As the beautiful woman in the leather bikini wrapped the leather strip around the man's wrists and fastened his hands behind him securely, she snarled at him.
"You fucking piece of shit, you worthless turd."
And the man sighed and agreed with her.
"Yes, mistress," he said. "I am shit. I am a turd."
He had to agree with her. He had paid money for this, and he had come all the way to this small town in Missouri because this woman, this professional dominatrix, knew how to please him more than any other woman in the world.
The man knelt there on the floor as the woman walked around him and looked down upon him with disgust in her eyes.
But she knew too that this was just the kind of the treatment that the man needed.
In the world outside, the man was powerful, but in this room he was nothing but a turd.
"You want to fuck me, don't you?" the woman said in a haughty tone, running her hands over her sexy body. "You want to fuck me because you think that I am beautiful."
The man said nothing. He knew what was coming next.
"But you can't fuck me, you piece of shit!" the woman screamed. "You are not worthy of my cunt!"
Then the woman reached for the whip.
And the bound man who had paid so much for this pleasure knew that his ecstasy had just begun.
CHAPTER ONE
When the man had entered Donna's home in Victory, Missouri, he had looked like a vigorous, white-haired, big man, a man with power and authority. He looked like what he really was, an associate justice on the Supreme Court.
But just a few minutes later, he looked like a slave. He was naked and bound with leather strips and kneeling before Donna with a leather ball in his mouth to cut off his screams. That was the way he wanted to look. That was the reason that he had traveled all night by plane from Washington to St. Louis and then by car from St. Louis to Victory.
The judge wanted to be a prisoner, and Donna was just the woman to make him a prisoner of his own lust for pain.
Donna was a professional dominatrix, a woman who had until recently worked in New York City. The judge had visited her there whenever he could make it up from the nation's capitol. Often he would address a meeting of lawyers or law students and then come to Donna's apartment in the Big Apple and let her work on him until dawn.
But Donna had retired from the business a few months ago, retired and returned to Victory, Missouri, the town where she had been raised. She was only thirty-one, but she had made a great deal of money as a professional bitch goddess in New York City, and now she wanted just to relax.
But, when she had gotten a phone call from the judge, he had sounded so pitiful that she could not refuse him. She had to give him the kind of treatment that he deserved. He had claimed on the phone that he had tried other women in New York City and in Washington, a town that is also noted for its prostitutes and dominatrix's. But not one of them knew how to treat him. Not one of them knew the law as well as Donna knew it
Donna, of course, was not surprised to hear that.
She knew that most other professional girls did not do the research that she did to prepare for each client, for each case.
So she invited the lonely and miserable supreme court justice to visit her there in that small town in Missouri. He would pay her well for her efforts with him, but she was not really interested in the money any longer. She had to admit to herself that she had missed this beautiful and sexy torture of men and women since she had retired. And the justice was one of her favorite clients, had been for years.
Now she was really having fun with the white-haired man.
She was dressed in her traditional leather garb, her leather bikini that showed off her fine, sexy body and her firm and juicy tits. She was wearing her black boots that came up to her knees and she was carrying her whip as she marched around the kneeling, naked man and snarled at him with her knowledge of the law of the land.
"Marbury versus Madison," she growled, naming one of the landmark decisions of the Supreme Court, the decision that gave the court the right to review the laws of the land.
And the justice whimpered around the leather ball in his mouth.
"Brown versus the Topeka School Board," she snarled.
That was the first great civil rights decision of the Supreme Court.
And justice whimpered when she said that.
"The Dred Scott decision," she growled, another landmark decision from before the Civil War.
And the justice whimpered again. He knew his law too and he liked to have Donna call out the names of those famous cases.
But Donna had been doing her homework too, preparing for the white-haired man's visit.
She had gone to the Victory library and read the back newspapers to find out what cases had been decided by the court during the last session. She especially wanted to know the cases that the justice had written dissents about, the ones in which he had disagreed with the majority opinion of his brethren on the court.
So Donna was more than ready for him now. She marched around him and stood in front of him and snarled out some of those cases to drive the old man wild with lust and spiritual and legal pain.
"Jackson versus Pollack," she said.
And the judge tensed his body as if the whip in her hand had actually struck him.
"Wallace versus the State of Ohio."
And the justice jerked and fell over on the floor. He twisted there in his leather bonds like a fish out of water.
"Liebowitz versus Pussycat Inc."
And the justice turned and tried to free himself from his leather, from the legal pain that he felt.
The justice was a conservative on most issues, liked to vote for law and order and against freedom of expression. He had been named to the court by the only president who had had to resign from office and the justice was not very popular with the liberal members of the press.
But the court had turned very liberal in the last session, had claimed that people had a right to privacy and that police officers could not break down doors without a warrant.
The justice had gone through hell during that session, and now he was paying for his dissents and reliving his hell with Donna.
The dark-haired dominatrix looked down at the justice's cock. It was getting hard. Donna knew that it was time for phrase two of their little action together, the phase that the justice preferred to call judicial review.
"All right, you conservative bastard," she said, "it is time for the judicial review."
The justice moaned with a combination of torment and ecstasy in his voice.
Quickly, with expert ease, the woman in leather unwrapped the strip from around the justice's arms.
That way, she freed his hand for what he had to do next.
But she knew that she had to torture him so more before she allowed him to review his cock and his erection.
When the justice moved to put his hand on his cock, Donna yelled at him.
"Stare decisis," she screamed in Latin. "Let the decision stand."
The justice took his hand away from his cock and sighed around his leather ball.
Then it was time for the big finale, Donna thought, the thing that the justice had actually traveled all the way to Victory to get.
The professional raised her whip and brought it down on the justice's shoulders. The whip smacked onto his flesh and caused him pain. His whole body quivered with the pain.
But Donna knew that that was just what he needed now that this term of the court was finished. He needed the pain to remind him that he was legally behind the times.
She brought the whip down again on his body and he winced as the blood began to flow in a little trickle from his torn flesh.
"Thank you, mistress," he sighed. "I will not appeal your decision."
"There is no appeal anyway, you piece of legal shit," the dominatrix said. "I am the highest court in the fucking land."
"Yes," he agreed, "the highest court."
She slammed the whip down on his shoulder again.
"This is for the constitution, you snake," she snarled.
"Yes," he moaned, "the constitution. I love the constitution."
"You are not Holmes, not Douglas not anyone who is worth a shit," Donna snarled at him.
"I know," the justice said. "I know."
"You are not Marshall or Warren or Frankfurter or Black," Donna reminded the justice.
"I know. I know," he murmured.
The white-haired man was bleeding, but he was happy. He was in pain but he was experiencing joy too, great and wonderful joy. He was the kind of man who knew that it took a bit of pain in order to know what joy was all about.
And his old cock was hard, so hard that it looked like it was ready to burst.
Donna knew that the justice did not fuck any more. The only pleasure that he got in his life was from this little, legal session with Donna and women who treated him harshly, women who were not as good as Donna was with the law.
Finally, Donna spoke to the man softly as she turned and walked out of the room
"You can play with yourself now," she said. "You can come."
And then she left, leaving the justice alone in the room as he played with his cock. She knew that he would have a lot of fun in that room by himself.
Donna moved into the living room of her little house in Missouri and thought about the fun that she had just had. Yes, it had been fun. Although she would never admit that to the justice or to anyone else, she had missed the fun that she got from beating men and women.
And she realized then that she had made a great mistake by retiring so early in life. She wondered if she could go back to New York City and work up a list of clients again.
But she really did not want to work for money any longer, she thought.
That was the terrible division in her mind as she thought about her career as a dominatrix.
She did not want to work for money but she wanted to have the pleasure of working with people who loved pain. She did not know what she was going to do about that division. She thought that, perhaps, she should just take special clients like the justice and not charge them anything. They would spend a lot of money getting to her here in Victory anyway, she reminded herself.
But that did not seem right either.
Donna sat down in a chair in her living room in her black leather bikini and touched the leather that covered her firm tit. She let her mind wander and she remembered how she had gotten into that job in the first place.
She had been a nineteen-year-old, pretty girl from Missouri there in New York City. She had gone there because she loved a man who had moved to New York City to make a career as an actor, but, when she got the city, she found out that the man did not really love her at all and she felt very lonely. She got a job as a secretary, typing up policy statements for a big company that did not even care about her, and she lived in a lonely, one-room apartment on the west side. Every day as she walked to work she would see the dope addicts and the hookers on the street. She would see the bums too and she wondered how so much human garbage could exist in the world.
She had never seen that much garbage back in Victory, the little town where she had grown up, and her anger increased as she thought about the garbage, the human garbage on the streets. They were all struggling to survive, but Donna thought that she was struggling more and not doing much better than the bums on the street.
The girl from the small town especially noticed the hookers on the street.
They were a tired bunch of women, old before their time, and Donna thought that she would wind up like them if she did not find something that consoled her soon. The only difference between those hookers and herself, she thought, was that they sold sex to the highest bidder while she sold her typing skills. She felt like a sister to those hookers. She had read stories about them in the newspaper. Most of them were like her, small-town girls who had come to the city and found it a heartless place.
Donna wondered if there was a chance that she would wind up like those girls on the street, those lonely and tired and miserable girls. She took to drinking at night in bars, drinking to dull the sense of anger and frustration that she felt when she was sober. Sometimes she let men in those bars pick her up and take her back to her apartment. She never went to theirs. She did not want to know that much about them. She did not even remember most of their faces when the nights were over.
They were just something to kill the loneliness, she thought, and she knew that that was all she was to them too.
But then one night one of those men left fifty dollars on her night table when he left. She found it there the next morning when she was getting ready for work. When she saw that money, she had sat down on the edge of her bed and cried.
She was just like a hooker, she thought. At least the man who had visited her the night before thought so.
It was the ultimate disgrace for Donna, and she did not think that she could cope with any more of this New York City life. She decided that she would work as a secretary for one more week and then use her week's pay to buy a bus ticket back to Victory.
But that night, after she got off from work, she stopped in at another bar, and she met Ginger. That night changed Donna's life forever.
Ginger was a tall redhead who was sitting there at the bar when Donna came in. The bar was already crowded with lonely people who had nothing better to do in New York City, and the only seat empty was the one next to Ginger. Donna took it and ordered her drink. She and Ginger started talking in the way that strangers do in a bar and then Ginger said something about having to see a client later on that night and Donna thought that she had it figured out. She thought that Ginger was a prostitute. She was just drunk enough to ask the redhead straight out if she was a hooker.
And Ginger was just drunk enough not to take offense at the quest-ion.
In fact, the redhead laughed when Donna asked the question.
"Oh, honey," she said. "I am not a hooker. I am a professional leather-lady."
"A what?" Donna asked.
"A leather-lady," Ginger repeated. Then she looked Donna over and she smiled.
"You would make a nice leather-lady too," she said softly.
"What is a leather-lady?" Donna asked, her voice soft because she knew that she and Ginger were talking about something that was vaguely obscene and perhaps even illegal.
And Ginger answered Donna in a whisper too.
"A leather lady," she said, "is a girl who hires herself out to clients. Those clients like to have a pretty girl dress up in leather and beat them with whips and call them names and stuff like that."
Donna was shocked at first. She did not understand why anyone would hire a girl to beat them and call them names. But she looked closely at Ginger, at the redhead's freckles and at her tall, sleek, sexy body, and she knew that the beating and the cursing was, in some way, a substitute for sex.
And Donna had to admit that she had never enjoyed sex that much, not traditional sex like the kind she had with those faceless men that she picked up in bars such as this one.
And she was intrigued because Ginger had said that she would make a good professional.
She was suddenly very interested in the subject and she started to ask Ginger a lot of questions. The redhead answered as many as she could and then she said that she had to go home and prepare to meet her client. She gave Donna her address and her phone number and she said that the girl could call her on Saturday and come over and learn more about discipline and abuse and domination and things like that if she wanted to.
Donna remembered her own resolve to leave New York City at the end of the week.
But then she thought that it did not matter really if she stayed an extra few days.
She did not leave New York City for more than ten years.
Ginger trained her well. The redhead was twenty-six years old and lived in a palace of an apartment on Park Avenue. She had a full line of leather garments and whips and she showed Donna how she could dress and work with her leather to make the customers enjoy it even more. She said that she really had more clients than she could handle by herself and she offered Donna what she called a "junior partnership" in her firm.
Donna accepted it and quit her job as a secretary and worked with Ginger.
Her first assignment had come just a week after she had started training with the redhead. It was on a Saturday night and the client was a famous nightclub comedian who wanted two girls to dominate him. Ginger thought that that would be a great way to break Donna into the business. She would assist Ginger on this special evening. They would get five hundred dollars apiece.
Five hundred dollars for one night's work! Donna could hardly believe her ears when Ginger told her that.
And she went along with the redhead eagerly that Saturday night.
Ginger had paid for Donna's specially designed leather garments herself and Donna was going to use some of Ginger's whips until she could get some of her own.
Ginger said that Donna could pay her back for the leather outfit when she made some money in the business.
And that Saturday night was the first night in which Donna was going to make big money.
She dressed at Ginger's apartment, put on her leather bikini. When she smelled the aroma of the fresh leather and felt the cold and hot stuff against her tits, she almost came in her leather panties.
Ginger was dressed in the same kind of leather bikini.
Although they did not look at all alike, Donna thought that, in a strange way, they were like sisters. She had grown to love Ginger in a special way during the past week of training. She could not get over the idea that Ginger had saved her life there in New York by taking her in and showing her a way to make big money.
Donna had told Ginger all about the anger that she felt as she walked down the streets of the city, all about her thoughts about human garbage, and Ginger told the dark-haired, sexy girl that thoughts like that would help her in her business.
"Just keep thinking about human garbage," she said to Donna, "and you will work up a nice bit of wrath for your clients."
In the cab going to the famous nightclub performer's apartment, Donna sat there with a long coat over her leather bikini and thought about human garbage. Ginger sat next to her, wearing another long coat over her identical outfit.
They did not speak. Donna knew that Ginger was working herself into a good wrath for her client and she tried to do the same thing.
Human garbage, she kept thinking. Human garbage. Human garbage.
As the cab moved through the city, the dark-haired teen-ager looked out the window and picked out all the people that she hated, the bums and the kids who were up to no good and all the rich people too, the rich New Yorkers who did not care about anything else except going to parties and buying clothes and cars and things like that.
Donna was able to work up a really good wrath thinking about those people.
By the time they got to the famous nightclub comic's apartment uptown, Donna was ready to beat up the world.
When they got to his apartment, Ginger knocked on the door. The man opened it quickly. He had obviously been waiting anxiously for them.
Donna recognized the man, although Ginger had already told her that she was not to call the man by his name. She had seen that fellow on TV and she had often wondered what he really did for a living. He was a short, fat, greasy-looking man and he told old jokes that everyone had heard before. One thing shocked Donna. When he appeared on TV, the man had hair. He did not have hair this night. She figured that he wore a wig when he made his public appearances.
The famous comedian did not say anything to them. Ginger and Donna just marched into the room. Ginger was carrying the briefcase filled with their instruments of pain and torture. The man closed the door and stood there in a bathrobe and looked at the two women as they took off their coats.
When he saw the two of them in their leather bikinis, he sighed.
When Ginger heard that sigh, she snarled at him.
"What the fuck do you think you are doing, you worthless creep?" she said harshly. "Are you getting some kind of worthless creep pleasure out of looking at us?"
Of course, both of the women knew that he was getting pleasure out of looking at them. That was the reason that they had dressed like that.
But they also knew that he wanted them to be harsh with him, that he was paying the two sexy women to beat him and snarl at him and deny him pleasure when they could.
Donna still did not understand why someone would really want this kind of treatment.
She understood why someone would want to give this kind of treatment to another person, especially after seeing all the human garbage in the world.
But this was her first experience as a professional and she did not completely understand the strange, sexual nature of guilt.
Ginger understood it well and that is why she took command of the man immediately.
The redhead knew that that kind of command was what the man desired.
"Get your clothes off, you fucking, worthless piece of shit," she ordered.
And the man took off his robe and stood there naked in front of the two woman in their leather bikinis.
His body was sagging and greasy. To Donna, he seemed to incorporate in his flesh all the worthless garbage that all the other people in the city had shown her.
Donna could not wait to start working on this man. He inspired her anger and her wrath.
But she knew that she had to wait before the action really started.
She saw Ginger pulled the leather things out of her little briefcase and throw them at the man.
Donna knew that this was part of the ceremony, a ceremony that was as fixed as a religious ritual. Ginger and the comic had worked it out over several sessions and the redhead had told Donna that she must always treat each client as an individual.
She must always give each client exactly what he wanted from her.
And she had to keep them straight and know which curses and which movements worked best on which clients.
Ginger remembered all of these things. That was why she was such a good pro.
And that is why she would train Donna well, the dark-haired teen-ager thought.
"Put this stuff on," the redhead said to the famous comedian. "Put it on and prepare yourself for fucking torture, you piece of shit."
And the comedian moved quickly, pulling the leather shorts over his greasy, fat legs and covering his greasy, little cock with them. Then he put on the other garment, the thing that looked like a leather bra.
The leather bra had padding so that the man looked like he had tits when the thing was on.
When he put on that bra, he put his hands on his fake leather tits and sighed again.
"Shut up, pig!" Ginger yelled at him. "Stop that fucking sighing!"
And the man quieted down. He did not want to do anything that would make his red-haired mistress terribly angry, although he knew that nothing that he could would keep her from making him suffer under her whip. That was part of the ritual, Donna knew. That was part of the game.
"Get over here, you fucking piece of shit and kneel before your mistresses," Ginger snarled.
And the comedian almost scampered to the area in front of Donna and Ginger and knelt before them and looked up.
He extended both of his hands and he held them together, for he knew what came next.
Donna was going to get to do this to him.
Ginger nodded at her trainee, her new assistant, and Donna pulled out the rough, leather strip.
She wrapped it easily around the man's wrists and bound his hands together.
Then the famous comedian was completely at their mercy. When he was bound, the two sexy women in the leather bikinis turned to each other and grinned. Ginger had filled Donna in on what they were supposed to say to each other, what really pleased and tortured the comedian at the same time. They had rehearsed the scene as carefully as actresses on the stage and, in a way, Donna thought, that was exactly what they were.
They were acting out a scene in order to increase this man's lust and his pain too. They were actresses in leather, and Donna wanted to be a good actress.
She had the first line.
"Who was that lady I saw you with last night?" she asked Ginger.
"That was no lady," Ginger said. "That was a hired cunt."
"Is that girl going topless or am I seeing something?"
"Both," Ginger said with a grin.
The bound and leather-clad comedian fell back on the floor, sighing with ecstasy.
"Those jokes are terrible," he said.
Ginger turned to him. This was part of the act too. They all knew that.
"They are not as bad as the jokes you tell, ass-hole," she said. "And you get paid money to tell them."
Then Donna moved in with her own assault on the man.
"You are old and worthless and you don't have any talent. The only people who want to see you are old Jews and other dried-up people. Dried-up like you, you fucking, no-talent bum."
The comedian winced when she said that. He knew that she told the truth.
Nobody came to his nightclub shows any longer, except those old timers who just wanted to get drunk. No one listened to his jokes because they had heard them all before. He was rarely invited to go on television, except for those afternoon talk shows where the hosts were insipid and square and nearly as old as he was.
Donna knew all of that was running through his mind at that moment.
Ginger had filled her in on the comedian's career.
But the teen-ager still could not understand why any man would want the kind of treatment that this comedian was paying them one thousand dollars to receive. Even if it was an act, it hurt him, and she did not understand why he wanted to be hurt.
Ginger reached into her little briefcase again and pulled out the two whips.
She handed one to Donna and then smiled at her.
She was trying to build up Donna's confidence in herself as a leather lady.
The teen-ager smiled back and then closed her eyes and thought of all the human garbage in the world.
She looked at that bald comedian in his leather pants and fake bra, the one who had wiggled on the floor when they had told those bad jokes, and she tried to think of him as the complete personification of garbage. She concentrated on him and tried to put all the garbage of the world on his body. And she was surprised that it worked.
Within seconds, she hated the sight of that miserable, greasy man.
And Donna knew that she could make her hatred of that man pay off in good money.
The teen-ager glanced at Ginger again and, when the redhead raised her whip, Donna raised hers too.
The two whips came down at the same instant and the cracks melted together in the hot, still air of the apartment.
And the comedian started to laugh like a wicked child.
Ginger had told her young assistant about this, about the way that the comedian laughed when someone beat, him with a whip. But Donna was still not completely prepared. It was such a childish, almost a mad laugh. She did not know why anyone would laugh when he was beaten. She could not understand that at all.
And she missed a crack on the comedian's body because she was taken aback by his laughter. When she did not let the whip fall that one time, the comic stopped laughing and snarled up at her.
"Beat me. That's what I paid you for, you bitch."
"Sorry," she found herself saying and then she continued to whip him, to beat the comedian's body as he twisted there in his leather pants and his leather bra. His shoulders and his stomach and his thighs were bleeding where the whip hit him. But this was what he obviously wanted.
He was still laughing as if they were telling the funniest jokes in the world.
Donna kept up with Ginger, waiting for the redhead to give her the sign that the comedian had had enough of a whipping, that he was satisfied.
She wondered when that sign would come. It was her first time and she was afraid that she and Ginger would kill the man. She did not know that the body could stand a great deal of pain.
She noticed that Ginger was watching those leather pants that the man wore.
She seemed to be gauging the beating by those little leather panties.
Donna looked down too and she saw that those panties were a correct barometer of the man's pleasure for they were bulging as his cock got harder and harder.
And the comedian continued to giggle and laugh, as hardly anyone laughed at him any longer.
Donna could not get over the idea that there was something really sad about all of this.
But she knew that the comedian had something that many other men in his position, with his needs did not have.
The comedian was able to make enough money so that he could hire two good girls like Ginger and Donna to beat him. The dark-haired teen-ager thought of all the men who did not have that money, who had to suffer with need for a beating and who could not afford to be treated this way by pros.
Thinking of those other men, Donna hated this man, this worthless comedian, even more.
She thought that he was just another piece of garbage who could afford the best in domination, and she hated his wealth, even though she knew that it was rather meager. The comedian did not command the high salaries at nightclubs that he had once made.
But he had enough so that he could spend his money on Donna and Ginger.
As the teen-ager hit him again and again with the whip, she thought about all those lonely men who could not afford Ginger and would not be able to afford her either.
There was something that was not fair in the world, she thought girlishly.
Now, sitting in her living room as a retired, wealthy woman, she laughed softly as she thought of that girlish liberalism that she had had back then.
If she had held on to those ideas, she thought, she would have wound up offering her dominating services for free. She could just imagine herself walking into a welfare office and saying that she would beat up any poor person who really needed it for nothing.
She had not done that, of course. She had become very wealthy, so wealthy that she could not buy and sell that comedian who was her first client over and over again.
She had recently seen him on one of those afternoon, TV talk shows and he had gone on at length about his entertaining of the troops overseas. It seems that, in peacetime, no one of stature in the entertainment world wanted to travel overseas and play for the men and women in uniform. But this comedian did, he said, because he was proud of being an American. All of the people in the audience that afternoon had applauded his good words about America and the people in uniform.
Watching that show, Donna had wondered if that man was really proud of being an American, if he was proud of being anything.
And she wondered if he still hired Ginger for those special evenings of pain when he returned from giving the troops a few laughs over in Europe and the Orient
But Donna had to admit that she felt a warm spot in her heart for that man.
After all, he was her first client, the first man that she had ever whipped and degraded. In a way, he had taken her virginity.
Donna stopped thinking about the comedian when her latest client, the Supreme Court justice, called out from the other room.
"I just came, my mistress. I just came."
She put on her professional, harsh voice and yelled back at him.
"Well clean that shit up and then get your ass out here, you piece of shit!"
"Yes, mistress."
She smiled again. Yes, she did miss working with slaves, with people who loved pain. But she did not want to go back to the big city and work with clients again. She really did not want to take money any longer.
It was a paradox, a strange position to be in, and she knew that she was going to have to figure out what to do, how to relieve her own desire to control people completely without becoming a professional again.
As she waited for the justice to clean up the come and get dressed, the phone rang. She got up and walked to the other side of the room and picked it up.
"Hello," she said sweetly, losing her mistress tone quickly when she did not need it.
"Aunt Donna?" a girlish voice asked.
Aunt Donna? The woman had to think for a second. Then she remembered that she was really an aunt. This was probably Debbie, her sister's daughter, the teen-ager that she had not seen since her sister's funeral about a year ago. Her sister and her brother-in-law had both been killed in a plane crash at that time.
She had gone to the funeral and she had told Debbie and her brother, John, that, if they ever needed a place to stay, they could always live with her. She had not really meant it. She had known that they were supposed to stay with their grandmother, her brother-in-law's mother. But it was the kind of thing that an aunt was supposed to say at a funeral, she thought.
"Aunt Donna?" the girl asked again, a little nervous because of her aunt's long pause on her end of the line.
"Yes. Is this Debbie?"
"Yes, Aunt Donna, it is," the girl said sweetly.
"How are you, Debbie?" the aunt asked, trying to remember what the girl really looked like. She had only seen the girl that one time. Donna had never been very close to her sister.
"I am fine, Aunt Donna, but grandmother is sort of sick."
"I am sorry to hear that, Debbie."
"That is why I am calling. We are going to have to put grandmother in a rest home."
"That is too bad."
"And Johnny and I don't have anywhere to stay and we remembered that you said-"
Donna phased out the girl's voice. So that was it. They wanted to come stay with her. Donna thought about it for a moment and then quickly decided that she would let them come live with her for a little while, at least. After all, she was all alone in this house in Victory.
" ... we were wondering if it would be all right," Debbie said as Donna picked up the sound of her words again.
"Of course, it is all right. I am your aunt," Donna said. "When can you get here?"
"Well, probably tomorrow," the girl said a little shyly. "John has a car and we could drive down tomorrow morning."
Donna remembered that they had been living somewhere in Illinois with their grandmother.
It would just be a few hours drive, she thought.
"Well, come on down then. We will work something out here," she said.
The girl was suddenly very cheerful.
"Thank you, Aunt Donna. Thank you very much. We will be there about noon tomorrow. Okay?"
"That sounds just fine, Debbie," the aunt in the leather bikini said.
"Good-bye then, until tomorrow," the girl said.
"Good-bye, Debbie," Donna said.
Then the young aunt hung up. It would be sort of nice to have the two teen-agers around the house. They were both sixteen or seventeen or something like that. They were twins. Donna remembered that.
And then the aunt felt just a little guilty because she really could not remember much more about these two orphans who were, after all, part of her own family.
She turned away from the phone when the justice came into the room. He was again dressed in the suit and he looked like a man with a great deal of authority.
"Care for a drink, Mister Justice," she said with a grin.
Once the man put on his suit, he was no longer her slave. That was part of the game that they played together. Now they were just old friends.
"Surely, Donna," he said, his voice deep and booming, like a judge's voice should be.
As she fixed the drinks for her and the justice, she told him about the phone call that she had just received from her niece and about the fact that her relatives, her young niece and nephew were going to come stay with her-for at least a little while.
"Is the niece a sexy, little thing?" the justice asked as he sat down on the couch and waited for his drink.
Donna tried to picture the girl again. She could not remember much about Debbie and John, but she remembered that they were both rather good-looking kids.
"Yeah," she said, "I think she is a sexy, little thing."
She carried the drinks back to the couch, handed one to the judge, and then sat down next to him on the couch.
"Maybe you could teach the girl how to follow in your footsteps, Donna," the justice said, and Donna knew from the look in his eyes that he was only half-joking.
She thought about that. Yes, she might train Debbie just as Ginger had trained her. It was a good business and, if Debbie showed any interest at all in giving pain, it might be just the business for her.
"Maybe I will," she said with a sexy smile.
"Of course, the girl will probably never be as good as you are, Donna," the justice said.
"Thank you," Donna said with a grin and a touch on his arm. "You are very kind, Mister Justice."
"Kindness has nothing to do with it," the white-haired man said. "It is a fact, Donna. You are the best. You know more about the law than any other dominatrix who ever lived. I sometimes think that you would have made a fine lawyer yourself. I can just imagine you, arguing a case before the supreme court. We would have to rule in favor of your client."
Donna laughed and then added something.
"Especially if I argued the case in my black, leather bikini and carried my whip, right?"
Then they both laughed at that joke.
"Hell, Donna," the justice said, "if you argued the case like that, it would be a unanimous decision and I would write the opinion myself."
The old judge was very charming and happy at moments like this, after he had got his beating.
Donna looked at him and remembered her confusion about pain when she had first started working with Ginger.
Now she understood more about those men and women who needed pain in order to be happy and content with their lives.
They were people with guilt, real and imagined guilt.
She knew, for example, that this man, the justice, could not get over the idea that he did not really belong on the Supreme Court, that he was not as smart or as hard-working as the wise judges who had preceded him on that court. Oh, the justice knew that the Supreme Court had had its share of fools too, but he did not like to think of himself as one of those fools. He was a man who had been propelled into a position that he felt he was not capable of handling, who had been named to the court because he was honest and because he had come from the right part of the country and because he had not political enemies. The other justices did not respect him. He knew that, and it grated on his nerves to think that they were laughing at him behind his back.
So, whenever things would get too tough, whenever he would start to think that he was the worst loser that had ever lived in the nation's capitol, he came to visit Donna.
There was something about the beatings that she gave him that cleansed him of his worries and his guilts for a little while, that offered him a chance to live a peaceful life.
Donna performed a service for people like the justice, a service that they needed as much as they needed a doctor or a dentist or-eventually-an undertaker.
Now she worried a little bit about the justice, just as she always worried about her clients after a session.
"Are the cuts bad?" she asked the man.
"No," he said. "I put some salve on them. You know your business, Donna. Your whip never cuts too deep."
He grinned at her, letting her know that he appreciated her concern and her professionalism too.
"Do you feel better now, Mister Justice," the woman asked.
"I feel great. I feel like I could write a hundred opinions right now."
Then Donna's mind turned to other thoughts, legal thoughts. She knew that the justice liked to discuss the law with her. After all, the law was his life. She remembered that, after her first session with the nightclub comedian, he had told her and Ginger stories about the clubs that he had worked in and he had told joke after joke after joke.
"What cases are coming up next term?" she asked the justice.
"Well, there will be one interesting one that I know about already. It is a case involving pornography. The state of Tennessee refuses to agree that people have a right to read pornography in the privacy of their homes, even if they buy the stuff in another state. One of the law officials in that state has had policemen busting down doors and confiscating films and books that the law considers obscene."
"It sounds to me like the traditional right-of-privacy case," Donna said.
"That's right," the justice told her with a grin. "Damn, Donna, you surely do know the law. The people who had their films confiscated by the state claim that their privacy was invaded. The state also has a law banning homosexual acts, even between consenting adults and the state bans oral sex too. Some doors will probably be busted down over that one too."
"Well, Mister Justice, how will you vote on this case?" Donna asked.
The justice sipped his drink and moved his arm. He winced a little bit with the pain that was left over from the beating that he had gotten, but then he smiled at Donna.
"Naturally, I will vote to uphold the state law," he said. "I don't believe in pornography or oral sex or homosexuality or anything like that. The right of privacy does not apply in those cases, I believe. The state has a right to protect the sinners of the state from themselves whenever possible."
Donna just smiled. She knew that the justice was not kidding. He was really that conservative.
But then the justice held his finger up in the air, a signal that he had just thought of something that he had almost forgotten. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope stuffed with cash.
"Here is your pay, Donna," the justice said.
At first, the dominatrix thought that she would refuse that money.
After all, she was officially retired from the business.
And she did consider the justice to be an old friend.
But she did not want to hurt his feelings. He had offered her the money. So she would take it.
But she did not count it. She just put the envelope on the coffee table in front of them and smiled at the justice.
"What other cases will be coming up?" she asked.
"Well," he said, "there is this really interesting one about the right of citizens to avoid paying taxes if the government wastes the money ... "
CHAPTER TWO
Tim Abernathy had just returned to Victory to seek his revenge.
He had grown up in that town, but he had left when he was eighteen. Now he was twenty-eight. In the past ten years, he had learned a lot about women, and he was ready now to use what he had learned for his own benefit.
Tim Abernathy planned to fuck all of those women who had not fucked him years before.
He knew that he had changed and he knew that they had probably changed too.
Now they were lonely, horny housewives, girls who had married just out of high school and who now needed fucking because their husbands were bored with them.
Tim had been a shy kid in high school, almost afraid to speak to a girl.
And he had been laughed at because he was rather small for his age.
But they would not laugh at him now, he decided. He would make sure of that. He would make sure that those girls-women now-would want him. Then he would fuck them and then he would laugh at them because they had waited so long to have that great experience of their life.
Tim Abernathy had become a cocky stud, and he was proud of his ability in bed.
Tim had come back to Victory just a couple of weeks before, and he had immediately gotten a job at the local radio station. He had been a disc jockey in Dallas and in Phoenix, big towns and big markets. Victory was nothing to him, except the place where he would avenge those terrible, lonely nights of his youth.
He had a deep bass voice, the kind of voice that sounded good on the radio.
He had had that bass voice from the time he was fourteen. That was yet another reason that girls had laughed at him and thought him strange. He knew that it probably did sound weird to hear that bass voice coming out of him because he was so small.
When he had lived in Victory as a teen-ager, he had been small and frail too.
But now he was small and muscular. He had built up his body so that it would match his voice, his manly, deep voice, and now he was ready for all those young women of Victory.
He had decided that Nina Cole would be the first one that he would get.
She had been Nina Richardson in high school, a cute girl with nice, firm tits, something of a little whore actually. That is, she had been a whore until Tim had asked her out.
He knew for a fact that she had fucked at least a dozen boys there in that high school, but when he asked her out she actually laughed in his face.
Then she had told all her girlfriends that that little shrimp, Tim Abernathy, had had the nerve to ask her out. She had laughed with her girlfriends and suggested that Tim probably had a little, bitty cock, something so small that she would not have even been able to find it.
Tim had heard her say that to her friends one day at school when he had been listening around the corner from her locker in the hallway.
Her little joke about his cock had been the unkindest cut of all.
Tim knew that he had a big cock, a "cock that even looked a little silly on his frail, skinny body. It was like his bass voice, something manly that he had not really grown into yet. Now that he was muscular and older, his cock looked like it really belonged to him, but it was still big, almost ten inches.
And soon after he had returned to Victory he had seen Nina Cole in a grocery store with a couple of kids squawling behind her. She looked tired and haggard, but she still looked sexy enough to make his anger at her grow in his heart.
And he decided that she would be his first conquest.
He had investigated her life, talked to friends about her and followed her around without her knowing it. He found out that she was married to Ronnie Cole, a kid who had become a truck driver. He was away from home a lot, carrying goods all over the country in his truck. She had married Ronnie soon after high school and she had quickly had those two kids who were both spoiled and dirty. Then she had settled in to the regular life of a horny, American housewife.
Tim Abernathy charted her movements and made a schedule of her everyday activities. She seemed to go to the grocery store a lot so he decided that that would be the place to meet her, to start his seduction of the girl from his past.
He waited around her neighborhood grocery store on most afternoons. He did not work at the radio station until late at night.
And a few days after he had started his vigil, she showed up, looking tired and haggard as usual, but she did not have her kids with her. He was happy to see that.
He hated to seduce a mother when her children were present.
He got out of his car when he saw her walking back to her car and he walked toward her.
He actually ran into her. It was as good a way as any to meet her again.
"Excuse me," he said, and then he looked at her and acted surprised. He studied her as she studied him.
He knew that he probably looked familiar to her. His hair was still dark and his face was still sort of boyish. But she had not known him that well in high school and his body had changed a lot.
"Nina?" he asked, his deep voice questioning her as if he were unsure of his own recollection. "Nina Richardson?"
"Yes," she muttered, staring at him, "and you are-"
Naturally, she had forgotten his name. Naturally, he thought as the anger built inside of him.
"Tim," he told her. "Tim Abernathy."
"Timmy!" she squealed, using that boyish name that used to fit him when he was so frail.
"Just Tim now," he said, correcting her.
"Tim," she said. "You have certainly changed."
"Yeah," he said.
He put his hands in his pockets and thrust his hips out at her. He looked at her in a surly, manly way. He almost snarled the words at her.
"You have not changed at all, Nina," he said.
But she took it as a compliment, and she denied it girlishly.
"Oh, Tim," she said, "I have gotten so old. I don't seem to have the energy that I once had."
She was right. She did look older and she looked more tired than she had ever looked in high school.
"I am married now," she told him. "Are you?"
"No," he said, still manly and surly.
That was one of the things that he had learned about women in the ten years that he had been away from Victory. He had learned that women liked bad boys, men who treated them roughly. If you treated a woman as if you could not give a shit about her, she would lick your fucking boots; that was something that Tim Abernathy knew now, something that he had not known before.
Now that he had met her, he did not want to spend too much time with her. He did not want her to think that he was lusting after her, that he could not live without her.
So he turned and walked away from Nina. She called after him, just as he knew that she would.
"Let's get together and have coffee sometime, Timmy-uh, Tim!"
"Sure," he said. "Sometime, we will."
Then he went on into the grocery store and waited around until she was gone. He came out and got into his car and thought that the first part of his plan had worked like a charm. She had fallen for him hard. She probably did not even know it yet. But she had fallen for him.
He was going to wait about a week and then run into her again, but Nina surprised him when she called the radio station one night when he was working.
"Hey, Nina," he said over the phone, "how-did you know that I was here?"
"Oh," she stammered. "I just happened to turn on the radio and I heard you and I ... "
Tim blocked out her next words. He knew that she was lying. He did not use his real name on the radio, never had.
He was known as Johnny Danger-Boy on the radio.
She had obviously checked around, asked about him and found out that he was the voice on the radio. He turned back to her when he heard her ask a question, but he missed the question.
"Yeah?" he asked. "Sorry. What did you say, Nina?"
"I was wondering, well, uh, if you would like to come over to my house for coffee tomorrow afternoon. I mean, if you aren't busy with something else. We could maybe talk over old times. My husband is a truck driver and he is out on the road and-"
"Sure," he snarled. "Where do you live, Nina?"
It was obvious that she wanted to do more than just talk over old times.
She had not so casually informed him that her husband was out of town.
That was one sign. Tim knew that another sign would be given to him that next afternoon. If she got rid of the kids when he came over, he would know that Nina wanted to fuck him.
"Hello, Tim," she said at the door of her little house, "I sent the kids over to their grandmother's this afternoon so that we would be able to spend some time alone."
Tim grinned at her in a cocky, manly man and walked past her into the house.
Then he turned and looked at her. She had obviously dressed just for the occasion. A woman like Nina did not wear a pair of cut-offs and a blouse with no bra around the house when she was expecting an old friend to drop by, he thought.
Not unless she wanted to fuck that old friend.
He grinned with the knowledge that he had her, and he decided that he would play with her just a little bit before he finally fucked her and started to get his revenge.
"You look pretty good, Nina," he said, "for an old married lady."
She smiled and she actually blushed. Then she stammered out the words.
"Well, how about that coffee? How do you take it, Tim?"
"Black," he growled, liking the way that she remembered now that it was Tim, not Timmy.
He was a real man now and she recognized that.
She scurried into the kitchen like a frightened servant and soon came out with two cups of coffee. Tim was sitting on the couch and she sat down next to him and handed him his cup of coffee.
He sipped on it. It was steaming and black and strong, just the way that a man liked his coffee, he thought.
He stretched out his legs so that Nina could see the bulge in the worn jeans that he wore.
She noticed it, and she looked from that bulge to his eyes. He grinned at her like a man grins at a woman, like a man should look at a woman.
Then he took another sip of his coffee and he spoke to her in his bass voice.
"Tell me, Nina, are you happy with your husband?"
That question shocked the woman a little bit, as he knew that it would. She did not answer him for a little while. Finally, she stammered out something that did not make much sense, and he knew that she knew that it did not make much sense either.
"Well-I guess-I mean-he gave me children-and he is nice."
But the way that she looked at him told him that she was not happy with her husband, that she was horny and lonely and thought that she was growing old before her time there in that small town. That look Tim knew well. Many housewives had looked at him with the same hungry stare, the same kind of confused, nervous tension in their faces.
They did not even want to admit it themselves, but he knew that it was true.
Those women wanted to be fucked by some stud, some stud who really did not give a shit about them. They wanted to be fucked because they were sex objects, because they turned a stud on.
Tim understood that all now, understood exactly what women wanted from their men. And he grinned at her and set his coffee cup down on the little table next to the couch. Then he took her coffee cup out of her trembling hands and set it beside his own. He took control, just the way that he knew women wanted their studs to take control.
It had usually been so long since any man had really controlled them that they were more than pleased to offer up their lusts as some sort of sacrifice, just to prove to themselves that they were still women, just to prove to themselves that they were still sexy and loving and full of life.
Tim stared in Nina's nervous eyes and then he reached out and put his hands on her tits. He massaged those tits through her soft blouse and he was happy to discover that they were still firm and womanly and youthful and sexy.
She did not stop him from massaging her big, sexy tits.
He had known that she would not stop him.
"Tim," she finally stammered, "I have never been unfaithful to Ronnie before in all the years that we have been married. You must understand that, Tim. I have never been unfaithful to my husband before."
He noticed that she used that word, before, and he knew that he would have no trouble with Nina at all. She would be easy revenge for him. But he still had to put up his manly, stud front. He still had to be a bad boy with her. So he snarled at her.
"I don't give a shit about your fucking husband," he said. "I just want to fuck you this afternoon. I want to give you the best fucking of your life this afternoon."
And he continued to massage her breasts as he spoke to her.
He knew that she was intelligent enough to pick up his reference to this afternoon.
That was a clue for her, a clue to his intention to fuck her once and never again.
This was certainly not going to turn into a long-term affair. She was too tired-looking to hold his interest for long, and besides he had a lot of women that he had to get his revenge on here in Victory, a lot of women and so little time.
"All right," Nina murmured, with her eyes wide and almost tearful. "Fuck me. Give me the best fucking of my fucking life this afternoon, Tim."
Then he took his hands off her tits and pulled her close to him and kissed her on the mouth. She seemed to melt in his strong arms and she opened her mouth to his tongue and let him invade her that way. He felt her hand on his bulging crotch and he wondered how long it had been since Nina had given herself up to this kind of passion, this kind of quick lust.
He wondered how long it had been since she had touched her husband's crotch so softly and so lovingly and so filled with yearning.
And then he forgot all about her husband as he pulled his tongue back into his mouth and felt her tongue follow into the manly cavern of his opened mouth. Her tongue was quick and passionate and he liked it. He knew that Nina had had a lot of experience with boys when she was in high school. And he thought that, even though she had never been unfaithful to her husband before, she still had a certain style. She still knew how to please a man.
He wondered just how much she did remember about pleasing a man and he decided to test her. He pulled his mouth away from hers and said it softly, in a manly, almost cruel hiss.
"Suck my cock, Nina. Suck it good."
And the Missouri housewife did not even hesitate. She wanted to suck his cock.
She moved her face down to his lap as he lifted up her blouse and ran his fingers over her bare back. He knew that women liked that. He had learned that in the years that he had been away from Victory. He had learned that one of the most sensitive parts of a woman's body was her bare back. And few men even touched that part of a woman, he thought.
He was happy that he had learned that, happy that he had learned how to please a woman.
As he rubbed her back, Nina slowly, almost playfully opened the zipper on his jeans.
Then she reached in and pulled out his cock. She gasped when she saw the size of it.
Tim almost wanted to remind her of what she had said about his cock so many years before.
He almost wanted to make her eat her words. But then he remembered that that would come later. He remembered that right now he did not want her to eat her words at all. He wanted her to stuff his cock into her soft mouth, not her words of ten years before.
And, when she got over the shock that came to her when she saw the size of his dork, she turned and looked up at him and smiled.
"You have a big one," she said.
"Yeah," he growled, "I know. A lot of women tell me that"
She looked a little hurt when he said that and he figured that that was enough revenge for the time being. He just nodded his head, and she knew what that signal meant. She turned her head and started to work on his cock.
Nina kissed the head of the cock and then ran her tongue down the underside of the shaft. Tim fought to keep from groaning with pleasure, but he thought that she certainly had not lost her touch over her years of marriage. She had probably sucked a lot of cocks in high school and she had sucked her husband's cock too, probably years ago, when their marriage had been new and fresh and they were both excited by each other.
But those times had changed and now she was sucking another man's cock, the cock that belonged to a man from her past, a man that she would not fuck ten years before.
She ran her tongue around the pink head of the penis and then she opened her mouth wide and took the head of the cock into her. She pressed her lips around the stiffening rod and tasted its manly sweetness.
This time, Tim could not stop himself. He groaned out the words.
"That is good, Nina. Suck it. Suck that cock, Nina."
And she did just what he wanted her to do because he was now her manly stud.
She would do anything that he wanted her to do on this afternoon.
She took the cock deep into her mouth, swallowing more than three-fourths of the long, fat shaft and Tim felt the thing stiffen as she used the pressure of her lips to give him pleasure and power. He put his hand on her brown hair and rubbed her head with a force. That was to do two things. One, it would show her that he liked what she was doing, and, two, he thought, he would push her further down on his dork, on his mighty and big rod, the cock that she had denied ten years ago.
He did push her down and she took all of the cock into her throat greedily.
Tim was a little surprised that she could do it without gagging. She must have had a great deal of experience with sex, he thought, experience in high school and experience with her husband. Maybe her husband had a big cock too, but Tim doubted that her husband's cock was as large as his own. If it had been, she would not have gasped when she first saw that rod.
He took his hand off her head and let her work her way up and down on the shaft.
He continued to rub her back with his fingers, to give her that pleasure that most men did not even know about. He heard the slurping sounds that she made as she sucked on his cock, and he was very happy with this, the first stage of his revenge on the women of Victory.
If all of them were as easy as Nina, he thought, he would be able to get all of his sweet revenge and get out of this lousy town within a few months. But he was willing to stay just as long as it took him to fuck all those women who had denied him when he was in high school.
Nina sucked with a grand fashion, tightening and loosening her lips and getting the cock wet and hard and full. When it was erect and ready to fuck she raised up and looked at Tim and smiled.
"You don't have to worry about me," she said, almost girlishly. "My pussy feels like a volcano that is about ready to erupt."
"Good," Tim snarled. "Get your fucking clothes off, Nina."
And the young housewife stood and smiled at him as she opened her blouse and took it off. She stopped there for a second, waiting for him to give her some compliment on her tits.
But he offered her no compliment at all, although he had to admit to himself that her breasts were fine, big and full and sexy. He would not tell her that, however.
He just sat there on the couch and wrapped his fingers around his cock and waited for her to get naked for him. He wanted her naked, and it did not take Nina long to realize that this stud was not going to move from his spot on the couch until she was completely nude.
When she realized that, she nodded her head too and she opened her cut-offs and pushed them down.
She was not wearing panties. She had truly prepared herself for him, Tim thought.
Nina stepped out of her cut-offs gingerly and then stood in front of the man from her past totally naked. She waited for him to give her some sign, to show her that he was pleased with her. He just sat there for a moment and stared at her body. She had one of those full, feminine bodies, a little soft but strong too, excellent for fucking. He knew that he was going to enjoy fucking her, just as those other boys had enjoyed fucking Nina when she was just a high school student. He liked the way that the hair of her dark bush seemed to climb up her lower stomach. A fine line of that hair ran up to her navel.
But he could not show her how much he liked her. He knew that. He had learned that much in the ten years that he had been away, improving himself with women.
Instead of telling her that she was sexy or beautiful, he just stood up carefully.
His cock was still stiff and hung out of his pants like a meaty spear.
Tim pulled off his shirt and he saw Nina shiver when she saw his muscled chest.
She actually sighed a little bit at the size of his body, a body that was not at all like the one that he had had in high school. Tim liked her sigh. It proved to him that he was actually ready for Nina now, ready as he had not been in high school.
He slipped out of his shoes quickly. He had not worn any socks.
And then he opened his jeans and pushed them down. He had not worn any underwear either.
He had come prepared, just as she had prepared for him. He stepped out of his jeans and then moved toward Nina slowly, his cock still pointing straight out at her.
He knew that he probably looked a little menacing as he moved toward her, but he also knew that women liked menacing men, men who seemed to be harmful, men who would do them no good. Those were the kind of men who got the women because they had the power, the power that told each and every female that, down deep, this man did not give a good god-damn about her, that he only wanted to fuck her, and that she had better be good at fucking if she wanted him to remember her at all.
Tim knew all of this and he had worked all of this into his plan for revenge.
He stood in front of her and spread his legs slightly. He did not touch her.
It was her duty to touch him, and they both knew it.
Nina reached out and wrapped her hand around that cock and started to stroke it gently, feeling its power as he stood there just a few inches away from her, naked as she was naked.
And Nina thought that this was much like her fantasy, the one that she had been having regularly over the last few years, since Ronnie had grown tired of fucking her and since she had grown weary of the life of a housewife.
In the past few years, she had remembered with glee the free and wild times of her youth.
She had remembered all the boys that she had fucked back then when she was still young and sexy.
She had been known as a whore then, but she had not cared. She enjoyed being a whore, if it meant that boys came sniffing around her like dogs after a bitch in heat. And she liked feeling cocks in her pussy, feeling them jab her and stroke her and warm her as only a cock could.
She had changed when she had married Ronnie. She had made a conscious effort to be faithful to him. She still saw men on the street' and boys who hung around downtown that she wanted to fuck, that she yearned for as a child yearns for candy. But she had fought off that yearning until this afternoon with this young man who had been in her past in some vague way but who had changed so much that he was really like a new man too.
And then, when her life had settled down and Ronnie had stopped fucking her except for those rare occasions when he felt high and mighty, as he called it, she had started to have that fantasy.
In her fantasy, a man came into the house during the afternoon, a faceless man with a big cock, and he stood next to her and she knew that he wanted to fuck her.
And she could not resist that man. Somehow, although he had no face, she could tell that he was a man from her past, some boy that she had fucked back in those carefree, high school days. But she also knew that this man would be even better than he was in high school.
She had to admit that most of the boys in high school had fumbled a lot at first, that she had had to almost mother them along when it came to fucking. She had not minded it then, but she was older now and she did not want to mother anyone along. She wanted the man to take control, and that faceless man from her past did just that. He took so much control over her that he did not even have to speak to her in her fantasy. He just stood there and she knew that he wanted her to take off her clothes and get ready for the fucking that was going to be great. And she did take off her clothes. She took them off quickly and she touched that man and she discovered that he was naked, completely naked with a cock that was long and hard and ready to go. And then, in her fantasy, she and her faceless man from her past fucked in a mist, a wonderful, soft mist that covered them and shielded them from the cruel, cold world.
She thought about all that then as 'she stroked Tim's cock and she knew that this was probably going to be as close to her fantasy as she would get. She wanted to make it good. She wanted to show Tim that she was willing to do anything he wanted her to do. She opened her mouth and the words came pouring out, words that she did not really intend to say. But, when she said then, she knew that they were the most truthful words that she had uttered in years.
"Master," she said, "do with me what you will. I am your slave."
Even though he was experienced with women now, Tim was a little taken aback by those words of slave-like devotion.
She knew that many women felt that way about him, but no woman had ever come right out and said it before.
He grinned at Nina. He was glad that she had said. It would make everything so much sweeter between them.
And he quickly tried to think of some way that he could show her that he was her master, some order that he could give her that would make her his willing and yearning slave.
Then he came up with that order and he gave her the order in his harsh, bass voice.
"Get down on the floor, Nina," he said. "Get down on the floor and play with yourself. I want to see you play with your own pussy."
Nina took her hand off his cock and moved back and lowered herself onto her living floor. He was not even going to go into the bedroom with her, she thought, and that seemed right to her, for some reason. She did not remember a bedroom with her fantasy man, her faceless man from her past. They had only fucked in mist, and Nina wondered now if a mist was going to cover her as she lay there on the floor, following her master's orders. She would not have minded if it did. She would have liked to have some sort of mist caressing her naked body while she played with herself and showed her master just as much of a slave she really was. -
She lay back on the floor and she opened her legs wide.
Then she moved her fingers slowly down her firm, sexy body.
It did not take long for those fingers to touch the lips of her pink, wet snatch.
"Play with yourself, slave," Tim said, as he knelt on the floor so that he could get a better look at the way that she was playing with herself. "Play with yourself and give me a show that will please me. Show me that cunt and prove to me that your cunt deserves my fine and big cock."
And Nina sighed and did as she was told, just as a good slave should do.
She loved these orders and she loved the way that Tim gave them to her.
She loved that bass voice that boomed out of him, that firm, bass voice of a real and stud-like master.
She moved her fingers over the pink lips of her gash and then she took her feverish, aching, womanly clit between her fingers and started to pull on it. She closed her eyes and started to tremble there on the floor and gave him a good show, playing with herself and sending herself into a paradise of sexual lust.
Tim liked watching the woman's show, the show that was meant only for him.
Again, he grasped his cock and stroked it steadily and slowly.
He wanted to be ready to fuck her when her little show was over.
He had discovered this part of his own lust a few years before, the first time that a woman had played with herself, masturbated in front of him. He had discovered that he liked the way that a woman closed her eyes and went into her own world when she worked on herself. It was as if he was not there at all, except that it was better, because he was there and now he was the man who had commanded her to do this. He was probably there in her mind too, and she was probably thinking about the fucking that he was going to give her as she played with herself that way.
Tim wanted to know for certain what she was thinking about. So he asked her. He ordered her to tell him.
"Tell me, Nina," he snarled as he knelt there and pulled his own plug. "Tell me what you think about when you play with yourself that way. Tell me what you are thinking right now."
"I am thinking," she gasped, as she pulled her clit with her fingers, "I am thinking about the way that big cock of yours is going to feel when it is deep inside me. I am thinking about how good it is going to be to fuck you, Tim."
And then the woman was silent for a moment, gasping with her own desire as she moved her fingers off her clit and jabbed two of her fingers deep into her love-hole.
She worked those fingers around in her cunt with a strong and passionate motion.
She was fucking herself, Tim thought with fever in his own brain.
She was fucking herself and thinking about fucking him. She had put her fingers in her cunt and started to think that those fingers were his big cock.
And then Nina could stand it no longer. The heat in her cunt had become too much for her.
She sighed to the naked man who was so near her, sighed with all the passion in her soul. She sighed to him as she had once sighed to high school boys in order to thrill them.
"Fuck me, Tim. Oh, god, please, fuck me. Fuck my hot cunt with your cock."
When she had said words like those words to high school boys, she had often done in as part of an act, to give them confidence, to let them think that she really could not stand to go through another moment without being stuffed by their cocks.
But it was not act, no lie with Tim. She honestly was yearning for his cock.
She craved his cock as she had never craved any other prick in her whole life.
His cock, she thought, would bring back memories of those care-free, whorish, high school days of her youth, would bring back memories but would be better than any memory that she could possibly conjure up. She knew that Tim would not fumble, would not need any mothering.
A master like Tim Abernathy, she thought quickly, did not need mothering from his whore slave.
"Fuck me!" she cried out as she pulled her fingers from her cunt and opened her pink hole to him and trembled there on the floor. "Fuck me, Master! Fuck your whore slave! Fuck me!"
Whore slave, he thought. It was a good phrase, an excellent phrase.
And, if she thought of herself as a whore slave, he would think of her in that way too and let her know that he had joined her fantasy in that way. It would make it even better for both of them.
"All right, you fucking whore," he snarled, inching closer to her opened, pink pussy on his knees, "all right, you fucking slave. Your master will fuck you with his big cock now."
"Yes," she whimpered, "yes, fuck me. Fuck my whore slave cunt."
She spread her legs wide in her ecstasy, in her fever.
And she opened her cunt as wide as she could get it. She would have ripped that cunt open if she had had to. She would have ripped her whole body open for her master. She was that turned on, that excited by what Tim Abernathy had done for her.
Tim was excited too, and, with his manly excitement burning his body, he slammed his big cock deep into her and filled her up as she had probably never been filled up before, he thought. He smiled when he heard her sigh with a long and loving sound of pleasure, the kind of sigh chat solidified his revenge, he thought.
And then he started to fuck her. He pulled his cock out of her and slammed it deep into her again as she lay there and twisted on the floor. He looked down at the way that his cock was invading her pinkness and he thought of it as a knife, a dagger of sweet and strong revenge. He slammed his dagger deep into her again as Nina cried out to him with sexual passion deep in her throat, making her cry sound like a growl.
"Oh, fuck me, Tim! Fuck my whore slave pussy! It is yours to do with what you will! You are my master! Fuck me, Master, fuck me hard!"
It was all worked out. She had become his slave and she welcomed his slamming, hard cock.
She just twisted there on the floor as he fucked her and she grabbed her own big tits. Tim put his hands under her rounded, firm ass and lifted her up slightly so that he could fuck her more easily. He rammed his cock into her again and again and he gave her just the kind of brutal, sexy treatment that a slave expected of her master.
He worked his big cock up into her wet, soft pussy and he felt that cunt tighten around his cock as if the cunt and the woman wanted to hold him in her forever and ever.
It was the way most cunts reacted to his stuffing, battering cock, Tim thought.
He looked down at the way that Nina massaged her own big tits with passion and he decided to add to her pleasure and her passion with some sexy and cruel words-words that a slave would love to hear her master say.
"You fucking whore," he growled as he went into her again and again. "You slut. You fucked all the boys in high school, didn't you, Nina?"
"Yes," she moaned. "I fucked a lot of boys in high school."
She had admitted it in her slave passion. Tim had not intended it to work out this way but, since he had started it and since she had admitted it, he thought that he might as well complete his revenge on this woman as he fucked her, as he beat the inside of her wet, quivering pussy with his cock.
"You fucked all those boys, but you would not even go out with me, you whore," he snarled. As he remembered it, he became truly angry with her, remembering his reason for returning to Victory.
And she remembered it too. She sighed and tensed her body with shame. She almost threw up as she remembered the way that she had laughed at this young man then, when they were both high school students.
She would not have blamed him if he had pulled out of her and refused to fuck her any longer, refused to fuck her even as she climbed toward her own blistering orgasm.
She would not have blamed him if he had hit her.
She would not have blamed him if he had killed her at that moment.
She had been such a bitch to him those many years ago, and it all came back to her now, came back to her with feverish shame and self-disgust.
"I am sorry, Tim," she whimpered, crying with her shame and the fucking that he was giving her, actually weeping. "I am sorry. I did not know then that-"
And then she paused. She could not think of what she did not know then.
But Tim supplied her with the thing that she had not known. He knew what she had intended to say.
"You did not know then that my cock was so fucking big, did you, Nina? In fact, you joked about me with your friends. You said that I would probably have the smallest cock in town, the kind of cock that you would never even be able to find, you slut. You fucking whore! You did not know then that I could fuck this well, did you?"
"No, Tim," she sobbed, "I did not know it then."
"But you know it now, don't you, you fucking whore?"
"Yes, I know it. Oh, Tim, just fuck me. God, you fuck so well!"
She was about to escape into her fantasy and her fucking feeling again.
Tim knew that and he knew too that he could not allow it.
She was trying to escape her own shame, her own whorish shame now that he had reminded her of the way that she had treated him a decade ago. She was trying to escape her own self-disgust by giving into the fucking that he was giving her now.
He could not allow that because he wanted to have his revenge.
Certainly, he liked the way that she fucked him now, he thought.
But he wanted her to remember that she had refused to even date him ten years ago, that she had actually laughed at him.
He cleared his throat and spit on her big tits. She gasped when he did that, as if his spit were made of fire.
"Tim!" she cried. "Don't hate me! Just fuck me! Don't hate me!"
"I do hate you, bitch," he snarled. "I hate you because you fucking laughed at me. Now you know what you missed. You could have had this ten years ago if you had only gone out with me then."
"I am sorry," she whimpered as the spit moved down her big tit to her throat.
"You fucking slut," he growled. "Fucking whore."
"Yes, yes," she admitted to him as he fucked her roughly with his cock. "I am a whore and a slut and everything bad. Just don't hate me, Tim. I could not stand it if-"
And then she stopped talking as she felt all the heat in her body rush down to her cunt. She tensed her body and cried out to the stud who was fucking her.
"Tim! I am coming, Tim! Oh, god, I am coming!"
As much as he hated her, he could not deny her this, he thought.
He fucked her to her orgasm, pounded her with his cock as she came and came and came. He saw the way that she grabbed at her tits again and heaved her body up with her own ecstasy. Her hand ran through the spit that he had put on her and it did not even seem to notice the sigh of hatred. Her body was sweaty anyway, he thought. Perhaps the sweat was mixing with the spit so well that Nina did not even care about his sign of hate any longer She certainly did not seem to care about his hate now that she was coming.
And seeing her come with such passion broke Tim to the brink of his own, male orgasm.
He growled and pulled his cock out of her and dropped her on the floor and grabbed his cock.
And he came all over the woman who had rejected him years before. He came on her with white globs, globs that were a little bit like the spit that he had put on her.
She accepted his heated come on her body. She accepted his orgasmic fluid.
And she moved her hands over her body and rubbed that come into her flesh as if it were some kind of sweet and powerful lotion that would keep her young forever.
Then, exhausted as much by his rage as by the sex, Tim fell over on the floor and lay there and looked at her. She lay very still on the floor, like some firm, dead woman, like some woman who had been killed by sex and revenge.
He turned onto his back and looked up at the cracked ceiling in the little house.
When he saw that cracked ceiling, he could not really hate Nina any longer.
He realized that her life here in Victory must be hell.
She was married to a truck driver who had tired of her and she had two screaming children who tired her out and she was feeling terribly old even in the middle of her youth. She was too ragged and torn of spirit, he thought, to be hated, even for what she had done so many years before.
And, anyway, he had worked out his revenge on her.
But Tim worried. He thought that, maybe, he was getting soft, that he might not be able to get his revenge on the other women of Victory. He had made a list of them. Nina was just the first of three. He wondered if he would be able to go through with it, if he would really be able to work out his revenge with the other two.
He just had to, he reminded himself. He had returned to Victory with that in mind.
It was his own reason to come back to that small town at all, the only reason that anyone would have to return to that stinking, little town.
He turned his head when he heard Nina move. She was crawling toward him with tears in her eyes. He could see those tears plainly and they made him sad too. He knew that he had caused those tears to come to that woman.
"Do you hate me, Tim?" she sobbed. "Do you really hate me?"
"No, Nina," he said softly, almost lovingly. "I know that I was a different person back then, just a scrawny, little kid. I don't hate you any longer."
"Can I lie next to you then, Tim?" she asked. "I like to lie next to a man for a little while after I fuck him. It makes me feel like I belong, you know."
"Okay," he said. "You can lie next to me, Nina."
She lay on her back very close to him. He could smell the aroma of sex on her.
He put his arm under her neck and they both looked up at the cracked ceiling.
A few seconds later, Nina asked him the question.
"You won't fuck me again, will you, Tim?" she asked.
"No," he said. "I have other things to do. I liked it, though. I liked fucking you, Nina. You are great."
"I never came like that with any other man in my whole life," she admitted in a soft voice. "I want you to know that, Tim. You are the best that I will ever have. I just know that."
Tim just lay on his back and looked at the cracks in the ceiling.
There was something about those cracks that drew his attention, as if those cracks formed some design that would tell him something about his life, as if those cracks were symbols of something.
And then Tim thought of it. The idea came to him like lightning on a spring night.
The cracks were like Nina's life, all cracked and ready to fall apart. Soon the plaster would start to drop from that ceiling, bit by bit, just as her life would start to come apart. It would take a long time. It would be a slow process. But, one day, she would come tumbling down, killed by the small-town terror that Tim felt in her as he held her close.
And the muscled, young man with the bass voice wished that he could something to help this woman from his past.
But there was nothing that he could do. He knew that.
He was not of her life any longer. He was not part of this town.
He had just passed through to fuck her and get his revenge.
But, as he listened to her breathing next to him and looked at the cracks in the ceiling, he wondered why the revenge was not as sweet as he had thought it would be. He wondered if it would be sweet with the other two women that he had to work with, that he had to hurt.
Tim had not given up his dedication to his cause, to his revenge.
It had meant too much to him for too long. He could not give it up.
He would have to carry it through until he finished with the two other women.
He would have to carry it through until he had worked out his revenge even on Donna, the one who had hurt him even worse than the other two.
CHAPTER THREE
As Johnny drove down to Victory, his sister, his twin, Debbie, blabbered on and on.
Sometimes Johnny wished that Debbie was not such a great fuck.
If she had not been such a fine piece of ass, he would have given up on her and told her to get the fuck out of his life years before.
Johnny and Debbie were both seventeen now and they were moving to another home.
And Johnny was thinking that it was time that he branched out and fucked some other girls, someone else besides his sexy, little twin sister.
He glanced at her as she talked about their Aunt Donna and what they would do in this new home.
"I wonder what Aunt Donna did for a living up in New York City. You know what I think, Johnny? J think that she was some kind of prostitute. Mother and father never talked about her much but she sure has a hell of a lot of money. I think that she fucked for that money up there in New York City. Grandmother was not too happy when I told her that we were coming down here to live with Aunt Donna. She did not say why, but I think it is because she knows that Aunt Donna used to fuck for a living. Don't you think that, Johnny? I mean, she is such a sexy, beautiful woman. I am sure that men would pay a lot of money to get into her cunt. I hope she did fuck for a living in New York City. If she did, then she will not be watching over us all the time like Grandmother used to do. She will give us a lot of freedom, I think. Don't you think so, Johnny? Don't you think-"
"John," the brother snarled.
"What?" his twin sister asked.
"I am seventeen years old and I want to be called John, not Johnny. I nave told you that a hundred times, Debbie."
"Oh, yeah, I keep forgetting, Johnny-uh, John."
Then she giggled for a second and turned to him and batted her eyes.
"Do you want to call me Debra, John?" she asked.
He did not even answer. He knew that she was fooling. She liked the name, Debby. And it suited her too, her brother thought. Although she was actually about ten minutes older than John, she was still a bubbly, little girl, not anything like a mature woman, her brother thought.
Both John and Debbie had blonde hair and they did look a lot alike. But John was thin and muscular and Debbie was cute and cuddly and round. They were both attractive teen-agers, and John knew that he could have fucked a lot of other girls by now, just as Debbie could have fucked a lot of other boys. But, for some reason, they had stayed together, sharing their passion, fucking each other with glee, and they had not wandered off to fuck other people at all. He supposed that they had stayed together because it was so easy now. People left them alone together. Even their uptight grandmother had done that. It was easy for them to find time to fuck each other. He glanced at Debbie. She irritated him at time, but he had to admit that she was one hell of a fuck.
"John and Debra," she said, running her fingers through her blond hair. "To me, that sounds like two stars of some big, expensive motion picture. Maybe we could remake the story of Cleopatra, dear brother. I could play Cleopatra and you could play Marc Antony. Debra as Cleopatra. John as Marc Antony. They light up the screen with their passion and their love."
Debbie was always talking about movies, her brother thought.
It was as if she lived her whole life on some big, fake screen.
"Cleopatra and Marc Antony were both dark, very dark. He was a Roman and she was an Egyptian, for God's sake. She might have even been a Negro for all we know."
"So?" Debbie asked, jarred out of her funny, motion-picture fantasy by her brother's very traditional realism.
"You are blonde and I am blond too, Debbie. We could not play Cleopatra and Marc Antony, even if one of us could act."
"We could wear wigs," she said.
"Oh, shit," John moaned. He knew that it did no good to try to make his sister get rid of her fantasies. He said nothing else. He just watched the road in front of him.
But he was thinking that maybe Debbie was right. Maybe Aunt Donna had been a high-class hooker in New York City. .
If she had been, she would certainly allow the two teen-agers a great deal of freedom.
And John remembered that time that he had seen Aunt Donna at his parents' funeral.
She was so beautiful. Even in his grief on that afternoon, he had felt his cock get hard in his pants when she had come up to him.
Maybe Aunt Donna would fuck him, he thought. That would be a real thrill. After all, he fucked his twin sister. Why couldn't he fuck his sexy aunt too?
Then John realized that Debbie had not said anything for a few minutes.
That meant one of two things, he thought. He knew his sister well and, when she was not talking, she was either sleeping or wanting to fuck. He glanced at her.
She was not sleeping.
She was sitting there in the front seat of the car with her blouse open and her tits bared.
They were good tits, cute tits, big and sexy and girlish tits. John liked the tits of his twin very much.
She smiled at him and she ran her hand over his thigh and felt his crotch with her soft fingers.
"Are we ahead of schedule, John?" she asked softly, hopefully. "Could we take off a little time from our journey and still get to Aunt Donna's house on time? Do you think that we could, huh, John?"
He laughed out loud and he grinned at his cute, sexy twin sister.
"Debbie," he said, "we will make time for a little stop. There should be a rest-stop somewhere up ahead."
"Oh, boy," she said, actually clapping her hands like a happy, little girl. "I am going to get to fuck my sexy brother again."
"Yep, Debra," he said, drawing out the name that more adult and that did not fit her at all. "You certainly will get to fuck your brother again. How could he ever resist your sweet cunt?"
"He never has been able to do that," the girl said with a wink. "Not since that first night."
Her sexy reference to their first time together reminded John of that night.
He thought about it, ran over the scene in his head, as he drove on in search of a place to stop where he could fuck his sister.
That first night had been two years before. Their parents had gone off to some party and left Debbie and John alone in the house. The brother and sister had been in a strange, fun-filled mood. They did what they had often done when they were left alone in the house. They opened up their father's liquor cabinet and started drinking.
When they had done that for the first time years before, they had both gotten very drunk and Debbie had gotten sick and John had had to clean up after her as best he could before their parents got home. Still, he knew that their mother and father had figured out what the children had done while they were away. Their parents never mentioned the night to the children, however. John knew now that his father had probably told his mother that Debbie and John had just been doing something that every normal kid did when his parents left him alone in the house. They had been experimenting with adulthood.
But their parents never found out about the other ways that Debbie and John later experimented with adulthood, about the times that the brother and the sister had fucked together.
And John figured that it was for the best. Not even his father and mother, the most liberal parents that he knew, would be able to stand for that.
That night when they had first experimented with sex, they had been drinking again.
But this time they had not gotten drunk. They had both just gotten a little high and silly and Debbie had started the conversation about sex by telling John that she was not really a virgin, that she had lost her cherry one time when she had a wreck on a boy's bicycle. And then she had asked John if he had ever fucked a girl.
He had blushed, but he had told his sister the truth. No, he had not fucked a girl.
One of the girls in school had offered to fuck him one night, had even begged him to fuck her because she thought he was sexy and handsome and because she thought that it would be fun to be his first girl. But he had not done it, he told Debbie. He had not done it because the girl had not been anything special to him and he wanted his first girl to be special.
Then Debbie had asked him another question, a question that was filled with strange and exciting meanings.
"Am I special to you, Johnny?"
And John admitted that she was special to him, very special, the most special girl in his life.
All of their lives, the brother and the sister had been best friends. There had never been any of that sibling rivalry that other brothers and sisters had. They had played together as children and later they had helped each other with their homework. They had been very special to each other because they were twins. John knew that that meant that they had grown in the same womb, that they had been together almost from the very start, although he was actually a born about a month earlier.
They had often joked about that, about Debbie in the womb grabbing him by the hand and saying to him, "Johnny, if I have to go out there, you are coming too."
Those jokes hid the reality that they both knew about. Their parents had told them that, for the first few weeks, they had expected John to die because he was premature and very small even for an eight-month baby.
Debbie mentioned that reality to John that night after he had said that she was special to him, after it was already decided that they were going to fuck each other.
"Johnny," she said softly, not even looking at him as she spoke, "for a long time I have been sorry that I made you come with me when I was born. For a long time, I have been sorry that I almost made you die. I am glad that you didn't die, Johnny. I love you so much."
Of course, it was not really her fault that he had come out of the womb a few minutes after she did. He knew that, even then. It was just biology, just the way that babies were born. But her feeling of sorrow was so sweet that he just had to hug her and they had cried a little bit together because they loved each other so much.
And then they had not even noticed it, really. They had been close and crying and then, it seemed almost by magic, they were naked and fucking on Johnny's bed.
And, even that first time, when they were both so inexperienced, was wonderful for both of them.
John knew that both he and Debbie were older now, that soon they were going to go their separate ways and never fuck each other again, that they would find other people to fuck. But he knew that that first time with his sister would always be the sweetest, best time for him, and he would remember it all his life with a sense of soft, warm passion that was special to him, as special as Debbie was special to him.
All the time that he had been thinking about that first time with his sister, he had been searching for a roadside stop, one of those places by the side of the highway where drivers pull off the road and rest. But John did not have resting in mind.
By then Debbie was sitting very close to him and turning and rubbing her bare tits against his arm as he drove. He would have had trouble controlling the steering wheel of the car if he had not been used to this kind of sexy action from his twin sister.
Finally, he saw one of those stops up ahead, and his heart expanded with joy in his young chest. He was going to stop and give his twin sister a good fucking, a fucking that would introduce them correctly to the state of Missouri.
He pulled over to the roadside park. There was no one else parked there. John glanced out at all the ears that zipped by them on the highway and then he looked at his watch. Debbie saw him do that and she asked him the question.
"Do we have time to really do it good, Johnny?"
"John," he said. "Remember, Debbie. I want to be called John now."
"Okay. John," she said cutely, girlishly. "Do we have time to do it good?"
"We have a little time," her brother said. "It will have to be sort of fast, I guess. But I am sure that we can still do it good, you sexy, little thing."
And then he pulled his twin sister to him and kissed her passionately. She opened her soft mouth to his tongue and let him go into her and she pressed her bare tits against his body.
John moved against his sister and pushed her back on the seat.
Debbie went back willingly with her arms around her twin brother's neck.
They kissed each other with deep and loving passion. Debbie stuck out her tongue and ran it around John's lips slowly, making his whole body twitch with lust for her.
He put his hands on her tits and massaged them for a second. Then he moved his head down and started to suck on her nipple. He sucked for a few seconds and then he licked that pink flesh, as his twin sister ran her soft fingers through his blond hair.
"Oh, Johnny, you are so good," she moaned to him.
Of course, she had called him Johnny again. Not John. But her brother was too busy tonguing and sucking on her nipple to correct her this time.
Then John moved his mouth off her nipple and raised up in the seat. He quickly took off his shirt while Debbie slithered out of her blouse. Then his sister reached out and pulled him down on her again.
She liked that feeling of flesh against flesh, that first feeling. She thought that it was kinky and she remembered that that flesh had been formed in the same womb with her, at the same time. She sighed as she held her brother close to her.
"Oh, John," she moaned, remembering his rule this time, "you are the best fuck that any sister could ever have."
Then she let her brother go and the two of them quickly stripped off their clothes.
They moved quickly in the tight confines of that front seat. They did not even have time to move to the back seat, where many teen-agers fucked. They were in too much of a hurry and their lust for each other added to their hurry and their passion for each other.
When they were naked, Debbie moved on the seat, slithering around again. She put her face in her brother's lap and wrapped her fingers around his stiffening cock.
She lifted the cock up to her mouth and she did what she knew that John liked her to do.
She blew on the pink head of the prick with a soft and sweet, sisterly breathe.
John gasped when he did that and his cock stiffened even more and throbbed in her hand.
His sister was great. She knew him so well. They had been so close for so long that John doubted that he would ever be as close to any other female in his life.
Even if he married a woman and fucked her every night for fifty years, he thought, he would never be as close to that woman as he was to his sister.
And he felt, that close feeling even more when his sister took his prick into her sweet, warm mouth and started to suck on it.
Again, John gasped. And then he sighed out some words to his sweet sister.
"Oh, Debbie, your mouth is wonderful. Suck that cock. Suck your brother's cock."
He liked to remind her at times like this that he was her brother and that she was his sister. It added a special, kinky thrill to the sex, a thrill that neither of them had ever gotten over. They both knew that this was the sweetest kind of forbidden fruit, twin incest, and that is one reason why they loved fucking each other so much.
And John's cock was hard in no time at all, hard from the sucking that his twin sister gave him. Debbie moved off his rod and lay back on the seat and spread her legs and sighed to him with sisterly passion in her voice.
"Oh, fuck me, John," she said. "Fuck me good, dear brother of mine."
She like it too, calling him brother even as they prepared to get on with the fucking, even as he was moving over her and she was lifting her legs.
"Fuck my cunt, my brother," Debbie said, lifting her arms high and touching his face, the face that was so much like her own, she thought.
And John went into her easily. Her cunt had been prepared for his cock by a couple of years of steady fucking.
By then, the twins knew each other so well, knew what pleased each other so well that they could fuck with the ease of a couple that had been married for years.
John worked his cock deep in his sister's pussy and she sighed and put her legs around him and worked away under him, moving with him, catching his rhythm, fucking him with sisterly style.
And they were twins together there in that front seat, while John drove deep into his sister's cunt and thought that she was so sweet, so fresh, so girlish, and yet so mature in her easy, fucking grace too. She tightened her pussy around his cock and moaned to him.
"Oh, that feels good, my brother," she said. "That feels very good. Fuck me harder and deeper, my brother. Fuck me."
And John churned inside of her, churned and fucked with a grace that matched Debbie's. As he came close to his orgasm, he heard her gasping deep in her girlish throat and he knew that she was coming close too, close to orgasm. He started to fuck her more quickly, with more vigor and more manly force. He drove his cock deep in her and then she moaned and cried and sighed and he knew that she was reaching the peak as she moved under him.
"God," she gasped. "Here I come, John. Here I come, Johnny."
And she tensed her body and let out a strangled, little cry, and that made John want to come too. He did what he always did with his sister. Her jerked his cock out of her tight, sweet pussy and he held it over her body and she stroked it with her excited, girlish hand.
And then he came all over her, came in white explosions all over his sister's body.
Afterwards, they lay together in the front seat for awhile and held each other close and kissed each other tenderly. They both knew that a time would come, probably very soon, when they were going to go off in two, different directions, but they both knew that they would remember each other with warm thoughts for the rest of their lives.
Then John moved off his sister and Debbie reached down in the floor-board of the car and got a wet rag that she carried with her in a little jar of water. She cleaned herself and she handed the rag to John and he cleaned his cock.
They dressed quickly. John checked his watch.
If he had figured it correctly, he thought, they would still get to his aunt's house on time.
The brother and the sister sat in the car and the brother turned the key in the ignition. Before he pulled onto the busy Missouri highway, he glanced at his sister and grinned.
She giggled, as she always did after they had fucked.
And then the two of them went on down the road, heading for a new home.
And John started thinking of his sexy aunt again, the woman that he had only seen once that he could remember. She was so beautiful and so curvy, and there was something about her that told John that she could be cruel and kind, cold and hot, that she could be very mystifying for a young man.
And he wondered again if he would get the chance to fuck his Aunt Donna.
He hoped that he would get that chance. He was sure that his aunt would be great in bed, that she would be able to teach him a lot.
And, after all, he had fucked his own sister, his twin sister.
When he thought about that, he glanced at Debbie again.
And he saw that the cute, little blonde was asleep on her side of the seat.
She looked positively angelic that way, her brother and her lover thought.
And then John drove on down the Missouri highway to his new Missouri home.
CHAPTER FOUR
Late that night, Donna lay in her bed and thought that her young relatives were a couple of nice and handsome kids.
They had arrived at her house just a few minutes late and all three of them had had lunch together.
During the lunch, Donna started to get to know John and Debbie. She could tell that the brother and the sister were very close. She saw them glance at each other in almost sexual ways, she thought.
But she could understand that a brother and a sister could be close, especially if they had been orphaned and forced to take care of each other for a year or so. Donna knew their grandmother, a haughty, almost crazy, old woman who did not believe in freedom or anything like that.
She understood that two teen-agers could not be very happy living with a woman like that.
Their parents had been all right, she supposed, liberal and eager to make their way in the world.
But their parents were dead and now Donna knew that John and Debbie had no one-no one except their Aunt Donna.
And the former professional could only wonder if she was capable of raising two teen-agers.
She also thought about the justice's suggestion, his plan that she should try to teach Debbie how to be a dominatrix too.
It was a honorable profession, Donna thought, and it could make a sexy, young thing like Debbie a lot of money.
Debbie had a special style that Donna knew clients would like. They would appreciate being beaten by such a girlish, little thing, such a cute and cuddly little sexpot. She looked so innocent. Donna wondered if Debbie could go for beating people. She wondered if Debbie had ever fucked before.
And she wondered how she would ever bring up the issue of her former profession to these teen-agers who did seem very clean-cut to her.
And John, she thought. He was very handsome too, almost as handsome as a movie star.
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like to fuck her handsome nephew.
Donna had not usually enjoyed fucking men. In fact, she had to admit to herself that she really enjoyed just giving pain. She would finish one of her sessions and then go into her bedroom and play with herself and come like blazes.
But maybe she had been wrong, she thought. Maybe with a young stud like John she could really get into fucking.
She might even do it with Debbie too, she thought with a smile.
Debbie was cute, sexy girl and Donna was not against making it with another female.
She had made love to Ginger a lot during that period when the redhead had been training her.
Donna lay in the bed and remembered the first time that she had made love to Ginger. It had been after that first experience with real domination, that experience with the famous nightclub comedian who had giggled as they beat him.
She and Ginger had come back to Ginger's apartment after that session and had sat around and talked about the experience as they drank wine. They still wore their leather bikinis.
"How did you feel about it, Donna?" the redhead asked. "Did you get into it at all?"
"What do you mean, get into it?" the teen-ager asked her teacher.
"I mean, did you get turned on sexually when you beat him?"
Donna thought about it for a moment. She had felt something when she beat him, a combination of anger and disgust and intrigue and there had been that something else, that something deep in her stomach and in her cunt. Now she understood that something, now that Ginger had mentioned it. She understood that she had become turned on sexually. She had never been turned on that way by any man in a traditional fuck session and she had not known exactly what was happening to her.
Finally, she answered Ginger's question with a nod and a blush.
"Yes," she murmured, "I guess I did get turned on. I had never felt anything like that before."
And then she stared at Ginger with the question in her eyes. Ginger was a real professional. She understood the question even though Donna did not put it into words.
"Don't worry about it, Donna," she said. "I get turned on when I beat a client too. My pussy gets all wet and hot and this leather adds to my turn-on too. Does the leather give you a special pleasure too?"
When she asked that question, Ginger raised her hand to her firm, freckled tit and squeezed that mound encased in leather. She closed her eyes for a moment and Donna could tell that her teacher and her friend was getting into that special feeling that the leather gave her.
Donna followed her lead and did the same thing. She put her hand on her tit and squeezed it. It did feel good.
It felt like a warm glow was rushing through her body and heading for her clit and her cunt.
She actually gasped when she felt herself that way. The leather was cool but her body was hot.
"Yes," she moaned to Ginger, "it turns me on."
Ginger waited for a few seconds, waited for Donna to come out of her lustful emotions that bordered on dreams.
Then Ginger spoke to her softly, almost lovingly. Donna listened to her voice and thought that she had never been spoken to in that way by a woman before. But, then again; the teen-ager thought, she was in a new world and she had been experiencing a lot of new things recently. All of those new things had turned her on, she thought, and Ginger's voice, her tone turned her on too.
"Do you want to know how I get rid of that sexy feeling in my body, Donna?"
"Sure," the dark-haired teen-ager said. "Sure. I think that would be good to know."
"I get rid of that feeling by going to bed and dreaming of making love to another beautiful woman, a woman like you."
There was silence in the room as the women in leather just looked at each other.
And Donna wondered why it did not surprise her, did not shock her that Ginger was making this proposition to her. She supposed that, in some special way, the redhead had prepared her for it over the days that she had trained Donna.
The teen-ager said nothing. She just stood up on her shaky legs and nodded to the redhead who had taught her so much.
And Ginger smiled, knowing that she had a real conquest now. She stood up too and reached out and took Donna's hand and led the teen-ager into the bedroom.
Donna had been in that bedroom before. During her training, she had had her run of the redhead's apartment, although she still slept in her own dingy, little place on the west side. Something told Donna that, after that night, she was going to move in with Ginger and she felt like she had really found a home with this redhead teacher of hers.
The teen-ager had been in that bedroom before, but she had never really noticed it in the way that she was noticing it now, as she stood just inside the door still holding Ginger's hand in hers. She turned and looked at the redhead and she found that she was noticing Ginger in a new way too. She had never seen the redhead in quite this way before either.
Ginger was just filled with sex. She seemed to send off a scent of sex, an aroma and an aura of sexuality. She pursed her lips as she looked at Donna and the teen-ager felt a chill run up and down her spine.
And then Ginger reached out and put her hands on Donna's leather-covered tits.
She squeezed those tits, as she had squeezed her own, and Donna almost collapsed from the feeling of lust that shot through her.
The redhead pulled the teen-ager to her and kissed her softly, putting her lips on Donna's.
Ginger ran her fingers up and down Donna's back as the girl shivered against her.
Donna had never felt anything like this, it seemed like the perfect climax to a perfect day of new and lusty experiences.
She had never kissed a woman before, but she opened her mouth and let Ginger's tongue come into her and play games with her own tongue.
There was a softness to Ginger, the softness of another woman, and that softness thrilled the teen-ager more than anything else had ever thrilled her. Donna trembled against Ginger and felt the redhead's leather-covered tits move against hers as the kiss deepened even more, as their tongues began even more lively and more loving and more fresh and girlish. The tongues moved from mouth to mouth and then the kiss ended when Ginger pulled away from Donna and smiled at her.
Ginger held Donna's hand and the two females in leather walked to the bed.
They stood for a moment and looked down at that bed. There was a red sheet on the bed and, when Donna saw it, she thought of the way that they had made that comedian bleed earlier that night. That whole thing still confused her. She was still not sure why anyone would want pain. But she was willing to accept this strange quirk of human nature, just as she was willing to accept the five hundred dollars that she had made that night.
She looked at Ginger and thought about asking the redhead for some kind of explanation, some kind of reasoning behind the pain.
But she sighed when she saw Ginger move her hands behind her back and loosen the top of her leather bikini and she knew that she did not want any explanations now. Donna wanted only lust, lesbian lust. The explanations could wait, but the feeling in her leather-clad cunt could not.
Donna followed Ginger's lead and took off the top of her leather bikini and let the redhead look at her fresh, young tits. The nipples were hard and excited.
And then Ginger reached out and touched those bare tits with her fingers. She ran her fingers around the pink circles and made the tits even harder, even bumpier. Donna again did the same thing that Ginger was doing.
She put her hands on Ginger's tits and ran her fingers around the redhead's excited nipples.
Then the two females sat down on the bed and Ginger gently pushed Donna back on the bed and moved her mouth over one of the teen-ager's nipples.
She took that nipple between her lips and started to suck on it with a passionate softness.
And Donna almost went insane with lust for her teacher and her feminine friend.
"Oh, Ginger," she sighed, as she ran her fingers through Ginger's full head of red hair..
That hair was soft and Ginger's lips were soft against her nipple.
That was the thing that Donna remembered most from that experience with Ginger, the softness, the wonderful softness of each passionate and loving, lesbian movement. She had never had such softness before, and she felt that the softness made a nice, sexy counterpoint to the hardness of the time earlier that night, when she and Ginger had beaten and cursed that comedian.
Ginger moved her mouth to the other nipple and sucked the teen-aged girl there, making the softness and the lust in her body even and balanced. Then the redhead moved her fingers down the girl's quivering stomach and ran her fingers into the black-leather panties that Donna still wore, the panties that were like the ones that she wore. Both girls still wore their boots too, the high, tight, cool and warm leather boots that were the signs of dominating women.
Ginger moved her fingers into those panties and Donna felt those cool fingers on the warm, wet hair of her young cunt. She sighed and shivered and put her arms around Ginger's neck and pulled the redhead to her and kissed her passionately. When the kiss was over, she looked into Ginger's kind and sweet eyes and she spoke to her softly.
"Thank you, Ginger," she said. "You are so sexy and you have taught me so much."
"I am going to teach you even more, Donna," the redhead said. She smiled when she spoke those words and Donna knew that she was willing to learn anything that Ginger wanted to teach her. The teen-ager smiled back at her good and sexy teacher.
She felt those fingers working deeper into her panties and she sighed with passion for Ginger.
And then she lifted her hips and let Ginger take off the panties, pull them down slowly. Ginger moved off the bed and slowly, carefully, worked the panties over the boots and pulled them off the girl. Donna lay on the bed and raised up slightly and looked down at her sexy teacher, the woman who was kneeling there at the edge of the bed. The teen-ager was suddenly very proud of her pussy, of her snatch that was covered with dark, glistening hair. She spread her legs and let Ginger inspect that dark hair and the pinkness that was under it.
The pinkness was glistening too, wet with excited juices that had flowed from deep inside Donna.
And Donna was proud of that glistening, sweet pinkness.
She was even more proud of it when she saw Ginger grin with appreciation.
She wondered what the redhead would do with that cunt. She knew that anything Ginger did would be exciting, more exciting than anything any man had ever done to it.
First, Ginger moved her fingers around the wet, sensitive lips of Donna's pussy.
And that touch, that sexy touch, made Donna sigh and open her legs even wider. She lifted her legs slightly and pressed her boots against the red sheet of the bed. She turned her head to one side and she looked at that red sheet. Red like blood, she thought. Dark and shining red. The sheet was cool too, cool like an autumn breeze of blood.
And Ginger's touch was soft and cool and exciting too. The redhead knew just how much pressure to apply to that pussy, just as she had known just how much pressure to apply to the comedian that night, just how much pain a man could stand.
She knew too just how much pleasure Donna could stand at this point in her first experience with lesbian sex. She was a real professional, and she was so fucking sexy too.
Ginger slipped her finger into the cunt and Donna gasped with delight when she felt that entrance into her pussy.
The finger was cool and active in her wetness, so active that it seemed to fill her up as no cock had ever filled her up. Donna began to twist and turn on the bed and Ginger reached up and put her other hand flat against the girl's lower stomach and held her down as she fucked out that cunt, as if she were digging for something precious.
Donna's mind was on fire with lust as Ginger fingered her.
Then the redhead pulled the finger out of Donna's wetness and waited until the girl calmed down a bit. Donna opened her eyes and looked down at Ginger and saw the redhead put the wet, glistening finger, the finger that had been deep in Donna's snatch, into her mouth.
She grinned at Donna, her face breaking into a sexy, girlish expression around that finger that was in her mouth. And, when Donna saw that, she just had to giggle like a little girl.
She giggled and she thought that she and Ginger were like two little girls, two giggling, young friends who were trying out all kinds of new things.
Then, even as Donna giggled, Ginger pulled the finger out of her mouth and moved her face toward that wet cunt and ran her tongue deep into it. That invasion, that sexy entrance, stopped Donna's giggling and made the girl gasp again with pleasure.
Ginger had taught her a lot that night. She had licked out Donna's pussy and then sucked on the girl's clit until she had come. And then it was Donna's turn to do the same thing to her teacher.
Donna had pulled Ginger's leather bikini bottoms off her with ease and she had gone after that wet, red-haired pussy with passion and excitement. She had loved the sweet taste of that girlish pussy, the sweet, honeyed taste of Ginger, her teacher and her friend.
From that night on, the two of them had shared that bed, had made love often, especially after they came back from beating and punishing some client. Donna became very popular with Ginger's clients and, when Ginger decided to retire from the business at the age of thirty, Donna had taken over and added even more clients to the list, rich and influential men and women like the Supreme Court justice. She had become even better than Ginger because she was more intelligent and could learn more things to use with each individual client, things that related only to that client, things that got that client off even more than before.
After Ginger had retired, she had moved to Europe, and a year later she was killed in an automobile accident in France. Donna had cried for two straight days when she heard about her teacher's violent death. But then she had carried on. She had felt that she had a mission in a way. She would continue Ginger's work until she was thirty and then she would retire too. Donna was determined to follow in her teacher's footsteps as much as she could.
She could have gone to Europe too, but she had been a little afraid, afraid that she would die quickly there just as Ginger had done. It was a silly superstition, Donna knew, but it was an idea that she could not get out of her head. So she came back to Victory instead.
Donna threw back the sheet on her bed and lay there in the after-midnight dark of that small, Missouri town and thought about her teacher. She should be a teacher too, she thought. She should have found a girl just as Ginger had found her, and she should have trained that girl in the ways of brutality and torture.
She felt vaguely uneasy as if she had failed Ginger by not passing on the knowledge to another girl. And then she remembered that she still had a chance to train another female. If she could train her niece, that sexy, little blonde, Debbie, she would repay her debt to Ginger. And she thought that it was only right that Debbie should be the one. She was a blonde and it seemed right that Ginger, the redhead, should train Donna, who had dark hair, and then Donna could train Debbie, the blonde. She felt that such a plan involved some kind of sexy, completed circle.
As she lay there, making her plans, she heard a strange, moaning sound coming from another part of the house. It sounded like a girl experiencing pleasure. Was it Debbie? Donna wondered what the girl could be doing.
The aunt got up from her bed and pulled a robe on over her naked, sexy body.
She opened her door quietly and walked out into the hallway, determined to follow that sound to its source. She had expected the sound to be coming from Debbie's room, which was on her right. After all, it was the sound of a girl moaning with pleasure. Donna, the experienced professional, knew that.
But the sound was coming from her left, from John's room.
And that intrigued the aunt even more. She moved softly in her bare feet toward that room. She found that the door was opened just a little bit.
Donna stood outside that door for a few seconds and she heard the words that were mixed with the moaning sound.
The words were soft and filled with youthful and vigorous passion.
"Fuck me, my brother," Debbie was whispering. "Oh, fuck my hot cunt."
For a moment, even Donna, the experienced professional was shocked by those words.
She knew immediately what they meant. Her niece and her nephew-twin brother and sister-were in that room having sex, fucking each other.
Donna had never suspected that of them when she had talked with them that day.
They were both so clean-cut and youthful and charming.
But then Donna thought that it was only right. Both the brother and the sister were also very sexy. She had even been thinking of making it with each of them. It was only right then that they should fuck each other.
She opened the door quietly and stepped inside the dark room. She could see the boy and the girl clearly on the bed because the moon-lit was shining in through the window on the other side of the bed, casting them in a strange, dream-like glow.
Debbie was on top of her brother, sitting on his cock. Her arms were stretched high in the air and she was riding her brother with passion. John put his hands on her girlish thighs, holding her down while he bucked under her, fucked her with all of his youthful zest and strength.
And the sight of this fucking turned Donna on. She felt her pussy quake with desire as she watched the brother and the sister together on that bed..
And she smiled, for she knew that, if they would do this, they would do anything.
She was suddenly very pleased to have those young members of her family, her sister's clean-cut, healthy, sexy children, living with her. She knew that she would train them well.
She knew that they would leave her home with even more and varied sexual experience.
She opened her robe and leaned against the wall and watched them fuck as she ran her hand over her own sexy body and felt her nerves tingle with excitement as she touched her own flesh.
And she heard the girl moaned to her brother again.
"Fuck me, John. God, fuck me. You are so fucking good."
And Donna knew that the girl spoke the truth. Her brother must be very fucking good. That boy must be a real stud.
And then the girl squealed in passion to her twin.
"I am coming! God, I am coming!"
And John lifted her body off his cock and, in the moon-light, the aunt could see his own orgasmic fluids shoot up into the air because he was coming too.
How nice, she thought. How nice that a brother and a sister-two twins-could fuck together and come together. How nice that John and Debbie were that close, knew each other that well, loved each other that much.
And then Donna decided that she had the perfect way to introduce the two of them to her kind of lust. She would have to let them think that she was angry with them. Before they could come to their senses, before they noticed their aunt there in the room with them, Donna closed her robe and growled at them.
"What the fuck is this?"
And Debbie squealed and John gasped. The aunt had them just where she wanted them.
She smiled there in the semi-darkness of the room, but she spoke to them with that professionally angry voice that she had learned to use in her years of work in New York City. That voice came to her naturally.
"Couple of incestuous fuckers," she snarled. "Come with me, you filthy kids."
And then she turned and walked out of the room, knowing that they would have to follow. She snarled back at them.
"Don't bother to get dressed, you slimy youngsters. I don't want you dressed at all."
And she heard them move behind her. Her niece and her nephew were following her just as she had ordered them to do.
She walked toward the door to her special torture room, the one that she had set up for the judge. She had kept that door locked all day, but she unlocked it now.
And she looked back and saw the sexy girl and her sexy twin brother come out of the bedroom, naked and frightened because they had been caught.
CHAPTER FIVE
She opened the door and held it open, making a quick sign that the two teen-agers should enter the dark room. She noticed that Debbie and John held hands as they trembled and walked into that room, into the darkness.
Donna moved into the room after them and closed the door with a slam before she turned on the light.
She saw the two kids blink as the bright light hit them in the eyes. They had been used to the soft light of the moon. They had fucked in that moon-light.
And then, as they looked around them and saw all the instruments of torture in that room, Debbie grasped her brother's hand in both of hers and gasped.
"What is this?" she asked, to no one in particular, looking at the straps and ropes and chains and whips and leather garments that hung around the room.
Donna moved in front of them and took off her robe and stood there naked. When she did that, both the boy and the girl directed their attention at her sexy body, not at the instruments of torture that had first frightened them. The aunt noticed that and she liked that very much. She thought that that was very sweet of them.
And she decided to explain to them just what she had planned.
The plan had come into her mind as a completed thing as she stood there in their bedroom and watched the two of them hit orgasm together. She knew then that the brother and the sister had shared a great deal in their lives.
And she thought that it was time that they shared one more experience.
And, in the process of sharing, she thought, she would also teach Debbie about the techniques of sexy torture. Donna looked at John. He was probably not the kind of boy who enjoyed being hurt a great deal, but the aunt knew that he would stand for anything now. He was so frightened now that he and Debbie had been caught fucking.
And he might really get into it, the aunt thought, if his twin sister, the sister that he fucked so well, was the one who was giving him the punishment
Donna stood there naked and started to explain her plan to Debbie. She did not even speak to John. She talked about the boy as if he were not even in the room.
"You and John are very good together, I can tell that," she said. "You fuck each other very well, and I assume that you have been fucking each other for quite some time. Is that right, Debbie?"
She paused and there was silence in the room for a few seconds before the girl worked up the courage to speak.
"Yes," she said. "Johnny and I have been fucking for a couple of years."
John looked at his sister. She had used that kid's name for him again. Johnny. He did not like that, but he could not argue with Debbie or correct her now. He was in the presence of his aunt, his sexy, naked, dark-haired aunt, and he was not certain about what his aunt planned to do with them.
On the one hand, she seemed accepting, strangely accepting of what she had discovered.
But all of these things in the room seemed to prove to John that Donna really would not accept anything at all.
Those things were used to hurt people, he thought, and he wondered how many people his aunt had hurt in her life.
Donna continued to speak to Debbie and to ignore the naked young man who stood there holding his twin sister's hands in his own.
They looked like a couple of orphans in the storm, the aunt thought.
"Debbie, you have probably often wondered how I made all of my money, enough money so that I could retire and live on it at a rather young age. I am sure that your parents and your grandmother never told you because they did not know for sure. They assumed that it was something seedy and bad because I was in New York City and I was making lots of money all the time, although I did not have a regular job. I will tell you, Debbie, how I made my money. I was a professional dominatrix. Do you know what that is, Debbie?"
The cute, naked, little blonde shook her head no. She had never heard that phrase before. It did not surprise Donna that Debbie did not know what she meant. So the aunt explained, just the way that Ginger had explained things to her during those first weeks of training and work.
"You see, Debbie, there are certain men and women who feel guilty, who think that they have done something wrong in their lives and have not been caught. Some of them have done bad things. Others really have not. But they all enjoy being hurt. It is the only way that they can achieve sexual satisfaction. It is sad in a way, Debbie. I really do wish that every person in the world could achieve orgasm the way that you and John did tonight. That is the healthiest way, even when it is with your twin. But there are others who had can only come when they are tortured and beaten and humiliated. And they require some sexy women to do it for them, to give them the pleasure and the pain that they need. They pay a lot of money to women who know how to give them pleasure and pain."
"And they paid you," Debbie said softly, beginning to figure things out.
"Yes, Debbie, they paid me to torture them. A sexy woman who knows how to give a person good and sexy pain can make a lot of money. And I have been wondering if you would like to make a lot of money too, if you would like to do what I did for a living."
Debbie did not say anything. She did not know if she wanted to hurt someone.
Donna understood her silent confusion and she continued with her little speech.
"I have decided that I will try you out, to see if you can really give a person the kind pain that is close to sex itself. I have decided to try you out with John."
The brother and the sister looked at each other quickly.
They were shocked and frightened by her suggestion, and Debbie turned to her aunt and stammered.
"I-I could not-hurt John, Aunt Donna. I love John." "And it is precisely because you do love him that you can work with him tonight," Donna explained to the girl. "If you do not punish him, I will do it and I will be very cruel and harsh with him. You will be more loving in your "punishment because you know just how much of a stud he is."
"Yes, I know," the sister said softly. "He is a very good fuck."
"And John might enjoy it too," the aunt suggested, "especially if the pain and the torture come from you, his sister, the girl that he loves to fuck."
Debbie looked at John again, trying to see in his eyes if he would enjoy it.
But the brother was just as confused as his sister was. He did not know if he would like pain, no matter what sexy woman gave it to him.
Then Debbie looked back at her aunt and she saw the naked woman motion for Debbie to come near to her. Debbie moved slowly, hesitantly toward the woman who stood there.
When the little blonde was close to Donna, the aunt took her niece in her arms and kissed her softly. Debbie accepted that kiss in a kind of frozen, fearful state.
Then Donna let the girl go and touched Debbie's soft blonde hair, thinking of red hair to dark hair to blonde hair, the kind of progression of teaching that would be perfect.
"I will not make you hurt John a great deal," she said softly. "I just want you to try. I want to see if you are any good. I want to show you some things, Debbie."
The girl did not say anything, but Donna could tell by the look in the girl's eyes that she was surrendered to her aunt's will, that she would do anything that Donna told her to do.
Donna put her hands on Debbie's shoulders and turned her so that she faced her twin brother.
As Debbie looked at her naked, sexy, blond brother standing there, she thought of the way that she had almost killed John at birth, of the way that she had dragged him out of the womb before he was ready to go. She felt that that made a real difference now. It would not matter if she hurt him just a little bit, she thought. She had already almost killed him and he had lived. He would be able to stand a little torture too.
And the girl remembered that she would be saving John from an even greater pain by hurting him. If she did not do it, Aunt Donna would and she would be more harsh and cruel and less loving. Aunt Donna was right, the girl thought. Aunt Donna did not know just how good John could be when he fucked a girl.
Donna whispered into the blonde's ear, giving her her first command.
"Speak harshly to John," she said, "as harshly as you can. Call him dirty names and tell him to come here and kneel in front of you."
The girl paused for a minute, getting the words in her head. Then she spoke to her brother, using all the dirty words that she could think of.
"You worthless piece of shit. You mangy fucker. You cocky stud. Come here and kneel in front of me."
Donna listened closely to the girl's voice. It had a strange, kinky quality, the aunt thought.
It retained some of its girlish sweetness even as it was harsh, even as she spoke to her brother in such a ruthless fashion.
It was the kind of voice, Donna thought, that submissive people would pay a fortune in order to hear.
And John did not deny that voice, could not do anything except what the voice told him to do.
He moved toward his sister and his aunt, still shaking with fear, but his sister's voice seemed to give him strength, seemed to give him the ability to face any kind of torture that he had to go through.
He knew that his sister really loved him, and that made him feel a little better as he knelt in front of the girl and lowered his eyes to the floor. The boy somehow sensed that he was not supposed to look up at her.
With her brother kneeling before her, Debbie felt a strange sort of power in her body, a power that she could not really understand. But she liked that power. She liked looking down at his blond head and knowing that John, that stud who had fucked her, who had been born from the same womb that she had been born from on the same day that she was born, was not her captive in a strange way.
She looked back at her aunt and she actually grinned at Donna with girlish delight.
"What do I do now?" she asked her aunt.
"What do I do to him now?"
Donna liked that smile on the little girl's face. It proved to her that Debbie was a natural, that the girl was really getting into this scene. She was a natural, Donna thought, and she would accept the training and mature into a fine and sexy dominatrix. She would make a lot of money for herself, and Donna would be able to repay her large debt to the woman who had trained her, to Ginger who was now dead.
Donna felt warm when she looked at her niece. Then she knew that she had to answer the girl's question. She looked down at the boy who knelt in front of his sister and she came up with the next thing that Debbie could do to John, the next bit of training that the blonde should receive from her aunt.
Donna walked to the wall and pulled down one of the long, leather straps with the clasps on it. It was specially prepared for such bondage and torture. All Debbie had to do was wrap that strap tight around John's wrist and press it closed and it would bind him and make the blond, naked, young man even more helpless.
Donna handed the leather to the girl and spoke softly to her.
"Bind his wrists together behind him," she said, "and remember to speak harshly to him. Keep calling him names, names that are special because you are using them for him. Try to think of ways to make him remember that you are doing this to him because he is John and you are Debbie."
Debbie nodded her head. She understood her aunt.
As the girl walked around her kneeling brother, the aunt knew that Debbie had just learned one of the great principles of professional dominating.
The girl had learned that she had to work with each client as an individual, get to know the client and understand his own unique needs. Then she would work that individuality into her torture and her curses. Any professional who did not do that, who used the same curses for all of her clients and who uttered those curses in a bored, tired manner, was a bum, unworthy of her money and her status in the world of sex.
Donna had learned that from Ginger and now she had taught Debbie that too.
The girl stood behind her brother and spoke to him in a sarcastic tone, almost whining to him.
"Put your arms behind you, brother dear," she said.
And John did as he was told, feeling his cock pound under him. That surprised the boy.
He was getting turned on by this!
He glanced up quickly at his naked aunt, the woman who was training his sister in this way.
And he could see that Donna saw his cock rising too. She smiled down on him.
When his arms were behind him, Debbie pulled them together and began to wrap the leather around his wrists so that she could bind him.
She wrapped the leather tightly and felt her brother's body tense with the pain that she was giving him.
And then she started to talk to him again. The whining, sarcastic tone was gone, replaced by a cold and cruel sound.
"Brother dear," she said, "you fuck me and I fuck you but you are so traditional in so many ways. Sometimes you piss me off so much that I wish you had died when I pulled you out of the womb with me. You want to be so mature, but you are just a kid, brother dear. Just a fucking kid. You have only fucked one female in your whole fucking life, and that is me, your twin sister. If you are such a fucking man, brother dear, why don't you go out and fuck some other girls too? Why don't you find some woman as sexy and mature as Aunt Donna and fuck her?"
When the girl made that suggestion, John looked up at his aunt again.
She was so beautiful and sexy as she stood there, proud and haughty and naked, he thought.
He wished that he could fuck her, that he could plunge his cock into that sweet pussy of hers.
Perhaps, he thought, he would be able to fuck his aunt soon. If Aunt Donna was going to train Debbie in this kind of strange act, maybe she would go to bed with John and train him in more traditional ways of sex too. Yes, he wanted to fuck his aunt a great deal.
Donna looked down on the boy who looked up at her and understood his yearning for her.
And the aunt felt a similar yearning for him. He was a stud. She had seen how well he had fucked his sister and she was certain that he would be able to fuck her just as well. And he had that lean muscled body and that soft blond hair and that boyish face. He was just the kind of stud that she had often thought about. She was certain that John would be able to make her really enjoy the in and out of traditional, man-woman sex. Donna felt her pussy quake with desire for him as he knelt there with his sister binding his hands together.
But she knew that she could not fuck him now. First he had to suffer under Debbie. First he had to help Donna train his sister for that fine profession that would make the girl a lot of money.
Donna turned her back and moved to the wall. She picked out some more instruments of bondage and torture for Debbie to use on her twin brother.
She brought them back and Debbie stood up. John knelt between the sexy, naked females as Donna handed the girl the leather ball on the strap.
"Fix this around his face and slam the ball into his mouth," she said. "And keep talking to him, Debbie. Talk as much as you want to talk. It thrills me, I know."
John did not say anything, but he knew that his aunt was right. His sister's words did thrill him and put into his mind all kinds of ideas that were sexy and wonderful. And he also knew that Debbie would have no trouble talking. She had been blabbing away all of her life.
"John," the girl said. "You fucking boy. You worthless piece of manure. You think that you are so much more mature than I am, but you are wrong. I am the older one, I am the one who was ready to come out of the womb on the day that we were born. I am the one who-"
Debbie paused in her little lecture of her brother and worked the ball into his mouth and tied the leather around his head. Then she thought of the perfect thing to say to him, the thing that could torture him more than anything else. She would torture him by repeating that one word that he hated more than any other. He could not correct her now. He could not utter one word with that ball in his mouth.
"Johnny," she said. "Johnny. Johnny. Johnny."
Every time she said that word, that name that he hated now, he flinched with a jerking motion and his muscles tightened.
She almost danced in her glee. She knew then that she had him just where she had always wanted him. She kept saying the word.
"Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny."
Then she looked at her aunt with an eagerness in her girlish, blue eyes.
"What now, Aunt Donna?" she chirped. "What can I do to Johnny now?"
When she said that name again, she put emphasis on it, stretching it out as if she were tasting the sweetness of the boyish name with her tongue and her brother tensed his body again in pain, emotional pain.
But his cock was getting harder and harder and longer and stronger and more manly.
He was looking at his aunt and he was thinking that, if he could fuck her, he would show her that he was not a boy, not a Johnny. He would show her that he was a real man, a stud. He would make her call him John, only John, a man's name, a stud's name.
He would be John the stud to his beautiful aunt if he could only fuck her once.
Donna handed Debbie the long strip of leather with the handle on it.
"Beat him with this," she said to the girlish blonde. "Beat your brother with this. It will not cut him. It will only sting and give him the pain that will really turn him on."
John was looking straight at Donna's black-haired cunt when she said that.
All right, the boy decided, he was willing to suffer under his sister if he could fuck the woman, his aunt. He wanted to prove to his aunt that he was a man, a real and sexy man, a John.
"Johnny," the girl said, almost squealing the name.
Debbie was standing behind her brother and she thought that she might as well stay there. That way he would not be able to watch her beat him. He would not know when the next stinging blow was coming to his flesh.
"Johnny. Johnny. Johnny. Johnny."
Donna backed up, moved away from the boy and the girl and smiled at both of them.
She knew then that Debbie would be great when she was trained, when she turned professional.
She knew than that Debbie had that sadistic, girlish quality that would make her a well-rounded pro. She might even be better than Donna, the aunt thought, as the aunt had ended up better than her teacher.
And then Debbie grinned and raised the strip of leather high into the air and brought it down on her twin brother's back. The naked, bound stud flinched with the pain and Donna saw the tears come into his blue eyes.
"Johnny," the girl snarled.
And he flinched again and Donna thought that, in a way, the name hurt him more than the sting of the leather.
Then Debbie hit him again on the top of the shoulder and again on the other shoulder.
She began to beat him with a steady, ruthless rhythm and she grinned all the way through the beating.
Donna liked that grin on the girl's face. She knew that that grin meant that Debbie was a real sadistic sexpot, that she would do well in the big city.
And the girl continued to chant the name.
"Johnny. Johnny. Johnny."
Each time she struck her brother, she would give him the name. It was as if she were beating the name into him, Donna thought, beating back his manhood as his cock got stronger and longer.
But John kept his eyes on his aunt, even as his sister beat him and suddenly Donna could not stand it any longer. She just had to feel that cock, that prick that had become so manly, in her wet and quivering cunt.
"Stop, Debbie!" she cried. "Stop beating him and untie his hands! Quickly!"
The teen-aged blonde did not understand what was going on really, but she did as her aunt told her to do.
She dropped the leather strip and went down on her knees behind her jerking brother and she loosened the leather that held his wrists together. By the time John's hands were free, Donna was lying on the floor in front of him with her legs spread wide.
"Johnny," she sighed. "Fuck me. Fuck my cunt."
"John," the boy snarled in anger. "It is John. When I fuck you, you will know that it is John."
And the young man knew that he wanted to fuck his aunt. He had taken the ball out of his mouth by himself quickly so that he could speak to her and. tell her that he wanted to fuck her.
But he did not have to tell her. He looked at his aunt as she trembled there on the floor.
She was so sexy and so beautiful, he thought, and she wanted him so much.
He knew that she was turned on by the sight of his humiliation.
And he figured as he crawled to her that, if it took this kind of torture to turn her on, he was willing to endure anything. He was going to fuck her and prove that he was John, not Johnny, John.
He positioned himself over his aunt and growled down at her with a manly voice.
"John," he said, "my name is John."
And then he put his hands under her ass and lifted her up and aimed his cock at her pussy. He had only fucked Debbie, his twin sister, up to this time. Now he was going to fuck his sexy aunt.
He slammed his cock into her wet, pink slash, forcing her pussy open and giving her pleasure as he dug into her. His aunt lifted her legs and tightened them around his back and she moaned as he started to fuck her.
"Oh, slam it to me, John. John. John. John."
He drove into her with gusto and started to fuck her, to pull his cock in and out of his sexy aunt. As he heard her moan his mature and real name, he looked back over his shoulder, looked back at his sister and grinned.
"John," he muttered to Debbie.
"John!" his aunt cried under him. "Fuck my hot cunt, John!"
And then he turned his attention back to his aunt and fucked her with all of his manly might as his sister watched and smiled at him and felt very happy for her mature and sexy stud of a brother.
CHAPTER SIX
Ruthie was easier than Tim had expected.
He had found her working as a waitress in an all-night diner and he had remembered the way that she had turned him down a decade ago when he had asked her out for a date.
Ten years ago, she had been the head majorette in the high-school band, a girl who looked good as she strutted down the football field in front of the trombone section. As a majorette, she wore a tight, little outfit, but, even on the coldest nights, she looked comfortable, warm and sexy as she threw her baton up into the air and caught it with ease. He had worshipped her for a year because he had been in the trombone section and marched right behind her when they appeared on the football field.
And then, one afternoon, he worked up his courage and called her and asked her if she would like to go out.
"Nope," she said with a short, nasty sound and then she hung up the phone.
That had hurt him almost as much as Nina's laughter and he still had to march behind her during their senior year, still had to watch her little butt move so sexily in that tight, short majorette uniform.
He was a bit surprised to find her working as a waitress in a diner. He had thought that she would do something more interesting with her life. But, when he saw her moving through that diner, he knew that her life was just as drab and worthless as Nina's life was. Tim thought that maybe it was this small town that tired out women without ever giving them the chance to live at all.
But he could not feel sorry for Ruthie, he reminded himself.
He had to work out his revenge on her. He had to use her to prepare for Donna, the worst member of the trio, the one who had hurt him badly a decade ago.
So he asked around town about Ruthie and he found out that she was not married at that time, although she had been married twice before. She also had a bad reputation-or a good reputation, if you wanted to look at it that way. Ruthie, the men in town said, would fuck anything that looked like a cock.
Tim knew that he was going to get to her very quickly then.
She worked the late night shift in the diner, waiting on tables and sassing the old men who sat in there until dawn.
Tim went in one morning just before dawn and sat down in a booth. She came strolling up to him.
"Wait will it be?" she said, putting her hand on her hip in a surly manner as she handed Tim the menu.
"Aren't you Ruthie?" he asked, his face showing quizzical tension.
"Yeah," the waitress said with a short, tired grin, "do I know you?"
"Tim," he told her. "Tim Abernathy. I used to play trombone in the high school band."
"Oh, Timmy," she said, grinning broadly.
"Tim," he said softly, correcting her. "Just Tim now."
She looked him over with a quick glance and she grinned.
"Hey, Tim, you have changed," the waitress said.
He looked her over too.
"You haven't changed that much, Ruthie. You are still very pretty."
And he was right, in a way. Although she was tired and worn-out now, there was still a little spark left in her. She was still something like the majorette that he had worshipped in high school. Her body was still slim and sexy and her waitress uniform showed it off pretty well.
It was going to be a pleasure, he thought, a pleasure to work his revenge on her.
"What time do you get off, Ruthie?" he asked her.
"Seven," she said with a grin.
"Maybe we could go some place and talk over old times, if you aren't too tired," he suggested.
She leered at him with that sexy look that small-town women have when they know that a man wants them and when they know that they won't mind being had at all. And she was very direct with him.
"Maybe we can go back to my place and do more than just talk, Tim," she said.
"Okay," he said with a grin.
"But you have to order something. It is only six o'clock and you have to order something if you plan to wait for me."
"Sure. Bring me some coffee and a piece of pie."
She suddenly turned into a waitress again. She pulled out her pad and started scratching on it with a pen.
"What kind of pie?"
"What kind you have?"
She looked over her shoulder and squinted.
"Apple and blueberry and cherry, I think," she said.
"Which kind is the best, Ruthie?"
"They all stink, really," she said softly with a grin. "But the cherry is the best, I guess."
"Okay, Ruthie," Tim said with a playful leer, "bring me your cherry."
She laughed.
"Oh, honey," she said. "I got rid of that years ago. Too much trouble to keep it clean. But I will bring your pie."
She moved away from him and glanced over her shoulder and winked at him.
It was simple as that, so simple that Tim felt a little sorry. He had been looking for more of a challenge with Ruthie. But then he steadied his nerves and remembered that Donna would probably be the biggest challenge of them, enough of a challenge to make up for the ease with which he had fucked Nina and with which he was going to fuck Ruthie.
Ruthie brought him his pie and then went to wait on other customers.
At seven she came walking by his table. He left the money for the pie and coffee there and followed her out. In the parking lot of the diner, he handed her a ten-dollar bill.
"What's this for?" she asked.
"Your tip, waitress."
"Hey, thanks," she said, tucking the bill into her uniform pocket. "That's a nice tip. But I hope to get an even better one."
"I think you will be pleased with the other tip," he said, rather proudly.
He rode in her car to her house. He left his car parked at the diner. She lived nearby. He would be able to walk back and pick up his car after he had gotten his revenge.
She lived in a little drab house on a back street in town.
As Tim followed her into that house, he remembered the things that he had learned about handling women.
They had already decided that they were going to fuck, but he must not look too eager.
He must be sure of himself and remind himself that he had to make Ruthie think that he was doing her a favor.
But he watched her move in front of him and he knew that she was going to do him a favor too.
He knew that this high school majorette from his past was going to be hell on wheels in bed.
When they were in the house, she walked directly to the bedroom and Tim followed her.
In that bedroom, she stood there and looked at him again. Then she complimented him as she started to unbutton her white, waitress uniform.
"You sure have changed, Tim," she said. "More than I would have ever thought."
She pulled off the uniform and stood there in her bra and panties and hose and shoes.
Tim studied her. She had long, blonde hair that still looked clean and fresh. And her slim, sexy body was tanned. She probably spent a lot of time swimming, he thought. He remembered that she had been on the swimming team in high school and that she had been very good at that sport. But he also remembered that she had been good at another sport in high school too.
Like Nina, Ruthie had gotten a reputation early as a girl who liked to fuck.
But the strange thing was that no boy ever called Ruthie a whore. Guys did call Nina that sometimes. They would still fuck her, but they did not seem to respect her. Tim supposed that any high school boy had to respect a majorette, no matter how many cocks she had had in her.
Even now, as a lowly waitress, there was something about Ruthie that commanded respect.
But Tim had to watch himself. He could not respect her too much. He had to get his revenge.
He had not even started to take off his clothes. She sat down on the bed and pushed her hose down. She kicked off her shoes and then took the hose off.
"Sometimes," she said, "at the end of a long night, I just want to fuck so that I can put my feet up."
Tim laughed at that dirty, little joke but he knew that there was some truth in that.
Ruthie looked at him with hunger in her eyes. She sat there in her bra and panties and she noticed that he was not undressing. That worried her and her worry showed in her eyes.
"What's the matter, Tim?" she asked. "Don't I turn you on?"
"Yeah," he muttered softly, looking at her with his eyes hard.
He wanted to make her feel like he could see right through her. He put his fingers under his belt and stood there and smiled an evil smile. He saw her shiver when he did that.
"What's your fantasy, Ruthie?" he asked.
"What?"
"What do you dream about when you think of the best sex that you could have?"
"Gee," she said, "I don't know."
He knew that she was lying. She just did not want to tell him. He did not say anything.
He knew that his manly silence would bring the truth out of her. Truth always came out of a woman to fill the vacuum left by silence in a bedroom.
She shivered again and looked at him as he stood there.
Then she told him her fantasy.
"Well," she said, "I like to be sort of overpowered, you know. I like to think that there is a man who is so strong that I could not resist him even though I want to. It has never really happened to me. I have never been raped or anything like that. And I don't want to be. But I just like to make believe that maybe I don't want it. But actually I do want it and the man, well, he sort of knows."
By the time she finished telling him that, she was looking down at her legs, afraid to look him in the eyes.
She probably thought that that fantasy meant she was some kind of pervert, Tim thought.
A woman in a small town like this would not know that most women have a fantasy like that.
"Okay," he said, pulling off his shirt. "Okay, Ruthie. I am strong. You fight me."
She looked up at him and that spark, that girlish spark, came back into her eyes.
"What? Do you really mean it, Tim? No man has ever played a game like that with me before."
He stepped out of his shoes and then he opened his jeans. Before he pushed them down, he grinned at her.
"I will play with you, Ruthie," he assured her. "You can fight me and act like you don't want it."
He knew in his heart that he liked the idea too, the idea of having Ruthie fight him.
It would make his revenge mean more, Tim thought, and it would give the tired, young waitress a thrill too. He pushed his jeans down and stepped out of them. She gasped when she saw the size of his cock, but he did not act as if he noticed her gasp.
He just stood there naked and looked at her as she sat there in her underwear.
Before the game started, he wanted to make sure of one thing.
"You want to get naked, Ruthie, or do you want me to tear your underwear off you when we play?"
The way he said it told her that it did not make any difference to him.
She thought about it for a moment and then she decided and spoke to him softly, a little fearfully.
"Go ahead and tear the underwear if you want," she said. "I got other underwear."
"Okay."
"Okay."
There was silence in the room for a few seconds as the two people looked at each other, each getting into the part that each one was about to play.
It was an easy part for Tim. As a rapist, even a man who was acting out the part of a rapist, he could use all of his anger.
He just remembered the way that she had hurt him, the way that she had hung up on him when he was a skinny, little boy.
It was obvious to Tim that Ruthie did not remember that. He would have to remind her later on.
But, for now, he would just play the part of a rapist with her. She was looking at him, waiting for him to make his attack.
Then, quickly, he charged her.
He growled at her with an animal sound as he fell on her and pushed her back on the bed.
She yelled out but he put his hand over her mouth and held her down with his own strength as she struggled against him.
"Oh, my god," she gasped. "Don't hurt me. I never hurt you."
"Fucking slut," Tim growled. "You are going to get it. You have been wanting it, going about and teasing those men in the diner. I see you in there and I have noticed you teasing me too. Fucking whore."
She did struggle against him there on the edge of her bed, but he held her down.
Tim moved his hand inside her bra and pulled on it as she tensed her body. He knew that that pulling hurt her, but he knew that that was the kind of game that she wanted.
And, if that was what she wanted, he decided, that was what he was going to give to her.
The bra finally popped open in the back and he pulled the thing off her and bared her firm, pointed tits. Although she was struggling, wiggling under him, he could see that her nipples were hard with excitement, and he knew that she was really enjoying this little act.
It was her dream come true, her brutal fantasy come to life.
He put his hand on one of her tits and rubbed that tit roughly. She started to cry out again, and he stuffed part of the bra in her mouth and shut off her scream.
"Keep quiet, bitch," he snarled, "or I will do more than just rape you."
Her eyes were wide with fright, and that fright suddenly froze her. She stopped moving under Tim.
She lay there like a statue under his strength and looked at him with fear.
Tim did not know for certain why she had suddenly frozen there. Perhaps it was just another part of her fantasy. Perhaps she had started to wonder if this was safe for her. After all, Ruthie did not know him very well. She might be thinking now that she had made a mistake, that he might be crazy and really want to kill her.
For whatever reason, she lay under him and stared up at him as he mauled her tits with his hands.
Then he moved on the bed and grabbed her arms and pulled her up on the bed where he could fuck her more easily. She came with him, like a sack of something that was being hauled.
She lay there, very still, but she never took her eyes off him. She never blinked her eyes either and that bothered Tim. He thought that that was not right.
He slapped her face and snarled at her again.
"Blink your eyes, bitch," he said. "Don't stare at me like that."
And then she batted her eyes and he knew that she was still conscious, still alive, though she was still frightened of him.
He moved his hand roughly down her body as she lay there with part of her bra stuffed in her mouth. Her arms were stretched back on the bed and he could see the soft, wet hair that grew under them.
Looking at that hair, he put his hand in her panties and started to rip those panties off her.
He held her down with one hand and lifted her panties with the other. He listened to the slow, ripping sound that the things made.
And Tim knew that she heard that slow, ripping too, and that she felt it deep in her cunt and in her heart.
He tore the panties off 'of her and looked down at her wet, light-haired snatch.
There was a lot of hair there, brownish in color. He glanced back at her and grinned with an evil look in his eye.
Then he looked down at his half-hard cock and growled at her.
He rolled over on his back as he said it.
"Suck this cock, you slut."
She did not move there. She just lay there with that bra in her mouth.
He ripped the bra out of her mouth with a heavy pull and she gasped. Then he grabbed her blonde hair and pulled her toward him, aimed her face for his cock.
"Suck it, slime. Suck that cock and get it hard."
And then she did it. She held his cock up in her hand and she moved her face over it and opened her mouth.
She lowered her face and impaled herself on that cock and the rapist sighed as he felt that warm mouth around his throbbing organ.
"Yeah, suck it. Suck it, bitch."
She sucked with a slave-like devotion. But he held his hand in her hand, just so he could remind her that she was at his mercy, that he was the rapist and she was the victim. As she sucked on his cock, he decided to tell her the real reason that he had returned to Victory, the real reason for his raping of her.
"I asked you out one time, Ruthie," he snarled, "and you hung up on me. You were not even civil with me. You thought that your fucking cunt was a gold mine, and you thought that I was not good enough for you."
When he said that, she suddenly stopped her sucking, her bobbing up and down on his prick. He yanked her hair and she sucked again, but he knew that she remembered now and he knew that her memory of that time that she had been such a bitch to him would add to her fear of him at that moment.
He growled at her again, letting her know that he was really going to work out his vengeance on her. He wanted her to know that she deserved this kind of treatment from him.
"Now you yearn for me. Now I am going to give you the fucking of your life, Ruthie. I am going to play your little fantasy game to the hilt with you. Then you will know just what you missed when you hung up on me more than ten years ago.
His cock was hard by then, hard and ruthless and ready to enter her.
He pulled her hair, pulled her off his prick and threw her back on the bed as she winced in pain and stared at him with that terrible terror in her eyes.
Like a true rapist, he pulled her legs open with his hands and looked down on her oily snatch.
"Very nice," he snarled. "Very nice indeed."
And the rapist that was Tim moved over her and lifted her pussy toward him and looked into her frightened eyes. He kept his eyes on that sign of real fright as he drove his cock into her pussy with a manly force.
She gasped a little bit and then she sighed. She could not help herself. She was enjoying this experience, this realization of her fantasy, even though she was really terrified of this muscled, naked dark man.
As he fucked her, she responded to him with her body, but her brain kept replaying that scene that he had reminded her of. She remembered it now, how she had been fucking at her home one afternoon and how he had called her and asked her out. She had not meant to be that short with him. She might have even gone out with him. She thought that Tim was sort of cute, even then. But she had been fucking, fucking two boys at once, fucking Bob and Roy, and she wanted to get back to them and let them fuck her some more.
But she knew that she would never be able to explain that to Tim, not with the anger that he showed now.
And she thought that it was really not much of an excuse. She should not have answered the phone in the first place. She had only answered it because she had been afraid that it was her mother calling, checking up on her.
Now all of that did not really matter, Ruthie thought.
Now Tim was fucking her and her body was responding to him and he was driving deep into her pussy with that huge cock of his. Finally, she just surrendered and stopped the fantasy game when she sighed to him.
"Oh, slam it to me, Tim. I love it Fuck me harder and harder."
And Tim did what she wanted him to do. He rammed his cock deep into her and then he moved his hips and she felt like she was going to explode with that huge cock in her wet, loving, sex-drenched pussy.
She had her legs around him, but he was staying away from her. He was holding himself up and fucking her from a distance, she thought. Only his cock was close to her and his cock was really in her, slamming the back of her cunt with a power.
She loved his anger and she knew that she deserved that anger and she surrendered to that anger with lust in her throat.
"Fuck me! God, that is good! Oh, Tim, you fuck so well!"
And she squirmed there on the bed and all of the tired feelings that she had had at dawn, after a night of work at the diner, left her. That was what she really liked about fucking early in the morning. If a man was good, if a cock was good, that cock could fuck the tired feelings right out of her, she thought.
And Tim was making her feel newly alive with his cock at that very moment.
"God!" she screamed, twisting on the bed and fucking him with his rough rhythm. "God! That is good! I am coming!"
And Tim looked down on her and knew that he had given her pleasure and taken his pleasure too.
This revenge had been sweet and fairly easy, had taken only a couple of hours.
He knew that the final revenge would be more difficult. He knew that Donna was not going to give into him so easily. As he finished his fucking of Ruthie, as he fucked the blonde former majorette and watched her come and felt his own orgasm coming close, he thought about Donna, the worst of the three, the hardest of the three. And he knew that his revenge on Donna was going to be the fucking sweetest of all.
He growled at her with lust and anger mixed in his throat.
"Your cunt is good, bitch. I am coming too."
"Yes, come," Ruthie gasped. "Come in my bitch cunt, you rapist."
And then they were back to the game that they had played with each other.
Tim did not mind going back to that game at all.
It was just fine, an excellent game, he thought.
It was the perfect game for an avenger to play with his victim.
And thinking that, he battered her cunt with his cock and started to come deep in her and fill her with his hot, avenging semen.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next day, Tim started to investigate Donna. He could not find out very much at all.
All anyone knew was that she had come back to Victory to live after many years in New York City.
They knew she had money and they thought that she might have made that money as a call-girl.
But Donna did not talk to many people there in Victory, and no one knew anything for certain.
Two teen-agers had moved in with her a few days ago. A few people said that they thought that those teen-agers were members of Donna's family, but they were not certain even of that.
Tim tried to work out his plan, tried to figure out how he was going to get to her.
But she rarely left her house, and he decided that he would have to go there and confront her at her front door.
And he thought that that would be right-just right for Donna.
As he drove to her house, he remembered what she had done to him when he was a sophomore in high school.
She had been a senior at the time and she had noticed him around the school. She had even talked to him and he had fallen in love with her in his boyish way.
He knew that she was in love with some other guy, some guy that she had later followed to New York City.
But that did not matter to Tim. He just liked being around Donna.
She was so pretty and so sexy, and there was something about her that was cold and cruel too, something distant. He thought of her as a queen. And he started to think about her in his dreams at night as he pulled on his young cock and wanted to fuck someone, anyone.
Mostly, he wanted to fuck Donna, and he dreamed about fucking her.
In his fantasies, she was a queen, sitting naked on a throne and he came in to see her.
He was nothing but a serf but she had ordered him to appear in her presence. And he had come with fear in his heart.
When he saw her sitting naked on that throne, his cock got hard in his rags.
And then he turned around and saw that everyone else had left the throne-room, leaving Donna and the serf alone.
In his fantasy, she spoke to him almost casually, telling him what she required of a man.
"I have seen you around the kingdom," Queen Donna said. "And I like the way you look. Every year, I pick one serf and fuck him. You, Tim, are this year's serf."
He gulped when she said that. As much as he lusted after her, he could not imagine himself, a serf, just a young boy really, fucking Queen Donna, the most beautiful woman in the realm.
But she moved off the throne and came to him and touched him, felt his big cock through his rags.
"Very good," she said. "I will have fun this year."
That was the fantasy that he had about Donna then, and that fantasy continued for months.
He was only a boy and he did not really know about fucking, but he realized that it had something to do with his cock.
In his fantasy, he and Queen Donna would float down onto the floor of the throne-room and she would touch his cock with her soft, royal hands and he would come with wonder, serf-like love and passion for his queen.
He would also come in his bed as he thought about that scene and how soft her hand would be on his cock, as he jerked himself off in his dark bedroom.
But the truth of his life, the reality, was much different. He hung around his queen as much as he could until one day when he was standing close to her. She was with her boyfriend and that boyfriend, a senior too, told Tim to get lost. But Donna came to his defense and hurt him even more than the growl of her boyfriend had hurt him.
She had put her hand on his head and raffled his hair with her soft fingers.
It was the only time that she really touched him, Tim remembered.
And then she said to her boyfriend, "Don't worry about little Timmy. He just loves me like a little boy should."
Little Timmy. Little boy. As he thought about it now, the anger came back to him and he felt it rise in his throat like a sour taste that was gagging him.
By the time he got to her house he was almost sick from his anger. He sat behind the wheel of his car and took several deep breaths, trying to still that sour rising in his throat. Then, when he thought that he could handle this confrontation with a manly, forceful style, he got out of his car and walked to the front door.
She was wealthy, he had heard, but the house was not that big. It was certainly no mansion.
She was obviously conserving her money so that she could live on it for a long time.
He knocked on the door and waited for someone to come and open it. He tried to work up his manly courage, tried to remember everything that he had learned about dealing with women, but he thought for an instant that it was going to be too much for him. He thought for a moment that he was going to pass out because he was trying to remember too much at the same time.
And he dreaded facing Donna again. He wondered if she would recognize him at all.
He knocked on the door again and it opened quickly and he saw the female standing there.
It was not Donna. It was a young, blonde girl, a cuddly and cute and sexy teen-ager.
"Hi," she said. "May I help you?"
She grinned at him in a friendly manner, but he could not force himself to grin back. He choked out the words in his rage, in his sour-throated anger.
"Is Donna here?" he asked.
"Sure. She is in the back. Come on in. I will get her."
The little blonde held the door open and walked toward the back of the house.
Tim staggered into that house and leaned against the wall and tried to get control over his rage and his emotions. This was not the way that a man should act, he kept telling himself. And, if he did not act correctly, if he did not get his revenge on Donna, he would have wasted all of these weeks in Victory. He took several deep breaths and then he remembered that Donna was not alone in the house. That would make it even more difficult for him to get his revenge, he thought.
He almost turned around and left that house. He thought that he was going to throw up, and he shivered with chills as he leaned against the wall. Then he looked down the hallway, and he saw her coming toward and suddenly his chills and his fear and his terrible hatred was over, was finished. She was walking toward him in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. She looked like a beautiful woman fresh from the farm.
Was this the woman who had hurt him so badly? Was this the woman that he wanted to get his vengeance on?
Somehow, coming toward him, she looked so sweet, almost innocent. Tim could not understand it.
He knew that he had changed. Had she changed too? Had she turned into something that he could not hate?
She grinned at him and stuck out her hand. "Tim," she said. "Tim Abernathy. It has been a long time."
She recognized him! Even now that he was muscled and manly, she recognized him!
He instinctively held out his hand too, but he said nothing as she shook it.
"So good of you to come by," she said. "I have been thinking about you over the years, wondering what ever happened to you. What are you doing now?"
"Working at a radio station here in town," he said softly. "I used to work in Chicago, but I came home-"
"You certainly have the voice for radio," she said with a grin. "You always had a wonderful voice, you know. Come. Let's sit down and talk."
She held his hand and directed him to the couch. He moved toward that couch still unsure of himself, trying hard not to stagger, trying to stop the strange feelings that he felt in him. He looked at her again, and the disgust, the hatred would not come. He did not feel bad, he thought. He just felt empty.
Without that anger, he did not feel anything at all.
"I came home too," she said. "I decided that I would take all the money that I made and come back to Victory and live quietly. New York City was exciting, but it got to be so hectic. It feels good to relax here."
Donna was being friendly to him, but she was actually wondering what he was doing here. He was a kid from her past, some kid that she had almost forgotten about entirely.
Then she realized that that was not true. When she saw him, she started to think of all the times that she had remembered Tim Abernathy back in those hectic New York City days.
She had remembered him then as a pleasant, little fellow with a deep voice, a fellow who had worshipped her when she was a senior in high school, a fellow to whom she had done some wrong.
She had always wondered how she had hurt him. She knew that he quit worshipping her, quit hanging around her about halfway through her senior year, and she missed him in a way.
Perhaps he would tell her what she had done wrong, what she had done to hurt him, Donna thought.
She had certainly not meant to hurt him. Tim Abernathy had been the first man to really worship her and when she started to work with Ginger, when she realized that she loved having power over those other people, she had often thought of Tim Abernathy as the boy who had first instilled in her that good feeling of control that she later used so well. In some weird way, she thought that he had trained her too, without realizing it.
She had thought about him a lot during those early years as a dominatrix, and then other slaves had worshipped her so much that she had pushed Tim to the back of her mind.
Now she spoke to him and complimented him.
"You have certainly changed. You are so muscled and manly. I like the way you look."
And Tim felt as tongue-tied as a sophomore in high school when she said that to him.
"But you recognized me," he stammered. "Most people don't. How did you-"
"Oh, Tim," she said, touching the side of his face softly, "I could never forget your dark eyes."
"My eyes?"
"I always loved those dark eyes. They seemed to look right through me."
That was the truth, she thought, but she did not add that they shined when he looked at her like a worshipping slave.
"And you called me Tim," he said. "Most people who knew me back in high school called me Timmy. I have to correct them now."
She had learned about real male names from her experience with John, but she did not want to get into that with her old friend. She just smiled at him.
"I can tell that you are not a Timmy any longer," she said. "I can tell that you are a real Tim, a man."
He could not really hate her after she said that to him.
And Donna suddenly realized that she was flirting with this man from her past. She suddenly realized that she wanted to fuck Tim Abernathy. She could not understand it. She had never been so immediately attracted to a man before. Even with John, she had had to wait until she saw him fucking his twin sister, she had had to wait until she had seen Debbie torture him a little bit. But it was not that way with Tim. She wanted to fuck him right now.
She moved closer to him on the couch and put her face very near his. If she wanted to fuck, she decided, the best thing to do was just let him know. He had been to Chicago. He was very mature now. He would probably appreciate a woman who let her lusts come out of her easily, who knew what she wanted from a man and went after it.
"Tim," she said softly, touching his chest with her fingers, "I hope that you don't think I am forward or whorish or anything, but I really think that you are sexy. I just love your eyes."
And those black eyes were wide when she said that. Tim was surprised. This woman wanted to fuck him and she was letting him know it easily and surely. How could he get his revenge on her if she was so confident and good and easy with her sexuality.
And then Donna said something else and the idea of revenge went right out the window.
She looked deep into those dark eyes and spoke softly.
"I know, Tim," she said, "that I hurt you in some way back in high school. I don't know how, but I know that you stopped wanting to be with me. I am sorry that I hurt you, Tim, and I will do anything to make it up to you. The truth is. I missed you when you stopped hanging around with me. I thought that you were a lot of fun and you made me feel very good about being a woman. I am sorry for anything that I did."
Tim choked out the words that explained to Donna how he had hurt her.
"You ruffled my hair and you told your boyfriend that I was a little boy and that he should not be jealous of me."
Donna closed her eyes. She remembered it then. Yes, that was when she had hurt him.
Then she explained it to Tim, the man that she wanted to fuck, the man with the dark, worshipping eyes.
"Tim," she said, "I only did that because he told you that he did not want you to hang around any longer and I thought that things would not be as much fun if you were not around. And they were not as much either, Tim. I can tell you that."
Tim looked down at her hand on his chest and said nothing.
"I was just trying to get him to leave you alone. I never really thought of you as a little boy at all."
"What did you think of me as then, Donna?" he asked.
She paused. Could she really tell him? Could he really stand to hear the truth?
And then the woman figured that she would just have to tell him. If he was angered by the truth, he would get up and leave her and she would be no worse off than before. But, if he accepted the truth from her, they might really have some fun this afternoon.
"I thought of you as my worshipping slave," she said. "You made me feel like some kind of queen, Tim."
Queen! The word rang in the man's head like a bell. It was as if they had gotten their fantasies from the same source, as if they had shared more than they had ever dreamed that they shared.
Tim grinned and touched the side of her face and pulled her to him and kissed her softly on the mouth.
She liked that kiss, liked the feel of his mouth on hers. When the kiss was over, he spoke to her softly.
"You were always my queen, Donna. I thought of you as a queen too."
Then they both knew that it was going to work, that they were going to fuck.
Tim's anger and disgust was gone. He could not be disgusted with his queen, he thought.
And Donna just wanted to have her slave close to her. She wanted to give him many queenly touches and make him feel noble too.
"Of course," Tim said, "I never thought of myself as a slave. I thought of myself as a lowly serf in your kingdom, the one serf that you would fuck every year in your attempt to become one with the people."
And then he paused. He had not intended to say the word, fuck. He had not intended to reveal so much to her. He looked at her to see if his queen was displeased. But she grinned and then she started to laugh with a lively, loving sound. Tim laughed too, laughed with his queen.
"We are amused," Donna said in a haughty but kind queenly tone.
And then Tim realized that she was still his queen, even sitting there in jeans and a T-shirt, she was a true and noble queen. Her royal beauty and sexuality seemed to shine from her.
She moved off the couch and stood up and reached down and took his hands in hers.
"Come, serf," she said. "The queen wishes to become one with the people this afternoon and she has chosen you."
He beamed up at her, but then he thought about that blonde girl who had answered the door.
"But we are not alone in the summer palace, your highness," he said, keeping up the act.
"My courtiers and ladies-in-waiting will not bother us. They know that this afternoon is special for their queen,"
"Very well, your highness," Tim said, standing up. "How can a serf refuse his queen?"
And, laughing, they walked down the hallway to Donna's bedroom.
Tim could not believe how things had turned around for him. He had come to that house angry and nervous and he had ended up with his queen, fulfilling the fantasy that had driven him wild with lust when he was a teen-ager. He forgot all the things that he had planned to do to Donna, all the things that he had learned about women, for he knew that Donna was not a normal woman. She was a queen, and a queen is serviced and pleased in a special way.
In the bedroom, she closed the door and Tim took her in his arms and kissed her.
Her arms went around him and she held him close to her, feeling his muscles under his light shirt. He felt her tits too. They were soft and sexy. The mouths opened and the tongues of the queen and the serf moved back and forth from mouth to mouth, playing some kind of royal game.
In Tim's mind, they were in a palace bedroom and he was going to get to service his queen. He did not even care what happened to him after he had serviced her. He did not even care if she cut off his head. He would give his queen anything that she desired. She was so royal and so beautiful and so sexy.
When the kiss was over, Tim and Donna moved apart and the woman ran her hands down her body slowly until her fingers were under her T-shirt. Then she pulled the thing off and showed the serf her bare tits. They were breasts that were fit for a queen, he thought.
And he reached out and touched them with his hands for a second.
Then he took his hands away and took off his own shirt. His chest was muscled and his skin was tanned. She sighed when she looked at that. He was a real man now, she thought, the kind of man that was worthy of a queen.
And, then, feeling their mutual lust grow in their bodies and souls, the queen and the chosen serf, Donna and Tim, began to strip quickly. They both wanted to get this royal and great fucking started as soon as possible.
When Donna saw his cock, she did not gasp as other women had done. Tim looked at her and he saw her nod, just nod and smile in appreciation. Then he knew that she was a real queen, the kind of queen that deserved the best fucking a common serf could give her.
When they were naked, they moved to the bed and lay down next to each other.
They turned and faced each other, but they did not touch for a second.
"My queen," Tim said, "I want to thank you for this honor that you have given me."
"Serf," Donna said playing along with the sexy game, "I want to thank you for the fucking that you will give me. I am sure that it will remind me of my people and I will keep my people in my mind as I rule over them for the next year."
Then she smiled at him.
"You may touch me, serf," she said. "You may touch me and fuck me."
Then she thought of something else, the fact that queens and kings refer to themselves as we. The royal we, she remembered that it was called.
"We want to be fucked by you, serf," she said with her voice soft but filled with passion.
And Tim grinned and moved toward her and put his arms around her and kissed her with all of his serf-like passion. He ran his tongue deep into her mouth and then he pushed her back on the bed.
He licked her throat and slowly worked his face down to her royal and sexy tits.
Tim stuck out his tongue and ran that tongue around one of her nipples and she touched his dark hair and she sighed to him.
"Oh, Tim, this is good. I always knew that you would be good for me."
Hearing that, he was overjoyed. He did not care about revenge any longer. He did not want to hurt Donna at all. He just wanted to please her. He sucked on her nipple and felt his brain go soft with passion.
This was his queen, he kept thinking, and he was honored because he had the chance to fuck her and pleasure her. He represented all the people of her kingdom in this royal bedroom. He liked the game and he remembered his fantasy. He would do so much to her now, so much more than he had done to her in his fantasy, because now he knew about sex and he knew about women and he knew how to give a woman pleasure so that she would give him pleasure too.
He moved his mouth to the other breast and licked her pink and hard nipple and then sucked on it and gave her more passion in her body. He felt his queen twitch and turn under him, and he knew that he was doing it correctly, that he was giving her just what she wanted from him.
And he moved down even further. He worked his way down her body, kissing her stomach and licking her soft flesh. He ran his tongue into her navel and she jerked when he did that and he knew that she liked it. Then he ran his tongue through the dark hair that grew over her cunt. It was that hair that he loved, he thought, It was the hair of the queen. He smelled the aroma that came from her pussy and he thought that that was a queenly aroma too.
Everything was royal to Tim that afternoon, everything about his sexy queen, the woman from his past who had shared his fantasy, Donna, the beautiful woman who had returned to Victory from the big city, just as he had returned to Victory.
They had met again after all of these years, he thought, because some force in the universe had wanted them to share this royal and sexy afternoon, had wanted them to understand that they were very much alike in so many ways.
Tim moved on the bed and lay between Donna's outstretched legs and took a deep breath. That aroma, that sweet, queenly smell, filled his lungs and made him happy. He smiled up at Donna and asked permission, just as a serf should.
"May I lick out your pussy, my queen? May I lick it out and get your sweet juices all over my face and in my throat."
"Yes, you may," she said with a friendly and sexy grin. "We will allow such a licking when it comes from the people."
After getting permission to do it to her, he put his face against her cunt and ran his tongue deep into her and she sighed and felt the wonderful things that he was doing to her.
She had never been so turned on, so anxious about a man before. It was as if he had never left her, as if she had been waiting patiently for ten years, thinking about him and looking at him and wanting him to fuck her for more than ten years.
And now he was sliding his tongue deep into her cunt and giving her so much pleasure that she really did feel like a queen.
His tongue was giving her so much pleasure that she wanted to share some of that pleasure with this representative of her people. She sighed to him and gave him a sexy, queenly command.
"Turn around on the bed, serf," she said. "Turn around on the bed so that I can suck your big cock while you do that to me."
And Tim moved, did what he was told. He could not deny his queen.
They moved on the bed and lay on their sides. Tim rested his head on his queen's thigh as he pressed his face close to her cunt again. She lifted her other leg so that her pussy was opened to his tongue and his mouth. He spread the lips with his fingers and started to lick her wet and shining, sweet clit.
And she was stroking his cock down on the other side of the bed, stroking it and feeling it harden even more.
It was certainly a big cock, and, when she kissed the pink tip of that cock, she knew that that prick was as sweet as it was large. She licked the slit on the end of the cock and tasted some of the man juice that flowed from that slit. And then she opened her mouth wide and took the mushroom tip of that cock in her mouth and sucked on it. She felt the thing harden even more and she knew that both she and Tim, her serf, would be ready to fuck very soon, very soon indeed.
She ran her fingers over the organ as she sucked on the tip. She touched the big balls that were at the base of the prick, and she used her other hand to touch his stomach and then his thighs, for she knew how to thrill a man with her touch.
And Donna thought that things had changed in the last couple of days. First she had wanted John so badly that she had almost collapsed from lust, but she had wanted him after he was tortured by his sister. Still, she had never really wanted one of her victims before. She had seen so many men punished, and she had never really wanted to fuck one of them.
And now she wanted Tim too. She wanted to fuck him with all of her might.
He had not even been punished at all, she reminded herself.
And then she thought that something was changing in her. She was no longer the cold, cruel, sexy dominatrix. There was a new part of her that had just been born, a new part of her that had come to her after she was thirty. That new part wanted a man to fuck her just because he was a man. She liked being a queen, but she did not want Tim to be a victim. She did not even think of punishing him. She would probably punish others later on in her life, punish them as she trained her little niece. But she did not want to hurt Tim at all.
She just wanted to be his fucking and lusty queen, and that was a change in her spirit, in her yearnings.
Donna did not really understand what had brought about that change, but she was glad that that change had occurred, was glad that she had returned to her hometown to recapture some of her girlish spirit, some of her girlish yearnings.
Now that she had recaptured those yearnings, she thought-
Now at she knew what it felt like to really want a man only for fucking-Donna felt suddenly complete, whole, wonderfully finished in her sexual desires.
But this sex act was not finished. It had hardly begun.
She sucked on Tim's cock and touched him until he was hard and ready and then she took her mouth off his cock and sighed to him. He was filling her with such intense delight, she thought. He was sucking her clit at that moment and he was giving her so much that made her feel good.
She knew that he would be able to make her feel even better when he fucked her hot and queenly cunt.
"Fuck me," she sighed. "Fuck me, serf. Fuck your queen."
And Tim took his mouth off her clit and again followed her commands.
They moved on the bed and turned together and soon Tim was positioned on top of his queen. He felt good up there because he knew that very few serfs had the chance to look down on the queen in this way.
And he felt even better when he did look down and when he saw the expression on her face.
It was an expression of want, of need, of great sexual yearning for his cock, the cock that she had just sucked to full erection.
And Donna reached between them and touched that cock with her hand, just as he had always dreamed of her touching him. Her touch was even softer than he had dreamed that it would be.
And her voice was soft too as she spoke of her yearning, her need.
"Fuck me, Tim. It has been so long, but I want you to fuck me now."
She lifted her legs and pulled his big, throbbing prick toward her pussy. She moved it into her cunt herself. The fat head of that huge organ filled her opening and made her groan with passion.
Then Donna took her hand off his prick and Tim took over. He smiled down on her.
And he moved his cock into her pussy slowly, gently, filling her up with his huge rod and making her take every inch of it as she moved her legs around his back and took more and more of it into her.
Finally, it was all in her. Tim looked down and saw that all of his cock had disappeared, that he was buried in her sweetness. He could not believe that a cunt could take that much prick.
But then he reminded himself that this was not just an average cunt.
This, he thought, was a queenly cunt, a royal opening, Donna's fresh and hot pussy.
It was the cunt that he had dreamed about so often when he was a young boy.
And now, finally, he was getting that cunt, was invading that cunt.
Naturally, that pussy that was meant for him would be able to take all of his hardness, he reasoned.
And when Donna started to move Tim started to move too.
They started to fuck there on the royal bed of lust, and they both felt that it was good, very good and very wonderful. They both groaned with passion as the fucking grew in intensity.
"Oh, Tim, this is wonderful!" Donna sighed loudly.
"Oh, Donna, you are fucking beautiful," he told her.
And she was. With that cock jabbing into her, her soft, rounded, sexy tits were jumping around as he fucked her.
With that cock battering her snatch and stuffing her, she tossed her head on the bed and felt fulfilled. And her legs were strong around his back.
It was everything that Tim had ever dreamed about and more.
And it was certainly better than any revenge. It was sweet and fulfilling and lusty and something out of the past for both of them.
They fucked with passion for several minutes, fucked with groans and whimpers and sighs and words of lust.
"Oh, slam it to me, Tim. Your cock is stuffing me."
"Donna, your pussy is so fucking sweet and tight."
"Fuck me, Tim. Give me what I need."
"I have dreamed of this for years, Donna. I have wanted you for years."
And then they both came together, sighing and tensing their bodies and growling and twisting like two excited animals, which, indeed, was what they were.
Tim came in her pussy, shot his warm throughout her, and Donna came too.
Later they lay together on the bed and rested and kissed each other and Tim thought that he had a right to know the truth now, to know what other people in Victory did not know.
He did not want Donna's life in New York City to be a mystery to him.
"How did you make all your money, Donna?" he asked her.
And she was truthful with him. After all, he had just given her the best fucking of her life.
When a man does something like that, he deserves the truth, she thought.
"I was a professional dominatrix," she said softly.
Tim had spent years in Chicago. He would know what that term meant, she reasoned.
But she wondered how he would feel about something like that. He hoped that he would not hate her again.
He did not hate her. He grinned and raised up and looked down on her.
"Really?" he asked with that grin shining down on her.
"Really."
"Wow! Well, I guess it is a job fit for a queen."
Then she laughed, feeling free and easy with Tim. Nothing could make him angry now, she thought.
"Do you still do it, Donna?" he asked with almost boyish interest in his eyes.
"Not very much. I am officially retired. But I am training my niece now and I guess I will have to work with clients a little bit in order to give her the training that she needs."
"You mean that girl who answered the door and let me in? You are training her?"
"Yes," she said. "Debbie works on her brother every afternoon, but she does not really hurt him that much. She just humiliates him and then I fuck him in order to sort of repay him for his time and his effort. I think Debbie will make a lot of money in some big city when she finishes with her training.
