Chapter 9
At eight that evening I was somewhere on long Island. I say somewhere because I didn't-and don't-know exactly where I was. To this day I don't know where I first became a sex toy, the naked plaything of a bunch of suburban sex nuts.
Mrs. Smith-Jane-kept lapping up booze until the bartender eighty-sixed her-that being a term for not serving a person any more liquor. Then she escorted me to her station wagon. Just to be on the safe side, I memorized the license number.
"If you wasted time memorizing the license," said Jane, "forget it. I have fake plates on the car. Made up special by one of our members."
"Oh," I said. Then, while we were driving toward Long Island, I said, "Mrs. Smith-Jane-there's one thing I'm curious about. You said that while your husband John is continually searching for new kicks, you yourself find your new way of life empty and depraved."
"That I do," said Jane. "Bestial and revolting, too."
"Well then," I said, "why do you live this way?"
"A good question. And the answer is, I'm hooked on suburban sex practices, that's why. To be frank, I enjoy the bestial performances I watch, the erotic orgies I participate in. The difference between John and I-or is it John and me?-is that John enjoys enjoying himself, whereas I hate enjoying myself."
"I see," I said doubtfully.
"It's very simple, really," said Jane. "I've become a slave to my lowest impulses. But that doesn't mean I like being hooked. Many alcoholics hate being alcoholics, and most drug addicts wish they weren't. But they're hooked, the way I'm hooked."
"But," I said, "isn't everybody sort of hooked on sex?"
Jane nodded glumly. "True, kid," she said. "But there's sex, and sex. And the kind of sex you're going to be wallowing in for the next forty-eight hours ... "
Suddenly she jammed on the brakes, and I almost went through the windshield.
"Child," she said, "if you think you may want out, get out now, while I'm feeling soft-hearted."
I didn't have the chance to tell her I didn't want out, because before I could open my mouth she'd jammed her foot on the gas pedal again and we shot forward at high speed.
"No," she muttered, talking more to herself than to me, I figured. "No, I don't have the right to deprive the gang of their fun. What's the ruin and degradation of one sixteen-year-old girl compared to the erotic titillation of fifty or sixty modern-minded men and women? "
I didn't say anything. I was too busy being scared. Not of the idea of being ruined and degraded-I mean, I'd already been ruined and degraded: by Mr. Enright, a motorcycle club, Sam, and Mr. Lynx. What scared me was the wild way she was driving, her being half drunk and all. It's a wonder we didn't have a wreck or something!
After a few hectic miles Jane jammed on the brakes again, and pulled off the road. I thought maybe she was going to urge me to get out and run again, but no; all she wanted me to do was get in the back seat, where she pulled a black silk bag over my head and knotted it around my neck and handcuffed my hands behind me so I couldn't get the bag off.
"A necessary precaution," she told me. "Even though I trust you, it wouldn't be fair to jeopardize the security of fifty or sixty other people."
I agreed she had a point, so I traveled the rest of the way in the dark, so to speak.
About ten or fifteen minutes later Jane pulled into a long driveway (I could hear gravel crunching under the station wagon's tires,) and parked. She opened the rear door and helped me out, then led me along more driveway.
"You're about to enter one of the most elegant beach mansions on Long Island," she told me. "It was almost demolished by a group of fabulously rich teenagers a while back-not the group you've read about, but another group-but has since been completely restored."
Then she opened a door, and right away I was surrounded by the sound of people talking and laughing. A cheer went up as she closed the door behind us-at the sight of me, I guess-and just for a moment I felt a bit nervous being blindfolded and handcuffed and all.
But it was all right. Jane right away took the bag off my head and removed the handcuffs.
And I gasped with delight. Because I was obviously surrounded by important people.
I couldn't tell by their clothes-because they weren't wearing any-but by their underclothes. All the men were wearing just underpants, and the women panties and bras. But very fancy, expensive panties and bras; and most of the men had silk shorts. Also I could tell the people were socially prominent because the woman all had the latest hair styles, plus lots of diamond and emerald rings and bracelets. Also they all had the kind of bored, sophisticated expressions that the socially elite always wear, like in Vogue or Harper's Bazaar.
They gathered around me, not drooling and slobbering the way the motorcycle gang had, but looking kind of tiredly amused.
"Very good," drawled a tall, dark girl who was holding a cocktail glass in one hand and a very long cigarette holder in the other. "She should prove most entertaining."
"Yes," murmured a lanky young man, "a most interesting new toy."
"Members," said Jane, "this is Sharon. She's sixteen, ripe-as you can see-and, although quite inexperienced, eager to be initiated and enjoyed to the, uh, hilt."
"Pleased to meet you, I'm sure," I said, smiling around at everybody. They smiled back. One very elegant man with a beard stroked same and licked his lips, and a chubby man with rimless glasses giggled in a funny way.
I was about to make some pleasant remark about the weather or something, but just then the door opened and in walked a man in a business suit. Behind him was a teen-age boy with his hands handcuffed behind his back and a black bag over his head. The people around me turned and started strolling over toward him.
"What an elegant gathering," I said to Jane, who'd just taken off her dress and handed it to a butler
(who was the only fully dressed person in the room). "When you said you belonged lo a suburban sex club, I guess I expected a lot of dumpy housewives and such."
"The suburbs on Long Island," said Jane, smoothing back her hair and adjusting her black lace bra, "are quite chic."
She had a funny glint in her eye, and it was a glint I recognized. Gladys Green, back in Denaquid, Maine, got that same glint at times. Gladys was born on the wrong side of the lobster wharf, but she'd been trying to be very important ever since. No doubt Jane Smith was a social climber too.
"Your garments, Mademoiselle?" said the butler, all stony-faced.
"I don't have anything on but my dress," I whispered to Jane, mortified at the thought of not being properly dressed at such a sophisticated gathering.
"That," murmured Jane, "is quite all right." And while I wriggled out of my dress she explained: "These meetings follow rigid rules. Members remove their outer garments as soon as they arrive. Meanwhile cocktails and caviar are served. Members mingle and drink for a couple of hours, keeping on their undergarments. Removing them prematurely is grounds for explusion. Then, after the opening entertainment, all garments are removed, and the party starts to swing. But you're not a member, so you start nude."
I nodded. Naturally, a bunch of sophisticated suburbanites wouldn't start right off pawing each other and playing naked games. No doubt only lower-class orgies were conducted that way.
Meanwhile I was looking around. The room we were in was huge-like the old English baronial halls you see in history books. It looked, in fact, a lot like pictures I'd seen of a big house a lot of sophisticated debutantes and Ivy League college boys had wrecked a while back. There was even a big brick fireplace which you could climb up on and swing on a fancy chandelier, if you felt like it. The room was a lot bigger than the basketball court at Denaquid High School.
And the people were very elegant. A few couples were older, but most of the men and women were in their twenties or thirties. They looked just like the actors in that foreign movie La Douche Vita or whatever it was.
Meanwhile, the teen-age boy had had his handcuffs and head bag removed, and. blushing a bit, had taken off all his clothes. A lot of the sophisticated women were clustered around him making admiring remarks.
"A husky specimen," murmured Jane. "I wonder where John captured him."
Just then a short man with a mustache and yellow silk shorts hustled up, looked me up and down, then drew Jane aside. They began to whisper, but I have very sharp ears, and I heard what they said.
What Jane whispered was that I'd asked five hundred, but would be worth it, and not to forget her hundred-dollar fee. What he whispered was okay, but next week she should try to get a girl for four hundred. Then he counted out a bunch of fifty-dollar bills and waddled away. Jane turned back to me, stuffing most of the bills into her bra and holding three out to me.
"Sharon," she said, "here's your hundred fifty.
Better stick it-no, better not. I'll hold it for you until the party breaks up Sunday night."
"Jane," I said, "Mrs. Smith. You're trying to cheat me. How come you charge five hundred for me but I only get a hundred fifty?"
Jane blinked, then tears came to her eyes and she clasped my shoulders. "Child," she said, "I won't try to lie. I am cheating you. But I have no choice. The treasurer of our club is a banker, so I can't cheat the club; I can only cheat the girls I procure-I mean invite. And child, John and I depend on our commissions and graft for our whole livelihood. You wouldn't want us to starve, would you? You wouldn't want our boat to go without a new jib, would you?
"Sharon, child, look at it this way: You're going to meet a lot of prominent if sexually depraved people. Who knows what contacts, what profitable deals you may make? This is your big chance to break into elite sex-club circles. Now, you wanna play ball, or you want I should kick you out on your shapely backside?"
I pondered. "I'll play ball," I said. But I was fuming inside. It seemed like everybody wanted to exploit me! And my body. First Sam, then Mr. Lynx, and now Jane Smith-or whatever her real name was.
Still, she had a point. I was mingling with the socially elite, even though I was naked and they all had on silk underwear, which indicated I was a hired hand while they were upper class, or near to it.
Just then a gong sounded, and everybody including me turned around. A tall, willowy, and very blas'-looking girl with ash blonde hair was standing on a table.
"Attention, everybody," she said in a real cultured voice. "Tonight we have a real treat. Suzy-I mean Member Forty-four-is going to do a dance she's been rehearsing all week. Take it away, Forty-four!"
The lights went out, and then a couple colored spotlights came on and picked up a girl standing on a low, wide platform. She was wearing real tiny black lace pants and a black lace bra. She was built pretty good for a tall girl, T had to admit, and she had long, taffy-colored hair She smiled around in a circle, lurched a bit like she was drunk, and then began to dance to a sexy tune which started up over a loudspeaker.
And what a dance! This chick had obviously watched lots of strip-teasers, and had learned plenty from every one she'd watched. She began to twist and shimmy and shake like she was made of jelly and foam rubber.
"She's a very socially prominent girl," Jane whispered in my ear. "And her husband is a Harvard graduate worth millions."
I watched while the socially prominent chick named Suzy-also known as Member Forty-four-went on with her sexy dance. Soon she'd removed the bra and panties, and was gyrating and throwing herself around like she'd fallen into a patch of nettles and was hopping on a hot tin roof, both. Wow, did her breasts and buttocks and thighs ever shake and bounce!
Pretty soon the record stopped, and while a new one was being put on, a smiling, handsome young man-her husband, I learned later-yelled, "More action, Suzy!" And tossed her a banana. A huge banana, which she caught.
I wondered what she was going to do with that.
I found out. She did just about everything with that big banana. She slid it between her breasts, over her buttocks, across her belly, and then in and out of her mouth. And all to music.
I was fascinated, needless to say. What a talented chick this Suzy was, even if she was socially prominent. I mean, I always figured people who were socially prominent and had money didn't need talent. But this chick was real talented, erotically speaking. Even I started getting turned on, and I'm a girl, of course.
The sexy music kept on playing, and the girl with taffy hair did wilder and wilder dances, and more and more clever things with the huge banana. And then the music ended with a crash of drums and cymbals, and Suzy bowed, rolled her hips, and finally dropped on all fours to pant and smile flirtatiously at the audience.
"Good work, Suzy-I mean Forty-four," yelled her handsome young husband. "Now let's see what lucky members get to sample my wife's charms and start the party rolling." He reached into an elegant vase the butler was holding, pulled out four slips of paper. "Here're the lucky numbers!" he yelled. "Members 8, 14, 37 and 12!"
A cheer went up, and four men dashed toward the low platform-and Suzy. They were all nude, I noticed. In fact, when I looked around, I saw that everybody was now naked. The party had started to swing.
The four men mounted the platform and three of them lay flat on their backs with their feet toward Suzy. The fourth got on all fours behind her.
"How do they know what positions to take?" I whispered to Jane.
"The sequence in which the numbers were called out determines that," she whispered back. "The early stages of these parties are highly organized."
Meanwhile Suzy, smiling erotically and tossing her long hair while her breasts swayed back and forth, had crawled forward until her head was over the middle man's navel, then she wriggled back a little, bent and began to kiss him, fervently and deeply. At the same time her hands slid out to grasp and fondle the two men on either side of him, while the fourth man had crawled up until he was snuggled against Suzy's wriggling rump.
It was most educational. What talent that girl had! Bringing four men to the boiling point simultaneously! The man in back of her had to do most of the work himself, of course, but from the smile on his face you could tell it was work he enjoyed.
While this was going on, the rest of the sophisticated young suburbanites were clustered around cheering and making humorous remarks. And Suzy's husband was cheering most of all.
Finally the fellow who was pushing himself against Suzy's rump began to gasp spasmodically as he clutched her hips and slammed against her, and at the same time the guy she was kissing began to groan and pound the floor with his fists, faster and faster, and the two men she was fondling both began to spew out exclamations of delight-and the floor show was over.
And the orgy began.
Right off, three men grabbed me. They were very polite, though-to each other, at least. Each one kept saying things like, "No( you were first, Frank-I mean Member Thirty-three," and "After you, old man," and so forth.
Finally they got things worked out among them, and the first guy who'd grabbed me steered me over to a big pile of cushions, cupped his hands over my breasts and shoved me over backward. I landed with a soft thud, and he landed right on top of me.
He kind of frog-kicked his legs, pushing mine wide, and then with one quick lunge he threw himself into my embrace.
Meanwhile his hands had moved up to grab my breasts, hard, and away he went, pumping his body frantically while his hands squeezed my breasts harder and harder.
"Hey," I gasped, "don't squeeze so hard! You're hurting me!"
"Shut up, tart," he snarled, squeezing me harder. I was kind of hurt-emotionally as well as physically, I mean. He'd been so polite to his friends. But my feelings obviously didn't matter a bit to him. I decided it must be true that some high-class people don't think much of working girls from lower economic backgrounds, like me.
But even though he was hurting my breasts, I had to admit he was doing me a lot of good elsewhere. He was big and he was powerful, and he sure had stamina. After a while I forgot the way he was bruising my bosom and just concentrated on the waves of sexual excitement he sent pulsing through my body.
Golden spasms of erotic delight throbbed through me faster and stronger, until at last I knew he was finishing, and I was right with him. Wow!
I screamed, partly with rapture and partly because he was squeezing my breasts so hard-and then it ended and he was rolling away. He grunted, slapped me affectionately but hard on the belly, and crawled off toward a low table loaded with drinks.
I started to crawl toward the drinks too, but before I'd crawled five feet another man crawled up behind me and slid his hands around my body to cup my breasts while he twisted and pushed the lower front of his body against the lower rear of mine-and away I went again.
After that I kind of lost track of events. And men. All kinds of men-big men, little men, husky men, flabby men, fat men, virile men, creepy men. With all kinds of tastes.
Some of them were conventional minded, position wise. Others made me use my lips and tongue to make them happy. Some liked to lie on their backs while I did all the work, some liked to make love side by side, or with me on my belly or standing up and bending over, or with them sitting on a hard chair and me straddling them. Others had even more ingenious and original ideas-all of which I was willing and eager to try, of course.
But after seven or eight hours of nonstop sex, I got kind of groggy with exhaustion. Also, it being a real hot night in all respects, I'd been slugging down cold drinks whenever I could grab one. So after a while I more or less passed out, from exhaustion and being drunk both.
Not that that stopped the fun, though. Just before I passed out, a man with an elegant mustache asked me to make love to him while he stood on his head, and I said I'd be glad to later but right then I was passing out, and he said fine, he and several of his friends liked to sex up unconscious girls, and the last thing I remember was him and three guys and two girls standing over me licking their lips and waiting for me to black out, which I promptly did.
I don't know what they did while I was unconscious, of course, but they must have had a ball, since I had a lot of aches and bruises in un-likely places when I woke up.
I woke up some time the next morning, to find myself sprawled on a mattress. Jane was snapping a wet towel at my buttocks-with painful effect, too.
"Get up," she snapped. "You've gold-bricked long enough. The party's moved to the beach. Join it."
So I joined. For a frantic day of sex in the sun. and sand, and sea.
It was kind of fun for a while. Sex outdoors is so wholesome, I mean, even though the group I was with had some pretty unwholesome ideas. Still, I got to make love while mostly underwater-which I'd never done before except in my imagination-and in a hammock, and so forth.
Also, I got to play a game of beach volleyball, sort of: They chose six men for each side, big husky men, and six girls. Only the girls were on the other side of the net, sort of wrapped around the opposing team's men.
My personal opponent was a big, strong-looking guy with sandy hair and a lot of teeth. He was kind of wilted when Jane first led me up to him, but after I'd fondled and kissed him a bit, he straightened up a lot.
"Now," said Jane, who was teaching me the rules of the game, "you slide your hands around Walter's I mean Fifty-two's neck. Fine, now lock your arms and sort of hop up."
Walter put his hands under my buttocks and pulled while I hopped, and a moment later I had my legs wrapped around his hips. A little wriggling and adjusting, and I was firmly fastened to him-in the nicest way.
I looked around. All the other players had girls wrapped around them too.
"Since you're on the opposing team," Jane told me, "your object is to distract Walter as much as you can."
"She'd given up on the number stuff, I guess."
"How?" I asked, tilting my head back to smile at Walter, who scowled back. "I mean, if I try to wriggle and bounce I'll lose my grip and fall."
"Don't fall," snapped Jane, "or you'll get ten lashes on your bottom and five across your breasts. However, you can wriggle a little, can't you? And use your muscles?"
"You bet," I said, and a moment later a whistle blew and the game began.
And what a swinging game!
It was regular volleyball, in that the guys on each side of the net had to slap the ball back to the other team, only seeing as how each player had a girl wrapped around him, it went more slowly of course; none of the guys could move quite as fast, even though they all had their legs free to move and their arms free to punch the ball.
All the same, the game got lively, which was when it got really fun. I mean, every time Walter took a few steps, I got kind of bounced up and down. And I was clinging to him as close as could be, so even when he just reached up his arms toward the ball, I got kind of shaken. And when I shook, he shook.
Also I was hard at work the whole time squeezing him as best I could with my muscles and writhing against him and rubbing my breasts against his chest and tickling his back with one hand, trying to get him excited.
And succeeding.
In fact it wasn't long before all the guys playing began to get pretty excited, even though they were trying hard not to. They began lurching about unsteadily, which was not surprising, seeing as how, from all I've heard and read, a guy can least concentrate on something else when he's sexually involved, and the more involved he gets the less he can concentrate. Pretty soon one of the guys on my side of the net kind of strumbled back to reach a high ball-and kept on stumbling, his body sort of jerking as if he were being poked with a cattle prod. He missed the ball by miles, and kept stumbling back until finally he fell with a thud on his back.
A cheer went up from the spectators, and I redoubled my squirming and squeezing, meanwhile nuzzling my cheek against Walter's shoulder and jamming my breasts harder against his chest. I was getting Walter pretty shook up, I could tell. And not just from the way he was stumbling and staggering around.
Then another man a few feet away stretched up both arms to bat the ball, which he did, only then he kept his arms up, kind of flailing the air while he made gasping and choking sounds. He tried real hard to stay on his feet, even though he was obviously not able to control other parts of his body, but he couldn't manage it, and dropped to his knees, swayed, then toppled forward onto the girl wrapped around him Who was shrieking with triumph at having taken him out of the game.
In almost no time there were only three guys left on their feet on each side of the net, and one of those-Walter-was lurching like a drunk and muttering all the time under his breath.
Then I figured out what he was muttering. It was the multiplication table. Which made me laugh, on account of I'd heard that men often did things like that in order to keep their minds off sex and so keep themselves from finishing too quick.
"Sugar," I yelled in Walter's ear, "you might as well drop now. I'm going to explode you whether you want to go off or not." And I began to use my muscles with renewed vigor, pulsing against and around him while I said in his ear, "Don't worry about that silly ball; concentrate on my soft thighs against you, my belly sliding on your stomach, my breasts pushing against your chest...."
Walter swore, stumbled forward to swipe at the beach ball, and then his body, part of his body, began to pulse and throb frantically and he moaned, lurched, clenched his fists, lost his balance and fell to the sand.
With me underneath. Which knocked the breath out of me, of course, but as soon as I could I yelled in triumph. I'd squeezed Walter right out of the game. (Which ended a minute later when only one guy, on the other side of the net, was still on his feet. Which meant my team had won. What a thrill to be participating in sports with socially prominent people! And to be on the winning side!)
They played a second game a little later, with me just watching this time, and it was almost as much fun to watch as to play. It's really a riot watching a dozen men stumble around trying to concentrate on playing ball while a dozen girls wrapped around them try to get them feeling sexy fast.
Later on I got to play another keen game, namely erotic ping-pong. This time I was the one the opposing team was trying to defeat.
How the game worked, they had this ping-pong table set up on a flat stretch of sand, with two heavy chairs at each end. I sat in one chair and a girl with red hair and big breasts-though not as big as mine-sat in the chair across from me.
The chairs were pushed right up to the edge of the table, so the table edge was pressing against the top of my stomach, and then somebody put ropes around my knees and pulled on them and tied the ends to hooks attached to the legs of the table. So my knees were wide apart and I couldn't pull them together if I wanted to.
They did the same thing to the redheaded girl whose hair wasn't as pretty a shade of red as mine, nor as long-and then they gave us each a ping-pong paddle and tossed a ball onto the table and we started playing.
Only after we'd played less than half a minute two guys crawled under the table and started trying to distract us. The man doing his best to distract me was Walter, who was out for revenge in a manner of speaking, and the man on my team, trying to distract the redheaded girl, was the fellow she'd knocked out of the ballgame.
Walter didn't waste any time starting to get me excited, I can tell you. Two seconds after he'd crawled under the table his hands were stroking my thighs and hips-and his lips and tongue were busy kissing and probing where a girl most appreciates having attention paid to her.
Even though I tried hard to concentrate on pingpong. I couldn't disregard the pull of his kisses and the expert teasing of his tongue and the stroking of his hands. I could feel my pulse start to speed up, and I began swinging kind of wild-as did the girl.
I'd like to say I won the game, but the truth is I got so excited after a bit I could hardly see the ball, much less swing at it, and finally I couldn't see it at all, only a kind of glowing haze while giant jolts of joy rocked my body and I heard myself scream with ecstasy. Then Jane said, "You lose," and smacked me on top of my head.
Well, if I lost every game that way, I wouldn't mind being a loser.
Heaps of other games got played that day, too and I got to be in most of them. Some of them, like sexing-or trying to-with a guy while we were both being tossed on a blanket, didn't require much skill. Others, like erotic water skiing, were pretty tricky. How they played erotic water skiing, this motor boat towed me and a handsome guy (it was the husband of the taffy-haired girl who'd done the sexy dance) behind it, going in big circles in front of the beach.
We started water skiing side by side, but then they pulled in his tow rope until he was a few yards in front of me. Then, in a real agile manner, he reversed himself until he was being towed backward which is real hard, as I know, because I used to waterski some in Denaquid bay.
Then, facing me and with his back to the boat, he maneuvered himself until he could duck under one of the two tow ropes I was holding. Now he was skiing backward just a few yards in front of me.
I slid my skis wide apart, while he kept his together and half crouched. Then the people in the boat began to let out slowly on his tow rope.
Pretty soon our four skis formed a sorta solid board. Which was when it got tricky. Like, touching tummies was easy, but the rest was real tough.
Finally we made it, and what a wild ride we had from there on! Every ripple in the water made us jiggle and bounce together, and what with the speed of the boat and the spray flying and all, it was crazy!
So crazy it took us a while to start feeling really sexy. But once we started, we couldn't stop-not until I felt a whole series of wonderful, deep explosions, and the sky and sea started to spin around-and we both ended up in the water with a huge splash.
But happy.
Then I played body surfing-with me as the body, of course-and then I got to put on a little Aqua-lung, and a bunch of us had sexy fun completely under water in a huge outdoor pool, and then-well, then we played a whole lot of less strenuous games, but all with the same gimmick.
And so the day passed, and then most of the night. After which I and everybody else had a six-hour compulsory sleep, and next morning the party began again.
Only that day things got kind of ugly.