as he thrust himself in and out of her helplessly hollowed face, several times.

Then, stepping back, he half-bent to seize the girl by her nudely proffered bubs and raise her thus to her feet. I assume that she helped herself rise and thus relieved a great deal of what would have been agony, surely. But I am sure she still felt pain.

I had watched them, rather than Miles and Isobel, and I now saw that he had taken her loose from the wall and forced the poor nude woman forward, on her soft belly, over a pair of ordinary sawhorses set close together, side by side. Thus was formed a platform for her prone torso, a platform perhaps three inches across her naked breast-swells dangled, one on either side of the sawhorses. Her legs, too bestrode them, and I was sure she felt pain and discomfort from the rough wood against that soft, soft flesh of her inner thighs… and… and against the poor, hairless, lower lips that were still held apart by the pinching clothespins!

Forcing her to bend her legs in such a manner that her unclothed rump was thrust well upward in a helplessly obscene invitation, he bound her ankles and then her wrists. Another piece of cord was laid over her back, just on the leather belt, and then pulled down beneath the sawhorses and back up, where he knotted it tightly on her back. She was thus bound very securely to the sawhorses and prevented from all but the tiniest of movements.

The three monsters of the woods then beat my naked and defenseless aunt.

Lois' breasts leaped high and shuddered down, bouncing, as she raised a three-thonged whip and brought it down with what I could plainly see was considerable force. The thongs lashed vertically down the gleaming white, trembling right hemisphere of my aunt's bottom, and rose again to sweep down once more, this time vertically striping the left half-globe of white flesh. I saw Isobel clench those whipped cheeks tightly together, and I saw the dark lines left by the the whip.

Lois stepped back, handing the whip to Miles. Lois watched, each of her hands cupping her own naked mammary globes and squeezing them, her eyes flashing and her bosom heaving in excitement as she stared at the helplessly upturned target.

In Miles' hand, the three-tailed lash whistled down to sear its way across both striped and quivering cheeks of Isobel's upturned bottom. I saw her twist frantically back and forth, quivering and doubtless screaming… and bound helplessly. Her naked body shook in pain and fear, quivering in hysteria, while he directed another lash down to lay what I knew was a path of excruciating pain across both her soft hemispheres.

Forgetting myself, I sobbed aloud to see the force of the blows, the abject slavish helplessness of their bound victim, my own aunt who fed and clothed me and treated me more kindly than had my own parents. My face, I am sure was as contorted as hers, as tear stained, my throat as choked with horror. I could practically see the pain shoot, my mouth gaping open and working like that of a fish jerked from the water it needed for life, as the lash had its way with her helpless and pinioned body. Her hips jerked and her rump's sweet round halves trembled, exacerbated by the burning, coiling caress of the whip. My scalp crawled as I watched her eyes squeeze shut, leaking tears, and her lips, so recently invaded by the terrible members of both her male tormentors, work and gape wide so that I knew agonized shrieks were pouring from her mouth.

She jerked in renewed pain, looking stricken and utterly defeated as Miles brought down a third vicious lash onto soft, rippling, cringing flesh.

Now Erik Parker, brown-robed and monkish, took the whip. He raised it on high and delivered a fearful lash that made her start and wince as electric pain jolted and sizzled through her trembling bottom. I watched shudders and tremors writhing through her excoriated body, and I felt them ripple my own flesh, as though I were a mirror-image of that poor whipped woman. Blood rushed angrily to the lashed surface of her satiny skin. Her eyes dilated, her nostrils flaring in convulsive breaths. Tears were falling down her cheeks.

Erik whipped on. His arm rose and fell. Her rounded backside became no longer white, but red. He snapped the whip just across the bases of those poor hemispheres, no more than the whips own breath from the silken flesh of her thighs. She jerked herself, pushing at the floor with her toes, plunging her belly and naked breasts against the sawhorses on which she lay bound. I could almost fancy I beard her scream, like a child's, high and shrill and agonized.

He did not care. He was a monster, an iron man, a machine, a thing with no heart, a whipping-machine. Stepping back a pace or two, he swung the lash down once more, so that it descended like a blazing brand onto the upper portion of her right buttock. She screamed her noiseless… to me… scream, and went on, I am sure, groaning. Her head sagged, her eyes pouring tears down her hot cheeks. I knew that her body boiled. Her soft thighs quivered against the rough wood of the twinned sawhorses. Her belly fluttered against it. Her dangling breasts, each still pinched with a clothespin clamped onto the fiery tip, shivered and heaved.

Fondling herself like a common whore in her whore's clothing, Lois turned and walked away, out of my line of vision.

Erik struck on.

Lois returned, and I gasped with horror.

Her thighs and waist were constricted with leather straps, buckled in place. They formed a harness that supported the strange black cylinder, shining like plastic or metal, that jutted from her in an incredibly obscene parody of the two men's sexual parts.

"No, oh-h-h-h n-o-o-o-o-ooo…" I murmured, somehow knowing at once what that bobbing monstrosity was and what she would do with it.

She did. Slapping her hands down, onto Isobel's well-marked hindcheeks, she hunched her pelvis and forced the knobby head of her awful dildo between the helplessly-spread lower lips of their victim. As I watched in absolute honor, the thing slid in, and in, and in, until fully seven of its nine or ten inches had passed within the soft open body of the bound woman.

Clinging to her buttocks and hunching her pelvis against them, Lois then stood there and drove that unyielding obscenity in and out and in and out of my aunt until the black length of it was coated and glistening in the cellar lights with her inner juices.

I watched Miles, his own fleshy shaft still fantastically swollen and angry-looking, step behind, the girl without realizing what he intended. I soon learned. With only a slight bending of his knees and a swift forward jerk, he plunged his own organ into Lois just as she had pierced Isobel with the artificial one.

They achieved a rhythm.

Miles withdrew a little, though clinging to Lois' hips, each time she lunged forward in brutal impalement of the bound woman whose soft sexual lips she ravaged. Then, as Lois withdrew for her next stroke, Miles lunged forward against her back, slapping his lower belly against her naked buttocks that jutted from her black body-stocking. I could tell he was ensconced in her to the very hair that curled about his pelvic area.

My poor eyes bulged and my breath came in ragged gasps as I stared at them as though hypnotized.

"Uh… uh… uh… uh…" I was gasping, in unconscious rhythm with the thrusting participants in that licentious scene out of a medieval dungeon. Unconsciously my thighs drifted apart to alleviate the terrible heat between them. Without my awareness my own hands caught and massaged my bosom's soft round bulges, unconsciously crushing and worrying the swollen tips until I find them still tender as I write this scene here in my diary of… horror, and rampant, licentious sexuality!

Erik now stood close to the other end of the sawhorse, and my aunt had to strain her neck to do as he doubtless ordered. I could clearly see the emergence of her pink tongue, see it lap at the big crown of his throbbing sexual spear, like a kitten lapping cream. I saw her lave it, cover it with her own saliva, and all the while she was being violently jerked and rocked as Lois raped her from behind.

Then Miles was quaking, stiffening, his arms rushing around the girl to hold her hard against him, deeply impaled and forced forward to deeply impale Isobel. I saw Miles' face become red, watched him jerk and quiver and strain, saw, with a little frown, his weakening legs and his sudden sagging.

When at last he stepped back from the shivering girl, his great organ was no longer standing before him, but swinging wetly, ponderously between his thighs. Depleted and empty! I crammed my knuckles into my mouth knowing that he had filled her palpitating belly with the boiling essence of his sexuality.

She, too, withdrew her "organ" from her rape victim. But it was not flagging, still as ramrod stiff and huge as before. She turned to kiss him, but Erik's lips moved and gestured.

The girl went immediately to him, kissed him, and turned to press her lower parts against the face of the bound woman.

My stomach lurched and again I clamped my lips against my rising gorge. I knew that they were now forcing poor Isobel to lick from that obscene girl's thighs and lower lips the sickening ichor that Miles had pumped into her.

Miles, meanwhile, was untying Isobel, and I saw that his sensual member had become only a little worm. I marveled that it could become so tiny, almost pitiful, after having been such a monster of unyielding flesh. Evidently once a man's organ has spent itself within a woman's intimate cleft, it becomes much less imposing. I have learned much from viewing that incredible and agonizingly horrifying scene, though what I have learned is surely not the sort of lesson any virginal daughter of good parents should ever know, much less witness!

I could see that Aunt Isobel was stiff and sore as they aided her to her feet and backed her off the sawhorses. They left her ankles and wrists free, though she still wore the leather manacles.

I watched her go to Erik and caress the blood-suffused shaft that protruded so vengefully from his robe. My eyes widened; she went slowly to her knees. She kissed the great rounded head of his organ, again and again. She licked it. I saw her cheeks sink inward and knew with lurching insides that she was sucking at it.

Then she…took it into her mouth! I nearly fell forward against and perhaps through the window. She was doing all this willingly, to a man who had beaten and monstrously mistreated her!

She slid her face up and down that pole of lust, raised her two hands to push them within his robe and fondle the globes of his scrotum. Her cheeks sagged in and I knew that she was applying deep suction, again and again. His hands dropped to her head, his fingers slipping up into her deeply black hair. I watched him thrust his body back and forth, against and into her face, on and on until he threw his head back and then pulled away.

She looked stricken to have lost her obscene plaything.

But now she received its libation. Suddenly I saw an arcing streak of white leap from the tip of his organ and dash through the air to splash on her face. Like milk, it dribbled down her chin. Another jet, and then another, each shortening its trajectory, until the fifth and sixth struck her naked breasts and the final droplets would have dribbled to the floor had he not moved swiftly forward.

Her own hands were smearing her breasts with his obscene juice while she licked the last of it from his already-dropping saber of flesh.

I now know that I fainted at that moment.

Nor do I know how long I lay unconscious, overcome by what I had seen. She had smeared herself… she had licked him clean…

I awoke to a foul smell, which I found emanated from the little pool of vomit beside my face. Slowly, wearily, shuddering and retching, I forced myself to my knees. Not wanting to look but unable not to do so, I again peered through that casement window. Aunt Isobel and Lois were on their hands and knees on the floor, side by side. Their heads were pillowed on their hands, pressed flat to the stone floor.

Behind them crouched the two men, Miles at Lois' back and Erik immediately; to the rear of my aunt.

I saw what they were doing, but I do not believe it. I must be mistaken! Just a short time ago, starting to rise from the commode, I shakily explored the tight little aperture between my rump-cheeks with a quivering, careful finger. It hurt!

No one could possibly do what they appeared to be doing! It cannot be possible to lodge one of those monstrous shafts into such a tiny channel! Neither woman appeared in pain, and I am sure the agony would be exquisite!

God help me… I have got it all, down. And now what?



The previous entry, I see, is the longest in this journal. And it is all about others!

And yet… yet I did not put it all down, not quite. It has now been three days since I sat up so late, writing all that, and… It has been eight days since the… the occurrence itself.

My motive for writing it down in the first place was…


I had a dream, four nights after seeing what I saw. In the dream I saw it all again, save only that time I felt some of what my imagination has told me Aunt Isobel felt. It was awful.

And now I have dreamed again. Last night I again dreamed of that dungeon-like basement or cellar beneath Erik Parker's stone house in the woods.

But last night Aunt Isobel was not the victim. Last night's dream did not contain Aunt Isobel at all. I was the victim!

And it was not… all… painful.

And… and I awoke… before dawn, having been beaten and poked and… and entered in my dream. I awoke…

Well, I must try to write these things down without being so childish. This after all is a record and I may have some want of it someday.

Certainly no one else will ever see it.

When I awoke my breasts felt very very tight and congested… though I now sleep without a bra… and the nipples were tight and stiff and swollen, and not only was I moist in my, my secret nook, but… some of that inner moisture was on the lips themselves, obviously having seeped forth from my very interior!

I sat there in the dark, shamelessly exploring myself, and shivering. For a time I thought that the dream must have been reality.

It was not. The mucousy juice was not that white male stuff I had seen in the basement of Erik's home. Nor was it urine.

What is happening to me? What will become of me?


It is so hard to admit, even here.

I find it extremely difficult not to think… no, that isn't the way to put it.

I think of Erik and Miles and Lois all the time.


Aunt Isobel went there again last night, and this is the third day since my last entry. I desperately wanted to follow her again. I did not. One must prove to oneself that one has some control! I did not follow her. I am proud of that.

But I could not go to sleep, and all I could think about was that place, and them.

All day today Aunt Isobel had worn a black leather choker. I have said nothing about it. I am sure that she would have some clever explanation. But I know what it is, that leather band about her neck. He must have ordered her not to remove it.

Oh. I have, noticed that she has not sat down all day today, too, and she walks… strangely. I cannot keep my mind off what might have happened to her there.

I have been reading Stoker's Dracula. Even that evokes erotic images and thoughts. The Master, Dracula, coming by night to his women…



It's been a week since the last entry here. It has been a nice day. It rained, but I like the rain, and it ended in mid-afternoon and the sun was very beautiful, and the dripping trees and power-lines with water on them like tiny silver bubbles.

For breakfast I had a very lovely piece of ham.

Today I cleaned the upstairs, every room, even those we do not use, the other bedrooms.

Tonight for dinner we…

What's the use?

I can't think of anything else but that night, and them.


Erik Parker was to dinner tonight. I was stricken. I could not speak, I could not look at him. But I could not keep from looking at him, again and again.

He looked much at me, too. His eyes are so intense. Thank you, God, for not allowing him to say anything to me that approached an order… how could one disobey that man and his eyes and his handsome face and body and that long brown ro…

NO NO! He didn't wear THAT here! He wore a deep blue shirt with a blue-and-green silk scarf knotted about his neck and short black boots with buckles, and snug-fitting black whipcords, sort of British looking, and his belt was black leather, very wide, shiny, with a huge silver buckle with two tongues and a double row of ungrommeted holes running all the way around it so that his waist was nicely constricted and his shoulders made even broader.

My God, did I notice all that? And then write it, without even realizing the detail I was putting down?

He is still downstairs. They are talking, very quietly. My door is closed. I even locked it; how silly I am! I am so restless.


I am going to bed. You are going to bed, Victoria Marie "Tory"! NOW.

I shall read. I will read Plato's Republic. That's guaranteed to put me to sleep.


Or perhaps this is a continuation of the last entry, but I wrote that last night and now it is today.

I tried to sleep. I tried to read. I couldn't.

At last, in the darkness, I arose and crept to the door. I unlocked it, opened it inch by quarter-inch, holding my breath against any noise it might make, and slipped out into the hall like a thief. My room was dark; the hail was dark; I could see only a little light from downstairs, emanating from the library. They were in there. Isobel and Mr. Parker.

I could hear them.

I heard every word.

I remember every word. It's as though my brain and memory were a sponge, soaking up every word, or as if every word were emblazoned in my head with a branding-iron.

I heard his voice, first. Some of the words are wicked. It is all wicked! But I am going to record it here, all of it.

First, his voice. He said:

"I am your Master, your Lord."

I trembled. He spoke in a low, steady tone. His voice was almost flat. I fancied I could see his steady, dark eyes, fastened to her.

"You are my Master, my Lord," I heard Isobel's voice reply, echoing his words, just as quietly. With a little quiver.

"Kneel at my feet."

A moment of silence; I suppose she was obeying. Then he said, "I own you, Isobel."

"You own me."

"You are mine."

"I am yours."

"You will do what I say…"

"I will do what you say…"

"… and only what I say."

"And only what you say."

"Your body is mine."

(I trembled violently, raising my hands to my bosom. My fingers dug into the soft palpitant globes until it hurt.)

"My… body is you-urs." (Yes, she hesitated, and her voice, quavered on the last word.)

"Your tits."

"Uh! My… tits."

(THEIR WORDS! I cannot explain her grunt; perhaps be leaned forward to squeeze her… her t… her breasts.)

"Your mouth."

"My mouth." (I shivered; as I am sure she had; her voice sounded shivery. And I of course remembered in what manner he had made her mouth his. My nipples thrust helplessly forth against my hands. Unaware of what I was doing, I squeezed them both.)

"Your mouth is mine," he said.

"My mouth is yours."

"Your tongue…"

"My tongue…" (She was speaking as a schoolchild spoke in the days of rote, dully, and almost without inflection or emphasis.)

"Your lips…"

"My lips…"

"Your throat."

A pause; I am sure she swallowed automatically. I know that I did. Then she said, echoing, "My throat."

"When I order you to fill your mouth with my cock…"

"When you order me to fill my mouth with your… your penis…"

A slapping sound: "My cock!"

"Your cock," she said dutifully, in a tiny moaning voice. I barely heard her.

"Again," he said.

"When you order me to fill my mouth with your… cock…"

"You will accept it gladly."

"I will accept it gladly." (She spoke with a little more emphasis, and I trembled there in the upper hall; she sounded as if she meant it, fervently.)

"You will suck it, and lick it, and slide your mouth up and down on it…"

(I shivered violently, closing my eyes and leaning heavily against the wall.)

"I will suck it, and lick it and slide my mouth up and down it."

"You will drink down my sperm as if it were a precious liquid."

"I will drink your sperm as if it were a precious liquid." (Yes, she mis-echoed both times, and this time there was a little catch in her voice. Perhaps it was having to repeat that phrasing, perhaps it was her… well, I know. Her sensuality! A WOMAN!)

"I will fuck your face."

"You will…" (She broke off. I knew she was having trouble with that terrible obscene word. I could picture her, kneeling at his feet while he probably sat in the old leather chair, in the library, staring down at her. Surely at that point she looked at the floor.) "You will fu-uck my fa-a-ace." Her voice wavered.

"I own you."

"You own me!"

"You will do what I say, and only what I say."

"I will do only what you say."

(I blush and my hand quivers and my thighs seem to snap apart as I write this next, and I am ashamed to write it here. But I remember it so terribly well.)

"You will spread the cheeks of your ass for me…"


"I will… spread the cheeks…" her voice trembled; she paused, perhaps biting her lip, "of… of my… my… my ass for you…"

"And swallow my big hard cock up your back."

Surely she must have shivered violently, on her knees all soft and submissive and warm. Perhaps she touched the legs of the man seated like a king before her?

"Say it, bitch!" (Did he bend forward, perhaps twine his fingers in her hair? Did he perhaps jerk up her head so that her strained face was upturned, her eyes looking into his, the skin of her face pulled tight by his hand in her hair?)

"I will swallow your big… cock up my… my back."

"Your mouth is mine."

"My mouth is sours."

"Your tits are mine." (I gripped my own so-soft but so-firm breasts tightly, holding them to me. Mine, mine, not yours, mine!)

"My tits are yours." (The merest pause before the word "tits".) (I know that is spelled "teats", but that is not the way they were pronouncing it.)

"Your ass is mine."

"My ass is yours." (Again, the hesitations before the crude word. Her naked body must have been quivering… wait, how did I know she was naked?… I knew. Her eyes, I was sure, were lost in his.)

"Your cunt is mine… if I want it."

Oh God, that foul little word… and the slighting addition of those last four words! Monster! Villain!

"My… cunt… is yours, when you want."

CRACK! The sound of a slap. I could visualize what had happened: His face did not change. His eyes hardly flickered when she changed that one word. She saw his hand sweep out to one side; felt it as it rushed back, to interact with her cheek. Her head jerked and she teetered. His fingers entangled in her hair were painful, but held her in an erect kneeling position.

"That is not what I said, whore!"

"My… my cunt is yours… if… if… if you want it."

Her voice trembled tearfully. The last words emerged in a rush, her voice rising as she repeated the ugly slighting phrase, pronouncing the formula that spoke disdain for her most womanly part. He had been specific, most specific, about her mouth and her tongue and her throat and then about her… backside. But her… her… her… her vaginal chamber was his if he wanted it.

"If I turn you onto your back, or tell you to lie on your back, assume that it is your butt I want. Your ass. Raise your legs high. If I want your vagina I will tell you."

I assume she nodded mutely; he was satisfied with her silent acquiescence. My chest hurt and I realized I had been holding my breath. I also discovered my bands at my breasts, bare beneath my short gown, and I took them away… and they hurt! I had been mauling myself! A tear swelled, quivering, until it overran my eyelid. It slipped down my cheek. I wondered if one sparkled, too, on Isobel's cheek.

"I will hurt you."

"Yes! You will hurt me."

"I will beat you."

"You… will… beat me."

"I will maul your breasts."

No response; I am sure she shivered, violently, and perhaps her tongue went out to stab at the tear that had slid down into the little valley between her cheek and the corner of her mouth. But it would be just out of reach, quivering there, defying her.

"I will put my thumbs against your nipples, like this…"

(I went all hot, and trembly, and leaned heavily against the wall. Had it not been there, I'd have fallen; like this… he was doing it…)

I heard the little moan that built within her until it filled her throat and overflowed, upward. I could picture her eyes closing, her head sagging backward, arching and stretching her white neck.

"I will push… hard…"


"I will take each nipple between my thumb and finger, like this, and squeeze…"


"And squeeze…"


"And squeeze…"


"… until I am exerting… all… my strength!"

"Unghhh… o-o-o-o-ohhh… nnn… aaaaaaaahhhhhhh…"

My hand fluttered up to my own bosom, paused, dropped. My teeth set into my lower lip as I listened to the sounds of what he was doing, and the sounds of her reaction. My teeth dented the fullness of my lower lip. I bit back my moan. Then my hands took over, separated themselves from my mind, and rushed up to grasp and roll the creamy globes of flesh all over my chest. I tried to cram them back into my own chest…

"Is it good?"

(I nodded, my head lolling forward, my month sagging open.)


"Do you like it?"


"Shall I stop?"

(I shook my head, gouging my fingertips and nails into my suddenly huge and thick nipples, bruising them through the thin fabric of my nylon gown.) "N-n-n-o-o-o-o-ooooh."

"You're wet. Wet in the cunt. Here… see the slime on my thumb? Lick it off. Yes. You're wet, whore."

(I WAS!)

"But you're not going to have an orgasm tonight. Neither of us is going to touch your greedy little cut."

I heard her moaning, sobbing, sound, and my own hands lowered to twitch toward the center of my body, but did not complete the movement. My mouth was ajar. My eyes were closed. My body quivered. His fingers numbed my burning… I mean her burning nipples. Assured of its abandonment, that sinful little excrescence at the top of my lower mouth seemed to twitch. It began to ache, as I was sure Isobel's ached.

"What a bitch you are!" he told her. "What a slut! You're probably dripping all down your thighs by now… and my fingers are sore from squeezing! God, what a wanton little pain-loving whore you are! I'm going to take my hands away from your pain-loving tits now, don't touch them."

I heard her shuddering groan. I could not take my own hands away. He was right. There was oozing wet on my nether lips, wet on my inner thigh. How small she must have looked, kneeling nakedly before him!

"Get up and go over there and lean against the desk. Face it, slut, and lean across it, face down. Mash your tits on it… there! How's… that feel?"

"Unh! Anghhh… a-h-h-h-h… ooohhh…"

He must have been leaning his weight on her slim back, crushing her poor soft breasts into the bard wooden desktop. My own breasts, those untouched-by-man twin spheres that swell so lushly from my throat to my ribs, smarted and ached. They felt stuffed, ready to burst.

"Now," his voice said, "get those legs open, cunt, and prepare for the true master of your body!"

"Ah!" A sharp little cry. Then a long sigh from her throat: "Aaaahhhhhh-h-h-h…"

Her grunting groans continued. I heard the sounds of repeated slaps. Not until the eighth or ninth did it occur to me that he was not slapping her with his hands… I was hearing the smack of his thighs and lower belly against the swells of her hemispherical rump-cheeks! My mind blazed; where had he impaled her? Now I knew for certain what I thought I had seen but had been sure I could not have, that he could and bad and did indeed penetrate her tiny rectal slot with that big purple-red veiny bludgeon he carried between his legs! But now, while I listened… where was it?

The warm soft folds of my dainty lower lips drooled beyond my power to prevent. My breasts burned. My buttocks were drenched tightly together, but the burning between them remained.

I could not help myself. I am a monster, as much a whore as she. I am shamed, forever lost.

I returned to my room and my bed and mauled… that is the word, mauled my own poor white breasts, and pinched the little cherry-buds on their summits, and rubbed and rubbed between my sweating thighs… perspiring is NOT the word-and… and…

I slipped one finger up into my own anus. I felt as though I exploded and was suddenly awash on a warm gentle sea, washing and lapping… I moaned, and crooned to myself, and sagged, more relaxed than I had been for months, for yours. I slept.


I did it again last night, only two nights later. I had to. I couldn't sleep.


Someoneis watching my window from the woods!


Nonsense, you silly! It was your imagination! Who wants to watch your silly window? Who's in the woods?

I did it again, though. I burn for it… I must…


You are going quietly insane, Tory. You are a wanton harlot, a… a whore! A slut.

Why did you undress with the blinds open and the light on?

Why do you address yourself here as though you were two people?

YOU… I mean I did it again last nigbt.


I came to bed early last night. And did it. I reread parts of this diary as I did.


I did it again last night. I mean I did it.




My finger went all the way in and up. My back, I mean. I jerked it out just as I… when I… as I came. It was glorious!!!


Again last night. And this afternoon.


I hurt myself last night. Wickedly, evil as I now know I am, I watched Aunt Isobel disappear into the woods. At once I got into bed quiet naked, and fondled and squeezed and caressed myself while I reread parts of my diary it was wonderful, and I made it last and last, and I forgot myself, became over excited, and thrust a finger into myself. Not in the back. In the front. It hurt terribly.

There was no blood, though. I didn't break it. Oh, what agony it must be to be to be I cannot, I will not think about that.

Oh… Aunt Isobel's manner of waking was exceedingly strange again today. At about two the telephone rang. I answered it; it was Mister… it was Erik, and he asked for her. My heart leaped and pounded; he said, "Hello, Tory. Put down the telephone and go and call your aunt for me."

An order!

She merely said, "Hello," and listened, and then said, "Yes. Thank you." And she hung up. Walking still strangely, as though she had just got off a horse and were sore, she went up to her room. When she came down an hour later, she no longer walked so oddly.


Two days later: I've just had a thought.

Could he have somehow strapped that thing of Lois' onto Isobel, but turned backward, so that it was… in her, and… and made her keep it there? So that she walked strangely, so strangely, and then he called and told her to take it out, and she thanked him, and did…???


I couldn't help myself.

I had to.

I watched them again last night. I followed her, and I watched them through the same casement window. I will not write what I saw this time. I will not. I can remember it.

I am frightened. I felt… it seemed as though he looked up, and looked directly at me. Could he have seen me?

I have punished myself. I brought back with me a branch from the little thorn-bush outside that window. I made a vow, and as I came home I steeled myself and steeled myself and took a long deep breath and at last thrust one of the thorns into my breast.

It hurt. It was stinging, wincing pain all the way home and up here, because my clothing rubbed it and made it wiggle my flesh. But I had promised myself not to take it out until I was home.

There was a tiny bit of blood. I wiped it off with toilet paper, and when it stopped coming, I flushed the paper. Then I also flushed the thorn.

I wish I had kept it. (Terrible girl!) I am getting ready to get into bed, now, and I wish I had kept that thorn…


He could not have seen me. I am so silly! So silly, sllly…


Aunt Isobel has to go home. To MY home, I mean… no no, this is my home.

Stupid girl!

You are a stupid girl, you who sit here writing to yourself.

Aunt Isobel has to go to Victoria Marie's home… not Tory's, this is her home!… on business. Something about me, I think, and lawyers, and property and all. She didn't seem to care, and so I told her I did not care to go.

Wicked witch! Your aunt will be gone a week or more, and you want to remain here alone just to… to… to do it!


She has been gone two days. I am all alone. I am sore. I have done little but think wicked evil lascivious obscene thoughts and do wicked obscene lascivious evil things.

Sometimes I wish I hadn't a… a hymen. Now I am able to get two fingers into my back, while I'm playing, and now I'm able to stand the clothespin on my nipple without screaming and moaning, I wish, I really wish… evil Tory… that I could get my finger into my… my front, too.

She has been gone two days. She will be home… when? Another week? I look forward to it, and I do not. It is fun, lovely, being alone, and going about the house naked this way, or in only some underthings, and playing with myself constantly. But… when she gets home she will surely want to go right over to them, and… I will follow…


No-no NO, this is entry 36. Thirty-SIX.

Aunt Isobel has been gone five days. I have formed the habit. I can't leave myself alone.

But I have had a long, long talk with myself. I've got to stop this. It's wicked, evil, against everything I was brought up to know and to do and believe.

Going around the house stark naked!

Fondling and playing with myself!

Hating to wear a bra, because it is hot and tight and irritates my nipples… and if they're to be irritated I had rather do it myself.

That's awful! I know it is. I believe the things I was taught. I must. Without those values, what am I, what will become of me?

Erik came over. "To see if I was all right," he said.

I noticed his hair and everything he wore and his eyes and I listened to his voice and remembered the night I heard him and Aunt Isobel doing their sort of litany of lust and slavery. I can't get that out of my mind!

He said I should not be here alone this way. He actually invited me over to stay at his place while Aunt is away!

I gave him a look. "I'm a single girl," I said. "And you are an unmarried man. I can't stay over there with you, Mister Parker."

He smiled and waved a hand, and somehow I felt childish. Which is the way he wanted me to feel, I imagine.

"Oh good Heavens, Tory," he said, "there is plenty of room over there. And of course Lois and Miles are right there with me. There is a bedroom we don't even use. It is small, but you'd find it comfortable. And you wouldn't have to eat alone and be alone all the time. Too, there's a lower floor, an old cellar that I renovated, long ago. I'm sure you would find that very comfortable, too."

Did my eyes betray me? Did I shudder? I don't know. I do know that just the mention of that cellar, that basement, that below-ground torture chamber, that dungeon of his made me shudder inwardly.

"I shall be fine," I told him. I was trying not to move. I had not expected him. I was wearing a blouse and skirt, but… I had no bra on. Tory the femlibber!

"Your aunt asked me to keep an eye on you," he said. "Be certain, at least, to keep your doors locked."

"Thank you, Mister Parker. I certainly will keep my doors locked! There's no telling who may happen to be wandering about in the woods, is there?"

His face did not change expression. The man has just superb control! "No," he said. "There's no telling. Well. I am going to send Lois over. As a companion!"

"I don't WANT or NEED a companion!"

"Sh sh, easy, Tory dear. Please don't argue or be angry with me. I made a promise to your aunt, and I am concerned about a young girl all alone in this big house. Now I'm afraid I sin going to pull rank and age and insist. Lois will be over. She'll stay with you until your aunt returns."

Somehow I was unable to speak. He was staring at me. Big dark eyes, burning, piercing right through my blouse and studying my nakedness beneath.

Naked under my clothes! What a silly phrase! Isn't everybody naked under his clothes?

Silly Tory!

But I don't WANT companionship. I don't want Lois hanging around. Who needs company?

Erik started to leave, then asked me to come over and join them… he added only a slight emphasis to the words "with us". But I refused, politely, saying I already bad supper on, which was a lie. Even Erik didn't dare invite himself to stay and eat with me.

Less than an hour later Lois was at the door. I opened it and stood there gazing at her as coldly as I knew how. I knew what she would say before she said it.

"Erik says I'm to stay here until Isobel comes back."

"I-I don't need you, Lois."

She wore dark hose, in boots, and a short skirt and a light jacket over a scooped-neck poor-boy blouse. When she moved, and the jacket, I saw that her breasts were bare beneath the blouse. I clearly saw the thrusting outline of a nipple.

She returned my gaze with complete confidence and steadiness. "Erik says I am to stay here with you."

What could I say to that? Erik Says. Around here that was more important than the old childhood game, Simon Says! What if I turn her away, I thought (CAN I???), and HE comes back, angry? I couldn't cope with that, and I knew it.

I stepped back and Lois came in. She has now been here three days and nights.

Who needs her?


She has been six days and nights. I think I am scared of her. I lock my door. I remember what I saw her doing, through the window in Erik's… dungeon. I now turn out the light when I go to bed, too.

I do it every night; of course. It's so-o-o-o-o relaxing!

No. I don't believe. I can't. There isn't any Hell. I really doubt, now, that there's a Heaven either, but it's nice to think so. But my parents are NOT in any Hell! And surely I could not be condemned to that sort of horror just because of what my hands do, here in my bed. After all, I am still a sugar-saccharin-cyclamate-sweet little virgy-wirgy!


I am sitting here by the window, writing this or starting to, and I know I am not going to write very much. I keep rolling my eyes at the window. I wish Erik was… were out there. I am going to go to bed in a minute and do it until I go to sleep.

I Wish Erik were out there.

If he came in this door right now, right this minute, I would get right up and smile and welcome him.

I would, wouldn't I? I could, couldn't I?

I am naked.


I now keep this in a drawer, locked. I will talk about it later here, but I seem to have evidence that Aunt Isobel has seen it, and maybe even READ it! Locking it up seems so silly. But I should always have done it! After all, the things in this so-private little book! And Lois…

Now I am sure that Lois has read it. I don't know whether to hate her or not. I don't dare even bring it up. But I am sure she has read this.

Aunt Isobel has now been gone ten days. Where is she? What if it's some sort of silly trick and she is just… no! That's paranoid thinking. Why plot against me? Lois has been here more days than nights. Both the seventh and eighth steps sque-e-e-a-a-ak, and there's no way to get over, them, without jumping. So I was lying here in bed one night, playing with me, when I heard the step squeak. It was 1:15 and Lois and I bad come to our rooms at eleven.

Without turning on the light, I watched out the window. She went across the back yard and into the wood, just like Aunt Isobel. Except she wore a coat and somehow I got the impression she wore nothing under it. It's a raincoat.

She went again last night.

The next time she goes I will follow her.


Dear Diary, Tory, and Lois:

If you ever read this again, Lois, you will know that I have just watched you go across the back yard and into the trees. You vanished in the darkness, quickly, on your way to Erik's house. And the basement, the cellar, the DUNGEON???

I am jotting this here before I follow you.



"Dear Diary, Tory; and Lois," is it?

Well then I'll begin this entry this way: Dear Diary and Tory, Erik has asked me to keep this up just as though you were doing so, our dear Tory. First he had me go through all you've written here and copy out every bodily or sexual phrase you used. To get, he said the feel of your prose. Then I had to read and reread all your silly drivel. Then he bad me read a couple of Victorian novels, since he says that's almost the way you write. He also gave me a whole list of phrases to use here, writing this just as you would have, Tory dear.

But I will not write it in the first person, as if it were written by you, which of course this isn't.

Nor will I write it in the first parson as me, Lois. I will keep up your journal, but in an objective style. But also, as far as I can, in your style.

Erik says that if I fuck up in doing that, he will wrap a wire around my tits, tight, and leave it there several days-with a plug in my ass, too. So… no more "luck" or "tits" or even "ass".

So you followed me…

No no! Not THAT way. Objectively. Look at me, look at Lois, she's a writer, now!

So Tory followed Lois, wearing a black bra and matching panties under a long-sleeved black blouse… that had belonged to Isobel… and navy blue pants. And house-slippers. She picked her virginal way across the backyard and through the woods, and across the fallen-down portion of the old rock fence, and went slipping from tree to tree up to the old house of assorted colored stones, laid mostly vertically; that is with the flat surfaces facing out, rather than their edges. She rounded the last tree, stopped carefully past the thorn tree, and squatted behind the big riotous bush to peek into that fascinating old cellar that Erik had refitted so carefully and cleverly.

Just as she squatted there, the lights went out in the basement. (Call it the dungeon, why not?)

She waited, scarcely breathing in the darkness, staring at the window and trying to will her eyes to see into the blackness inside. Meanwhile Erik went out the back door of the cellar-the dungeon… and up the steps. And Miles slipped silently out of the woods, where he'd been waiting and watching for Tory. (Once she was past his hiding place, of course, she hadn't seen the quick flash of his penlight that let Erik know she was indeed coming.) And I… that is, Lois, slipped out the front door; I went over to the porch rail on the side of the house where she was.

"Who's there?" I cried out, and naturally Tory tried to be as quiet as possible, with her heart pounding like a sledge-hammer and sweat breaking out to prickle in her armpits. She sneaked back out of the bushes and jumped up to run. As she passed the big tree right behind her, Miles stuck out his foot and she tripped and went flying headlong, with a scream of surprise and terror.

Miles jumped to stand astride her, and bent over to flip her over. She flopped over, whimpering and cringing, and saw him there, all in black and wearing that fearsome black mask… hood, actually, covering his full face Erik had had me make. She screamed again, and the cry trailed off into a gurgling sound as her throat closed up in fear.

In one swift motion Miles reached down, hooked his leather-gloved hand in the front of that black blouse she wore over all that juicy heroic bosom of hers, and ripped it all the way down to her belt. Then, still standing astride her, he reached in and grabbed two handsful of breasts that were the color of paper and the texture of nylon and the resiliency of rubber balls. He squeezed, digging his fingers in. She lurched upward, her face a mask of pure terror, and sagged.

Miles looked up at Erik who had got there in absolute silence.

"She fainted."

"Good. Bring her inside."

I went back into the house, locked the doors, and met them in the dungeon as they brought her in, Erik walking behind Miles, who carried her. She looked like a perfectly-done rag doll, hanging over his arms, with her hair streaming down and one arm flopping and her legs swinging from the knees down. She'd lost one dark blue house-slipper.

"This," Erik said, "is a good-looking girl."

"This," I said, "is one hell of a body!"

"Shall I strip her?" Miles said.

Erik shook his head, looking down at the unconscious girl Miles bad laid on the floor. Her pale hair formed a cloud-like halo about her head. Her oversize bosom, only partially bared by the ripping of her blouse since she wore a brassiere, thrust the blouse high and created many fascinating wrinkles in it. I've never had reason to be ashamed of my body, but this girl made me feel inadequate.

"No, of course we don't strip her yet," Erik said, as though Miles were an idiot. "We'll do that when she's conscious. It would crush her to wake up naked, but it will be better to let her see and feel her clothes go, when that time comes. Just put the leather cuffs on her and hook them together, behind her."

This Miles did, while Erik donned the long brown robe be always wears down here in the… the dungeon. Erik also outlined for us what we would do when the girl awoke. I grinned. Then he told me to start plying her with smelling salts, at the same time as Miles sat her in a chair and bound her to it with a single cord around her waist.

"Unnh… ummmm… hhh…" she began to rock her head, trying to get away from the smelling salts. And then she was awake. We had put on only one light, which was behind us and thus made her very clear to our view while our faces were just barely discernible to her. Mystery! She stared around at us with wide blue eyes, then jerked her hands and started to rise. Thus she learned she was securely bound.

"Let me go!"

"You've been trespassing," Erik pointed out. "This is my property. Following Lois here and trying to peep in my windows is hardly a neighborly way to behave. But after all we ARE neighbors, so I won't call the police. We'll handle the… recompense, ourselves."

Her eyes, if possible, went even wider and her breathing made the white tops of her trembling white breasts heave up over her black bra as though they would spill out at any moment. Her mouth worked for a moment in silence, until she could speak.

"What… you wouldn't da… you can't… recompense?"

"I thought you'd come back to that," Erik said. "Well, it isn't punishment, really. You have a choice. You can either perform a certain task for us, or be spanked, like a child."

"Spanked!" She jerked her head until the blonde hair flew, then bit her lip and said, more quietly, "A… certain task?"

"Show her, Lois."

I showed her. Miles wore his crotchless tights, and I knelt in front of him as Erik had instructed before we woke her up. Miles' phallic weapon was hardly in a state of erection, but I swiftly remedied that. My tongue licked down the shaft until I let him feel it creeping into the tenderly hair at its base, laying his testicles. I sucked at those semen-swollen globes, then my tongue swooped, curled, licked, loving the shaft I had moistened. It rose, and rose, and rose, until it was delightfully long and hard. (Or menacingly so, in her eyes!)

I heard her gasp behind me, and it made me smile.

I ate him then, sliding my mouth and face up and down the big throbbing red pole of his sex until my forehead and strained, tautened cheeks glistened with sweat from my exertions. My red hair tickled his thighs. I knew enough to stop, kissing the big engorged tip of his circumcised organ, just before he was ready to erupt into me like an angry and sex-starved bull. He groaned at being abandoned just at the point of climax, but that was the agreement.

I eased back, letting his long, swollen, red cock trail out of my mouth.

I rose and turned to smile at her… while Miles fondled the bare breasts thrusting out of my black body-stocking. Oh, her face! It was full of shock and horror.

"The only recompense I request," Erik told her, "is that you treat me precisely as Lois just treated Miles. I covet that pretty mouth of yours, Tory, all wide and so full of lower lip. It was made for sucking cocks."

She was speechless.

But after a time she regained the power of speech and railed at him: "Monster! I wouldn't dream of touching your obscene thing!"

"Then it will have to be the whipping," he said quietly, as calmly as ever.

"You… I… you wouldn't dare!"

"Release her from the chair, Miles."

Miles did, not without making her suck in a very sharp breath by passing his hand across the bulge of one full firm breast. She looked down at herself, as though noticing for the first time her partial exposure. Her indrawn breath was a little sob. She looked up at Erik with eyes that were more imploring than angry.

"Please-pull my blouse together." Her half-bare titties trembled and quivered.

Erik stepped forward, set his hands to her riven blouse, and jerked the edges wider apart. Both cups of her bra were exposed, along with the beautiful white bulges above them and the deep dark crease in the center. The flesh quivered like jelly with her mortified breathing.

"Oooooh! Monster! Sex maniacs! Stop this!"

Miles pulled her to her feet, hurting her of course, for he pulled one arm and her wrists were still linked behind her back. He had to hold her, very tightly, while Erik unbuckled her belt. Unzipping her pants, he drew them down her quivering thighs and tensing, full calves. She screamed and tossed her head and did her best to jerk free. A knee came rushing up at Erik; he side-stepped, batting it aside with one hand, and he slapped her. She was hurled into a startled silence.

"You… you…"

"… slapped you, yes," Erik said off-handedly, and the three of us tugged off her pants. Now her torn shirt hung in two ragged halves down her front, leaving bare a strip of flesh between, displaying her beautifully formed belly with its shallow navel. She wore black nylon briefs that matched her bra, and I saw that the mound of her pubis was very pronounced. She kept her legs clamped firmly together.

Erik took his seat in the chair. He tapped his thighs. "Right here," he said.


She struggled, twisting and turning and trying desperately to wrestle with Miles, even though her wrists were well secured. I watched her and sighed, making my own rosy-nippled breasts, quite bare, rise and come shuddering down with the movement.

Miles forced her forward across Erik's thighs. He laid an arm on her back to hold her there while all three of us looked down at the plump upthrust of those round buttocks, thrusting hard at the fabric of her briefs.

"No-o-o-… please! I'll…"

Erik was regarding the lovely targets. He began by swinging a side-armed blow that made his open hand cup the very bases of the girl's plump white buttocks, just where they flowed out of her briefs to round down into her soft, tight-fleshed thighs. She squealed and jerked, squeezing the panty-covered, quivering hills together. She whimpered out a little moan.

"That's one," I said.

Erik slapped the enticing round rump twice again in the same manner, making his hand go craaack! against her jiggling cheeks. He paused, arm raised, to watch while the two black-clad hemispheres tightened in anticipation of his next slap. She writhed, but his left hand on her back held her fast. Her fingers twisted and turned, grasping at nothing as they were bound on her back above the sudden up-rushing mounds of her rump.

"Aa-a-a-aaaaa-a-a-ah… so-o-o… ha-arrd!"

Slowly, her cheeks began to relax; the silly girl probably thought that was all she would receive! I could see her buttocks edging apart within the tight black panties.

Grinning, Erik slapped the left cheek six times in swift succession. The girl lurched across his thighs and made a little throaty sound, a choked-off cry. I knew she hated to cry out; to announce her pain and humiliation only added to her embarrassment. The slaps were loud in the stone room.

His hand shot up and down, smacking still again onto her helplessly-flinching, jiggling flesh. Her eyes streamed sudden tears of pain and humiliation and misery.

"Stop… sto-o-oOP! You can't… can't DO this!"

Naturally she expected still another slap to her untouched left hindcheek, and naturally Erik swatted it once again, making the demiglobe jerk and jiggle. Then he put all his strength into a blow with his palm slightly cupped to slap the other cheek, hard.


SLAP! Again the big hand descended on jiggling, red-blazing hillocks.

That was a dozen, and that was my cue.

"She's faking," I said coldly. "She can't feel it, even, through those silly black panties. They're like armor!"

"My God!" she cried, jerking violently so that Erik had to grasp her side to keep her from wriggling off onto the floor. She was like a lovely, slippery eel on his thighs, and I was sure he must by now have a tremendous erection.

"No!" she shouted, trying to look around and up at him. "No no no no no-o-o-o-oo no!"

She cringed, moaning, when his fingers slipped beneath the snug little elastic band to touch her bare flesh beneath. She jerked violently when he stroked her up-surging cheek. Then he laid hold of the snug nylon and pulled. She screeched and kicked her legs until I thought she'd injure herself.

But Erik peeled her panties slowly and carefully down to bare a beautiful rump, gloriously fleshy and firm-looking, snowy white except for the reddening finger marks here and there on the gentle curves…

Erik slapped her naked rump. Again. Again, his palm descending right across the deep crease that separated them, turning the perfect globe of her bottom into two lovely hemispheres. She kicked and flailed and squealed, and suddenly I grinned, seeing the pale blonde fur on her sweet little slit, below the moons he tormented with his hard-falling palm. Didn't she have sense enough to know that she was displaying her closely-guarded sexpot when she kicked and jerked her legs?

Smiling, he slapped twice again, deliberately and slowly, cupping the cheeks. We knew that heat was filling the girl's rump, easing up into her quivering body. The heightening scarlet of her rump-cheeks was proof enough of that. Her white white breasts were spilling two-thirds out of her bra as she hung over his leg with her arms drawn back and hooked together.

The prints of his fingers were clearly visible on the left hemisphere, although on the right one they had spread and joined to form a lovely rose hue.

"You would follow Lois, and you would spy on us… but you wouldn't even give me a bit of pleasure with your mouth in recompense, eh?" Erik said, and she whimpered loudly.

Pushing hard with his left forearm on her back, he looked at me. I began to count.

"One…two. One… two!"

Methodically, he proceeded to cover every tiniest portion of that upturned and shivering flesh with his sharply-descending palm, keeping perfect time with my count. The loud slaps cracked out again and again. More tongues of flame leaped through her firm, round haunches. The girl writhed and jerked and quivered, emitting whimpers and little moaning sounds.

A well-aimed swat to the very base of her right cheek, the one that had received the worse punishment and now showed no white flesh at all, brought an ugly cry from her. Her bare legs shot straight out, jerking convulsively. Again he was careful to aim at the very reddest area of tormented flesh. Down came his hand, slamming hard across both full firm posteriors.

She screamed, jerking as though stabbed. Tears spurted from her eyes. Her loud "Ahhhhh" and "Arrrrhhh" and "Ayaaaa-a-a-a" sounds had now diminished to a steady moaning: "Unnnggghhhhnnnn…"

He looked up at me and nodded.

I went for the jar. She saw nothing while I held it out to him. He thrust his finger in, covering it with slippery greaseless lubricant and waited.

At last, since the beating seemed to have ended, she slowly relaxed her tight-clenched cheeks. (A very muscular bottom, that girl has!) We watched the slap-reddened demiglobes ease apart.

Erik slid his well-slicked finger between them and straight up into the smooth warm passage of her soft, tender, anus.

She screeched and went drum-taut, all over. I watched her calves bunch. She strove to hurl herself from his knees to the floor. To no avail, of course. He held her there and he held his finger in her. He looked up with a small smile, and he nodded.

"Deee-aa-a-a-rrr… G-Go-o-o-od… s-s-s… TOP!"

I don't believe I have ever heard a more pitiful or totally defeated and humiliated voice, a more pleading voice, in all my life. How could a girl BE this way? How could her parents have made such a creature of her? Why hasn't Isobel tried to make a human being of her? She's like a female priest! Christ, she's utterly miserable! And I'm happier than anybody has a right to be, serving and being laid by two men! I have been for three years, ever since I came here at age fourteen and Erik gave me the rules: serve, obey, fuck and suck. I agreed. He opened my virgin ass that night, the same night, with first one finger and then two and then his big swollen shaft.

I was so lost in this reflection that I almost missed his signal to me. Erik plans everything. I caught it, though, standing there staring at his hand on her backside, seemingly missing one finger, the longest one, the finger finger. I said what he'd earlier told me to say at this point.

"Don't let her fool you, Erik. She does that to herself all the time, and she's bad two fingers up into that blast furnace between her buttocks, too!"

The girl moaned and went limp. Miles squatted to peer at her face, and rose again, shaking his head. She was not unconscious.

She was just defeated, humiliated in every pore. Her entire body lay there limply, submissively, in helpless defeat and silent expectation and tacit acceptance of whatever was to come next. In her mind, of course, she was utterly debased and degraded, at bottom.

She didn't know about the plans we had for her!


That was no place to end it, really, but I got tired of writing.

After that Erik held her there for a time, wiggling his finger way up in the warm, flaccid tunnel of her ass.

Then he popped it forth, making her gag and lurch, tautening in, pain as it jerked from her tiniest of holes. And Erik took his hands off her. A moment later she slid off his legs, squeaked, and hit the floor with several slaps. She lay there sobbing quietly.

After a time Erik said, "Well, neighbor. Are you ready to give me head now?"

"I… I… o-o-o-h-h-h… I… what?"

She didn't even know the phrase!

"Are you ready to suck his pretty cock," I said, and Erik gave me a nasty look.

She jerked as if struck, lying there on the floor half-naked, and she moaned out, "No-o-o-o-o-oooOH!"

Erik sighed. "Put her back in the chair," he said.

Miles dragged her sagging body up until she was on her feet. Her panties cinched her thighs just at her knees. The pouting little pit of her belly, so sparsely and palely furred, seemed to smile at us. She shut her eyes, as though if she could not see us, we could not see her.

"A choice," Erik said. "Shall we pull your panties up and sake off your blouse and bra, or would you rather keep them and lose, the panties?"

"Oh God! How could you give me such a choice!"

"Because I am basically a nice man," Erik said without any semblance of a smile. "Anyone else would already have stripped you… and probably ruptured your cherry, too. Decide."

"Please what, Tory? Decide for you? Do you want me to make the decision? If I do, it is irrevocable, I'll tell you that. You'll disagree with whatever I decide, surely, but that will be too bad."

"Oh-h-hhh… no… no please… I can't…"

Miles reached around her to rub his hand over her bulging brassiere. She lurched violently, but she was still bound and he hung onto her. He looked surprised. The girl was in good shape, and no weakling.

She hung her head. "I… I… please… cover my… my… please pull up my… my pantie-e-eess…"

"Miles, pull up her pants and no messing with her fat little pudendum! And off comes the blouse and bra."

"No… I… please don't…"

"The little silly," I said, "we've already seen her ass and cunt." I used those words because I knew they really shook her. "Her fat tits are the only mystery she has left!"

She saw the truth of that immediately. Her head came up, big blue eyes pleading, all liquid with a film of tears. More tears and smeared ones sparkled on her cheeks.

"Yes! I mean no… I… I… the p-pants can g-go."

"You," Erik said implacably, "already chose."

And we both helped, because again she became a squirmy eel! Miles dragged her pants back up over her full, swollen, thrusting mound, pulling them tightly up over her well-whipped rump-globes in back and her mound in front, so snugly that there was a very sexy and sweet little indentation between the soft pink lobes of her cunt.

Then be tore away her blouse, and we had a struggle!

Eventually the brassiere tore, too, and when it fell away there were deep-etched marks in her flesh where the straps had bitten in as Miles yanked and dragged on them… and as she twisted and tried to yank and drag herself away. Out spilled the glory of her chest. The lovely white pendants of her bosom jiggling and bouncing like two water-filled balloons on the end of a rubber string. From them speared forth her nipples, thrusting forth like pale juicy grapes quivering on the vine, begging to be plucked before they burst.

She moaned out her agonized humiliation, and at last stopped struggling. Although she still… or rather again… wore her skimpy black panties, they were more of an adornment than a covering. She must have known that besides, all three of us had seen all she had to show as I had deliberately reminded her.

Miles and I held her tightly, straining, while Erik raised both hands to cup the hot satiny dumplings of her breasts. He caressed and lightly grasped both those fleshy, audaciously-thrusting demi-globes of white flesh… and then she went utterly limp.

She bad fainted!


We let her awake bound in the chair, with a length of cold chain draped in an aesthetically pleasing way across her breasts. They were so firm, those grandiose globoids, that they supported the chain very nicely. It did not really bind her, but was merely there as a little reminder and to let her feel its unyielding cold steel.

We had this diary. We knew she could not close her eyes or look away while we… did what we did, to entertain and tease and fire her.

She awoke to see me poised over Erik's loins, with my back to him. He was in the chair, and before him, like a knobby-ended red telephone pole, stood the beautiful emblem of his sexuality. As soon as we saw that she was awake, I started lowering myself. His hands came up onto my hips to ease me down onto him. I felt it slip between the two halves of my bottom, parting the cheeks and nudging the soft little opening in the central crease. Ignoring her gasp, I continued sinking back and down.

Slowly, the moist hot crevice of my wide-thrust buttocks stretched helplessly around his rock-hard cock.

"Ummm-m-m-m-mmm…" I sighed, smiling as I felt the big solid prick slide up and up into the often-opened-and-probed but still tight hot hole that leads up into my bowels.

My buttocks touched his thighs, pressed down on them, parted me still more as he sank still more deeply into my anus. I felt every hot, hard inch of his beloved prick, gliding up into me.

Then I was seated on his thighs, and he was ensconced in my back to the complete length of his big weapon of sexuality.

"Ah-h-h-h-hhhhhhhhh," I sighed, smiling and being still, just feeling it there.

We began to move, his hands aiding me to rise slightly and then descend again upon him, riding his cock, screwing myself delightedly in the ass.

Now Miles came to me and his hands played over my bare breasts. His fingers plucked, working at the quivering thickening nipples, teasing the hard plump points until I panted and thrust myself forward into his hands. At the same time I was thrusting my bottom down to impale it ever deeper with Erik's fleshy pole.

Tory sat there, bound, and stared. The silver chain clinked as her breathing became deeper and faster and her naked breasts bobbed. The nipples seemed to trace out little patterns in the air, and I watched them begin to perk. Her nostrils flared and her eyes were huge.

Soft excited moans now constantly escaped from my lips. My breasts, like hers, were rushing up and down in agitated passion. The hot flesh of my aroused titties quivered under the touch of Miles' caressive hands. And all the while I screwed myself on the skewering shaft that speared up from Erik's loins and into my backside.

Miles stepped closer, straddling my knees, which I kept together. Then, while she watched and while Erik ad I fucked me thoroughly from behind… and in the behind… I opened my mouth wide. I had to bend my neck a little, trying to sink my head between my shoulders.

Miles' great hard-on slid between my lips and into my mouth, finding my tongue ready to form a red carpet for its glide into my face. It throbbed and jumped in my mouth, warm and wet with the caressing fluid of my saliva.

Bending his knees a little, he stood over me and thrust, sinking it into my receptive mouth. He slid it in and out between soft, ovaled lips. I continued moving on Erik. I made little moaning noises, now, around the impaling cock in my mouth… It made me gurgle when it thumped the back of my throat.

"Oo-o-ooh… G-Go-o-dd…" Tory murmured, staring glassy-eyed at us. Perhaps she thought she was disgusted, but the softly pink decorations at the tips of her breasts betrayed her. They snapped to attention to stand stiffly erect, pointing to either side of us as though yearning to join us.

Lusciously my full lips worshiped Miles' hard masculine length. My eyes bulged, I know, like a fish gaffed in the mouth. The muscles of my throat worked smoothly. My eyes gazed mistily up at him. He smiled, continuing to fondle my breasts I tightened my oral muscles around him, around the swollen slippery mass of his cock, making him feel it, and wriggling my tongue gently along its veiny underside.

Abruptly he glided it from my mouth and turned to approach the bound girl in the chair. She wore only her black nylon briefs and our bonds… and an intensely nervous, worried, fearful expression. She tried to shrink back into the unyielding chair as he approached her, his big saliva-shiny erection bobbing before him with every movement.


That was her reaction to his sliding his hands onto her naked pouting tits, squeezing and kneading them with manipulative caresses.

"Oh dear God! Please, please! Don't don't don't, don't!"

But he ignored her. Pressing the helplessly-erect pink crests, he twisted them, only a little, before pushing them with his thumbs in an attempt to thrust them back into the missile-shaped beauties they adorned so saucily and prettily.

"Miles," I said in a pleading voice, on cue… which was Erik's reaching around to pinch one of my naked hard nipples. "Miles… come back… I want to suck you-u-u-u…"

She watched in unbelieving horror and incredulity as he turned to find me pursing my lips at him. His cock bobbed before him in automatic response.

He hurried back and buried it in my mouth.

My groan was hardly audible; I felt Erik's final swelling in my anus, and it sent an erotic tremor of anticipation licking through my excited loins. Then his hips began to jerk. His hands dug and gouged into my sides. Without control he hunched, and hot semen spurted far into the depths of my bowels, filling and heating me and sending me sailing along toward my own climax.

The bound girl in the chair was able to see, clearly, how his hands came around me to play with my clitoris and slip in and out of my drooling vagina, making me lurch and tremble. I continued sucking and providing a warm wet haven for Miles' still-hard and hard-plunging organ, and I nearly strangled: Erik's clever hands made me come just as Miles did.

It seemed to explode, blasting out the hot contents of his tight sac into the wet warm interior of my sucking mouth. I sucked it thirstily, deliberately noisily, and drank it gluttonously down. I swallowed and swallowed, ignoring the glassy staring eyes of Tory and the hugeness of her nipples as her big breasts heaved and seemed to wobble all over her chest.

Then Miles was flagging, and it slipped slowly and flaccidly from my glistening lips. A thin trickle of white cum strung us together, briefly, like a rope of love. I sent my tongue swiftly out after it.

He sagged forward, sitting on my knees as be kissed the damp lips that had housed his eager organ. I felt Erik's depleted member wiggling in my rectal passage, growing smaller and slowly easing out all by itself.

Then we all three rose, a little stiffly, and went upstairs. We left her sitting there in the dark, bound, while we enjoyed a needed supper of brown bread and cold roast beef and wine and then some of Erik's marvelous brandy.

The door was closed. If she shouted or screamed, we could not hear her. Nor could anyone else.


As Erik commanded, I stole naked down into the dungeon. The time was three A.M.. I was silent, on bare feet, and I was sure from the sound of her breathing that our captive was asleep in spite of her being bound in a sitting position in the chair. My hair was drawn back into a careless bun.

I flashed the little penlight at her, and smiled. Yes, she was asleep. Her big, naked, satiny breasts jiggled and swayed and heaved visibly with her deep breathing. The tips were soft, pale pink and wrinkled in repose, the nipples only tiny buttons. But I smiled at them, and at her, remembering how they had been inflamed and elongated while she watched our sexual activity.

I marked out positions, decided just where and how I would squat there beside bet, and prepared to switch off the penlight.

But before I did I thrust the little thorn I held, needly and about an inch long, straight into the swollen white side of her firm left jug.

"aaaa-a-a-a-yyyya-a-a-a-ahhh!" she shrieked, coming violently awake to pain. By then the light was off and I knew she could see nothing. Nor could she do anything to assuage her pain, even if she were already certain of its cause and source. Her wrists were bound securely behind her. A cord across her body, just below her bosom, held her erect in the chair. A leather strap held her legs still, securing her ankles to the chair's bottom rung.

I caressed her unimpaled breast. I stroked it, squeezed it very gently, cupped it from beneath, bent forward to let her feel my warm breath on it.

She whimpered. Ropes and chair creaked as she tried to move. There was no place to go. She had no way of stopping me.

Squatting beside her chair, I held the squishy cream-filled melon firmly but not hurtingly, and I licked its top, again and again. It grew. She whimpered.

"No-o-o-o," she said, in a wavering little voice, and, "Unhunnnhhh… ahhhh…" Sighs of both outrage and… pleasure!

My tongue licked, tapped, and swirled over the tip of her trembling silken breast, and that tip grew. It mushroomed up and out, stiffening and seeking out my tongue until it was a hard-standing crest of desire. She moaned, quivering, and I wished that I were the sort of girl who really liked girls, that way. She was so soft and her, breasts so lovely and her voice so tiny. She was so helpless, so deliciously helpless! Best of all, she surely thought I was Erik or Miles!

Her nipples were now hard spires thrusting from her bosom, quivering with her trembling little gasps.

I licked the right one, sucked at the tip, and caressed it. Meanwhile the thorn remained sunken into the other big tit, and I knew she was intensely aware of it with every restless sway and tremble of the globe it pierced.

Carefully, resisting the impulse to ram a finger up into the damp softness of her, I tickled her clitoris. It became fat and quivery and juicy, immediately. She groaned and gasped.

"Ah-h-h-h-h… ah… ah… aahhhnnnhhh… ooohh… ummmmm…"

I twiddled her cut until I knew she was close to orgasm, then felt about on the floor until I found the other thorn. Working by feel, I rammed it into her right tit.

"Eeeeeyyyaaaahhhh… ah! Ah! O-o-o-o-oooh!"

Smiling in the dark, I kept one thumb against the end of that second thorn while I manipulated her clitoris. Her gasps and sighs went from pain to delight, grew impatient and urgent. Then she was grunting and hunching, tickling my fingers with the delicate little tendrils of hair framing her tight-lipped cunt.

The moment I was sure she had come I found the penlight on the floor beside her chair leg, where I had placed it. Then I rose and, left as silently as I had come.

Back in my own bed, I turned my fingers to my own damp clitoris, fondling and pinching my nipples until I, too, came. Then I went to sleep.

The next day, today, we left her down there all day, bound, without company or the sound of a voice, without food or drink or… any means of relieving her bodily urges. It's wicked, I think, and intensely cruel. We are about to go down, and I fully expect to find her a stinking mess.


She is a miracle! I cannot believe her control! She must have been in agony, but she hadn't succumbed! Her panties were as dry as they'd been when we left her, bearing only one little stiff spot, where I made her come last night!

We untied her, fed her, gave her the wine with the powder in it, and showed her where the toilet was. She was so in need that she hurried in without a word or any semblance of pride or embarrassment. The powder worked very swiftly, more swiftly than even Erik expected, I think. After waiting a long while, we at last went to the rear of the dungeon and rounded the corner into the doorless cubicle containing a toilet and a sink.

She had slipped off the toilet. She was asleep on the floor, with her panties still at her knees.

We took her back in to where the bed was and stretched her on it, face down. Miles held her up, a limp doll with down flowing and very pale hair, while I tucked one, and then two, and then three firm pillows under her belly, just forward of her crotch. He let her sag forward again.

We secured each of her ankles to each of the feet of that low, rollaway bed, then fixed her wrists in the same way. She was lovely. Her bottom poked way up into the air, propped high by the pillows, and her soft pink lower lips and their pale fur were clearly visible. Her breasts hung down, barely touching the bed; those pillows are soft and will not hurt her, but they are firm!

There is a little dark dot on each tit, where I thrust the thorns into her. Those marks will be gone in a couple of days.

We then trouped upstairs, where Erik outlined our further instructions and made certain Miles and I had it all down pat.

Then I came in here to record this. This girl is without doubt the most deli…

Erik's calling.


God, what a wild scene! I came without being touched! I did!

We hurried downstairs to find Erik standing before her and slightly to one side. She had both to raise and twist her head to see him. She was awake, panting as she breathed hard, lying across those pillows.

"Here they are now," Erik said. "Now I must ask you again, darling neighbor. I…"

"You took away my pantieeees!" she wailed. "You made a bargain, and then you broke it! You've stripped me na-na-naked!" She ended that screaming accusation in quaking sobs. Her head fell forward onto the bed. She ceased squirming.

"We found you asleep in the bathroom with your precious panties around your knees," he said calmly. "You had fouled them. Naturally we see to the laundry of our guests."

"You… you put something in what I ate! Or in that wine! I know you did! You made me go to sleep! And… and… and I did not foul my… m… my…" she choked off into fresh sobs.

"Tory, Tory," he said softly, stroking his hand up and down the long silken line of her naked back. Each time he stopped just as the precious dimples where her back began to swell into those delicious round cheeks. They showed not one sign of the hard hand-whipping he had given them. Her flesh quivered under his touch.

"Tory, why be so childish? Now as I was about to say: I still want recompense for having my poor dear Lois followed, and for being spied upon. All I ask is what you know others have done before you, what you will and must eventually do."

She jerked her head back and forth in outraged helplessness and anguish, dampening the rumpled sheet with her tears. Her hair flew in blond clouds like silken fingers.

"No no no no no!" she cried.

Erik went conversationally on as though she had not interrupted.

"Your mouth," he said.

"Aaaggghhhh! No no no no!"

"… such a pretty soft mouth, so nice and wide, around my…"

"Oh Godohgodohg-o-o-o-od no! Never!"

"… around my cock," Erik finished, and she shivered violently.

She made a gargling throaty sound I won't try to reproduce here. Her lovely sleek-cheeked ass bounced up and down as she struggled to jerk herself free of the bed. Her thighs tensed and her calves hunched. Her shoulders and back rippled with her efforts.

"It's as if a man has the money to pay off a debt but won't," Erik explained, standing relentlessly over her and stroking her back. She tried to flinch it away from his hand, which was of course ridiculous and completely impossible.

"He is punished," Erik went on, "until he does. He goes to prison, perhaps. Well, you owe me a debt. I want payment in my coin. Be careful, Tory. Refuse and… you will be very sorry."

"I r-r-re-e-e-efu-u-uSE!"

"Then you're going to be whipped."

"Ohhh no, no no,o-o-o!"

"Then open wide for the entry of my lust." This time she made not a sound. Her lips were clamped firmly shut.

Erik aroused her from that still silence by the simple means of picking up the whip he had placed on the floor, out of her sight, and bringing it down onto her naked buttocks.


She shrieked and went taut, then sagged. Instantly a red line leaped into prominence across the soft white cheeks of her quivering rump.

He drew back the whip. Swi-i-i-i-ish! and spat! and the leather strap snapped again across her naked butt. She pleaded uselessly for mercy, jerked her body, shivered and writhed. The leather bracelets gouged into the skin of her arms as she tried to pull herself free.

"Miles," Erik said quietly, and drew back his lash again.

Miles went to one knee beside the bed and began to fondle and caress and gently palpate her naked, shimmying breasts as though he were her lover. She jerked her head back and forth. Tried to bite him. Moaned. Groaned. Raised her head and screamed.

Just as the scream died away, Erik struck again. With deliberate aim and cruelty, he made it slither across the very summits of both those defenseless hemispheres. The jerks and quivers of her body showed the waves of agony rolling through her. Her eyes stared brightly, unbelievingly, at nothing, as though she could not believe the degrading assaults on her helpless nakedness.

Erik's eyes and mine were fixed on the sinuous pistoning of the trembling ass she could not keep still. Her abdominal muscles rippled and her dangling naked globate breasts were shaking with her labored breathing.

Erik just flicked the whip at her tight-clenched buttocks. They were striped, quivering. His previous lashes had sensitized them to pain. He would not now numb them with further hard lashes, but snap his leather strap carefully to make sure she felt a blinding flash of pain each time he struck her tortured flesh.

She lay there sobbing and moaning, her eyes wide in a sort of horrified fascination, helpless to do anything about further desecrations of her helpless femininity. I knew the strain on her arms and legs was pure agony, that her backside, her whole body, throbbed and ached with pain.

Her breath gushed forth and she strove to flinch away from Miles carefully tender hands on the twin plump shapes of free-swinging, satiny flesh.

I wondered if she knew the nipples were erect.

From the lash? From Miles' tender ministrations? Or from the combination, cleverly devised by Erik to assail her with a combination of ambivalent feelings and emotions.

"I… will…!" she gasped, with her head limp against the bed. "I… I will…!! d-do… It…"

"Too late," Erik told her. "You missed your chance."

She wept like a baby. Yet tremors rippled through her body as Miles tenderly held and sucked one of her thick nipples.

Again Erik snapped the whip across her helplessly upthrust buttocks. She lurched, but did not cry out. Moans eased from her parted lips. Her eyes steadily leaked tears. Her thighs and tensed calves quivered and her fingers writhed and clutched.

Dropping the whip, Erik mounted the bed behind her, between her wide-stretched legs. Once again he tickled between her buttocks with his fingers. Desperately she clamped them together. He chuckled as strong muscles clamped his finger between soft hillocks that were incredibly firm.

She could not keep them tensed forever. They loosened, just a little, and he impaled her with a long middle finger. Slowly, kneeling there between the backs of her thighs and looking down at her red-striped rear-cheeks, he tickled his way into the smooth, slick channel of her anus. I saw the gristle-like head of his lust throb up, its dark head poised above the partially-spread moons of her rounded rump.

While impaling her delicate rear channel with the finger of one hand, he caressed the silky inner surfaces of her thighs with the other.

She lay helplessly prone, bound and propped up with her rump and soft vulva lasciviously proffered, and she moaned. She gasped and sucked in little whining breaths. Her fingers twitched and scrabbled at the metal legs of the bed.

Miles fondled and squeezed and sucked and licked her breasts.

Erik eased his finger slowly in and out of the smooth, yielding walls of that humid canal between her buttocks. And caressed the puckered lips of the other orifice, still sealed, that lay just below.

She sighed and writhed and shivered. None of the sounds or movements she made was of pain. Sibilant gasps sighed from her lips.

The soft ovals of her rump were red-wealed in several places where those initial hard blows with the whip had scored the tender flesh and bitten their way into it. The little lines on her white flesh were exciting, an intense erotic stimulant.

Erik slid one finger down the protruberant bulge of her tight-pressed lips, pushing so that it parted them. She tensed. He added pressure, sinking it deeper between silken soft folds. She groaned and tried, looking ridiculous, to crawl away from his hand. The bonds at her ankles held her firmly in place, her straight-drawn legs framing him. Staring down, he watched the first joint of his finger disappear into her. She grunted and chewed at the sheet.

"A barrier," he said. "The mark of a child not yet a woman. A barrier to adulthood, to men and their love. Shall I rupture it with one swift thrust of this finger?"

She was so still and tense that she quivered with the strain. She did not answer.

"Shall I take your silence as agreement, invitation?"

"Oh no, no. Please don't." Her voice was tiny, pleading. "Please don't. Don't rape me, don't, don't do it."

"I want you," he told her, and she shivered. "I want your body. I will have it. Shall it be in the normal place, smashing your silly maidenhead, or… here?" He wiggled the finger he held deeply entrenched in her soft anal canal.

She only sobbed, collapsing limply.

Erik knelt still behind her while I applied the lubricant to the broad purplish head of his tool. I stepped back, giving it a fond pat and thinking what a shame it was to waste it on this unappreciative and foolish little bitch!

His hands moved over her, caressing the lovely trembling hills of bar up-thrust rump, kneading and caressing the hemispheres of jelly-like flesh. Shivery little ripples passed through her parted buttocks.

It was hardly rape. Not only had both he and she invaded that soft secret grotto with their fingers, but I had lubricated his cock for him. I watched it slip into warm damp contact with the soft inner flesh of her crack, parting her buttocks a little more with its swollen head.

She trembled, but she made no sound.

It nosed up to touch the anal rosebud centered in the deep valley of shining pink. It began pushing against the tight outer ring of her ass.

There was ho place for her to go. She was stretched almost taut, and tied down. Her backside was propped high on three firm pillows, forming an invitation and an easy target. Watching, I began to fondle myself.

Miles continued to amuse both himself and her, loving her big pillowy boobies.

Erik reached down under her squirming rump with both hands to grip the soft mound of her cunt and lift her, tilting the sleek white globes upward just a bit more. Between the up-tilted globes his big, spiteful-looking penis eased as he leaned forward. Little wrinkles shot out, radiating out from the pink and tightly coiled hole when his prick pushed against it with increasing pressure.

She began to moan. She lay stiffly. Then she shuddered and her abdominal muscles contracted as she felt the hard shaft spreading open the lipless mouth of her rectum. Slowly, reluctantly, her soft tissues spread and opened to receive him. He was careful. Her pain was only minimal, not what it might have been had he plunged callously into her or entered without preparing her.

"Unh… hhh… ow-w-w… No… o-o-ohhh…"

He slid forward and down. Now he was spearing her helplessly up-turned ass and impaling, however, shallowly, the warm rubbery depths of her rectum. His arms quivered as he levered himself over her. She groaned shivering. Slowly, his cock slipped and slid into that straining sanctuary. Her inner sinews gave way before the steady and inescapable pressure. He worked his hard throbbing joint inexorably in, deeper and deeper into her luscious interior.

A long sigh escaped her throat and she went limp once more.

He sank forward to cushion his groin against the firm softness of her divided cheeks, holding himself within her for a moment. Letting her grow accustomed to it. Waiting for her anus to flower open in total flaccid submission and acceptance.

Pulling slowly, he eased it back out of her. She moaned, humping up her buttocks as if reluctant to let it go, fearing the pain of its withdrawal; But he did not pull the crown of it from her, and he pushed the long thick shaft again into her.

This time he did not stop until her buttocks flinched from his tickling pubic hair. He was firmly and deeply entrenched in her.

Then, with increasing fervor, he began to fuck her ass.

"Uh… unhh… unnhhh… ah… Uh… Ahhh… ummm…" A constant stream of groans and gasps flowed from her throat as he sawed into her.

There were four people present, and four people knew when it no longer burned her. Knew when she realized, with a strange sensation, that it was almost… nice! That it was… nice… that it was good… that he had won.

She… her bottom… her bottom wanted… she wanted it.

And even the thought brought the fluid raining down into her virginal pussy, the normal hollow of her body that Erik left sealed, ignored.

She began to move. Wagging her hips from side to side, she grunted and pushed with her bound hands against the bed's legs, leaning back and forth in movements that pulled him nearly all the way from her and then sank him in once more to the hilt of his fleshy sword. She was aware of his hands, gripping her more and more tightly. Of their hot sweatiness, slipping on her equally sweaty flanks. Of the ebullient expansion of his blood-gorged penis, deep within her back.

There was no longer any pain, none whatever.

Only delight and mounting desire and ecstasy.

"Ah… ah… AN!" the naked girl was grunting, moving beneath his driving body.

The swollen shaft thrust like a pile-driver into the moist crevice snuggled between her wide-spread buttocks. He had impaled her deeply, and now she had responded, and she was open to him, open and willing. He began to jerk his hips, wagging his as she did hers. Their movements ground his cock around within the deep cleavage of her ass.

There was a final expansion that made her gasp, a final lunge that seemed to push up against the bottom of her belly from within.

And then the storm came. A tidal wave of hot sticky semen rolled in, precipitated by she herself with her own tantalizing movements. It hurtled hot and wet up into her intestines, and she felt every jetting spurt and stream and drop of it. After he had shot his storm into her, she refused to release his emptied organ, keeping it securely clamped up her back with a tense locking of her muscles. Her thighs quivered with the strain.

His hand moved over her side, inward to the soft prominence of her genital bulge. He tickled his way through a golden copse of pubic hair. Found the pulsing little node of flesh just at the top of that long tight slit. He had not stroked it ten seconds when she came explosively, shuddering throughout her twitching body.

"A-a-a-a-hhhh yeeessssss!" she screamed, hot and wet and contracting in orgasmic ecstasy.

Slowly he eased his brown-streaked and limp prick from her back. She lay still, utterly limp, spent and sated and bathed in sensual afterglow. Miles had abandoned her thick-nippled breasts. I stood there biting my lip, dripping wet inside and hot and hating her and envying her with every screaming cell of my body.

Erik kissed each of her quivering ass-cheeks, gestured, and we released the cords that bound her to the bed. She lay still, snuggling down into the sheet when I pulled the pillows from beneath her.

"I… love… you…" she gasped out into the sheet, as the three of us returned upstairs.



How long has it been since Lois made that entry!

Lois! I don't know whether I like their deciding to make entries FOR me In MY diary or not, but… not this time. It's me again. Tory. You know Tory, diary dear. She's the woman that grew out of that stupid child, Victoria Marie Oldenkamp.

Victoria Marie, like her parents, is dead.

There's just Tory, and it wasn't really Aunt Isobel that created Tory, but Erik.

Well, all right… Erik AND Miles, AND Lois.

Let's see. Write about today, and yesterday, or write about then, in the dungeon? Hmm. I may as well finish that up and pretend this diary's been kept up to date, I suppose. Let's see… It's been a while since the days… and nights… in what Lois called Erik's "dungeon". I guess it was a dungeon, at that. Or is.

Let me just sit here and think and pick up the narrative from where Lois left off. It may be a little skimpy in places, but it won't be skimpy in the S*E*X parts!

Well. So as Lois was saying: So they all went upstairs, leaving me lying there half asleep, deliciously sated and warm and cozy and happy, soft as a kitten, with my rectal passage full of Erik's semen. Full of it and leaking it; I felt it tickling its way out of me a few minutes after they went upstairs.

I lay there and began thinking, and I did a lot of it. Thinking. Then I got up and went back to the toilet in the rear of that dungeon. So much for Erik's seminal gift:fluuush!… and down the old drain. I returned to inspect my prison. A couple of chairs. A rollaway bed… looking at it made me shiver! Hooks in the walls, and rings, for chains and manacles. I did a lot of thinking while I explored, toying with a long, long whip I picked up, and I didn't even bother going up to try the door.

I tore up the sheet off the bed-I mean TORE it, all to RAGS, and made my self a sort of toga out of it. I thought it was also cute and appropriate to make myself a sort of belt out of a piece of rope. Then, holding the whip and a chunk of wood with a lo-o-ong needle imbedded in it, I started waiting for them to come back down. By then I had decided.

Of course I had loved it. I was admitting that to myself right then. It was glorious, feeling that big hot thing gliding in and out of my back, filling me all full, and then feeling it shoot hot juice into me, way up into my bowels. And then having his fingers on me, making me come to an explosive climax in just NO time, I was so stirred up. And Miles' hands and mouth had been more than lovely on my breasts, too.


They had still made me a prisoner, and raped me, and none of it was with my consent or anything even approaching it.

Like it or not, good for you or not, if you're any kind of human being you don't take that sort of thing!

So I got the whip and the needle-mounted-in-a wooden-grip, and I went back into the little sort of hallway leading to the toilet, which was in a cubicle under the steps. I waited.

They sent her down with food. I felt very confident. I could certainly handle a girl! So I watched Lois descend the steps with the little basket of goodies for the prisoner, and when she had taken about ten steps, she stopped stock still. She'd seen I was not there.

She turned.

That's when I lashed out with that long whip! I had the satisfaction of seeing first dismay and shock, then pain on, her face when that long strip of thin leather cracked across her legs and spun twice around her, with loud slapslapslap! sounds.


Then I yanked the whip.

The basket went down and so did Lois. I was already rushing her. She was groaning, wriggling around, trying to get that tight-wrapped whip from around her shapely legs. It had coiled about them just above the tops of the high-heeled boots she wore, and again around her upper thighs. I rushed to the attack while she plucked at it, moaning.

"Say a word, one word," I gritted, staring viciously down at her, "and I'll stab this thing clear through one of those tight little boobs of yours. Yes, I know that's what it's for!"

Then I was hurt worse than I'd ever been hurt in my life.

The toe of her boot shot up; past my knees, past my long round thighs. It slammed into my crotch with an awful force that made my teeth clack together. Bright lights danced before my eyes. I was hurt too badly to scream. Eeeee-eee-eeeeeCH! I emitted that terrible gargling sound of agony and forgot everything else but clutching myself, through my sheet-toga. I staggered away, both hands on my vulva, and she scrambled up and kicked me again. In the bottom this time, driving the toe of her boot into the flesh. Unnnng-ng-ng-ggghh! I went to my knees, moaning and shaking my head in pain. She grabbed my shoulder, sort of twisting me half-around, and her knee came up under my thin. That snapped me to an upright kneeling position. Glk-lk-lk-lkhhh!! Just that quickly she danced around behind me. Her toe caught me in the small of the back, five inches above the swells of my rump. I gasped and grimaced, arching my back in, thrusting my chest helplessly out. I was in agony, and still unable to scream. Agony!

She jumped on my back. AU my breath left me in a whoooshing rush. I fell forward onto the stone floor, and again I saw dancing lights. The impact felt like someone had slammed a paddle straight into my breasts. And she was on my back, pressing me down, down against the floor, trying to crush me. What little breath I'd been able to draw was again forced out. Strong hands tore at my back. I heard my brand-new "clothing" rip. THAT idea certainly hadn't lasted long!

"Unh… mmmmm-mmm-mmm-mnnnn…!!"

Now I learned how vulnerable a very busty girl is! Such as being crushed flat on the floor, face down… breasts down! I felt them being smashed against the stone floor. It hurt. They were being squashed all out of shape, my lovely white love-gourds. Flattened to my chest and then crushed outward against my arms, crushed painfully flat and forced to seek haven for their mass beneath my arms, driven around to my sides as Lois exerted pressure, bouncing on my back.

And more pressure! I gasped, not even having enough breath to groan in my agony. And more pressure. And more. My breasts are going to pop, to burst like… balloons! Unhh! A ahh-hh-a ha ha hhhhh!! Futilely I tried to free myself. My face was purpling hotly. My tongue slid out in search for air. A-a-a-anh… kk-k-kkk-a-a-a…! The stone floor sent lancets of pain shooting up into my chest from the squashed hemispheres of my bosom. But she had my arms pinned to my sides with her strong, booted legs. The bright lights winked before my eyes… and winked out!

That is the whole great big story of my heroic attempt to show them a thing or two!

When I awoke, I was bound in a kneeling position in a chair, facing its back. The top of its high wooden back gouged upward into the soft undersides of my poor naked breasts, hurting them… and they were already sore! I didn't know who was behind me. I was bound, and before me stood Lois, smiling nastily at me. My only consolation, a tiny one, was that she was wearing red welts across her thighs from where I had gotten in one brief half-inning with that whip.

"She's awake," Lois said.

Instantly hands slapped down onto my buttocks, hard. Miles? Erik? I didn't know. I couldn't even twist my head around to see.

I could only feel… as he leaned forward to insert himself carefully between my bare buttocks, thrust out because of my kneeling position. He nosed his big digger into the… again… helplessly exposed anal hole. This time it was without preparation, and it was rough and hard. Unnn-ggg-ghhh… tearing me… got to rela-a-a-a-axxxx-ah… ah! My writhing hindcheeks churned in his hands as I groaned and tried to escape. Unhh!Nngh!! My soft rectal canal tightened helplessly, automatically around the swollen rod of flesh he jammed into it. It was like being stabbed, and I screamed. But he was still, waiting back there, gripping my flanks. Waiting for further lessening of pressure around his entrenched penis when the warm, yielding rectal walls accustomed themselves to the throbbing invader.

I didn't think they ever would. The pain was like fire, a fiery knife cramming into my vitals. I strained, and my sound of pain was long and terribly muted, not at all loud, throaty.


But I expanded. Slowly, slowly he eased himself back out of me, sending a marvelous sensation of impossibly hot tightness flaring through the shaft of his sex; I knew that from his gasping little sigh. I trembled. I squeezed. My rectal passage contracted tightly, seeking to squeeze and force him out. I bore down.

Mmmffm-m-m-m-mmm… aah… ah!

He would not leave. He left only the fat glans implanted in me, stroking my hips and pressuring the flesh as he might have tried to calm a frightened animal. That's what you are Tory, I told myself. Now loosen up. You're tied. You've been naughty. It will only be agony if you don't loosen up, relax, and take it. Maybe it'll become nice again, like last time. That was a delightful thought, and a hopeful little twinge of excitement rippled way down in my belly. Just that thought: last time… made my belly quiver and my virginal little quim got wet, all in a rush.

Trembling, I relaxed. Then I made a tentative movement. He remained still, caressing and caressing, coaxing me into relaxation and acceptance. And then… and then it happened to me! I was powerless to resist, not only him, but ME!

I wanted very much to be rammed and reamed and fucked in the ass just as I had been less than an hour before!

I thrust backward, hurting my soft breasts on the chairback; they were sort of draped over the top of its high back. No boobs as big as mine stick straight out, after all! I know I made fire race through his body at the contact of my soft white rear cheeks with his pelvis. It jumped fire into me! Unnn-n-n-n-n-ngh!! My own action impaled me, jamming his rigid shaft way up in the tightly constricting tunnel of my writhing back. I felt his hands tighten as he again steeled himself, shuddering a little in his strong-willed determination to remain still. He felt the spasm that convulsed and shook me, squeezing him all along the hot throbbing pulsing length of his cock where it was fervently gripped within my tight rear hole.

I wiggled my hips, again tentatively, like a beginning whore. (Hmmm. So… so I was.) Then I gave him the thrill of triumph that took his breath away: I used my kneeling legs to jack me forward until he was half out of me… and thrust myself backward again!

He groaned. I felt him shiver against me. His fingers were leaving furrows in the quivery cheeks of my rear-globes.

The great bludgeon of his sexual organ felt as if it were trying to squirm and push its way all the way up into my tight-coiled intestines and ream and straighten them out. I encouraged him with an ecstatic writhing of my hips, pumping them hard, screwing myself on him.

Oh God, God-d-d, I thought, and I thought a finger was good! I could go through life on my hands and knees with a man's dick way way way up in my ba-a-a-a-a-acck!

His hands on me sent tremors of delight through my glowing body. I panted, squirming back against him, caressing his furry groin with the softness of my hind-cheeks. I could not prevent the delighted little groans that gurgled up from my throat. Nnnngh! Uhh-h-h-h! Ah! AAH-nnn-nnngh!

I whimpered as he withdrew it, nearly all the way out of me. I waved my hips again, so that the silken curves of my rump were a caress over his thighs and throbbing groin. He thrust back into me, deep and deep, deep, until I opened my mouth and rolled my eyes down to see if that red-knobbed morsel that tipped his penis would come out. I felt the slap of the furry little container of his liquid lust; it rapped repeatedly into my fleecy, sweat-slick loins. I knew that the firm resilient demiglobes of my behind were splayed out on either side of his plunging pile driver.

His hands gripped those quivering cheeks-my cheeks!-with a careless, strength that made his fingers sink into the tautly muscular flesh, furrowing it as he… dare I say it? I will say it!-as he fucked me with volcanic force. Yes, that is exactly the proper word. He was fucking me, fucking me, fucking fucking me in the ass. And I was loving and loving and lo-o-o-vv-i-n-n-gg it!

The snugging confines squeezed and milked his hard driving shaft, slipping softly, warmly, lovingly along its slick length. I was reluctant to accept each partial withdrawal. I needn't have been; he always came surging back, tunneling mercilessly to thrust ever wider the gulf between the resilient moons of my posterior.

I began to groan and grunt and mutter, almost humming, helplessly loving it all. Mmmmm-m-m-m-m-mmmm! I was pulling, pushing, gyrating, milking his inflexible root in my desperate attempts to impale myself to the eyeteeth. Uh! Uhhh! Umnnh! Eeewww ooohhh! The tender tissues within the confining channel of my back were wet now, wet and flowing easily with his deep thrusts and long swift withdrawals. His hands grasped my buttocks and pulled, almost savagely, and I cried out aloud:


The flesh of the jerking globes he held so firmly quivered and squirmed in response. Desperately I tried to ram my own vulva against the back of the chair, seeking some clitoral attention. I failed, and only his hands on me kept me from tipping the chair over, forward. I knew that he would soon burst in me with the force of a cannon, and I wished sincerely, desperately, savagely that I could join him in that delicious screaming explosion.

I did not. He drove on, plunging and grunting, slapping my flesh with his, rutting in me. He did not pause now until he erupted, sending hot jets in thick spurts that simmered up into my bowels like an enema from a beginning nurse. I tried to will myself open, to swallow it all up and absorb it in my bowels. Mmph… mmph… aaahhh!!

I shrieked out my delight when he did, and then I was grunting and hunching the chair, hurting my own delicate breast-flesh, begging and pleading for release, for a hand on my poor needy clitoris.

Then he walked around with his spent member dangling before him, wet and shiny and brown slimy, and I saw that it was… Miles!

I had now been buggered by both men. I was still a virgin, still Victorian, and yet I had been had, and twice, and by two different men!


I'll never get this up to date at this rate. Writing about it makes me so se-e-e-exy! No use trying to keep a diary-diary. This has developed into a sexual diary, and it may as well be just that.

Yes, I remember very well what happened after Miles unplugged himself from my spermy back-passage. Determined to punish me, keep me full and keep on and on until I cried for mercy and surcease, Erik ordered Lois to strap on the dildo and replace Miles behind me. My flesh flinched. "O-h-h-h… n-n-nnoooo…" What I wanted and needed was a climax of my own!! But I could not get at myself, tied as I was, kneeling in the chair. And obviously they were not about to help me by so much as even touching my poor twitchy throbby ditty.

Lois advised Erik very positively that she was not the kind of girl. Who was interested in playing man and screwing another girl! He reminded her that she had, and she began to sob! All right all right then, Erik muttered, don't obey me and play the other man with her. But I want that thing in her.

"Just. Hold it in your hand," he told her angrily. "Shove it in and out of her until she shrieks for you to stop. Then go right on. Neighbor," he told me, patting my head as if I were a pet, "your ass will not be without a moving plug for one hour!"

"O-o-o-o-ohhhh," I groaned. "So-o-ome-e-e-annn to meeeee!"

Lois grinned, approaching me with the long plastic cylinder, all lumpy with imitation veins and swollen at the tip. It was like a man's organ, a shiny BLACK man's organ, and considerably larger. They ignored my pleas and the bitter tears of anguish and fear that blurred my eyes. I did not want that thinggg in meee! My tender rear-cheeks burned from the pounding of Miles' hairy groin. My anal canal was open, I knew, stretched obscenely open and filled with his sperm. I could feel it drooling from me. I could feel, too, the looseness of the squeezer muscle that makes all our rectums so surprisingly strong.

Lois vanished from my view, behind where I knelt bound, with my haunches helplessly and lasciviously up-lifted and displayed. Trembling and groaning; I lurched forward in a ridiculous attempt to escape. Stupid! The chair tipped, and I screamed at the thought of my head and naked defenseless bosoms bashing against the stone floor. She pulled me back: a hand slapped onto my flinching left rear-globe, steadying me. "Ummm… noooo… oh-h-h-h, no-o-o-o-ooo…"

She speared that (COLD!) dildo into the deep cleft between my rump's large white demiglobes. Then, easily because Miles had opened and widened me back there, and lubricated me with his liquid spurting seed, the dildo entered. It swept aside my weakened anal sphincter and plunged it up into my cringing bowels.


She pushed it iii far, far, shoving steadily. I screamed, arching the supple litheness of my forcibly bowed body in another futile attempt to escape. eeyiiiieeeemrgghhh! She drew it far back, too, but never allowed it to leave me, to give me a moment's rest. She kept that hard plastic knob ever within the soft cringing smarting heat of my pain-suffused back.

Oh, treacherous biology! Oh, treacherous body! The cold, unnatural invader was hateful, an insult, a humiliation, a plastic dildo wielded by a girl who did not want sex, but was only obeying the orders of her Master! But… my body accepted it… opened to accommodate it… and then…

welcomed it!

Powerless to control myself, hating myself, I crammed back, thrusting the white cheeks of my harshly-plugged rump against her hand. Ahhhhh! The dude sank deep. It was… delight. And it was A-G-O-N-Y, buried to the hilt in me, buried to her knuckles so that they pressed my firm hemispheres, all the way up my back. Never had I dreamed that my hungry-to-be-probed anal aperture could accept and revel in being riven and pierced and plumbed by eight or nine inches of cold, unfeeling plastic!

Gasping in surprise at my reaction… perhaps in disgust… she agitated the thing within my bound body. She… she fucked me with it, and I moaned as her hand moved; happily, dizzily, lasciviously skewering myself on the full hard length of that obscene, pistoning male substitute. I was astonished at the size of it… and at my ability to accommodate such a size. But I gloried in it and its terrible length and breadth as it hammered steadily into me.

"Urn… unnnhh… nnngghhh ngngnghngngnggh!"

She pounded it harder, jerking it in and out. I wept and sighed and screamed in pain and ecstasy as it bored into me. Both pleasure and pain grew in intensity in me. I knew my nipples had erupted into hard, thick pink points. Pain hammered within me as it went on driving in and jerking out. I tried to concentrate on the lurching, yet rhapsodic feeling in my belly. Something like a sensual delirium embraced me, and my mind began to create a fantasy…

It was not Lois behind me, not a woman. It was not a dildo in me, a black dildo of astonishing dimensions. It was… a man… and since the dildo was black… My brain reeled and fantasized, and I was being ass-raped by a huge black man with a thick, nine-inch black organ!

Now he was ramming me to the accompaniment of my shrieks and cries. Surely hating me, panting with his exertions, he rammed it hard into the moist quivering furrow of my back, with all her strength. I mean his strength. "Owww! Yeeeghhaaarrrh! Yoweeeeooomnnngngngnnn!"

Tense spasms shook my body. My breasts danced, abrading their lower tender curves on the back of the chair. I heard a roaring sound that was solely within my head. Fiery tingles pranced about within me. I remained just at the point of erupting, of completion and satisfaction.

But I could not force my body over the edge into thrilling release!

It had gone on and on… for a seeming eternity… I could not gain the final electric thrill… Nor could I stand to hold back any longer, teetering on the edge…

I was suspended in the neverland between painful sensual arousal and climax! I heard myself screaming, pleading…

Behind me, he/she too was calling out, begging…

"Erik! Erik,please! So tired… It's been twenty-five minutes, Erik… my arm aches… oooooohhhhh…"

"Your ar-ar-ar – uh – ARM!" I grunted, without sympathy.

"Five more minutes for you, Lois," Erik called from somewhere, and she popped the plastic penis out with a liquid plop… and then Jammed it back into my rectum! Yeeeeeeeekhh!! My stomach rippled and gyrated. I was itching, palpitating, in the very core of my unopened virgina. I mean vagina. My mouth hung, open. My eyes were dull and lackluster. My face was streaked with tears, my long and tangled hair hanging before and about me. My breasts heaved, trickling sweat.

"Unh… unh… uhuhuhub… unh… AH… uh-uh-uhuhuhuh…"


My head sagged and lolled, as though my neck were broken. In and out. In and out.In… and out and in and out-t-t…

A prisoner of passion, I wept and screamed and panted and pushed, striving desperately for orgasmic release. In and out… cramming it on and on into the marshy, surely bloody pulp of my poor stricken anus…

I groaned, trying to beg, when Miles came down the steps. He walked over and bent to kiss me. (It was nice.) "Please," I sobbed. "Please! My… my clitoris… help me… It's agony agony…"

"Sorry," he muttered, touching my swollen nipples wonderingly. "Orgasm is forbidden to you, slut." And as I wailed and sobbed aloud, he went around behind me. Lois collapsed onto the bed with a sobbing sigh.

I echoed her sigh as Miles began to slide the dildo in and out of me. It was bigger than his organ, bigger than Erik's. Fatter, and longer too. And I was taking all of it. All of it. For thirty minutes now… after Miles had driven his prick in and out and in and out of me for… how long? And that had been only a warm-up!

Forty minutes. I cried like a baby. Thrills and flickery little spasms of pain… involuntary tremors of lecherous ecstasy… Fire surging in my belly: pleasure… fire glowing in my anal niche: pain!

(Niche? By then it was a gaping GULF!)

Spasms… tremors… ecstasy/pain; pleasure/delight…

Help… help me… help… stop… helphelphelphelpheh…

The world spun about me. I swept and shuddered and hung there, on the barbed fence, just a few feet away from the lovely green and golden pastures of delicious orgasm… Pain… pleasure…

Ooooob-h-h-deeee-ee-earrr G-G-Go-o-o-ood…

Forty-five minutes…

Excited by what he was doing to me, by the sound of my quaking moans and groans and sobs and the wincing jerks and tremors of my body, Miles achieved another erection. A heroic achievement, so soon after his recent spurting into me! He removed the dildo, and there was a moment's glorious, awful, wonderful terrible emptiness before he slid his hard cock easily into my back. He groaned, snarling and complaining that the hole he smoothed himself in was big as a sewer pipe…

I hardly felt his presence in me, only his crotch violently thumping my buttocks as he hurled himself up my back in a desperate quest for friction.

Fifty minutes…

I was blind with lust and need, the muscles of my thighs and calves and tensing as I ground my body back against his. I agitated myself wildly, plunging and heaving, ramming myself fiercely backward. The mouth of my anus repeatedly swallowed his cock and tried its best to clasp and suck it strongly. Panting, I rocked my hips. I abraded my wrists on my bonds, striving to get a hand free to slap it to my own clitoris. I wept and pleaded. I made my hugely opened and expanded anal chink circle around and around his burning swollen tool as he whipped it in and out. Surely my cries and gyrations beneath his driving body would have done credit to a… a professional!

(Un-sane thought: Are there professionals who want it only in the asshole?)

My body was an inferno of unsatiated lust and terrible burning need, need. I was sure that one touch, one little touch on my throbbing clitoral bud would have sent me on an orgasmic trip farther and faster than Apollo 15!

But… I… couldn't…make it!

I passed out.



I awoke on my back on a comfortable bed in a room. The walls were papered, and there was a little table beside the bed, and an easy chair and another, a straight-backed one, and two doors, one of which must have been a closet.

Immediately I was aware of a dull throbbing, a smarting itch in my vastly widened and preposterously plumbed rear channel. But even worse was the horrible itching need that ravaged my burning quivering guts. It had not left me. I had slept, but it had not subsided, not at all. Until my captivity I had been fondling myself at least once daily, at least every night. I had "used" this diary. And now I had experienced more sensualism than ever before in my life. I had been put through all these intensely, incredibly sexy paces… and allowed no release! And now, I was alone, and in bed, and…

"Oh-h-h n-o-o-o-ooohhhhh!!!"

I could not get at myself!

My left leg was tightly fastened down; a leather bracelet, or rather anklet, and a rope down and around the leg of the bed. The other leg was free. But my arms were tied, and loosely so. But… monsters! Agonies of Tantalus… I strained, stretching. And I could get my striving fingers to within an inch of my screaming vulva… and no nearer!

Sobbing, whimpering, I lay there and thought about the soft little lips and the lovely sweet lonely needful little bulb at their top, my beloved sweet ditty that so loved and needed my attentions.

But I could not touch it.

I tried. I twisted my body painfully and nearly broke my back, trying. I abraded my arms on their bonds. I groaned and cried and screamed and shrieked. I pounded my own naked breasts and wept. I was a wild woman, mad with lechery I could not assuage. The awful need in me continued to flame on. And on.

They left me there. All the rest of that day and all night and the next day. I could not even sleep. Physical desire and need were an agony in my flesh. I shrieked at deaf walls, shrieked out their names, begged them to come and beat me, screw me, anything: just give me RELEASE! Eventually I began to shout that I'd suck them. Both at once! But they did not come. And neither could I.

They could have beaten me with nettles, with barbed wire, with red-hot wire, and not tormented me more.

When at last Erik entered the room, bringing a bottle of brandy, he smiled at me. "I hope you haven't wanted anything and called out, Tory. This room's soundproof."

I sagged, feeling the blackness of unconsciousness rising about me. I fought it off. Blinking my eyes open, I stared at him.

"I've come to repeat my neighborly offer, neighbor."

"Your… offer?"

He opened his long brown robe to display his organ, which was not erect. I stared at it. Slowly I raised my eyes to his.

"You are a monster, Erik."

He smiled. "Yes, yes of course. But that isn't the point."

"It isn't even big!"

"Don't underestimate the power of your pretty mouth, Tory."

He had an answer for everything! "The first time I refused, you whipped me like a child. Then you impaled me with your finger. The next time I refused…" my voice was hoarse, strained "… you beat me with a whip and impaled me with that." I dropped my eyes to his flaccid penis.

He nodded. "That's right. The last was because you tried to hurt Lois. It had nothing to do with the… offer."

With a sigh, I turned my head to the papered wail. Despite my terrible need, despite my fear and anguish, my intense humiliation at lying there naked before him, stubbornness rose up within me. "And if I refuse again?" I asked the wall. Ah, pride! "What happens to me this time, monster?"

"This time, IF you refuse to suck my cock, you will be rewarded, rather than punished."

I snapped my head around to stare at him. "Rewarded?"

"Yes. You will be fucked."

"You wouldn… you know I'm a virgin!"

"Yes I do. But it's seldom a lifelong state. I don't hold it too much against you. It can be cured. It's time you kicked the virginity habit."

"You wouldn't D A R E!"

He smiled.

"I will NOT touch your filthy nasty smelly thing with my mouth, Erik!!"

He bent over and slapped me.

Then he released one of my arms and held my wrist while I drank some of the brandy. It stung and burned… and it was gone. Then I wriggled free and jumped for the door. "Owwwww!"

Six times I tried to flee, to flight. Six time she slapped me. My hair flew in clouds that stung my face. My head rang. I tasted blood on my lip. A seventh time I raised my clawed bands. And up went his hand, ready to strike. I bit my sore lip.

"Tie me up!"

"No. Here." He handed me the brandy. Although I considered using the bottle as a weapon, I needed more to pour some of its contents into my empty, writhing, rumbling stomach. And I was tired of being slapped half-silly.

"I will not tie you up, Tory. I'm not going to rape you. I'm going to fuck you. It's an unfortunate mark of your immaturity that you don't know the difference. But you will not be tied."

I started another run for the door. Ssslaaap-yeeowwww! I thought and that didn't happen. His arm shot out, whipped around my waist, and whirled me to face him. I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth for the slap. It didn't come. He kissed me, I felt like wax in a hot room. My legs went weak. My lips trembled beneath his. His lips were fire. I melted.

"Lie down," he said, pushing me gently. I staggered back, staring at him. The backs of my legs met the bed and I sat, suddenly and involuntarily. He stood over me.

"Lie back, Tory, I'm not going to hurt you. Yet."

I believed him. I couldn't help it. I put up my hand for the brandy, which he handed me, and I let more of that burning stuff run down my throat… and, since I had gone so long without eating, straight to my head. I sagged to one elbow, staring balefully at him. Then, slowly, I stretched on my side. Then I turned over onto my back, aware of the naked jobbling of my bare breasts. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

Shall I try to blame it on the brandy and my empty belly? Shall I try to blame it on my desperate need for tenderness after my captivity and severe mistreatment? Or… shall I merely say that by then I knew I am a very sexy girl, and be honest?

It was wonderful.

His hands stroked and caressed my naked sides, the softness of my belly, rose to cup and tighten about my trembly breasts. The nipples prickled, becoming stiff and hard and longer, when he took those thickening spires between fingers and thumb. I sighed and glowed in the sensation: little snaky trails of heat that radiated from the tender hemispheres and down into my belly.

He bent his head over my bosom. I quivered at the feel of his breath, his tongue on the tip of one hard standing pink crest. It was all I could do to keep from surging it into his mouth. I moaned, quivering and feeling flicker after flicker of warm rising sensualism while he squeezed and rolled and pulled my… my big hot tits!

The soft flesh gave, trying to squirt away from his fingers. He squeezed them harder, holding them firmly in place for the moist warm attentions of his tongue to the buttons of pink that surmounted them. His lips closed about one tender little mushroom of flesh, and fire flickered in my chest. He tongued my grateful nipple, sucked and licked it, adoring me with his mouth. Electrifying thrills tickled my inner tissues and made a rapturous feeling glow and grow in the depths of my unprobed nook of love while he rolled the fleshy morsel in his mouth and titivated it with his tongue.

The panting globes felt swollen to twice their size. The nipples seemed as long as thumbs. And fat, terribly tight and swollen. I was afraid to open my eyes to see. Mmmmmmm-mmm-mm, I cooed, unable to hold back my smile. His hair tickled as his lips moved down from my breasts over the flat plane of my stomach. His tongue teased my navel, briefly, and went on.



I shuddered ecstatically. Every nerve and sinew was coming hotly alive, throbbing and quivering with sensual response. My abdominal muscles twitched in exquisite delight when I felt his chin touch my lightly-furred love-mound.


He had run his tongue long and wet down those pursed lips, then dipped it into the tight hot cleft, to swish it from side to side just within my soft outer gates! I had started to pick up the brandy bottle to bash him over the head… now my fingers quivered away from it. I couldn't stop him! I didn't want to interrupt him!

I had never before felt anything like it. Nothing I had ever dreamed of could be so good! His expertise made my hot flesh quiver and shiver and twitch under the clever strokes of his tongue. Fiery jolts steamed through me. My thighs twitched in little involuntary spasms.

Suddenly he withdrew his tongue, licked upward, and…

He applied a violent suction to my clitorys that jolted me with helpless thrills and shivers and made me convulse!

"E-e-e-e-eya-a-a-a-aaahhhhh!" I cried out. "Ahh! Oh… uh… uh-uh-uh…" I could only grunt and groan and feel my body, as if it were far beyond my control, as though it were an animal independent of my brain. It responded by hunching to his face.

His tongue darted like a flame. It scorched where it touched, on my cit, on the soft lips, on the inner softness of my twitching thighs. My breathing rose and increased in tempo. My legs moved restlessly, uncontrollably, falling and drifting apart despite my fear of parting them for him. Their smooth-fleshed inner surfaces and the ripeness of my sexual bulge formed a helpless invitation to his burning lips.

"Oh! O-o-ooo-o-o-o-h-h-h-h-hhh ooohhhh… Go-God-d-d-ddd… ummm… umhm!-uhh…"

Lapping, probing expertly with his snake-like tongue, he sent me soaring and quivering and soaring, and I squealed and groaned incoherently as I felt a continuous coursing of hot thrills all through me. Spasms seized the muscles of my trembling loins and shook me. In a sudden undeniable urge to wantonness, I thrust myself up against his face, joining my moist sexual lips to those of his face.

Then, at last, I screamed and moaned and yowled out my driving orgasm, squirming and humping and tossing wildly. I rolled, awash in endless, continuing waves of jolting climactic lust-fulfillment.

After that I lay there as though dead, gasping and staring at the ceiling. It seemed to glow and swim before my misty eyes.

His hand pressured apart my thighs while he stared at my wide eyes. I kept them on the ceiling, but even then, after all he'd given me, my lips formed a silent word:


But he ignored that soundless plea.

The only sound I made was a tremulous groan of exhausted, sated, servile acceptance and submission to him: the marvelous bringer of the most thrilling experience of my life. Never had my own fingers sent me soaring so high.

He opened my thighs as he'd have pulled apart those of a suddeniy coy whore.

He gazed down at the fine lacework of my sparse blonde pubic fleece where it framed the pulpy pink flesh of my labia. They were only barely divided, pressing each other firmly in soft protective folds.

He peeled them apart.

I lay still, sighing, while he opened and examined me.

There was no semblance of protest or resistance left in me as he slid one finger along the pliant lips, barely spreading the narrow pink line between them. I lay soft and sated and conquered, submissively cowed, while he took his time in his examination of my most intimate parts. It was as though he owned them… and as if, after the incredible pleasure he'd brought to my body, it was very willing to cede ownership to him!

He teased me, stroking the pulsing slash while I choked back my unwonted sobs of outraged shame… and tried to conceal my moans of pleasure! I was, after all, a naked, captive, conquered… virgin!

But I was broken, utterly cowed and unresisting. Resigned and… ready.

My eyes flickered to the hugeness of the cruel erection that he intended to drive into me, to burn, me into a pile of wispy gray ash. I shivered. My thighs tightened in fearful anticipation.

Removing his ardent finger from the softness of those scalloped pink lips, he laid his hand flat on my up-thrusting mound. The warm pressure wrenched a moan from deep in my guts.

"Open wider," he ordered, and watched the flare of my nostrils as helpless tears of frustration flooded my eyes. Sudden, swift rape were better than this slow building, giving me time to think and to be nervous and ashamed… and he well knew it. I obeyed. My thighs parted still more, making an obscene display of the deeply pink blossom of my unexplored nook. He gazed down at it as my movement exposed more openly my vulva's padded seam. The sight of it, the thought of its hot interior, brought a responsive jerk from the long thick menace that throbbed up from the curly bush of his thighs.

His fingers slid over the delicate lips, parting them lightly, moistly, to display the wet pink silk and satin, just inside. I chewed my lip, shivering out a fearful little aaaammmmmu-u-u-ummmmmmmmmm, while he examined the raw inner lips of my tight virginal channel.

He eased a finger into the fluttery vestibule, and flame rekindled in me. I groaned, hating the teasingly narrow little cleft of my body for wetly and lovingly enfolding his finger. He pushed and I grunted and shuddered as though struck with a blast of cold air. I felt the pressure. His probing finger had found and nudged the delicate tissue-barrier that had so long protected my warm, damp, secret inner depths.

"This," he said, prodding it with his stiffened finger so that I jerked and groaned pitifully, "was placed here for one reason, Tory: for me to destroy. For me to ram, and pierce, and tear through, into your tight little cunt. It's been waiting for me, me, all these years."

"Ummmm… uh… unnnnnghhh… p-p-pl-e-e-ease…" I twisted my head to one side, conquered and trembling. I knew the sudden terrible, unassuagable fear of being ripped asunder by the unwonted invasion of my naked and open and defenseless body.

Unwonted? Unwanted?

Kneeling between my well-parted thighs, he eased forward. His anticipation hardened shaft of hard, hot flesh bobbed before him.

"Look," he said, and I fearfully obeyed. My eyes widened and my fingers clutched convulsively. It looked so HUGE! The last moment had come, and I stared at an organ of male sexuality that surely most women, maidenly or not, would find difficult to swallow and encompass within their soft bodies. And mine was an unentered body!

"This," he said, "goes into you. Way up into you."

I tried to calm myself, knowing that he was working very hard to frighten me, that he was enjoying my tense fear. Setting the dark, swollen knob of it against the puffy lips, he smiled at me… and fell forward! I groaned, jerking convulsively. His organ jerked, too, forward. Hurling aside the tender folds, it buried itself between the juicy lobes of my vagina. Both of us felt it thump against the taut-stretched inner barrier, and my face contorted as I tensed and stared wide-eyed at him.

My mouth emitted a final trembling, protesting plea.

Then I was silent. I was defeated. I was no fighter. I was a woman. I already knew that I was a sensuous one. They had proven that to me. My conquest and my shame and humiliation were accomplished. I had been proven to be other than what I had always thought and pretended. I was already defenseless; already my soft protective outer lips were breached and thrust aside, framing a throbbing great knob of hot flesh. Already it was pressed against the tissue-thin emblem of my girlhood. I was now waiting only to be perforated and pained, used, ravished, and then discarded as the whim took him, my conqueror.

I thought: a woman? No! Still a girl! That little piece of skin kept me a girl. And he was enjoying this teasing of me, pushing at my maidenhead making it stretch, deliberately giving me flashing smarting pains and heightening my fear. Soft, fluted lips enfolded him like a glove lined with silk, but he was still, intent on raising my fear and pain still more by keeping the crown of his cock tight-pressed against that inner curtain.

"It's time I was a woman," I thought, and I was suddenly very proud of my strength in that resolve. I sucked up a deep breath and clenched my teeth. I planted my elbows and forearms and palms flat against the bed. Then…

I rammed myself forward onto his cock!

My maidenhead resisted for only a moment, in lancing pain.

"Yah! O-o-o-o-ow-w-w-w-ww… ah!"

It ripped asunder! My scream wavered in the room. My wide, pain-filled eyes returned his astonished gaze. I had taken my own maidenhead! I had impaled myself! Now I lay gasping, with most of the feverishly-inflamed length of his fatal foe of virginity buried within my bleeding, unused pussy. Extreme heat and constriction assailed his imbedded organ and made it jerk within me.

I was a little surprised to feel it there, knowing that I had opened and spread and been spread until my mossy little nest completely surrounded the head and most of the shaft of his throbbing cock!

I had done it myself, and I was proud.

But that did not stop me from knowing simultaneous pain and nausea. I felt the hot slipperiness. I knew I was bleeding! Suddenly he jerked it out, slapping his hands onto the yielding mounds of my breasts and shoving, thrusting himself back. Again: PAIN!

"Ah… aaarrrggghhhhh! Ah… uh… ah… ah… ahhhrrr…"

Now he came lancing back, and out again, thrusting and ramming, shoving and agitating his prick in my uncharted channel, working to probe and plumb and widen it, forever.

Frenziedly, as it gripped him tightly, he fucked my virgin cleft. He shaved and withdrew his cock, streaking it in and out.

His hard prick smeared with scarlet, he shoved again to bury it to its hairy hilt within me. He hunched and groaned with the absolute overwhelming delight of not only deflowering a virgin, but of having teased her into doing it herself. His male ego rose and stormed and thundered over me. He drove hard, perversely enjoying the shallow tightness and yet thrusting hard and jerking his hips, to widen the straitened passage as he sought the very bottom of my belly. He watched the contortions of my face with an obvious delight, gouging and boring into my never-probed vaginal sheath.

Tears trembled in my eyes. The mounded white halves of my chest heaved and shook like jelly. My loins and my buttocks under me quivered beneath his burrowing strokes. His head came forward and down to my nipples, licking and sucking at those firm fountains of milky desire. He nibbled and licked, burrowing and burrowing inside me.

Pleasure rose to begin to blend with my pain. Pleasure equaled the pain. His cock was way inside me and I could feel it pushing deeper and deeper into the softness, into my belly. Pleasure flared higher than the pain! I was panting. I shuddered and moaned helplessly, feeling all my inner emotions and thoughts and feelings change.

Pain vanished. Pleasure reigned!

He fucked me. I fucked him back. We fucked each other.

I squealed and drummed my heels on the bed when his tight furry balls gushed their sperm deep into the receptacle for the masculine offering. I urged and thrust it onto his hard spurting length.

He had given me tenderness, sweetness of lips and tongue, and he had given me a glorious climax. And now he had given me the delightful knowledge that the way of a man and a woman is good, good, that there is no feeling so totally and completely wonderful and secure and soothing as that great thick tool of a man lunging and thrusting into a woman's belly. And… and he gave me this:

Another orgasm!

For I came when he did. Perhaps it was not so fiery and nerve-shattering an eruption as my previous one. Perhaps it was mostly in my mind; the thought of having been poked and plowed and rummaged, and now shot full of hot liquid sperm in the chamber designed for it. But it was good; a lovely sweet shuddering climax.

I stretched out my arms to him when he rose, gasping, from my sweaty body. I felt the moist kiss of his drooping emblem of maleness as it dragged away over my belly. Then it had vanished within the robe he bad never removed.

"Don't… go…"

He left. There was a sob in my throat as I turned on my side to stare at the door. Then I saw that he had left the brandy bottle. I snatched it up and gulped and gulped, burning my throat. It had not been done in love, I thought wretchedly, despite his tenderness. He merely used me, without even removing his clothes. Then he left me, as if I were… a whore. Leaving behind, instead of a few bills, this bottle. In payment for the virginal charms he ravaged from me!

I was lying there feeling sorry for myself when the door opened and Miles entered.

I was too enfumed with the brandy, too downcast at having been used and abandoned by Erik, to resist more than a little. But I did resist, preferring the illusion of love, one man, to what this second man meant: whoredom. Prostitution. Use.

He slapped me so hard I bounced on the bed and saw bright lights and felt my jaw twitching convulsively at the pain. Fighting was too much trouble, and I didn't like the punishments it brought me. I lay still, whimpering. He bent. His hands clamped to my naked body. He lifted, pinching and drew me up from the bed. I thought I was to be kissed.

Instead he flipped me carelessly over and dropped me on my stomach. Instantly my buttocks flinched and the channel between them started again to smart and burn, for I was sure he was going to drive himself into it again. I was wrong.

He came onto the bed, forcing my legs apart and kneeling between them. I raised myself on my elbows, trying to roll over. He slapped one jiggly cheek of my rump lad placed a hand flat in the center of my back. I grunted as he thrust me down. I whimpered, digging my fingers into the sheet.

He fell onto my back, cushioning his hard body on the softness of my rump's plump pillows and I raised my head to emit a cry. "Aaahhh-aahhhh-a-a-a-aahhhhh!" Then he anchored his big angry poker of flesh in my so-recently opened vagina in a series of hard, massive thrusts that jarred my entire body. "Unh! Ah! Oh uuunnhhh!!" I grunted and cried out, writhing beneath him, angered at being thus taken, entered, used… like a dog!

My buttocks quivered jelly-like beneath the repeated slaps of his hairy pelvis. His groin battered their satiny textures mercilessly. I could feel the tightness of his furry scrotum thumping against the top of my ravaged vaginal lips… the bottom, now, since I lay on my stomach. They slapped me rhythmically, as he slapped my soft inner walls with the lust-engorged knob of his driving organ. He circled it within me, twisting his hips and making me flinch and groan and sob as he sought to widen me more and more and still more, battering cringing inner walls that had only just, for the first time, felt their first hot invasion: Erik's.

Now I knew, by contrast, how tender Erik had been. For Miles was brutal. He was raping me in truth, and from behind to add to my feeling of a thing to be used. Suddenly he popped it forth. I screamed as it thumped hard against the puckered little entry to my back.

"Nommmm… no no no no no-o-o-o-ooooh!!!"


It slipped in. I had, after all, been made quite adequately ready for entry there! It had been less than two days since I had been kept full there for an hour and longer, by Erik's command. Now Miles rose to his knees behind me, between my flinching, tightening thighs, and rammed it brutally in and out of my ass.

"Aaarrrrhhhhhhahrhhggg-hhh!" I shrieked again, when he jerked it out. Without missing a beat in his hunching, he rammed it again between the soft lips of my now far-from virginal pussy. I was limp on the bed, clutching it in restlessly writhing fingers.

Yet… I was unable not to… to move… wiggling… wincing, yes, but… totally unable… not to… respond…! As though divorcing itself from my mind's control, my body thrust itself back to meet and enclose the big hard shaft that skewered me so avidly and brutally from behind. My shame and humiliation were complete at last! I knew that I was what my mother had always told me was so terribly evil and dangerous, both to herself and the men she tempted and dragged down: a whorishly sex-loving woman!

My movements, naturally, encouraged him to increase the power and depth of his shattering hammering lunges onto me. Each long hard thrust crammed my bruised labia back into the quivering cleft they framed, as though his terrible sword of lust were bent on burying them within rue forever. His hips and pelvis slammed and slapped bard and loud into the twin bubbles of my bottom. His feverishly inflamed tool pumped me, deeply, sliding far within me, accompanied by the sound of another slap of his hips against the squirming hills of my backside. Each time he forced his rigid length to impale, as deeply as possible, the tight hot hole of my belly. Gliding, gliding, gliding in me.

He was wallowing in me, reveling in the wide-open hole of my loins, lunging and plunging, spurred by my availability and helplessness and the snug warmth of the slot that Erik opened for his ease. At the very last moment he again jerked it out, making me cry out and lunge backward, for I did not want him to leave…

"Ee e e e e-e-e-e-y-y-yy-a-a-a-a-a-h-h-h-h-ah!"

I impaled my own rectum on the great shaft just as it started to spew forth its liquid lust! My scream was loud in the room, from the sudden hot plunge up into my unwary asshole.

Having finished with me, he rose and left. I did not even look up from the bed.


I slept. Lois woke me, bringing food… a small amount. She did not touch me, nor did she speak… I avoided her glance, but there was no scorn, in her eyes.

The moment she had escorted me to the bathroom and back, standing there while I performed the natural functions I needed so desperately, Erik returned. I was putty that he manipulated, kneeling rue down on the floor, leaning forward over the bed. He caressed himself in both available furrows of my body, as Miles had, and left without a word. I crawled into the bed and slept. For hours. Miles came. Miles fell on me and fucked me. Miles left. I slept, leaking semen from my well-probed orifices. I was awakened by Erik's hand on my shoulder. I curled a little, feeling warm and sleepy and cuddly. Looking up at him, I frowned. He wore trousers and shirt and silk scarf knotted loosely about his neck, and short buckled boots.

In silence, he took my arm. I went along, naked and shaky. He darted the shower and left the bathroom. I showered, mechanically, directing my attention to the orifices they had pumped full of semen. They were tender. The soap stung I shivered and moaned.

Emerging, I toweled carefully and went to the door. I had forgotten any shame at my nudity. It had become my natural state. Erik waited outside the door.

"Are you ready to go home?"

I stared. "Yes," I said mechanically, feeling the sudden speeding thutter of my heartbeats. Home? Leave? Voluntarily, he was letting me go? The little thought came: but I haven't…

"Your clothes are ruined. Here."

I took the tan man's raincoat and slid into it, shivering at the slick nylon lining. I buttoned it over my nakedness. It was too large by a considerable margin, but I do have I lot of chest! I admit to enjoying the feeling of the cloth against my nipples…

In silence we went down, and out the front door. I smiled up at the stars. They were still there! I had not seen stars, or sun or moon or clouds, or breathed fresh good woods air for so long!

He steered me wordlessly to his car, and I saw that we were to go the long way, down his drive and out to the road and along it and into Aunt Isobel's drive it occurred to me that moment that she knew where I was. They had planned this! She had probably been in a hotel, downtown! I thought about that as he drove in silence.

He drew up before the big house, hesitated as he looked at me, then got out and came around to open the door. Such politeness for a rapist, I mused. But I said nothing; I would not break the silence. He walked me up onto the porch, and I saw that I had been right: the door was unlocked. She was home. She knew. He pushed it open, into the darkened hallway. I hesitated, then went inside without looking at him. He went in silence back to his car and drove away home.

I felt as though I were in some sort of dream. Someone else's dream, perhaps. I could not believe what they had done to me. I realized that I was still wearing his coat. I shrugged. Flipping on a light, I went along the corridor to the kitchen.

I was sitting there at the little table, having eaten only a small quantity of cold roast beef and amazed that I seemed full, when I looked up to see Aunt Isobel in the doorway.

"Hello, Tory."

"Hello. It, worked. I'm not a girl any more." There was silence for a while, the two of us just staring at each other. Again I thought the whole insanity seemed like a dream. She glanced at the saucer I had used, and the meat still on its platter on the table. I rose, wrapped the meat in foil, and returned it to the refrigerator. The saucer I slid into the sink.

"That attracts roaches," she said.

"Wash it then," I said.

I walked past her and started up the steps. She was left standing there in the kitchen with the lights on and the greasy saucer in the sink. She had not washed a dish since I had come here. Halfway up the steps I paused and turned.

"Aunt Isobel?"

She came out of the kitchen to look questioningly up at me. She looked tiny, there at the bottom of the steps.

I asked, "Was it your idea?"

She didn't bother to pretend. "Not wholly. Partially…"

"You do whatever he says."

She looked surprised, but nodded.

"You're his… slave."

She looked down. She didn't need to answer, and both of us knew it. Pushing my hand into the pocket of the coat, I drew out what I had felt there, thumping my bare leg my diary.

"Do you want to read the rest of this?"

She looked up the steps at me. "No, Tory."

"Are you quite sure?"

She nodded.

"Then keep your long whore's nose out of it hereafter," I said. "I've offered. Now don't be a sneak."


"I don't care for that name. You invented it, and I really don't care for you. I think I'll call myself Vicky. With an 'i' on the end, maybe."

"Like that Johnson girl, Luci? That's common."

I shrugged. "We're pretty common people. After all I haven't any parents, and my aunt is both a slave and a slut."

She took that, just standing there gazing at me. I don't know if it was just the light or if those were tears I saw, making her eyes sparkle. But she took it in silence. Then she said:

"You're… very different, Tor… Vicky."

I gave her a short scornful laugh.

"What did you expect, Isobel, when you and your Master agreed to make me a sexual slave for a few days, just long enough to have big male organs and a dildo rammed in and out of my asshole, and the dicks of two men, one after another, rammed in and, out of my… belly." I was trying to use naughty words, but I just couldn't say "cunt", not then! Not aloud.

"I'm not a virgin any more," I told her, as if I needed to. "I'm not a child any more. I don't even feel like a girl. I think maybe I'm a woman. A woo-man. I like it. I'm delighted. I've found out what I'm for, what I love, and what I love to do. But don't expect me to kiss your hands for it, or Erik's."

She bit her lip.

"Is it true, what I've read, Isobel? That in some of the Arab countries where they still have slavery and the U.N. doesn't do anything about it because of the oilwells, that they are all dark, and so blonde virgins bring over ten thousand dollars?"

"I… I don't…"

"Just a moment, Isobel. I would appreciate your going into town tomorrow and coming back with ten… no, there's inflation to consider. Thirteen thousand dollars worth of traveler's checks for me. The man you sold me to brought me back, so it's only fair that I get the price of my own cherry. You wanted to whore me; pay me then!"

"Ten… thirteen thou…"

"You have plenty, Isobel. You won't miss it."

"Now… now look here, Tory…"

But I had her on one foot. She couldn't intimidate me with that old tone. Not any more.

I interrupted her again; it was fun!

"Don't call me Tory!" I snapped. "And you listen." I waved the diary. "I have this. It has someone else's handwriting in it. Names are mentioned, in both handwritings. I can also describe all sorts of things in that house, in all sorts of places, if you people try to say I'm crazy or whatever… I can also describe the mole on Miles' thigh, way up here, where it wouldn't show, would it, unless I'd seen him mighty bare. For about two more days, probably, I'll have some interesting marks on me."

She stared. "You?"

"Thirteen's silly, Isobel. Just make it fifteen thousand."

"You… you would not dare tell that story to anyone! It would be too embarrassing for you! It would RUIN you!"

I shook my head. "Not me. Here it would, but I wouldn't be here. I can go all sorts of places, Aunt Isobel. But it WOULD ruin you, wouldn't it, and Erik, and Lois and Miles too, I guess."

She stood there with her head tilted back, gazing up the stairwell at me. I stood there and stared back, wearing only Erik's tan raincoat with my hair streaming down, loose and tangled. At last she sighed.

"Traveler's checks," she said, "have to be bought by the person whose name is on them."

I didn't know if that were true or not. I thought about it.

"Three cashier's cheeks from the bank, then," I said, "each for five thousand dollars. And five hundred in cash."

"Your… price keeps going up, it, seems," she said quietly.

I shrugged.

"I will hand it to you before noon tomorrow, Vicky."

I nodded and started on up the steps.

"Tor… Victoria."

I turned back wearing a questioning look.

"I… I am going over there tomorrow night, uh, Vicky. Through the woods, I mean. Do… you want to come along?"

I laughed. "Don't be silly," I said. "He's your Master!"

I went upstairs and locked my door and slid into bed to read what Lois wrote here. After getting up to make sure that my door was locked, I went to sleep and didn't waken until eleven A.M.. She was back from town by a quarter to twelve, and she handed me the three checks and five one-hundred dollar bills. I stayed up here all afternoon, writing this. Now, finally, it's up to date.

She won't bother to be sneaky tonight, now that we all know all about [missing text].


There she goes! Through the woods to dear Erik's, the old whore!

And here I go. The airline already has my reservation; I called this afternoon. The plane leaves in two hours, so. I have plenty of time to get there and pay for the ticket. THAT'S why I asked the slut for some cash-type money!

I'll travel light. Just this diary, and the clothes I'm wearing, and the box she had sent from home, with Mother's and Dad's things in it.

Oh, and Erik Parker's raincoat. There isn't a single mark on my body. The raincoat's a sort of… memento!


Johnson City, Tennessee

November 13


Surely you didn't expect me to begin a letter to you with "DEAR" Erik, did you? I am typing this because it is easier to make carbons. One goes to your nearby slave, and the other one is for my diary. Remember my diary? It really helped you and Miles and Lois and Aunt Isobel with my initiation, didn't it?

Yes, I am here. I merely stopped off at home to go and see the old house, which now contains a young couple with four children, and my parents graves. And to cash the three cashier's checks in for a bunch of money orders. The M.O.'s I deposited to my account here.

I am writing to let you and your slave and your fellow monsters know that I am alive, extremely well, and shockingly happy. I have just taken a test, which I passed, and am entering college here without having to finish High School. I think I'll like college. I mean, I have a little money, and I love to read, and I'm certainly not stupid. I never was. Just naive.

Besides; there are lots of males on college campuses.

I will major in psychology. There are these four sick people I once knew in Denver, and I'd like to try to get some line on why they're like they are. Doesn't that thought just turn you on?!?

My main reason for writing, though, is to tell you about some of the things I've done. One of them will make you clench and grit your teeth, I'm sure.

It began on the plane. It was a continuation-flight, with lots of people already on board. I wasn't silly enough to pay the extra money for what they call First Class, up there in the front of the plane which is about a third full and helps explain why airlines are losing money. No, I was in back, in Tourist. There were/was one window seat left. I took it, since I wanted to see what the world looks like from a few miles up.

A man sat next to me. A young man… you know, I mean not old and nearly used up, like, you. We talked. He was with some kind of architectural planning company, and was going just where I was going, to meet with the City Council. He was quite nice, quite good looking, and he obviously, thought I was something fine, too. His name was Michael and he said most people called him Red, guess why, but he preferred Michael. I told him that although I'd been called "Tory", I much preferred Vicky.

I told him that I was going home, but only temporarily and would be moving on in a day or two. I told him the truth about Mother and Daddy, that they were dead and I wanted to see their graves.

After a while he said, "Why don't we pretend we're on a date, and let me buy you a drink?"

I laughed and nodded, but was a little disappointed to learn there wasn't any brandy. Just bourbon, Scotch, and blended. He ordered bourbon and 7-Up, so I did, too. I didn't even know what blended was.

The stewardess, brought us our drinks… I think a dollar and a half is pretty expensive… and we put down the little trays on the backof the seats in front of us. I let him pour the whiskey out of the little bottle, and I was careful to sip, it was all right. I prefer brandy. Smile, damn you!

"If we were on a date," I said, remembering what my dates used to be like (you know, you've read the diary), "We'd probably be holding hands, wouldn't we?"

"Probably," he said, and he slid his hand from under his tray to undermine and we held hands. His fingers were nice and warm on my thigh.

We finished the drinks. He asked if I wanted another. I said no, I'd rather wait till we got there and maybe have a brandy, and the stewardess looked at our trays still down when she took the glasses, but she didn't say anything. He asked if I were going to stay with relatives. I told him I didn't have any, although I used to have an aunt. I'd be staying at the Holiday. He said he was, too, squeezing my hand so that his fingers slid along my thigh a little.

"Fine," I said. "If the bar's still open you can buy me a brandy."

The bar wasn't open when we checked in at the Holiday… separately, separately!… but they were glad to send up a bottle of over-priced brandy. He frowned at the price, sort of biting his lip.

"I have plenty of money," I said. "I'll pay for the brandy… and keep what we don't drink, too! Unless you want to pay for the brandy with me sort of thrown in."

He turned his head to look at me. I was so new at being a woman that I had a hard time meeting his gaze. But I did. You'd have been proud of your pupil, Professor Sex. We had the it sent up to my room, and he paid, rather than signed, because he had to turn his receipts in to his company.

We kissed while we waited for it to come up, and he felt me. His hands felt very big and warm on my breasts. So far he'd said nothing about my lack of luggage. After the bottle came he put the chain on the door and we drank one brandy.

It was lovely, all warm in the belly.

He asked if I'd like another and I said yes, which I think didn't make him any too happy, naturally. He was ready for me! While he poured and put ice in the glasses I headed for the bathroom.

"Going to slip into something more comfortable?" he grinned. He had a wide-open redhead's boyish grin that I liked, really liked.

"Silly," I told him, "you know I don't have any luggage."

So I came out of the bathroom wearing just my panties, with my naked boobies jumping and jiggling all over the place, and he dropped a glass of brandy. Laughing, we both got down to clean it up and pick up the ice cubes. While we were down there like that he developed a sincere interest in the big dangling globes of my breasts, which I describe carefully so that you will remember them, with their pale-pink babes and the nipples that get so big so fast.

He got them big, fast. I at last got up nerve to put out my handd to find that he'd got big too, in his fly. He jerked when I felt it, looking very surprised. Then he stood up, sort of pulling me up by my breasts… not painful, because I am supple and rose right along with him. He started undressing.

He hardly had any hair on his chest at all. The red hair around his groin was almost as pale as mine. He held out his arms and I went, and we embraced, naked. I sort of pushed him back into a chair.

"I want to suck your cock," I said.

He went all stiff, then quivery, with his eyes big. His big throbbing erection jumped around in front of him. He was about half in shock, I think, with me leaning over him smiling. But my breasts were swinging down, and he started playing again. I stood there, bending over him with my eyes closed, while he pressed and, fondled them and traced his thumbs over the nipples. He seemed to weigh them in his palms. I moved a little, teasing his mouth with the dangling white pendants of my chest. He nuzzled them with his lips, trying to capture the tips as they brushed over his face. His delighted face.

Standing there, I reached down to fondle his big naked shaft and the soft furry globes beneath. They were tight feeling.

I bent, pulling my breasts regretfully out of his hands, and cupped my lips to his lower stomach. He gasped. I kissed him there, letting him feel a hard suction before sliding my mouth down into the cradle of his groin. He was nice. I wished I had same practice. But as soon as I thought that, it made me remember where I'd had the chance to practice, and I knew I'd rather practice on him.

I hope you're snarling as you read this.

I pressed my face into his flesh, all fuzzy down there, and breathed deeply. I liked it! Thank God, I thought, breathing in the sweaty odor of his sex and riffling his pelvic fur with each breath. I felt his big hard tool throbbing against my cheek. Squirming around and squeezing that hard rubber flesh in my hands, I opened wide and went at it. Plunging that big thing in and out of my face very rapidly, my mouth as wide as I could get it, I started to eat his prick.

"AAAH! Uinmmmm… mmm," he breathed, shivering all over.

I bathed the shaft all up and down its length, with the moist heat of my saliva until I made it all slick and shiny. He sat there and gasped and groaned. My jaws hurt. His organ throbbed wildly. It occurred to me that while it might be nice for me if he blew up right away and flooded my tonsils, that might not be what he wanted. And I wanted him to have what he wanted!

Sliding his hard dick out of my face, I worked my jaws a moment to ease the strain. He moaned, thinking he was abandoned, I guess. I kissed his swollen pole and its rounded head… I had never known how tender and soft that head is! It was lovely. I kissed it again and again and still again, just tipping it with my tongue. He sighed. I knew he was sitting there booking down at me, enjoying my soft devotion to phallic worship.

It's an ancient religion, isn't it? Good. I was brought up to be a religious girl!

My tongue tangled around him. I began to work, enjoying it, the taste and the feel and the challenge and the thought of it. I had to suppress a giggle, thinking about you and how much you must have wanted it, and how nice it was to be doing it to another man, who hadn't demanded. Mmmmmmmmm! Who hadn't made any demands at all. Mmmmm-mmm! I think I'll devote my life to satisfying men who make no demands, I thought, sucking. mmmmmm-mmmmmmmmmmmm!!

My tongue, my teeth, my lips all pressed close about him in an uninhibited adoration of his delicious morsel of maleness. I began to suck it as if for nourishment. I knew my face was ecstatic and content. I could feel it. I could feel him, all wet against my chin as saliva from my crowded mouth drooled down to moisten the whole of my lower face and his tight jewels in their little velvet sac. It dribbled from his scrotum onto my soft, jiggling breasts. (I was rubbing the nipples against the chair. He wasn't aware of that. It was very nice.)


I sucked. My lips and contracting cheeks and throat pulled hard at him in a moist, nibbling, drawing suction. My wide-stretched lips clasped wetly around it, just like the lips of an eager vagina. It erupted quickly in the oral cocoon I provided for his pleasure. The taste was vaguely sweetish, thick and warm. I found it pleasant. I liked it. I was well prepared, psychologically, for this, for fellato. "Because I had lost both my front and rear maidenheads to you and Miles, but I had preserved my mouth… to GIVE to this appreciative man!"

I swallowed, gulping the seething fluid down my throat to warm my seething stomach. It kept jerking out hard jets of liquid tribute that splashed down into my throat and slid on down and down into me.

He enjoyed it very, very much. Very much, I assure you, Erik-the-monster!

I was mildly surprised a short time later when he began playing and squeezing and fondling and licking and sucking the panting globes of my chest and before I even knew he was ready again he was starting to slide his hot organ, newly erected, into my eager little vagina. But I stopped him.

"Not there," I told him, looking down as if I were embarrassed. "I'm still a virgin," I lied. "But… in here. The other place;"

He was amazed, astonished, astounded, and whatever words there are that mean he was really shook. But we soon had him nestled between the cheeks of my bottom, pumping and pumping and soon he sent another lake of liquid seed up to meet that he had poured down my throat.

We slept naked in my room, and awoke about nine in the morning.

I sucked him up and he buggered me again.

I loved it. Ummmmyaahaaaaaa!

"When will I see you again?" he wanted to know when he was getting ready to rush up to his room to prepare for his meeting with the City Council.

"Maybe on an airplane?" I smiled, and I went into the bathroom and closed the door. When I came out he was gone, as I had expected. I called down to complain about my air-conditioner, but the man they sent up was old and skinny and so I didn't invite him to have me.

That's all I really have to say to you, Erik-the-monster, unless you want to hear about the poor lonely fourteen-year-old boy I pulled into the bushes in the cemetery that afternoon and sucked off. I didn't find out his name.

Good-bye, and good luck with your slave. Wouldn't it be nice to have someone do it to you because SHE wanted to?

Lots of hate, XXX,




It's been so long since I've written anything here. Why put down all the descriptions of all the times I've made love with and to David and Richard and Alan and Rob and Leonard and Ted and Max and Andy and Bruno and Nat and the ones whose names I either don't remember or didn't find out?

To catch up: it is March, and the last entry here was in August, and after that I just tucked in the carbon of the letter to Erik. I'll bet that blew his ever loving black MIND! I made it into college, and said I wanted to major in psych, but they pointed out that first I have to take standard Freshman courses; English 101 and 102, Sociology 101 and 102, General Sci, same numbers, and basic stuff. The schedule didn't work out the way I had it planned because I was in the last third or so of the registration line, so I had to change some things around. That's how I got into the course under Mr. Charles Grayson. An accident; a whim of chance.

I recognized him as soon as I walked into the classroom. He called the role that first day, to familiarize himself with us-most of the other Freshmen were three or four years younger than I, by the way. He sort of stumbled when he came to "Oldenkamp", and looked up. I smiled.

"Miss Oldenkainp?"

I nodded. "Yes, sir. Justine Oldenkamp."

He didn't crack a smile. "It says on your card, Miss Oldenkamp, that you are Victoria M.."

"Yes, sir. The other is an old nickname. I'm Vicky Oldenkamp, yes."

I went up after class, and we shook hands, glad to see each other, both from the same town. How strange for me, that he had previously been so much older than I! Now he seemed about thirty or thirty-one, and that isn't old at all, not to a girl who isn't a girl any more. I'd begun to realize there are a lot more boys in the world, of all sizes and age, than men. At least I've met a lot of boys, of all ages!

He knew my parents were dead. He was divorced. I told him where I lived, off-campus. That surprised him, but I told him that I had a little money, from my aunt, and had got a dispensation from living in the dorms, since, I was 21.

"Are you really that old?"

I nodded and assured him that I was. I also asked him if he bad a copy of that book, the de Sade one.

"Just Sade," he said. "The 'de' part isn't really a part of his name. Yes, I have a copy. It's a very thick book, though…"

"I've been doing a lot of reading and writing," I said, "and this English course isn't going to take a lot of time. Could I do a sort of independent study, read that book and make you a report on it at the end of the semester? You said we'd have to do a term paper on some book. Why not Justine?"

"It is a very wicked and sensual book, Miss Oldenkamp. It is also… well, from Sade's name comes the term 'sadism'."

"That interests me," I said, looking directly into his dark eyes, "very much."

He stared at me a moment. Then he nodded, said he'd see that I received a copy, and we parted to go to our next hour's class, he to teach and I to listen to someone else.

That was on Friday, the first day of school; on Monday he handed me the book in a fake wrapper. It is a very thick book, published in a new translation, and it begins rather slowly.

After that it is the juiciest, most sexy thing I ever could have imagined, even when the sex stops while the reader has to stumble over de… I mean over Sade's long lo-o-o-o-ong lectures.

It seemed to me that he was avoiding my eyes in class, so one day I saw him having a coffee in the little restaurant a half-block from campus, Tonio's. I went in and stood beside his table. He was reading. He looked up, then pulled off the heavy-framed black glasses he wears.

"Hullo, Miss Oldenkamp!"

"You should call me Vicky off campus," I said.

"It beats Victoria," he said, glancing around. "Sit down."

"I can't sit down, Mister Grayson, I'm on my way home." I was standing close to the table, and I pushed against its corner, watching his eyes drop. The table's corner pushing into my thighs stretched the fabric of my skirt very tightly and outlined not only my thighs but belly and bulging vulva as well.

"I just wanted to tell you that I've nearly finished Justine, and I love it. As soon as I finish it I want to start again; is that all right? I mean can I keep it that long?"

He gazed up at me. He had asked me to sit, and he was after all Faculty and I a student, so he hadn't risen. Some would. He's different.

"You love it? Really."

I nodded. "I read little pieces of it every night," I said. "I save it for when I'm through studying or whatever." (Whatever, in a couple of cases meant screwing.)

He smiled, studying me. "It is a night sort of book, isn't it?"

I smiled right back. "Yes," I said, "very useful!" Within a few minutes we had decided that he was coming over Saturday night, since I had rented an old ramshackle farmhouse… three rooms and a kitchen, with white doorknobs and all… and discuss the book with me.

It wasn't wise, what with him being Faculty and all, and a new Faculty member at that. He'd only had his Master a year, and this was the first college teaching job he'd landed. But where I live, as I had been warned by the real estate man, a sickening creature who tried to fondle and so didn't get to, is rather remote. And I do love the space and the fresh air and the trees!

Two hours after Charles Grayson arrived I was naked and on my knees before him. We achieved our rapport that fast. The book helped. Dear Justine!

"And how does it feel, being naked and on your knees before a man?" he asked, in his quiet way.

"It feels good."

He bent and snapped each of my nipples with his fingers, flicking his forefinger off his thumb the way some kids snap paper wads in High School. It stung.

"Ummmmnnnnhh! Ohh."

"And bow does that feel?"

"Good…" I whispered. It did. And the nipples were firming rapidly. I was sure I was already wet in the vag.

He set forefinger and thumb to each nipple and began to squeeze. Pressure mounted. I began to whimper and moan, with my lips set together.

"And how does that feel?"

"Um-m-m-mm-m-n-n-n-nh-h-h-h… g-g-gooo-oo-ood…"

He straightened, standing over me, and then walked over to sit down in the over-stuffed chair near the fireplace I don't use.

"Come over here."

I started to get up.

"On your knees. I want to watch your tits jump."

I went on my knees. The wideset globes of my bosom swung and shivered, and bounced and jumped, and he watched them all the way over.

This time, rather than hurt them, he bent and fondled and pressed and adored them with his hands, and I snuggled up against his legs, and when I raised my head he kissed me. We kissed a long while, with our tongues highly active. All the while he rubbed my bare back with one band and cupped my naked breasts with the other, squeezing and bouncing them. I knew that their availability and their firm bouyancy delighted him, and his hands delighted me. So did his wonderful expert mouth and tongue. He kisses beautifully, just beautifully and wonderfully.

"Un-nn-nnhh," I gasped, hugging his legs, "o-o-o-ohhh… would… would you… um!… like me-e-ee!… to… ahh-h-h-h, darling!… to suck your cock?"

He squeezed the tender white globeshapes of my breasts and pushed his thumbs into their tips telescoping them partially into the bulges they jutted from.

"Suck me? Suck my what?"

"Suck… ummmm! Suck your… ah-h-h-h-h-hhh… big… hard… dick."

I cried out as he slapped me, just like that. I looked up tearfully. "Cock," he said.


"Say it again."

"Say it all. Tell me what YOU want to do, bitch, my sweet little slut Vicky, don't ask me if I want YOU to do it!"

I gazed into his eyes. Very softly I said, "Let me suck your cock."

"I will let you suck it, but it won't be you giving me head, Vicky. It will be me raping your face."

I shivered violently. Oh, wonderful man! Delicious phrase! Raping my face! Beautiful concept.


He nudged me back with his knees, stood up, and stripped without haste. It bobbed forth to bounce before him, pointed almost straight up above his shining, large testicles in their furry container. On impulse I stretched myself on my knees to kiss them. First the right and them the left.

"Lick," he said, and I licked them until they were wet with saliva. Slowly, he sat down again.

"Kneel up," he said.

I knelt up. He fondled my breasts, gently and lovingly. Then he cupped my chin with his hand. His thumb pushed at my lips. I opened them, and be thrust his thumb into my mouth and wagged it around. I opened wide, liking the feel of it, the thought of what he was doing. Then I sucked his thumb.

He smiled slowly, nodding. "Yes," he said, "I believe you might do, at that."


"Shut up and get that cunt-pink tongue on my cock, bitch, until I'm ready to rape that cunt-pink mouth!"

Shivering in delight, I lowered my face swiftly to his glorious erection. I wished that he'd feel me between the legs; I was sure the secret slot there was an absolute lake. I loved his words, his voice, the things he said and wanted and… ordered.

I kissed the big deeply-red knob… I licked it. I stabbed my tongue at the tiny slitted hole in its tip, I felt it bob and tremble in my hand.

He reached down to tug my hair, and I looked up at him, questioningly.

"You don't want it," he said. "I am going to rape your face. You're helpless, you don't it, but you don't dare resist or try to bite it."

"Oh yes!" Ecstasy was coursing through me in hot liquid thrills that felt like hot water had been poured into my belly and the slit at its base. I wriggled against his legs.

He seized his own shaft, holding my bead with his other hand, his fingers entwined in my hair. He held his beautiful organ up before my face.

"Now, lick it!"

"Umm-m-m-m!" Submissively I put out my tongue to touch the tip of it, to taste its almost-clear liquid secretions. "Ummmmmm!" I ran my tongue around it then, making delicate little circular movements around the engorged crown. Desire flared in my belly, like a rising flame of lust. I licked way down the shaft, tapped one swollen testicle with my tongue, then licked back up again.

He could not be still. He lurched forward, still holding both my hair and his own mighty bludgeon of purplish-red flesh. It came at me, that little tip-slit like a single reddish eye staring at me, seeing its way to its goal: my mouth. It came. I held my teeth apart but firmed my lips to heighten the illusion, for both of us, of rape. It nudged against, my lips.

"Open that mouth and make a cunt of it."

I opened. He sent it driving forward, cramming my tongue back into my mouth and sending his penis in after it. I accepted it, all of it, in the tender shelter of my face. My cheeks hollowed deeply. My eyes bulged. I almost fainted in delight as electric tingles shot through my lower regions. I dropped a hand to feel myself there.

I was wet!

I squirmed with some discomfort, but mostly in exquisite pleasure as he began to move, rocking his hips. Steadily he moved, back and forth, in a rhythmic motion that speared the long cock shaft in and out of the warm moist hollow formed in the depths of my face. He was careful ever to leave the blood-filled head within my soft lips, letting me taste and feel its hard urgency. A feeling of total pleasure began to suffuse my belly and I was squirming in pleasure.

He pulled it nearly out, then thrust forward again, so that it slid over my lips and tongue and far back into the secret darkness of my mouth, against the smooth wet skin of my throat. I gasped, but, no sound emerged from my sex-stuffed mouth. My abdominal muscles twitched convulsively as I continued to suck his cock and to be face-raped, and as I continued to fondle myself below. I sent a stiff finger into myself. It vanished to the knuckle.

I sucked him with an infant hunger, shuddering in rapture and using my tongue: I stabbed again and again at the pinprick hole of his big swollen sex with it, swirled around and around with it, engulfing and loving him within the hot moist cavern of my mouth.

Reaching out for my jaws with both hands, he clamped them, stared down at me for a moment, and then began fucking me savagely in the face. Each time it drove into my helplessly rounded mouth it made me gag, though it sent simultaneous thrills through my naked body. Each time it emerged it was with loud, obscene sucking, slurping sound. I felt saliva running down my chin. It dripped on my naked, shuddering breasts. I sucked. He rammed, again and again. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. My mouth was stuffed, my jaws began to ache, my head hurt, I loved him and what he was doing…

Suddenly he was groaning and stiffening, and his great pulsing member was too big for my face to contain and I was groaning and trying to pull back. He would not let me. Then he came.

Relentlessly, sperm lashed out from him and into the hollow of my face. The rich foam spurted from him, filling my face with great gushes until it oozed and dribbled from the corners of my ravaged mouth. I felt his sticky fluid of life dribble onto my breasts, already spattered with saliva… I put one hand there, happily smearing myself with it. My stomach convulsed. My eyes bulged. I tried to scream, but my mouth remained full of his sexual flesh.

I was suddenly caught in a squirming, groaning, twisting orgasm, that made my inner cunt clamp and convulse and seem to snap shut like an angry mouth.

His spent prick slipped from my lips.

His hand slid from my hair.

I fell back onto the floor and hugged myself, rolling about in an attempt to prolong the glorious feeling of my orgasm.

Strange. Before he lift, at about three A.M., he had made love to me. Not raped me or used me; made love to me. We rolled on the floor, enwrapped in each other's arms, and he licked my lips and my eyelids and nipples and breasts and throat and shoulders and when I felt his massive dong throbbing between us I made one swift movement with my leg and hip and nabbed it in the soft eager lips of my vaginal mouth. I swallowed it up there, and we lay on our sides facing each other while he made it coast in and out of me.


That was last night. What a wonderful Sunday this is! I just think and think and relive it all, over and over. I'm sorry now that I invited Rob over this afternoon. He'll stay, and we'll do it, of course, and his lovemaking will be so boyish.

If I asked Rob to rape me in the mouth the way my beloved Charles did, he'd r-u-n!


Oh yes, Rob. He came. He has all the lovemaking technique and inspiration of a beagle pup. And his mommy should have told him what a clitoris is. He seems to think all females make it the same way a man does, and at the same time he climaxes.


The look on Loretta's face when she came into the student council office and found Glen humping me on the couch!

Too delicious! I think I came on the spot, just from seeing the way it affected her! I really should find some way to end her up to stay a while with Aunt Isobel… How childish my letter was!


Another Saturday and another visit from Charles. He was no sooner inside the door than I was unable to consider talking. I had to have him!

I slammed myself against him, mashing my chest against his so that he could feel the fact that my breasts were bare beneath my blouse.

He told me that this time he was going to ram his cock way up my ass, and I knew he was trying to scare the daylights out of me. I moaned in delight, though, and spun around to aim my rump at him. It hurt a little, going in, but he used my vaginal juice and it wasn't too bad. Funny how the anus regains its shape! I thought Erik and Miles had made it into a permanent crater!

It was wonderful! We both enjoyed so much we did it three times, all there!


I am now sure about Loretta. She WANTS it, she's fascinated with me, she's just hung-up. Like Victoria Marie, remember her? Well, I've written Aunt Isobel and Erik. Loretta's going up there with me during the June break… I've been very careful, and I'm sure she knows there is going to be some sexual activity, and she's just delighted that she's going to get started at last.

I'm delighted, too. God, what a BALL we'll have, initiating her just the way they initiated me!

I'm already looking around, wondering who I'm going to take up there next. Or maybe when we get back Loretta and I and Charles can set up our own little playhouse…