Chapter 15

Mary felt she was living a dream. She rose from the bed and went to work cleaning the sperm off Alfred's cock, then off his brother's. She didn't mind the job. She knew the importance of being clean.

"Get dressed," John said, throwing Mary her clothes.

Mary didn't ask where they were going. She would find out soon enough. Carefully, she tended to her clothes. Her asshole was wet from the lick­ing and the fucking John had given her. She liked the tingling sensation of his tongue most of all. His thick sperm made her insides all slippery. Mary wanted John to maybe lick her butt once more before they left the hotel, but of course she didn't ask for this special favor. And she didn't complain when John didn't offer.

They took a cab through town and up onto the freeway. It was dark when they left the hotel. The stars twinkled merrily in the sky and in the dis­tance she could see the lighthouse signaling boats as they approached the harbor.

The cab driver swung onto the freeway and maneuvered into the center lane.

"Where to?" he asked.

"You know Funky Dunk's?" John asked.

The driver laughed. "Sure do, that's a land­mark," he answered. "Take lots of people there. Nice old hotel if it weren't so overrun with those Communist hippie bastards."

"Right you are," John exclaimed.

The punks were out in force as the cab swung up to the hotel. It looked like one of those protest marches of the sixties, except these disheveled kids were, if possible, even more wretched looking.

The cab driver produced a tire iron from under the seat, saying "You might need some assistance, Mister. These hippies don't think twice about knocking you over the head and grabbing your loot."

John merely nodded and swung the back door open. Immediately, the girls pressed against the cab dropped to their knees like disciples before a king. "That's all right, driver. These people will give us no problem."

"Ahhhhh, too bad," sighed the driver, putting the tire iron below the seat. The adrenalin was running. He had wanted to pop a few heads. A little excitement made a dull evening go faster.

Mary was pulled through the gaggle of hippies and past the front desk. They veered to the right and started ascending the stairway. She was feeling normal again after the long cab ride to the hotel. Normal, that is, for a girl who had been forced into committing sodomy. John gripped her hand tightly, and she had no chance to escape. Be­sides, her legs ached from being spread so wide apart, and her asshole burned. It felt like some­body was holding a lit match between her cheeks.

At the head of the stairs, a body was curled up next to the hotel door.

John let go of Mary and stopped at the crum­pled body. He put his hand on the boy's stomach and heard him groan.

"What happened?" asked Alfred.

John looked. The injured boy's arms disap­peared into his crotch, though the boy's legs were pulled up so tightly that he couldn't be sure.

"Ohhhh, man," groaned the kid. "This big bastard kicked me square in the balls."

John whistled. "Too bad, man. I told you to be careful with customers. These guys can get mean." He headed down the hallway dragging Mary after him. "Get the desk man to call a doc­tor. I tell you, it pays to be careful in this busi­ness."

The hotel corridor was anything but silent. It was filled with the deep throated groans of happy men caught in the throes of their orgasms. They screamed and whooped it up like cowboys back from a three day bender. The noises were familiar. The joys of flesh finding flesh, of mus­cles slapping against muscles or glands meshing together like well oiled cogs in a fucking mach­ine was unmistakable.

Mary felt another sharp pain. She was scared of this place. The people were strange and un­friendly. Whoring herself had started out born of desperation. Now it was something much dif­ferent.

Deep in the bowels of this strange, dreary hotel, locked away from the normal world, Mary felt weird and a little bit scared. She wanted out, but that was impossible now. She could go only after these two brothers finished with her.

She had no idea what depraved sexual ad­ventures they had planned, or why she had to come to this hotel, but she would find out soon enough. Biting her lip to hold off the tears, Mary tried mustering her courage.

"In here," said John, stopping at the last door along the corridor. "In we go."

He produced a key from his pocket and turned it in the lock. "You in there, love?" he said.

"All set," said a woman's voice.

All set, thought Mary? That was a woman in­side the room. And why would she answer un­less...

Janice Lavage was sitting in a chair, one leg propped on the arm, smoking a cigarette and blow­ing great round puffs of smoke into the air. The three visitors walked in.

She had been living in the hotel for three years, since being expelled from France for being an undesirable. Actually, the tag was hardly fitting for a woman of Ms. Lavage's fame.

Lavage was easily the most famous feminist living on either continent. Her nightclub, the Orgasm One, had been a vastly popular, if some­what scandalous place to go.

Ms. Lavage offered a variety of strange sexual acts as entertainment. There were donkeys that fucked whores and Lesbians who prodded each other with massive dildos and even a whipping now and then. Ms. Lavage had a wide streak of cruelty running through her personality and this perversity was what gave the club its distinctive ambience.

Ms. Lavage was a full-blown Lesbian and proud of it. She had formed women's liberation in Paris long before it became a fashionable movement. Ms. Lavage despised men. She thought men had ruled the world long enough and now it was time for the women of the world to unite and take the reins of leadership into their own hands.

When she was kicked out of France following a sex torture act at the Orgasm One, an act that was so horrid the police were called in, Ms. Lavage settled in California. It was here that she planned to start training women for her world political movement.

"Hello, John," she said coldly. "Bring me something?"

"Yes, I have," he said. "Ms. Lavage, meet Mary Anderson."

He gave Mary a quick boot in the rear that sent her sprawling before Ms. Lavage's feet. Mary looked up, trying to act calm and collected. She was scared shitless. Her bladder was bloated. She wanted to pee right there while kneeling on the floor.

"A beauty," Ms. Lavage said. "Mary, you are beautiful."

Mary was put off by the French accent. Ms. Lavage was an attractive woman whose appearance showed the taste and sense of style that only the French people seem to possess. Wearing a short black miniskirt with matching black vinyl boots with little chains on the heels, Ms. Lavage looked regal, and a little bit frightening, too. Her eyes were cold as frosted glass. They seemed to bore through Mary like diamond drills.

The eyes were the mirrors of the soul, Mary thought.

Suddenly, Ms. Lavage sat up in the chair. She turned to John and his moronic brother, her eyes beaming signals. Leave us alone, her eyes said.

But John just smiled. He knew everything about Ms. Lavage. Her hatred for men was not new to him. He had hired Ms. Lavage for the pur­pose of breaking in his girls. Realizing that prosti­tutes turned eventually to Lesbian love, John wanted his girls to get a taste of sisterly love early and savagely.

He pushed Mary's head down until her fore­head touched the floor. Then he smiled at Ms. Lav­age and said, "Madam, she is all yours."

Mary was ground into the floor. She lifted her weight and looked up through the V of Ms. Lav­age's legs, surprised to find that a woman of such regal taste wore no underwear. Straining her neck, Mary saw the thick sporran of pubic hair sprouting from her crotch. Suddenly an explosion roared. Her ears ached. Putting her hands up to her head, Mary realized she had been hit.

Ms. Lavage stood up, holding the leather riding crop. She snapped the end close to Mary's nose.

"That will teach you to look," Ms. Lavage snapped. "Come, John and help me with these clothes. I have some thing planned for my new friend."