The Good Night

The Good Night
By: Psyche Summer

The dull hum and drone of the photo-copier was giving Thomas a hard-on. Winding through his body like some sort of virus, causing his cock to expand in his lap, hardening as he watched her… the current of electricity that passed through his body, distracting him from his work, as he closes his eyes… trying to force out the thoughts of Natalie… his secretary, who stands before him, young and lithe, bent over the paper-feed, causing Thomas to clutch his desk, imagine ugly things… try… try to avoid temptation.

Thomas knew better. He really did. He was married. Happily enough. And she was getting married too. She had told him so, a month ago, confiding in him one morning over coffee, secrets shared between doughnuts and dossiers. He remembered how his anatomy had first responded to her that morning, flaring as her nimble fingers reached over him, to pluck a sugar packet from the box, her long, charcoal hair just brushing his arm… sending shivers up his spine. How she had taken him into her confidence that day… wrapped her longing around him like a sheath…. shying away at first… until she gradually let her guard down, letting him peel away the skin of her secrets, like an unfurling flower, gradually deeply. Until she is telling him of all of her fears, her hopes and her humiliations… her desire… for anal sex… she blushes as she says it… how she is so afraid that her boyfriend, her affianced will think she is dirty… a whore… so she keeps her desires hidden, blanketed under a vanilla veneer.

And now, as twilight turns to real darkness, as muffled footsteps fade into night, Thomas watches Natalie step away from the copier, watches her approach his desk, her girlish figure… so tantalizing… her warm olive skin…. her beautiful, full breasts…. So lovely. It makes him ache; she is so close… she smells clean… sweet… like daisies, as she casually begins to sort her papers, leaning against his desk, casually unaware that the sight of spandex stretched across her high, taut ass is sending her boss into seizures, raptures of desire. She is like Eve in the garden, her ass outstretched, like an apple in her trembling hand… just one bite of its sweet succulence… is all he wants: just one lingering taste.

So it is that he can hardly help himself in the end; he is an automaton, forgetting hearth and home, so seized is he by the siren’s song of her hovering, lingering ass, suspended in the air before him. So that without hardly knowing how or why, without premeditation (unless you count the hours and hours of self-induced pleasure, cumming into his hands between the sheets of his marriage bed, imagining her, down on her knees, her pleasant, yielding lips wrapped around his cock), he finds his hand, reaching out, touching down on the soft exterior, stroking the fine twin ellipses of her buttocks… feeling her muscles tense just once before they relax into the confines of his hand.

Is she surprised at his forwardness? Perhaps, but if so: not much. For instead of protesting, she bends down further, stretches her face towards his computer screen. Gently placing her hands on the desk before her.

“Don’t move.” He whispers.

Thomas is getting up, his heart is racing, but he calmly pads to the door, locking it against intruders before he returns…. And without preface, without introduction or ceremony, without any words at all, he is pulling the stretch of her pants down to her knees, running his hands over the fine, beehive of her ass, her skin, soooo smooth. He gropes the two halves of her ass, parting them like a carved melon, running his finger between the crack, letting it linger and probe along the meniscus of her hole, staring at its dark, brown kiss… savoring its unblemished innocence. With one hand he is unzipping his pants, letting his drawers fall to the floor, while his other hand feels its probing, winding fingers through the threshold, the entranceway to her ass… enjoying the shiver of her nervous excitement as the brunt of his manhood draws near. A little gasp as he grabs a fistful of her hair before pressing the tip of his dick against the flailing rim. Rubbing slick hands, wet with sweaty anticipation, against the stiff walls of his erection before testing it against the weight of her stubborn, virgin ass. Feelings erupt inside him, the death grip, tightness of her first refusal, the vice-like walls of her warm, throbbing hole as he pushes again… so that just the tip, the very tip… is slowly swallowed…. eliciting the first grit of her teeth, her first sensual, trembling moan. A moan that inspires a fever-fall of lust in Thomas such as he never knew, urging him on as he pushes further into her stain… like a hypodermic needle piercing the skin… pushing further, deeper into the well of her wiggling body. Finally, plunging beyond the collapse of resistant, heaving muscles, into the Elysium of the inner chassis of her ass, feeling the shudder of skin twitch around him, the thick warm velvet of her contracting muscles tensing with each and every wrenching thrust. Until Natalie’s scalp stings with the pain of his pull, her ass weeps as he descends upon her again and again, relentless, like a wakened beast, burying his fingers in the depths of her sopping, soaking cunt. His dick, engorged and bloated, reaching into the pinch of her loins, stretching the flesh around it, bending her bones…

She is capsized on the desk, a hailstorm of pain and joy… as moan after howling moan comes falling from her fevered lips. Thomas can feel his own dick between the walls of her cunt and her ass, sliding to-and-fro within her, his groping fingers pushing against her, increasing the pressure, the pleasure of her breaking in. His dick is fully inside her, plummeting with every heavy thud. His body. Slamming against her tender ass… over and over, until pulling out he cums… frothing all over the ridge of her pummeled, heaving bottom, smearing it over her body, the soapy, white strength of his seed. Before he releases her hair, pulls up her pants, petting her cum-stained ass one last lingering time for good measure… before kissing her once, on the crown of her head…. before, as night falls, he sends her on her way.

For my friend, Thomas

"Wednesday" an excerpt from "Tomorrow Never Comes"

Wednesday

It was nearing ten o’clock, but Laurel Tennyson was still at work. Hunched over her desk, back aching, blue eyes bleary, Laurel slaved away at the keyboard in front of her, words, directives, scoldings echoing through her word-numbed mind. The debate was tomorrow, the election mere weeks away, which was why it was imperative, just imperative that Laurel master every single detail, down to each stray comma, every fact and quote, statistic neatly referenced, collated and properly stacked… 22 briefings, all to be ready for tomorrow’s morning review….

Laurel’s pace quickens, her hands gliding over the 104 keys, recalling the senator’s disapproving frown, his clucks of dismay when she had presented him with her first drafts earlier in the day. His reproof still echoing in her ears, “amateurish” he had pronounced it, casting three weeks of her labor into the nearest trashcan, all the while making no effort to conceal his lust for her, his eyes lingering on the dimple of material stretching between her rounded breasts, his hands brushing her exposed thigh, his lecherous, sadistic grin, as he lets his hands slide a little higher than they ought, telling her to stay late, to redo them…. redo them all. To stay as late as she must. She can hear him now, above the din of her typing, calling her, summoning her, “fetch me some coffee, miss…”
Wearily Laurel rises from her chair; she has been seated so long that her legs feel stiff, arthritic. The crepe lines of her crisp cream colored suit are run up and down with wrinkles, her pale blue shell hugs her tiny waist, but it has come untucked on one side, adding to her overall unkemptness. Laurel removes her glasses which have left tiny red impressions on the sides of her nose, shuffles to the coffee maker, filling the enormous mug 2/3s full, measuring out exact amounts of sugar and milk, leveling each spoonful with as much precision as her time drained body can muster. She pulls her hair, which she wears in a bun for convenience, down, letting the rich blonde tresses swirl around her shoulders. The senator does not wish for her to wear her hair up. Laurel stirs the coffee twelve times, turns the handle to face her left and rests the spoon gently on the right hand side of the saucer before bringing it to the senator.
He is on the phone when she enters, his back facing her as she rests the steaming saucer next to him and turns to go. “Wait…” he says, grabbing her wrist, turning mouth from receiver and drawing her close so that the edge of her buttocks rests on the edge of his desk, so that as he leans back in his reclining desk chair, his eyes fall level with her crotch. He continues his conversation leisurely while she waits… savoring the view of her nervous body; he feels her tense as his hands, reaching for coffee, brush her thigh, touch her hip, as he leans in, reaching for his rolodex, straining to grasp it over her trembling lap; she can feel his hot breath singe her chest through the thin material of her blouse…. smell the grease of his pomade, his political stench, crinkle her nose. She is sitting perfectly still, afraid that any single movement will be interpreted as a sign, a signal of assent. He hangs up the phone at last, turning toward her too quickly, knocking cup and saucer to the floor with a clatter; she feels the hot spray of liquid splash across the clean white sprawl of her ivory skirt front, hear his expletives as the brown beverage snakes its way down her legs, spreading in large murky puddles across the floor, curving around the ceramic shards of the broken teacup. And so Laurel finds herself on her hands and knees, mopping up the mess while the senator tracks her ass like he has it on radar. Watching the small of her back dip and rise and her fetching, pert ass bob up and down with each menial scrub. And then as she takes water sodden towel to her own stained lap, she feels it. Feels him. His hand, reaching up around the limp folds of her skirt, reaching between her trembling thighs…. Until Laurel is scurrying out of his office clutching her sopping skirt the sound of his quiet laughter ringing in her ears.
Alone at last, in the relative sanctity of her front office, Laurel scrubs at the large brown stain furiously; she feels the hot sting of tears welling in her eyes just as she hears the disturbance at the door. Looking up she is mortified to see her sisters: Rowan, Mara and Willow strolling through the entrance way, escorted by a tall, dark haired man in a black jacket. Mara and Willow are mirror images of Laurel, luxurious blond hair, round blue eyes shaded by rows of black lashes. Large curved breasts that taper into small, elegant waists, long, coltish legs. Rowan, though a year older, is slightly shorter than her sisters, with a fountain of tangerine hair that shrouds her dark, almond shaped eyes, her face a maze of soft angles, her body trim, with two round breasts that point upward, tossed toward the pale length of her graceful neck. Although Laurel, herself, is a mess, she is no match for her sisters, whose levels of dishevelment eclipse her own sorry state. Smears of lipstick tarnish each girl’s face, tracks of burgundies and petal pink, lip strokes brushed across cheeks and décolletages, Mara’s blouse is ripped in the front and a button is missing, Rowan’s skirt is twisted sideways and all of its lively pleats have fallen out. Willow has a large streak of cum a full hand-width’s wide matted in her thick blonde hair. And Laurel can see that, winding around their three slender ankles, each sister is wearing a slim chain of metal snaked around her left leg.
“What do you want? Why are you here?’ Laurel demands, her eyes narrowing into slits.
“See Master,” explains Willow, apologetically, “just as I told you, she’s very uptight.”
“She’s got a porcupine up her ass” adds Mara while Rowan, assuming Laurel’s chair, leans her knees up tight against the edge of Laurel’s desk, letting the loose folds of her red skirt fall back, revealing that her black opaque tights end at her thigh, showing off the nudity of her milky legs and exposed sex.

Master Drake surveys the newest member of the Tennyson family, observes red rimmed eyes, prettily flushed cheeks, heaving chest… swallowing sobs… it is almost too good to be believed. Willow is astride Laurel’s desk, Laurel just in time to snatch away a stack of dossiers before they are smushed by Willow’s descending ass… when Master Drake approaches her, notices her flinch as he grasps her arm.

“We shouldn’t have come tonight,” he begins softly… sees her relax just a little. “I can see that you are very busy.” Laurel nods her head numbly. Freeing herself from his grasp, folders hugged to her breast, she strides to the corner filing cabinet…
“You should all leave… now.” She says forcefully; collecting her composure. “The senator will not tolerate visitors, especially my visitors at this late hour.”
Master Drake approaches her again, cornering her against the wall, speaking calmly. “we’ll be out of your hair soon Laurel. What I want needn’t take long.”

Laurel can see the intensity of his blue eyes running up and down the curves of her figure. It feels different than when the senator had done so just a little while ago. She feels herself drawn and repelled from him at the same time…. Her tired mind is confused as he pulls her toward him, planting his open mouth on her closed one, feels his tongue part the fat of her bee-stung lips…

“You will do as I tell you…” he whispers moving one hand up the thin layer of her blouse.
“No, no, no…” she is murmuring, quietly, plaintively… hearing the senator moving about in the adjacent office, “you have to leave… please… please just go.” Laurel can feel the curious eyes of her sisters revolving around her, smell the stale smell of coffee that lingers, saturating her senses…. But all she can think about is him… the creep of his hand up her leg….. the urgency in his voice as he tells her that he will go. Now. If only she tells him to stop.

“stoooo…” she falters as she feels his fingers fumble between the press of her satin panties, feels her cheeks crimson at his discovery of the damp crescent that awaits him.
He looks at her, her lips are parted now, her chest rises and falls against the press of his body against hers…. His gaze is piercing as he waits for her to continue. When she doesn’t, when it is clear that she has succumbed, he explains to her that tonight he and her sisters will have their way with her. That she is to be a good pet and do as he commands. And that if she is unable to, then he will alert the senator himself to her debauched ways, her sexual proclivities purchased on the government’s dollar. Does she understand, he wants to know. Does she understand?

Laurel colors, clenches her legs shut even as she feels the prick of passion between her thighs, the lips of her cunt moisten ... even more the rise of her tell-tale nipples under the her bra... stiffen harden as he waits for her response.
She thinks, her mind is racing, recalling events that had brought this night's awful deeds upon her. What had she done, what… what had she done? Perhaps it was when she had told Rowan to get a real job instead of sucking cock all night, to which Rowan herself had responded that she hadn't realized their occupations were so similar... or when she had, just the other day, broken up with Willow’s boyfriend for her, assumed Willow’s name and broken up with that loser from the bike shop for her... she had done her a favor really... told him that she needed a man who would take her places....
And with Mara, who knew Mara was just mean, but… Laurel shuts her eyes, feels the stranger’s breath stroking her neck, and the humiliation racks her body… in the palpable silence as he waits... does she understand?
Her palms are sweaty she is quivering, suppressing her panic... She raises her eyes only to lower them again quickly... he is staring at her, the blue of his eyes boring holes into her breasts, into her stomach ... and lower. She feels herself flush, tries to turn away from him, but he is holding her pushed up against the sharp corner of the filing cabinet... She feels the cold metal jut into her spine... she stares at her sisters, at their slinky, slutty selves, masturbating on her desk, shuffling her papers, her weeks and weeks of diligent work... wetting each other’s fingers with extended tongues, before caressing damp recesses... slick holes. Her face burns as she answers. Sullenly, almost silently... “yes.”
Just barely… “yes.”
“That's a good girl” the stranger responds, pushing her gently to the ground, bidding her to follow him, across the office, on all fours... like a dog. Laurel’s eyes water with the sting of humiliation; she averts her eyes this time, not to avoid the intensity of his watch, but so that she can avoid the mockery of her sisters... She crosses slowly, prolonging her pain, but she cannot bring herself to move faster... her humiliation is like a brick, an anchor holding her back. When he arrives at Laurel's desk he signals for her to stop. A low whistle. Laurel feels the heat rise in her face, but as she sees his eyes wander to the wood paneled hallway that stretches out of the back of her office, leading to the senator's office at the end of the hall, she bites her tongue. She stops, pulls up on her haunches and waits. Deftly he slides her between the desk and the chair, planting her hands on the ground, a few feet apart, her head, bowed, facing away from him.
Beside her, her older sister Rowan has a promise to be kept. Rising from her chair, Rowan places each of her feet between the milky white hands of her trembling sister who lies below her on the floor. Over her prostrate body, Master Drake stands, his erect dick, which he removes from his pants, dangling inches in front of Laurel’s downcast face. Forcefully, though not cruelly, he pushes Rowan’s head to the desk, her arms sweep across its smooth surface sending paperclips and election buttons crashing to the ground, so that smiling pictures of the senator surround Laurel, his face leering up at her as she waits for the next command. When it comes, she blushes despite her inner vows not to…

“Your sister… your sister pet, has promised me her virgin ass tonight, pet…” he begins addressing Laurel. “You will have the privilege of preparing it for me.” Guiding Laurel’s reluctant hands up the halves of Rowan’s buttocks, Laurel is forced to part them for him, exposing the tender pink crease of her ass and the tiny brown pucker nestled within.
“Spank her for me, pet.” Laurel reddens. What if the senator hears? She turns her face toward him, a beseeching look, but he pushes her head back gently towards the prone body of her sister. Clasps her wrist, raising her hand for her.
Laurel blanches. And then, quivering, brings her hand down with a thud on the white flanks of her sister.
“Harder” he commands.
Laurel raises her hand again, this time of her own accord, bringing the flat of her hand down swiftly, this time eliciting a smile, a slow groan from the recumbent red head stretched out in front of her.
“Again.”
Laurel feels her ass rub up against the end of his cock as she raises her body off of the plush green carpet of the senator’s office, raises her hand, lowering it with a resounding smack.
Rowan gasps, her head bangs against the surface of the desk. Her hands grip the sides of it…
“Again.”
Another smack, louder than the last. Rowan’s ass is coloring a bright pink. She is writhing in pleasure-pain. Her black clad legs are dancing about with each tremendous swat, the billows of her red skirt pushed above her, her pink ass taut and primed for the master’s pleasure.
“See…???” says the master bending down to whisper in Laurel’s ear. “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?”
Laurel flushes, excitement pulses through the fine muscles of her face, her eyes are bright but glazed…
“Now, lick it for me” he says.
Like a deflated balloon, Laurel turns toward his upright face… “you mean….?”
“Yes Pet, lick your sister’s dirty ass.”

Laurel balks, backs up, but the master is right there, blocking her path, forcing her forward again with the weight of his legs, until her face is just inches from the swollen target. Laurel extends a tentative tongue, her hair falls in front of her face, shielding her dismay from the eyes of her grinning sisters. Slowly she begins to lap at the crest of Rowan’s ass. Like a kitten, she strokes it. One lick. Two licks. Three. And now Willow is there too, bending down to suck on her master’s cock. Let its hard intent bend back her head and press upon her throat. Feel it glide between her teeth, filling her mouth with the fullness of him. Willow, Willow, who fondles his balls with tender fingers, whose billowing breasts hug his knees, while in front of him, Laurel, this his newest prize, primes the ass that tonight, will be his. He can’t stand it any longer, impatience rushes over him, withdrawing from the lush mouth of his twenty-seventh pet, he plunges the force of his dick into the nether regions of Rowan’s glistening bottom. Feels her wrench at the first punch… sees her knuckles whiten as they grasp each side of the desk. Her pink ass tightens around him… surrounding him with the tight tissue of her anus. He is pushing against her resistant muscles, straining to break through the barrier of her contracted tissue… into the warm embrace of her ass. The push of his erection, forcing itself into the tight of her ass… sliding further further until at last he has his way…. He feels the muscles around him loosen, fall slack as he works her… the friction giving away to the smooth slide of his cock… in and out… just a little, filling up space where there was none before… engorging her ass with the weight of his fullest potential… seizing the mottled curves of her bottom which wriggle and twitch with his every thrust. Delighting in the twin beauties bowing at his feet and at the third, who bends front-ways over the desk, covering his neck with the adoration of her gentle kisses which fall upon his throat and chest… as he pushes again and again. Hears Rowan’s muffled voice… begging him to take her other hole… pleading as she rides the passion of his pulse, heaving… she feels her sisters pull at her ankles, keeping her rooted to the floor, her arms strap the desk, but still she feels like she could fly away… his fingers are in her now, plunging three and four-fold into the sweet bowl of her cunt. The thin wall of flesh separating her two holes pulsates with pleasure as she is stroked… one and then the other, pummeling her… thrusting in and out… wet juices drip onto the laminate desk top, trickle down her legs, her moans and wild sobs escalate… he is ramming into the meat of her flesh, ripping in and out… his pelvis grinding against the pale moons of her buttocks, his fingers plumbing the tropical folds of her pussy, wet and glistening, sliding through her crimson cunt. His breath labored, heavy… as the hot house of her ass enfolds him, pressing in around him, until it is wringing his cum from him, and he is falling upon her prone body, filling her ass to the brim… as above him Mara warms his back with the soft touch of her caress and under him, Rowan’s body relaxes, the rush of orgasms subsiding, the hot sheen of sweat still glistening on her face.

At her feet, her sister Laurel feels the inner well of envy and longing mingle as she watches her sister in the throes of lust. And while her sister’s passion eventually subsides, Laurel sits on the floor, filled with desire… Looking down at her, from where he is now seated, in her leather backed swivel chair, Master Drake reaches into his pocket, pulls out a slim manila envelope.

Dangling it in front of her, he leans over… “what do you say, Pet?”
Laurel sits up, shifts her gaze to the envelope… “please…” she says hesitantly… “please master?”
Smiling Master Drake lowers the envelope, allowing its contents to trickle into his hands, a slim, metal chain, identical to the ones her sisters wear, which he leans over and fastens to her ankle, saying simply, “now you are mine.”

So when he orders her, a short time later, to take his penis in her mouth, she does not protest. Her tear stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes rise and fall below him as she takes his cock between her succulent lips, rolling her tongue over its creases, feeling it harden to her touch… feels the rapture of pleasing him swell in her heart. He brushes away the strands of corn-silk hair that hide her face, watching the lightly tinted eyelids that flutter when she moves, the concave hollows of her cheeks as she lowers her face down toward him, as low as she can go… hears the soft retch as he pushes, pushes beyond…

When the senator rings at half past eleven, the phone light blinking like an insistent firefly, Master Drake allows his pet to answer the phone, fingers her cunt, between the thin line of her panties as he hears her promise to review his speech notes, order his car and pick up his dry cleaning. Her servile tone delights him so that before she can hang up the phone, he is standing behind her, bending her over and plunging her pussy with his hardening dick. He hears her gasp into the phone, color as she attempts to explain it away… her voice breaking with each of his thrusts. Behind him he feels Mara slowly circling the rim of his ass, sending shivers up his spine with the luxurious touch of her long fingers against his flesh… her soft hair brushing his legs… Laurel is bent over the desk now, struggling to make sense of the senator’s commands, she can hear him, but all she can feel is the slick, hard dick of her master drilling her from behind. His hands are pressed against the small of her back, her face is practically flush with the desk. Master Drake can hear the senator’s voice, speaking to his pet, hear him reminding her how he wants his breakfast the next day and what tie to bring him for the debate. He has no idea that his intern is getting fucked in his greeting room, that his memos and briefs and campaign posters are slick with her juices… the juices that he, Master Drake, has stirred inside of her… the passion he incited. And so, before the senator can finish, before Laurel can make the call that will summon his car to arrive within the next fifteen minutes, Master Drake has cum, a second time, sending spurts of cum all over the place, covering the sea of campaign buttons that litter the floor with the salty spray of his seed.

*****
Forty minutes later, Holly Tennyson is sitting by her window waiting for her daughters to arrive home. It is late after all, and Laurel has to work tomorrow and Mara has class. The younger children had been asleep for at least half an hour. Holly is an attractive woman though her brown eyes are filled with sadness and longing. In her lap she cradles a photo, old and prematurely stained, it is a picture of Holly from years ago, smiling into the camera, her lush auburn hair rippling down her milky shoulders. She is seated, looking directly into the camera. Her eyes are happy, full of laughter. Behind her, faceless, is a man, or just so, his torso, his hands, resting on her shoulders, his face obscured by the edge of the photo-frame… Holly sighs, lifts her wrist, strokes the lone tattoo embedded in her pale skin. A single number: 10. A reminder of a promise.

Minutes later Holly’s reverie is shattered by the unmistakable sound of her daughters’ approach… a speeding vehicle, a blast of noxious music. It was them. As Holly peers out of the lace bound window, she is startled to see a gray sedan pull up in front of her house. She squints into the darkness. Were all four of her daughters arriving in a single automobile, together? As the car comes to a stop, and doors are thrown open, Holly stares at the tumble of long legs and sea of hair that emerge from the vehicle. Willow, leather clad from the drivers’ side, and Mara, naturally riding shotgun, but then from the back seat, slipping out the door, Rowan her red skirt blowing against her skinny legs in the cruel March wind and Laurel in black coat and white knit hat… And then, last, climbing out of the back seat to resume his position in the front, a man. Holly is squinting, staring into the night. A tall man with brown hair and a black coat…. She watches her daughters swarm around him, bestowing his face with blowy kisses before starting up to the front door.

Withdrawing from the window, Holly’s face is full of wonder… Distractedly she looks again at the number etched onto her wrist, picturing the silhouette of the mysterious man who had tamed her daughters, in the back of her head, humming now as she crosses the room to greet her girls, pulling the sleeve of her pink sweater over the tattoo… for now… it would wait until tomorrow.

Camp Lindenwood Series: The Long Farewell Part 5/5

Chapter 5: The Long Farewell

Avery

It’s 9:30 pm, and I am making my way… slowly…. very slowly… to the cabin under the hemlock trees. I’m late by half an hour… and maybe 3 or 4 years. Ever since I confided in my supervisor, Donna, the dreadful truth that I was a virgin, well, the status had weighed around me like a brick. You see, it’s not that I’m a prude, and it’s not like I’m 40; I’m 22 though, done with university. I’ve waited long enough. What happened to me, do you wonder? Do you wonder if I’m ugly, why I’ve been ignored? I don’t think I’m ugly. I’m medium built, with a tiny waist. I’m pale, and slightly freckled, I hope you won’t hold that against me! My hair is chestnut brown and curly, my eyes are round, the color of blueberries. I have dimples when I smile. I take good care of myself. So, what happened? Well, I guess, for one thing, I went to an all-girls’ school to start. And then on holiday, well, I have parents who love me; I went on safari, and toured the old palaces of Russia, rafted the Amazon; I guess I just never had time. And then at university, I guess I just kind of got lost. It never seemed like the right time, the right bloke. And I suppose I’m really not that adventurous…. only in my dreams.

My dreams… that’s how it all started… awaking in the middle of the night, in the dark with throbbing genitalia, aroused from my slumber by thoughts of wickedness. I had thought I had sufficiently muffled the ensuing sounds of my orgasm, sprung from my own fingers… my own touch. Thought that no one had heard me writhe underneath my bed sheets envisioning faceless men with their sex exposed, descending on me in a school bus. But I had been wrong. When Donna accosted me the next morning, drilled me with questions until me cheeks burned, I finally confessed. Told her the truth. Told her everything. I was an unhappy virgin. And now tonight, all that was about to change.

When I finally reach the cabin, stand outside it in my skyvvies for 15 more minutes gathering the courage to knock on the door, I am, of course, the last to arrive. When I finally knock, Donna opens the door, hugs me, welcomes me in. She is wearing an ivory silk negligee, one that falls like rainwater over the voluptuous curves of her body. I can’t help but stare. She herds me into the bedroom where the other girls are waiting. Kelly, in a dark blue, silk pajama top and shorts, Simone, in a dove gray bathrobe that ends mid-thigh. Would you believe me if I told you she wasn’t wearing anything underneath? They are both in the bed… arguing quietly. I can’t hear what they are saying. Shoshanna is wearing a tight pink cami and hipster shorts with words that I can’t say out loud scrawled across the front and backside in large, bejeweled letters, and Halla, tall and willowy is wearing a sheer cotton night dress that just grazes the bottom of her… well the top of her thighs. Her hair is done in little pigtails and she is painting her nails a bright shade of pink. Everyone looks up when I enter. They stare at my own modest pale blue nighty, my fuzzy slippers, my wondrous eyes… It’s like they’ve never seen a virgin before.

I am nervous, I admit it. When Mister Drake arrives ten minutes later… when I hear his car tires crunch on the gravel outside, hear the screen door slam and his footfalls on the stairs, my tummy starts to spin in belly flops. The others are more subdued now too. The room, once abuzz with hairspray and idle gossip, has gone suddenly serious. Mister Drake enters the bedroom a few minutes later, setting his brown paper parcel on the floor. His eyes travel to room taking in the sight of the six girls arrayed before him. His eyes linger on me.
“Avery…” he walks over, wraps me in a tight hug, the rise of my breasts collapse in his embrace. I smell his scent surround and overwhelm my senses.
“Welcome to my coterie. I hope this will be a special night for you.”
I smile, surprised, thanking him politely.
“I have a few questions for you first, Avery….” he explains, cupping my pointed chin in his hands, the way a father does a child.
“OK” I relent.
“First, will you call me master?”
I redden. Feel sheepish inside, I look away, but he clutches my chin and forces me to meet his gaze.
“Master?” he repeats.
“Master Drake?”
“No pet, just Master.”
I take a deep breath. “Yes, master” I respond, feeling a chill run up my spine. “What is your next question master?”
“Will you do everything your master says?” he queries. “Do it the first time, like a good little pet should?”
I nod my assent.
“Will you let me tie you up tonight, when I take your virginity, pet?”
He says it like a question, but I realize it is not. I bite my lip, leaving a deep red cut. Once again, I nod my head.
“Say it pet.”
“Yes” and then realizing my error… “yes please”

He rises, turns to Donna “get her ready.” He is out the door, down the steps. The room springs into action. Kelly is lifting my night shirt off; Donna is opening the parcel left by the doorway revealing a bright red panty which she pulls up over my thighs. Simone is dusting my face with scented powder, my face and well… some other places too, applying a dark cherry stain to my lips. Around my wrists, someone, I think Shoshanna, encircling them with leather bonds, cuffing them together behind my back. Donna is leading me to the king sized bed, shackling my hands to its great wooden posts. Flanking me on the bed, holding my feet to the bed, are Kelly and Donna. When master returns,
Simone greets him at the door, “voila!” she exclaims.
He crawls up on the bed. Without saying a word, Shoshanna and Simone begin to undress him, pulling away jeans, shorts, shirt, until he is on top of me, naked. I flex my calves as I feel his breath on my chest, and am surprised at the strength in which Kelly and Donna hold me down.
“A virgin” he says, “in my bed” He has taken his erection, his um, his erect penis in his hands and he sort of drags it along my face, under my nostrils so that I can smell his scent. I can feel my nipples inhale.
“Do you really want me to take your virginity away from you tonight, pet?” he inquires, running his… er, penis, down the slope of my nose.
“Yes, yes” I repeat “yes master”
“Do you want me to turn you into a fucking cunt whore – a whore like these bitches?” he asks gesturing with his … dick…. to the girls that circle the bed.
I nod my head.
“Ask me nice” he replies, rearing up on his haunches.
“please master” I am trembling, shaking inside “please make me a dirty, filthy whore.”
Slowly, he lowers himself into my mouth.
I exhale, long and deep.
His dick fills up my mouth… my cheeks puff out in an effort to accomodate him, his thighs hug my cheeks. I can smell him all around me. Down below my clitoris has begun to flinch.
He is moving in and out of me now, but I remain … motionless, paralyzed.
“use your tongue, slut”
I had forgotten, jolted into awareness, I tentatively run my tongue along the crease of his dick. I feel him pause, momentarily, savoring the sensation. I am emboldened. Gently I begin to rotate my tongue around the smooth ridge that heads his … cock. I fold my tongue into the tiny hole at the top. As he dangles it over me, I lick the base, suck the sack of his balls… ladling them in and out of my mouth.
“she’s a quick study” I hear Kelly snicker.
Now he is sliding his cock, wet with my saliva, down the course of my front, between my breasts and down the center of my abdomen, leaving a thin trail of spittle in its wake. The girls, Kelly and Donna are grasping my knees in their arms and splaying them outward. I feel his cock hit the nub of my clitoris; it feels like someone has pierced me. I yelp. He is at the throat of my vagina, pushing against the baby flesh of my labia. I look down, afraid to look anywhere else… he is pushing past the tension of my resistant muscles now…. I can feel them clenching, tightening… pushing against his entry. I feel the burn as he slides into me… millimeter by millimeter…. I see the centimeters of his cock buried in my flesh. Slowly, grudgingly, I feel my muscles expand, making room for the intruder. He is only halfway down into me yet, but I feel like my stomach will rupture at any moment. He pulls out and then begins again, a little less patiently… a little further in… I feel myself beginning to moisten, feel my juices as they spill out of my labia… feel the walls of my cunt finally release… relax… as he slides his way in. My graceful legs hook over his, held in place by two willing women. My arms are bound and strapped above me. My cunt is free.

In just a while, after my body has succumbed to spasms of pleasure and deep moans of pain, he pulls out of me. His penis is caked in the residue of my cunt. Leaning back on me, he once again fills my mouth, the rotten-sweet taste of my own pungent juices sting my tongue. He is less careful now, tunneling his way through my mouth. I close my eyes, but can’t keep them shut…. He is pushing against the back wall of my mouth, my blue eyes begin to water and overflow. The tears roll down my cheeks and my nostrils flair, struggling for air. I know he feels my body wiggle under his. Kelly and Donna run smooth hands up and down my body, finesse the ridges of my cunt, explore the pinch of my ass. He is grunting himself now, calling me “a dirty whore,” “his fucking cunt.” He is breathing heavily. Suddenly he gestures to Shoshanna who approaches the bed.
“Tell me pet, where should I cum on this bitch?”
“mmm master,” she purrs, fondling my cunt. She bends over and whispers her answer in his ear.
“very well”
Extracting himself from my mouth, he once again takes my pussy, plunging into it with such great force… I moan, try to cover my mouth, but my leather bound hands won’t reach. I feel the expenditure of my vaginal muscles, feel their clutch give way. The thick spurt and the warm trickle as he lifts his cum-laden dick back out and to my mouth. I taste the salt slick as it travels down my parched throat. Feel him finish by dousing my hair and eyes.

After I have been initiated, I am allowed to join the others. We line the wall of the bedroom, shameless in our nudity. Master passes before each of us in turn, caressing erect nipples, groping wet cunts. At times, at his desire, a girl will bend down and suck his cock, lap his balls, tenderly finger his ass. Finally, he directs Shoshanna and Simone to the chair and ottoman set sitting in the corner, next to the bed. Simone grimaces but does not complain. Kelly and Donna get the bed. Halla and I. We are left with the wall.
“Bend over” he instructs me.
Then he reaches over and turns out the light.

Halla

The lights go out.
I can hear the sound of Avery’s breathing short and quick beside me. I wait, bracing myself. Nothing.
I wait as my ears pick up the sounds of movement from the bed and the chair, the ache of bodies coming together, the smack of wet skin touching wet skin. I am bent over, as master instructed, my hands braced against the wall. I can feel the dull thud of the wall against the crown of my head. My two pigtails tickle my ears. I hear the rustle of the bag again, feel the cool weight of a leather band being strapped around my neck. I hear Avery inhale as one is fastened around hers as well. The click as I realize that we are tethered together, collared. roped.

And then again, nothing. From the further recesses of the room, I hear the hisses of girls “eat me bitch” “eat me” followed by sighs, grunts, moans. I feel the cool night breeze through the open window. It makes me shiver. But all I see is darkness. Next to me, I hear Avery suddenly inhale sharply. I am practically pulled off my feet as I feel her body stumble and bump against mine. I feel master’s arm brush my right hip as he steadies her. I feel her slim torso next to me lurch, her spine arches like a cat’s. And then, her scream. It is raspy, feral. She is crying, panting in my ear… whispering “no, no, no… yes… yess. Yessss.” Her hand has gripped mine, her nails dig into it. I cringe, but I do not shove her off. Who knows what solace I may need when it is my turn? I hear the “thwack” “thwack” of skin hitting skin, am lulled by its rhythm… until I feel the sweaty spine of his dick caress my ass. Beside me, Avery’s body is racked by sobbing heaves. She is clammy, whispering “thank you master, thank you.” His hands are under me, pinching my nipples, his cock is poised behind my ass. I think that if we were all quiet enough you could hear my heart beat. And then…. Ufff. I feel him. The hard force pushing against such a small little hole. I let out a small cry. “master” I squeal. His legs hurdle my own, his arms locked above. I feel the slow push of his forced entry, the slow slide of dick pulsating against stubborn walls. Incrementally he enters my virgin ass… unlocking each muscle with each deliberate thrust. I grit my teeth, beads of sweat litter my brow. Behind me I hear the smacks of lips against skin, the wails of girls in climax. My ass is twitching uncontrollably, so much so, that he removes his hands from the wall above and rests them on my ass, enjoying the reflex of my muscle spasms. His dick is pulsing inside me. I hear his breathing quicken. Quicken. Quicken.
“bitch” he yells, and I feel the squirt of cum load my ass and drip to the plush carpet below. I hear the sounds of four other ladies, who answer his shout like a sirens’ song, descending to where I stand, licking my legs, handling his weakening cock with gentle hands and lips. Beside me, Avery sinks to the ground, pulling me along with her.

Donna

A while later, when we are no longer blinded by the return of the light, we finally have our sleep-over. My master lies in the middle of the bed, his cock already showing signs of new life. Around him, tired heads resting on downy pillows, lie six exhausted girls. Each one of us tucked into a comfortable sleeping bag on the floor. I am sure as the night progresses, he will summon us, one by one to entertain him on his bed, but for now I am content to sit, alone with my thoughts. I am increasingly aware that the summer is coming to an end, that in mere days I will be driving three hours south to attend the liberal arts school of my choice. I run my hands over the stain on my crotch. 16. Sixteen. 15 before me, how many after? I lie there, silent in the night, mulling my thoughts. I hear the first girl, rise from her place on the floor to answer his summons as I slowly drift off to sleep.

The next day, as I am packing up my car, I am startled to hear footsteps running up behind me. It is Kelly. She is out of breath. She is wearing a bright yellow sundress with gold flip flops. Her hair is pulled back in a long pony tail. She is gulping for air, when she points to it, can hardly speak: around her neck, a black leather cord, and from hanging a little, silver charm. 17.

The End