Chapter 7

The woman's name was Edna Gurley, and she was thirty-five, only a year younger than Bob Birmingham himself. The choice of age was intentional. None of those young, grasping tarts would have a chance at humiliating him, wiping their feet on his love again. A mature woman this time, a woman who needed true affection and understanding as he did.

He'd pored over his various brochures for days before he'd finally decided on Edna. Or E-126, as she was coded in the New York printed leaflet called "The Living Torch." Her ad had seemingly been an answer to his prayers.

E-126-Kentucky-Lovely young woman (thirty-five) is tired of living alone, seeks a new life. Passive, loving, she seeks a strong, masterful man who can teach her a woman's real role in life. Willing to travel. Please send frank letter and a photo. No sissy boys need apply. See my photo.

Bob had sought out her photo from the dozens of other named males and females on the page. He found E-126 to be everything she promised. Pretty, neat, raven-haired, slightly plump, she exuded a charm and yearning that carried through even in the tiny, slightly blurred snapshot. Dressed in black lingerie, a garter belt, and tight boots that came halfway up her calves, she appealed to some unknown need in Bob's psyche right away. Instantly he found his tool stiffening in anticipation. After much soul wrestling, he'd written a week later.

Now, in an elaborate apartment building in a bustling section of Nashville, the furnishings tasteful and expensive, they had at long last come together. Most important of all, there were no concealed voyeurs in Edna's closets. Bob had looked almost immediately, had explained his suspicions to the amused female as best he could.

When he'd briefed her on his last unfortunate experience, she'd laughed, and had reassured and comforted him profusely. "You poor baby," she'd cooed during those first awkward moments of confrontation, "no wonder you're so jumpy. Sit down, Bob. Make yourself comfortable while I get us something to drink. A martini? I just love martinis. They help make things easier all the way around." And though Bob had misgivings about martinis, he accepted.

It was late August now; almost three weeks had passed since the thing with Samantha and her bloodsucker boyfriend. There had been no trouble after that, nor had Bob expected any. After the drubbing he'd given the two leeches, he doubted-that they'd ever bother anyone again. He could be a mean man when crossed, and though he afterward regretted the way he'd gone berserk, had abused Samantha so badly, he concluded that she'd had it coming. More than-likely they were still picking up the pieces, glad to have escaped with their lives.

But what was the use of dwelling on past history, on sad times? Eternal optimist, he was sure that this bubbly, warm creature would be the answer to his prayers. Edna was earthy, simple; she put on no airs. His kind of woman, and no mistake.

They talked away what remained of that afternoon, neither of them making a move for greater familiarity. They would have cocktails in Edna's apartment. Then she would change and they would go out for a imagine dinner. After that, the apartment again. Soft music and dim lights. And then-

Bob was particularly pleased with her dinner gown, a clinging creation made of some leather-like material, black, glowing dully. Again he got that dirty itch in his guts, that hot tightening in his balls. To be able to slither his tongue along those shapely, smooth legs, to run his face between those opulent thighs. Were her panties made of that leathery stuff, too?

Though Bob should have been warned as to the true nature of Edna's sexual leanings, he was not. Caught off guard as he was, he forgot some of his more esoteric sexual readings; he took the kink-ridden female at face value. He was proud to escort her into the classy restaurant; he took the sly, knowing looks some of the other diners sent after them not as suspicion, but as envy.

Then, when Edna began sliding her hands on his legs under the tablecloth, when she slithered her booted feet and her nylon-glossed legs against him, he became possessed with passion. It seemed that the meal, the drinks afterward, would never come to an end.

In the darkness they sipped still another drink, a sweetish, potent, Greek brandy, while they hugged and caressed, ground greedy lips into each other's mouth. Using her intoxication as an excuse, she sighingly, unabashedly clenched his penis through his trousers, exulted in the feel of his juice where he'd long since wet his trousers and shorts through.

"Oooh," she exulted throatily, "you do want Edna. You've got it bad, real bad, for her. Oh, Bob, he's so big, so damned big. I can hardly believe..." Another coarse chuckle. "You're hung like a goddamned horse."

The next minute she was apologizing all over the place, begging his forgiveness. "I'm drunk, baby. I don't know what I'm saying." But this didn't keep her from continuing to maul him, from guiding his hands to her knees, her breasts, to her hot, humid crotch.

Then, all at once, the expectation, the long self-denial became too great to bear. There was no pretense any longer. They were what they were-wanting, lusting, hurting beasts. Animals yearning toward that ultimate fusion of flesh.

"This way, you horny bastard," Edna finally groaned, taking his glass, pulling him up. "Into the bedroom. Stick that thing into me before I go crazy. I need it so bad I can taste it." Her eyes glittered demonically. "You will, won't you, angel? Let me taste it?"

"Edna," he groaned. "Oh, don't ... That kills me."

Then they were in her bedroom. Suddenly muted, concealed lights in the valance circling the ceiling were turned on and gave a pink, unearthly glow to the room. "Sit there," she commanded. "Watch. I love to have a man watch me while I undress. When I see their eyes get big as saucers..."

Her brassiere and the girdle, with its wide garter tabs, were made of a shimmering, opaque satin. A satin that caught the rose glow from the valances and glittered evilly with her every movement. She stripped to her undies, no farther. Now she slowly turned toward him, her arms poised yearningly. Her hands came up, cupping her great, pointed breasts in an outrageous offering. "You want me, Bob?" she whispered. "Say yOu want me."

"I want you," he groaned, in actual pain. "Goddamnit, I want you!"

"Oooh, lover," she gurgled, her belly writhing in convulsive spasms, "that gets me. That gets me bad." She squirmed closer. "Go ahead, Bob, do something about it."

Before he could stop her, she pulled his one hand to her tit; the other she snuggled between her legs. "Play, Bob," she seethed. "Pinch me there. Make me wild. Hard, pinch me hard!"

And Bob found himself possessed of a grinding lust; he pinched one nipple through her undies. He pinched her harder than he'd ever pinched a woman before. What strange spell was this vampire exerting over him, to make him act like this?

Even so, it wasn't enough. "Harder," she grated, her eyes rolling back into her head. "Hurt me. Pinch me until I scream ... until I pass out."

It was then that Bob got inkling of what her peculiar hang-ups might be. But even then it didn't really register. Not until his continued pullings and pinchings ignited a primal sadism within him, until he found himself actually enjoying the inflicting of pain.

But Edna didn't faint. Instead, she slowly, whimperingly sank to her knees before him. Both his hands held tit now, both tugged and pressured the rubbery nibs through the fiendishly designed brassiere. Almost in gratitude, Edna dropped her head and drove it into his crotch. Her gaping mouth found his swollen penis in his trousers, clamped on it, ran back and forth on it.

"What ... " she gritted " ... if you could have it, would you ... like ... most ... right now? To have me suck your cock? To have me suck the piss right out of it?"

Bob felt like someone had rammed a hot poker up his urethra and was stirring its cauterizing tip in his scrotum, in his bowels. Any minute now it would come poking out his ass-hole. "God, Edna," he groaned. "God, oh, God..."

"Say it," she wheezed, a wild intensity to her voice. "Tell me to do it. Damn you, Bob! Are you stupid or something? Don't you know what I want? Command me! Command me to suck your cock!"

Reduced to helpless, dazed hulk by then, Bob couldn't do otherwise. "Please, Edna. Suck my cock."

"No!" She bit him viciously. "Don't ask! Command me!"

"Suck my cock, Edna," he rasped with as much force as he could muster. "Suck it, do you hear?"

"Tell me," she chanted, lapsing into an even more demented frenzy. "How I must do it? With my fingers? Should I unzip you with my fingers? Or...? " She paused, her eyes hopefully pleading. " ... with my teeth?"

Bob went out of his mind then. This was the realization of his dirtiest sex fantasies. To have a woman at his mercy! To have her do all the filthy, depraved things in the world for him! "Yes," he gasped. "With y'r teeth. Unzip me ... drag my cock out with y'r teeth. Wrap y'r dirty, cocksucking mouth around it. Suck me off. Suck me off like you ain't never sucked a man off before." He grew even more bestial. "Take it right down y'r filthy throat."

The woman crooned, swaying ecstatically before him. "You darling..." she moaned, "you sweet darling." Then, her fingers wrapped around his swollen balls to stabilize him, she dug her face into his belly and got his zipper tab between her teeth. The next minute she was doggedly working the stubborn gadget down.

But it was nothing compared to the way her mouth burrowed into the sweaty, dank depths of his crotch once his fly was open. Her tongue swirled in his hair, slithered beneath his penis, tickled him intolerably. She hummed and gurgled at the taste of his sweat. And where he'd thought it utterly impossible for her to dig his penis out without using her hands, she somehow managed it.

He thought it was the most beautiful, most depraved sight in the world to look down and see Edna's ghostly, plump flesh outlined against her black lingerie. To see her satin-bound ass wriggle and squirm, to see her lovely legs-still in glittering, witchy hose, in the kinky boots-play and flex for a better position in the carpeting. While, all the while, her mouth, her lips slid up and down on the underside of his penis. While her devilish pink tongue flicked at his penishead, feathered and tried to rape his penis' opening. Her fingers were like talons around his testicles by now, and the multiple sensations maddened him.

"Am I pleasing you, darling?" she grated, never stopping once. "Tell me if I don't please you. Tell me! Command me. Hit me, curse me when I fail you..."

Where the short, leather whip came from, Bob never knew. He suspected that Edna had planned this excess from the start, that she'd had the whip beneath the bed all the time. Little by little, his glimmerings of recognition became stronger. Then when Edna started pleadingly up at him, his penis jammed in her throat, and said, "Hit me with it, you sweet prick! Whip me! Make me suck you good!" he remembered.

Masochism. The desire to be hurt and humiliated. Often sadomasochistic tendencies revealed themselves where simple masochism prevailed-the textbook phrasings came back to him. There was a thin dividing line, and often, when the masochistic urges were sated, the sadistic ones came to-play. He shuddered. "Edna, let's stop this. We mustn't..."

"We must!" she snarled. "You must! Ooh, you greasy dick, lay it on me. Cut me good. Make me dance and yell. Make me do every dirty thing in the book!"

What man living, under similar circumstances, could have resisted an entreaty like that one? Especially a man like Bob, who, more than most other men, had old scores to settle with the deceitful female of the species?

Suddenly he went berserk. All the way. Anything and everything! He brought the whip down on Edna's tempting buttocks in a steady, slashing cadence; he gloried in her happy yelps and jerking; he found pleasure in the intensified pressure, a vacuum cleaner suction, as she truly went insane on his tool. Never had any woman sucked him off the way she was doing. Any minute now and he'd be coming.

"Enough, you fucking pig!" he grated. "My balls now. Dig 'em out. Suck 'em. Get 'em both in y'r mouth if you can. Yes, like that. Suck it deeper. Get all the sweat off it. Oh, you bitch! Good! So fucking good!" A slash of the whip again. "The other one now."

And then: "My pants, my shorts. Drag them off. Pull off my shoes. My socks. Kiss my stinking feet." He watched raptly, wanted to scream at the sight of the female groveling at his feet. "Lick them, you slut. Lick my toes." The sound of Edna's grateful slobberings further incensed him.

And then: "My balls again. Suck them until I tell you to stop."

And then: "My ass-hole, baby. Get y'r tongue in there as far as it'll go. Yes, like that. Arrgh! You pig. Deeper, damn you. Fight for it!"

And then: "My prick. It's all drippy again. Here, in y'r eyes. The other one now. That feels good? Y'r nose. Now, in that fucking mouth of yours. Oh, hot, so hot. I'd like to shove it all the way down past your tonsils."

Then it was time. Bob could wait no longer. He wanted this one in her vagina; he wanted to splash the come he'd saved up for a week against her womb. He wanted to hear her groan with every scalding spurt. "Get those harlot's rags off," he choked. "Fast. I want to sink this bone where nobody'll ever find it again."

But Edna was once more ahead of him, and, with a quick tug at her crotch, she opened a special panel there, revealed a gaping slit in the special panties. Her vagina glistened wetly, invitingly. And when Edna sprawled on her back in the bed, waved her legs enticingly at him, her vagina opening and closing, he tore the rest of his clothes off and piled on.

She screamed when his great truncheon was buried in her; her cries were part pain and part rapture. Immediately, her arms came around him; her legs clamped behind his thighs, the slide of silk on his fevered flesh, the smooth and clod slither of her boots on his flanks serving as an irresistible spur. "Oh, God!" she screeched. "What a monster. Feels like a tree trunk's been shoved up me. Shove it, you prick! Shove, do you hear! Shove!"

Bob shoved. He shoved as he'd never shoved before. A monster, a superhuman battering ram, he slammed Edna without mercy; he would seemingly kill her with his weapon, and, failing in that, he'd drive her right through the bed.

Edna came. Then she came-again. And still again. She was building to her fourth, when Bob could hold back no longer, and let it fly in thick, rich, molten gouts. His penis ached. Edna encouraged him grossly. "Come," she crooned, "thick, hot come. Oh, fill me up. Shoot your jizz into me."

There was the briefest of respites after he finished. Edna didn't allow his erection to go down. Immediately she was churning again, working her vagina muscles around his penis. He felt a painful intrusion and realized she had crammed the butt of the whip into her hole alongside his tool. She twisted it. Then it was wrenched forth. Bob cursed, groaned, and bucked as he felt her press the well-lubricated butt to the stretched portal of his ass. He tried to break free, fight her, but her teeth clamped cruelly to his throat; she dug the dagger-like heels of her boots into the tender flesh at the back of his knees.

He was rendered helpless. The whip was stalled momentarily, but then, with a savage poke and swirl, it broached the rebelling sphincter. It was inside his ass, slowly, vindictively being corkscrewed deeper, still deeper. Miraculously, he felt his penis spring to instant attention.

In that instant Bob was transformed. A filthiness filled him. The pain and the mortification became part of the sex act. He wanted her to hurt him; he savored the tearing pain. And another hidden facet-a frightening one-was revealed to him.

This fuck lasted only a brief time. Edna's heels digging into his flesh, the butt-of the whip tearing the tender recesses of his rectum, seemingly tamping his next charge of sperm into his penis, made him react like a bull, like a stallion, like a raving maniac. His climax this time was a thing of molten stars, of a million screaming bats battering and shrieking inside the cavern of his brain.

They both sank into a torpid swoon afterward, Bob still lying atop Edna. When he awoke, he groaned softly at the pain in his ass. Then he recalled the whip and found it still imbedded there. Painfully, agonizingly, he drew it out. Suddenly he felt mean and debased and very sick.

In utter bewilderment, he disengaged himself from Edna, wondering how he could have behaved so depravedly. He wondered what he would turn into if he made common practice of such things. Terror chilled him, and he stifled a curse. He got out of bed without waking Edna. He dressed and escaped the apartment without her knowing of his furtive departure.

He got to his car and groaned as he sat down. It was going to be a long ride back.