Chapter 5
Once again Georgia found herself disappointed with the arrangements John had made for the weekend. All these guests John had invited meant a weekend of entertaining-one big party from beginning to end. A complete bore, she concluded with a sigh of resignation as John led her from one guest to another. Interesting personalities, she admitted, but not when you had planned on a quiet weekend of becoming intimately acquainted; discovering that elusive thing called love.
But she faced up to the fact that she was captive at another dull, boring cocktail party. She handled it with her usual smiling, sweet, pleasant, but phony charm that she had developed over the years for such occasions. However, something about the atmosphere struck her as being strange. The setting was just a typical cocktail party, but something about it was different. For one thing, she noticed, it wasn't as noisy as usual and as they mingled with the guests no one attempted to cut in on conversations, make deals, or promote themselves by meeting influential people. The atmosphere, she concluded, was similar to one of those stuffy, British men's clubs. Everyone minded his own business-except everywhere you looked, young girls in togas were exposing their bare asses, and handsome, well-built young studs, also wearing togas, were walking around with hard-ons that were impossible to mistake for anything else under those short outfits.
Georgia also noted that John's commitment as the host was strangely uncomplicated. He wasn't the least concerned about seeing that everyone enjoyed himself. She got the feeling that it was every man for himself. And after they had worked their way through the guests in the living room, the game room, and out to the closed-in swimming pool, John led her to a small, private dining room, where they dined alone. It was a romantic, dark, candle-lit setting, with a large window overlooking the island and the St. Lawrence River.
"You've been terribly quiet, Georgia," John said as two girls served them dinner. "Is anything wrong?"
"No. It's just that..." she hesitated, searching for the right words. "...well, I guess everything came as a surprise. I didn't expect so many people and-"
"Ahhh, that's good," he responded with delight. "I work very hard at being different: avoiding the obvious and being unpredictable, taking the challenge of being an individual. I prefer being one of a kind."
"That's fine. I guess. But when you're expecting one thing and find something altogether different-well, I guess it's just confusing."
"And I apologize for not preparing you for this weekend. But to tell the truth, I was afraid you wouldn't have accepted the invitation if I had tried to explain what it would be like."
Georgia could see the sincerity in his eyes and feel it in his voice. It was time to change the subject and get away from being so serious. "Tell me about the guests," she offered.
"There's not much to tell. You met them-just people. Perhaps a bit on the wealthy side, but other than that, just ordinary people."
"But why are they here? And why aren't you out there entertaining such influential people?"
"I never ruin a party with talk about business. That's what telephones are for. And I'll let you discover for yourself why they are here. It will be much more interesting and entertaining than if I tried to explain it."
The conversation during the remainder of the lobster dinner was mostly about Georgia.
But when they had finished and moved to the long, low couch by the window, John asked if her room was comfortable and if the twins had taken good care of her.
"Oh, yes," she answered honestly, as his hand rested on her knee. "But don't you think they're rather young to be...well...around all the nudity?"
"Nonsense. The psychiatrists say we should expose children to nudity and sex at an early age. It helps them to develop healthy minds. Wasn't it Freud who said that everything we did, from the moment of birth until death was sex motivated?"
Georgia didn't answer. Her eyes were watching his hand move slowly under the hem of her short skirt. The implied destination gave her a tingling sensation all over. His other hand was behind her neck, deftly opening the zipper there.
"What I have done," he continued, "is allow my guests to surround themselves with an atmosphere conducive to acting out their fantasies."
His mouth was suddenly covering hers. His warm, moist lips touched hers, just as his hand reached the junction of her legs. A flush of girl-juice moistened the sheer panties, seeping through to the palm of his hand. His tongue was testing the resistance of hers, before forcing its way into her mouth.
She never heard the girls clear the table. Her head was too light from the realization that she was about to conquer the man who had tantalized her with sex. His weapon would soon be seized in her yielding, panting cunt-to find the trap close around it. And she would be the victor. The glory of victory was at hand.
She allowed John to remove her clothing, even helped with an eager wiggle when necessary. His eyes devoured her naked body, from head to toe. Hooked! she told herself, confident now. When he helped her to her feet, she turned slowly for his eyes to drink in every inch of perfectly shaped flesh. And she saw how his stare was constantly drawn to the golden triangle of soft fluffy hair between her legs.
Their mouths came together again, in an open, wet, mind-spinning kiss. She pressed her nakedness against his fully clothed body and felt the reassuring bulge in his pants nestle between her legs. Mine! she told herself. Then realized that without heels they were practically the same height. It made her feel even better.
His open mouth moved to her neck, then her breasts, while his hands felt and explored both her front and back. The touch of his wet lips on her soft, white skin quickened her heartbeat. His tongue licking her hard, quivering nipples sent signals of anticipation to her panting cunt. His finger traced its way down the path between the globes of her ass, exploring the little buttonhole with delightful slowness. His other hand toyed between her legs, building the longing inside to a peak.
John eased her to a sitting position on the couch, spread her legs and covered her cunt with his open mouth. He knelt before her, her legs over his shoulders and sucked. Sucked the breath from her lungs, through her body and out her cunt. And the room seemed to fill with the smell of her juices. It excited her even more to think that his nose was buried in the moist hair at the very source of the fragrance.
His hands were under her buttocks, lifting her to his sucking mouth. Then she felt the first touch of his tongue. Up and down her slit it moved; slow, but firm licks. She was already losing control of her senses and the explosion of an orgasm was rumbling through her body. His tongue entered the soft, yielding orifice, filling the cavity with moist, firm tongue flesh. The forceful plunge of the powerful snake triggered her orgasm.
"Mmmmm...ohhhhh...ahhhhh..." she groaned, grabbing his head and forcing him harder against her cunt. "Mmmmm...more...give me more," she cried and lost all her strength when she felt the flat slab of meat penetrate farther and farther into her body.
What a tongue! a voice in her head remarked as she worked out the violence of her climax. What a fuckin' tongue!
When she squeezed out the last ounce of pleasure, she finally relaxed and his tongue slid gently from her cove. She remained motionless for a few moments before opening her eyes. She gave John a lazy, heavy-eyed look of approval and a faint smile of appreciation. He was standing before her, still fully dressed, smiling back. Then as she began to show signs of life, he removed his dinner jacket, unzipped his fly and whipped out a cock that Georgia felt sure any man would have been proud of.
"I could come by just looking at you," John said as he helped her from the couch. "And if you like, I'll prove it. But it's much nicer this way."
Georgia found herself kneeling before him, staring into the eye of his ballooning cock. A teardrop of cream was already oozing from the eye and the mushroom-shaped head was throbbing. She gently wrapped her fingers around the stiff pole and brought her lips closer to the tip of it.
John watched eagerly as her pouty-red lips separated and his pulsing cock came closer to her face. He could feel the warmth of her breath on the tip and her gentle grip on the shaft was delightful. The sight of her lips spreading from a bare slit to the shape of an "O," as they slid slowly over his hot meat, gave him the necessary spark to explode his cum. He had planned on making this a quick one. Just long enough to give her a sample of what the future held. Just enough to tantalize her.
As Georgia drew the throbbing cock into her mouth, she realized that John had her completely under his thumb. What happened to the victory? The trapped weapon? She hadn't even had time to tease him with her licking tongue. The head of his cock was already in her mouth, sliding back to her throat when without warning, the volcano erupted, hot lava gushing into her mouth and throat, making her choke and lose most of the cum out of the corners of her mouth. But everything happened to fast that she didn't have time to think straight. It made her feel like an inexperienced little school girl.
"I knew I couldn't wait a moment longer," John whispered in her ear as he helped her to her feet. "Your body just drove me wild."
She accepted that and made up her mind to show him how good she was the next time. The next time, she thought as she slipped into her clothes. What am I saying? I don't even care for him! We already decided I don't want to see him after this weekend. He's too short, too old and just not my type.. .
But as they joined the other guests in the living room, Georgia still hadn't straightened out the conflict that was going on inside her head. She was intrigued by John Aumontjuer and fascinated by what was going on all around her. The atmosphere whetted her curiosity and drove out the preconditioned thought that all social gatherings were a bore.
"I hate to have to do this," John was saying, "but I have to leave you for a few minutes to arrange for a little ceremony one of the guests wants to present."
"What kind of ceremony?" Georgia asked with a frown.
"Remember Jenkins the bank president?" he asked, and Georgia nodded that she did. "Well he caught one of his employees stealing-to pay gambling debts, I believe. Anyway, the amount was only a thousand or so dollars and Jenkins offered him a choice: be turned over the police or submit to Jenkins' justice. If he chose the latter, Jenkins would personally replace the money and he wouldn't lose his job."
"And what kind of punishment does Jenkins have in mind?" Georgia asked with a tinge of sarcasm.
"I'm not sure, but you can count on it being of a sexual nature. He wouldn't bring him here if it wasn't."
"Does the employee know what the punishment is going to be?" Georgia asked. She didn't care for the whole idea and thought perhaps the man was being used-or better yet-blackmailed into some fiendish act for Mr. Jenkins' amusement.
"All he knows is there won't be any disfigurement or unbearable pain," John explained quickly, as some of the guests became impatient to enter the game room. "Fear of the unknown is probably the worst part of the punishment."
With that John left her and walked briskly across the living room, reassured the guests waiting at the closed door to the game room that it would only take a few minutes, opened the door and slipped inside.
"You 'face is new around here," a voice behind Georgia said, taking her attention off the sealed room.
She turned and gave a pleasant smile to an elderly gentleman sitting in a big, overstuffed chair. "Yes I am. My name is Georgia."
"My name is Miller," he responded gruffly.
"Of course. Congressman Miller..." she said and sat beside him on a hassock.
"Not my cup of tea," he said with a nod in the direction of the game room. "Too old for that sort of thing anyway. But at seventy-eight, I guess I'm too old for almost, everything."
"I'm not sure I care for the idea myself," Georgia admitted, glancing at the young boy standing alongside the congressman's chair. He was about the same age as the twins, she noted. Handsome too. Almost too pretty a face to be a boy, she thought. His elbow was resting on the arm of the chair, his cheek resting on the palm of his hand and he was smiling pleasantly at her.
"His name is Jerry," Miller said, obviously aware of Georgia's attention.
When Georgia saw John coming across the room to get her, she quickly got up, took his arm, and walked him away from the scene.
"Who's little boy is that?" she asked.
"Jerry belongs to one of the gardeners," John answered casually.
"Do his parents know where he is?"
"As a matter-of-fact, that's his mother tending bar."
Georgia quickly appraised the attractive brunette who was in the process of filling martini glasses. Twenty-sixish. Just the slightest bit overweight, but well-proportioned and smiling pleasantly as she went about her chores.
I just don't believe it, Georgia thought, walking now toward the game room.
The room was paneled in dark walnut and the lights were so dim that Georgia could barely make out the objects on the walls-a rack of cue sticks caught her eye, and a dart board. She couldn't see what was in the glass-enclosed cases that were stationed at intervals along the walls, but she did notice shining objects that must have been trophies. She scanned the people standing along the walls, sipping drinks, chatting and continuing to enjoy the party. How coldhearted, she thought.
In the center of the rectangular room was a billiard table. It was the only object in the room that was brightly illuminated by three hanging lamps, that had shades which directed the light straight down. The green felt seemed vivid under the lights and she noticed it was void of all the balls.
As soon as the door was closed, a hush fell over the guests and all but the lights over the pool table were turned off. Now it was impossible to recognize anyone along the walls; only the bottoms of their legs and feet caught any rays from the hanging lamps. A door opened and she saw the silhouettes of three men enter before the door closed again.
"Arthur," Mr. Jenkins began, stepping closer to the table where he could be seen. "Did you come here of your own free will?"
A nervous, high-pitched voice answered weakly. "Yes."
"Were you not caught in the act of stealing money from the bank?" Jenkins asked.
From the darkness came a scared reply. "Yes."
"And you agreed to accept my proposition to let me replace the money for you, let you keep your job and have you take your punishment from me, rather than the authorities?"
A blindfolded figure was brought to the end of the table by two toga-clad young men. He was about five-feet-six, in his late twenties and a bit on the plump side. Baby fat, Georgia said to herself. He was so nervous, she felt sorry for him.
"Then let's get on with it," Jenkins said.
The two well-built young men took their cue and sprang into action, stripping the victim naked in a few short seconds, leaving only his blindfolded in place. A few muffled snickers came from some spectators at the sight of his physique-and his terribly small, shriveled-up cock. Then straps were attached to his wrists and ankles and he was bent over the table, feet on the floor, and tied face down-by spreading his arms out and tying them in place. Next his legs were spread as wide as possible and secured to the legs of the table.
He was only a few feet away from Georgia and she could hear him making little sobbing sounds in his throat. She and John were to the side and slightly behind him. Close enough to see his muscles straining from the taut, spread-eagle position he was locked in. Finally his blindfold was removed and he managed to raise his head to look at the president of the bank where he worked. Jenkins stared back dispassionately.
"Young man, consider yourself fortunate," Jenkins said in a dry monotone. "Thirty minutes from now you'll be back in your room and your debt will be settled. The first of your punishment was the anguish you suffered these last nine days, not knowing what was to happen to you. The next two parts will be over quickly. And I think you'll someday thank me for not sending you off to spend years in a prison cell, only to discover you could never find employment again. And only you and I at the bank will know what happened during these minutes."
"Please, Mr. Jenkins," the prisoner pleaded.
"Your fate is no longer in my hands, Arthur. It is now up to this gentleman." Jenkins swept his hand in the direction of the darkness behind himself. "Bruno is in complete charge now."
Jenkins left the table and stepped into the darkness. After a few moments of suspenseful hesitation, another figure stepped into the light at the other end of the table, facing Arthur. A tall, muscular, black man. His body glistened from head to toe with oil. He was bald and sinister looking, as he stood with arms folded staring at his victim. The only garment he wore was a square patch of material that covered his groin, held in place by a leather strap around his waist.
Again he waited for the suspense to build before moving. But when he did move, it was a slow, cat-like stride, as though he was stalking an animal. And all the while he stared at Arthur, flashing his glistening white teeth in a sinister grin. As he came alongside the victim, he reached out a hand and stroked the quivering face of the terrified young man.
Just the way he grinned and stared, terrified Georgia. He was evil-looking from head to toe, she decided, imagining how the poor devil strapped to the table felt. And when he spoke, he clearly enunciated every word in a clipped, even tempo, giving her chills.
"First, ten moderate strokes of a two-inch strap, properly placed across the subject's ass."
He walked on slowly, running his fingers down Arthur's trembling back, down the deep crevice between the mounds of soft ass-flesh. Arthur's body jerked.
"Please-I'm sorry, Mr. Jenkins-I'll pay you back-I promise," he pleaded in a sobbing, terrified voice.
One of the young men who had escorted him in, stepped forward and stuffed a white pad of gauze in his mouth and secured it there with tape.
Georgia wanted to get away from this scene, but was held motionless by the hypnotic movements of the black man. She didn't want to watch but couldn't take her eyes off the "executioner." He enjoyed this task so much it was impossible to take her eyes off him. And he made a point of continuing to torment his victim by probing the crevice of his ass with his finger.
When he finally did pull his hand away from the deep crack, the first crack of the strap sounded. The lightning speed of his arm, and the loud report of leather slapping loose flesh, startled everyone. He followed the first stroke with nine more, in rapid-fire succession.
Two girls immediately stepped forward and massaged the mounds of white flesh that now had crimson stripes. They applied oil and continued to massage the smooth globes for several minutes, in an attempt to rub away the pain.
"Finally," Bruno broke the silence with that brain-penetrating voice of his, "you raped society and society will rape you."
Georgia watched in awe as one of the girls stepped forward and placed a glob of petroleum jelly in the crack of the victim's ass, while the other girl removed Bruno's loin cloth. Her eyes widened as his huge cock came into view. She watched the first girl apply the lubricant to the powerful spear and began to feel weak in the legs when he stepped closer to the hindquarters of his victim.
With the same slow, deliberate move of his, he placed the palms of his hands on the smooth mounds of ass and spread them apart Then with a slow, graceful move of his hips, placed the head of his tumescent male organ at the small entrance. Georgia watched the heart-shaped head disappear. She could feel it in her own rectum-remembering Steve's plunge into that opening and how it had gagged her. It bored into the depth of your body even though you tried to resist, fighting it off with all your strength, and losing the battle to the forcing, crawling, spreading drill, that squeezes into the too tight tunnel. She could imagine how poor Arthur must feel. And from where she was standing she could see very little detail, hypnotized by the sight of that big slab of black meat penetrating the milky-white flesh of the victim. A slow, forceful, even-paced penetration that ended only when the full shaft was buried.
There wasn't a sound in the room, other than the muffled moans coming from the struggling, straining figure on the table. Everyone watched the face of the perspiring black man as he closed his eyes. The big grin disappearing as he began to grit his teeth and sway gently back and forth. His breathing became audible, got louder and deeper and finally gave way to a loud grunt. There was no mistaking what was happening-he was firing his cum up the tight passage. Georgia could feel the juice squirting, feel the male muscle pulse, then squirt, pulse, and squirt. Your insides are stretched to the limit, she remembered, and it swells up even bigger and squirts its cum into your brain.
The minutes seemed unbearable, but finally a much softer cock began to slide out of the flesh. And as soon as the head dropped out, the black man was wrapped in a robe and whisked off into the darkness.
Georgia tugged at John's arm to leave, but he paused a moment and when she glanced at the table, Arthur was already untied, wrapped in a robe and being removed from the arena.
"Let's get out of here!" she said to John as the lights went on in the room.
He led her out to the living room and she directed him straight to the bar. There was a tray of martinis waiting for them and Georgia drank the first one straight down, then put the glass back on the bar and took another from the tray.
"That was horrible," she said to John and was surprised to hear several people behind her agree. The bar had suddenly become crowded.
"It cost me over two thousand dollars," said Jenkins, who emptied a martini glass in one swallow too, then took another. "But I think I've helped Arthur more than if he had been Bent to prison. After the traumatic experience wears off, hell be better off."
"It could ruin him for life," Georgia snapped back angrily.
"I assure you the whole matter has been discussed with qualified psychiatrists and we are proceeding to carry out their recommendations for overcoming any hang-ups that could result from the experience," Jenkins responded, picking up a third martini. "And believe me-I feel worse than anyone about the whole thing."
"Then why-" Georgia started to ask, but was interrupted by Jenkins, who knew what she was going to ask.
"An experiment. That's all. Just an experiment." And he walked away.