Chapter 5
The rest of the afternoon passed in friendly girl-talk conversation, switching back and forth from English to French (although the girl, whose name was Marie-Helene, simply put her to shame as a linguist). Nan's one successful attempt to master her timidity-her impulsive offer of dinner to the girl-was all she managed to muster. She had shot her bolt, and was content for Marie-Helene to lead the conversation where she would the rest of the day.
Similarly, despite Marie-Helen's urging, Nan could not force herself to take off the remaining bikini bottoms. Baring her breasts on a public beach was the limit of her bravery, it appeared. Marie-Helene, who was certainly a lot farther down the road to liberation than she, kidded her impishly about this, and brought blushes to her cheek time and again with her comments, lusty and appraising, on the men who passed, clothed and nude, speculating on how this one or that would do between the sheets.
Nan grew fond of her in the course of the one afternoon, and found herself enjoying the girlish conversation immensely. It took her a while to figure this out. Marie-Helene was pretty, young, lusty, and outgoing; but her mind was commonplace. No matter; it was a commonplaceness she knew already from somewhere, a reassuring sort of everydayish dullness that made for good friendships. Where had she come across this sort of thing before? she wondered.
And then, just as she was helping Marie-Helene into first her bikini, then into the little dress she had worn over it to the beach, it hit her. It was like school again. like her first year in boarding school, after the scholarship had come in at Bryn Mawr. The innocently smutty confidences shared, the matter-of-fact quality of casual friendship...how nice it was, after all these years! And, as she thought this, Nan felt a little thrill of affection go out from her to her new friend. Helping her into the little jacket that came with the dress, Nan impulsively gave her a little hug, one which led to an immediate reaction in herself. She pulled back and blushed, a hesitant smile on her face.
"Oh," she said. "I...I couldn't help doing that. It's just that....My husband died some time ago, and I haven't had any friends of my own for so long...I've been lonely, you know."
Marie-Helene studied her with grave eyes. Then her warm, crinkly-eyed smile returned. "Oh, yes," she said. "I understand, my dear. And I like you too. Here, let me help you." She held up Nan's bikini top for her to put on. "Here," she said. "Ah, void les petits tetons...you know, you're most lovely. I think we shall become great friends.
Nan agreed, and she found herself blushing again as she finished dressing with Marie-Helene's help and stuffed her blanket into the beach bag the hotel had given her.
As she zipped it up she caught Marie-Helene's eyes on the bag. "La!" the girl said. "You are staying there?" Nan looked up to find the girl's eyes first large and impressed, then narrowing to a certain squint she could, perhaps, blame on the slanting rays of the late afternoon sun. She knew the look, she thought. When people found out you were in an utterly different financial bracket from them they often tended to look at you in a correspondingly different way.
"Why...why yes," she said. "I...my late Husband's business manager got me reservations." It was a fie but it seemed the right one to tell now.
"Oh," said Marie-Helene. "You must be . .sfie smiled the impish smile again..."the poor little rich girl."
Nan couldn't not smile back now. "I suppose I am. But how empty my fife has been. I'm sure your life must have been much richer, much happier. You're so assured, and I have to...oh, you know...drink a lot before I can force myself to do anything odd or new."
"My poor little rich girl," Marie-Helene teased, grasping Nan's hands impulsively. "No, there, pauvre petite. I will not tease you." And, standing on tiptoes-how tiny, how delicate, she was, after all-she reached up to give Nan a sisterly kiss on the cheek.
"Now let us go. I am...how you say...starving to the death."
At dinner they sat head-to-head like a pair of teen-aged girls, sharing each other's meal. "Here, try a bit of this...a morsel of that...." And Nan, under the influence of her new friend as much as that of the excellent wine the waiter had brought, found a warm and mellow glow spreading out over her as the meal drew to an unhurried close. She found herself confiding in the girl about some, not all, of her recent mental ups and downs. She told about her sexy fantasies, but not about poor Helga. She told of dreaming of an incident like the one at Nice...but she did not tell of its actually happening, and she placed the dream safely back at Bal Harbour. And as she talked, the pretty brown hands came across the table and held hers, and-this was surprising in its intimacy-a pair of supple bare feet, kicked free of the beach clogs Marie-Helene had been wearing, sought hers under the table, warmly rubbing her insteps and ankles. Under the influence of the wine, Nan's mental protests slipped silently away; the contact seemed so innocent, so much a piece with Marie-Helene's unashamedly tactile approach to life, that she abandoned herself to the sensation and, squeezed her friend's hands back.
A glass of brandy afterwards: "Nan, my dear," the girl said, "you know what Td really like right now? Tonight?" Her brown face with its flashing eyes was inches from Nan's. But, strangely enough, Nan got very little of the sort of vibrations from Marie-Helene that had surfaced in poor Helga after months of repression. "I'd like...I'd like to call up a couple of men friends of mine. To...well, you know...have, how yon say it, a party?" She squeezed Nan's hand. "Would you like that?"
Nan blinked; then the brandy got to her, and the new and more daring Nan took over for a moment "Yes, I...I think I'd like that" she said, blushing again. Her head was a little giddy; they'd had the better part of a magnum together, and the brandy topped this off splendidly. "You...you know a couple of nice men? Young, handsome?"
"Lovely men," Marie-Helene said. "I have been with both. They are both wonderful lovers. May I call them? Marc works in a bar; he will be off duty at. . . " she looked at her watch. "In an hour. We can drive down to Louis's house and.. . "
"No," said Nan impulsively. "I have this marvelous big suite of rooms, with this lovely romantic balcony. Let's go to my place." What was getting into her? She could hardly imagine herself saying these things. "I...well go through my wardrobe. I have some lovely sexy things for us to wear."
Marie-Helene smiled; her own face was flushed from the wine. "Oh, yes...well drive them crazy." She reached forward and caressed Nan's face with an innocently sensuous gesture; her bare soles, under the table, clasped Nan's foot warmly as their knees touched. 'I'll call the waiter...."
The hotel management would undoubtedly have complained violently at having to supply champagne and the makings of a midnight snack-caviar, pate--the whole spread-so late in the evening except for the intervention of Lucien, the steward, who had, during the day, bothered to inquire through banking channels about the mysterious Mrs. Mikell who could so easily get reservations at the exclusive hotel When the word came down, however, the staff responded with that special panache hotel men reserve for the sort of guest whose bills are paid at a distance by people hired to do that sort of thing. The appointments they managed, on a moment's notice, were lavish; the staffs disappointment was visible as the girls dismissed the servants the hotel had sent up to keep a fresh bottle of champagne forever on the ice, and fresh hors d'oeuvre on the little silver trays.
Nan and Marie-Helene shooed them out happily; an air of eager anticipation hung over the entire venture. Nan poured champagne for the two; they toasted Nan's new-found freedom and admired each other's looks as the wine went through them, casting a delightful glow over it all. "You look marvelous," Nan said to the girl "You should dress this way all of the time."
And to be sure, Marie-Helene was a delightful sight. Nan had dug out a diaphanous gown, meant only for the boudoir, for her, and she'd donned it over nothing more than her bare skin. Now, the sensuous-looking brown nipples peeped out through the thin cloth, and the nudity of her belly was accentuated by a golden waist bracelet Nan had found for her. Nan had blushed, during their toilette, to see the girl borrow rouge from Nan's makeup bag and deftly enhance the pink glow around the outer lips of her vagina with it She fancied the rosy tint was almost visible through the girl's all-but-totally-transparent outfit
Marie-Helene had insisted on dressing Nan, from the skin out Beneath the cloth, she insisted, Nan must wear nothing but jewels, and she proceeded to empty Nan's jewel box to deck her out in a rich assortment of golden trinkets; through the translucent gown Marie-Helene had picked out for her, one could see not only the secrets of Nan's lovely body but the rich treasure trove of rubies, diamonds and emeralds Ed had bought for her. "But Marie . . ." Nan had said. "All of it together? All of it? Isn't it a little much?"
"No," the girl had said, bending to kiss her pertly on one nipple. "Think of how much fun darling Marc will have taking it all off you." And thus, neck and belly and fingers and toes glimmering through the floor-length gown, Nan awaited her date for the evening. Standing on the deep pile rug, she rubbed her sensitive, all-but-naked bottom against the refreshment table, her heart pounding with excitement Was this Nan Mikell doing this? she wondered, her head reeling somewhat from the very dry champagne. And, more than once as she waited, she'd have run away...if there'd been anywhere to run to.
Marc-big, thick-necked, shockingly virile, a former boxer, he said-and Louis, a rough-diamond type bearing a striking resemblance to Jean-Paul Belmondo, were excitingly domineering and brusque in their first dealings with the girls. Marc's first kiss was hardly tentative, exploratory; his lips bruised hers, his long thick tongue explored the inside of her mouth with a proprietary bluntness. And his big hands were immediately on her body, not touching but grasping. Almost immediately she felt the shock of having his hand invade her body-which only showed how wet and receptive she already was down there.
How exciting! she thought And, her head reeling from the champagne already, she downed another goblet of the bubbly stuff; a new, abandoned, silvery laugh issuing from the new Nan, a strange and independent creature brought forth by the holy drunkenness the wine had brought upon her. "Here," she said, putting down the glass and unbuttoning Marc's dark shirt to show the thick mat of hair on his chest Tm glad to see you. Let me." He didn't understand a word of English, and she hadn't made out a single complete phrase of the rough waterfront argot in which he and Marie-Helene conversed. No matter. They were entering a stage where words did not make the slightest difference....
An hour later, so drunk she could barely speak, Nan Mikell, hair disheveled, naked both of gown and of the pile of jewelry that lay neglected on the rug, lay face down on the end of the big bed, her belly supported by two thick down pillows, and felt the long, amazingly thick cock of Louis-the Behnondo type-inching its way up her anus, one tentative thrust at a time. She was crying; there was blood on the bed; somebody had done this to her before, and it'd hurt even worse then. Her rear was already, she thought, crammed full of her blood and two men's come, and she hardly thought Louis should take so long in entering this once. Put it in, fuck me, come in me, and get it over with, for God's sake, her mind told him. But her mouth, pressed into the bed by the strong hands of the man in front of her-Marc? Yes, that was his name-could say nothing.
It was amazing how she'd begun to understand them. The argot had become intelligible, a little at a time, as she'd been repeatedly had by both men (where was the girl? Marie something? What was her name?) in a variety of ways; she now could make out almost anything they said to each other. It was not direct; her mind had to translate, automatically, and there was a bit of a lag. But she could get their drift the whole time.
Now Marc was saying to him: "Got it in, baby? All right. All right. Now perhaps...yes. Now we play seesaw. Yes. I hold her. Now all the way in.. . " And suddenly the huge rod rammed brutally all the way inside her; a pang of almost unbearable pain went through her (why didn't she scream? Was this real? Was it a dream, perhaps?) as the unseen apache behind her buried his penis in her behind, all the way to the hair. She heard a savage grunt out of him, and she felt the hard thighs nestled against her own. "All right," Marc said. "Now I have myself some fun."
And she felt his big hands lift her face off the bed and set her hands for her, under her shoulders, holding her upper torso up. At the same moment Louis' unseen hands lifted her hips free, his hard cock still inside her, and pointed her knees toward the bed. She now knelt on all fours on the end of the bed. Louis, impaling her from the rear, stood behind her, his feet on the floor. And Marc, on his knees before her on the bed, forced her face up to look at him.
There, her mind said, there it was again, that long, thin, and slightly crooked penis of his: no bigger around than a small-to-average man's, but incredibly long and as hard as a breadstick and with a slight bend to the left. It was so long that he couldn't get all of it in her, quite; it reached the cervix and battered her unmercifully the one time he'd taken her in the conventional, man-on-top way. It had bloodied her rectum so badly when he'd speared her there that she'd thought she had broken a blood vessel. She'd cried for help, for a doctor; but it'd stopped soon afterward and they'd forced more champagne down her to silence her bellowing. After that he'd had her suck him, and he'd slapped her hard when she hadn't done it right. (And where, where was Marie-Helene while all this was going on? Her befuddled, alcohol-blurred mind had no memory of what had happened to the girl.)
Now, it appeared, that was what he wanted this time. Only she was to do it in this awkward position, with her neck stretched out like a giraffe's, with this beast behind her tearing her anus apart with that unmercifully fat and brutal rod of his. Her eyes blurred with a sudden rush of tears, she abandoned herself to the experience; perhaps if she did what they wanted, and didn't complain, they'd just finish with her and go away soon. (And where, oh where, was Marie-Helene?)
So she balled her helpless hands, holding up her torso, into fists and opened her mouth wide for the giant cock-nine, ten inches at least!-before her, and stifled her own impulse to gag as the long, thin rod came inside her. The last time she'd gagged he had nearly knocked her cold. And as this other penis invaded her, she took a deep breath, breathing through her nose, and stretched her neck out in a line. She knew what he wanted now. He wanted to get all of it inside her, and if she reacted in any but the most passive and accepting of ways he'd beat the daylights out of her. So she strained forward, her lips open, her teeth pulled back to keep from touching him, and let the long cock slide slowly and carefully down her throat. At the uvula she had to repress another impulse to gag, but she stopped it this time. It was amazing what you could do if you had to....
And now, her body used and abused in the most insulting of ways, her mind began a strange and abstract speculation on the nature of what was happening to her. Somehow, for instance, she could imagine that it would be quite possible for a woman to be used this way-even, as now, by two men with nothing more on their minds than their own brutal pleasure-and enjoy it; be turned on by it; even have joyful, screaming, deliciously abandoned orgasms from it There was a tiny part of her that understood this (and a much larger part of her that was thoroughly shocked by the fact).
But herself-it wasn't the act that mattered. It wasn't even important about the pain. If there had been just one more element there...tenderness, even pity, perhaps...she could have stood the pain and rejoiced inside as the man's semen shot hotly inside her, reaming her, raping her, making the tortured flesh of her rectum open wide for his savagely invading cock. She might even have felt her mind give way, slowly, slowly, then felt the floodgates of emotion and desire thrown wide open, letting her come with him even as he ripped her open in this humiliating and degrading fashion (Yes, yes! her mind said now. Yes, I'd love it-even if it hurt, and hurt, the way this does now!). But this way? With nobody asking her? With God!-nobody even telling her she had to do it for him, only these two devils holding her prisoner and talking over her head to each other as they did it, as if she were some sort of animal, some piece, even, of inanimate furniture. No, no, she couldn't enjoy it this way. But...but.. .
Her eyes opened now. They were watering; she blinked the tears away. She could see his hairy belly, ending in a thick blanket of pubic hair just past the edge of her vision. He was more than halfway down her throat now, edging forward gingerly. It was not consideration for her; he did not want her to gag because it would spoil his pleasure if she did. In some strange way, it occurred to her now, the sexual act they were engaged in was something between the two men; to her, she was not involved at all as a person. Witness the fact that her vagina, after Marc's first inconclusive attempt to have her the ordinary way, had been neglected utterly. Her little clitoris hadn't been touched; the eager lips of her cunt had been left quite alone. She couldn't understand this.... But she was shocked out of her reverie as his body moved, now, and the long penis slid all the way in; her nose was buried in the dark forest of his pubic hair.
"Ecoutez," Marc said above her. "Cest Men en-gagie."
In answer, behind her, she felt the thick cock inside her anus twitch with excitement-excitement at the other man's feat of getting the gigantic length of his prick inside the woman's mouth. "Ahhh, Marc," the other man said in a hoarse simper. And his buttocks pulled the big cock back precisely as Marc pulled back on the other end. They were fucking Her in rhythm, now, she thought Each pulled out each thrust softly forward, together, their minds on each other, their eyes-she knew it without looking-on each other's. She could even, in her mind's eye, see them making excited little moues at each other as their buttocks moved in a slow and ponderous rhythm, making little lovers' faces at each other....
Something unseen above her, then, dealt Marc's body a sharp blow, and the rhythm stopped. She heard Marie-Helene's voice say: "Hey! The jewels and the money are in the bag! You two can fuck each other some other time! Let's get out of here"
"Hey," Marc said. "You just wait a minute!" His voice was no longer the waterfront tough's; it sounded like a female impersonator doing Edith Piaf or someone. Another blow shook his body, and he fell back, his rod going limp as his falling body, tumbling backward off the bed, pulled it free of Nan's tortured and violated throat. She gasped for air, looking up. Marie-Helene stood over the bed, fully dressed in her beach outfit, her beach bag dangling from one hand, stuffed full-Nan suddenly realized-with all the baubles the French girl had insisted on putting on her that evening. Of course! Of course! What better way of getting her to show them all her valuables? So that they could steal them? She looked up at Marie-Helene with glazed eyes.
"Get dressed," the girl said to Marc now. "You guys have been getting all the fun while I do the dirty work." She looked down at Nan now. "Merde," she said, a sour look on her face. "He's really got that thing up your ass, hasn't he, my dear? Hramm.. .You know, that's making me hot. You...Damn it, Marc! Get dressed! She's got time to eat my box while you get your damned fairy panties on. Loulou?" she said to the man behind Nan, who was beginning the slow back-and-forth motion again. "Oh, all right, bugger the bitch. But then you get your little sailor suit on and get out of here." She smiled a mean, hard smile down at Nan Mikell, dropped the bag, and hiked her skirt up above her waist; she wore nothing beneath it. And now she climbed upon the bed, belly up, before Nan and kicked her naked legs high, waving the rouged lips of her hairless slit in Nan's face-heavens! She'd rouged the entire length of her little clit, which stood up proud and aroused-and held herself wide open for Nan's attack, with her little brown fingers.
"Okay, baby," she said in English, deserting for the first time in hours the. gutter Marseilles argot the three used among each other, "lick me out And you, Loulou-keep it up. Let's see if it does anything for her tongue work...."
Still resigned, Nan Mikell bent to her task. And, strangely enough-it must be the champagne-found herself warming to the job. That red little clit before her was so tasty-looking...so tempting....She put her tongue to it just as Louis' battering-ram prick rammed her heavily from the rear. A tearing pain shot through her bottom again; she screamed feebly; the blow rammed her entire face into the wide-open, shaven-clean-as-a-baby's vaginal cleft before her, smearing the girl's juices all over her eyes and nose and mouth and cheeks. A savage shiver of some utterly new emotion went through her as the girl below her screamed with passion. And, her eyes bleary with rage, she dived on the red and straining clit sucking wildly on it licking it, worrying it with her lips the way a dog worries a bone with his front teeth.
Marie-Helene went crazy beneath her. Her high-pitched screams sliced through the night air as Nan renewed her furious, fiercely aggressive assault on the girl's vagina. The sight and the sounds evidently excited Louis; his attack on Nan's rear increased in velocity and brutality; his own hoarse moans and groans of passion became audible even through Marie-Helene's screams; and the moment Nan could feel his cock pulsing with seed, ready to come inside her, she dived on the girl's hairless slit with renewed ferocity. And the bursting package of blazing-hot sperm that tore into her insides was met at almost the same instant by an orgasm in the brown girl on the bed, who shrieked like a banshee and kicked her bare legs like a madwoman....
They went out the window a scant fifteen minutes later, leaving Nan tied, naked, smeared with the juices of all three as well as her own blood, to a chair. She was bleary-eyed with drink, but the entire experience was getting clearer, not dimmer, in her mind with every passing moment as she struggled feebly to get free. She'd learned a lot
"Lesson two," she said bitterly to herself through the silk gag in her mouth, "all men aren't necessarily men."
But another thought was forcing itself into Her mind, unbidden. There may, she was thinking, be one more lesson from this, one having to do with women and whether or not they were necessarily women. The thought was, in a way, more shocking than the entire rest of the experience.
She, Nan Mikell, had come herself, at precisely the same moment when Marie-Helene had....