Chapter 6
Christine Bernard's exquisite face was contorted and flushed, still twisted towards the wall to block out from her vision the sight of her four leering onlookers while the smirking seventeen-year-old perpetrator of this obscene outrage against her chastity and sacrosanct person lay over her, crushing down her petite nakedness with his condom-sheathed penis burrowed to the very hilt inside her tight love-chasm. The sudden fierce pain which had accompanied the rending of her hymen had drawn a sharp sobbing cry; she had lifted her head, and in the hazy blur formed by the tears in her dilated eyes, she had witnessed how her captors were relishing her maiden defeat.
Henry Ferguson, his fingers dug deeply into the resilient satiny cheeks of her bare bottom, his thighs strongly planted between her straddled legs, was master of the lists of lust. He had conquered where no man ever had before, not even Henry Brandt, not even the unknown men far more mature than he who had longingly looked after Christine Bernard in the street and dreamed their own special and fanciful lust-illusions in which she played the role of captive queen.
Now that the physical act was accomplished, what rational sense was left her after the shattering and unexpected terror of finding herself so nearly and helplessly trapped by five teen-aged students told her that fate was now irrevocable. She had prided herself on her virginity, held it as a kind of secret chalice which would be awarded only to him win should marry her and then that fortunate male would be made to realize how much he had gained in the triumph. But this was farthest from her own narcissistic fantasies of how she would rule over men and chose ultimately the one whom she would deign to favor with the gift of her virginity. It was not on a canopied, four-poster bed with the room smelling of perfume and cologne, strewn with bridal gifts, with a tankard of fine champagne cooling in a silver bucket. There was no handsome groom, no man who had professed the vows of eternal obedience, fealty and adoration before the priest at the altar.
Instead, in a windowless basement, on a torn and dirty mattress atop an iron frame, in the corner, with a kind of claustrophobic agony looming upon her as she saw four teen-aged boys stare at what their crony was doing to her, Christine Bernard had just yielded up her hymen.
"How is ir, Hank?" towheaded, sturdy Mack Benjamin hoarsely demanded.
"She's tight as a drum, you guys, so shut up and let me concentrate on fucking her good her very first time," was Henry Ferguson's gloating reply. Christine moaned, hearing this new appraisal of her most intimate physical self, and tears squeezed under her tightly shut eyelids. The twinges of pain from the laceration of her maidenhead had now forced her, even against her will, to be aware of this act of gross, undignified physical cohesion; she could no longer remain impervious even in her mind, she could no longer disperse what was happening by telling herself that it was not. Now her own body betrayed her into realization of her degradation as the concubine of this incredibly precocious, atavistic boy.
Henry Ferguson had wisely, with the instinct of a mature adult connoisseur of feminine pulchritude, halted his pace inside her love-chanal. He, better than anyone else, was aware of the pitfalls of overexcitement. Now that his brooding lust-wish about his beautiful young teacher had been crystallized into an exciting reality, now that she had come from her classroom where she was poised and supercilious and even arrogant before all these thwarted young males, to this basement where she was naked except for garterbelt, hose and pumps and to have to submit to coitus with one of her own pupils, he knew that at any moment the glorious triumph of conquering her might force him to a premature ejaculation and thus undermine his own success. It was his intention to subject beautiful Christine Bernard to every possible nuance of shame and humiliation and sexual compliance against her will, so that no longer would she be the vaunted goddess atop a pedestal at whom he and his fellows could only stand and yearningly look upon without hope of fulfilling their most carnal dreams regarding her voluptuous body.
She had dug the heels of her pumps into the mattress, and her calf muscles stood out and rippled and flexed under the sheer beige nylons. Her face was still twisted away towards the wall, and her fists pressed down hard against the lumpy mattress. But overwhelming all her outward attitude of stoic and almost resigned endurance of this atrocious ordeal was the continuing twinge of pain at the opening of her secret love-core. His halting within her, still buried to the roots into her vaginal canal, intensified her inexorable awareness of her irreparable loss of chastity, dignity and, most damaging of all, of feminine ego which had for so long lorded it over the yearning but unsuccessful male.
But perhaps worst of all was his audacious way of clinging to her, his pudgy fingers clenched into the ripe rounds of her satiny pink-sheened bottomcheeks, so that each muscular reaction, each tremoring spasm which passed through her body was felt by his gripping fingers and served to tell this obscene young ravisher of the distress and humiliation and martyrdom she was undergoing.
"What are you waiting for, Christine?" Bruce Melton sarcastically broke in. "Go on and fuck her, let's see you fuck her and make her wiggle good, Hank! If you don't know how, maybe you ought to get off and let us guys take over!"
"Oh, no-my God no-oh, you promised, H-Henry!" Christine wailed, stricken by this dire threat.
"Relax, Chrissy," Henry Ferguson chuckled, his voice thick with longing, breathing hard and forcing himself to hold back the frenzied urge to climax. The very tightening of her vaginal muscles against his sheathed penis led him towards the vety brink of shattering expenditure. And he determined to retain himself to the ultimate moment until at last haughty Christine Bernard would have to acknowledge him the victor in this fornicatory fray. "You just concentrate on giving me a good time, and you won't have to worry. You just do what I tell you to, and we'll get along just fine. All right, Joey, Starr using the movie camera. Teach, put your arms around me, hug me tight-go on, or I will get off and turn you over to the guys!"
"Oh, how can you be so cruel? Isn't there a spark of decency in you, Henry? Please don't-don't take pictures of this-oh, I'd die if anyone ever saw them-this is horrible!" she moaned.
"Too bad we don't have a tape recorder so we could keep a copy of everything Teach says along with the pictures," Ben Elverson smirkingly proposed. He was rubbing his swollen penis, his face flushed and his eyes glittering as he leaned against the wall and stared hungrily down at the entwined couple.
Joey Elverson adjusted the lens of the movie camera, and called, "I'm ready when you are, Hank!"
"Okay, Teach, do what I said now, put your arms around me. And wrap your legs around mine too while you're at it!" Henry Ferguson directed.
"Oh, please-" she falteringly began, her voice choked with tears and sobs.
"You start whining any more, Chrissy baby, and the other four guys will take my place right now," he warned.
With a cry of terror, Christine Bernard capitulated. Still keeping her face turned towards the wall, she awkwardly circled her arms around her ravisher's shoulders, and her stockinged legs locked over his muscular calves. The whir of the camera came to her ears clearly now, and she groaned aloud in her despair, knowing what that sound portended.
"That's more like it, Teach," her stocky young ravisher mockingly approved, his hands shifting down to the base of her quivering, flinching bare buttocks. "But now I want you to give me a nice sweet little kiss to show you like it, Chrissy. Go on now, remember what I told you; the minute you start getting balky, the other guys take over, see?"
She forced to turn her face towards him, to open her eyes, brimming with tears, her nostrils twitching and shrinking, her lips trembling and the desolate and imploring look she fixed upon him also made him lose his self-control. He had to grind his teeth to hold back the savage onrush of gism, and his fingers dug into the resilient satiny flesh of her behind. Mistaking this fierce pressure for a threat of what she most feared, Christine Bernard uttered another groan and then obeyed-with her trembling lips, she pressed a hesitant kiss on Henry Ferguson's greedy mouth.
And the whirring of the camera told her that this too had been inscribed, and indelible and perpetual reminder of her ignominous downfall from virtue and purity and chastity!
"Boy, oh boy!" Bruce Melton breathed, "Teach is giving me the hots! Just look at the way those cute legs of hers are wrapped around old Hank there, the lucky bastard! Go on, make her shake that cute little ass she's got, Hank, put it to her!"
"Yeah, go ahead and cuke Teach, let's see how good you are," Mack Benjamin exhorted in a hoarse trembling voice.
Henry Ferguson was more than willing. Now his hands slid up the lusciously upstandingly rounded cheeks of his victim's naked bottom, took tenacious hold of the meatiest curves of those lovely posterior summits, and he shifted himself a little so as to drive into her at a better angle, thereby to waken her with the friction of his organ against the sides of her vaginal track. Drawing himself slowly back, he wrested a sobbing, "Oh, please, t-take it easy-it-it hurts-oh, please H-Henry, please be g-gentle with me, I beg of you!"
"What's the matter, Teach?" Ben Elverson jibed, "starting to itch down in that prissy little twat of yours? Make her cum, Hank, you promised us a good fuck, let's see if you can make Teach cum! Then we'll know you're a real cocksmith!"
Christine Bernard's eyes were huge with agonized consternation to hear her young captors so ruthlessly and coarsely discuss her sexual potential. Even if she had married Henry Brandt, she know that she would have insisted on the lights out and an absolute minimum of sensual byplay. She would have yielded because it would have been her wifely duty, but she would have minimized her surrender. Thus she could have retained part of her aloof and poised sophistry, and yet still have fulfilled the terms of the marital contract. But this was so vastly divergent to all her own beliefs and her conditioned awareness of sex that each new facet of this dreadful ordeal made her entire psyche and ego totter upon their very foundation.
By now, Henry Ferguson, steadying himself and with his fingers dug masterfully into the summits of Christine Bernard's behind, had poised his organ at the very rim of her love-channel. Just at the brink of the inner lips, the sheathed tip of his adamantly rigid organ pressed, and now signaling to her that he intended to resume copulation, his fingers compressed even more rigorously into her naked behind. At the same moment, he lunged deeply, furrowing her to his very root, and Christine Bernard's body instinctively and uncontrollably arched like a bow, her knees splaying widely to each side to frame his overweighting body, her fingernails driving into his shoulders, her head tilting back and her eyes rolling in their sockets as she comprehended the inexorable destiny of her virginal loss.
Her loud groan, wordless but poignant, excited the young onlookers. Joey Elverson had by this time emerged his swollen organ, and was unashamedly squeezing it, the thumbpad pressed tightly over the twitching lips of the meatus to hold back his fervent essence. By now, too, Ben and Mack and Bruce had opened their jeans and released their own savagely turgid sex weapons, as if wishing by this means to participate in their crony's carnal conquest of Christine.
Now Henry Ferguson's left hand shifted out from under her bottom, only to clamp upon her right bare breast, and again she cried out in her despairing knowledge of the total liberties he was so heinously taking with her hitherto untouched naked body. The camera faithfully recorded this maneuver also, as Joey, working the camera with his right hand, continued to cup and squeeze his aching penis with the other.
"Oh, for God's sake, get it over with, I'm dying of shame, please finish, Henry please, please let me go, oh, do end it!" Christine Bernard brokenly whispered.
But he ignored her agonized supplication. By now, even his own remarkable self-control was waning from the glorious victory over this haughty and supercilious young beauty. He drew himself back, only to plunge to the very depths again, then withdrew, then thrust home once more. Shaken by the twinges which his penetrations evoked in her tender cleft, the bespectacled young woman sobbed and groaned, writhing beneath him. Her knees clamped together, then spread hugely, as her body was shaken by multiple tremors.
"You're getting Teach real hot, just look at net shake her sweet ass!" Ben Elverson panted.
Henry Ferguson lowered his head and fused his lips on his victim's left nipple, while his left hand squeezed and massaged her other naked breast. His right hand now shifted again, palming right over the narrow crease between her but-tocks, as he prepared for the final onslaught. Grinding his teeth, closing his eyes, holding himself back till the very final moment, he quickened his pace inside of her. He thrust, withdrew, then thrust again, drawing back almost to the rims of her twitching love-lips, and then with a final thrust, felt himself unable to hold back the breaking dam of his restraint. Lifting his face, twisting in ecstasy and agony which is the culmination of sexual longing, the seventeen-year-old youth uttered a hoarse bellow of delight, "Ohhh, Jeez, I'm going off, get ready, Chrissy baby, here I come!"
And as he thrust the final time, his body jerked and quaked, his mouth clamped down again on her swollen nipple-bud, his other hand pitilessly squeezing her heaving breast, while he felt himself explode into the protective sheath and lay there panting and sagging with completion.
She writhed and moaned under him, her eyes mad with shame and suffering. The constant and rough friction of his organ, however protected by the condom, had rasped the delicate mucous membrane of her love-sheath to an irritated sensitivity which attacked all her nerves and shattered what stoicism she had been able to retain thus far.
Her shrill cry merged with his bellow now and as she felt his weight crush down upon her in his own fulfillment, her body remained quivering and vibrant, not yet released from the erotic tension, but not yet arrived at its release.
"Got it all!" Joey Elverson hoarsely panted. He laid down the camera, and then began to masturbate wildly with both hands, uttering a cry and catching his own spermatic outpouring in his palms as he stared greedily at the stricken, sprawled young woman on the dirty mattress.