Chapter 6
Anthony Fischer III was the grossest man Becky had ever seen outside of a circus. He must have weighed four hundred pounds, and his tiny head bobbed over his gigantic body like a grape stuck to a cantaloupe. He smiled at the trembling, frightened wife, his fat jowls drooping down over the ends of his mouth, and handed her a glass of what he described as the most exquisite Bordeaux of the last fifty years.
It might have been cheap vinegar, for all she enjoyed it. His hands were baby-soft, white and clammy, the nails carefully manicured, and the fat fingers hardly long enough to have all their joints.
"I'm glad you've come to see me, Mrs. Kohn," he said in a slick, mocking voice. "I want to make clear-just in case you have misunderstood-that I am not paying for your company, and most certainly not offering a fine woman like you money for sexual favors." He frowned as though the very idea were distasteful to him.
Becky, sitting lethargically in front of him, her long honey-colored hair combed smooth and flowing down the front of her white dress and resting on the large, high mound of her breast, looked up at him curiously, hopefully.
He smiled his sick smile, his beady eyes laughing at her hope from beneath the folds of fat both over and under his tiny, shaded cavities of eye sockets. He seemed to have no eyebrows. "No, no," he repeated. "You have come here to discuss your husband's campaign with me. I assume that in that in the process, we'll become quite good friends, even," he tipped his round head with its spot of greased-down hair, at her. "Even intimate friends. Of course any decision I may make about contributing to the Kohn Campaign may possibly be influenced by our friendship. But by no means should you consider it a business transaction."
Now the innocent Virginian understood. Not only was she to be degraded and humiliated, but this rich, obscene blimp of a man wasn't even going to admit what he was doing. She took a sip of the wine, and couldn't bring herself to say anything.
"Would you like to see the rest of the apartment?" he said, rising to balance uneasily on his two short legs. Becky rose and followed him, still without a word.
The woman gasped when she saw the room, thinking that it stretched for several blocks, somehow, on this twelfth floor of a downtown luxury apartment building. All the walls were mirrors, set at angles so that she couldn't see the door, or them, across from her. Curiously, she looked around, but couldn't find her reflection. She did see, to her horror, other people, standing or sitting, watching her with wide eyes.
"You notice my companions," the fat tycoon said proudly. "They are expert photographs, using a process developed in one of my research departments, but alas," he shook his fiendishly ugly head sadly, "unprofitable for commercial use. They seem to be looking at you, wherever you are in the room," he perked up. "In fact, they seem to move when you do, to turn and follow you."
Becky was still staring at them. There were a dozen of them ranged around the room, some in smart clothes, some in rags, others wearing overalls. Some were wearing nothing at all. The smartly-dressed people gazed with pursed lips and upturned noses, obviously disapproving of what they saw. An old derelict, his clothes wrinkled, and holding a bottle of cheap liquor, leered obscenely. The maid looked startled, and a naked couple, the man's penis erect and seemingly sticking out of the mirror, it's long shaft hidden behind the thick, round, gaping head, purple with blood, looked on with delight, as though any minute they would step down from the wall to join in the fun. They did seem to move, shifting slightly as she turned, changing positions in the corner of her eye, though when she looked back, they were still the same.
"Try it," Fischer invited her with a comical sweep of his arm and an attempt to bow his immense balloon of a torso.
The retiring young candidate's wife shook her head and tried to back toward the door. It was too eerie as it was. She could almost feel the eyes on her body, probing into her softness, catching at the edges of her clothes, as though to peek under them, to lift them and stare at her naked body.
"I would like you to try it," the vile, fat man repeated, this time with a hardness to his voice and under his smile. "Walk over to the bed."
She had to look for the bed, and she was surprised to see it in the middle of the room, a round bed with white sheets-no covers-so that it was nearly invisible against the white floor. She walked slowly into the room, eyes on the floor. Her breath was short, and her legs felt weak under the gazes and stares of all these strangers torturing her, poking at her, waiting for what she didn't want to think about.
But she could still see them, see them point at her, see them turn to follow her. She even thought once or twice that she saw one of them step out of the mirror and start walking toward her. But each time she cried out and looked up, the figure was still there, just looking, just staring at her breasts, or her hips as she walked.
When she got to the bed, she felt exhausted. She was trembling all over, and wondering if she would be able to walk the distance back to the door when it was over. She turned. She couldn't find the door in all the mirrors, and the lewd, gross pumpkin of a man, Fischer, was nowhere to be seen.
"I'm right here, sweet lady," his mocking, slick voice came from somewhere. She whirled, and tried to pick him out, but none of the figures around her was him. "I wanted to show you another unique feature of these exquisite portraits."
Suddenly all the people started to move, rolling their hips, waving their arms, shaking their heads, moving their lips as though speaking. "They're real!" she shrieked, pulling her trembling shoulders together, as though to hide herself from their sight.
"No, no," the unseen torturer laughed cruelly. "Lights, I can make them move with lights." The terrified, trembling woman didn't believe him. She couldn't tell. "We'd like to see more of you," Fischer said, with scarcely hidden lust lacing his suave voice. "Why don't you take your clothes off for us."
She hesitated, her breath became short gasps, and she could feel shudders of modesty being violated shaking her body. But she remembered Derek, and the thought of him becoming a broken man. This much she could do for him. She could always change her mind later.
She took off her shoes, then sat on the bed and lifted her skirt up to take off her stockings. Somebody whistled, and she jerked it back down to her knees.
"Don't mind me and my admiring friends," the voice of the rich lecher intoned sarcastically. "Come on, my dear, show us those long thighs."
She shut her eyes tight and lifted her dress again. She slid the filmy nylons down the smooth, egg-rich columns of her legs, trying to ignore the whistles and cat-calls, the lewd remarks now coming from all directions. Next she stood up and unzipped her dress, struggling against her shaking to reach around.
"Here, let me help you," a man's voice came, panting passionately from right next to her. She screamed and opened her eyes. No one was there. They all laughed. "Gave you quite a start, eh baby," Fischer laughed uproariously.
She finished taking off her clothes with her eyes open, looking warily around her, trying not to meet the winking, staring eyes that may have been alive, may have been merely pictures. The dress slid over her cream-colored shoulders, baring the long, delicate arm, and then the pink slip-the naive young Virginian had thought he might like that-slithered down her tall, slender body to reveal her flat, white expanse of her stomach, the sensuous little lines crossing it when she bent over.
"Oh, honey," Fischer panted from his hidden post. "That's nice. Turn around so we can all see. That's right! Oh, yes. Now do a little dance for us as you take off the rest."
"I don't dance very well," she pleaded. There were tears rolling down her quivering cheeks. But now that most of her was exposed, it didn't seem so bad. She was getting used to it, even-she didn't want to think about it-even liking it a little bit.
The lewd tycoon sighed impatiently. "If I wanted to see good dancing, I would have brought in a dancer. I want to see you dance while you take off the last of your clothes and make yourself naked for us to look at."
Now the aristocratic streak in her came out, and she called back in her haughtiest southern accent. "Any of your 'friends' know how to play music? Or can they just stand and watch?"
Music flooded into the room, soft flowing music with strains of exotic chords trailing through it. She moved in time to the beat, circling the bed a couple of times before she reached behind her. Her long, smooth legs lifted and fell, spreading and closing in increasingly licentious movements, and her full hips loosening up until they rolled and jerked invitingly, sensually curving her long, weaving spine into curves and bows. Her long, light-brown hair drifted around her head, brushing against her bare back or flicking against the stiff white cups of her bra until it fell forward to reveal the firm, high voluptuous mounds rising up out of her white chest.
She twisted and let the dangling bra slip down her arms and onto the floor. Her breasts bounced in time to her dancing, shaking and quivering agreeably, the cute brown tits tracing circular patterns in the air above her undulating stomach and thrusting, twisting, maddeningly inviting hips. She stuck her thumbs under the elastic waistband of her pink panties-to match the slip-before she realized that she would have to stop dancing to lower them.
She stood still, panting from the exertion of her gyrations as much as from her fright, and slipped the nylon down over her finely-rounded, riveting hips. Her fine, light-brown tuft of pubic hair sprang up from the constriction and seemed to float in the space between and above her legs like a magic pyramid at once hiding and pointing to its mysterious secret. She let the useless garment drop to her ankles, then kicked it out of her way and once more started swaying her naked, sensuous body to the music, flexing and straightening her long, delicious legs and clenching and loosening the smooth, round globes of her ass like a gateway to a passageway calling, beckoning someone into it.
She could still hear the voices calling to her, applauding her dance, applauding her beautiful, sexy body undulating in provocative, lascivious curves and wanton wiggles. But she didn't mind them so much, becoming proud that her body, her dancing could make them excited, make them excited, make them want her.
Without her noticing exactly when it happened, the lights dimmed toward the walls, so that she was dancing in a smaller and smaller circle of light. The figures in the mirrors were still lit, and the intervening darkness made them seem closer, as though they were gathering around her. She writhed and swayed with wild pleasure to their obscene comments and leering eyes.
Suddenly she was aware of someone in the darkness, close to her. She thought at first it was just her imagination, her feeling that the mirror-figures were closing in on her. But then Anthony Fischer III stepped into the light with her in all his obscene, vile glory.
She had never seen so much skin at one time, not even when her whole college volleyball team showered at the same time. He was the most grotesque human being the young, sheltered Virginian had ever come in contact with. She stopped her dancing and cowered before the awful sight. A chill of horror seized her naked, exposed body, shaking it like a dog shakes a kitten it has separated from its protecting mother.
His narrow, livid shoulders perched over the great round blubber of his belly, sheets of white, limp skin hanging in thick, curves like layers of grins across his obscene width. Not a single strand of hair was on the sickening, diseased flesh, nor on his hanging, jiggling arms that ended in his petite, hands, now held out to the beautiful, graceful wife of a golden, god-like politician too honest to let himself fall into his monster's repellant grip.
He had just a wisp or two of thin, straggling black pubic hair above his gigantic penis. It hung down almost to his knees, or would have if it had still been hanging. But it was bobbing in front of his fat-hung thighs, with the gobs of pale flesh swinging back and forth when he walked as though his skin were not attached to his bone.
He smiled evilly at her, walking rapidly toward her cowering, crouched body. "You looked like you were having so much fun, I thought I would come and join you. I'm sure you don't mind, since we are such good friends now."
She couldn't speak, she just stared in utter horror as his massive cock increased its livid size with each heartbeat, pivoting on its base outward toward her.
"But I'm not as young and nimble as you, sweetie, so let's play our games here, shall we?" He twisted his ugly mouth into a cruel grin and motioned her onto the bed. She glanced around in terror, backing away from his threatening advance. "Oh, you couldn't find your way out, my dear, if that's what you're thinking. Besides there's no reason to run away from me. We're friends, remember?"
The horrified young wife shivered, her long back all hunched over, and her hands thrust between her trembling thighs, her large, firm breasts were hanging forward, swinging slightly with her shaking, the brown tips oscillating back and forth that made the softness of her round, luscious breasts apparent to the aroused, beady eyes of her grotesque captor.
"Now, now," he threatened. "You wouldn't want to disappoint my friends, would you?" He motioned with his short, fat arms to the figures in the mirrors. In the back of the terrified mind, she noticed that the music had stopped, and the voices, and all the life-like, watching people were staring at her again.
She whimpered helplessly, and moved as though in a dream onto the white, rough sheets of the round bed. It was a water bed. She set her quivering haunches onto it, her legs tightly clamped together over the brown triangle of pubic hair. The material felt cold to her sweating, tense cheeks as she sat on the sheet. She could feel the water underneath lapping at her ass and thighs, sending sparks of sensation shooting through her.
The huge, nauseating wealthy lecher stood in front of her, his gigantic, pale cock hanging in the air over her creamy thighs. She recoiled from it, leaning back farther and farther as he came closer to the frightened, innocent woman, until she fell back against the rippling surface of the bed behind her.
"That's right," he smiled his grossest, lewdest smile. Her legs were dangling off the edge of the bed. Her muscles felt like water, and she wished for a moment in her terrified delirium that she could seep through the sheet and be diluted in the water that rippled so cheerfully, so safe, under her trembling, fear-tense long, slim back. She couldn't make herself move as she felt her tormentor's hands gently touch her thighs.
She gasped breath after painful breath, and tried to focus all her attention to something else. She stared up to the ceiling, but saw there herself on the bed with the massive upright blimp of Fischer standing over her like some predator that has grounded its prey. It wasn't simply a reflection of the top of them, but somehow, it showed them from the side. She could see the flaps of loose skin hanging from the giant, grotesque figure, and the long white shaft of his penis bobbing and dipping over her like a divining rod. She could also see her tiny, vulnerable body, naked and trembling on the white sheets, her large, firm breasts rising from the flat expanse of her chest invitingly-she grimaced at how attractive they must look to the monster towering over her-and her brown hair fluffed into billows around her head. She could clearly see her terrified eyes staring up at the ceiling.
She was fascinated by the sight of Fischer's horrid hand on her poor, shivering thighs, watching it move up and down against the rich, smooth skin as she could feel it on her leg, the baby-smooth, clammy skin making the skin draw back from the touch in disgust.
She watched, she felt his fleshy fingers slowly push her legs apart. She whimpered once, watching herself exposing her vulnerable, tender genitals to his leering gaze. His now-tepid hands slid slowly up the insides of her thighs, pressing gently against the tender softness.
She jerked uncontrollably as he neared the sensitive private joining of her legs, and tried to pull her knees together reflexively. But he was standing between them, her knees sunk into the dripping, spongy softness of his massive, fat thighs. With a sharp, startled cry of horror, she threw her legs wide apart, parting the soft tuft of pubic hair and exposing the slit of her vagina. She could see him lean forward slightly over her prostrate, spread-eagle body, his eyes rivet-ted on her stretched crotch, now at the cruel tycoon's mercy.
The fat man was panting now as his finger made contact with the tiny strands of her hair, fingering it, tugging playfully at it silky smoothness. She could see her shaking hands flutter to her round, sensuous breasts, covering them as though that could keep them safe from the powerful, horny tyrant.
The humiliation, the degradation that she felt was worse than she could have imagined in her short, pleasant life. She could see, could feel his bleached snail of a human being playing with her most private parts, with parts of her body that even she wasn't supposed to touch, that belonged to Derek, the gorgious god among men who would rise to limitless heights.
She saw the streams of tears on her cheeks before she felt them, winding rivulets of shame across the long, smooth planes as she realized the vulnerable, helpless situation she had gotten herself into. She had to remember why she was here, had to keep her mind on Derek, on his career, and the glory and honor that would one day be his because of what she was going through now in this torture chamber. There was only one way through this, to submit to whatever the rich pervert demanded of her, whatever they might be. If only she could give up her body, turn it over to him to violate and humiliate, and she could wait somewhere for him to be through and give it back. She closed her eyes tight and tried to think of something else, to fill her mind with some pleasant memory. But she couldn't bear it, and had to open her eyes again and keep them fixed in morbid fascination on the scene above her.
His hand slid upward again, across her convulsing belly, up onto the rolling ridges of her rib cage, jerking with her gasping sobs, and to where her hands were locked over her breasts. She waited for him to lift them or push them away. But to her horror, he placed his mushy, sweating hands over hers and began forcing her to knead her own breasts.
She flung her head from side to side, stirring up a tempest of fine brown hair as she felt her own hands, with him guiding, caressing, rubbing, rolling her soft, delicious breasts against her chest, pushing them together, mashing, rotating. Worse, she could feel her tender nipples start to rise, start to harden under this perverse stimulation, until they were digging into her palms as he pushed them down into the rhythmic rising and falling of her terrified panting.
He had moved closer, and she could feel the slimy touch of his tangling scrotum against her spread crotch. She cringed, but could not break the contact with the greasy, softness. She wouldn't look at him directly, but watched his concentration in the mirror above her, watched his pale, round forehead break out in sweat as he looked down on her helpless hands stimulating her large, voluptuous breasts. To her indescribable horror, he looked up and met her eye where she was watching. He winked lewdly as he now, slowly but forcefully pried her hands from her breasts.
She tried to keep her arms limp at her side, but they wouldn't hold still. They kept jerking upward as the pudgy, slimy fingers of the fat, aroused man pinched and prodded the naked tissue, molding it, petting and fondling the yielding flesh. He took both brown nipples in his grips and squeezed until she yelped with pain, then rolled them, twisting the tender, brown puckers of halo back and forth while she writhed helplessly on the rocking surface of the water bed.
He began swaying his massive body in lewd glee at the beauty and helpless accessibility of her spread, naked form. He moved one hand back down across her cringing belly, through the softness of her pubic hair to her warm, tender labia. He squeezed them together, and rubbed his rubbery finger the length of the limp, sensitive glands, until slowly they began to fill with blood, being pumped up despite the wife's terror.
Becky watched his blimp-like, chalk-hued mass rock back and forth, one hand on her breast, the other reaching down to her open crotch, stimulating her private, vulnerable sexual organs against her will. Then she saw in the mirror the figure of a man dressed in formal evening clothes watching her humiliation closely. He seemed to be leaning forward, peering down between her spread legs to get a good look at the violation of her glands. She flushed with new shame, feeling the warm blood rise to her skin, and rush into her naked breasts and, under Fischer's relentless stimulation, into the swelling, reddening lips at the mouth to her vagina.
Tears continued to stream from her eyes as she realized that she had so far lost control of her body that it could be sexually aroused without her consent. She fought against the rising sensations of physical desire in her loins, rushing into her thighs and turning in the pit of her stomach like the larva of a giant parasite on her nerves, uncurling into a writhing, blind worm that would soon devour her, inflame her helpless body and destroy her will, turning her limps and organs into puppets of her externally incited lust.
Already she could feel the pulse of her quickened blood deep in the pure, dark passage of her vagina, and could feel herself becoming moist and warm. Her buttocks were tightening until they ached with the tension, but she couldn't make them relax. Her thighs too, jerked involuntarily, bouncing off the spongy fat of his thighs with sickening slaps.
She was getting a little dizzy now because of her panting, but she kept her eyes on the scene above her, the scene of her own degradation at the hands of this monster, this subhuman creature who had weaseled his perverted way to power over innocent and noble people with his inherited wealth and pitiless cruelty in business affairs. She saw his long, stiff penis hanging over her like a white, fleshy club threatening her, reaching half-way to her throbbing, swelling breasts.
Her moist cunt was getting soft inside, and the guarding lips were becoming firm and hot from the rubbing of his pudgy finger. Suddenly, he slid a finger down into the folds of her slit, probing like a harpooner probing with his lance for the heart of a wounded whale, until he touched the searing point of her clitoris. She shrieked with the painful intensity of the sensation, half-rising from the gushing water bed. But his hand on her breast forced her back down.
"So," he grinned maliciously at her in the mirror and laughed the evilest cackle she had ever heard. "I've touched you." He continued to manipulate the hard pyramid, rising under the stimulation to present itself more fully to his scraping, merciless strokes. He was panting too, and the pale, hanging skin of his immense belly was tinged with pink.
Continuing to scrape her erect, electrifying clitoris with his thumb, the cruel fat man wormed two of his fingers down between the full, red rolls of her vaginal lips into the hot, wet opening. She groaned with humiliation, but also now with relief that he was getting on with it. Maybe it wouldn't last forever after all. His fingers, like writhing slugs, delved into the intimate place, which was supposed to be hers to admit whoever she chose. She could see his arm move back and forth, and could hear the soft slurp of her vaginal juices stirred with his lewd, obscene fingers.
And try as she could, she could feel the rising temperature, the growing intensity of sensation, even of pleasure under his soft strokes, until she was rolling her hips in time to his thrusts, pushing up when he rammed in, so that his short fingers reached farther into her yearning cunt, and his flabby hand slapped against the tight, crimson lips on either side of his violating digits. The smooth, flat muscles of her belly responded too, bucking in sharp, quick contractions, so that her whole body was undulating to the hated, forced strokes of the pudgy, sickening fleshy fingers.
"Now," she heard somebody whisper, and echoes "Now."
"Now." bounced around the room. Was it him? Was it her own voice, asking for the final degradation, the ultimate violation of her chaste, pampered, aristocratic body? Was it them, the watching figures around the walls, leering, staring at the lewd pleasure of her captor and her surrender of even the most basic freedoms and dignities allowed to human being?
He let his hot, sweaty palm slide off of her firm, richly-colored breast, trailing a finger over the risen nipple for one last stimulating rub. He backed away, and she waited, knowing what would come. She felt as though she were under water, as though she couldn't breathe, and hot, thick fluid was all around her, buoying up her listless arms and bobbing her shoulders and head in the syrupy warmth of sensation.
She felt him poise between her legs, his nauseating, livid flesh lightly brushing against her warm, quivering thighs, tense with terrified anticipation. Then she felt it, the hot, pulsing tip of his long, thick cock touching her throbbing, blood-swelled nether lips, brushing against the tuft of pubic hair now soaking with the juices he had made flow out of her violated cunt. Now touching, now pressing, pushing them aside, squeezing the blood out of them as it forced its turgid thickness between them.
She wailed a long, desperate sob as she felt the instrument of her degradation slither down into her, setting her vagina walls on fire with the pressure, with the rubbing of the taut, hot skin of his cock against the hot skin of her cunt. She felt her juices flowing out of the awakened tissue to lubricate the stretched, tortured perimeter of her distended passageway.
And it didn't stop. On and on the insertion continued, stretching the hot, pulsing skin around the thrusting thickness, probing deeper, deeper, until she could feel its blunt end knock against the hard end of her cunt, battering against her tender, secret cervix. She tried to escape the stiff, invading obscene cock, scooting upwards on the bed away from the gross giant standing over her. But he came with her, and to her terror, saw his mountain of white globular fat start coming down on top of her. She could see in the mirror his massive body lean and toppled over her slender, spread-eagle female form now lying in the middle of the bed, his long, thick penis buried in her writhing cunt.
She started to scream, but the weight of his body pressed all the air out of her gasping lungs, and the sudden, hard plunge of his cock against the end of her vagina brought sparks of light dancing in her glazed eyes, and a ringing in her ears. She was impaled on this monster's horrid prick. She thought he had killed her that in her attempt to help her Derek, she had died.
But her humiliation was not over; she was not dead. The yielding surface of the water bed saved her from being crushed by her hippopotamus-sized torturer. His fat, ugly face was next to hers, and she could hear him breathing heavily, the vile-smelling sweat running down his face and covering up his sickly-sweet, expensive cologne. The waves reverberated in the oversized bed, and crashed under her, throwing her battered body helplessly up against the drooping, anemic flesh that held her down.
Fischer was used to his body, and used to the water bed. Apparently he did this sort of thing a lot. He caught the rhythm of the waves and used them to lift his massive hulk from the tiny, flattened body of his victim, withdrawing his long cock until it almost came out of her stretched, aching cunt. Then in again he thrust it, feeling it slide against the lubricated walls of her hot, unresisting passage. He could sense the tightness in her muscles, and the excitement that was growing in her, against her will. And it gave him a pleasure he could feel in his thrusting, pumping loins. It was easy to enslave people with money; that bored him now. Now he could use his body, that was so gross and ugly that people winced when they saw it, to make people slaves of their own lust.
The innocent wife, born and bred for elegant dining in the staterooms of the capitals of the world, felt as though she were drowning under tons of decaying, putrefying flesh, at the bottom of some garbage pit. She could see past her tormentor's tiny, black-haired head to the mirror above, where his gigantic form was bouncing up and down on the water bed and the well-dressed man was looking on with obscene delight from the edge of the room.
His powerful strokes, pneumatically increased by the crashing waves of the water bed, were long, longer than she had ever felt. It seemed to go on forever, thrusting up into her violated chamber of pure love until she felt her bones bend under the strain, then reverse directions and for another eternity scour the burning walls of her aroused cunt almost as fast as they could lay down new layers of lubricating, thick, fluid.
The sensations grew more intense as her bodily functions took over from her mental distress. She could feel her ravaged loins responding to his deep, long thrusts with the same pleasure they would to Derek's loving caresses. Her breathing matched the tempo of his lewd pounding into her, and her legs jittered in excitement, trapped by the flood of sweating fat pressing them down into the resilient surface of the water bed.
She abandoned herself to lust, her eyes locked onto the obscene, bouncing slug-like figure in the mirror, and her mind submerged in the whirling thrills of sexual feeling growing more intense in her pinned, convulsing body. Her cunt was like a boiling cauldron, the distended walls spewing out juices at the urging of the thick, driving cock passing through, faster and faster until the nerve ending seemed ready to burn out with the overload of sensation.
She inhaled at the crest of the wave, when the massive weight was lifted for an instant from her body. Then it crashed down again, flattening her firm, high breasts against her chest and poking the hard nipples painfully into the soft tissue, pressing her into the water, which rose under the sheet on all sides of her to meet the drooping flesh of the fat tycoon, surrounding her with sickening, marshmallow softness, and forcing all the air out of her in long, pitiful wails.
She was going to come! She could feel that ultimate degradation closing in on her, firing the tender walls of her cunt and knotting her belly into balls of growing passion. It would be her ultimate betrayal, condoning the perverse malignity of the cruel lecher who had taken complete control of her body, and now her mind as well. She couldn't breathe fast enough! Her vagina walls seemed to expand, to melt into liquid fire surrounding the thrusting, chaffing cock. And then the whole universe lit up with waves of sparks too bright to have color, and screaming beyond sound, beyond hearing. Her legs jerked uncontrollably in fits of fulfilled lust, sinking into their white, soft prison of flesh. Her arms reflexively pushed against the slimy bulk of human decadence on top of her, ineffectually bunching up the loose skin into deep folds at his side.
Then she was looking in the mirror again, and through her fog, though she could see a figure doubled over with laughter, pointing at her exhibition of humiliation, her public debasement. For an instant she thought it was the crude reporter again, who had insulted her before she joined the campaign, and had been hanging around ever since, never missing a chance to wink lewdly at her or make some obscene comment. Then it was another figure, the street ass, then the maid in her short skirted uniform carrying a tray, then the naked couple, feeling each other's bodies and watching with erotic appreciation at her degradation.
She hovered at the electric edge of orgasm, like a storm cloud ready to discharge its lightning again and again. The pounding, surging, thrust of Fischer's burning cock continued unabated, accelerating slowly, relentlessly, building up the savagery of the whipping water that was his ally, and she realized with horror that her climax would not stop him, would not slow him down. That whatever she did, whatever happened to her was just a minor incident in the huge, overwhelming desire of the bloated businessman. Twice more she felt her cunt explode inside her, the flowing juices of her released passion gushing out of her, running down her crotch and between the cheeks of her ass to her anus, settling there and itching torturously where there was no chance in the world to get to it.
By then his thrusts had grown so wild and fast, his plunging into her aching cunt so deep that she felt like a small piece of driftwood in the fury of the storm-frothed surf. When she thought she could stand no more, when her endurance was drawn tight and thin as a screeching bowstring, she felt a rumble begin in the depths of his flabby, shaking body. His hard rutting started to get erratic, and the water underneath her broke into wild surges without rhythm, so that she was buffeted mercilessly from both sides.
The rumble grew into a distinct growl, and she felt his driving, fiery cock swell again, until her skin was stretched taut around it and vibrated as it thrust its relentless passage through. Her scream was punctured by gasps caused by the blows of weight on her ravaged, flattened breasts as he bucked, rising and falling like a lust maddened sea lion, flailing and thrashing above her, his short arms and legs waving in the air like the legs of a dying beetle.
The growl grew into a bellow that vibrated the water under her sore back into ripples that threatened to tear the skin of the water bed into shreds. He stiffened, his thick slug body arched and his head thrown back on his fat-hung neck, his whole unthinkable weight focused on the fulcrum of his cock buried in her poor, violated cunt.
She felt as though the obscene tip of his burning cock was coming up her gagging throat, and she tried to swallow to keep it down, but her muscles were no longer under her control, and she was trying to scream at the same time, with as little success. Then, like the searing, devastating molten lava from an erupting volcano, his sperm shot into her sensitive cunt, quickly filling up its stretched, enlarged interior with its slimy, thick whiteness and spewing out the mouth of her vagina, forcing its way along between her smooth, rich skin and the folds of his bleached, limp blubber until she was covering with hot slime all over her crotch, her thighs, her ass, and her belly. She shuddered, and shuddered again, and again until she was trembling with horror, with nauseous disgust. And finally, at long last, the merciful soothing oblivion of cool, dark unconsciousness washed over her ravished senses, obliterating everything but the faraway sound of laughter.