Chapter 2
"Shut your mouth, you stupid, fucking bitch!" Bob exclaims, as he smashes her across the mouth, open-handed, forehand and back.
And wishes that it were Gracie.
But it isn't.
Just as he isn't really Bob, at the moment, but Bob's alter ego.
Or perhaps this is the real Bob and that other, out there in the normal world, is the fake, the actor, the put-on, the pretence.
No time for such philosophical meanderings now, however.
No, this is the time and the place for action.
The eccentric club member's donation of this abandoned old mansion, far out on Long Island, away from every other structure, well removed from the main highway in one of the last few such isolated locales is just perfect for the use to which Bob and his fellow freaky fiends are putting it.
Club.
Some club.
A loose association of sickos and perverts contacted by the mysterious Scribe for just such conclaves as this, you never knew with whom or with what you might end up dealing.
Much to the chagrin of the woman who, looking for a few cheap thrills, has fallen into the clutches of monster Bob.
She is big and blonde like Gracie, but quite a bit heavier, bordering on the fat.
And she has come here tonight to "get grabbed", a friend of hers having long ago inducted her into the ways of this particular "crowd".
A widow of considerable means, she looks forward to getting her notices from the Scribe and has not missed a conclave.
Where she wanders through the site of the evening's festivities in cape and black leather hood, her leather corset pushing up her large breasts, making them stand up and out like two dangerous warheads with their large nipples.
Black mesh stockings secured in place by a garter belt and high-heeled boots complete the costume, leaving the large, hairy vee of her crotch exposed, as well as the rounded promontories of her big buttocks.
And she loves to wander the dark corridors of some old mansion like this, the warrens of some vast cavern complex, the mysteriously whispering open enclosure of some dark forest at midnight - wherever, as long as there is the possibility of her encountering some similarly clad male fiend, who can be relied upon to abuse and rape her.
Which is no rape at all, but precisely the encounter she was seeking.
Especially if the man is large and strong and very virile.
But here, now, she begins to suspect that she has bitten off more than she can chew.
Because this man is sexy, yes; that much is evident, judging by the size of his swinging meat, in such prominent view against his pale skin, even here in the darkness, which is so dense as to conceal his black-hooded visage and his black-booted lower legs and feet.
So that he seems partially decapitated, only mouth and chin showing.
And he also seems to be somehow floating in the air, over a foot off the ground, since his legs, from mid-calf down, are invisible, dark-booted in a dark place.
"Oh! I didn't see you there!"
Expression of half-pretended, half real surprise as, wandering into an unlit bedroom, she suddenly encountered him.
And that was all that she said.
But that alone was enough to earn her the admonition to silence, accompanied by the slapping around, no holding back, which snapped her head sharply to left and right, propelling her backwards onto a huge old, four-poster bed.
And now, straddling her big boobs, muscular arms reaching out, hands grasping the posts at the head of the bed, he swings his big, heavy cock back and forth so that it continues to strike her face.
And these blows are not light by any means.
Still, she finds something exquisitely lascivious and exciting about being smashed back and forth by a long, thick, vibrant, hot cock.
The idea that it should be, that it is a cock which is thus inflicting punishment upon her, as opposed to a whip or a club or even a hand, well, that excites her, intrigues her, makes her partially forget the full force of the slaps he gave her that got her onto the bed.
As well as ignoring the faint taste of her own blood, from where the force of his blows caused her teeth to lacerate the insides of her cheeks.
And now, she feels his cock actually getting hard, as it continues to slap her.
Until suddenly, it lifts on its own.
So that he is no longer able to swing his beef, which now bobbles above her face, big balls hanging down.
But not for long.
Because now he is stuffing the plum of his knob into her mouth.
"Here you go, you stupid, worthless, cunt!" Bob rasps, not even recognizing the sound of his own voice, so changed, so menacing and strange has it become.
And she tries to say something, but cannot talk with her mouth full.
And Bob chuckles cynically, fiendishly.
"That's right, bitch! Talk all you want now. But you're gonna gobble my goose until I pull it out and stick it in you."
And, still straddling her breasts, he resumes his grip on the corner posts at the head of the bed and begins pumping his hips, literally fucking her in the face.
And she obligingly holds her mouth open, keeping up just the right pressure of lips and tongue, turning her mouth into a sex organ.
The other Bob, the ordinary Bob, would have been quite pleased, very comfortable, content to go all the way with such a blowjob.
But the monster, the fiend, is not satisfied, no matter that it feels marvelous.
No, he must verbally abuse her.
He, who will not allow her to speak, torments her with an endless stream of threat and invective, any or all of which would be absolutely terrifying to her, should any of it be true, should he carry out the least of his threats.
And they are isolated here, engaged in what is almost certainly illegal activities.
Not that that is a consideration at the moment.
Because they are miles from the long arm of the law.
They are, in fact, miles from not only authority but from any form of assistance as well.
No, viewed in that light, she is truly, well and hopelessly trapped, no question.
And this fiend, this large, powerful, irresistible monster is absolutely free to do with her whatever he pleases.
"You'd better suck that big bastard for all you're worth, you worthless cunt, you horny fucking piece of shit!"
"I could tear you limb from limb!"
"I could eat the flesh from your bones and all you could do would be lie there and scream your lungs out, for all the good that would do you!"
"I could break every bone in your body and just leave you here to die!"
"I could ... "
And the list of "I could's" goes on and on, each more horrifying than the last.
And her only comfort is that she is giving him such a great blowjob that he is apparently content to just stay here like this, issuing his endless stream of threats which are, hopefully, completely without meaning.
But now, she experiences a thrill of apprehension, gooseflesh covering her body, as he pulls away from her mouth and dismounts.
Oh, no! she thinks. What's coming next?
But she has not long to wait as, suddenly, without warning, he flips her over, onto her stomach.
And yanks her hips into the air, forcing her onto knees and elbows.
"But I don't-"
Whack!
And she feels the sharp pain, sees bright lights inside her head, as he smacks her on the back of her leather hood, the blow resounding sharply off the walls of the vast, dark bed chamber.
"You don't what?" he snarls. "You don't take it up the ass?
"Got news for you, bitch! You take it any way I choose to give it to you, got that?"
"And right now, I choose-this!"
"Yaaagh!"
She screams this last, as he shoves his huge prong all the way into her rectum, taking advantage of the lubrication afforded by her saliva on the head of his cock.
"Make one more sound! Say one more fucking word! Go ahead, I dare you!"
"I hear a peep, and I cave the back of your fucking skull in with my fist and end up fucking your corpse in the ass."
"That what you want, cunt?"
"Good! You're learning. Any reply would have cost you dearly."
And he begins humping away in her ass, which, mercifully, as it turns out, is large enough inside to accommodate him, if not comfortably at first, then at least without the invasion's doing any serious damage.
If only someone else would come right now, the woman thinks.
And then realizes how stupid that is.
Who is going to show up-the cavalry?
No, more likely would be more of the same.
Or worse.
Although nothing could be worse than this one, if he does even one of the things he so glibly threatens.
She is not used to this.
Either men are talk or they are action.
And this one is both, which makes him all the more frightening.
She cannot read him, cannot figure out what he might or might not actually do.
He doesn't want her to talk; that much she knows.
Or maybe it's that he really does, so that he will have an excuse to do any of the horrible things he threatens.
Whatever, she is not at her ease with him, is not comfortable with him, and that is not merely because he is fucking her in the ass.
Actually, she rather enjoys getting fucked in the ass, from time to time.
And, physically speaking, this fiend is her type.
She likes them big and beefy and hung. And she also likes rough stuff. But she has learned to tell when there's a difference, when there's something more behind the blows than fun and games.
And this is definitely not a fun and games type guy.
He's after something, and her very life could depend on learning what. Could or could not. That's the other thing.
Is she over-reacting to some blows which were, perhaps, unduly hard because he is not used to these scenes?
So difficult, so very difficult to tell them apart, the way they all wear the same costume.
Just as she herself wears the female equivalent there of.
So much nicer in the good old days, when there actually was an organization called the Club, which met regularly at a place called Buck's Castle upstate.
Where a character called the Seneschal monitored everything. There, she felt safe, comfortable.
Every other week, a romp through the corridors and chambers of the Castle.
But the Castle was destroyed, some say by accident, some by sabotage.
This latter is probably correct, she thinks. How could an edifice of cinder block and concrete suddenly fill with smoke, alerting the fire department and the highway patrol, who, discovering what was happening there quite by accident, nevertheless closed the place down.
Indeed, the woman was fortunate to have evaded the roundup of the members, making good a shaky escape in her car, risking a long drive, scantily and bizarrely clad.
Randy Buck, the sports magnate and owner of the place, professed extreme surprise at the goings on on his property, the activity of one of his subordinates, according to the papers.
But whatever the case, the fact remains that the Castle has been converted into an orphanage and it and the Club are no more.
And now, everything is helter-skelter.
And nothing is organized and the risks are real, more real than she ever bargained for, as witness the present situation.
Because this maniac-and she has come to sincerely believe that that is exactly what he is-is fully capable of maiming or even killing her.
And there is nobody and nothing here to stop him.
There is no Seneschal to monitor the activities and step in if things get too rough.
There is not even a definition of "too rough" operating here.
At least, the monster has settled into a rhythmic, steady piston action, content, at least for the moment, to be fucking her in the ass.
But now, one hand holding onto a flaring hip, with the other, Bob reaches down and around, to grasp a heavy, hanging breast and knead it.
Gently at first, but then harder and harder, only its great size preventing him from crushing it, so firmly, so harshly does he grasp it.
And then gives the other one similar attention, as though engaged in some painful parody of sexual stimulation.
Not how good he can make it feel but how much he can make it hurt, performing the identical action, only with far greater pressure.
As though he would like to literally crush her with his bare hands.
She heard somewhere that the sadistic person is the way he is because of sexual problems, usually impotence.
But that is clearly not the case here.
He is not impotent; far from it.
He has it all-the looks, the build, the equipment to give the utmost pleasure to anyone.
And yet, look at what he does.
Unless this is what he needs to make him so hard, so virile.
Still, what is the objective?
Just what is he after, anyway?
"You see, you fucking bitch?
"You see how nice it can be when you cooperate, when you keep your fucking mouth shut and let me do my thing?"
"Got news for you, douche bag!"
"This is the way it's gotta be."
"This is what it's all about, not that bullshit you keep coming out with!"
Oh, great! she thinks. A real nut case.
And she had to run across him.
Of all the rotten luck!
Yes, she is here because of the luck of the draw, because of wanting to have anonymous sex by surprise.
Surprise, surprise!
What have I gotten myself into, she wonders.
She has wondered this before, of course, but out of a sense of role-playing, of emphasizing to herself the fact of her having an adventure.
And not, as is the present case, wondering if perhaps she has not gone too far this time, putting herself in very real danger.
And danger which could not be more immanent. He is right here.
It is not as though she has options, ways to go, a chance to escape, to call the whole thing off and run, do not walk, to the nearest exit.
She is, for all intents and purposes, trapped.
And she knows this.
And she has no choice except to go along with his game, whatever it is.
Because even if she had a police whistle, blow as she might, no policeman would ever appear, in time or otherwise.
No, it is just her and him.
And those fantasies or whatever it is that's making him talk to her this way.
Just what is his problem?
Ah, there, there! is the heart of the matter.
Because it isn't really her to whom he is speaking.
Can't be.
They have never met before, so far as she is aware.
So that she is apparently a substitute, a surrogate for the woman who has offended him in some fashion.
So be it, since she has no choice.
And apparently, that other one talks too much.
So that he is now reveling in his ability to force her into silence.
That, and the knowledge of what he is prepared to do if she defies him.
Which, of course, she has no intention whatever of doing.
Because, okay, she has to be a little warped to be here in the first place; but suicidal? Never.
She is here for the thrills, the pleasure.
And her hobby, if such it can be called, has provided her with a fairly interesting menu of both, thus far.
Because the others, like herself, are merely looking for escape, for adventure, all in a bizarre and sexual world of their mutual creation.
Not so this one, however.
No, he is a part of this world, belonging here.
This is not his fantasy but his reality.
And she has wandered into that strange and cruel world, that place of little reason and absolutely no mercy.
And now, he is fucking her in the ass.
Fucking her nicely at that, he is, except for the way he started.
But now, there is very little she can look forward to, except to hope that he will somehow deflate like a balloon when he pops his rocks.
And now, the hand that had so cruelly squeezed her jugs is finding its way down, down, down the center line of her body.
And it seeks and finds -
"Ouch!"
Because he has pressed really hard on her, in this case inappropriately termed, joy buzzer.
"Ah, you will sound off, won't you, my dear?" he asks, rhetorically. "No, you will not remain in silence, no matter what, will you?"
And he pulls out of her ass.
And she feels a fresh thrill of terror.
What is coming next.
"So," he says, "you wanna chew my guts, huh? Well, how's about I show you just how that feels?"
He turns her over.
And his eyes seem to gleam in the darkness as he stares at her, not moving, for a brief moment.
And then, he slides down her body.
Don't tell me, after all this, he's simply going to eat my pussy? she wonders.
But no, he stops, his mouth gently sucking the flesh of her belly, just below the navel.
What's this all about? she thinks, not knowing what else to think.
As he continues to suck his mouthful of belly flesh.
And now, he begins to chew on it gently.
Too late, the horror of realization dawns within her.
Too late, because - "Yeow!"
And he has clamped down on his mouthful of her, teeth grinding into her, jaws attempting to meet through the captured fold of flesh.
Too late the phrase comes back to her about chewing his guts.
Because that is exactly what he is doing to her now - chewing her guts.
And now, she is no longer silent; she is roaring in pain and desperation, clawing at his hooded skull, breaking her fingernails as they rip at him.
And he is not silent either; rather, he is growling and chewing, a pit bull in full fighting frenzy, clenched for life on a piece of his victim, releasing only momentarily for a better, a different purchase, jaws working as he chews, teeth breaking the surface of her skin.
So that they are writhing around in the bed, he hugging around her thighs so that she cannot kick in their struggle, she therefore and thereby limited to raking ineffectually at his invulnerable head with ruined nails.
As he growls of intense determination mingle with her cries of fear and pain.
Because it seems to her that he is eating in, in, into her, determined to rip out her intestines with his teeth.
And so great is his aura of sheer terror that others in the mansion, men and women, drawn by the noise, peek in but do not remain, fearful lest he suddenly release his prey and turn on them in search of a fresh victim.
At last, he lets go.
And quickly throws her flat on her back, forcing his body between her legs, his rampant invader into her pussy, all the way.
So that now he is fucking her in the classical position.
And he is fucking her hard, but not viciously, rather seeming to be going all out as a man in the final stages of his sexual arousal, as though he is a man in a hurry.
So that he is fucking her hard and fast, his piston action unimaginative, perhaps, but highly effective for all that.
Because, when it becomes evident to her that he is indeed going all the way this time, that these side trips, these detours are behind them, she actually manages to relax and enjoy it.
Or perhaps she is merely taking refuge in sexual pleasure.
But whatever the case, she is right up there with him, so that they are climbing the rainbow of arousal together.
Higher and higher they rise.
And indeed, as she first suspected, he proves to be a terrific fuck.
In fact, the best she can remember, for either equipment or technique.
So that they are able to hit the peak together and linger there for a long moment as the pleasure beyond pleasure builds and builds within them, its pressure finally forcing them beyond the heights of rapture their bodies can endure.
And they end up coming and coming together, her spasms and his alternating, spurt after spurt of his hot, thick, copious jism injecting itself into the depths of her streaming vagina.
Again and again they come.
And past, present, future, time and space, up and down all merge, becoming one.
Finally, they float gently back down to earth together.
And even lie there in locked embrace, satisfied, relaxed for the moment.
Until he suddenly pulls back from her and a fresh wave of apprehension surges through her and she cringes, knuckles to her lips, lest she cry out in terror.
"You see, Gracie?" he asks. "You see how great it can be when you just keep your fucking mouth shut?"
And the woman does not envy this Gracie, whoever she is, as he suddenly disappears from the room.