Case History 4
SUBJECT: Isabella Q. AGE: Fourteen
INTERVIEW ONE
Isabella Q. was a dark little jewel of young womanhood. I can easily say that in many years of practice I have never encountered so exotic and precious a beauty. As my servies are expensive I rarely get to treat members of minority groups, and my patients, almost invariably, are white, middle to upper class citizens, whose stories, as you might surmise, can become tedious listening. To tell you the truth, the work of a psychologist can be too often insipid, a trait which it shares, no doubt, with most professions.
However, Isabella will always remain in my memory as one of the most glorious exceptions to this rule. The moment she walked into my office I knew that this would be an interesting case.
Isabella is illegitimate. Her mother was Spanish and Chinese, and her father was a black American, a sanitation engineer. The blend of three races made slender young Isabella a bewitching little goddess. She was graced by the ethereal delicacy of the oriental, the fire of the Spanish, and rudimentary jungle rhythms of the black people. Somehow all the cliches of the races became original and profound in Isabella's magical body.
Isabella drifted into my office like a princess, sat down like a queen and crossed her legs like a star. She began to tell her story with the expertise of a master raconteur. I was utterly enchanted, as I believe you too will be when you read this transcript of our interviews.
To look at me, Doctor, who would know that I was raised in an orphanage and now live in a ghetto? Fortunately, I did not stay long in the orphanage, for beautiful girls like me are apt to be adopted. I was adopted by good but poor folk whom I loathed. Despite their kindness they were just too indigent to be believed.
A beautiful six year old girl, I was taken from the depressing orphanage to live in an even more depressing neighborhood much too far uptown in Manhattan. My new home was a squalid tenement on a hundred and frigging something street and Inferno Avenue. Imagine my dismay, Doctor, to be an angelic little goddess forced to live in a tenebrous apartment without even as much as a private bathroom. It didn't have a terrace, or anything.
My generous adoptive parents did not have the money to buy me nice clothes or presents. I had to wear the hand-me-downs of the elder daughter, a fat pig named Rachel. The clothes were tacky and did not fit well, and I had to attend a horrid school where everyone was obnoxious and hated me because I was so beautiful. After a year at that school my beauty began to develop even more, and my aristocratic features, as well as my patrician nature, began to emerge. I was obviously out of place in a ghetto. At school the children began to tease and torment me. They were jealous and spiteful. They called me the Jewish princess, which was altogether unfair, Doctor, as Jewish is one of the few things I am not.
However, as you can see, I survived. In addition to my other worldly beauty I have also been blessed with resiliency. But I do not know if I can survive the calamity that has happened to me recently. It might be too much for me.
Despising the ghetto, and knowing that I had to get out by the strength of my beauty and wits, I began to put my free time to work. Every day I would bring a shopping bag to school in which I hid my shabbiest clothes. I would put a little dirt on my face, just a little, and take a taxi to Gramercy Park, where I would kneel on a street corner. I would arrange my face into an expression of hunger and anguish, stretch out my palm and beg.
Needless to say, Doctor, this became quite lucrative. With my poignant young beauty and my not inconsiderable thespian abilities, I attracted a great deal of sympathetic attention. It was not uncommon for me to make a hundred dollars in an hour. I worked the corner for two or three hours a day, staying as late as I could. But I had to get back to the ghetto eventually or my surrogate mother would scold me and my surrogate father would beat the shit out of me.
After a few months I got sick of Gramercy Park and took my trade to Sutton Place, which was even better. I moved around the city, hitting all the generous men and the ladies bountiful.
This went on for years, but when I was in my early teens, and my breasts began to show, I met Kevin.
At this point I suppose I must make it clear that despite my deception and cunning I had not been a cheap little girl. My little cherry was still intact. I devoted all my thought and energy to improving my lot, and what with the begging for alms on street corners and outside chic shops where the rich bitches bought baubles and came out feeling guilty, I had not had time to think about my cunt. Believe it or not, Doctor, it had never even dripped. I did not know what it was for. I just thought it made pee pee and that was all.
Kevin taught me differently. He caught my act one afternoon as I was doing my gamine routine on the corner of Park Avenue and Fifty-second Street. He was more amused than moved, or so it appeared by his wry smile. I was determined to get at least ten bucks from him, and I began to crawl after him on my knees, grabbing his legs and whimpering about how hungry and poor I was.
I clutched his ankles and pleaded for mercy and money. He stopped, sat down on the concrete ledge around the fountain of the Seagram Building and began to talk with me.
"You're too beautiful to be poor," he said.
I was not so silly as to tell him that I agreed with him. I pretended not to know how beautiful I was, because that always seems sweet and innocent. For some reason, Doctor, rich assholes, who have none of their own, are intrigued by the modesty of others. They adore humility, perhaps because they are so arrogant themselves.
I performed brilliantly, convincing Kevin that I was desperately poor. It was not hard to do. Although I had saved a good amount of money I still felt hopelessly underprivileged. I had bought a few nice dresses, but I was never able to wear them for fear that my surrogate mother would see them and wonder where I had gotten the money. She more than likely has accused me of being a whore, which is not my style at all. I might beg, Doctor, but I would never be caught dead hooking.
Kevin was divine. He believed my pitiful story and began to feel sympathy for me. He invited me to come home with him and have dinner. I accepted his invitation eagerly, as I had had nothing but an ice cream cone all day.
Kevin was tall and blond and exceedingly handsome. He was in his early twenties and very successful and reasonably wealthy. When I asked him what he did for a living he did not hesitate to tell me that he was a pimp. I was very surprised. Of course I knew what a pimp was. One cannot grow up in a ghetto without picking up a bit of knowledge about the world's vulgarity. But I had always thought that pimps were black and wore gaudy shoes and rode around in gaudier limosines killing people. Kevin was white, well dressed and looked like a gentleman.
As soon as we were inside his apartment Kevin grabbed my budding breasts. He wasted no time. He told me that he wanted to fuck me and that afterwards he would buy me a pretty dress and take me somewhere nice for dinner. This seemed a kind of prostitution to me, and I told him that he did not have to buy me a dress or dinner, knowing that this would impress him and that after the fuck he would buy me an even nicer dress and a more elegant dinner.
It is amazing, I suppose, that I had lived in the ghetto without ever having seen a cock, but it's true. When Kevin took off his pants and I saw his enormous wand of flesh my brain sent signals to my pussy. The signals ricocheted back to my brain, from my brain back to my pussy. My mind and my cunt engaged in a fast game of electrical ping pong, thrilling me beyond description. I was suddenly so angry that I had spent my entire life begging for money when it was obvious that cock was what I needed and wanted.
Kevin wasted no time stripping every shabby garment from my young virgin body. I could see the look of rapture in his face when he saw that there was nothing shabby or inelegant about my stunning black beaver, my glorious thighs and my marvelous titties.
When he buried his face in my breasts and worked his tongue on the nipples, my young body shivered with sensations it had never known before. The extraordinary novelty of sexual bliss thrilled me.
Kevin stripped down to his wonderful nothingness, which was everything I could want in the world. Out of his clothes he looked a million times more handsome and virile than when he had picked me up on the street corner. He was a god, I was a goddess, and we were going to fuck like divine beasts.
He threw me onto the bed and spread my legs. He adjusted my body so that my hole was positioned for his attack.
I knew nothing whatever about men or fucking and I did not know what I was in for. My excitement was based on no knowledge, it was pure instinct.
Before ramming his cock into my virgin cunny, Kevin inserted a finger to explore and test my hole.
"Jesus, you're tight. You have the tiniest little hole I've ever felt, but it's wet and gooey, baby, and I'm going to give it the best fuck it's ever had."
Kevin assumed that I had taken cocks up my snatch before, and I did not want to tell him otherwise. I knew that some men did not like to fuck virgins, not wanting the responsibilty or guilt of taking a little girl's cherry. My little hole was simmering with lust and wanted to get fucked by Kevin's lethal weapon, so I lay back, spread my legs high in the air and said nothing.
He pressed the tip of his massive organ against the glistening lips of my tight cunny. I felt the pulsing of his cock head against my tender flesh, and when he pushed into me I was shocked by the most incredible pain I had ever known.
I screamed in agony, knowing that I could not endure it.
But Kevin was determined to bury his rod in my little box. He was trying to put boots in a box that would not contain earrings. I knew that I would die if he continued, and I knew that he would continue. He was too horny to do anything but fuck me and kill me, and I resigned myself to my fate, knowing that I would die an insufferable but badly wanted death.
Kevin reached for my pussy lips, prying them apart with the tips of his fingers to make room for his cock. I felt his fingers massaging my moist delicate flesh, thrilling me. He forced his cock in a full inch and I felt it throbbing powerfully against the lining of my tight canal.
I knew this was the end. I would die of agony before feeling the full splendors of his cock in my cunny. He would kill me, and then he would shove it all the way in and start fucking me with his huge wonderful rod, but I would be too dead to enjoy it.
Terror rushed through my body, confusing my pleasure. I wanted Kevin to get it all the way in, I wanted to feel myself being fucked by a cock, to learn what it was like. But I trembled in panic, frightened for my life, while Kevin, male and uncaring, rammed deeper into me.
I looked down between my legs and saw the broad head of his cock disappear into my body. I could see the wedge of flesh around the circumference of his prick, and then I could not see it. He pushed it into my flesh, filling me with more and more of his pulsing hot meat.
But he had many inches still to shove in, and I knew that my hot little pussy would have to accommodate them.
The pain was excruciating. Kevin strained to invade me, pushing his cock ruthlessly into my warm wet box. I screamed again in terror and Kevin covered my mouth with his hand to stifle my cries.
"Hush, honey! You're going to get fucked, and you're going to like it." Kevin said, half gently, half threateningly.
He pushed his cock deeper into the wound of my cunt, and when he was in three inches I felt a shock of heightened agony, and I looked down and saw drops of blood leaking from the moist flesh of my hold and forming ruby red beads of Kevin's hard brutal fuck rod.
He saw them too, but they didn't stop him. He kept assaulting me with his weapon of flesh, forcing his male meat into my female tunnel. His cock was insistent.
Suddenly, Kevin's great cock rushed into me all at once, as though a magic door had been opened by a benevolent sorcerer. He rammed all the way into my pussy, and I felt the root of his cock throbbing inside the delicate envelope of my cunt lips.
For a moment it was excruciating, but then the pain became glorious. My gooey cunt gutter was full of his long hard meaty bone, and my wet tissues began to gnaw on it. I felt my muscles expanding around the girth of his fully inserted rod, and his pulsing cock made exquisite sensations in my hole.
"Ahh, baby, that's good," Kevin groaned in animal delight.
He was right. It was good. He began to. move back and forth in my tight cunt, making my lubricious walls embrace his huge stick and treat it to delectable friction.
His cock withdrew from the delicious embrace of my cunny, leaving me almost vacant, with only the tip remaining in my hungry caress.
Wonderfully, he plunged back into my wet oasis, and my pussy lining wrapped around him in ecstasy, thrilling to his reoccuption.
In and out he pumped, thrilling me, blessing me, adoring me. I worshipped his cock, his thick hot pulsing meat. His virility was a benediction, a marvel.
He fucked me like a centaur, a satyr, a powerful god. Thrusting into me he'thrilled me with his potency; pulling back, deserting me, he made me yearn for his return, which he gave-me a hundred times, a thousand times.
When he punched his iron spear into my ecstatic wound I felt his huge balls, the globes of his mighty maleness, slapping hard against my swooning flesh. They struck my delicate asscheeks, banging my skin with wonderful power.
I writhed under his body, loving every thrust. I watched the motions of his humping pelvis and the flexings of his powerful chest. Instinctively, I devoted my hands to the service of his pleasure, stroking his hard pectoral muscles with one, dancing my fingers on his wonderful flesh. With my other hand I caressed his big balls, squeezing his hard bag of nuts and loving the way they filled my hand with his strength and vigor.
From his animal groans and the tenseness of his masculine musculature I knew that he was experiencing a great and magnificent pleasure, perhaps as superb as my own. I was glad that my pussy could make his cock feel so good. It was only fair, because his hard meat in my hole made me happier than I had ever been in my life. Kevin started to bang my writhing body harder and faster, thrilling the oasis between my thrashing legs.
I wrapped my legs around his humping back and used them to push him harder and deeper into me, guiding his already masterful fuck thrusts. His long hard cock rushed in and out of my hole, in and out of the tight wet embrace of my cunt.
He hammered into me hard and brutally, growling with raging male ecstasy.
"Ahh, shit! I'm going to come in your cunt! I'm shooting my load into your hot little pussy!" He roared in pleasure, and his humping became almost terrifyingly powerful. His body banged into me, punching my hole with hard fucking force.
I felt shudders of ecstasy between my legs. My hole was secreting wonderful pussy dew, and the little gem of my clit quivered in my soft fragrant fold, hot like a little flame of passion in the secret grove of my womanhood.
All at once, I felt a great blast go off in my cunt, a hot searing splash crashing out into my hole, burning the walls of my already over boiled cunny.
"Fuck!!" Kevin shouted, his voice loud and husky, "I'm shooting my load in your cunt."
That was it for me! When I felt his scalding seed splash out of his cock and into my body, I exploded with my first orgasm. Never before had I felt anything like it. It was a paradise better than any I could ever imagined. It was beyond anything I had ever thought about.
This was the delight, this was the sensation that people enjoyed thousands of times in their lives? I could not believe it. Surely, I thought, bliss this total can only come to us once. How can this ever happen again, this joy, this miraculous euphoria? I could not comprehend the thought of people doing this every month, every week, sometimes every day of their lives. It was too wonderful for that. I would have been glad and grateful to feel it just once more in my life. Only that. Just once more would be more than enough, and more than I could ever deserve. Human beings do not deserve to have such ecstasy all the time.
Nor could I quite believe that this was the rapture about which people told silly, banal stories and spoke of in filthy words. It was too glorious, too precious for the language of the street. It should be spoken of only in reverent whispers, only with awe and astonishment. No superlatives were adequate to convey its splendor. It should not be spoken of at all. It should not be blasphemed by the vulgate tongues of vulgar people. It should only be worshipped, over and over.
Later, after we had lingered in each other's passionate embrace, Kevin did buy me a lovely dress. I looked regally beautiful in it, and he took me to an extraordinary dinner. Never in my life had I known that mere food could be ambrosia. In the ghetto we worried only about filling our bodies, but I learned the difference between eating and dining. Kevin worried about the flavors of food, not only the textures but the sheen of sauces. I tasted new wonders. After the heaven of fucking the joy of cuisine was almost too much for me. I never wanted to return to the ghetto.
But I did, Doctor. I went back that night, and waited insufferably for the weekend, when I had arranged to meet Kevin again.
We did meet, and we fucked again, and dined again, and Kevin bought me another beautiful dress, more sumptuous than the first.
We began to have weekly rendezvous, and my life became one rhapsody after another, until one day, it all turned to shit.
INTERVIEW TWO
Isabella blanched at the conclusion of our last session. Obviously the continuation of the story was painful for her to recall. I had listened avidly to her tale and was eager to hear it to the end. Unfortunately, however, our time for the day was up and another patient was already in the waiting room, ready to bore me with her dreary neurosis. Isaella returned later in the week to disclose the remainder of her grim but clinically fascinating tale.
Here, verbatim! is the transcript of our second interview.
You may wonder, Doctor, what I have to complain about or what it could possibly be that has shattered my life. It would seem that I had everything that a girl could want, a handsome and supremely endowed man to fuck me, buy me clothes and presents and initiate me into the marvels and luxuries of civilized life.
It did seem perfect. I would come downtown, meet Kevin at his apartment, we would fuck and enjoy each other, have lovely evenings, and then I would leave and return to the ghetto, knowing that I would be back in Kevin's bed in a day or two.
I was so ecstatic every time I left Kevin, so radiant with the memory of each wondrous evening and with the certainty that I would be back for more, and that his huge cock would blast me over and over with an endless supply of his hot male seed, that I usually walked all the way from the low sixties to the tacky tenement I lived in, which was in another world, on West One hundred and thirty-sixth Street.
But one night I was late, and my surrogate mother had been asking questions about where I had been keeping myself and what I was doing, so I decided to take a taxi.
On the way home I glowed with happiness. In two days I was to meet Kevin in Central Park, where we were going to have a divine picnic of chilled lobster with remoulade sauce, ambrosial cheeses, champagne and other lovely things. Then, I knew, Kevin would take me away and ravage me, drilling his hard wonderful cock into my wanting pussy, which by this time took him happily, like an expert. I could not get enough of his cock.
In the taxi, as we drove through the tenebrous squalor of the upper West Side, I thought also of the new pleasure Kevin had taught me that evening. For the first time he had asked to stick his cock in my asshole. At first, Doctor, I had been revolted by the suggestion. I knew how glorious it was when he fucked me in the cunt, and I thought that was pleasure enough. But I did consent, not wanting to anger the man I had come to worship and love.
When Kevin lubricated my ass and shoved his cock into that strange and still virgin hole, I experienced the bliss of losing yet another cherry. I suppose that it was the last cherry I had to lose, but I parted with it joyously. The feeling of Kevin's great fucking cock in my ass was as wonderful as the ecstasy I felt in my cunt when he fucked me in the conventional way. It was an altogether new experience, and I knew that Kevin would gvie me more of it, which was just what I wanted.
Little did I know that he had other plans for my asshole.
I waited in suspense during the two long days that kept me from Kevin's cock.
When I arrived for our picnic I saw Kevin, shirtless and in tight cut off shorts, languishing on the quilt he had spread out on the grass of the park. The sight of his half naked body and the thick fat bulge inside his cut offs made my cunt boil with desire and anticipation. I couldn't wait to gobble up the lobster and start nibbling on his cock. I wanted to devour it in my mouth before he rammed it into my pussy, and then my eager asshole.
Oddly, Kevin did not smile when he saw me. His face was almost expressionless. I sat down on the quilt and stretched my legs out, wanting to tease him with my beautiful limbs and my breasts, which were visible through the plunging neckline of the sheer summer dress I was wearing. My blood simmered in my veins, knowing that Kevin would tear the dress from me and that I would soon be naked in his arms, my hole, either one or the other, filled with his massive male meat.
The first thing Kevin said to me was rather puzzling. For two young people allegedly in love it was a suprisingly banal question.
"Since when can you afford taxis, bitch. Don't you know that begging gamines don't take taxis back to the ghetto after a rough night of fucking? I want to know where you got the money." Kevin's voice sounded cold, distant and hostile.
His angry tone terrified me. I had no idea why he was making such a fuss about a taxi. After celestial fucking did he expect me ride on a bus? I did not know what to answer, but I tried, lamely.
"Kevin, don't be silly. It only costs a few dollars. I might live too far uptown, in another world, but it is more or less the same galaxy. Why should we fuss about a few dollars when we have the fortunes of the world between our legs? Let's don't worry about some scraps of green paper when we own the rainbow."
I thought this little bit of prosody would do the trick, but it didn't.
"You're not answering my question, bitch! How did you get the money. I've been buying you some clothes, but I haven't been giving you any cash. Have you been picking my pockets while I hump you?"
The suggestion was too tacky, the accusation too vulgar and unfair.
"Kevin, how could you say something like that. Of course, not. I would never do something like that. Haven't I told you that you could fuck me without even buying me dresses?" I protested, tears of hurt and insult beginning to well in my beautiful eyes.
"If you haven't been robbing me, where have you gotten the money? Have you been hooking? Have you betrayed me, taking all the cock and clothes you get from me and then selling your pussy to anyone else who will pay the price? Is that how you've been getting your money.
I was so hurt by Kevin's unjust accusations that I blurted out the truth. "If you must know, Kevin, I made some money begging on the streets. People are generous with their money, rich people, I mean, because they're guilty about having so much. I think they know that it isn't fair for them to be wealthy and crass when other people are indigent and charming. Have you ever noticed that rich people are never as civilized as they should be, given all they have to work with. It has always bothered me. It has never bothered me that rich people are vulgar, but it enrages me that vulgar people are rich."
"Never mind your social philosophies, bitch. Tell me how much money you made begging on street corners." Kevin hissed, cracking a lobster claw and dipping it in remoulade sauce. He put it in his own mouth and chewed, waiting for my answer. It would have been polite if he had given it to me.
"I used to make about a hundred dollars a day, I suppose." I said.
"And how long did you do it," he asked, suspecting the worst.
"Oh, not long, Kevin," I lied, not wanting him to deduce that I had made thousands of dollars from years of appealing to the sympathies of guilty people.
"How long," Kevin growled, getting angry and demanding specificity.
"Less than a year, darling," I said, hating myself for lying to him.
"I'm not sure I believe you, cunt! But even a year is a lot of time, and I suspect you made more money than you're willing to tell me. All this time I thought you were a penniless little gamine, and I've bought you expensive clothes because I wanted to take you to nice places and let you experience some relief from your destitute ghetto existence. But you didn't need what I could give you. You could have bought it all for yourself. Jesus, do you realize that I've spent a fortune of money on you, and I feel that it has all been unnecessary. Christ, cunt, I work hard for my money! Do you think a pimp has an easy life? How stupid are you? It's fucking hard work. I have to keep an eye on every one of my girls to make certain they don't get out of line. I can't afford a girl who misbehaves and often I am forced to discipline them, just as I'm going to have to discipline you." Kevin said ominously.
Naturally, I had no idea what Kevin meant by discipline, but I did not like the sound of his voice. There was a sinister hint in his words that I had never heard before, and it frightened me. I looked around the deserted section of the park where we had arranged out picnic. We were almost entirely enshrouded by bushes, and there was no one in sight. My terror increased as I realized that there was not a soul to come to my rescue.
The lobster was broken into pieces on a platter, the cheeses were arranged on a wooden board with a variety of superb looking breads, and the champagne was in an ice bucket. Everything was arranged so I had no idea why Kevin was opening the picnic basket. It did not seem likely that he would produce a delightful surprise at the point.
Of course, I did not expect him to extract lovely dishes of frozen lemon souffle, or anything that would be a treat. I expected him to withdraw something unpleasant, but I was not prepared for what I saw.
Doctor, can you believe it, Kevin brought his hand out from the picnic basket and showed me one of the ugliest things I have even seen in my life: an enema bag.
Appalled and mortified, I leapt to my feet and began to flee. But Kevin leapt faster and ran faster. He seized my body and pulled me back to the quilt, forcing me down.
He took a lobster claw in his hand and slapped my face with it. As the red claw made contact with my skin its cold juices' splattered my cheeks and ran down the plunging neckline of my dress, dripping on my tits.
He tore at my dress. I had yearned for him to do this, but I did not want him to do it in this way and with such disgusting intentions.
He straddled my struggling body. I tried desperately to fight him, screaming and clawing his face with my nails, but I could do nothing to prevent him from abusing me with the enema bag. I knew that I was going to suffer the greatest humiliation of my life.
He kept slapping my face with the lobster claw, sitting on my body, bearing down on me with all the weight of his bulk.
Kevin reached again into the picnic bag and pulled out four cans of chilled orange soda. I could see the beads clinging to their cold metal cans, and I knew that they had been on ice for hours, ready for my asshole.
I knew also that we were not going to drink them. Kevin was too much of a gourmand to serve orange soda with lobster.
Keeping his weight on my body, Kevin snapped the metal tabs of the cans, making the carbonated fizz spray my face and body. He unscrewed the vile hose from the enema bag and emptied the contents of all four cans into the disgusting rubber receptacle, which took the contents in all too easily. I could see the rubber bag swelling with the addition of the fluid, and I saw the ugly color of the liquid as it poured from the cans into the bag.
As Kevin emptied the cans I could hear the horrible sound of carbonation, and I knew that it was going to fizz and foam in my wickedly abused body.
"No, Kevin, please! I beg you not to treat me in this disgusting way." I whimpered, feeling a sickness in my stomach.
Before screwing the hose back into the neck of the enema bag, Kevin dipped a large spoon into the bowl of remoulade sauce and dropped the sauce into the bag, mixing the thick sauce with the soda. I could see all the little capers and chunks of pickles and gherkins dripping into the enema bag. I recoiled in dread at the thought of those bits of solidity mixed in with the liquid that was going to gush through my asshole and bombard my suffering body.
Kevin stripped me of everything, my dress, my panties, and I writhed under the weight, naked and helpless.
All at once he rammed the plastic nozzle of the enema into my resisting asshole. I tried to push it away, but Kevin was determined to abuse me. He was merciless.
He moved the plastic nozzle in and out of my hole, as though he were fucking me with it. I saw an expression of dissatisfaction on his face, as though my asshole did not please him any more than the enema pleased me.
"This won't do," he said fiendishly, and he withdrew it.
My body relaxed, utterly relieved. I thought that Kevin had decided that I did not deserve such punishment.
But I was naive. He reached again into the picnic basket and withdrew an enormous dildo. I was disgusted. It was hard rubber and as black as ebony. It looked like the cock of a monstrously over-endowed black man. I saw the artificial piss slit, and knew at once that Kevin was going to subject me to an even more abominable torture.
Kevin impatiently unscrewed the plastic nozzle and replaced it with the ugly black dildo.
Even more violently than he had plunged the nozzle into me, he attacked my asshole with the dildo. It was too disgusting. I felt the hard black rubber tear the delicate tissues of my anus, and the pain was something I will never be able to describe. I truly thought I would die of agony, not to mention the unspeakable shame of being given a brutal enema in Central Park on a lovely summer day when I had been expecting a picnic.
Kevin lifted his body slightly from mine and placed the enema bag on my back. Then he lowered his weight again to my body, sitting on the enema bag that was between us.
He released the catch of the enema and forced his weight down on the full bag, and the vile orange soda, mixed with the thick chunky remoulade sauce, began to pour into my asshole.
It rushed in, wave after wave of terrible fluid flowed into my ass. From my ass it gushed into my body, filling me with its horror. I began to feel severe discomfort, certain that I could take no more of the liquid. My body felt over loaded with the atrocity, and my stomach stretched out, bloated with the heinous enema. My belly puffed and lifted me from the quilt, but Kevin was pressing down upon me, and down upon the enema bag, forcing more and more of the hideous concoction into my devastated flesh.
I knew I would die. I could not stand it. It was too wicked and evil, and the indignity was insufferable.
"Stop, please! This is horrible. I can't bear it. I have to shit, Kevin. I can't help it. I have to piss and shit or I will will burst open. You don't want a mess on your nice quilt, do you?"
"If you dare to let any of this out of your body, I will kill you, bitch! Don't you dare explode. You must keep all of that orange soda and all those bits of pickles and capers and onions inside your body, and all your shit! I don't want one drop to stain this quilt." His voice was ugly and threatening.
It was more horrifying than I can say.
Kevin kept emptying the contents of the enema into my body. I could feel the cold carbonation of the soda foaming in my stomach, tingling odiously on the lining of my intenstines.
Finally the bag was emptied into my body. Four cans of soda and dozens of pieces of pickle and capers and gherkin and onions were in my body, not to mention the eggs, oil, lemon and mustard from which remoulade sauce is made. Even though Kevin had mixed only one heaping spoonful of the sauce into the soda, I could feel the chunks of substance, and the slime of the sauce, sloshing around in my body.
But more than that I felt the horrible pressure inside me, the pressure that made me need to shit and piss. But I could not. I was helpless, bound under Kevin's body to the quilt which I did not dare to soil.
Pressing his weight against me, Kevin unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock, as hard and stiff as I had ever seen it. It pulsed with vitality.
"Jerk me off, bitch!" He commanded.
Reluctantly I took his huge cock in my hand and began to massage it.
"Put some spit on your palm and make your hand slip nicely up and down my cock so I can come on your back." Kevin ordered.
With my belly pushed into the quilt it was uncomfortable to say the least, and difficult to reach behind my back to enclose Kevin's big cock in my hand.
Somehow, despite the terrible strain against my body, the unnatural pressure against my bladder, I managed to cover my hand with saliva and wrap it tightly around Kevin's cock, which I began to shake.
"That's it, cunt. Keep doing that for a while until I come," Kevin said.
Kevin's huge fuck rod pulsed obscenelyin my fast-moving hand. He breathed heavily, feeling the pleasure in his groin.
His cock in my hand and his body pressing against mine, increasing the terrible pressure, Kevin cracked another lobster claw, dipped it thoughtfully into the sauce and popped it in his mouth. He ate it with enthusiasm as I worked my slippery hand up and down on his massive meat.
Kevin poured some champagne into a chilled glass. I could hear it fizzing as he poured and the sound of its effervescence somehow doubled the hideous feeling of the four cans of soda inside my guts.
Kevin savoured the champagne, commenting on its fruitiness, while he pressed down harder on my body, as though my back were the saddle of horse. He bucked his cock into my hand, moving it faster and faster in and out of my grip.
"Have some champagne," He said, pouring a glass for me and forcing it against my lips.
With all the carbonated soda and the remoulade sauce in my body, filling me to a bursting point, champagne was the last thing I wanted. I wanted nothing more in my body.
But Kevin forced me to drink. He pulled at my hair, lifting my face from the quilt. He forced my jaw open with his hands and poured the champagne into my mouth. It was exquisite champagne, of course, but I was in no mood to enjoy it.
Then he forced the black dildo deeper into my asshole. It was so long that it penetrated my bowels, hurting me terribly and increasing the unbearable pressure of the enema in my body. Kevin pushed the black dildo so far into my asshole that even the base of it disappeared.
He disconnected the dildo from the enema hose and forced it all the way into my asshole with the tip of an already devoured lobster claw.
Kevin kept pounding his cock into my fist, and from his deep ferocious growls I knew that he was on the verge of his orgasm.
It was so unfair. Kevin was enjoying a wonderful, mounting male climax, while I writhed on the quilt, suffering the horrors of the degrading enema.
"Ahh, dammit, cunt! I'm coming," Kevin groaned passionately.
Then I felt his hot cum splash onto my bound back. It was hot on my skin and I could smell the musky maleness of it.
Even after he had shot his load on my back, Kevin remained on me, straddling my body and pressing down on me. I felt as though I would burst any second.
He was ruthless.
"Have some lobster, cunt!" Kevin said, dipping a hunk of fleshy into the remoulade sauce and stuffing it in my mouth.
I would have loved it, but I was in such severe discomfort that I could not even taste it as Kevin forced his hand into my mouth and forced it down my throat.
"Kevin, please. If I don't release this enema I will break apart. Please let me go shit this out!" I begged, pleading desperately for a bit of kindness.
"Not yet, bitch. I'm going to make you lie here. I want you to hold it in a while." Kevin said, the tone in his voice was unmistakably cruel.
He seemed to sit on my body forever, Doctor, pushing me into the quilt, doubling the horrendous tension in me. The carbonated soda and the remoulade sauce fizzed and foamed in me for hours, it seemed, killing me with pain.
Finally Kevin got off my body and rolled over on the quilt, sighing deeply with pleasure.
With lightning speed I ran from the blanket, my bloated belly bouncing and I darted into the bushes and squatted like an uncivilized animal.
The pressure forced the black dildo out of my ass. It plopped to the ground and then all the hideous liquid and sauce showered down on it. Everything gushed out of my ass, and the sensation of release was marvelous. I felt so incredibly disburdened, lightened of the torment Kevin had given me, and before I returned to the quilt for my clothes, I lingered in the bushes, frigging my naked body in secret to a shattering climax.