Chapter 2
Rape is usually imagined as happening in dark alleyways of the big city jungle. But it is not at all necessary for a woman to walk lonely, dimlit streets to lure a rapist to the attack. The kind of man who enjoys a spice of violence and brute-force with his sex can be found everywhere - at cocktail parties, in bars, on the beach - wherever pickups are usually made. The trick for a woman with rape in mind is to pick the right stud out of the pack - someone attractive enough or repulsive enough to match her particular rapist ideal. Also someone who is reasonably sure to push the issue all the way to a conclusion and not chicken out when the going gets sticky. Once they reach the grappling stage in a motel room or out in a lonely lovers' lane, she doesn't want him suddenly to go all soft and gentlemanly on her in the face of her struggles and whimpers and pleadings. Then they both wind up angry and frustrated, with the evening a total loss.
Selena K., a research assistant in a drug firm, twice-divorced, plays this party pickup game with great skill. She enjoys sex only when it comes at her from a heavily-built man, preferably hairy and on the vulgar side, who takes her roughly and contemptuously. She uses an elaborately worked-out system of approach, buildup and subtle seduction to lure her chosen man into a horizontal tussle in a secluded nook, and then her usual tactic is to go suddenly coy and reluctant and demand to be unhanded and taken home at once. But by this time she had done her job so well of stirring the man to a peak of rampaging passion that there is no turning back for him, and eighty percent of the time she claims she winds up being roughed-up, verbally abused, and raped to her complete satisfaction.
She was referred to me by a man who once had the pleasure of "raping" her after meeting her at a sale convention, and she had no qualms at all about granting me an interview, as long as her identity was disguised. As you will see, she spoke very frankly about herself and her peculiar rape-seeking habits.
After two unsuccessful marriages to men who grew tired of having to "rape" their wife every night after a hard day at the office, she now seems to be quite content with her present rough and tumble, catch-as-catch-can sex-life.
She doesn't call it rape, incidentally. She refers to her particular kind of violent sex as getting "socked."
Case 2 Selena K.
Isley - How often do you go out on the prowl for this kind of "sock"-therapy?
Selena - About once a week on the average. The old fire starts to build up in me, and if I didn't get a good rough bang to blow off the accumulated vapors, I'd probably go off the deep end altogether.
Isley - Are you always looking for new men? Don't you have any "steadies" at all?
Selena - There's no kick in getting socked by an old friend. The second time around it wouldn't be the same. Even though he put it to me pretty good, it would be a set-up thing - phony -no spontaneity, you know? If I'm going to get my rocks off, it has to work so that he's really bullshit mad with me for cock-teasing him. The best of all is when the guy socks me in a real blind, fucking rage. Ooh, man!
Isley - Doesn't that get dangerous' though? I should think you'd wind up bloody and bruised sometimes, if the man really lost his cool.
Selena-(nervous laugh) Oh yeh - once in a while things get a little - out of hand.
Isley - What do you do in a case like that?
Selena- (laughs) I take it. I have wild fucking orgasms like you've never dreamed of. The roughest ones are the best ones. It's only afterwards that there are problems sometimes.
Isley-Have you ever been seriously injured?
Selena - No, - (laughs) - there've been times when I've gone home looking as if I've been through world wars one and two combined. And sometimes my clothes get a little torn up. But I always carry a coat with me, and a scarf for my head, in case I have to cover up the evidence.
Isley - How about the bruises? Aren't they a little hard to explain to your friends and coworkers?
Selena-(shrugs) I have very understanding friends. And I've told them at work that I have a rough boyfriend who gets out of hand sometimes, (laughs) They're very sympathetic, but they know enough to let me alone. They have their own problems to worry about.
Isley - Since you admit that the real rough stuff is what you're looking for, and the roughest ones are the best ones, tell me about the absolutely roughest time you ever had on one of these dates of yours.
Selena - Oh wow! That's hard to pinpoint, just one. There was a guy one time - Puerto Rican son of a bitch - that threw me out in the middle of Eight-sixth Street at three a.m. with nothing on but a peek-a-boo bra. But I wouldn't call that rough particularly. Just uncomfortable and embarrassing as hell. Getting arrested in the nude is a very humiliating experience for a woman.
But I suppose the roughest bash for me all-around - physically and mentally - was one time with this cab driver and three of his friends. It was my own stupid fault through - he set it up and I walked right into it. My mistake was going with him a second time. I told you before, I hardly ever go with anybody more than once for various reasons.
The first time this guy was just great, though. I'll give you the whole story on that because it was the kind of experience that really flips me. Everything was as near-perfect as it could be.
This guy looked like a dumb slob, but he was wise to me. He knew exactly what I wanted the minute he laid eyes on me. I didn't fool him with my teasing crap for a second. He told me afterwards he could spot broads like me a mile away - Park Avenue dames looking for a good physical fuck from a lower-class slob. He claimed he got a lot of "that kind of cunt" in his cab and it provided him all the pussy he could use.
The way I met him - one day I rode out from the airport with him in his cab. He came on to me very strong right from the start, and I was pretty intrigued, because he was a real ugly beast of a man. Just the thought of grappling with this animal gave me mind-shudders. But that's the whole thing with me, you see - any man that's hideous and frightening to my mind will set off whistles and bells in my cunt. And when sex is the issue, my friend, it's my cunt that calls the shots, not my mind. Most women listen to their heart instead of their brain. But I listen only to my cunt. It speaks, and I obey, (laughs) Does this kind of talk shock you?
Isley - not at all. I'd like very much to keep this interview on the level of cunt instinct and cunt action as much as possible.
Selena - Fine with me. Let's keep it basic.
As I say, I warmed up to this ape right away. I hadn't had a good sock in about three weeks and the old sap was running, believe me. So when he started pressing for a date, I said how about right now, man? I figured that was a good enough test to find out if this was all bluff and bluster or not. Sometimes you think you've found yourself an animal and it turns out to be a wilted vegetable instead.
He didn't hesitate a second though. He turned the cab around - a U-turn on Park Avenue - and ran me up to his place on the upper West Side, a really hideous slum. That made it perfect though. I was just in the mood with this ugly bear to get myself socked in some smelly tenement room, preferably on a filthy mattress with rats and roaches scurrying around us. I had the whole ugly picture all set up in my mind. We had to walk up two dark dingy flights of stairs, which was the perfect buildup, but unfortunately for my fantasy, his room turned out to be clean and neat.
But that was the only disappointment of the day. He played his part to perfection. We were no sooner inside the door when he grabbed me from behind and clamped his hands onto my breasts in a vise-grip and then he bit the side of my neck as if he was taking a mouthful of meat out of it.
I laughed and tried to pull away. "Can't we have a drink first?" I said. "I didn't have a thing on the plane."
He spun me around and held me out at arms' length, looking me up and down as if I were already stark naked.
"You're a hell of a good-looking broad," he said, "but we'll soon fix that," and he put his hand on my head and pulled my hairdo all apart and down over my face. Then he laughed like a jackass and snapped his finger against my crotch.
"Get 'em off," he said. "I ain't got too much time." He went to the kitchen and came back out with a bottle of scotch, and he looked surprised to see me still standing there with all my clothes on.
"Come on-come on," he said. "Get naked, goddammit. I gotta get back to my cab. No time to fuck around." He raised the bottle up to my face. "Open up and bend your head back," he said. "You wanted a drink-right?"
I laughed, thinking he was kidding. "I'd prefer a glass, if you don't mind. A lady never drinks out of a bottle."
He said, "How the hell would you know what a lady does?" and he thrust the neck of the bottle against my lips. "Drink-drink, goddammit," he said.
I twisted my head away from him and said, "Come on-quit." The next thing I knew he raised the bottle above my head and started pouring the goddam whiskey all over my face and down my neck.
"If you ain't gonna drink, then let it soak in from the outside," he said, and laughed his hideous laugh again.
I turned on my best outraged lady pose. "Oh, that's enough! Honestly!" I grabbed up my purse and started making moves to go, but he only kept on laughing. He waited until I had the door open and was halfway through it, and then he grabbed my arm and almost yanked it out of the socket, pulling me back inside. I went sprawling about halfway across the room and landed with a thud against the gas oven.
He came after me with his arms out at his sides like a wrestler and I rolled over sideways to get away from him, but he brought his foot up and gave me the heel of his shoe right square on my fanny and knocked me down flat on my face on the linoleum. Then he laid his foot on the back of my neck and pressed hard. "Now, Miss Hot-cunt, are you gonna get 'em off or do I take 'em off for you in about three quick rips?"
I was shivering all over by then and I could feel the sweat-trickles running down all my vertical surfaces inside my clothes. It was going to be good! It was going to be great, I knew it. A classic.
I had on one of my favorite dresses that day, and I hated like hell to ruin it, but I kissed the dress goodbye right then. I was ready to let him rip it to shreds and rip me too, if he wanted to.
But I hadn't got him mad enough yet. I had to make him really pissed off at me-hating my guts and raring to take it out of my hide.
My face was still squashed against the linoleum, but I said in a low, real nasty voice, "You- fat-bastard. You're getting nothing from me. Ugly stupid clob! I wouldn't spit on you. Now get the fuck off my neck. I'm leaving here, buddy, and you better not try to stop me again or you'll find your fat ass in big trouble."
He lifted his foot and stepped back, and I started to get up, but I only got about halfway when he caught me by the hair, wound it around his hand, and yanked me up in front of him. He held me about a foot off the floor, dangling there like a stupid puppet. And that's painful as hell, buster, being suspended by your hair that way-you know it? Feels as if the whole top of your scalp's going to rip right off.
It's a funny thing-I had never been in such a trembling state before at that stage of the game. He had barely started on me, but I was shuddering and twitching all over my body, and my eyes rolling in my head-my jaw hanging wide open, and my breath exploding out of me in loud gasps.
It's a terrible shame feeling-knowing that you're revealing your naked lust like that to some pig of a man who despises you. You're just begging him to use you like shit, is what it amounts to. But the low-down shame is all part of the pleasure-the main part. That's what it's all about, isn't it, when you're an S-M freak like me. (laughs)
He shook me like a rag-doll and laughed boisterously, and then he let fly a big wet wad of spit right square in my face. "That's what I think of you," he said, "you goddam motherfucking Park Avenue rich-bitch." Then he spit into the palm of his free hand and pressed it to my face, smearing it around over my mouth and nose. "I'll let you outta here," he said. "Don't worry-soon as I'm finished with you. But that ain't gonna be for quite a little while yet."
Then he began tearing my dress down the front, piece by piece, a strip at a time, talking all the while and every now and then spitting into my face again. "Maybe before I'm done with you, you won't want to leave here. I've had fancy cunts like you stick around for a week-begging for more. Maybe already you ain't in such a big fucking hurry to leave as you thought you was."
My dress was completely gone by then-hanging in shreds around my ankles. Then he hooked his fat fingers in under my bra and yanked it right off. "Well, look-a-here!" he said at the sight of my breasts. "Not too big, but elegant. Solid and rubbery-that's the kind."
He began snapping his fingers against my bare tits, yelling out PING each time he did it. First one boob, then the other. Again and again and again. It's a terribly painful thing. My breasts are very sensitive anyway, and when men find that out they always seem to take special pleasure in tormenting them every way they can dream up.
Isley-You describe all this in terms of terrible torture. Do you find it enjoyable-your hair being yanked out of your head-your breasts being beaten on?
Selena-(sighs) I can't say I enjoy it. I feel the pain and I suffer like anyone else. But I need it, the way a junky needs his needle. And my guts enjoy it. The pit of my belly and the nerve-endings of my orgasm machinery fire up and go into orbit. I can't possibly describe for you the feelings. The shivers run right out to the ends of my fingers and toes. Straight sex never does that to me. There have to be the two elements of pain and humiliation to set off the fuses. All I can tell you is, think of the greatest orgasm you ever had and imagine it just going on and on-building and building-until you feel like all your insides are going to explode out through your skin! (shudders) Wow!
Isley-I'll try to imagine it in those terms.
Selena-The quickest way to turn on my switches is to do vile, nasty things to my boobs. And he was on the right track, working on my nipples now, pulling and pinching and twisting them in finger-nail grips. I was still shuddering and moaning and I could feel the first contractions up inside my cunt, which mean an explosion building up of some kind. I never know exactly what's going to happen-I just lose all control and let go in all directions. Sometimes I go completely ape-yelling and screeching in absolute hysteria. But this time I started whimpering like a baby, with tears rolling down my face and then my legs gave a violent shudder and I proceeded to piss my goddam panties right there in front of him.
He stood staring down at the water-show as if he couldn't believe his eyes-the wetness spreading below my crotch, bubbling out through the cotton and dripping and then drizzling down in a half-dozen little rivulets between my thighs that were already soaking wet from my sweat.
"Well I'll be go to hell," he muttered. "Can't even hold your fucking water. You're some lady, you are!" And he let go of my hair then and dropped me. I crumpled down to the floor in a heap-not an ounce of strength left in me-and wound up squatting there like an idiot in my piss-puddle. "Fucking pig!" he said. "Are you gonna shit too while you're at it? Might as well go ahead and let it all out. Didn't your last owner ever house-break you, for Chrissakes?"
At that point a big wave of dizziness hit me. My head seemed to deflate like a balloon and I keeled over sideways and passed out completely. It was only for a minute or so, I guess. Then I felt myself being hauled over the floor by one ankle, with first my back and then my head dragging through the pee-puddle, and after that he was ripping off my soaked panties and he bundled them into a ball and stuffed them in my mouth as a gag.
"There, honey-you chew on that awhile," he said. "And that oughta keep you quiet, so you don't bother me with a lotta goddam weeping and wailing while I do my duty."
He was too calm about it all though-too cool. I wanted him to be in a rampaging fury when he socked me. This had too much promise of a classic session to let it get fucked up and trail off into mediocrity. I had to get him more riled-up than he was, somehow.
He was in the process of stripping down, and just at that point he dropped off his shorts and there was this great big dangling monstrosity of a prick out in the daylight, and the balls of a bull to back it up. It gave me a delicious shudder to see it-to imagine that fat bat ramming into me like a pile-driver. But he wasn't even up to a hard-on yet, and if he'd been really mad and aching to get at me the way I wanted him to be, then that big meat of his would have been salami-size by now.
He saw me eyeing his dingus and he said, "You're gonna suck that up to a stiff for me, baby. And you'll keep on sucking until I tell you to quit."
He was purring like a pussy cat, the son of a bitch. He was so sure he had me all tamed and submissive, but I was ready to jar him out of his cool just as soon as he hailed his fat ass in a little closer to me. I spit the pissy panties out of my mouth and braced myself for action.
When he was naked, he flexed his muscles and rippled the flab on his fat belly and then he moved in, spitting on his hands and rubbing them together.
"Come on-up, pig," he said. "Get your fucking head up here to crotch-level and let's get the old tongue working. See what kind of blowjob they learned you at finishing school."
I waited until he was in perfect position above me and then I brought my foot up and gave him a hard heel right in the pit of his gut. Hard enough to feel it, but not enough to put him out of operation altogether.
He let out an oof and went into a semi-crouch, grabbing at his wounded gut. "You goddam son-of-a-bitching whore!" he muttered while he was getting his breath back, and then he aimed a vicious kick at my head. But I rolled away from him and scrambled up to my feet, and then I began grabbing up whatever things I could get my hands on around the kitchen and throwing them at him with all the strength I had. A pot-a clock -a coffee cup-a whiskbroom. He just stood there looking dumbfounded, batting down the things with his open hands as they came at him, like a goal-tender in a game.
I was screaming at him, "Lard-ass! Motherfucker! Fat faggot! Bald-headed prick!" Every name that came to my mind.
Then with one lunge forward he caught me by the neck and clamped down hard-a real stranglehold. That took the fight out of me and shut me up in a big hurry. He forced me down onto my knees and started slapping the crap out of my face-really rocking me-pow! pow! He finished it off with a nice straight jab right square on the nose that just about put me in dreamland. I was gone completely for awhile after that-floating in limbo-and I didn't really know what the hell was happening to me when he wound his hand in my hair again and pulled my face into his crotch.
When I came back halfway to my senses, I found his fat prick stuffed into my mouth and he'd pressed my lips down over it and was riding it around like a fat snake squirming on my tongue.
As soon as he saw my eyeballs coming back into focus, he gave my head a shake and said, "Suck on that, goddam you. Hit it a lick and be goddam quick about it or I'll whip your fucking ass to splinters."
I started working his big old meat, with my lips and my tongue tickling around the head of it. I was anxious to get it up and hard as quick as I could, because I was curious to see how that enormous prod would look, standing up on end ready for business. I'd never in my life seen one that size before, and I couldn't wait to feel it in action where it would do the most good.
I didn't want to do too good a job of sucking on him though. Blowing some guy's joint is not my thing, man. It's not my mouth that craves fucking, it's my lower body openings. So my idea was to get this suck-job over and done with as quickly as possible and move on to the next act -some cunt-action, hopefully-where I'd get mine.
Well, it didn't take long to blow up the balloon. His prick just seemed to go rigid all at once. Like a steel rod suddenly run up inside it. God, it was enormous! When I pushed my lips forward along the shaft of it, the big blunt head ran so far down my gullet it nearly choked me.
It's a job of work, servicing something that size. It takes a lot of energy and a lot of spit to keep things lubricated. I was hoping to hell he wouldn't want too much of this. Now that I had him cocked and primed, I was getting the twitches in my gut again at the prospects of taking that fat bat about a half-a-yard up in my happy-hole and getting myself split wide open up the center-seam.
I was surprised to see blood smeared on his prick, and I could taste it too on my lips, but then I realized that it was running down out of my nose, where he had mashed it with his last punch.
He just let me go on sucking away and it was beginning to be a goddam drag for me, so I decided it was time to take drastic action again. It might mean another round of slapping me silly, but that's all part of the fun and games for me. Rough stuff does for me the same thing that kissing and caressing do for a straight woman.
So I started working his testicles in my hand -still licking on his penis-and then all of a sudden I gave a good hard twist to his balls and bit down on the meat of his prick-not too hard, but enough to give him one hell of a genital surprise.
He yanked his injured members away from me and gave me another one of his pop-eyed, blinky, surprised looks. Then he growled in a real mean, low, menacing voice, "You-miserable-cunt. You're gonna regret that cute little fucking trick."
I was still down there in front of him on my knees-still a little groggy-laughing foolishly at him-my hair all tangled and matted with whiskey and piss-my lips and chin smeared with blood. I must have been quite a sight to see.
"Fucking smart-ass whore," he said, moving on me again, one big hairy hand clamped over his stung prick. "I'm gonna give you the beating of your fucking life-break every bone in your fucking body-and then when you can't take no more of that, I'm gonna run this rod a yard up your fucking ass and split you wide open."
I had a dizzy spell and fell over backwards onto my ass, giggling like an idiot. "Promises, promises," I said. "Big fat mouth-full of shit." I was babbling and giggling as if I was high on something. Just the anticipation is all it was. That's enough to turn me on. Knowing I'm about to get it and get it good. My body began shivering and twitching again, and I crawled forward to him and grabbed onto his legs around the knees, looking up at him with my eyes and mouth wide open and pleading.
Do it, man. Do it-do it-DO ITU is what I was saying inside, but the only sound coming out of me was sniffs and gasps and giggles.
And then he started in-just belting the living shit out of me. Left-right-left-right. Terrible hard punches. My ribs, my tits, my belly. He'd pick me up and then slam me down again. And then lift me again by the hair and give my face another round of slaps, swinging wild, forehand and backhand with all his strength. It gets hazy from there on, although I never did pass out completely. As far as I know I just went on giggling and squealing and dribbling blood, sweat and tears all over the place. All I can tell you, from the way I looked and felt the next day, is that he hit me everywhere. You never saw such a black and blue monstrosity as my body was when he got through working off his fury on it. I looked as if I'd fallen down a mountain, face first.
It was a beautiful beating though, (shudders) He knew just how to do it. Exactly the right touch. He looked like an ape, that man, but he was an artist!
Then when my whole body was just a mass of quivering jelly he threw me down face-first over the top of the stove and started working on my rear-end. It must have been his thumb that he jabbed in first, twisting and screwing it up my butt-hole. That wasn't too much problem, because I've had my ass well-reamed a good many times before by quite a variety of pricks and other implements of various kinds.
But then he pressed his fat prick-head up into the groove and started working it around, and that was something else again. I felt sure he'd never make it with that thing, but I certainly was hoping. I desperately wanted to be impaled right up to the hilt on that huge pike of his- either hole was fine with me-and split wide-open, just the way he said he'd do.
And then I could feel it actually inching up in-side-stretching me terribly as it nudged ahead, grunt by grunt. It seemed to be stuffing up my entire ass-track like a huge hard turd of shit. And still up and up it went. I had never felt anything inside me that deeply. It was like a hot iron hitting nerves way up inside my belly that had never been touched before by mortal man.
My whole body was twitching in violent jerks -I just couldn't control it-nerve spasms rocking me from head to foot. He grabbed onto my boobs then and pulled me up, and he began bouncing me up and down on his prick, holding me against his body with a vice-grip on both of my tits. He was not only squeezing them, but twisting them in opposite directions and practically tearing them off me. I began screaming out loud, but not from pain. I've already told you what any of that booby-business does for my orgasm machinery, and the combination of the tit-twisting and the shafting up into the vast, unplumbed interior of my shit-hole just put me in instant orbit. I was screeching blue murder-throwing my head all over the place-rocking my ass frantically up and down-and rolling my chest back and forth against his tit-grips-absolute one-hundred-percent head-to-toe ecstasy! Every nerve in my body was vibrating, screaming for more.
He just squeezed and twisted my tits all the harder and began driving his prick hard up my hole, his crotch slamming against my ass-cheeks, and it felt just like he'd said it would-as if I was getting split right up the middle-torn apart.
I don't know how long it went on or what kind of pleasure he got out of it, but it had to be the greatest low-down dirty sex experience I've ever had on the meat-end of a prick. The only thing I was wishing was that there'd been another one on the front side, twice as big as his prick, ramming the living bejeezus out of my cunt-shaft simultaneously. But you can't have everything.
I don't know how I got home that day-so help me, I have no recollection of it. But I woke up next morning in my little beddy-bye, and the whole beautiful experience was only a dream, it almost seemed like. Until I tried to move, and until I went and took a look at the raw reality of the evidence in the mirror. It took me a week to get back in circulation after that one, but it was worth a week, man!
Isley-What were you wearing when you came home? Your dress had been all torn up.
Selena-Oh, I always have a folded-up plastic raincoat in my purse for cases like that. This was by no means the first time that I'd gone home bare-ass under my raincoat.
Isley-And that was the roughest time you ever had?
Selena-No no-I started to tell you before-the rough time was the thing that this led to.
About two weeks after the big bash with the cab driver, he called me up one day. I was surprised that he had my number, but it stood to reason that he must have brought me home that day, and he could easily have found my name and all that in my purse.
Anyway he phoned me and said, "This is Bernie." I had to stop and think a second who he hell Bernie was, but he refreshed my memory pretty quickly. "How ya' doing, kid? Back in A-number-one shape again? I betcha look good as new-am I right? I figure you for the wiry type, you know? Bounce back fast. Say listen, I been thinking about you, baby. Planning another little party like last time-got some new games in mind I figure you'll go for. I think I got your taste figured out pretty good. Whataya say? Tonight okay? I'll drop by at seven and pick you up."
I laughed at his nerve. I had no intention of seeing him again, that night or any other. In the first place, as I told you, I don't like second times around with any man. Even with him I was sure it wouldn't be the same kick the second time. And in the second place, I wasn't quite as "wiry" as he seemed to think. I still needed an extra week or so to get my tender carcass back in shape for another sock-session like that last one. I was still shitting blood from the ass-reaming, and the swelling hadn't quite disappeared on my nose.
So I told Bernie that it was absolutely out of the question and that I'd let him know when I was back in circulation again. In other words, don't call me-I'll call you.
But he wasn't the type to take no for an answer. I was quite startled when he rang my bell exactly at seven that night. I thought it was my sister and I pushed the buzzer and let him in before I realized. And I was even more startled to realize that I was pleased to see the big ape -actually glad that he'd come! I gave a little shudder when I saw him standing there in the doorway, but it was a shudder of purest pleasure and delicious anticipation.
"Well, if it isn't my friend the baboon," I said.
"What an ugly surprise."
He didn't smile-just chewed his cigar and squinted his eyes. He didn't even come inside-just stood in the doorway. "Let's go," he said. It was an order, not a suggestion.
I laughed and opened up my robe, which is all I was wearing. "I'm positively stark naked," I said. "Won't you let me put some clothes on?" What I was hoping was that he'd tear the robe off me and throw me down right on the spot.
"The robe is enough," he said. "Close it up and let's go."
It was a delightful idea-riding in his cab with nothing on but my robe. "What will the neighbors say?" I asked him.
"They'll say, 'There goes that fucking tramp out to get herself laid again.' You think you're fooling anybody? Come on-I'm in a hurry."
And so I went out with him just as I was. It was a cold damn night, but my body was already burning up underneath the robe in anticipation of what lay ahead.
"You'll have to take it easy with me tonight," I said to him as we raced across town. "My body is still tender from last time."
He just grunted, and I knew I'd get no mercy from him. As if I really wanted any.
Then I noticed that we weren't heading up-town towards his place after all. "Where are we going?" I asked him.
"Don't ask no questions," he said. It turned out we were on our way to the taxi company garage, way over near the river, and we drove right on inside. I figured maybe he might be leaving the cab there and picking up his own car. But he wasn't answering any of my questions.
"Get out," he said, without bothering to open the door for me.
Three other men came sauntering over with big grins of some kind of sexual anticipation on their faces. I know that kind of leer well enough by now, and it made me a bit uneasy. I've always been nervous in group situations. Nothing I love better than a good wild one-on-one fuck, but the thought of a gang-bang terrifies me. I don't know why that should be.
So I felt very uncomfortable getting out of the cab in my robe, bare-legged and barefoot. I had a terrible feeling that something decidedly unpleasant was in store for me here and I was already sorry I'd come.
And if I had any remaining doubts, Bernie too care of them by the way he introduced me.
"Here it is, boys. You thought I was shitting you? Real Park Avenue goods, and the hottest goddam cunt in New York City, I guarantee. She's all yours." How would he know about my hot cunt, that asshole commando? He never touched my cunt the other night.
I backed up against the car, clutching my robe around me like a terrified virgin. "Oh now-wait a minute here," I said, and my voice was very shrill, on the edge of hysteria. These three were genuine slob-types, out of the same mold a Bernie. Any one of them alone could have socked the living bejeezus out of me and I'd have begged for more, but all three of them in a bunch had me in a cold sweat. My teeth were chattering so much I could hardly speak coherently. "Please, Bernie. Not this. Just one of them. Please. Any one of you. I'll do anything you want, I promise-but only one!"
"Shit, honey-you're pooping the party." Bernie nudged in behind me and reached around and pressed his hands over my boobs. The others were hanging back, a little unsure, apparently not quite believing Bernie's promises and assurances about me. They didn't want to take anything for granted and blunder into a rape charge. They couldn't quite believe by the look of me, I guess, that I was the raging nympho masochist that Bernie had described me to be.
Bernie grabbed my arms then and pinned them behind me. "Go ahead, Sam. Open up her fucking robe. Get a look at the goodies. She's bare-ass under that man-lily-white bare-ass! And all for youse guys. Help yourself."
I began to cry. "No, Bernie-please. Just one, Bernie. I can't do this, Bernie. Please!"
He gave me a knee up the ass. "Shut up your fucking whining. You let out another peep and we'll tape your fucking mouth for you. You fuck I up this party, you cunt, and maybe you won't get home in one piece this time."
So I quit my bellyaching and just grit my teeth and shut my eyes. If I didn't look, maybe I could pretend it was just one man working on me.
I could feel someone fumbling at the front of my robe and then he opened it wide and the chilly air hit my flesh all the way down. Bernie pulled the robe off my shoulders from behind and nudged my rear-end again with his knee, pushing my hips forward.
"Go ahead, youse guys. Move in-grab on.
Don't be ascared of this rich bitch. There's plenty there for everybody-help yourself. She loves it-don't worry. You'll hear her purring like a pussycat and crying for more in a second."
Then I felt their hands start to work on me. Somebody laid a hand over one breast and dug his fingers in, and there was someone else pawing at my pussy. And as soon as they found out for sure that I wasn't about to start screeching bloody murder or struggling to get away from them, they suddenly got much bolder and the real horseplay began. Bernie let go of my arms and pulled my robe off altogether, and then it seemed as if everyone was grabbing and lifting and pulling me in nine different directions at once. One of them clamped onto my head with two huge hands and started slobbering kisses all over my mouth and fucking my throat with his fat tongue.
"Come on, let's bring her inside and get comfortable," Sam suggested.
They picked me up by arms and ankles and ass-cheeks and they rushed me into an inner office and spread my stark carcass over a glass desktop.
Then for the next twenty or thirty minutes they enjoyed the fuckings of me in the good old-fashioned way. Nothing spectacular-just routine pump-offs, belly-to-belly, with their elephant torsos squashing all the breath out of me. It was pretty humdrum doings on my end. I'd calmed down by then from my original panic state, and they hadn't done anything to arouse me to any new peaks of excitement. By that time I was more bored than anything else with the whole stupid business. I wondered why they didn't just go and hire themselves a whore, if this was all they wanted. But I was about to find out that the real panic hadn't even begun yet.
"If youse guys are done finally, let's have a little fun with this cunt," Bernie said.
"What're you gonna do with her?" Sam asked. "Gas her up, maybe?"
"How about lubrication and a car-wash?"
And this bright goddam idea turned out to be no joke. They actually decided in their feeble brains that it would be a million chuckles to give me an honest-to-God grease-job. They hauled me into the shop and laid me out on a rack on my back and taped my ankles and wrists to the goddam foolish thing in a spreadeagle position. I felt like a goddam Aztec human sacrifice. They raised this rack up in the air about six feet high and brought up a barrel of heavy black grease, and I'll be a son of a bitch if they didn't actually go to work at swabbing that yikky crap all over me.
They started around my crotch to begin with, smearing it up into the holes-giggling all the time like a bunch of kids into some dirty mischief-and then they got more and more playful with it as the hilarity mounted and they began spreading whole handfuls of the goddam shit all over my body everywhere.
Talk about stupid childish tricks! What the hell that kind of bullshit has to do with sex is beyond me. It certainly did nothing for me except make me want to throw up. They even smeared that stinking crud in my hair, goddam the bastards!
Then Sam got the bright idea he'd like to try a little playful wrestling match with the "greased pig." So they untaped me and pulled me down off the rack, and then Sam and I began a no-holds-barred free-for-all down in the grease pit, with both of us smeared from head to toe and slipping and sliding all over the place. Absolutely stupid. The others were just about dying laughing-having themselves a fantastic ball-but it was without any doubt the most repulsive experience of my life. I wanted to scream, but every time I opened my mouth I'd get a mouthful of that black shit. Anyway, I was pretty much in a dumb-state of horror by then.
Finally one of the guys said, "I believe you two tar-babies are about ready for a car-wash. Whataya say, Sam?"
They hauled our slimy carcasses out of the pit and the next thing I knew they had me up against ' a concrete wall and dousing me all over with some kind of liquid detergent to loosen up the grease. Sam lathered me up all over and then they turned an ice-cold spray on me from a high-pressure hose. It plastered me against the wall -stabbing into my flesh like the point of a spear. I couldn't move or get my breath. It felt as if I was paralyzed and frozen stiff.
Then they came at me with long-handle stiff-bristle brushes, and was that ever agony! At least it got my blood circulating again and unfroze me, but between the hose and the brushes, my poor hide was rubbed raw from top to bottom. And I must have looked like a drowned cat besides. Stupid jackasses!
Isley-I gather that there was no sexual pleasure at all for you in this kind of treatment?
Selena-Christ no! I don't see anything sexy in that idiotic childs' play. Do you?
Isley-It's interesting that you found this all such a horrible ordeal and apparently it didn't turn you on at all, but a savage beating and bloody sodomy the week before gave you H-bomb orgasms all the way to your fingertips.
Selena-Two different things entirely, (laughs) Maybe if they'd run the hose up my cunt and fucked me with an icy blast of water I might have enjoyed it. I really don't know. I don't understand it myself.
They all helped themselves to one more fuck apiece on me and then Bernie took me home after that. I haven't heard a word from the bastard since, thank God. That night in the garage left me feeling so cruddy, inside and out, I swore to myself that I never wanted to see another man again. I figured I'd recuperate overnight and then tomorrow I'd look up an old bull up an old bulldike lesbian friend of mine who'd give me a good artistic working over, southpaw style. Maybe I'd stick with that scene from then on.
But you know it didn't happen, (laughs) The next day I'd had a change of heart again, and I went out to one of my old bar hangouts and picked up the first bundle of muscles that came along-a young longshoreman. How about that? He beat the crap out of me, gave me two black eyes, fucked me on both ends, and finally took all my money and I had to walk home. At least I got some pleasure out of it though-that's the main thing.
But here I am-right back in my old groove again. Sock it to me, daddy, (sighs) Do you suppose there's any hope for me, Doctor?
Isley-I'm only a reporter, not a therapist. The best thing I can suggest is keep up the payments on your Blue Cross.