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24
“Not now, Felicia.”
Felicia Sines, nineteen year old California surfer girl and sometimes girl friend of Brad Tomalin’s younger son, Tim, stopped nibbling the instep of Brad Tomalin’s left foot, and asked, “When?”
“Soon. Go below and top up our margaritas.”
Felicia stood up on the teak foredeck of SAUDADE, Brad’s 50’ Baglietto, revealing her perfect tan and body. She was wearing a thin gold chain around one finely turned ankle and a gold thong not much bigger around her finely turned hips, and a smile. Felicia was a cheerful girl. She did not mind being shared by father and son. Tim was studying film at USC and not around that much during the school year, and for that matter the old man was the better lay, stronger, more inventive, deliciously deviant. Felicia liked learning new things. She also liked the toys and the abundant money and even Brad’s hairy chest and back. It was like having sex with a gorilla. Which was an intriguing idea. She did not know that Brad had let Tim, and his friends, use Carol Edwards on several occasions, and wouldn’t have cared anyway.
As she made her pretty way aft and below to the galley, Brad Tomalin’s eyes followed her and then moved across sparkling water to the crest of Point Loma to the east.
The SAUDADE was anchored in a small sculpted cove off South Mission Beach. He kept the boat at a Shelter Island yacht club in San Diego Bay and had brought her and Felicia around that morning.
Although he could afford a bigger yacht, and did employ a professional captain to maintain her and move her along the coast, down to Mexico in the winter and back in the spring, he liked to operate the boat himself. Self-reliance, energy, and trusting no one were the pillars, if not secrets, of his success.
In the distance Brad could see Carol Edward’s building, but not her unit, which was on the other side, facing east. A week ago she had told him of Ross’s intention to divorce.
He assumed she was home. If she was, she was alone. He had told everyone to leave her alone that Saturday. After her dawn rounds, she hadn’t been used Friday either. Rik Cronin was out of town and he, Brad, hadn’t called her to his office for several days. In truth he was getting a trifle bored with this experiment and was considering ending it. He thought he knew how. Today would break the routine, disorient her a bit.
Thoughts of Carol Edwards vanished as Felicia returned with chilled glasses. Although that night as he enjoyed the sensation of nineteen year old breasts massaging his back, he glanced at the clock on the bulkhead and saw that it was 8:47, and pictured Carol Edwards kneeling naked a mile away, waiting in vain for a door to open.
...
Sunday afternoon Carol was sitting on the sofa in her living room half-watching tennis.
Sharapova was playing Henin and, of course, every time she hit the ball she grunted. Carol was edgy. People slept in on weekends, so she had no morning rounds on Saturday or Sunday and she had now not had sex for more than forty-eight hours. No one had come through the unlocked door. No one had called.
She had not slept well last night, tossing, turning, wide awake at every slight sound, listening for someone else in the bedroom. But there never was.
A long rally. Sharapova’s grunts came at regular intervals. Just as I grunt, thought Carol, when they fuck me.
Henin won the point. The telephone rang. Carol started.
“Hello?”
“It’s me. Ravi if you don’t recognize. Put on some fresh lipstick and come down and wrap them around my cock.”
Carol turned off the TV and hurried back to the master bathroom, where she applied lipstick, ran a comb through her hair, more blond than brown now from both sun and artifice because Brad liked it better than way. She was wearing a denim skirt and a green tank top. She never bothered with underwear even at home any more. Slipping into a pair of low heeled sandals, she headed down stairs.
Outside Ravi’s door she hesitated, before raising the elephant headed door knocker.
“Come on it, it’s not locked.”
I’ve caused this whole building to be a burglar’s dream, she thought, and turned the handle to be confronted not just by Ravi as she had expected, but by Ravi and friends. Five of them. Collective nouns came to her mind. A shrewdness of apes. A conspiracy of ravens. A sneak of weasels. This would be a code of geeks.
“What’s this?”
“Close the door. Brad knows.”
She did as she was told, but took only a single step into the tense room. Ravi was grinning, but the other five were wound tight.
“A few of my friends. They didn’t believe when I told them about you, so Brad said I could show them. Come closer.”
She took a few more tentative steps.
The five other men--boys in her mind--were in their twenties or at most early thirties--and clearly uneasy. All wore baggy shorts and t-shirts, and were shorter than she. Two were on the sofa with Ravi in the middle. Two others in chairs opposite, and one in a chair shifted from the dining room table. Carol noted that the coffee table had been moved against a wall, clearing the center of the room.
She stood, under avid inspection, waiting for the usual litany. It came.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?”
Response from the congregation of muttered agreement.
Her clothes didn’t conceal much. Long legs were bare to mid-thigh. Tanned shoulders. Vulnerable throat. Tank top molded to breasts.
“But even better naked. Show them.”
Gasps as Carol pulled the tank top up, dropped it on the floor, remembering Brad’s ‘rumbled is sexy’, pushed her skirt down, stepped out of her shoes.
Without being told, she did a slow twirl.
“What are those marks on your back?”
Facing the boys again, she made eye contact with the one who had spoken. “Some of the people I’m given to torture me.”
“And you let them?” asked another.
“Obviously.”
“How?” and “Why?” came simultaneously.
Ignoring the ‘why’ for the moment, she shrugged a shoulder in reference to her back. “It depends. On the person and the situation. Sometimes it’s fast and brutal. Sometimes leisurely and prolonged. I prefer fast. Leisurely really is torture. They beat me. Twist. Pinch. Clips. Tie me in impossible positions. Sometimes that’s all. Just tie me in ways that don’t hurt much in the beginning, but become unbearable when the strain is prolonged, like hanging upside down by one foot. Needles. Candles. Electricity. Water. They are very inventive.”
“Water?”
“One man has a swimming pool. Ties my hands and feet. Holds me under until I almost drown.”
“What’s the worst?”
“Drowning is bad. Panic. But the stun gun, or cattle prod, or whatever it is, is worse. Much worse. And being suspended by my breasts.”
“Saw that picture. Couldn’t believe it.”
“Why do you let them do these terrible things?”
“It’s all sex, isn’t it? And I don’t have to make any decisions. I like that men--and women--desire me. That there are always people thinking about me, remembering what I felt and looked like. Wanting me.” She laughed, not unkindly. “The way all of you want me now.”
“Talked enough,” broke in Ravi impatiently. “Crawl over here.” And as Carol Edwards did, his grin broadened until it almost spit his thin face and he said to the others, “See.”
“Take it out.”
He raised his hips so she could pull down his shorts. His was not wearing underpants, clean or otherwise. Dusky cock flopped out to exclamations of admiration. “You are hung, man.” “No idea.” “Why should you have any idea, you faggot? Maybe you want to suck it instead of her?”
Carol Edwards’ pink tongue started at Ravi’s scrotum and traced a glistening path up to the wet tip of his cock. Before she wrapped her lips around it, she looked up and asked, “Are you all doing me?”
“Just me. Today. They haven’t been approved. Now suck.”
Blond head bobbed. The slight Indian leaned back, glanced self-satisfied around at his mostly envious friends. After a while he reached out and put his hands on the back of the blond head and forced it down. Gagging. And held it there.
“Never been deep throated,” said an onlooker.
Releasing a gasping Carol, Ravi said, “And you won’t be today. Though I may let you touch.
“Crawl over and show them how you are every evening at 8:30.
“Just like that. She kneels there waiting. Maybe one night we’ll all come through the door.”
“Would you like that?”
“Yes.”
“You’d like to do all of us?”
“Why not?” Carol Edwards asked, her face pressed against hardwood. “A cock’s a cock. And I like cocks. And I’ve done more.”
“We saw the photos. How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t look like a slut.”
“So I’m told.”
“Here,” said Ravi, tossing a large butt plug that bounced off her back. “Open it up for us.”
Carol raised her head and reached out for the plug that had fallen a few feet away, brought it to her mouth and sucked it in. After two days of abstinence, she would give them a show. Swallowed the flesh colored silicone to the base. Slowly withdrew. Swallowed again. Withdrew. Spit on the tip. Lowered her head, reached back with one hand and spread her cheeks, while with the other pressed the plug into her anus. Tantalizingly slowly. Muscle stretching, distending, closing as the widest part passed. Equally slowly out.
“Jesus.”
“I’m going to come in my pants.”
“Leave it in and crawl around and lick everyone’s feet.”
The first boy was wearing trainers. Both he and Carol looked at Ravi questioningly. “Shoes will do.”
Providing interesting views from all angles, she worked her way around the half circle. Three of the boys, she noticed, seemed more shocked than aroused.
“Stand up. Go around and show them your ass. You guys can touch her. Kiss her if you want, but I seldom do because of where that mouth has probably been. Fuck her with the plug. But don’t touch her cunt.”
She turned and presented her ass, as she had that first long ago day in Brad’s office--though it really wasn’t that long. She tried to remember. So much had happened. Pain as the plug was pulled out and shoved back in.
“You like it in the ass?”
“Yes. Now I do.”
“You didn’t?”
She moved to the next boy.
“No.”
“What changed?”
“Me.”
“Turn around.”
Hands reached out and squeezed her breasts, teased her nipples.
When she got to Ravi, he smirked, “Take it out and climb on.”
She crawled onto his lap, facing him.
“Put it in.”
From an onlooker, “Too much. I can’t stand it.”
But none of them left as Ravi used her leisurely and comprehensively. Lifting her from his big cock, displaying her gaping hole, shifting to her mouth. Both moving to the floor. Hardwood against Carol’s back, then her knees, then her full breasts crushed flat. Ravi showing off. Carol putting on a show for her own amusement. If they were shocked, she would shock them more.
“Oh. Oh. Yes. Ohhh. Ohh. Yeah. Ohh. Come on. Come on. Fuck me. Fuck me. Do it to me. Come on. Do it to me. Ohhh. Yes. Ohh. Yes. That’s good. That’s good. Ohh, god. That’s good. Like that. Ride my ass. Ride it. Ohh, fuck, ooh. Give it to me. Split me. Make me your ass slut. Fill me. Make me come. I almost. Almost. Please. More. Please. Do it. Harder.”
Yet as she listened to herself acting, the words became real.
Ravi was pounding her painfully into the floor. Lying flat face down. Sharp points of pelvic bones. Breasts mashed. Breathe forced from lungs with each inward thrust. She didn’t care. Through the pain she was about to have her first anal orgasm. She was almost there. Almost. And then Ravi came and she wasn’t.
His slight weight rolled from her.
“Open your ass,” he gasped. “Show them.”
Carol rolled onto her side, raised her left leg and reached down, spread her cheeks, slid two fingers into her closing anus, scooped out come, and raised them to her innocent lips.
Dead silence before one of the boys abruptly bolted for the door.
Only two of the others accompanied Ravi when he entered her condo a week later.
25
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were with someone.”
She glanced at her watch, thinking she had the wrong time. But it read 9:01.
“That’s all right. Come on in. You know Ralph Linstom, Carol.”
“Y..yes,” she stammered. She had met the owner of a chain of spas at two meetings to discuss the possibility of designing a new corporate headquarters. “Good morning, Mr. Linstom.”
“Ralph,” he smiled.
“Ralph.” Then to Rik, “I’ll come back later.”
“No. No. Just go on about your usual business.”
And she understood.
“You mean?”
“Yes. Ralph expressed admiration of your beauty, which of course is universal, and when I told him of your true nature, well, he found it difficult to believe. So I phoned Brad and got permission to give him the password to your webcam. Now he can’t believe his good fortune. He has the Brad Tomalin Seal of Approval, and we have the design commission. Ralph specifically wants you as lead architect. I’ve cleared your schedule so you can spend the rest of the day with him to, as it were, seal the deal. So get on with it.”
Carol Edward’s reached for the zipper of her dress.
26
Brad hadn’t even called himself. The message was relayed by Mrs. Black. “1401 Brunswick. Suite 200. Dr. Sedwick. Noon.”
She googled the address and found it inland, near San Diego State, so she drove.
She had no idea of what Dr. Sedwick was a doctor. Her own father was a surgeon up the coast in Newport Beach, where she had grown up. They’d been close, but she hadn’t called for a while. Or even thought of him or her mother. Carol was an only child. They’d been good parents. She remembered the guilt at wondering what he would think of the photo of her on that open website. Though of course she was certain he didn’t go to such sites and would never see it. What would he think of her now, driving naked under her dress to an unknown ‘doctor’s‘ office to be used in unknown ways.
1401 was a four story brick office building on the corner of Brunswick and University. On the directory in the lobby, she saw that Dr. Sedwick was a dentist. His receptionist turned out to be a pretty young blond with a name tag that read, ‘Felicia.’
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No. But the doctor is expecting me.”
“I’ll check,” smiled Felicia, pressing a button on a phone. “O.K. Here,” opening a door leading from the waiting room. “An emergency, I guess.” Felicia was a cheerful girl and smiled again. It was a winning smile. “Follow me.” Down a row of patient rooms. Stopping at the third. “This one. The doctor will be with you soon.”
Carol Edwards entered. Dental chair. Light above. Drill to one side. Stool. A swivel chair in front of a computer terminal and other tools. She hesitated before sitting uneasily in the dental chair.
‘Soon’ stretched to fifteen minutes before a man energetically entered. The first thing Carol noticed, that anyone would notice, was his shining head. What hair he had on the sides and back had been shaved to a shadow. And the second was his too bright eyes magnified by thick lensed glasses, lost from view as he spun, shut and locked the door. He might be fifty years old or sixty and was wearing a stiffly starched white shirt, tie, and slacks.
He turned back toward her.
“I’ve been watching you.”
“Oh?”
“Not here. There.” He pointed at the computer. “On the Internet. Rossedwardswife.net. Brad Tomalin gave me the password. You know what it is?”
“No.”
The bald man’s face broke into an unpleasant smile, “carollost. That’s you, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“You are a harlot.”
‘Harlot,’ Carol thought. How quaint.
“Ross Edward’s wife. A married slut. A disgrace to all respectable American women. To mothers everywhere. Do you have children?”
“No.”
“Thank the Lord. Normally I don’t see female patients without an assistant present. But then you aren’t normal. Or a patient. I’ve let everyone go to lunch. Told them I know you personally and would take care of you myself. I do know you and I will take care of you. What are you wearing under that dress?”
“Nothing.”
“As I thought. Stand up.”
Carol stood. Dr. Sedwick was an inch shorter than she. He spun the swivel chair and sat down. All his motions were jerky. Abrupt.
“Lift your dress. Show me.”
Carol was familiar with fear. Fear was part of it. When Ooni held her underwater panic was natural. And with some of the others when things sometimes seemed to be on the verge of getting out of control. She liked the fear, to a degree; liked being helpless. Because she knew, or thought she did, that Brad’s limits would be respected, that she would not be killed or permanently injured. But this dentist was different.
There is consolation in not making decisions. Carol bent and pulled her dress to her waist.
Dr. Sedwick’s eyes fastened on her shaved pubes. “Yes.” He ran his right hand over his skull and his mouth formed a grin or a grimace.
“Turn around. Pull your dress higher.”
For two or three minutes Carol stood while the dentist stared at her ass. “Yes,” he repeated.
“Turn back.”
Facing him, with dread she saw him unfasten his belt and draw it from his waist. He folded it in two, holding the end and the buckle together.
“Confess.”
“To what?”
“To what? That you are a slut, a disgrace, a harlot.”
“I’m a slut, a disgrace, a harlot.” It was a word she did not recall ever before speaking.
“And you know what we are enjoined to do to harlots?”
“No.”
“We are enjoined to smite them and cast them out.
“Hold out your hands. Palm up.”
Fearfully, and it was not a good fear if there is good fear, Carol extended her hands. Hem of dress and belt fell. Pain exploded. Carol screamed.
“That’s fine. No one can hear.”
Burning hands sought refuge in armpits. Body contracted defensively. Knees bent. Upper body leaned forward. Tears on her cheeks.
“Straighten up.”
He noted the tears with satisfaction.
“I’m sure there are more where those came from.”
“Please. Let me please you.” Carol went to her knees and reached for his zipper with stinging hands. “I can make you feel such pleasure. Don’t hurt me anymore.”
Angrily he pushed her away. “Do you think I would befoul my member with your vile flesh? Not all men are weak. Your kind cannot tempt us all. Over my lap, face down.” Grabbing her right wrist he dragged her into position.
Blond hair touched the floor on one side; feet on the other. Carol felt her dress lifted to her waist. A hand moved over her naked ass. Tracing curves. Testing resiliency. Almost caressing. Then the leather belt. Tracing. Caressing. “Please,” she whimpered. And then she screamed. And screamed. And screamed.
Finally it ended. The bald man abruptly stood, tumbling her from his lap onto the floor. Harsh breathing. Uncontrolled sobs.
“Get out! My staff are due back.”
When the sobbing fetal positioned form did not move, a black shoe kicked.
“Get out! Now!”
The form rolled onto knees, groaned, crawled toward the door. A latch turned. Pulling itself to its feet, it stumbled blindly into a hall.
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