The Chamber Of Pleasures
by Opal Andrews
(RX-240)


FOREWORD 

A little outright bondage now and then was good for Victoria ... or Tory, as 
she was called by then, hanging from the tight, binding straps and being 
forced to participate in the most astonishing of bizarre spectacles. 

Opal Andrews has arrived on the scene with a trunk full of sensational 
manuscripts and a burning ambition to write more and more. Actually, from 
some of the kinky things Miss Andrews dreams up, we frankly suspect she'd 
like to be tied up a bit herself, perhaps in Tory's place. 

Actually it was Aunt Isobel who really had the craving to be debased and 
degraded ... and almost every night Tory watched her sneak off and offer 
herself, willingly, to all manner of bestial things. Little wonder that Tory 
herself began developing a need to really understand just what it was that 
pleased Aunt Isobel so frightenly. 

All the others ... the merciless leader ... his insatiable teen-aged 
assistants ... were past masters at the lash and the leather.., wearing the 
most peculiar clothing she'd ever seen ... by the time Tory was ready and 
eager for her own sexual initiation. 


Chapter One Entry One 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Screw Dad!" 

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

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

WHY ARE PEOPLE LIKE THIS? 

(later) 

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

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

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

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

ENTRY TWO 

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

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

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

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

If MOTHER knew that! 

Or Rev Coffler! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But who's Justine?" 

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

"Sir?" 

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

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

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

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

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

I was shocked. I am STILL shocked. 

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

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

Um-hm! I'm wandering AGAIN! 

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

There I was, staring at myself in the mirror, and ... NAKED! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I jumped. 

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

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

ENTRY THREE 

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

ENTRY FOUR 

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

This awful tight bra hurts again. 

ENTRY FIVE 

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

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

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

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

ENTRY SIX 

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

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

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

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

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

ENTRY SEVEN 

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

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

Oh, and the other things! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Marie." 

"Victoria Marie?" 

"Yes, ma'am." 

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

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

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

"I - ummm ... " All I could think of was "Justine," for some ridiculous and 
perverse reason, but I was not ABOUT to say THAT! 

"All right al right, I haven't all night. Step out here. STEP OUT HERE IN 
THE OPEN, I say! There. Um-hm. Now drop that ridiculous towel. VICTORIA 
MARIE OLDENKAMP! Drop that damned towel, do you think I am Satan's agent or 
something? I am NOT interested in your childish body, merely in trying to 
size up its measurements. God heavens, that someone with a past like mine 
could be taken to be interested-in girls ... Well. DROP it." 

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

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

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

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

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

She was gone. 

I dived into bed and wept. I slept naked. 

It felt glorious. 

ENTRY EIGHT 

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

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

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

I am Tory. 

And it is only fitting that I should have a new name. For ... I HAVE ALL NEW 
CLOTHING! 

I don't know how she does it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nodded. "Yes, ma'am." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aunt Isobel -" 

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

"Tory," she said. 

I stopped and half-turned. 

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

ENTRY NINE 

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

ENTRY TEN 

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

ENTRY ELEVEN 

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

Mother and Daddy are dead. 

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

ENTRY TWELVE 

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

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

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

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

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

I shook my head. 

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

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

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

 Chapter Two Entry Thirteen 

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

There is so much. 

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

He is a very handsome man. 

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

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

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

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

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

No, I have only steeled my resolve. 

I shall. 

I shall follow her. 

ENTRY FOURTEEN 

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

ENTRY FIFTEEN 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her breasts! 

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

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

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

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

I could not understand why I had not heard her agonized screams while those 
TERRIBLE THORNS WERE BEING IMBEDDED IN THE ENCHANTING SWELLS OF HER BOSOM! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The monster lashed them twice again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I must now record the rest of it. 

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

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

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

From his disarranged robe now thrust a great shaft of angry red flesh, 
veined and curving upward toward the huge dark tip - which I could clearly 
see was WET AND GLISTENING FROM ISOBEL'S RAVAGED MOUTH. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Erik struck on. 

Lois returned, and I gasped with horror. 

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

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

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

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

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

They achieved a rhythm. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then she ... TOOK it INTO HER MOUTH! I nearly fell forward against and 
perhaps through the window. She was doing all this willingly, to a man who 
had beaten and monstrously mistreated her! 

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

She looked stricken to have lost her obscene plaything. 

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

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

I now know that I fainted at that moment. 

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

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

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

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

NO ONE COULD POSSIBLY DO WHAT THEY appeared TO BE DOING! it CANNOT BE 
POSSIBLE TO LODGE ONE OF THOSE MONSTROUS SHAFTS INTO SUCH A TINY CHANNEL! 
Neither woman appeared in pain, and I am sure the agony would be exquisite! 

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

 Chapter Three Entry Sixteen 

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

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

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

I ... 

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

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

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

And it was not ... all ... painful. 

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

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

Certainly no one else will ever see it. 

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

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

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

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

(later) 

It is so hard to admit, even here. 

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

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

ENTRY SEVENTEEN 

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

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

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

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

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

Help. 

ENTRY EIGHTEEN 

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

For breakfast I had a very lovely piece of ham. 

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

Tonight for dinner we, - 

What's the use? 

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

ENTRY NINETEEN 

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

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

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

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

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

(later) 

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

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

ENTRY TWENTY 

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

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

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

I could hear them. 

I heard every word. 

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

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

First, his voice. He said: 

"I am your master, your lord." 

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

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

"Kneel at my feet." 

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

"You own me." 

"You are mine." 

"I am yours." 

"You will do what I say ... " 

"I will do what you say ... " 

" ... and only what I say." 

"And only what you say." 

"Your body is mine." 

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

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

"Your tits." 

"Uh! My ... tits." 

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

"Your mouth." 

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

"Your mouth is mine," he said. 

"My mouth is yours." 

"Your tongue ... " 

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

"Your lips ... " 

"My lips ... 

"Your throat." 

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

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

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

A slapping sound: "MY COCK!" 

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

"Again," he said. 

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

"You will accept it gladly." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I will fuck your face." 

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

"I own you." 

You own me!" 

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

"I will do only what you say." 

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

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

(His VERY WORDS!) 

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

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

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

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

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

"Your mouth is mine." 

"My mouth is sours." 

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

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

"Your ass is mine." 

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

"Your cunt is mine ... if I want it." 

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

"My ... cunt ... is yours, when you want." 

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

"That is not what I said, whore!" 

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

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

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

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

"I will hurt you." 

"Yes! You will hurt me." 

"I will beat you." 

"You ... will ... beat me" 

"I will maul your breasts." 

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

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

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

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

"I will push ... hard ... " 

"Un-n-n-n-nnn-ggb-h-h-hnnnn ... " 

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

"aaahhhhhhh ... " 

"And squeeze ..." 

"ummmmnnnnnh ... " 

"And squeeze -" 

"AARGHHHHH!" 

"- until I am exerting ... all ... my STRENGTH!" 

"unghhh ... o-o-o-o-ohhh ... nnn ... aaaaaaaahhhhbhh ... " 

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

"Is it good?" 

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

"Ye-e-e-e-esss-ssss ... " 

"Do you like it?" 

"Yea-s-s-s-s-sss ... " 

"Shall I stop?" 

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

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

(I WAS!) 

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

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

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

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

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

"Unh! Anghhh ... a-h-h-h-h ... ooohhh ... " 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ENTRY TWENTY-ONE 

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

ENTRY TWENTY-TWO 

SOMEONE IS WATCHING MY WINDOW FROM THE WOODS! 

ENTRY TWENTY-THREE 

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

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

ENTRY TWENTY-FOUR 

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

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

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

YOU 

I mean I did it again last nigbt. 

ENTRY TWENTY-FIVE 

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

ENTRY TWENTY-SIX 

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

ENTRY TWENTY-SEVEN 

Again. 

ENTRY TWENTY-EIGHT 

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

ENTRY TWENTY-NINE 

Again last night. And this afternoon. 

ENTRY THIRTY 

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

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

Oh - Aunt Isobel's manner of waking was exceedingly strange again today. At 
about two - the telephone rang. I answered it; it was Mister - it was Erik, 
and he asked for her. My heart leaped and pounded; he said 

"Hello, Tory. Put down the telephone and go and call your aunt for me." 

An order! 

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

ENTRY THIRTY-ONE TWO DAYS LATER: I've just had a THOUGHT. 

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

ENTRY THIRTY-TWO 

I couldn't help myself. 

I had to. 

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

I am frightened. I felt - it seemed as though he looked up, and looked 
directly at me. COULD HE HAVE SEEN ME? 

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

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

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

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

ENTRY THIRTY-THREE 

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

ENTRY THIRTY-FOUR 

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

Stupid girl! 

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

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

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

to - 

to do it! 

ENTRY THIRTY-FIVE 

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

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

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

ENTRY THIRTY-FIVE 

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

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

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

Going around the house STARK NAKED! 

Fondling and playing with myself! 

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

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

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

I noticed his hair and everything he wore and his eyes and I listened to his 
voice and remembered the night I heard him and Aunt Isobel doing their sort 
of litany of lust and slavery. I CAN'T GET THAT OUT OF MY MIND! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Naked under my clothes! What a silly phrase! ISN'T EVERYBODY naked under his 
clothes? 

Silly Tory! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who needs her? 

ENTRY THIRTY-SEVEN 

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

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

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

(later) 

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

I Wish Erik were out there. 

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

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

I am naked. 

ENTRY THIRTY-EIGHT 

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

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

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

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

She went again last night. 

The next time she goes I will follow her. 

ENTRY THIRTY-NINE 

Dear Diary, Tory, and Lois: 

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

I am jotting this here before I follow you. 



 Chapter Four Entry Forty 

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

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

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

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

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

So you followed me -. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"She fainted." 

"Good. Bring her inside." 

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

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

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

"Shall I strip her?" Miles said. 

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

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

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

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

"Let me go!" 

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

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

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

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

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

"Show her, Lois." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was speechless. 

But after a time she regained the power of speech and railed at him: 
"MONSTER! I WOULDN'T DREAM OF touching YOUR OBSCENE THING!" 

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

"YOU - I - YOU WOULDN'T DARE!" 

"Release her from the chair, Miles." 

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

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

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

"OOOOOH! Monster! SEX MANIACS! STOP THIS!" 

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

"You ... you ... " 

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

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

"NO-O-O-Ohh!" 

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

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

"No-o-o- - PLEASE! I'll -" 

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

"That's one," I said. 

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

"Aa-a-a-aa.aaa-a-a-ah ... so-o-o ... ha-arrd!" 

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

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

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

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

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

"Ow-W-W-W-WWWWWOW!" 

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

That was a dozen, and that was my cue. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"One ... TWO. One ... TWO!" 

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

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

She screamed, jerking as though stabbed. Tears spurted from her eyes. Her 
loud "AHHHHH" and "ARRRRHHH" and "AYAAAA.A-A-A" sounds had now diminished to 
a steady moaning: "unnnggghhhhnnnn ... " 

He looked up at me and nodded. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ENTRY FORTY-ONE 

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

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

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

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

"I ... I ... o-o-o-h-h-h ... I ... what?" 

She didn't even know the phrase! 

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

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

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

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

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

"OH GOD! HOW could you give me such a CHOICE!" 

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

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

"Oh-h-hhh ... no ... no please ... I can't -" 

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

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

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

"No ... I ... please don't ... " 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- and then she went utterly limp. 

She bad fainted! 

ENTRY FORTY-TWO 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"UH!" 

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

"Oh dear GOD! PLEASE, please! don't don't DON'T,DON'T!" 

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

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

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

He hurried back and buried it in my mouth. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ENTRY FORTY-THREE 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"EEEEEYYYAAAAHHHH - ah! ah! O-o-o-o-ooOH!" 

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

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

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

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

ENTRY FORTY-FOUR 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Erik's calling. 

ENTRY FORTY-FIVE 

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

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

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

"YOU TOOK AWAY MY PANTIEEEES!" she wailed. "YOU MADE A BARGAIN, AND THEN YOU 
BROKE IT! YOU'VE STRIPPED ME NA-Na-naked!" She ended that screaming 
accusation in quaking sobs. Her head fell forward onto the bed. She ceased 
squirming. 

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

"You - you put something IN WHAT I ATE! Or in that WINE! I KNOW YOU DID! YOU 
made me go to sleep! And ... and ... and I DID NOT foul my - m - my ... " 
she choked off into fresh sobs. 

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

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

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

"NO NO NO NO NO!" she cried. 

Erik went conversationally on as though she had not interrupted. 

"Your mouth."-he said 

"AAAGGGHHHH! No no no NO!" 

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

"Oh Godohgodohg-o-o-o-od NO! NEVER!" 

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

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

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

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

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

"Then you're going to be whipped." 

"Ohhh no, no no.O-O-O!" 

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

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

"YEEEAAAAA!" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I wondered if she knew the nipples were erect. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miles fondled and squeezed and sucked and licked her breasts. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She only sobbed, collapsing limply. 

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

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

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

She trembled, but she made no sound. 

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

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

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

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

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

"Unh ... hhh ... ow-w-w ... No. o-o-ohhh ... " 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was no longer any pain, none whatever. 

Only delight and mounting desire and ecstasy. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Chapter Five Entry Forty-Six 

How long has it been since Lois made that entry! 

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

Victoria Marie, like her parents, is dead. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BUT. 

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

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

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

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

She turned. 

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

"AYAAA-A-AII-AYAGGHHH!" 

Then I yanked the whip. 

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

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

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

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

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

"Unh ... mmmmm-mmm-mmm-mnnnn ...!!" 

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

And more pressure! I gasped, not even having enough breath to groan in my 
agony. And more pressure. And more. MY BREASTS ARE GOING TO POP, TO BURST 
LIKE ... BALLOONS! UNHH! A ahh-hh-a ha ha hhhhh!! Futilely I tried to free 
myself. My face was purpling hotly. My tongue slid out in search for air. 
A-A-A-ANH ... kk-k-kkk-a-a-a ...! The stone floor sent lancets of pain 
shooting up into my chest from the squashed hemispheres of my bosom. But she 
had my arms pinned to my sides with her strong, booted legs. The bright 
lights winked before my eyes ... and winked OUT! 

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

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

"She's awake," Lois said. 

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

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

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

Aaaarrrrg-.g-ggghhh-h-h-hhhnnnhhh ... 

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

Mmmffrn-m-m-rn-mmm - aah ... AH! 

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

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

I WANTED VERY MUCH TO BE RAMMED AND REAMED AND FUCKED IN THE ASS JUST AS I 
HAD BEEN LESS THAN AN HOUR BEFORE! 

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

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

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

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

Oh God, God-D-D, I thought, and I thought a FINGER was good! I could go 
through LIFE on my hands and knees with a man's dick way way way up in my 
ba-a-a-A-A-ACCK! 

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

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

His hands gripped those quivering cheeks, MY CHEEKS! with a careless, 
strength that made his fingers sink into the tautly muscular flesh, 
furrowing it as he - dare I say it? I WILL SAY it! 

- as he fucked me with volcanic force. Yes, that is exactly the proper word. 
He was fucking me, fucking me, fucking fucking me in the ass. And I was 
loving and loving and LO-O-O-VV-I-N-N-GG it! 

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

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

"A-a-a-a-annNNNGgg-g-gg-gghhh-hhh-ahhhh!" 

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

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

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

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

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

ENTRY FORTY-SEVEN 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"YAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHHAAHHHHH!" 

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

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

WELCOMED it.! 

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

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

"Urn ... unnnhh ... nnngghhh NGNGNGHNGNGNGGH!" 

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

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

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

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

BUT I COULD NOT FORCE MY BODY OVER THE EDGE INTO THRILLING RELEASE! 

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

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

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

"Erik! ErIK, PLEASE! So tired ... It's been twenty-five minutes, Erik ... my 
arm aches ... oooooohhhhh ... " 

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

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

"Unh ... unh ... uhuhuhub ... unh ... AH! ... uh-uh-uhuhuhuh ... " 

But 

I 

Could 

Not 

COME! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

help ... help me ... help ... stop ... helphelphelphelpheh ... 

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

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

Forty-five minutes ... 

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

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

Fifty minutes ... 

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

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

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

But ... 

I ... 

couldn't ... 

MAKE it! 

I passed out. 

 Chapter Six Entry Forty-Seven - Continued 

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

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

"Oh-h-h N-O--O--O-OOObhhhH!!!" 

I COULD NOT GET AT MYSELF! 

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

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

But I could not touch it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your ... offer?" 

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

"You are a monster, Erik." 

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

"It isn't even big!" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes. You will be fucked." 

"You wouldn ... you KNOW I'm a virgin!" 

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

"You wouldn't D A R E !" 

He smiled. 

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

He bent over and slapped me. 

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

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

"TIE ME UP!" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was wonderful. 

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

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

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

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

Down. 

DOWN! 

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

"AAA-aaaahhhhhHHH!" 

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

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

Suddenly he withdrew his tongue, licked upward, and - 

HE APPLIED A VIOLENT SUCTION TO MY CLITORYS THAT JOLTED ME WITH HELPLESS 
THRILLS AND SHIVERS AND MADE ME convulse! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

no ... 

But he ignored that soundless plea. 

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

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

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

He peeled them apart. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unwonted? Unwanted? 

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

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

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

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

My mouth emitted a final trembling, protesting plea. 

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

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

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

I rammed myself forward onto his cock! 

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

"Yah! O-o-o-o-ow-w-w-w-WW ... AH!" 

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

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

I had done it myself, and I was proud. 

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

"Ah - AAARRRGGGHHHHH! Ah ... UH ... ah ... ah ... ahhhrrr ... " 

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

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

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

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

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

PAIN VANISHED. PLEASURE REIGNED! 

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

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

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

Another orgasm! 

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

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

"Don't ... go ... " 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nommmm ... no no no no NO-O-o-o-oOOOH!!!" 

Yes. 

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

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

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

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

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

"E EE- E E -E-E-E-E-Y-Y-YY-A-A-A-A-Ah-h-h-h-AH!" 

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

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

ENTRY FORTY-EIGHT 

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

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

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

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

"Are you ready to go home?" 

I stared. "Yes," I said mechanically, feeling the sudden speeding thutter of 
my heartbeats. Home? Leave? Voluntarily, he was letting me go? The little 
thought came: but I haven't ... 

"Your clothes are ruined. Here." 

I took the tan man's raincoat and slid into it, shivering at the slick nylon 
lining. I buttoned it over my nakedness. It was too large by a considerable 
margin, but I do have I lot of chest! I admit to enjoying the feeling of the 
cloth against my nipples ... 

In silence we went down, and out the front door. I smiled up at the stars. 
They were still there! I had not seen stars, or sun or moon or clouds, or 
breathed fresh good woods-air for so long! 

He steered me wordlessly to his car, and I saw that we were to go the long 
way, down his drive and out to the road and along it and into Aunt Isobel's 
drive it occurred to me that moment that she knew where I was. They had 
planned this! She had probably been in a hotel, downtown! I thought about 
that as he drove in silence. 

He drew up before the big house, hesitated as he looked at me, then got out 
and came around to open the door. Such politeness for a rapist, I mused. But 
I said nothing; I would not break the silence. He walked me up onto the 
porch, and I saw that I had been right: the door was unlocked. She was home. 
She knew. He pushed it open, into the darkened hallway. I hesitated, then 
went inside without looking at him. He went in silence back to his car and 
drove away home. 

I felt as though I were in some sort of dream. Someone else's dream, 
perhaps. I could not believe what they had done to me. I realized that I was 
still wearing his coat. I shrugged. Flipping on a light, I went along the 
corridor to the kitchen. 

I was sitting there at the little table, having eaten only a small quantity 
of cold roast beef and amazed that I seemed full, when I looked up to see 
Aunt Isobel in the doorway. 

"Hello, Tory." 

"Hello. It, worked. I'm not a girl any more." There was silence for a, 
while, the two of us just staring at each other. Again I thought the whole 
insanity seemed like a dream. She glanced at the saucer I had used, and the 
meat still on its platter on the table. I rose, wrapped the meat in foil, 
and returned it to the refrigerator. The saucer I slid into the sink. 

"That attracts roaches," she said. 

"Wash it then," I said. 

I walked past her and started up the steps. She was left standing there in 
the kitchen with the lights on and the greasy saucer in the sink. She had 
not washed a dish since I had come here. Halfway up the steps I paused and 
turned. 

"Aunt Isobel?" 

She came out of the kitchen to look questioningly up at me. She looked tiny, 
there at the bottom of the steps. 

I asked, "Was it your idea?" 

She didn't bother to pretend. "Not wholly. Partially. I-" 

"You do whatever he says." 

She looked surprised, but nodded. 

"You're his ... slave." 

She looked down. She didn't need to answer, and both of us knew it. Pushing 
my hand into the pocket of the coat, I drew out what I had felt there, 
thumping my bare leg my diary. 

"Do you want to read the rest of this?" 

She looked up the steps at me. "No, Tory." 

"Are you quite sure?" 

She nodded. 

"Then keep your long whore's nose out of it hereafter," I said. "I've 
offered. Now don't be a sneak." 

"Tory -" 

"I don't care for that name. You invented it, and I really don't care for 
you. I think I'll call myself Vicky. With an 'i' on the end, maybe." 

"Like that Johnson girl, Luci? That's common." 

I shrugged. "We're pretty common people. After all I haven't any parents, 
and my aunt is both a slave and a slut." 

She took that, just standing there gazing at me. I don't know if it was just 
the light or if those were tears I saw, making her eyes sparkle. But she 
took it in silence. Then she said: 

"You're ... very different, Tor - Vicky." 

I gave her a short scornful laugh. 

"What did you expect, Isobel, when you and your master agreed to make me a 
sexual slave for a few days, just long enough to have big male organs and a 
dildo rammed in and out of my asshole, and the dicks of two men, one after 
another, rammed in and, out of my, ... belly." I was trying to use naughty 
words, but I just couldn't say "cunt," not then! Not aloud. 

"I'm not a virgin any more," I told her, as if I needed to. "I'm not a child 
any more. I don't even feel like a girl. I think maybe I'm a woman. A 
woo-man. I like it. I'm delighted. I've found out what I'm for, what I love, 
and what I love to do. But don't expect me to kiss your hands for it, or 
Erik's." 

She bit her lip." I-" 

"Is it true, what I've read, Isobel? That in some of the Arab countries 
where they still have slavery and the U.N. doesn't do anything about it 
because of the oilwells, that they are all dark, and so blonde virgins bring 
over ten thousand dollars?" 

"I - I don't -" 

"Just a moment, Isobel. I would appreciate your going into town tomorrow and 
coming back with ten ... no, there's inflation to consider. Thirteen 
thousand dollars worth of traveler's checks for me. The man you sold me to 
brought me back, so it's only fair that I get the price of my own cherry. 
You wanted to whore me; pay me then!" 

"Ten ... thirteen thou -" 

"You have plenty, Isobel. You won't miss it." 

"Now ... now look here, Tory -" 

But I had her on one foot. She couldn't intimidate me with that old tone. 
Not any more. 

I interrupted her again; it was FUN! 

"Don't call me Tory!" I snapped "And YOU listen." I waved the diary. "I have 
this. It has someone else's handwriting in it. Names are mentioned, in both 
handwritings. I can also describe all sorts of things in that house, in all 
sorts of places, if you people try to say I'm crazy or whatever ... I can 
also describe the mole on Miles' thigh, way up here, where it wouldn't show, 
would it, unless I'd seen him mighty bare. For about two more days, 
probably, I'll have some interesting marks on me." 

She stared. "You-" 

"Thirteen's silly, Isobel. Just make it fifteen thousand." 

"You - you would not DARE tell that story to anyone! It would be too 
embarrassing for you! It would RUIN you!" 

I shook my head. "Not me. Here it would, but I wouldn't be here. I can go 
all sorts of places, Aunt Isobel. But it WOULD ruin you, wouldn't it, and 
Erik, and Lois and Miles too, I guess." 

She stood there with her head tilted back, gazing up the stairwell at me. I 
stood there and stared back, wearing only Erik's tan raincoat with my hair 
streaming down, loose and tangled. At last she sighed. 

"Traveler's checks," she said, "have to be bought by the person whose name 
is on them." 

I didn't know if that were true or not. I thought about it. 

"Three cashier's cheeks from the bank, then," I said, "each for five 
thousand dollars. And five hundred in cash." 

"Your ... price keeps going up, it, seems," she said quietly. 

I shrugged. 

"I will hand it to you before noon tomorrow, Vicky." 

I nodded and started on up the steps. 

"Tor - Victoria." 

I turned back wearing a questioning look. 

"I - I am going over there tomorrow night, uh, Vicky. Through the woods, I 
mean. Do - you want to come along?" 

I laughed. "Don't be silly," I said. "He's YOUR master!" 

I went upstairs and locked my door and slid into bed to read what Lois wrote 
here. After getting up to make sure that my door was locked, I went to sleep 
and didn't waken until eleven A.M. She was back from town by a quarter to 
twelve, and she handed me the three checks and five one-hundred dollar 
bills. I stayed up here all afternoon, writing this. Now, finally, it's up 
to date. 

She won't bother to be sneaky tonight, now that we all know all about 

LATER 

THERE SHE GOES! Through the woods to dear Erik's, the old whore! 

And here I go. The airline already has my reservation; I called this 
afternoon. The plane leaves in two hours, so. I have plenty of time to get 
there and pay for the ticket. THAT'S why I asked the slut for some cash-type 
money! 

I'll travel light. Just this diary, and the clothes I'm wearing, and the box 
she had sent from home, with mother's and dad's things in it. 

Oh, and Erik Parker's raincoat. There isn't a single mark on my body. The 
raincoat's a sort of ... memento! 

 Chapter Seven 

Johnson City, Tennessee November 13 

Erik, 

Surely you didn't expect me to begin a letter to you with "DEAR" Erik, did 
you? I am typing this because it is easier to make carbons. One goes to your 
nearby slave, and the other one is for my diary. Remember my diary? it 
really helped you and Miles and Lois and Aunt Isobel with my initiation, 
didn't it? 

Yes, I am here. I merely stopped off at home to go and see the old house, 
which now contains a young couple with four children, and my parents graves. 
And to cash the three cashier's checks in for a bunch of money orders. The 
m.o.'s I deposited to my account here. 

I am writing to let you and your slave and your fellow monsters know that I 
am alive, extremely well, and shockingly happy. I have just taken a test, 
which I passed, and am entering college here without having to finish high 
school. I think I'll like college. I mean, I have a little money, and I love 
to read, and I'm certainly not stupid. I never was. Just naive. 

Besides; there are lots of males on college campuses. 

I will major in psychology. There are these four sick people I once knew in 
Denver, and I'd like to try to get some line on why they're like they are. 
Doesn't that thought just turn you on?!? 

My main reason for writing, though, is to tell you about some of the things 
I've done. One of them will make you clench and grit your teeth, I'm sure. 

It began on the plane. It was a continuation-flight, with lots of people 
already on board. I wasn't silly enough to pay the extra money for what they 
call First Class, up there in the front of the plane which is about a third 
full and helps explain why airlines are losing money. No, I was in back, in 
Tourist. There were/was one window seat left. I took it, since I wanted to 
see what the world looks like from a few miles up. 

A man sat next to me. A young man - you know, I mean not old and nearly used 
up, like, you. We talked. 'He was with some kind of architectural planning 
company, and was going just where I was going, to meet with the City 
Council. He was quite nice, quite good looking, and he obviously, thought I 
was something fine, too. His name was Michael and he said most people called 
him Red, guess why, but he preferred Michael. I told him that although I'd 
been called "Tory," I much preferred Vicky. 

I told him that I was going home, but only temporarily and would be moving 
on in a day or two. I told him the truth about mother and daddy, that they 
were dead and I wanted to see their graves. 

After a while he said, "Why don't we pretend we're on a date, and let me buy 
you a drink?" 

I laughed and nodded, but was a little disappointed to learn there wasn't 
any brandy. Just bourbon, Scotch, and blended. He ordered bourbon and 7-Up, 
so I did, too. I didn't even know what blended was. 

The stewardess, brought us our drinks - I think a dollar and a half is 
pretty expensive - and we put down the little trays on the backof the seats 
in front of us. I let him pour the whiskey out of the little bottle, and I 
was careful to sip, it was all right. I prefer brandy. Smile, damn you! 

"If we were on a date," I said, remembering what my dates used to be like 
(you know, you've read the diary), "We'd probably be holding hands, wouldn't 
we?" 

"Probably," he said, and he slid his hand from under his tray to undermine 
and we held hands. His fingers were nice and warm on my thigh. 

We finished the drinks. He asked if I wanted another. I said no, I'd rather 
wait till we got there and maybe have a brandy, and the stewardess looked at 
our trays still down when she took the glasses, but she didn't say anything. 
He asked if I were going to stay with relatives. I told him I didn't have 
any, although I USED to have an aunt. I'd be staying at the Holiday. He said 
he was, too, squeezing my hand so that his fingers slid along my thigh a 
little. 

"Fine," I said. "If the bar's still open you can buy me a brandy." 

The bar wasn't open when we checked in at the Holiday - separately, 
separately! - but they were glad to send up a bottle of over-priced brandy. 
He frowned at the price, sort of biting his lip. 

"I have plenty of money," I said. "I'll pay for the brandy - and keep what 
we don't drink, too! Unless you want to pay for the brandy with me sort of 
thrown in." 

He turned his head to look at me. I was so new at being a woman that I had a 
hard time meeting his gaze. But I did. You'd have been proud of your pupil, 
Professor Sex. We had the it sent up to my room, and he paid, rather than 
signed, because he had to turn his receipts in to his company. 

We kissed while we waited for it to come up, and he felt me. His hands felt 
very big and warm on my breasts. So far he'd said nothing about my lack of 
luggage. After the bottle came he put the chain on the door and we drank one 
brandy. 

It was lovely, all warm in the belly. 

He asked if I'd like another and I said yes, which I think didn't make him 
any too happy, naturally. He was ready for me! While he poured and put ice 
in the glasses I headed for the bathroom. 

"Going to slip into something more comfortable?" he grinned. He had a 
wide-open redhead's boyish grin that I liked, really liked. 

"Silly," I told him, "you know I don't have any luggage." 

So I came out of the bathroom wearing just my panties, with my naked boobies 
jumping and jiggling all over the place, and he dropped a glass of brandy. 
Laughing, we both got down to clean it up and pick up the ice cubes. While 
we were down there like that he developed a sincere interest in the big 
dangling globes of my breasts, which I describe carefully so that you will 
remember them, with their pale-pink babes and the nipples that get so big so 
fast. 

He got them big, fast. I at last got up nerve to put out my handd to find 
that he'd got big too, in his fly. He jerked when I felt it, looking very 
surprised. Then he stood up, sort of pulling me up by my breasts - not 
painful, because I am supple and rose right along with him. He started 
undressing. 

He hardly had any hair on his chest at all. The red hair around his groin 
was almost as pale as mine. He held out his arms and I went, and we 
embraced, naked. I sort of pushed him back into a chair. 

"I want to suck-your cock," I said. 

He went all stiff, then quivery, with his eyes big. His big throbbing 
erection jumped around in front of him. He was about half in shock, I think, 
with me leaning over him smiling. But my breasts were swinging down, and he 
started playing again. I stood there, bending over him with my eyes closed, 
while he pressed and, fondled them and traced his thumbs over the nipples. 
He seemed to weigh them in his palms. I moved a little, teasing his' mouth 
with the dangling white pendants of my chest. He nuzzled them with his lips, 
trying to capture the tips as they brushed over his face. His delighted 
face. 

Standing there, I reached down to fondle his big naked shaft and the soft 
furry globes beneath. They were tight feeling. 

I bent, pulling my breasts regretfully out of his hands, and cupped my lips 
to his lower stomach. He gasped. I kissed him there, letting him feel a hard 
suction before sliding my mouth down into the cradle of his groin. He was 
nice. I wished I had same practice. But as soon as I thought that, it made 
me remember where I'd had the chance to practice, and I knew I'd rather 
practice on him. 

I hope you're snarling as you read this. 

I pressed my face into his flesh, all fuzzy down there, and breathed deeply. 
I LIKED it! Thank God, I thought, breathing in the sweaty odor of his sex 
and riffling his pelvic fur with each breath. I felt his big hard tool 
throbbing against my cheek. Squirming around and squeezing that hard-rubber 
flesh in my hands, I opened wide and went at it. Plunging that big thing in 
and out of my face very rapidly, my mouth as wide as I could get it, I 
started to eat his prick. 

"AAAH! Uinmmmm ... mmm," he breathed, shivering all over. 

I bathed the shaft all up and down its length, with the moist heat of my 
saliva until I made it all slick and shiny. He sat there and gasped and 
groaned. My jaws hurt. His organ throbbed wildly. It occurred to me that 
while it might be nice for me if he blew up right away and flooded my 
tonsils, that might not be what he wanted. And I wanted him to have what he 
wanted! 

Sliding his hard dick out of my face, I worked my jaws a moment to ease the 
strain. He moaned, thinking he was abandoned, I guess. I kissed his swollen 
pole and its rounded head - I had never known how tender and soft that head 
is! It was lovely. I kissed it again and again and still again, just tipping 
it with my tongue. He sighed. I knew he was sitting there booking down at 
me, enjoying my soft devotion to phallic worship. 

It's an ancient religion, isn't it? Good. I was brought up to be a religious 
girl! 

My tongue tangled around him. I began to work, enjoying it, the taste and 
the feel and the challenge and the thought of it. I had to suppress a 
giggle, thinking about you and how much you must have wanted it, and how 
nice it was to be doing it to another man, who hadn't demanded. Mmmmmmmmm! 
Who hadn't made any demands at all. Mmmmf-mmm! I think I'll devote my life 
to satisfying men who make no demands, I thought, sucking. 
MMM.MMM-MMMMmmmmmMMM!! 

My tongue, my teeth, my lips all pressed close about him in an uninhibited 
adoration of his delicious morsel of maleness. I began to suck it as if for 
nourishment. I knew my face was ecstatic and content. I could feel it. I 
could feel him, all wet against my chin as saliva from my crowded mouth 
drooled down to moisten the whole of my lower face and his tight jewels in 
their little velvet sac. It dribbled from his scrotum onto my soft, jiggling 
breasts. (I was rubbing the nipples against the chair. He wasn't aware of 
that. It was very nice.) 

Um-um-um-um-mmmm-UMMM! 

I sucked. My lips and contracting cheeks and throat pulled hard at him in a 
moist, nibbling, drawing suction. My wide-stretched lips clasped wetly 
around it, just like the lips of an eager vagina. It erupted quickly in the 
oral cocoon I provided for his pleasure. The taste was vaguely sweetish, 
thick and warm. I found it pleasant. I liked it. I was well prepared, 
psychologically, for this, for fellato. "Because I had lost both my front 
and rear maidenheads to you and Miles, but I had preserved my mouth - to 
GIVE to this appreciative man! 

I swallowed, gulping the seething fluid down my throat to warm my seething 
stomach. It kept jerking out hard jets of liquid tribute that splashed down 
into my throat and slid on down and down into me. 

He enjoyed it very, very much. VERY much, I assure you, Erik-the-monster! 

I was mildly surprised a short time later when he began playing and 
squeezing and fondling and licking and sucking the panting globes of my 
chest and before I even knew he was ready again he was starting to slide his 
hot organ, newly erected, into my eager little vagina. But I stopped him. 

"Not there," I told him, looking down as if I were embarrassed. "I'm still a 
virgin," I lied. "But - in here. The other place;" 

He was amazed, astonished, astounded, and whatever words there are that mean 
he was really shook. But we soon had him nestled between the cheeks of my 
bottom, pumping and pumping and soon he sent another lake of liquid seed up 
to meet that he had poured down my throat. 

We slept naked in my room, and awoke about nine in the morning. 

I sucked him up and he buggered me again. 

I loved it. UmmmmyaahaaaAAA! 

"When will I see you again?" he wanted to know when he was getting ready to 
rush up to his room to prepare for his meeting with the City Council. 

"Maybe on an airplane?" I smiled, and I went into the bathroom and closed 
the door. When I came out he was gone, as I had expected. I called down to 
complain about my air-conditioner, but the man they sent up was old and 
skinny and so I didn't invite him to have me. 

That's all I really have to say to you, Erik-the-monster, unless you want to 
hear about the poor lonely fourteen-year-old boy I pulled into the bushes in 
the cemetery that afternoon and sucked off. I didn't find out his name. 

Good-bye, and good luck with your slave. Wouldn't it be nice to have someone 
do it to you because SHE wanted to? 

Lots of hate, XXX, 

Vicky 

 Chapter Eight Entry Forty-Nine 

It's been so long since I've written anything here. Why put down all the 
descriptions of all the times I've made love with and to David and Richard 
and Alan and Rob and Leonard and Ted and Max and Andy and Bruno and Nat and 
the ones whose names I either don't remember or didn't find out? 

To catch up: it is March, and the last entry here was in August, and after 
that I just tucked in the carbon of the letter to Erik. I'll bet that blew 
his ever loving black MIND! I made it into college, and said I wanted to 
major in psych, but they pointed out that first I have to take standard 
Freshman courses; English 101 and 102, Sociology 101 and 102, General Sci, 
same numbers, and basic stuff. The schedule didn't work out the way I had it 
planned because I was in the last third or so of the registration line, so I 
had to change some things around. That's how I got into the course under Mr. 
Charles Grayson. An accident; a whim of chance. 

I recognized him as soon as I walked into the classroom. He called the role 
that first day, to familiarize himself with us-most of the other Freshmen 
were three or four years younger than I, by the way. He sort of stumbled 
when he, came to "Oldenkamp," and looked up. I smiled. 

"Miss Oldenkainp?" 

I nodded. "Yes, sir. Justine Oldenkamp." 

He didn't crack a smile. "It says on your card, Miss Oldenkamp, that you are 
Victoria M." 

"Yes, sir. The other is an old nickname. I'm Vicky Oldenkamp, yes." 

I went up after class, and we shook hands, glad to see each other, both from 
the same town. How strange for me, that he had previously been so much older 
than I! Now he seemed about thirty or thirty-one, and that isn't old at all 
-not to a girl who isn't a girl any more. I'd begun to realize there are a 
lot more boys in the world, of all sizes and age, than men. At least I've 
met a lot of boys, of all ages! 

He knew my parents were dead. He was divorced. I told him where I lived, 
off-campus. That surprised him, but I told him that I had a little money, 
from my aunt, and had got a dispensation from living in the dorms, since, I 
was 21. 

"Are you really that old?" 

I nodded and assured him that I was. I also asked him if he bad a copy of 
that book, the deSade one. 

"Just Sade," he said. "The 'de' part isn't really a part of his name. Yes, I 
have a copy. It's a very thick book, though ... " 

"I've been doing a lot of reading and writing," I said, "and this English 
course isn't going to take a lot of time. Could I do a sort of independent 
study, read that book and make you a report on it at the end of the 
semester? You said we'd have t do a term paper on some book. Why not 
Justine?" 

"It is a very wicked and sensual book, Miss Oldenkamp. It is also ... well, 
from Sade's name comes the term 'sadism.'" 

"That interests me," I said, looking directly into his dark eyes, "very 
much." 

He stared at me a moment. Then he nodded, said he'd see that I received a 
copy, and we parted to go to our next hour's class, he to teach and I to 
listen to someone else. 

That was on Friday, the first day of school; on Monday he handed me the book 
in a fake wrapper. It is a very thick book, published in a new translation, 
and it begins rather slowly. 

After that it is the juiciest, most sexy thing I ever could have imagined, 
even when the sex stops while the reader has to stumble over de - I mean 
over Sade's long lo-o-o-o-ong lectures. 

It seemed to me that he was avoiding my eyes in class, so one day I saw him 
having a coffee in the little restaurant a half-block from campus, Tonio's. 
I went in and stood beside his table. He was reading. He looked up, then 
pulled off the heavy-framed black glasses he wears. 

"Hullo, Miss Oldenkamp!" 

"You should call me Vicky off campus," I said. 

"It beats Victoria," he said, glancing around. "Sit down." 

"I can't sit down, Mister Grayson, I'm on my way home." I was standing close 
to the table, and I pushed against its corner, watching his eyes drop. The 
table's corner pushing into my thighs stretched the fabric of my skirt very 
tightly and outlined not only my thighs but belly and bulging vulva as well. 

"I just wanted to tell you that I've nearly finished Justine, and I love it. 
As soon as I finish it I want to start again; is that all right? I mean can 
I keep it that long?" 

He gazed up at me. He had asked me to sit, and he was after all Faculty and 
I a student, so he hadn't risen. Some would. He's different. 

"You love it? Really" 

I nodded. "I read little pieces of it every night," I said. "I save it for 
when I'm through studying or whatever." (Whatever, in a couple of cases 
meant screwing.) 

He smiled, studying me. "it is a night sort of book, isn't it?" 

I smiled right back. "Yes," I said, "very useful!" Within a few minutes we 
had decided that he was coming over Saturday night, since I had rented an 
old ramshackle farmhouse - three rooms and a kitchen, with white doorknobs 
and all - and discuss the book with me. 

It wasn't wise, what with him being faculty and all, and a new faculty 
member at that. He'd only had his Master a year, and this was the first 
college teaching job he'd landed. But where I live, as I had been warned by 
the real estate man, a sickening creature who tried to fondle and so didn't 
get to, is rather remote. And I do love the space and the fresh air and the 
trees! 

Two hours after Charles Grayson arrived I was naked and on my knees before 
him. We achieved our rapport that fast. The book helped. Dear Justine! 

"And how does it feel, being naked and on your knees before a man?" he 
asked, in his quiet way. 

"It feels good." 

He bent and snapped each of my nipples with his fingers, flicking his 
forefinger off his thumb the way some kids snap paper wads in high school. 
It stung. 

"Ummmmnnnnhh! Ohh." 

"And bow does that feel?" 

"Good ... " I whispered. It did. And the nipples were firming rapidly. I was 
sure I was already wet in the vag. 

He set forefinger and thumb to each nipple and began to squeeze. Pressure 
mounted. I began to whimper and moan, with my lips set together. 

"And how does that feel?" 

"Um-m-m-mm-m-n-n-n-nh-h-h-h ... g-g-gooo-oo-ood ... " 

He straightened, standing over me, and then walked over to sit down in the 
over-stuffed chair near the fireplace I don't use. 

"Come over here." 

I started to get up. 

"On your knees. I want to watch your tits jump." 

I went on my knees. The wideset globes of my bosom swung and shivered, and 
bounced and jumped, and he watched them all the way over. 

This time, rather than hurt them, he bent and fondled and pressed and adored 
them with his hands, and I snuggled up against his legs, and when I raised 
my head he kissed me. We kissed a long while, with our tongues highly 
active. All the while he rubbed my bare back with one band and cupped my 
naked breasts with the other, squeezing and bouncing them. I knew that their 
availability and their firm bouyancy delighted him, and his hands delighted 
me. So did his wonderful expert mouth and tongue. He kisses beautifully, 
just beautifully and wonderfully. 

"Un-nn-nNth," I gasped, hugging his legs "o-o-o-ohhh ... would ... would you 
- um! - like me-e-ee! - to ... ahh-h-h-h, darling! - to suck your cock?" 

He squeezed the tender white globeshapes of my breasts and pushed his thumbs 
into their tips telescoping them partially into the bulges they jutted from. 

"Suck me? Suck my what?" 

"Suck - ummmm! Suck your. ah-h-h-b-h-bhh ... big ... hard ... dick." 

I cried out as he slapped me, just like that. I looked up tearfully. "Cock," 
he said. 

"Darlinnnnnggg ... 

"Say it again." 

"Say it all. Tell me what YOU want to do, bitch, my sweet little slut Vicky, 
don't ask me if I want YOU to do it!" 

I gazed into his eyes. Very softly I said, "Let me suck your cock." 

"I will let you suck it, but it won't be you giving me head, Vicky. It will 
be me raping your face." 

I shivered violently. Oh, wonderful man! Delicious phrase! Raping my face! 
Beautiful concept. 

"Yea" 

He nudged me back with his knees, stood up, and stripped without haste. It 
bobbed forth to bounce before him, pointed almost straight up above his 
shining, large testicles in their furry container. On impulse I stretched 
myself on my knees to kiss them. First the right and them the left. 

"Lick," he said, and I licked them until they were wet with saliva. Slowly, 
he sat down again. 

"Kneel up," he said. 

I knelt up. He fondled my breasts, gently and lovingly. Then he cupped my 
chin with his hand. His thumb pushed at my lips. I opened them, and be 
thrust his thumb into my mouth and wagged it around. I opened wide, liking 
the feel of it, the thought of what he was doing. Then I sucked his thumb. 

He smiled slowly, nodding. "Yes," he said, "I believe you might do, at 
that." 

"Do?" 

"Shut up and get that cunt-pink tongue on my cock, bitch, until I'm ready to 
rape that cunt-pink mouth!" 

Shivering in delight, I lowered my face swiftly to his glorious erection. I 
wished that he'd feel me between the legs; I was sure the secret slot there 
was an absolute lake. I LOVED his words, his voice, the things he said and 
wanted and ... ordered. 

I kissed the big deeply-red knob - I licked it. I stabbed my tongue at the 
tiny slitted hole in its tip, I felt it bob and tremble in my hand. 

He reached down to tug my hair, and I looked up at him, questioningly. 

"You don't want it," he said. "I am going to rape your face. You're 
helpless, you don't it, but you don't dare resist or try to bite it." 

"Oh yes!" Ecstasy was coursing through me in hot liquid thrills that felt 
like hot water had been poured into my belly and the slit at its base. I 
wriggled against his legs. 

He seized his own shaft, holding my bead with his other hand, his fingers 
entwined in my hair. He held his beautiful organ up before my face. 

"Now, lick it!" 

"Umm-m-m-m!" Submissively I put out my tongue to touch the tip of it, to 
taste its almost-clear liquid secretions. "Ummmmmm!" I ran my tongue around 
it then, making delicate little circular movements around the engorged 
crown. Desire flared in my belly, like a rising flame of lust. I licked way 
down the shaft, tapped one swollen testicle with my tongue, then licked back 
up again. 

He could not be still. He lurched forward, still holding both my hair and 
his own mighty bludgeon of purplish-red flesh. It came at me, that little 
tip-slit like a single reddish eye staring at me, seeing its way to its 
goal: my mouth. It came. I held my teeth apart but firmed my lips to 
heighten the illusion, for both of us, of rape. It nudged against, my lips. 

"Open that mouth and make a cunt of it" 

I opened. He sent it driving forward, cramming my tongue back into my mouth 
and sending his penis in after it. I accepted it, all of it, in the tender 
shelter of my face. My cheeks hollowed deeply. My eyes bulged. I almost 
fainted in delight as electric tingles shot through my lower regions. I 
dropped a hand to feel myself there. 

I WAS WET! 

I squirmed with-some discomfort, but mostly in exquisite pleasure as he 
began to move, rocking his hips. Steadily he moved, back and forth, in a 
rhythmic motion that speared the long cock shaft in and out of the warm 
moist hollow formed in the depths of my face. He was careful ever to leave 
the blood-filled head within my soft lips, letting me taste and feel its 
hard urgency. A feeling of total pleasure began to suffuse my belly and I 
was squirming in pleasure. 

He pulled it nearly out, then thrust forward again, so that it slid over my 
lips and tongue and far back into the secret darkness of my mouth, against 
the smooth wet skin of my throat. I gasped, but, no sound emerged from my 
sex-stuffed mouth. My abdominal muscles twitched convulsively as I continued 
to suck his cock and to be face-raped, and as I continued to fondle myself 
below. I sent a stiff finger into myself. It vanished to-the knuckle. 

I sucked him with an infant hunger, shuddering in rapture and using my 
tongue: I stabbed again and again at the pinprick hole of his big swollen 
sex with it, swirled around and around with it, engulfing and loving him 
within the hot moist cavern of my mouth. 

Reaching out for my jaws with both hands, he clamped them, stared down at me 
for a moment, and then began fucking me savagely m the face. Each time it 
drove into my helplessly rounded mouth it made me gag, though it sent 
simultaneous thrills through my naked body. Each time it emerged it was with 
loud, obscene sucking, slurping sound. I felt saliva running down my chin. 
It dripped on my naked, shuddering breasts. I sucked. He rammed, again and 
again. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. My mouth was stuffed, my 
jaws began to ache, my head hurt, I loved him and what he was doing ... 

Suddenly he was groaning and stiffening, and his great pulsing member was 
too big for my face to contain and I was groaning and trying to pull back. 
He would not let me. Then he came. 

Relentlessly, sperm lashed out from him and into the hollow of my face. The 
rich foam spurted from him, filling my face with great gushes until it oozed 
and dribbled from the corners of my ravaged mouth. I felt his sticky fluid 
of life dribble onto my breasts, already spattered with saliva ... I put one 
hand there, happily smearing myself with it. My stomach convulsed. My eyes 
bulged. I tried to scream, but my mouth remained full of his sexual flesh. 

I was suddenly caught in a squirming, groaning, twisting orgasm, that made 
my inner cunt clamp and convulse and seem to snap shut like an angry mouth. 

His spent prick slipped from my lips. 

His hand slid from my hair. 

I fell back onto the floor and hugged myself, rolling about in an attempt to 
prolong the glorious feeling of my orgasm. 

Strange. Before he lift, at about three A.M., he had made love to me. Not 
raped me or used me; made love to me. We rolled on the floor, enwrapped in 
each other's arms, and he licked my lips and my eyelids and nipples and 
breasts and throat and shoulders and when I felt his massive dong throbbing 
between us I made one swift movement with my leg and hip and nabbed it in 
the soft eager lips of my vaginal mouth. I swallowed it up' there, and we 
lay on our sides facing each other While he made it coast in and out of me. 

ENTRY FIFTY 

That was last night. What a wonderful Sunday this is! I just think and think 
and relive it all, over and over. I'm sorry now that I invited Rob over this 
afternoon. He'll stay, and we'll do it, of course, and his lovemaking will 
be so boyish. 

IF I ASKED ROB TO RAPE ME IN THE MOUTH THE WAY MY BELOVED CHARLES DID, HE'D 
R-U-N! 

(later) 

Oh yes, Rob. He came. He has all the lovemaking technique and inspiration of 
a beagle pup. And his mommy should have told him what a clitoris is. He 
seems to think all females make it the same way a man does, and at the same 
time he climaxes. 

ENTRY FIFTY-ONE 

The look on Loretta's face when she came into the student council office and 
found Glen humping me on the couch! 

Too delicious! I think I came on the spot, just from seeing the way it 
affected her! I really should find some way to end her up to stay a while 
with Aunt Isobel ... How childish my letter was! 

ENTRY FIFTY-TWO 

Another Saturday and another visit from Charles. He was no sooner inside the 
door than I was unable to consider talking. I had to have him! 

I slammed myself against him, mashing my chest against his so that he could 
feel the fact that my breasts were bare beneath my blouse. 

He told me that this time he was going to ram his cock way up my ass, and I 
knew he was trying to scare the daylights out of me. I moaned in delight, 
though, and spun around to aim my rump at him. It hurt a little, going in, 
but he used my vaginal juice and it wasn't too bad. Funny how the anus 
regains its shape! I thought Erik and Miles had made it into a permanent 
crater! 

It was WONDERFUL! We both enjoyed so much we did it three times, all there! 

ENTRY FIFTY-THREE 

I am now sure about Loretta. She WANTS it, she's fascinated with me, she's 
just hung-up. Like Victoria Marie, remember her? Well, I've written Aunt 
Isobel and Erik. Loretta's going up there with me during the June break ... 
I've been very careful, and I'm sure she knows there is going to be some 
sexual activity, and she's just delighted that she's going to get started at 
last. 

I'm delighted, too. God, what a BALL we'll have, initiating her just the way 
they initiated me! 

I'm already looking around, wondering who I'm going to take up there next. 
Or maybe when we get back Loretta and I and Charles can set up our 
own-little playhouse ... 


End
