Chapter 8

Marianne slid lower in her chair, letting her skirt slip up a little higher. "Anything else, Doctor?" she asked.

The soft glow from the light on Doctor Saxon's desk glimmered on the whiteness of Marianne's thighs above her dark hose. Pat Saxon stared at her absently. He was thinking of the guest in number twenty-four. Jacqueline! He wanted to write a full report on her. She was very unusual.

Marianne wriggled in her chair; she opened her legs slightly and eased her buttocks forward. What was the matter with him? Was he blind? Couldn't he see her? Damn him! She felt small beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Couldn't he tell?

"No," he said, "I think that's all, Marianne. It's pretty late. You must be tired!"

She wasn't tired! she wanted to tell him. She was all tensed up, a mass of agonized nerves pleading for release. You think you're a psychologist, she wanted to scream and you can't even tell when a woman wants to be fucked! But all she actually said, was: "I'm not tired, Doctor ... I-I think I'll sleep overnight in my room here. I don't feel like driving into town."

She got up from her chair jerkily, dropped her small notepad, then picked it up clumsily.

Pat Saxon became more alert. "Are you all right, Marianne?" he asked.

The eyes that she turned on him were feverish; they oscillated wildly from side to side. "Yes," she said thickly, "I'm all right." She turned to the door and groped at it blindly, "Good night, Doctor," she mumbled over her shoulder.

Pat Saxon stared at Marianne's back. Oh my God! he breathed soundlessly, Marianne, too! "Wait!" His voice stopped her as she was about to step through the doorway.

She half-turned, her cheeks red; a suspicious dampness beneath her eyes. "What-what is it?" her voice was ragged.

He walked up to her, placed his hand on her arm. Her flesh felt hot to his touch. She flinched.

"You'd better tell me," he said softly.

All at once, Marianne's eyes filled with tears. She pressed her head against Pat's shoulder, then jerked out the words between sobs. "Don't-don't you know?"

He held her very gently, closing his eyes and hoping she wouldn't say what she did.

"I need something, Pat. I need you," her voice was uneven.

He stroked her head gently, as if she was an animal in pain. "Not me," he murmured.

She nodded her head against his shoulder and he could feel the hot breath from her lips as she mouthed, "I need a man. I want to be loved. Pat, don't you understand?" she pressed her lips into his neck and groaned, "I want to be fucked, Pat. Please, Pat, fuck me!"

Again! Pat pressed his teeth into his lip, gently. How many more times? He concealed the small useless curse beneath his breath.

"Do you hate me, Pat?" Marianne's voice was very low.

He held her more firmly, touched her forehead with his lips. "No, Marianne, of course not!" He held her away from him, looked into her face, "You know better than that!"

She stared up at his face, hopelessly. "No," her voice was flat. "No, I don't know." She sobbed quietly against his chest. "What do I have to do?" she asked with a jagged break in her voice. "Do I have to go on my knees and beg?" She dropped down on the floor, squatted on her heels and stared up at him. "Don't you want me?" The tears streamed down her cheeks. She reached to her waist, released the clip on her skirt, then dragged the puny piece of material away from her body. "Is there something wrong with me?" she asked, staring down at her body, then slowly rising to her feet. She was nude from the waist down. Marianne didn't wear panties. She passed her hand gently through the light thatch of reddish blonde hair on her belly. She looked up at him, pressed her fingers between her thighs, moving them upwards. "Won't you help me, Pat?" her voice was dead, hopeless.

"Yes," he hissed out the words as though he hated them. "I'll help you."

Her eyes opened wide. "Pat," her voice was alive again, "you mean that you'll love me-you'll ... ?" She closed her eyes and breathed it out like a prayer, "You'll fuck me?"

Pat kept his voice quiet, even. "If that's what you want me to do, Marianne, yes." He held her shoulders firmly, felt her burning flesh through her flimsy blouse, then glanced down, saw the reddish blonde pubic hairs which seemed to crackle with the current that flowed from the thighs that she was rubbing together with a squirming, rolling movement ... "If you need it," he whispered, "I'll fuck you, Marianne!"

Pat Saxon was alone now. Marianne would meet him in his rooms in the north wing in a matter of minutes. Pat felt in his pocket, dragged out the key, then moved to the cabinet in the corner of his office. His eyes rested on the contents of the drawer. He reached in, took one of the shaped appliances out and weighed it thoughtfully in his hand. I wonder, he murmured under his breath, then he remembered something and a faint smile crossed his face as he shut the drawer and locked it.

Quickly, he unfastened his pants, letting them drop to the floor. Then carefully and with a sureness that came from long practice, he strapped the long, smooth, hard rubber penis onto himself. He drew up his silk shorts until the artifact made a comforting forward bulge. Then he fastened his pants, looked at himself in the mirror and moved to the door of his office.

Marianne stared at her reflection in the mirror in her room. She looked a mess! She reached for a tissue to try and repair some of the tear traces on her cheeks and saw her fingers tremble as she moved her hand. Oh, my God, she moaned silently, can't I control myself?

She stumbled to the cupboard where she kept her seldom used bottle of gin, poured a glass with unsteady hands. She gulped it, spilling some down the front of her blouse. Then clattered the bottle against the side of her glass as she poured herself another. She breathed deeply; feeling the liquor, finding some small return of self-control. Then she threw herself onto her bed and lay on her back for a blessed minute of peace.

Unfastening the skirt that she had dragged on so hastily, so awkwardly, before she left Pat's office, she then removed her garter belt and rolled off her stockings. She wouldn't need these things where she was going, she told herself breathlessly, not for what she was going there for. She stretched out her legs in front of her then pressed her thighs together, feeling the muscles strain tensely. A droplet of moistness slid from her vulva and Marianne clenched her hands tightly and screwed her eyes shut. Wait, she pleaded to her body. The small, smooth tip of her clitoris rose from its pink bed and instinctively her hand slid across her belly to meet it! It seemed to vibrate under her fingers. She pushed it down as if she were sending it back to its niche but it persisted, sliding under and between her fingers like a piece of wet, hungry quicksilver. Marianne felt her heart skip a beat. Her legs parted of their own accord and she knew that her lips, her warm, wet vaginal lips were opening. She clenched her teeth, then thrust a stiff forefinger quickly into her vulva. The hot, sweating tissue inside her vagina sucked at the intruding finger. She let her walls of inner flesh contract, gripping tightly, then subsiding. Her tensed finger began to move. At first, she made small exploratory circles inside the familiar cavity, caressing the well-known crannies, swooping into the small valleys of desire then emerging, quivering and wet only to plunge inside again, more deeply then again more deeply still and fast ... Marianne moved her other hand through the bristling labyrinth of reddish blonde hair, then pried open the inner lips of her cunt still further. She had room now to thrust two tensed, excited fingers inside. They moved in a blur, thrusting in strongly, then emerging with reluctant sucking sensations. Faster, she moaned to herself, deeper ... Her mouth chewed at an invisible morsel of satiation, her hips began to grind into the protesting mattress. Sweat poured down her face, trickled between her breasts and cascaded down her belly as her torso writhed spasmodically, painfully as she sought fiercely within herself for needed satiation. She could feel her buttocks working as she strained. The sheet felt damp against her excited skin. Air bubbled from her lips as she squirmed with the first beginning orgasm. Her thighs clenched shut, trapping her fingers inside her cunt, then she opened them, thrust in again and the delicious thrills began to run through her flesh. A frenzied hand fled up her body to her breast where eager fingers seized a tensing nipple. She tugged it painfully, biting her lips. Gripping the tip tightly she pulled it away from her body and squeezed the tip with pinching, hurting nips of her finger and thumb. Air escaped from her moving, working lips with an obscene sound, then her mouth moaned words: "Fuck, fuck, fuck me." Suddenly, she whirled her body over, buried her face in the pillow and groaned, "Pat, oh Pat, I'm so ready now. So ready ..."

With an intolerable effort, she rolled herself off the bed, lost her balance and sprawled on the floor. She dragged herself up and with quivering, hungry hands began to drape a skimpy peignoir over her body. She glanced at herself in the mirror, saw her flesh, mottled with the reddened hue of passion and quivering with unfulfilled desire. Then she seized a jar of cream, scooped out a greedy fingerful and smeared it, with loving lasciviousness on her vagina, her vulva, her cunt! Please be ready for me, she spewed to herself, be ready, Pat, don't fail me, just appease me, I'm ready. My vulva's wet, hot and creamed. We're ready, Pat, ready to be fucked and fucked! Pat, are you ready, too?

Pat Saxon sat in the chair beside his bed and glanced at the preliminary report on his guest in room twenty-four, Jacqueline; then he threw it down on the dresser, lit a cigarette and paced up and down nervously. He'd be glad when this was over! He didn't have to go through with this, he told himself, he could still-still brush her off with some flimsy, transparent excuse. Then he thought of what that would do to the already over-wrought girl and he sighed. He couldn't do that! Not to Marianne. He liked her too much. That was the whole damned trouble! He liked her as a person, as a secretary, as a friend, but ... That was all!

How far did a friend have to go? Comfort her when she was unhappy? Calm her when she was upset and laugh with her when she was happy? Maybe, he mused somberly, but did he have to make love to her because she wanted to be loved, or to be more semantically exact, did he have to fuck her because she wanted to be fucked? Because she felt the hot gusts of sexual desire flooding her glands? Was it his duty to screw her cunt? Fuck her pussy until she was satisfied? If she ever could be satisfied! He reached down to his crotch, felt his artificial cock and frowned in self-anger. But he had said he would do what she wanted and told her he'd fuck her cunt. So if he said it, then-

There was a gentle tap at his door and when he opened it, she stood there shyly and brazenly, her nipples shining redly. She had lipsticked them.

"Hello, Pat," she said tremulously. Then she looked at him as if he were a stranger.

"Come in, Marianne," he said softly.

She brushed a pointed nipple against his arm as she passed him at the door. He's just doing this to please me, she told herself with sudden, awful intuition. I shouldn't make him do it. Then she felt a sexually avaricious compulsion. I'll let him do it, she whispered to herself, I'll make him do it! And with unwanted insight, she realized that she didn't care whether he wanted to make love to her, fuck her, or not. All she cared was that he did! That he appeased her, fucked her and fucked her until her hungry flesh was satisfied ... until her lewd and lusting desire was quenched and her clutching, torturing cunt ceased its imperious demands. You're going to be screwed, she told her churning vulva as it throbbed inside her flesh. Be patient, she silently commanded as she squeezed her wet vagina between her thighs. And you, my little monster, she spewed to her cunt, you'll be fucked!

"I'm ready, Pat," she whispered, looking up at his face with her lips slightly parted.

He kept his eyes down for a moment. He could see right through her robe. Her raping robe, he thought. Her fucking robe, he thought. Then he looked up, saw her face, her mouth slightly open. Why, he drew back with sudden shock, her lips look like an opening vulva! Then strangely, the raw desire, the naked emotion that was etched so plainly on every inch of exposed flesh seemed to make her, in some bizarre way, achingly vulnerable, devastatingly defenseless. And he felt pity and with it ... a semblance of love. "I'm ready too, Marianne," he said, kissing her. He led her gently to his bed.

Marianne had felt the end of the hard cock pressing against her belly when Pat kissed her so gently and she felt a sudden uplifting of her spirits. He is aware of me, she wanted to sing, he wants me, he'll love me and fuck me and make-make me come. "Pat," she whispered when they were at the side of his bed, "am I so awful?"

He smiled down at her. "You're lovely, Marianne, beautiful," he gave her a gentle squeeze.

"I mean," she said, "the things I've been saying, like fuck me!" She looked up at him, her eyes seeming unnaturally bright.

"You can say whatever you like," he told her.

"You don't mind," her voice came out stickily wet, "fuck me and screw me and rape and beat me!"

"I don't mind," Pat's voice was low.

"Then do it," she hissed, tearing off her expensive silk peignoir, "do it. Do all of the things I tell you. Fuck me, Pat, fuck me now!" She spiraled herself onto his bed. "Now, Pat, now!" she spewed from between her slick, dribbling lips.

For a second he stared down at her writhing flesh, then he reached for the switch and clicked off the light.

"No!" she called. "The light! Does it have to be in the dark?"

"Yes," he rasped, his voice suddenly violent, "it has to be!" He dragged his pants down and tore off his shirt. Then with only the thin, silk briefs to cover his molded penis, he rolled himself onto the bed.

Marianne sighed when she felt the hardness of the cock touch her side through his shorts. "Make it good, Pat, hard and long," she mouthed into his ear as her hand glided down toward the penis.

"No!" he snapped out. "Don't touch me! Not there-not ever." He gripped her wrist, stayed her hand before it felt the artifact, then said, "It's one of those things," he muzzled his face into her hair, "you understand."

She didn't, but she nodded her head against his just the same. "You can have your quirks, too, Pat," she whispered into his ear.

"Yeah," he said with feeling, "yeah."

He reached down, eased the tip of the rubber penis out of the fly of his shorts. "You gotta lie still," he made his voice fierce. "Don't move, don't paw me-understand?"

Marianne squirmed her body in wonder and anticipation. She'd never heard Pat talk like this before! This new side of Pat kind of excited her. "Whatever you say, Pat," she mouthed into his ear. "You can do whatever you want. I'll do whatever you want." She wriggled her body, "If if you want ... you can spank me, beat me, if you want!"

"Just lie still," he muttered. "Put your arms around my back and don't touch me anywhere else or I'll-" his voice stopped abruptly.

"Or what, Pat," she asked, squirming excitedly, "or what?"

His hand slapped the side of her face. She moaned with pain and shock. "Pat!" her voice was frightened. "What?"

"I told you," he mouthed, "now I've shown you."

"Yes Pat," she said submissively, "Yes, you're right. I-I'm sorry, Pat." She felt her body trembling with this new, thrilling excitement. She hadn't known that Pat would be so, so- She could feel the love-sweat streaming from her cunt. She wanted to grab Pat's cock and push it into her cunt until he fucked her but she couldn't touch it because he'd told her. Oh, hurry, hurry, Pat, she pleaded inside her clenched lips, please hurry!

Pat screwed his eyes shut in the darkness. He'd had to hit her he told himself in pain. He had to! He couldn't let her find out that-that his cock wasn't real. He seized it angrily and pressed the tip against Marianne's pulsing cunt. "Open your legs," he hissed towards her face. He was holding his body up, not pressing down on her, but his thighs were in between hers and she was stretching her legs wider and wider apart. He glided the rubber cock forward and the tip of it probed at the wet vaginal lips. Then he moved it in slowly. This was one of the bigger penises, he thought. He hoped it wasn't too big. He'd only been guessing at the size of Marianne's vagina; but he'd figured that if she got so hot so fast, she'd probably had quite a few men, quite a few cocks and some of them would be big ones. It glided inward smoothly.

Marianne wanted to bite Pat's face but he was too far away, she chewed on her lip instead. The beautiful feeling, the fullness, the movement inside her was beginning. "Oh, Pat," she moaned rapturously. "It's so, so wonderful-ooh-" her voice trailed off as he jerked his hips, causing the cock to gyrate wildly inside her cunt. "Oh, fuck me, Pat," she moaned, "fuck-fuck!"

He made the penis press against the end of her vagina, she groaned with pleasure and he rotated it smoothly. He could feel her breathing steadily below him and worked himself carefully. Pat knew how long it usually took before the early orgasms began and he was patient. He was skilled and he wanted to please Marianne. Pat let his head go down onto hers, though he half-held his chest away. His lips pressed on hers and her hungry tongue teased at his lips, then probed into his mouth; it was hot, sticky and sharp. He sucked it inward. Small groans were smothered deep in her throat. He felt her abdomen heaving and increased the speed of his jabbing cock. He fucked more deeply now. Suddenly Marianne tore her mouth away from his, mouthed, "Go in deep, Pat, deeper and deeper. Fuck me right to the back. Fuck me 'til your cock spurts through my ass. Oh, please, Pat, screw me hard!"

He drove in angrily, thrusting the insensitive rubber penis against the limits of her vagina, feeling the hard grind when he hit the back of her tunnel, probing brutally as Marianne's moans of pleasure melanged into groans of pain, then cascaded into squeals of blended ecstasy and agony. "Oh, you brute, Pat, I'm bleeding," she cried, "You awful, fucking bastard!"

He started to withdraw.

"Don't stop," she spewed. "I love it you brute, I love it." She squirmed wickedly.

Pat could feel wet squirts of vaginal fluid being forced out of her cunt and over the synthetic cock onto his thighs and briefs. After what seemed like a long time to Pat, but only fleeting ecstasy-filled seconds to Marianne, she had her first full orgasm. The rumbles from her throat grated into groans, then graded into an obscene low squeal of lust as she twisted her still-hungry flesh incessantly upon the satiating instrument of sexual satisfaction ... the artificial, rubber cock.

Pat felt the waves undulate down her body; sensed the thrilling currents that raced through her veins, her tissue, her nerves. Her cunt shook and vibrated as if it were never going to stop ... and when it did, Marianne had come five times!

"Oh, Pat," she moaned at last, "I loved it! I love you."

He smiled in the darkness. "No, Marianne," he kissed her forehead gently, "you just love being fucked!"

She giggled. "Pat, maybe that's true," she giggled some more, "but you don't have to tell me."

Pat let his breath out in a sigh of relief. She sounded more like herself ... more normal. He eased himself away.

Her hands went out, grabbed him around the neck. "Don't go away," she whispered.

"Stay where you are," he told her softly. "I'll get you a drink." He slid off the bed and with the room still in darkness he picked up his pants and shirt and glided out of the bedroom. Carefully he closed the bedroom door behind him, then gave a long, deep sigh. He went to his private bathroom, quickly stripped off his silk shorts, then unstrapped the cock. It was dripping wet, saturated with the sticky vaginal fluid from dear, little Marianne's hot, sucking cunt! He smiled, opened an inconspicuous cupboard behind the bath and dropped the artifact in it. He was closing the door when he stopped, deep in thought. Pat was still for a minute, then very deliberately he reached in the cupboard, took out another dry, rubber penis and carefully strapped it on himself. He donned fresh shorts, then pulled on his pants, undershirt and shirt. He went into his small lounge, poured two glasses of bourbon from his bottle there, then he returned to his bedroom and Marianne.

The light was on when he opened the door. Marianne stared at him with a smile on her face. She looked relaxed, happy and so very satisfied. "Hello, Pat," she said, "remember me?" She smiled at him again. She was mopping at her thighs with one of Pat's handkerchiefs. It looked wet through already.

He put the glasses down, then spoke quickly. "I'll get a syringe," he said. "I mean-"

"It's all right," she looked up at him calmly. "No need to worry. I know me," she laughed at his expression, then pointed to the wetness on her thighs and belly. "All this is me," she said. "I'm all wet, inside and out." She looked up at him, "Nothing for you to worry about."

Pat grinned at her. "You're quite a Marianne-come-wetly, aren't you?"

Her belly shook with amusement. "Don't tease your secretary, Pat."

He sat down beside her. "I've always heard that secretaries were like that," he needled.

"Oh, come on, Pat," she said coyly.

He laughed at her. "You did enough coming for two," he cracked.

She stopped smiling suddenly. "Yes, I did, didn't I?" she said very softly. Marianne looked at Pat strangely for a moment, then she pointed to her thigh and said, "All this is me ... where's you, Pat?"

"What?" His voice was expressionless.

"You didn't, did you?" She looked at his face searchingly, then repeated, "You didn't come, did you, Pat?"

"Why do you say that?"

"I can tell," she said. "I know."

"You can tell what?" His voice was too tense.

"I can tell you didn't come." She touched the glistening flesh on her belly, "All this is my-my come. Where's yours?"

Pat seemed to sigh with relief, then he tapped the rubber penis thinking how damned lucky it was that he'd worn it and said, "Right here!"

Her hand shot out and she touched the hard, rubber tip through the covering cloth.

Pat flinched, but he didn't draw away.

Marianne's eyes widened. "You're still-" she began then stopped.

"Yes," said Pat, calmly, "I'm still ... "

She met his eyes, then asked, "You're not satisfied! Do you want to-" she opened her thighs suggestively.

"Do you?" he asked.

"I'm all right," she whispered, now sounding strangely shy, "but if you want ... "

He shook his head. "I'm okay. I want to be sure that you are."

She smiled, then took his hand and pressed it against her face. "I feel wonderful," she told him, her eyes shining confirmation of her words.

"So do I," he said in relief. "Here's a drink," he withdrew his hand gently and passed a glass to her.

"You like bourbon, don't you?"

"Uum," she nodded, "right now I'd like anything!"

Pat nodded approvingly. "You look better."

She giggled. "You're a good fucker." Then her face became serious as she added, "You only did it to please me ... to satisfy me, didn't you, Pat?"

He shook his head at her but she placed her finger in front of her lips, softly arguing, "You did, Pat, I know." She picked the glass off the bedside table and raised it to' her lips. "Thanks, Pat, thanks," she whispered, then gently sipped at her bourbon.

Pat sighed and raised his glass. But before he drained it, he smiled, winked, then answered, "You're welcome!"