Beth

                                   BETH

	"Why are your nipples hard, Beth?"
	It was a rotten question. But Calvin was a rotten person. That's why I
couldn't stay away from him.
	"You know why." It would have been foolish to deny it. I knew he could
see them poking out against my blouse. Even if I'd had a bra on it wouldn't have
helped much. And I didn't. Calvin's orders.
	"You tell me," Calvin said.
	Of course. I closed my eyes. "Because I--"
	"No, no," Calvin interrupted. "Don't close your eyes, Bethy. Look at
Calvin. That's it. Now."
	I swallowed. "Because I want you."
	"Do you now?"
	"You know I do."
	"Bullshit, Bethy."
	"What?"
	"You don't want me," Calvin said. "You want what I can give you. What I
can do to you. Right, Bethy?"
	My throat was tight.
	Calvin's voice was soft. "Isn't that right, Bethy?"
	"Yes," I said chokingly.
	"Tell me."
	I was shaking. "Oh, please," I got out. "I--Calvin,   please--"
	"Beg for it," Calvin said.
	"Oh..."
	"On your knees," Calvin said.
	I went to my knees. I knelt in front of him. Panting.
	"Beg," Calvin said.
	"Please..." I gasped. "I beg you." I didn't know what to say. I would
say anything. I didn't care. I had to have it.
	"Go on," Calvin said.
	"Please do it," I moaned. "Do it to me. I want it, god, I want it now,
please..."
	"Whore," Calvin said.
	"Yes," I said. I was throbbing all over.
	"Get the whip," Calvin said.
	"Yes!" I started to get up.
	"Crawl," Calvin said.
	I crawled.

					#

	Calvin didn't whip me very often. Usually he hurt me in other ways. He
had lots of other ways.
	I loved them all.
	If he got tired of hurting me he would find something else to do with
me. Like give me to other men. I didn't like that so much. Except when they hurt
me too. But I would do anything Calvin told me to do. I was his slave. I loved
him. He was the cruelest man I ever knew.
	I would have died for him.
	Calvin knew it. And he kept me his slave by being cruel to me in every
way he could think of. Viciously cruel. As if to see how much I could take.
Pain. Humiliation. Debasement.
	The worse it got, the more I wanted.
	But Calvin would never have sex with me.

 					#  

	I lay stretched out on the floor, on my stomach, naked, while Calvin
whipped me.
	He hadn't tied me. I wanted him to, but this time he wouldn't. He told
me just to stay stretched out and not to move.
	I screamed while he whipped me. He started high on my back and worked
his way down. Methodically and mercilessly. My back, my bottom, and my thighs.
Then back up.
	I screamed and howled. I twisted and squirmed and bucked. But I stayed
stretched out.
	Calvin stopped after a while. I was twisting and sobbing.
	"You hot, Beth?" Calvin said.
	"Yes!" I sobbed.
	"You want to be fucked?"
	"Yes!" I cried. "Oh yes!"
	"Want me to fuck you?"
	"Yes!" But I knew he wouldn't.
	"Tough," Calvin said.
	I felt the end of the whip on my back as Calvin brushed it idly over my
aching flesh.
	"Want me to get someone else to fuck you?" Calvin said.
	"No," I whimpered. "Yes. No. Oh, god..."
	"Want to jerk off?" Calvin said. "Make yourself come?"
	That was the usual way, when it was just Calvin and me. I would bring
myself off while he watched.
	"Yes!" I said. I was so worked up. The pain did it to me. Always.
Always.
	"Want to put your hands between your legs and come for old Calvin? Come
as much as you want?"
	"Yes!"
	"Not yet," Calvin said, moving the whip over me.
	"Oh, god..."
	"I'm not finished yet," Calvin said. "Turn over."
	I did...
					
					#   
					
	Calvin would never have sex with me.

                                                            #

	Calvin came in with two other men. I'd never seen them before. They
looked at me with great interest. I didn't move. I couldn't. I was tied by my
wrists to an overhead pipe, my arms stretched above my head. I had a dress on,
but nothing under it. My stomach turned over.
	Calvin came to me. "Ask me to hit you," he said.
	I knew better than to hesitate.
	"Please hit me," I said.
	Calvin did. Very hard across the face.
	"Ask me again," he said.
	"Please hit me," I said.
	He did.
	"Again," Calvin said.
	I asked him again.
	He did.
	"Now them," Calvin said.
	I looked at one of the other men. I couldn't see him too well because I
was crying. "Please hit me," I said with difficulty.
	The man hit me across the breast. I screamed.
	"Again," Calvin said.
	I said it again.
	He hit my other breast. I screamed.
	"Next," Calvin said.
	The third man approached me. I tried to say it but I was crying and
choking.
	"I'm waiting, Beth," Calvin said.
	I gasped it out. "Please hit me!"
	"Sure, honey," the man said.
	He punched me in the stomach.
	I was hanging by my wrists and trying to double up with the pain and I
couldn't. I couldn't do anything but jerk my legs around and twist a little.
	The man who had punched me in the stomach laughed.
	The other man said, "Beautiful."
	Calvin said, "You want her?"
	"No," the third man said. "Her tits aren't big enough."
	"They're big enough for me," the man who had hit them said. He came up
to me and put his hands on my breasts. He squeezed them very hard, and kept
squeezing.
	I cried out.
	He didn't stop.
	"Plenty big for my taste," the man said.
	"You want her?" Calvin said.
	"No," the man said. He let go of me and stepped back.
	"Nobody wants you," Calvin said to me. "What a loser."
	I was crying.
	Calvin pinched my nipples. "Hard," he said. "Hard as rocks. Told you,
didn't I?"
	"She must be frustrated now," the third man said.
	"Hell," Calvin said. "Cut her down, she'll jerk herself off right here.
Won't be able to stop herself."
	"Let's see," the second man said.
	"Sure." Calvin cut me down.
	He didn't even order me to do it. He knew I would. He knew I had to. He
knew I couldn't stop myself. He knew.
	I did it. I lay there on the floor and I pulled my dress up and I got my
hands up there and jerked off, humping and moaning and squirming on the floor as
they watched me. Laughing. I came and I kept on doing it. I had my eyes closed
at first, but of course Calvin told me to open them, so I did, and I saw them
all watching me and laughing and I couldn't stop. I came over and over and I
still did it, until I was exhausted and I lay there just panting and moaning and
twitching, with my dress around my hips and my legs wide apart and I started to
cry again.
	Then the man who had punched me in the stomach fell on top of me and

					#

	My father came in as I was writing, so I had to stop. I must have looked
guilty. He asked me what I was writing and I said it was a letter to my friend
Joanna. But I think he was suspicious. I'll have to hide this. If he ever saw it
I don't know what he would do.
	Maybe I have to stop writing things down.

                                                            #

	My father is a policeman.
	He's a detective now, but for a long time he was a regular cop. With a
uniform. He still has it.
	I can't remember a time when I wasn't fascinated by that uniform. It
thrilled me. Especially when he would hug me and I could rub up against it. I
loved it all. The brass buttons. The badge. The cap. The billy club.
	And the handcuffs.
	I think I was twelve when it started. One day when my father was out of
the house I started to play with his handcuffs. The hard, bright steel gave me a
funny feeling when I touched it. The sharp click of the ratchets closing made me
tremble. Again and again I squeezed each cuff closed, slowly, savoring that
inexorable click-click-click, then fitting the tiny key in the lock to open it
again.
	And then, shaking, I closed one of the cuffs around my wrist.
	Click.
	Click.
	I was really trembling now. Hard steel around my wrist.
	Click.
	Holding me now. Not tight, but I couldn't pull it off. I looked to
reassure myself that the little key was where I had put it. I was breathing
hard.
	Click.
	The steel pressing into my flesh. Encircling it. Tightly. Inflexibly. I
was panting and starting to perspire. I felt strange. My nipples were hard. I
felt...between my legs...I felt...
	It was my first orgasm.
	Bewildered and ashamed, I unlocked the cuff and put the things away. I
was not sure what had happened, but I knew it must be wrong. I would never do it
again, I told myself. Never.
         
 					#

	After that I couldn't wait for my father to go out. I lived for the
touch of the hard metal clasped around my flesh, imprisoning my wrist. After
some cautious experimentation, I found that if I used the cuffs on both wrists,
I could still unlock them when I needed to. That was even better. I could pull
at the cuffs and feel their unyielding strength, feel the restraint I was under.
I started closing them tighter, tighter, until the steel bands were biting into
my flesh, leaving cruel marks when I took them off. The pain, I found, added to
my pleasure.
	That sweet, guilty pleasure.
	Often, expecially at first, I could come just from the feel of those
tight cuffs gripping my flesh. But soon I began to discover the added thrills of
touching myself. With my fettered hands, wrists aching and throbbing, I would
rub my still undeveloped breasts, wondering at the strange hardness of my
nipples and the electric sensation I got from touching them. I would caress my
stomach too, and then my thighs, while the squirming, insistent feelings became
more and more intense, and then finally between my legs, where I would bring
myself to thrilling climax, repeatedly, the fingers of one hand rubbing and
stroking and thrusting at my crotch, while with the other hand I pulled at the
cuffs to increase the pain...coming over and over, crying out with ecstasy in
the empty house, and wanting it to go on forever.
	As time passed, I tried other things. I wished desperately that I could
cuff my hands behind my back rather than in front--just the thought of being
that helpless made my heart beat faster--but I was afraid I wouldn't be able to
unlock them that way. The possibility of my father ever catching me was too
horrible to contemplate. I knew what I was doing was wrong. That was part of the
excitement.
	But I tried other things. I would cuff my wrists around a table leg or a
bedpost, which would give me something besides myself to pull and strain
against, though it made it more difficult to masturbate. Or I would cuff just
one wrist and fasten the other cuff to the post, leaving a hand free to play
with myself.
	Then, when I got big enough, there was the hook.
	It wasn't really a hook, but I thought of it that way. It was actually a
very large nail, set high in the wall of our living room, and most of the time
it held up the mounted head of a moose that my father had once shot. By standing
on a chair I could take the moosehead down, leaving that heavy nail sticking
out, pointing upwards at a sharp angle--like an erect penis, though I didn't
think of that until later.
	If I stood beneath the hook, on tiptoe, and reached up, I still couldn't
quite touch it. It was just too high for me to suspend myself from it by both
wrists, though again, I wanted to so badly. To hang there helplessly, pulled
taut, straining in every muscle...I could almost come just thinking about it.
But I just couldn't risk it, at least until I got a little taller. But I could
hang by one wrist, because with my free hand I was able to reach up and unlock
the cuff. It still pulled me up on my toes, or made the metal bite agonizingly
into my wrist if I stood normally. Of course I had to be careful to hold on to
the key, even while playing with myself. Sometimes I would hold it in my mouth,
but that was dangerous, because I might forget myself and cry out when I came.
Or if I was wearing clothes I could put it in a pocket. Sometimes I was dressed
when I did these things, sometimes I was naked. It depended on my mood.
	I was dressed the day Jimmy caught me.
                  
            					#

	I was fifteen by then. I had learned about sex, but only second-hand. I
had kissed a few boys, and even petted a little bit, but that was all. I didn't
find it nearly as exciting as my father's handcuffs.
	I looked forward to Wednesday nights because my father played poker
every week and I had the whole evening to myself. On this night I had hung one
cuff over the hook and was stretched on tiptoes, tightening the other one around
my left wrist, when there was a knock on the door.
	I was so startled that I dropped the key.
	I felt a moment of panic, but I fought it down. The key had fallen on
the carpet only a couple of feet away. I thought I could reach it with my foot;
then I could slip my shoe off and pick it up with my toes. I told myself to stay
calm. Then the knock came again.
	I was afraid not to answer--there were lights on in the house. I
shouted, "Who is it?", and at the same time I reached out with my foot, trying
to move the key closer; but in my haste and nervousness I only managed to kick
it further away. Now I was really frightened.
	"It's Jimmy. Jimmy Alonzo."
	Jimmy Alonzo worked for my father, doing odd jobs around the house and
the garden after school and Saturdays. He was two years older than me, a senior
in high school, so we hadn't had too much to do with each other.
	My head was spinning. I wanted to tell him to go away. But I was afraid
I was trapped there.
	"What do you want?" I shouted, and I stretched desperately to reach the
key again, my arm aching with the strain, but I couldn't.
	"Talk to your father," Jimmy yelled. "Is he home?"
	"No," I answered. I was fighting panic again. I stretched up on my toes,
even tried to jump, in what I knew was a futile effort to slide the cuff off the
hook. The angle of the nail prevented that.
	"Okay," Jimmy called. "Thanks."
	"Wait!" I yelled reflexively.
	"What?"
	I thought frantically. What could I do? I couldn't get the key, I
couldn't get loose--I would have to stay there all evening, until my father came
home and found me... The thought made my physically ill. I was trembling.
	I wasn't very happy at the idea of Jimmy seeing me this way either. But
it seemed the only way. At least it was better than my father...
	I took a deep breath. "Jimmy," I called. "Come--come on in."
	I heard the doorknob rattle. "It's locked!"
	"There's--" I gulped. "There's a key under the flower pot. On the left."
My father hated leaving that extra key there--he said any burglar worth his salt
would look there before he even put his gloves on. But I was always forgetting
my keys, so we had to do it.
	A pause. Then I heard the key in the lock, and the door opened. Jimmy
said, "Beth?"
	I told myself to just stay calm. "In here," I said.
	Jimmy stopped in the living room doorway. He stared.
	"Look," I said quickly. "It's just--I'm just--trying something out,
okay? It's--for something I'm writing. A story. And I just dropped the key, so
would you just give it to me please?"
	Jimmy didn't move. And he didn't stop staring. On top of my fright and
embarrassment, I was getting very self-conscious about how I looked, standing
like that, one arm stretched tautly upward, my body straining. I had on a skirt
and blouse, and even though I was wearing a brassiere, I knew that the blouse
was pulled tight over my breasts. And that my skirt, not a very long one to
begin with, was hiked high over my knees. And though I was trying to stand as
still as possible, my insecure footing caused my body to shift and sway in spite
of myself.
	Jimmy was not missing any of this.
	"Jesus Christ," he said.
	"Jimmy," I said as steadily as I could. "The key. It's right there on
the floor. Would you hand it to me, please?"
	"What are you doing?" Jimmy said.
	"I told you," I said. "I was just--It's nothing. Okay? Please give me
the key, Jimmy."
	"Looks like something to me," Jimmy said.
	I took a long breath to stay calm, then was sorry when Jimmy's eyes
dropped to my swelling blouse. "The key," I said.
	Jimmy moved slowly across the room, his eyes still watching me. He bent
to pick up the key; but instead of putting it into my outstretched hand, he
stepped back away from me.
	I swallowed. "Jimmy--"
	"What?"
	"Give me the key, okay? Come on, now."
	"First tell me what's going on," Jimmy said.
	"I--I told you! Nothing! Now please--"
	"You get off on this, right?" Jimmy said. "You hang yourself up that
way, it turns you on, right?"
	"No!"
	Jimmy's eyes went over me. Slowly. "You're not such a kid as I thought,
Beth."
	"Jimmy, please..."
	"You want the key?"
	"Yes."
	"Okay," Jimmy said. "Let's make a deal."
	I knew what he meant. My throat was tight. My heart pounded. "What--what
kind of a deal?"
	"I'll give you the key, and you...do something for me."
	"What?"
	"Be nice to me," Jimmy said.
	I was shaking. I said, "You go to hell, Jimmy Alonzo!"
	He looked at me a moment longer, then shrugged. "Okay," he said. He
dropped the key on the floor and turned to go. "See you around." And he moved
toward the door.
	"No!" I yelled.
	He turned again. "How about it, then," he said. "A deal?"
	I had tears in my eyes. I hated him, but I couldn't let him leave me
there for my father to find. I had to do what he wanted. I was horrified. I was
terribly ashamed.
	But that wasn't all.
	I didn't realize it right away. I tried not to feel it; god knows I
didn't want to. But I did.
	I was excited.
	I was helpless. I was a prisoner, shackled before a man. And now I was
being forced to submit to him, to do what he wanted of me. I had no choice.
	Part of me loved it.
	But only a part. And I didn't want to recognize it.
	I said, with diffuclty, "Jimmy, look--I-I'm only fifteen, and I--I
never--"
	"Don't shit me, Beth," Jimmy said.
	"I'm not! Please, just--just give me the key and--"
	"No way," he said. "You got me turned on here."
	"Can't I--do something else..." I didn't know what I meant, if anything.
	"Maybe," Jimmy said. "Take your clothes off."
	"T-take my--"
	"Yeah. Go on. Do it."
	"Like--like this? Don't you want--"
	"Like that. Now."
	"I--How can I--"
	"You want me to go?"
	"I--No."
	"Take your clothes off."
	I felt faint. "Jimmy...for god's sake..."
	"Last chance, Beth. I mean it."
	I swallowed hard. "If--if I do...." My voice was shaking.
"You...you'll...I mean...that's all?"
	Jimmy said, "Maybe."
	"No," I said. "Promise." I knew it was foolish. I was in his power.
	Jimmy shook his head. "Do it. Then we'll see."
	"Oh, god," I whispered. I began to cry.
	And I began to undress.
	My free hand was trembling as I brought it to the front of my blouse. I
couldn't look at Jimmy. Sobbing, I started to open the buttons.
	The tears were real. The reluctance, the humiliation, the fright was
real.
	So was the fact that my nipples were hard. And that I was moist between
my legs. Because of the humiliation, and the fright. And the throbbing pain in
my handcuffed wrist, the ache of my taut body. Because I was being forced to
bare my body for a man.
	I got the buttons open. I had to pull the bottom of the blouse out of my
skirt to get to the last one. I still couldn't look at Jimmy, and anyway my eyes
were blurry with tears, but I felt him watching me every second. Awkwardly I
slid the blouse off my right shoulder and pulled myself free of it on that side.
It dangled from my upraised left arm.
	I was all too aware that the bra I was wearing was the type that opened
in front. One hook. If I had worn the regular kind it would have been more
difficult. I didn't know if that was good or bad. I was afraid to open the bra.
Nobody had ever seen my breasts. I knew they were heaving because I was
breathing hard, and sort of gasping as my sobs diminished.
	I took off my skirt instead. It had a button and a little zipper on the
side. I opened them. The skirt dropped around my feet.
	I wasn't wearing stockings. Just shoes. And my bra, and panties.
	I hesitated. I had almost stopped crying, but I was shaking harder. And
I hurt. Blinking at my tears, I glanced at Jimmy. He was watching very intently,
his eyes wide. He was breathing hard too. And rubbing at the front of his pants.
I looked away.
	"Don't stop," Jimmy said.
	"Jimmy--" I got out.
	"Don't stop, damn it!"
	The pain was worse. I stood up on my toes to relieve the strain and the
throbbing in my cuffed wrist, but after a few moments my toes would give way
under me. I took a long, shuddering breath and brought my hand to the front of
my bra.
	It wasn't as easy as I thought, with one hand. It took a couple of
tries, but finally I got the catch open. I felt dizzy. I slipped the shoulder
strap off and it hung from my other shoulder along with my blouse.
	I heard Jimmy make a hissing sound. I wanted to cover my breasts with my
arm. I knew it was no use. I stood there and let him look at them.
	He said, "Go on." His voice husky.
	So I took hold of my panties at the waist and pulled them down. I got
them almost to my knees and then managed to work them down with my legs until
they fell the rest of the way.
	And I was naked.
	Jimmy said, "Jesus!"
	I made myself look at him again. He was panting. He started toward me. I
held out my hand for the key, but he ignored it. He just came closer.
	"The key," I said shakily. I could hardly get it out.
	"Jesus!" he said again. And came closer.
	I shrank back against the wall. "Don't touch me!" I gasped. "Don't you
touch me, Jimmy Alonzo!"
	"Beth..." he panted. "Just...I just..." He reached toward me. I wanted
to raise my free hand to hold him off. I couldn't.
	"Nooo..." I said.
	He put his hand on my breast.
	I melted.
	I was his, he had mastered me, bent me to his will, and I would have
done anything he wanted. Anything.
	Jimmy groaned and suddenly thrust his body against me. The movement
pulled my wrist brutally against the metal cuff, and as I cried out with the
pain I felt the roughness of his clothing against my flesh. I cried out again,
but this time with passion. I wanted him to hurt me more, to take me, voilate
me, rape me... I clutched at him eagerly...
	And I felt his body spasm against me. He groaned again, more loudly,
jerked a couple of times--and then pulled away.
	"Jimmy..." I gasped.
	He backed off, bent over a little. "Oh, shit," he panted. "Oh, Jesus..."
	I was vaguely aware of what had happened. I was still trembling with
need. "Jimmy--"
	He straightened up now, but avoided my eyes. He held out the key.
"Here," he said.
	I took it. And Jimmy left. Quickly.
	I was trembling so hard it took me a while before I could manage to get
the cuff open. When I did, I fell to the floor, gasping and moaning. I was
exhausted and aching in every inch of my body. And I couldn't even begin to sort
out my emotions about what had just happened to me.
	But I was more aroused than I had ever been in my life.
	Even as I hit the floor, my hand was between my legs. My cramped,
agonized muscles, wanting only relief from the strain they had been under, took
second place to the fire in my flesh. In a few moments I brought myself to
blazing, screaming climax. I rolled over onto my stomach, my hands still at my
crotch, and came again.
	I don't know how many times I came, or how long it took. I only remember
working at my crotch until my vagina was sore and my fingers were tired,
climaxing again and again, endlessly, while I rolled over and over on the
floor...

					#

	In the next few days, I avoided Jimmy. When he came to the house to
work. If I saw him in school. I stayed away from him.
	But I thought about him all the time.
	Of course I would never have anything to do with him again.
	But I kept thinking about it.
	What it had been like.
	What it could be like.
	With someone else there...I wouldn't have to worry about having to free
myself. I could do those things I'd been afraid to try.
	Oh, god.
	I could hang from the hook by my wrists. Both wrists.
	I could cuff my hands behind me.
	I could be tied hand and foot. Spread-eagled. Or...
	I would get wet thinking about it.
	And with a man to do those things to me. To do other things to me.
Whatever he wanted.
	Because I would be helpless. A toy for him to play with. A slave.
	I thought about it. Day and night. At home, in school. Wherever I went.
Night and day. Just like the song.
	Of course it would have to be Jimmy. Because he already knew. Some of
it, anyway. I couldn't take a chance with anyone else.
	The following Wednesday I saw him in the corridor at school. I
hesitated, but I had no choice by then. I went up to him. "Come tonight," I
said, and walked away.

					#

	I knew he would come. But still, I was scared at the chance I took. The
danger was part of the pleasure, in a way, though I would never have done it if
I wasn't sure he couldn't stay away. I was damn scared anyway, but I did it.
	I hung myself from the hook.
	I left the key on a table across the room. I couldn't do anything with
it anyway, in that position.
	I used a little stool to stand on as I hung the cuffs over the nail. I
locked one wrist in. Then the other. My heart was pounding.
	Then I kicked the stool away. Hard.
	And I hung by my wrists.
	My toes just barely touched the floor.
	And I was naked.
					
					#

	My father is suspicious.
	He wants to know why I am spending so much time writing. I told him I've
always done a lot of writing--stories, poems... No, he says, this is different.
There's something different about it.
	My father is a cop.
	I have to burn this.
					#

	I was hanging there, naked, waiting for Jimmy.
	My wrists were on fire. I couldn't get any kind of purchase with my
toes. My arms felt like they were being pulled off. My body was stretched taut.
If I tried to move at all, it just intensified the pain.
	It was agonizing. And glorious.
	I was so helpless.
	Every minute that I hung there, the pain got worse. I began to perspire.
I could hear my own breathing gradually growing louder. I wondered when Jimmy
would come. If he would ever come. I wondered how long I could stand it. What if
I passed out?
	But it was so good.
	I gave myself to the pain. I didn't want it to stop. It was my lover.
	After a while I was moaning steadily. In anguish. In passion. I didn't
know. I didn't care.
	I wanted Jimmy to come. I wanted him to take me.
	I couldn't keep my head up any more. It drooped onto my chest, rolling
slowly back and forth.
	At last I heard the door open.
	I had expected him to knock. But he had just used the key and come right
in. That was all right. That was better.
	For a moment, through the pain, my mind flashed on what he would see
when he came in--a helpless, naked girl, her arms pulled high over her head, her
defenseless body stretched and dangling, breasts thrusting, nipples erect,
sweating, panting, moaning--and all his.
	I raised my head to look at him as he came into the doorway.
	But it wasn't Jimmy.
	It was my father.
			
					#
	
            	That was years ago.
	So why AM I writing this now? I never wanted to write about it before. I
never wrote anything about myself. I never kept a diary before--if that's what
this is. Why now? Suddenly?
	I've been thinking about it.
	I think maybe I don't expect to live long.
	I think maybe Calvin will kill me. Sooner or later.

					#

	Still. I have to stop. And I have to get rid of this.
	I can't risk my father seeing it. Not ever.
	For him as much as for me, I guess.

					#

	Calvin gave me to Jesse last night.
	It was so casual. That's a part of his cruelty, the way he's so casual
and cool about it. In a way it was the worst thing he's ever done to me. Even
though he's tortured me, and made me scream, and done so many really disgusting
things. But this was very simple. Very offhand. And totally degrading.
	Usually the men Calvin gives me to are strangers to me. Once or twice
it's been an acquaintance of his whom I've met before. But never people he works
with, or close friends. Jesse was both.
	I never liked Jesse. Of course Calvin knew that.
	He told me to meet him at his office. That was unusual too.
	I walked in and Jesse was sitting there. Calvin said, "You're looking
good, Beth."
	"Thank you," I said.
	Calvin said, "I told Jesse he could fuck you in the ass."
	Very cool.
	I said, "What?"
	Calvin said, "Bend over the desk."
	"Wait a minute..." I said.
	Calvin looked at me. That's all. No menace, no threat. Just waiting.
	I bent over the desk.
	Jesse came up behind me.
	"Why?" I said.
	Calvin shrugged.
	Jesse lifted up my dress. I never wore underwear when I saw Calvin.
	I felt tears in my eyes.
	Usually, when Calvin gave me to other men, he hurt me first. Or they
did. And I would get turned on in spite of myself.
	Not this time.
	I bent over Calvin's desk, facing him as he sat in his big chair, and
Jesse fucked me in the ass.
	Very cool.
	Of course it hurt, especially at first, and of course I came.
	I hated it anyway.
	Calvin just watched.
	When Jesse was finished he pulled out, zipped himself up, sat down.
	Calvin said, "That's it, Beth. I'll call you."
	I straightened up, pulled my dress down and left.

					#

	I don't know why Calvin won't have sex with me.
	God knows he isn't celibate or anything. He certainly isn't gay. I've
watched him with other girls. Watched him have sex with them. He likes to make
me watch sometimes.
	Once he tied me down on his bed and had sex with a girl right there
beside me. For hours. He was breaking her in. She was very young, and very shy,
so he was disciplining her as well as me. Her by making her do all those things
in front of a stranger. Me by making me watch in frustration.
	He made her do everything with him. Then when he was through with her he
made her go down on me. She didn't want to--she had never done it with a woman.
Calvin forced her. He twisted her arms up behind her and forced her head between
my legs, and he held her arms that way, hurting her, all the time she was doing
it. I was so turned on by that and by being tied down that I came about five
times before Calvin let her stop.
	There were other times, too. Other girls. Calvin has lots of sex.
	But not with me.

					#

	I have to stop writing this.

					#

	I was reading what I wrote. It's not very together. That's all right.
I'm going to burn it anyway.
	I haven't mentioned that Calvin is black.

                                                             #

	I never saw Jimmy Alonzo again.
	My father didn't know anything for sure. I think when Jimmy came around
that night and found my father there, he made up some kind of story. My father
was probably suspicious but he didn't know. Maybe he didn't want to. But he
fired Jimmy anyway. And he took me out of school. Then we moved away.
	When we got settled, my father asked me if I wanted to go to a
psychiatrist. I said no.
	That was the only time he ever referred to that night.
	We never talked about it. But it was always there. Between us.
	After my father took me down off the hook I expected him to hit me. I
expected him to yell, curse, go crazy. Maybe even kill me.
	I didn't expect what he did.
	He cried.

                                                             #

		I think Calvin is getting tired of hurting me. He's done it
every way he can think of. Now the thrill is wearing off. Calvin likes variety.
	But he's not going to let me go.
	Maybe he's testing me. Testing his power over me.
	It's absolute.
	What if I disobeyed him? Refused to do something he told me? What could
he do to me that he hasn't already done? How could he punish me in any way that
wouldn't ultimately be as much reward as punishment?
	Short of killing me. He may do that sometime. But not for that reason.
	Even so, he knows I will not, cannot, refuse to obey him. I am his
completely. His slave. Calvin likes to know that.
	That's what yesterday was about.
	It was Sunday. The middle of the afternoon. The doorbell rang, and my
father went to answer it. I was in the kitchen, and I came out in time to see
him open the door.
	It was a man about fifty, very fat, with sparse white hair. He had on a
suit and tie, but it looked wrinkled. I'd never seen him before.
	He said, "Miss Elizabeth Lawrence, please."
	I came forward. "Yes?" I said.
	The man handed me a sealed envelope with my name written on it. Puzzled,
I took it and tore it open.
	Inside was a note from Calvin.
	It said: `I want you to suck this man off. Immediately. Calvin.'
	Then it said: `P.S. Do a good job.'
	I felt faint. Damn him, I thought. God damn him, he doesn't care what
kind of danger he puts me in. He doesn't care what might happen to me. He just
wants to show his power.
	Is that why I belong to him?
	I folded the note quickly. I had to think fast, though my brain was
spinning. I said, "Uh, Daddy, this is Mr.--" I looked at the note while trying
to think of a name. "Mr. Davis, from the Whitman-Pierce office." That's the
office where I work as a bookkeeper. "They're doing some--some inventory this
weekend, and Mr. Pierce sent him to ask me about some figures they need." I
hoped I sounded natural. "It won't take very long," I said. "Maybe we can go up
to my room."
	God, it was such a dumb story. I couldn't believe my father would accept
it. But maybe it was just dumb enough. He did hesitate for a moment; but
evidently he couldn't find anything suspicious about that fat, untidy-looking
man.
	"No, no," he said. "That's okay, you use the living room. I'll just go
out and putter in the garden for a while."
	I led the man into the living room as my father went out the back way. I
heard the rear door close.
	The man stood in the middle of the room, looking at me. I was damned if
I was going to offer him coffee. I wouldn't even ask him to sit down.
	I said, "Do you know what this says?" Indicating the note.
	He nodded. His little eyes were gleaming.
	Of course. Calvin showing off.
	So there, in the middle of my living room, with my father only a few
yards away, I got down on my knees, opened this stranger's fly, pulled out his
semi-erect penis and took it into my mouth. It got hard very quickly, and I
sucked it, keeping an ear out all the time for the sound of the back door. The
man started to pant and wheeze. I wanted to get it over with as swiftly as
possible; but then I remembered Calvin's P.S. Do a good job. Probably he would
ask the man for a report.
	So I did a good job.
	Calvin's test was a success. I obeyed. I performed. Even when he wasn't
there to watch.
	It still didn't take too long. The fat man came. I swallowed.
	Then I got up and showed him out. He didn't say anything. Neither did I.
	Then I went up to my room and jerked off.

					#

	I was seventeen before I finally lost my virginity.
	After the night my father found me, he didn't leave handcuffs in the
house any more. And I never tried doing that kind of thing again. I was too
scared. I even tried not to think about it, tried not to fantasize about those
things. I tried hard. But that didn't work.
	I thought about it a great deal. I fantasized constantly. Nothing else
aroused me so much. I always masturbated to those fantasies. But I never did
anything about them.
	For two years.
	In that time I dated quite a bit. I was popular. I kissed boys, I fooled
around a little, but never too much. I never got carried away.
	The boys were too nice.
	I wasn't particularly afraid of sex, and I didn't put much value on
being a virgin. In fact, on two occasions I deliberately made up my mind to go
all the way. Both times were with boys I liked a lot and found attractive. Both
times I was ready and willing, and so were they. And both times, when it came to
the point, I pulled back. I just wasn't excited enough. It was too easy, too
dull. I wanted more.
	The first boy didn't understand, and I was not bold enough to tell him
the truth. He got angry, and I thought he was going to hit me, which might have
done it for him, but he didn't. I ended up jerking him off, but he never called
me after that.
	The second time I tried hinting to the boy that maybe he should be a
little rough with me. He didn't see why I would want that. I said, carefully,
that some girls liked to feel that, well, that the man was stronger than they
were. He said I must be some kind of freak. I told him to take me home, and he
did.
	That was shortly after my seventeenth birthday. My figure was fully
developed by then, and my desires were stronger than ever. I really wanted to
lose my virginity.
	No. I wanted to have it taken away from me.

					#

	Calvin called me at work.
	"Hey, Bethy."
	"Hello," I said.
	"Elkman tells me you did a real good job."
	"Was that the fat man?"
	"You enjoy that, Bethy?"
	"No."
	"You jerk off afterwards?"
	"Yes."
	"Figured."
	"My father was there. He could have--"
	"That's the fun of it. Hey, Bethy?"
	"What?"
	"Jerk off now."
	My breath caught. "Calvin--"
	"I want to hear you."
	"I'm at work."
	"I know that. At your desk?"
	"Yes."
	"In your little office?"
	"It's not an office, just a cubicle. The walls are glass, the top part.
Everybody can see me."
	"Not if you slide your chair under your desk, put your hand down there.
They can't see that."
	"But they can see the rest of me. If I--"
	"Beth."
	"Yes."
	"You arguing with me?"
	I took a breath. "No."
	"I'll make it easy for you. You want to see me tonight?"
	"Yes."
	"Want me to do things to you?"
	"Yes."
	"Tie you up?"
	"Yes."
	"Maybe use that little birch thing? You like that."
	"Yes..."
	"Use it good and hard?"
	"Yes. Yes."
	"Turns you on, right?"
	"Yes.
	"Are your nipples hard?"
	"Yes."
	"Really hard?"
	"Calvin...Yes..."
	"Do it, Beth. Now."
	"All right."
	"Right now."
	"All right."
	"Are you doing it?"
	"Yes."
	"Tell me."
	"Calvin--"
	"Tell me."
	"I'm doing it."
	"What?"
	"I--My hand is...under my dress..."
	"Yes?"
	"Between my legs. I--I'm--"
	"Go on."
	"I'm touching myself."
	"Through your panties?"
	"Yes."
	"Go under them."
	"All right."
	"Tell me."
	"I'm--My fingers are...inside my panties--"
	"Keep going."
	"I'm...touching my--my crotch."
	"Are you wet?"
	"Yes."
	"Thinking about tonight?"
	"Yes..."
	"Go on."
	"I'm...inside..."
	"Inside your pussy?"
	"Yes."
	"How many fingers?"
	"I...Two."
	"Deep inside?"
	"Yes..."
	"How about your clit?"
	"It's--I--I'm..."
	"Touch it."
	"Yes."
	"Stroke it."
	"I'm...yes..."
	"Feel good, Bethy?"
	"Oh...yes..."
	"You going to come?"
	"I...I don't..."
	"Come for Calvin, Beth."
	"Oh...oh god...Oh my god!"
	"What is it?"
	"There's--there's somebody watching me."
	"Who?"
	"A man...He--he works here...He was passing by, and he--he must have
seen something in my face. He stopped at the water cooler and now he's looking
at me."
	"But he can't see anything."
	"He can see my face."
	"That's all right. Don't stop."
	"Calvin--"
	"Don't stop."
	"Oh god..."
	"Play with that clit, Beth."
	"Oh..."
	"You doing it?"
	"Yes..."
	"He still looking?"
	"Yes...Oh. Oh, thank god--somebody else started talking to him. He's not
watching me now."
	"Too bad. But don't stop."
	"I'm not."
	"I want to hear you come."
	"Oh..."
	"Think about tonight, Bethy."
	"Yes..."
	"How I'm going to tie you up."
	"Yes."
	"How about hanging from the ceiling? You like that a lot."
	"Oh...yes..."
	"All stretched out and naked and hanging there..."
	"Ohh... oh god..."
	"And then I'll take that birch stick. The thin whippy one."
	"Yes...yes..."
	"I'll use it hard, Beth. Real hard."
	"Ohh...ohhh..."
	"Start with your back."
	"Ahh...aahh..."
	"Your ass...and your thighs. Leave stripes like a zebra."
	"Unnhh...ahh...I--I can't..."
	"Then your breasts, Bethy."
	"Calvin...ohh Jesus...I'm going to..."
	"Right across the nipples."
	"Aannnhh...Oh, I--ohh yes..."
	"You'll scream, Bethy."
	"Yes! I'm...now..."
	"Scream with pain. Scream and kick and howl..."
	"AAAHH! Unnnhhh! Unhh! Ahh! Oh. Oh god. Oh Jesus. Oh..."
	"Bethy?"
	"Oh..."
	"You come?"
	"Yes..."
	"Good girl."
	"Oh."
	"Tonight, Beth."
	"Yes."
	"Usual time."
	"Yes."
	"Hey, Bethy?"
	"Yes."
	"That man that was watching you?"
	"Yes?"
	"Bring him along," Calvin said, and hung up.
	
					#

	His name was Walter Aeurbach and I didn't really know him very well. He
worked in the Claims Department.
	It took me twenty minutes and several false starts before I was able to
call him on the inter-office phone. Even then I couldn't keep my voice from
shaking.
	"Walter? This is Beth. In bookkeeping?"
	"Oh. Hi." He sounded surprised, naturally. I remembered how he had
looked at me. Did he know what I'd been doing?
	"I'd, uh, like to talk to you about something. Could you come in here
for a minute?"
	"Sure. Be right there."
	Walter was about forty, neither particularly attractive nor especially
repulsive. He had thinning dark hair and a mustache. When he came in I watched
his face to see if he suspected anything, but I couldn't tell.
	"Hi," he said. "What's up?"
	I swallowed hard. "Walter," I said, "a--a friend of mine is...having a
party tonight. A, uh--a kind of...special party, and--I'd really like it if--if
you would go with me."
	Walter blinked. For a minute he was too astonished to say anything.
	"Oh," he said finally. "Well, I--That's very nice, Beth, but I--I
don't--"
	I was so embarrassed I think I was blushing. But I had to press on.
	"Walter," I said, "it's--it's kind of important to me. Really."
	"I--I'm not sure I understand," Walter said. "Anyway, I'm afraid--I
don't think my wife and I can get away this evening. The kids, you know, and--"
	"No," I said. "Not your wife. Just you."
	He stared at me. "What?"
	I was dying. I looked him in the eye and tried to put sex into my voice,
though I wasn't feeling sexy just then. "Walter. Come with me. Please. I promise
you, you won't be sorry. I promise you."
	"Oh," Walter said. "Oh. Well. Ah--well...I-I'll have to call...but I--I
guess I can..."

					#

	That was how Walter came to be watching me as I hung naked from Calvin's
ceiling, screaming my guts out as Calvin whipped me without mercy.
	Of course, Calvin never did exactly what he said he would do. Instead of
hanging me up by my wrists, he had thought up a new twist. He hoisted my by the
ankles. I was hanging head down, my hair dangling almost to the floor, my body
twisting and thrashing frantically under the continuous lashing. My arms were
fastened at my sides to a thin chain around my waist, so they would be out of
the way.
	And instead of the birch stick, Calvin used a rope. A hard but wickedly
flexible rope which he had soaked in salt water to give it added impact and
sting. It hurt just as much as the birch. Maybe more.
	Calvin had greeted the mystified Walter with great courtesy, seated him
in a comfortable chair and given him a drink. Then he told me to stand in front
of Walter and strip for him.
	Walter's mouth opened and he almost dropped his drink. He looked at
Calvin, then at me, then at Calvin, started to say something, then stopped. He
just sat there.
	So I stood in front of him and took my clothes off.
	Calvin asked Walter if he didn't think I had a great body. Walter said
he did.
	Calvin asked Walter if he wanted me. Walter said yes. Calvin said he
could have me later. First he would get to watch me being whipped.
	Walter was startled. He started to make some kind of protest. Calvin
told him not to worry. That I liked being whipped. That I would enjoy it. Walter
looked unconvinced. Calvin asked me if I wanted to be whipped. I said yes. He
suggested I tell Walter that. I did.
	And it was true. I couldn't wait.
	Walter needed another drink. Calvin made it for him. Then he hung me up
by my ankles and began whipping me with the rope, steadily and methodically. He
started out with my behind and my back. Soon I was howling and twisting
helplessly, and the wonderful sweet agony was flowing through me. I couldn't
stand it, it was impossible to stand it, and yet I wanted it never to stop. The
blood pounded in my head, I could hear my screams inside my brain, and every
lash filled me with a terrible searing fire, a fire that I wanted to consume me.
	And Walter watched.

					#

	Why am I writing this down? Why?
	Because I won't live long. Maybe. But I don't know that.
	Anyway, so what? Why should that make me want to put it all down? Do I
want anybody to see it after I'm dead?
	No. I'll burn it.
	But I keep writing.

                                                            #

	Calvin asked Walter how he was enjoying the show.
	I was the show.
	My twisting, jerking body and my screaming mouth and my
upside-down-bouncing boobs and my rope-striped back was the show. And how I was
loving it so much. That was the show too.
	Walter had to clear his throat first. Then he said it was fantastic.
Christ, he said, it was the most fantastic thing he ever saw.
	Calvin asked Walter if he had a hard-on. Walter said hell, yes. Calvin
said he thought I was positioned just right so that if Walter were to stand up,
I could suck him off.
	Walter hesitated. Calvin asked him if he was shy. Walter said he didn't
know. Calvin asked Walter if he had ever been sucked off upside down by a girl
who was being whipped at the same time. Walter said no. But--, Walter said.
	Calvin asked Walter if he would like to whip me.
	Walter said he didn't know.
	Had he ever whipped a girl? No.
	Wouldn't he like to try?
	Walter said yes. Maybe. Yes. Yes, he would.
	Calvin said Walter could whip me after I sucked him off.
	Walter stood up. He came to where I was hanging. He unzipped his
trousers and took out his cock. Calvin was right; I was perfectly positioned.
	But my body was swaying and twisting and I couldn't get hold of him with
my mouth. Walter had to hold my head still so I could take him in. Then he held
onto my hair and fucked my mouth.
	I was moaning and sobbing as I sucked at him; and then Calvin started
hitting me with the rope again and I was screaming around Walter's cock.

					#

	Sometimes I have to stop and masturbate while I'm writing this.

                                                   	#

	Walter still works in my office. He fucks me every other Friday.
Calvin's orders.

                                                    	#

	Walter was not as good as Calvin with the rope. He couldn't hit as hard.
But Calvin let him use it on my breasts, so it hurt plenty. He hit my breasts
till his arm got tired.
	When Calvin cut me down, Walter was hard again. He fucked me on the
floor. I screamed the whole time. I came twice before he did, and then I did
everything I could to get him hard again. I was desperate for more. I sucked him
and played with him and wrapped myself around him and sucked him some more,
until at last he responded, and I sat on him and rode his cock as hard as I
could for several more climaxes before he came again. Then he was finished.
	Calvin made Walter another drink.
	Calvin always liked to watch me get dressed after he'd whipped me.
Because of course I could hardly move, and I was hurting all over, and every
motion was pure burning agony. But I always had to get dressed and go home,
because of my father. Calvin would watch me put my clothes on slowly and
painfully. I think it turned him on more than watching me take them off did.
	Before we left, Calvin asked Walter very politely if he would mind if
Calvin made me fuck him once in a while. Walter said he wouldn't mind at all.
Calvin said how about every other Friday. At the office. Walter said that was
fine, just fine, but he didn't see how we could do it in the office. Calvin told
him I would find a way. Wouldn't I, he asked me.
	I said yes.
	Walter drove me home.

                                             		#

	I never knew my mother.
	I wonder what she was like. My father never talks about her. Never.
	Was she like me?
	Was anybody ever like me?

                                                         		#

	Seventeen and still a virgin. The boys were too nice.
            There was a motorcycle club in our town. Downtown. Not Hell's
Angels, but something like them. I didn't know any of them, but I'd seen them
around. Older boys. Some a lot older. Scruffy and dirty and mean-looking.
	I started thinking about them.
	I started asking about them.
	They had a place, what they called a clubhouse, downtown. It was really
just the basement floor of an old run-down building. It was where they hung out.
	One Saturday night I got on the bus and went there.
	I didn't have any plan. I didn't know what I was going to do. All I had
was this need. This aching need.
	And I was scared to death.
	It wasn't hard to find. There were half a dozen motorcycles parked
outside. And there were two guys standing in front, by the steps that led down
to the basement entrance. The windows were too dirty to see through, but I could
hear music coming from inside.
	The two guys watched me as I approached. My heart was pounding. I
started down the steps.
	"Hey," one of the guys said. "You want something?"
	I stopped and turned. I tried to keep my voice from shaking. I said, "I
want to go in."
	"What for?"
	"Well, I--I want to go to the party," I said.
	"It ain't a party," the other one said. "And it ain't open to the
public. Okay?"
	"But I--" I didn't know what to say. "I want to join the club," I
blurted out.
	The two of them looked at each other, then burst out laughing.
	"Hey, honey," the second one said. "How old are you, anyway?"
	"Eighteen," I lied.
	"Bullshit," he said. "What're you, slumming or what?"
	I had worn an old denim skirt and a casual top, but I suddenly felt
horribly out of place.
	I took a breath. I was here, I might as well go for broke. "I want to
join," I said again. "I have a motorcycle at home."
	They laughed again.
	"Beat it, kid," the first one said.
	"No," I said. And before they could stop me, I turned and went down the
steps, got to the door, and opened it. They caught me just as I stepped inside.
	It was one big room, mostly empty, with a couple of old sofas against
two walls and a rickety table near the door. There were ten or twelve guys in
there, and two girls. The guys looked like the types I had seen around. The
girls looked tough too.
	A big blonde guy with a can of beer in his hand came over as I came in,
followed by the guys from outside. "What's going on?" he said.
	"Dumb chick nosin' around," the first guy said. "She got in before we
could stop her. Come on, honey, out," he said to me.
	"She says she wants to join the club," the second one said, sniggering.
	"Oh, yeah?" the blonde guy said, and he looked me up and down slowly. I
felt a familiar twist in my stomach.
	"She's jailbait," the first one said.
	"I'm not!" I said.
	"You better go home, kid," the blonde one said.
	I wasn't getting anyplace, and I almost turned and left, but I couldn't.
Most of the people in the room were watching now. These guys, I knew, wouldn't
be like the boys at school. They wouldn't be polite and gentle and considerate.
They wouldn't be shocked at the idea of being rough with a girl.
	They were what I wanted. What I had to have.
	"Look," I said. "I-I want to talk to the leader."
	"Shit," the second guy said.
	"The leader, huh?" the blonde one said. He looked around. "Hey!" he
called out. "Any of you guys want to be the leader?"
	"Yeah," somebody said from the back of the room. "Sounds good to me."
	"Okay," the blonde one said. "Come on, kid." He took me across the room
to where a large fat guy sat on a sofa. He had dark matted hair and a stubble of
beard, and he could have been anywhere from twenty to thirty. He was drinking
beer too, and one of the girls was sitting next to him. A bunch of the other
guys gathered around as I stood in front of him.
	"So," the fat guy said. "What's your problem, honey?"
	I felt as though I was trembling and I hoped it didn't show. "My name is
Beth," I said. "And I--I want to join your club."
	"Is that right?" he said, and I saw him wink at the girl next to him.
"Why is that?"
	It was a joke to them. Not to me. I took a deep breath, thrusting my
chest out, wanting them to notice my body. "For fun," I said.
	The fat guy looked me over now. Again one of the guys from outside said,
"Hey, Andy, she's jailbait, come on."
	"Yeah," Andy said. "Okay, honey. You got it. You're a member, okay? Now
be a good girl and go on home where you belong."
	I was desperate. "Look," I said. "Isn't there--don't I have to
be...initiated or something? Don't I have to...do something to get in? I mean--"
	"Oh, Christ," Andy said, and he wasn't so amused now. "What the fuck is
this, as fuckin' movie? Initiation, for Christ sake. What'd you, come down here
for thrills or what?"
	"Yes," I said boldly. "That's right. Thrills. Can you give them to me?"
	"Jesus," Andy said. "Get her out of here."
	The two guys from outside started to grab me, but I pulled away. "What's
the matter?" I said. "Don't you like girls, or what?"
	Andy pointed a finger at me. "You watch your fuckin' mouth, bitch. Get
the hell out of here."
	The guys started to pull me away. "I think you're all faggots!" I
yelled. "A bunch of queers! You're supposed to be tough. That's crap! You're all
wimps and fags. You couldn't  even--"
	Andy was standing up, his face really mad now. He loomed over me. "You
fuckin' cunt!" he said. The two guys had stopped pulling at me, surprised by my
outburst. Andy said, "Who the fuck do you think you are, you dumb  little--"
	I spat in his face.
	He slapped me.
	The slap was hard and made me take a step back, but with the sudden pain
something exploded inside me. Yes! This was what I wanted!
	But I had to keep him angry, to push him to the point where he couldn't
stop. I raised my hands and rushed toward him, going for his face with my nails.
	He caught my wrists with a cry of outrage and pushed me away hard. I
stumbled back and two guys caught me by the arms
	"Hold her, for Christ sake!" Andy shouted.
	I struggled to get away. I struggled hard. But the more I fought and the
harder they held me, the more excited I felt. I was twisting and kicking and
biting, and finally they had to put me down on the floor and have four guys hold
me down by spreading me out and pinning my wrists and ankles. I still fought and
squirmed.
	Andy was standing over me looking down, and I could tell he wasn't
looking at me as a kid now. He was taking in my outstretched, writhing body, and
what was in his eyes was what I wanted to see. I knew my breasts were heaving
and rolling under my tightly strained pullover, and that my skirt was rucked
high up on my thighs. I saw the others watching too, watching in a sudden
silence; but I knew it was Andy I had to get to first.
	I still kept on twisting and pulling against the hands that held me,
knowing I wasn't strong enough to break away and thrilling at my captivity. At
the same time I gazed boldly up at Andy.
	"Come on," I panted. "You want it? Then take it. If you can. Or aren't
you man enough?"
	Andy stared at me. "Fuck!" he said hoarsely.
	I increased my struggles. "You can have it...if you can take it," I
gasped. "But you can't. You're too weak. Too much of a faggot!"
	I watched him. Everybody watched him. His face got red; then it got very
hard.
	"Lock the door," he said.
	Somebody locked the door.
	Andy opened his pants.
	I was bursting with anticiption and desire, but now I also felt genuine
fear. It was going to happen. I was going to be raped!
	It was very quiet.
	I was still struggling, but I was tired and out of breath. But my
nipples throbbed. So did my vagina.
	Andy's cock was hard. And big.
	He just dropped his pants and shorts. That's all. Then he got down on
the floor, crouching over me. "Honey," he said, "you've had it now."
	"You still have to take it," I said. And then I spat at him again.
	Somebody laughed, briefly.
	Andy's eyes burned. He said, "Give me a knife."
	Now I was really scared.
	But Andy used the knife to cut my clothes off. He cut the front of my
top open, then cut off my bra. He put his hands on my breasts and squeezed them
hard. I began to moan. He took a breast in his mouth and bit the nipple. I still
tried to fight, but I was weak with lust.
	Andy pushed my skirt up around my waist and cut off my panties.
	"Stretch this cunt out good," Andy said.
	I felt my arms being pulled taut and my legs spread as far apart as they
would go. I was stretched out naked in front of a dozen strange guys, held down
by force and about to be raped. In a way it was unreal, like a nightmare. I felt
the pain and the shame of it, and the fear, but as if from outside. Even my
excitement, my wanting this, had an unreal feeling. I looked up at the faces
above me, all the guys (and the girls too) crowding around, watching tensely.
Would they all take me? Would they kill me? I heard myself crying, and it
surprised me but thrilled me too. I was truly, finally helpless. I was a thing
to be taken and used and thrown away. It was what I had come for. If they killed
me, maybe it would be worth it...
	Then Andy was on top of me, crushing me, his penis probing at my crotch.
I squirmed as much as I could--which wasn't much--to try to make it difficult
for him. But my vagina was pulled open by my outspread thighs, and it was moist.
There was nothing I could do about that.
	Andy rammed up into me with one hard thrust.
	I screamed.

					#

	God.
	How I Lost My Virginity, by Beth Lawrence.
	It seems like a long time ago. But it's only six years.

                                                  	#

	I screamed with the pain of my hymen being ripped away, and then with
the further pain as Andy's cock forced its way more and more deeply into me. His
weight was still crushing my body, and he looked down at me, grinning fiercely
and pounding at me with hard, brutal lunges. I was screaming with the pain, but
I wanted the pain, and then there was pleasure there too, and the pain was part
of the pleasure and the pleasure was the pain and the pain was good and the
pleasure was and I was it was so good!
	And I came. Shrieking.
	Andy didn't stop.
	I could hear him saying something. Grunting as he thrust at me. He said,
"Cunt. Bitch. Whore. Slut. Dirty cunt. Cocksucker. Whore."
	The words got to me. I was all those things. I was moaning and gasping
and I wanted to move with him, to fuck back at him, but I couldn't. And I didn't
want them to let me go. Ever. I came again.
	Andy shot into me. He yelled triumphantly and then slumped on top of me.
	It was dead quiet in that room, except for our gasping breath.
	Then Andy rolled off me and sat up. The four guys still held me down.
The others didn't move.
	Somebody said, "How about it, Andy?"
	Andy looked at me. "Well, bitch?" he said. "You learn your lesson?"
	I knew what I had to do. "You're all scum," I gasped out. "Faggot scum!"
	 Andy said, "Okay, guys. Line up."
	They lined up.

                                                	#

	Why am I writing this now?
	Six years.
	Hard to believe.

                                               		#

	I don't know how many there were. Ten or twelve, something like that.
Two girls. The girls watched.
	The guys took me.
	All of them.
	After the others were through, the four guys who held me down took their
turn, while four other guys took their places. Once they thought they could let
me go, but I fought and kicked so much they pinned me down again.
	I loved being held down.
	I came a lot as they took me.
	After the last one had his turn, some of the ones who had gone first
were ready again. But now they wanted something different.
	I learned to suck cock that night. I learned good.
	I don't know if I sucked them all, but a lot of them. They mostly
crouched right over my face and held on to my hair to keep my head still and
then fucked my mouth. I nearly choked to death, but I learned. I swallowed a lot
of come.
	That wasn't all.
	Two or three of them took me in the ass too. It hurt like hell. I didn't
get anything out of it but pain at first. But by the time the second guy was
finished, I came again.
	It took hours.
	Then they were through.

                                                  	#

	They should have killed me that night. In a way I wish they had.
	Do I? Really? Probably not.
	Anyway, they didn't.
	
                                                  	#

	I was sitting on the floor with my ruined clothes half covering me,
aching all over and wondering how I was going to get home. Or if I would ever
get home.
	"What'll we do with her?"
	"What do you mean?"
	"Well, we can't just...I mean..."
	"You think she'll get us in trouble?"
	"Are you kidding? We raped her, for Christ--"
	"She asked for it."
	"For god's sake, the girl is underage! She could have us all in prison.
What the fuck!"
	"What do you want to do with her?"
	"I don't know...Get rid of her."
	"Hey, come on!"
	"Well, damn it--"
	"She won't say anything."
	"The fuck she won't!"
	"I won't," I said.
	"Bullshit. We can't let her go."
	"I don't know..."
	"I won't say anything," I said. "I promise. I swear it. I won't tell
anybody. Ever." Then I said, "On one condition."
	They stared at me. "What!"
	I said, "That I can come back and do it again."

                                                     	#

	Well, I finally told somebody. My diary. Or whatever this is. Which I'm
going to burn.
	When?
	Soon.

                                                     	#

	At first Walter and I solved the problem of how to fuck in the office
every other Friday by staying until after everybody had gone home. But when
Calvin heard that, he said it wasn't fair. It had to be during office hours.
	The bastard.
	Now we use Mr. Pierce's office while he's out to lunch. Luckily his
secretary goes at the same time. I think they probably go to a motel together,
so they take long lunches. Walter and I sneak in and lock the door. It's still
kind of dangerous, and we have to be quiet. Even so, I think Walter enjoys
himself. I have to make sure of that, because Calvin checks with him.
	The bastard.
	I am his forever.

                                                       	#

	I went back to the clubhouse the next Saturday. That was the arrangement
when they let me go. Some of them were still worried, but they could see I
wanted to come back. And they wanted me to. The girls had lent me some old
clothes to wear home. I was relieved when I was able to get in and up to my room
to change before my father saw me.
	This time I brought extra clothes with me.
	They were waiting for me. The word had spread. There were twice as many
guys there as before. And two more girls.
	They thought they would have it easier this time. They were wrong. I
wouldn't do a thing until they got me down and spread me out and ripped my
clothes off and forced me.
	Then I did everything.
	This time there were a couple of new wrinkles. Some of the time two guys
took me at once. One would fuck me while I sucked the other. Or they made a
sandwich and fucked me front and rear. And once I did it with three of them at
the same time.
	Of course they couldn't do all that while keeping me spread out on my
back. But they had a hard time getting me into the positions they wanted,
because I fought them as much as I could. So finally they had a great idea.
Somebody brought out some rope, and they tied my hands behind me.
	They tied my hands behind me.
	I can't put it in words, what that felt like. I had imagined it for
years, had fantasized it and longed for it, and it was better than I had ever
dreamed. I had never felt so utterly helpless. The ropes were even better than
the hands that had held me down, because they were inhuman, implacable; and yet,
unlike the hard, impassive steel of my father's handcuffs, they seemed almost
deliberately cruel, biting roughly and abrasively into my wrists. The more I
twisted against them, the deeper they seemed to sink into the flesh, grinding my
wrists together. With my arms pulled back, my breasts stuck out, and when I
squirmed at the ropes, they squirmed too. And they were so vulnerable. I was so
vulnerable. I couldn't believe how it turned me on. I came when they did it.
	Then they could do anything they wanted with me. I could still kick, but
that was about all. I only struggled because the futility of it felt so good.
And I kept coming until I was too weak even to struggle. With my hands tied
behind my back, I knelt on the floor and sucked cock; I straddled guys who lay
on their backs so I could fuck them while sucking another one standing in front
of me; I bent over the arm of a sofa to suck a guy sitting there while another
one took me in the ass; I fucked standing up, sitting down, on my back, on my
stomach, on all fours...
	I have no idea how many times I came. After a while I hardly knew where
I was any more, or who I was. Only that I was hurting and helpless and being
used, a mindless, soulless object of pleasure. And I wanted it never to stop.
	But it did stop, finally. And then they had another idea.
	They wanted me to go down on one of the girls.
	That idea did not particularly appeal to me. In fact, I thought it kind
of repulsive. But I was still tied, and there were lots more of them than of me,
and I knew they could make me. And I didn't find that repulsive at all, even
after what I'd just been through.
	So I figured I'd make them force me to do it. I said no.
	But the guys were too tired out to care that much. The only one who made
a fuss was the girl. She was a short, plump redhead, one of the girls who had
been there the first night. She was sitting on a sofa, naked. Everybody was
naked. She was indignant. The guys had all had their fun, now it was her turn.
She wanted me to suck her off.
	They told her if she wanted it so much, she could make me do it herself.
They weren't about to exert themselves any more.
	So I made a deal with them instead. I would do it--if they tied my legs
too.
	So they did.
	They roped my ankles together tightly.
	They also roped my thighs.
	My hands were still tied behind me.
	I was in heaven.
	Heaven.
	The girl on the sofa was across the room. I had to get to her. I had to
slither and squirm and roll across the floor while the ropes bit into my flesh
and my body strained and sweated with the effort. Everybody watched me.
	Heaven.
	I got there. I struggled to get to my knees. The girl had to help me by
pulling me up by the hair. The pain was added ecstasy, and I came.
	Then the girl slid forward on the sofa and spread her legs wide. She
pulled my head into her crotch. She kept hold of my hair and she told me what to
do. She told me explicitly. For a long time.
	And I obeyed.
	When she came, I came too.
	I didn't want them to untie me. I didn't want to go home. I had found my
home.
	But I went.

                                                   	#

	Calvin took me to the theatre. An opening. Very formal. I wore a lovely
gown. Jewelry. Special hairdo. Everything.
	But no underwear, of course.
	Calvin wore a tuxedo. He looks so fine in evening clothes. Elegant.
	After the theatre we went to dinner. A good restaurant. Expensive.
Calvin was charming. He made me laugh. We danced.
	After dinner he took me to a hotel. The room had already been booked.
The equipment was already there.
	I knew better than to ask any questions.
	Calvin fastened me to the bed. Spread-eagled. Handcuffs on my wrists,
shackled to the corner bedposts. Larger cuffs on my ankles, attached to the
posts at the bottom.
	Then he gagged me. He had never gagged me before. It was something round
that filled my mouth, with something around my head to hold it there. I could
only make tiny muffled sounds.
	And then he blindfolded me. That was new too.
	Then he politely bade me goodnight. And he left.
	I lay there for an hour.
	Finally I heard the door open and then close. I was frightened. I tried
to ask who it was and only made squeaks. I couldn't see a thing.
	Somebody came to the bed. I could hear breathing. I knew it was a man.
	He touched me. Touched my breasts throught the gown. Then he ran his
hands down my body. Reflexively, I squirmed, but Calvin had fastened me tightly.
	I wanted desperately to know who it was. Calvin had sent him, obviously.
Was it someone I knew? Or a stranger? A friend of Calvin's? Or somebody he had
found on the street? Not knowing was terrible somehow.
	There was a pause. I heard soft sounds--a zipper, a rustling, something
dropping. He was undressing.
	Then his hands were on me again. He was pulling my gown down over my
breasts. He pulled on it until it ripped. He tore it down the front. He lifted
my skirt up over my hips.
	He never said a word.
	He was on top of me. His cock finding me. And pushing in.
	Fucking me.
	He fucked me for a long time. On and on. Steady and hard. On and on.
Just fucking.
	I came, of course.
	Several times.
	At last he shot into me. Still without a sound, except for his
breathing.
	Then he pulled out of me and I felt him crawling up on the bed. At first
I thought he was going to take out the gag so I could suck him. But he didn't. I
felt him take my hair in his hands, but it took a moment before I realized what
he was doing.
	He was wiping his cock off with my hair.
	It was more of a violation than the fucking, somehow. I wanted to hit
him, and I also wanted to come again.
	He got up then, and I heard him getting dressed. Then I heard him leave.
The door closed behind him.
	I lay there the rest of the night.
	In the morning Calvin came, unshackled me, took off the gag and
blindfold, and said he hoped I had spent a pleasant night.
	Of course I didn't ask him who the man was.
	I'll probably never know.
	I only know it wasn't Calvin.

                                                       	#

	I started going to the clubhouse nearly every Saturday night. If I could
I would have gone every night. It was what I lived for. It was the only place I
wanted to be. I was only truly alive when I was there. When I was being raped.
Tied up. Hurting.
	I didn't care about anything else. My father complained that I wasn't
keeping up with the housework. I had always been a good student, but I didn't
care about school any more. I neglected my homework. I was inattentive in class.
I started coming late.
	It got so bad that the vice-principal called me in to his office one day
to talk to me about it. His name was Mr. Gerrold, and I guess he was around
forty or so. He was short and balding, and wore a little mustache. He explained
to me that he was concerned because my grades were falling off so badly. He had
spoken to several of my teachers and they had told him how bright I was and how
I had been such a good pupil until recently. Now my attitude was different, and
I didn't seem to care about anything, etc., etc. He asked me what I thought
about that.
	I shrugged.
	Obviously, Mr. Gerrold said, there was something wrong. Was something
troubling me? Was I having problems outside the school that were interfering
with my work? Was there anything I wanted to talk to him about?
	I said no.
	Well, Mr. Gerrold said, obviously the situation had to be corrected. I
had to make an effort to apply myself and get my grades back up. He knew I could
do it. Would I try?
	I said I guessed so. I didn't say it with much enthusiasm. I just wanted
to get out of there. It was Friday. I was just marking time until the next
night.
	Mr. Gerrold grew a little sterner. He said that really wasn't good
enough. If my attitude continued to decline, he said, the school would have to
take some action. Perhaps have a talk with my father. Did I want that?
	I said no.
	Then what did I suggest?
	"Corporal punishment," I said.
	I don't know why I said that. I was just fed up with him and I didn't
care much what I said, and it just came out. It was a joke. Half a joke, anyway.
	He stared at me, startled. "What?" he said.
	"Corporal punishment," I said. "You know, where they hit the kids to
make them behave."
	"I know what it is," Mr. Gerrold said, still surprised. "But we do not
use corporal punishment in this school. For one thing, I believe it is now
against the law."
	"Too bad," I said.
	He stared again. "Why do you say that?"
	I shrugged. "Might be a good idea," I said. "Might keep me in line."
	He didn't say anything. I had been goofing with him, but now I suddenly
saw something different in his expression. It made my heart beat faster. He kept
looking at me, and I looked back at him. And then, for just a moment, his eyes
flicked down to my breasts. I knew then that I had him.
	I took a deep breath and said, "Should we try it?"
	Mr. Gerrold cleared his throat. "Surely you aren't serious."
	"Oh, yes I am," I said.
	He didn't say anything for about a minute. He was struggling with
himself. Then he kind of shook himself and cleared his throat again. "That's
nonsense," he said. "You had better leave, Miss Lawrence. Immediately."
	I stood up. I walked to the door slowly. I was wearing tight jeans, and
I wanted him to watch my rear end moving. When I got to the door I didn't open
it. I locked it instead. Then I came back to his desk.
	"Punish me," I said. "I won't tell anybody."
	"I--" Mr. Gerrold said. He swallowed. "I don't know--I don't have--I
have nothing to--"
	"You could use your hand," I said. "Or, wait..." I picked up my book bag
and dug around inside it. I remembered there was an old ruler in there which I
never used. I found it. It was a stiff wooden ruler, eighteen inches long. It
looked right. I handed it to him.
	"Here," I said. "This should do it, don't you think?"
	Then I bent over the desk. I didn't want to give him any more time to
think --or myself either. I bent right over one end of the desk, as far as I
could, holding on to the sides with my hands. My rear end stuck out. I felt the
jeans stretched tight across it. I was panting a little. I could hear Mr.
Gerrold's breathing too. But he hesitated.
	"Do it," I said. "Do it hard."
	"Oh..." Mr. Gerrold said. And then he did it.
	It hurt worse than I had expected. Or should I say better? The flat part
of the ruler cracked right across my behind, and it really stung, even through
my jeans and panties. I made a little sound of surprise and pain. And then I
felt warm. All the way through. Warm and melting.
	I didn't move. Neither did Mr. Gerrold. I still heard him breathing,
maybe a little louder now. I waited. But he was waiting too, I guess to see if I
had changed my mind.
	"Go on," I said.
	He hit me again.

                                                   	#

	Why did my father never spank me?
	He never touched me.
	But I was always a good girl.
	If he had spanked me, would I be different? Normal? Whatever that is.
	Or worse?

                                                  	#

	Mr. Gerrold hit me with the ruler until I cried.
	At first he stopped after every smack, waiting for me to tell him to
stop.
	I never did.
	Then he began to hit harder, until he was grunting with every swing of
his arm. The ruler cracked loudly across my ass. My whole behind throbbed. The
warmth of my body turned into a burning heat, and I squirmed against the desk,
wanting to come. I knew I was crying with the pain, but I didn't care. I was
close...close...
	He stopped.
	"More..." I gasped. "Please..."
	"No." He was panting heavily. "Enough. Enough now. For god's sake. Get
out of here."
	"Please..."
	"No!" He threw the ruler away from him and collapsed into his chair.
"Oh, god," he said. "What am I--Go away. Go."
	I pushed myself up off the desk. My legs were weak, but my behind hurt
too much to sit down. I sank to the floor, resting on one leg curled under me. I
looked up at Mr. Gerrold. His face was red. His mouth was twitching. And I could
see a bulge in his trousers.
	He wanted me.
	I wanted him. Or anybody.
	I reached up to him. "Come on," I said.
	He looked at me like he hated me. "My god!" he said. "No. What are
you...just go. Please. Go."
	I took my shirt off.
	"No!" Mr. Gerrold said. "Beth, please..."
	I took off my brassiere.
	"Oh god..." he said.
	I opened my jeans. It was a little painful getting them off, but I
didn't mind. I took off the panties with them.
	"We can't..." Mr. Gerrold said.
	I lay down on my back and spread out, opening my legs.
	"I can't," Mr. Gerrold said. He stood up. Then he made a strangled noise
and fell on top of me.
	I wrapped myself around him and kissed him, twisting my body against
his. I didn't want him to change his mind. I needed it.
	When the kiss ended I reached down and unzipped him. I pulled out his
hard cock and quickly guided him to my crotch.
	"Wait!" he gasped. "Let me...my clothes...wait..."
	"Later," I said. "Do it now. Do it to me!"
	I got him inside me. I curled my arms and legs around him and held him
there, and we did it.
	I loved the roughness of his clothing against my body. I loved the way
his zipper scratched at my crotch. And most of all I loved the continuous
hurting of my raw, aching ass as it bounced on the hard floor. I arched myself
up as hard as I could with each upward stroke, so that when he thrust into me
again my buttocks would slap down punishingly on that unyielding floor, and the
pain would shoot through me in beautiful waves.
	I came twice before he did, and then again when I felt him shoot into
me.
	I still didn't want to stop. I thought I could suck him until he was
hard again, and then let him take his clothes off and we could do it some more.
But he'd had it. He got up and zipped himself back in, and he wouldn't let me
touch him again. I suggested he try using the ruler on my bare behind, and for a
moment he seemed tempted again. But he said no. He told me to just get dressed
and go. So finally I did.
	But I thought I really had it made now. I had the clubhouse on Saturday
nights, and during the week I could go see Mr. Gerrold. And bring my ruler.
	But it didn't work out that way. A few days later I heard that Mr.
Gerrold had resigned and left the school.
	I was really disappointed.

                                                  	#

	Calvin loves to make up games.
	He's very clever at it.
	His games usually involve me.
	Like last night.
	There were twelve men at Calvin's when I showed up. Most of them were
strangers to me. Calvin introduced me to all of them. Then he told me to take my
clothes off.
	When I was naked, Calvin tied me onto a long narrow table. He placed me
on my stomach, facing the men, with my head just over the end. The table was
small enough for my arms to reach around it, and he tied my wrists underneath,
pulling me tightly. Then he lashed my ankles together and tied the other end of
that rope to something else. I couldn't move.
	Then Calvin took out a little rubber ball. With one hand he took hold of
my hair and pulled my head back, and when my mouth opened with the strain he put
the ball in my mouth and told me to keep it there. I did. He let go of my hair.
	Next he took out a package of cigarettes and some matches, and put them
on the table beside me.
	Then he explained the rules of the game.
	It seemed each of the watching men had already drawn a number. From one
to twelve.
	The one who had the winning number won the prize. The prize was me. For
the whole night.
	Calvin took out a cigarette and lit it. He ran one finger gently down my
back.
	He explained that the winning number would be determined by how many
cigarettes he could stub out on my back before I began to scream.
	He would put out as many as it took, up to twelve.
	Of course he had to give me an incentive to try not to scream. That was
what made the game exciting. Seeing how long I could hold out.
	So Calvin said that if I could keep from screaming at all--for twelve
cigarettes--he would fuck me. He promised me that.
	He knew that would make me try my damnedest.
	He also knew I'd never do it.
	The bastard.
	The ball in my mouth was to prevent argument among the men as to what
was a scream and what wasn't. A real scream would make me drop the ball. As long
as I held the ball in my mouth, any sound I made was not considered a scream,
and didn't count.
	An ingenious game. Calvin was pleased with himself, I was sure.
	The men leaned forward in their chairs as Calvin drew on his cigarette.
I was trembling.
	Calvin put out the first cigarette high up between my shoulder blades.
	After that he worked down my spine in a straight line, putting out each
cigarette just a couple of inches below the last one. Calvin was very neat.
	He didn't stub them out quickly, though. He took his time with each one,
grinding them slowly and lovingly into my flesh.
	He also waited a while between each one, giving me a little time to
recover from the last one. And to anticipate the next.
	From the beginning I made noises. Terrible noises. But I didn't scream.
Not right away.
	From the beginning I jerked around like crazy with each burn, pulling
helplessly against the ropes and writhing with agony.
	My body was covered with sweat. Calvin had to dry the place he wanted to
burn with a handkerchief each time, so the perspiration wouldn't put the
cigarette out before it could burn me properly.
	Nobody said anything. The only sounds were the ones I was making. And
the creaking sounds the little table made as I squirmed around on top of it.
	I clamped my mouth desperately around that hard rubber ball.
Desperately. I heard myself making all kinds of awful choking sounds, moaning
and sobbing and sounding like a strangled animal. But I didn't scream. I
wouldn't let myself scream.
	By the fifth cigarette I was giving out loud cries, but still managed to
hold onto the ball. I don't know how.
	With the sixth cigarette, I knew I couldn't take any more. I would die
if I didn't scream. I would die anyway. But I didn't.
	With the seventh cigarette, I screamed.
	I screamed at the top of my lungs. The ball fell out of my mouth and
rolled away on the floor. I kept screaming.
	The men were talking now. They were congratulating the man who had drawn
number seven. He was the winner.
	When I stopped screaming I expected Calvin to untie me. But Calvin had
other plans. He explained, very reasonably, that the rules did not oblige him to
stop the game once I screamed. The rules said twelve cigarettes. He still had
five to go, he said.
	I was crying. I said it wasn't fair. He already had a winner, so the
game was over. Calvin said he thought he should play it out anyway. He asked the
men if they had any objections.
	They didn't.
	Calvin resumed the game.
	I didn't have to hold back any more. I screamed and shrieked and howled
and twisted frantically on the table, as Calvin slowly put out another five
cigarettes in a straight line down my spine, the last one just above my
buttocks.
	Then he untied me. The man who had won was named George. Calvin took
George and me into the bedroom which we were to use for the night, and left us
there.
	The reason I could stay there all night was because my father was out of
town that week. Calvin knew that, of course. He always knew.
	George was middle-aged and paunchy, but he had a lot of energy. He kept
me lying on my burned back most of the night. I think that was Calvin's orders.
But there were also times he kept me pretty active. I did everything he told me.
Calvin has closed-circuit TV in all those rooms, and I knew he was probably
watching.
	My back still hurts me now, as I write this.
	I can't help wondering what would have happened if I had been able to
hold out and not scream at all. Would Calvin have kept his promise? Would he
have really fucked me?
	Probably not.

                                              		#

	I can't explain about pain.
	I love it. And sometimes I hate it.
	But I need it.
	I hated Calvin's cigarettes. But I love Calvin. And I need him to do
things like that to me.
	I know it's crazy.
	I loved it in high school when Mr. Gerrold hit me with the ruler. But I
didn't love Mr. Gerrold. I loved the pain.
	Sometimes I love and hate it at the same time. It doesn't make any
sense. But those are the best times.
	Like when I got the boys at the clubhouse to whip me.

                                             		#

	I don't want to write this any more.
	I don't want to remember the past.
	I only want the present.
	No past. No future.
	How can there be a future?

                                             		#

	I never had a brother. A sister either.
	I once knew a girl who made it with her brother. She told me about it. I
was shocked. Her own brother! She said she seduced him. He was a year younger
than she was. She said now they did it every chance they got. I couldn't believe
it. I was really naive.
	In some ways.
	But if I had a brother I don't think I could make it with him. I don't
think so.
	Unless he was strong. Really strong. And I couldn't
	This is dumb.

                                             		#

	Calvin is the only man I've ever loved.

                                             		#

	I thought I loved Jerry. Maybe I did. In a way. But not like Calvin.
	Jerry was tall and blonde. He was the boy who first came up to me at the
clubhouse that first night. The one who took me to Andy. I thought there was
something different about him even then.
	It was because of Jerry that I stopped going to the clubhouse. He made
me stop. He blackmailed me.
	Because he wanted me for himself.
	He fucked me that first night, of course. Along with the others. And he
fucked me most of the other times too. Sometimes he helped to hold me down, or
to tie me up. He was one of the boys, Jerry was. But the rougher it got, the
less he liked it. That's what he told me later.
	The whipping was what really got to him.

                                             		#

	I was kneeling upright on the sofa, which had been pulled out to the
middle of the room. I was naked. My body was bent over the sofa back, pulled
taut by my arms, which were spread wide down the back side of the thing, each
wrist held fast with rope. The other ends of the ropes were tied to the corner
legs. My legs weren't tied, but there wasn't much I could do with them. My ass
and my back were completely defenseless. My breasts were crushed painfully
against the top of the couch. There was a dirty bandana stuffed in my mouth, and
some tape over my lips to keep it there. This was so my screams wouldn't attract
unwanted attention.
	All around me stood the club members. About twenty of them. Most of them
looked angry. As I watched, some of them began to take off their belts. Big,
thick, hard leather belts. Some of them with studs on them.
	"All right, you fuckin' little cunt," I heard Andy say from behind me.
"You wanted this, you bitch. Now you're gonna get it. But good!"
	I closed my eyes and waited.

                                                    	#

	I started thinking about it after that time in Mr. Gerrold's office.
	The idea grew and grew in my mind. But I was scared.
	Being hit with the ruler had really turned me on. But that was just a
ruler. On my backside, with my clothes on.
	What I was doing with the motorcycle guys--what they were doing to
me--was fantastic. Being taken by force, being helplessly tied up and
gang-raped--it was pure ecstasy, the most exciting and wonderful thing that had
ever happened to me. Or was ever likely to, I thought.
	But what if there was more?
	I wanted to know. I wanted to find out. How much could I take? How much
pain, before the pleasure stopped? Or would more and more pain just mean greater
and greater pleasure? How much ecstasy was out there? Was there any limit--short
of death?
	I had to know. I wanted it all.
	But I was frightened.

                                               		#

	I said, "I want to be whipped."
	Somebody laughed.
	"I'm serious," I said. "Tie me down and whip me with your belts. I want
it."
	"This chick is really screwed up," somebody said.
	"How about it?" I said.
	"Forget it," Andy said. "We're fed up with your fuckin' kinky games."
	"No, you're not," I said. "You still get off on raping the hell out of
me every time I come down here."
	"That's the way you want it, baby."
	"So? I haven't noticed you losing your hard-on over it."
	"Forget it, I said."
	"Do it," one of the girls said. "Hell, I'd dig seeing the snotty bitch
get her ass whipped."
	"Shut up, cunt," Andy said.
	"Hey, come on," somebody said. "Are we gonna get it on or what?"
	"No," I said. "I'm not doing anything. Not until I get what I want."
	Well, that wasn't very smart. Because of course they just grabbed me and
threw me down and ripped my clothes off and then did the usual stuff. Which I
enjoyed as much as ever.
	Then I threatened not to come back any more.
	They just laughed at that. They knew me better.
	So I knew I had to do something drastic. I had to get them mad. Like I
did the first time. Only worse.
	The next time I brought a knife with me. A little knife, but very sharp.
	As usual, there were a bunch of motorcycles parked in the street in
front of the place. And as usual there were two of the guys lounging outside.
They greeted me as I approached from across the street.
	Then, before they even knew what I was up to, I had my knife out and had
started to slash the motorcycle tires. I managed to cut three of them before
they actually realized what was happening and started toward me. I kept them off
for a few moments by waving the knife at them. One of them ran for
reinforcements, but before they stopped me I had cut several more tires. It took
about six guys to finally get the knife away from me and carry me into the
clubhouse.
	That was what did it.

                                                    	#

	Andy started it off.
	I heard him grunt as he swung the belt.
	I heard a faint whistling.
	Then the belt slammed into my back.
	And I knew.

                                                    	#

	Jerry robbed me of that.
	As much as I felt for him. As much as he did to give me what I wanted,
what I needed. As good as it was with him.
	He took away that extra thing. That special glimpse of... what?
	The ultimate. Paradise. Whatever.
	I never had it again. Until Calvin.

                                                    	#

	They whipped me as hard as they could.
	After all, I had attacked what they loved most--their motorcycles.
	There was no mercy.
	When Andy got tired, someone else took over. And then someone else. I
don't know how many altogether.
	I don't know how long it went on. I lost all sense of time. I lost all
sense of everything except the pain. The belts lashing again and again and again
across my back. Never stopping. Never letting up.
	Somewhere in my mind I knew I was twisting and flopping my lower body
around in a reflexive attempt to get away from the belt. I knew I was screaming
uncontrollably behind the gag filling my mouth, though only muffled cries were
coming out. I knew that my bare back was being flayed raw, and that the pain was
worse than any I had ever experienced. I knew that if I had been able to speak I
would have begged them to stop. And I would have meant it.
	But.

                                              		#

	But.
	That's the whole thing, isn't it. That but.
	No one can understand it unless they've been there.
	You have to go through Hell to get to Heaven.
	It's the only way.
	That's where I went that night. Through Hell. To Heaven.
	I wasn't there very long. But now I knew it was there.
	And I would do anything to get there again.
	Through Hell. And loving it all the way.

                                               		#

	Maybe I had to work this all out in my mind. Maybe that's why I've been
writing this. Maybe I had to try to express it all for myself.
	Maybe now I can stop.

					#

	Jerry fucked me along with the others. After the whipping. He was just
another one of the guys to me then. They all fucked me.
	They left the gag on, because I still hurt so much that I kept trying to
scream all the time.
	Especially when I came.
	Of course I couldn't suck them that way. They had to wait until they
were all fucked out and we had rested for a while. Until the pain had diminished
a little and my back had stopped bleeding. Then they took the gag off. And I
sucked them. The girls too.
	Then some of them fucked me again. I was getting very stiff by then, but
I didn't care. I didn't care about anything. I had seen Heaven.
	A night to remember.

                                                	#

	That was my next to last night at the clubhouse.
	Jerry drove me home afterwards. That's how he found out where I lived. I
hadn't told anyone at the club where I was from, or even my last name. But there
was no way I could have made it on the bus that night. And I didn't see any real
harm in it.
	Jerry didn't say much. Neither did I. I was just tired out. But he was
upset, though I didn't know it then. About the whipping. And everything else.
	I was too sore to go back the next Saturday. The following week I was
still sore, but I went anyway. There was no whipping that time. Just the usual.
	Except that Jerry took pictures.
	I didn't want him to, but nobody was interested in my objections. The
guys thought it was a kick. They could have the pictures for souvenirs. Show
them to their friends. Blow them up and hang them on the clubhouse walls.
	Jerry took a lot of pictures. Of everything. There was nothing I could
do about it. I didn't know what he was really up to.
	Until he showed up at my house a couple of days later.
                      
                                                                 	#

	Calvin threw a party last night.
	A very fancy party. Men in tuxedos, women in evening gowns.
	When Calvin invited me, he said he wanted me to wear one of those gowns
that was cut very low in the back. Backless.
	"The burns," I said. Because my back is still marked with the results of
his game with the cigarettes. A neat line of burn marks down my spine, all
angry-looking and discolored and blistery. And very ugly.
	"Yes," Calvin said. "I want to show you off like that."
	"I don't even have that kind of a dress," I said.
	"Buy one," Calvin said, and hung up.
	So I wore a backless gown to the party. So Calvin could show off my
burned back.
	I was a big hit. Whenever anyone asked me how I had got the marks, I had
to tell them. Calvin's orders. And if a man asked me if he could feel them, of
course I had to say yes. And a lot of them did. Not very gently. And I began to
get turned on. But I couldn't do anything about it. Calvin just wanted me to
suffer both ways. With mortification and with desire.
	Someone said it was too bad Calvin hadn't used the cigarettes on my
breasts. Then he could put them on display. And they could feel them.
	Calvin just smiled and said he would think about it.
	I think about it too.

                                                	#

	Jerry came to my house and showed me the pictures. Some of them, anyway.
Some was enough.
	I couldn't figure out why he was there. Luckily my father was at work.
	Then he told me. "Listen, Beth," he said. "I don't want you to go to the
clubhouse any more."
	I stared at him. "What?"
	"No more," he said. "It's over."
	"What are you talking about?" I said. "I can't stop going to the club.
It's--it's the only--No way!"
	"You'll stop," Jerry said. "Or I'll show these pictures to your father."
	I was shocked. "You're kidding!"
	"No, I'm not."
	"I--My father's a cop!" I said. I guess I meant to scare him or
something.
	"I know," he said. "How would he like to get some of these in the mail
one day?"
	"Now wait a--"
	"And I could send some to your school, too," Jerry said.
	"Wait a minute! What--why are you doing this?"
	"Because I don't want you going there any more," he said.
	"But why?"
	He took a breath. "Because I want you to myself," he said.
	I was too surprised to say anything. I had to sit down.
	"I'm--I like you," Jerry said. "Okay? I like you a lot."
	"You're crazy," I said. "You don't even know me."
	"I know enough," he said. "And I don't think you should let all those
guys just...do anything they want to you. Hurt you like that, and...and..."
	"Listen," I said, "I like it. Don't you know that? It's what I want. Why
do you think I go there? I want that! I need it!"
	"No," he said. "It's no good, Beth."
	I was getting really angry now. "Goddamit," I said. "You never
complained before. You always got yours, didn't you? Who the hell do you think
you are?"
	"Shit" Jerry said. "How do I know?" He sat down on the sofa "Sure, I got
mine. Sure. I'm a guy like anybody else. I'm no saint. But--"
	"But now you think you can have it all to yourself."
	"Not that way," Jerry said. "Not with all that hurting and whipping
and--Jesus."
	"How do you want it, then?" I said. "All lovey-dovey? Hearts and
flowers?"
	"What's wrong with that?"
	"Nothing," I said. "I guess. It just doesn't do anything for me, that's
all."
	"Goddamit," Jerry said. "Don't you like me at all?"
	I shrugged. "You're okay. but you can't give me what I get down at the
club."
	"Forget the club," Jerry said. "I mean it, Beth. I'll use those pictures
if I have to."
	I began to get scared. I didn't want to lose what I'd found. "Look,
Jerry," I said. "If you want me, okay. You can have me. All by yourself. Okay?"
I stood up. "Any night but Saturday," I said, and before he could say anything I
started to take my clothes off. I took them all off.
	"God," Jerry said. "You're so beautiful." He stood up and took off his
clothes too. Then he pulled me down on the sofa.
	Jerry tried. He tried hard. He spent a long time kissing and caressing
and fondling, and he was sweet and tender and loving, and part of me wanted to
get turned on for him, but I couldn't. I wasn't about to pretend, either.
	Finally he went inside me.
	"Beth," he said, gasping. "Oh, Beth..."
	I held on to him and moved with him, trying to make it good for him, and
for me too. For him it was great. He was moaning and his face was all screwed up
with excitement, but he was going slow, controlling himself, trying to make it
last. I liked him for doing that, but if he was trying to make it better for me
it wasn't doing the trick. It was sweet and tender and loving, and that was
nice, but it wasn't what I needed. But then I thought, maybe I should try to
like it this way, this was what normal people called making love, they didn't
need pain and force and brutality. Maybe I was sick, maybe I could stop wanting
those things, maybe...
	But it didn't work. I tried, but nothing was happening for me. The more
Jerry kissed me and caressed me and moved in and out of me with gentle, sensuous
movements, the more I wanted what I had gotten at the clubhouse--the roughness,
the restraint, the violation, and the pain.
	"Harder," I said. "Do it harder. Please."
	He started moving a little faster, but it wasn't a big improvement. I
was going crazy with need. "More, damn it," I moaned. "Hard. Fuck me hard. Hurt
me!"
	Jerry shook his head. His breath was coming hard. "No" he gasped out.
"No. I won't."
	Frustration and rage boiled through me. "Damn you!" I cried, and then I
started hitting him, striking with my fists at his back and his arms, then
slapping him across the face. "Hurt me, damn you! Hurt me!"
	"Stop it!" He grabbed at my hands and then held them down, pinning my
wrists to the floor on either side of me. "Stop it, Beth! Don't!"
	His strong hands holding my wrists down was a wonderful feeling. I
strained against them, thrilling in my inability to break their hold. "Yes!" I
gasped. "Oh, yes." My body was beginning to respond, squirming against him.
"Squeeze them, Jerry. Twist them. Please!"
	"No," Jerry said. He still kept my hands pinned, but that was all. He
was still inside me, but he had stopped moving. I writhed with frustration.
"Listen, Beth," he said. "Listen to me now. I'm not going to hurt you. You don't
need to be hurt, damn it. You have to stop wanting that. You have to!"
	"Goddamn you, you bastard!" I was crying, and I struggled harder now,
using all my strength against him, twisting and kicking and flailing. He was
strong and I wasn't getting anyplace, but the excitement of that captivity was
growing for me, even through my anger. He was still stiff and hard inside me,
and now I began to move my hips beneath him, encouraging him to continue doing
it to me, even as I stll pushed futilely against his grip.
	"Oh Beth..." He started thrusting again, but when he realized what was
turning me on, he let go of my wrists. I cursed at him and started to hit him,
until he had to grab my hands and hold them down again. We were both panting
now. Jerry tried to just hold me still, but I kept moving my hips until he
couldn't resist any more, and soon he was pumping hard. I closed my eyes and
pushed hard against his hands, pretending they were ropes holding me down, and I
felt it building up in me and then pretty soon I came. And then Jerry came too.
	It was good, but it wasn't great.
	I wanted more.
	"Hurt me," I said. "Please, Jerry."
	"No," he said. "Stop it. Just stop it."
	For some reason that set me off. Everything exploded. "God damn you to
hell!" I screamed, and then I was attacking him, hitting out at him as hard as I
could, and kicking and scratching and probably biting too. "Damn you, damn you,
damn you!"
	"Hey! Stop! Christ, what are you-- Beth! Jesus--" But I didn't stop
hitting and clawing at him. He tried to grab my wrists again, but I evaded him
at first, hitting harder, wherever I could reach, until finally he got hold of
me and hung on. "Damn it, quit it now!"
	"No!" I kicked out and caught him a good one on the shin.
	"Ow! You bitch!" But he just held me.
	"Punish me," I panted. "Do something to me. Punish me!" And I kicked him
again. Harder.
	"Fuck!" He let go of me then and got to his feet. He was mad now, I
could see. "You damn cunt! You want to be punished, huh? That's the only thing
that will do it for you, isn't it?"
	"Yes!" I gasped. "Yes. It is. Do it."
	"Oh, damn you!" He reached down for his pants and pulled the belt from
the loops. "This is what you want, right?" He was so mad he was shaking, and I
knew it wasn't just because I'd kicked him. But I didn't care.
	"Yes!" I said. "Yes! Do it!" And I rolled over onto my stomach on the
floor, cradling my head in my arms, my whole body tense, waiting for the taste
of it.
	"Oh, you bitch!" Jerry groaned. And he lifted the belt and then whipped
it down hard across my rear end. I cried out with joy and relief almost as much
as with pain.
	"That's what you want," Jerry panted. "Damn you. That!" And he lashed me
again.
	"Yes!" I was twisting against the floor. "Yes! Again! Harder!"
	"Harder?" Crack! Across my back now, and I yelped and bucked sharply.
	"More?" Jerry gritted.
	"Yes! Yes!"
	Crack! My back again. I was sobbing with it now.
	"Harder?" Jerry's voice was shaking, almost unrecognizable. "Harder, you
slut?"
	"Yes! Yes!"
	He did it harder. "Cunt!"
	"Yes, I'm a cunt! More!"
	He did it again. "Filthy whore!"
	"Yes. Whore. Yes. Oh yes."
	Again. And again. And again.
	Yes, it was what I wanted, what I needed, and now I needed him. I turned
over, crying out again as my whipped back and buttocks came in contact with the
hard floor. I spread out my legs and lay there, waiting. Waiting for him either
to go on whipping me, or to take me. I didn't care. Either way.
	Jerry dropped the belt. He was hard again, I saw. Throbbing.
	I spread wider. "Take me, Jerry! Do it to me!"
	He stood there, not moving, I don't know how long. I was moaning and
squirming on the floor. Waiting.
	"Go to hell," Jerry said.
	He turned away and started putting his clothes on. "Jerry!" I pleaded.
He ignored me. I turned over and crawled to him, on my hands and knees, and
clutched his legs. He kicked me away and finished dressing.
	Then he left.

					#
					
	"Drink this," Calvin said.
	I looked into the glass he handed me. "What is it?" I said, although I
thought I knew.
	"It's my piss," Calvin said. "Drink it."
	My stomach felt queasy. "God, Calvin....Why?"
	He looked at me with those eyes. I started to shake.
	"Why?" he said, very softly. "Because I told you to, Bethy. Isn't that
enough?"
	"Yes," I said. "I'm sorry."
	"Drink it, Bethy. Drink it all."
	The glass was nearly full. I wondered if he had filled it with one piss,
or if he had saved it up. It stank. I had to make a strong effort not to retch
as I raised the glass to my face.
	I drank.
	I couldn't take it all at once. I had to stop, and now I couldn't hide
the heavings of my stomach, the gulping to keep down what was trying to come up.
	"All of it, Bethy," Calvin said. "Now."
	I drank the rest of it as quickly as I could, trying not to smell it,
trying not to taste it. And when it was all gone I fell down on my knees and
threw up on Calvin's carpet.
	Calvin just sat there and waited until I was finished.
	"You don't like my piss, Bethy?" he said then.
	"I--I'm sorry," I said, still gasping.
	"You threw up on my carpet, Beth."
	"I'm sorry."
	"I should make you eat it," Calvin said.
	I struggled not to be sick again.
	"If I told you to eat it, you'd do that, wouldn't you, Bethy?" Calvin
said.
	"Yes," I said.
	"But you'd probably just throw it up again. So just clean it up, Bethy.
But before you do, I want you to rub your face in it. Like they do with dogs,
when they go where they're not supposed to? You're not supposed to throw up on
my carpet, Beth. You have to learn that. Rub your face in it, Bethy. Do it good
now."
	I bent down and rubbed my face in my vomit. I did it until Calvin told
me I could stop. Then I cleaned it up.

					#
					
	Jerry never showed the pictures to anybody. For a couple of weeks I was
terrified that he would. I always tried to get to the mail before my father had
seen it, so I could intercept them if they came. But they didn't.
	But I was afraid to go back to the club. I ached to go, but I couldn't
take the chance that Jerry would carry out his threat if I did. That first
Saturday the need was so strong that I actually started to go, but when I got
downtown I couldn't do it. Thinking about the pictures, and my father...I
couldn't. Angry and frustrated, I went into the first bar I came to, a seedy,
rundown joint. I had never been in a bar before. It smelled funny and was
populated by decayed-looking, vacant-eyed men. I went to the bar. The bartender
gave me a funny look.
	"Beer, please," I said.
	He just looked at me. "How old are you, kid?"
	"Come on," I said. "I'm old enough."
	"Bullshit," the bartender said. "Get the hell out of here."
	A man who was sitting a few stools away now moved to sit next to me. He
was in his forties, rough-looking and mostly bald, and one of his front teeth
was missing. "Hey, the girl says she's old enough, Pete," he said. "Give her a
beer, for chrissake."
	"Fuck off, Ben," the bartender said. "She's jailbait. Beat it, honey.
Now."
	"Don't listen to him," Ben said. "What's your name, darlin'?"
	"Beth," I said.
	"Jesus!" the bartender said. "What the hell's wrong with you, girl? You
trying to get raped or something?"
	"Yes," I said.
	"What?"
	"I said yes. That's what I'm trying to do. Get raped."
	Ben laughed, then started to cough violently.
	The bartender stared at me for a moment. Then he leaned over the bar,
pointing his finger at my face. "You get out of here right now, kid," he said.
"Right now, or I call the cops on you. You hear me?"
	"Shit," Ben said. He was still recovering from his coughing fit, but he
was still laughing too. "Shit, Ed, you get a cop in here the whole fucking place
gets arrested!"
	"You think I'm kidding?" the bartender said to me. "Get out. Now."
	I got off the stool. "I'll come with you, baby," Ben said.
	"The hell you will!" the bartender said. "You stay right here, asshole."
	"Fuck you, Ed. Who the fuck you think you are?"
	Ed pulled a baseball bat from under the bar. "You want to find out,
shithead?"
	Ben subsided. "Okay, okay," he mumbled. "Big fucking boy scout. I wasn't
gonna do anything the bitch didn't want."
	Ed jerked his head at me. "Go on, and get out of this neighborhood
quick," he said.
	I left. I didn't want anybody to call the cops. My father was a cop.
	But I didn't have anyplace to go. I couldn't go to the club. I didn't
want to go home. I went down the block, then crossed the street and sat down on
the steps of a deserted buidling. I could see the bar. I waited, hoping Ben
would eventually come out. He was seedy, unclean and unattractive. He was just
what I wanted at that moment.
	He didn't come out for a long time. Some guys passed by, and some of
them looked at me with interest, but nobody stopped. A guy in a car did stop,
but he was just a nervous geek. I told him to fuck off, and he did. Finally Ben
came out of the bar. He was with two other guys. I remembered seeing one of them
in there. He was kind of fat, with a couple of days growth of beard. The other
was skinny, with stringy hair. They were all in their forties. They were all
more or less drunk too.
	I stood up. Ben saw me. He grinned, and said something to the other two.
Then he moved across the street, not too steadily, and the others followed him.
	"Well, shit!" Ben said when he got to me. "It's the little gal who wants
to be raped!" And he started coughing.
	The other men were looking me over and trying to keep from drooling. My
heart was beating fast, but I tried to stay cool.
	 "She ain't so little," the fat guy said. "She looks like prime pussy to
me."
	"Kinda young though, ain't she?" the skinny one said.
	"Shit, I like 'em young," the fat one said.
	I could smell the liquor on their breath. But nobody made a move.
	"Drunken fucks," I said. I thought maybe if I got them pissed off, like
with the motorcycle gang, it might get them going. But these guys just laughed.
	"Shit, the bitch got a mouth on her," Ben said.
	"How much you charge, honey?" the fat one said.
	I glared at him. "I'm not a whore!" I said. "You can't have me by giving
me money. You have to take me. But you're probably too drunk to get it up."
	"You think?" the skinny guy said. And he reached down and unzipped
himself and took out his cock. It was hard.
	There was nobody else around at that point, but still, it was a public
street. I felt a flash of excitement, thinking about doing it right there, where
anybody might come along at any time. But then I heard another voice. "What the
fuck you doing, you shitfaced bastards?"
	I turned. It was Ed, the bartender. And he was holding his baseball bat.
The skinny guy zipped himself back up.
	"The bitch was asking for it," the fat one said.
	"Shut up." Ed was facing me now. "Didn't I tell you to get the fuck out
of here, you cockteasing bitch whore? It's fucking too late for you now."
	"Go screw," I said.
	He was fast. Before I knew what he was doing he had raised the bat and,
holding it like a battering ram, slammed the big end into my stomach as hard as
he could. Into my lower belly. I made a funny noise and doubled over, then fell
down. Clutching myself and retching, trying unsuccessfully to take in air. I
twisted and rolled and kicked helplessly, slowly blacking out and unable even to
gasp for breath.
	"The alley," I heard Ed say. The others pulled me up by my arms and
started half pulling, half dragging me to the alleyway at the side of the
building. I could hardly see, and still couldn't breathe, and certainly couldn't
walk. They propelled me along until we were deep inside the alley, hardly
visible from the street. They let me go then and I fell to the ground again. I
couldn't move much, and I was only beginning to be able to take in tiny gulps of
air with loud retching breaths.
	Then  there was a hand in my hair, pulling me up. It was Ed. He pulled
me into a sitting position, with my back against one of the buildings. He was
standing over me, and his cock was out. He shoved it into my gasping mouth. I
still felt as though I was going to black out any second, and his cock was
choking off any air I might be getting. I tried desperately to breathe through
my nostrils, and Ed started to fuck my face, holding my hair and moving himself
back and forth in my mouth. Nobody was saying anything, but he was breathing
hard, they were all breathing hard, and I was making strangling sounds and god
knows what other kinds. Aside from everything else I was now becoming aware of
the terrible ache in my stomach, and the pain of my hair pulling at my scalp as
Ed tugged my head back and forth. The back of my head banged against the
building with every thrust of his dick into my throat.
	Christ, I thought, in the midst of everything. This was what I'd wanted.
	Then I was choking on his come too, and retching as he pulled out of my
mouth. Then I was on the ground again, and the others were pulling at my
clothes. Clutching me. Moving me around. I felt the cool air on my near-naked
body. I was still gasping, coughing, trying to get more of that air inside me.
Then someone was on me, taking me. The skinny one. He was giggling. He was fast.
Then somebody else. Panting in my ear. Coughing. Ben. He coughed and coughed as
he fucked me. Then his mouth was slobbering over my face, kissing my face.
Coughing into my face. Jesus. It got to me now. Ed's sudden attack, the
surprise, the fear of strangling, had overwhelmed me, thrown me out of kilter.
But yes, god yes, this is what I'd wanted. I was hurting like hell and half
choked and being brutally raped by four strangers in an alley. My exposed body
was being banged against the rough ground, and some drunk and probably diseased
guy was coughing in my face as he fucked me. I heard myself moaning. Ben was
moving harder and coughing and wheezing and his mouth was above mine, and I
reached up and held his head and pulled it closer, kissing him, kissing his
slobbering lips, gasping into his mouth as he coughed into mine, taking his
diseased breath down into my body. I was fucking him back now, pumping my hips,
squirming and whimpering and wanting more.
	"Shit, look at that!" somebody said. "Fucking whore's loving it!"
	Ben came and rolled off me. Then they were rolling me over. The front of
my body pressing against the rough filthy ground. I felt my breasts being
abraded by something on the ground, gravel, glass, debris, I didn't know. I
didn't care. The fat one wanted to fuck my ass. And he did. And it hurt like
hell, and I came. I came twice. And they jeered and shouted and called me names,
and I came again.
	After that they turned me and twisted me and put me in whatever
positions they wanted, and they took me over and over, seperately and together,
using all of me. I lost track of who was doing what, and what I was doing to
whom. Or how long it lasted. Or how many times I came. They did what they
wanted, and so did I. By the time they finished I was only half conscious. They
left me there, but before they left they kicked me. Ed started it. He told me if
I ever said anything about this to anybody, he'd kill me. I believed him, but to
emphasize it he kicked me really hard in the ribs, and then they all kicked me
several times, all over. And the fat one spit on me. And then they left.
	It took awhile before I could move. My clothes were ripped, almost
useless. In rags I half staggered, half crawled out of the alley, holding on to
the buildings. It was very late, the street was deserted now. I didn't know what
to do. I couldn't go home. I wouldn't be able to sneak in at this hour, and
looking as I did, I couldn't face my father. I had no way to get home anyway. My
money was gone. They'd taken it. I had a few coins in a skirt pocket. I moved
painfully along the street till I found a pay phone. Miraculously, it was
working. But I had nobody to call.
	I called Jerry

					#									

	So now Calvin takes great delight in making me drink his piss.
	He has a glass of it ready for me now, almost every time I see him. I've
gotten to the point where I can drink it without throwing up. Almost without
even retching. It took a while. After that first time, Calvin took precautions,
putting a plastic sheet down over his carpet when he gave me his piss to drink.
I would drink it and throw up on the plastic, and Calvin would make me rub my
face in it, each time. And it worked, just like with a dog. I learned. Now I can
drink the whole glass without vomiting.
	Most of the time.
	Calvin teases me by asking me if I wouldn't like to drink his piss
directly from his cock. He knows I would prefer that, if only because then I
could get his cock in my mouth. But he has never let me do that and I don't
think he ever will.
	He's such a bastard.
	Last night he said that since the idea of drinking piss directly from a
cock interested me so much, maybe I'd enljoy doing it for some of his friends.
	I didn't say anything. I knew it wouldn't have any effect. If he wanted
to humiliate me that way, he would do it. But only if he thought I would hate
it. Part of me would hate it. Most of me would hate it. Part of me would love
it. A small part. But the deepest part.
	Calvin knew that too.
	"Would you enjoy that, Bethy?" Calvin asked.
	I closed my eyes. "No," I said.
	"Good," Calvin said. "I'll set it up."
																			
#
	
	Jerry came and got me. He put me in his car and took me to his house. He
didn't ask me any questions. He didn't give me any lectures. He took me in and
cleaned me up very gently and bandaged me and put me to bed. I told him my
father would be worried, and he said he'd take care of it. I was a little scared
about him talking to my father, but I didn't have the strength even to worry
about it. I fell asleep in Jerry's bed and slept for twelve hours.
	When I woke up I was so sick and sore that I couldn't understand how I
had managed to ever get out of the alley. Jerry took care of me. He fed me and
washed me and got me to the bathroom and back. He stayed home from his job for a
couple of days to look after me. When I asked him what he had told my father, he
just said he had taken care of it, that I shouldn't worry. That's all I could
get out of him. I didn't find out how he had managed it until later.
	At night he slept beside me in his bed, but he didn't touch me. And he
never asked me what happened. He was really sweet, and I couldn't help seeing
what a good person he truly was. On the third night I was there I woke up in the
middle of the night and looked at him sleeping there on his back, naked, as he
always slept. I felt a wave of tenderness toward him, and I wanted to do
something for him. I was feeling a lot better by now. I slid down in the bed
until I was looking right at his limp cock. I leaned over and gave it a soft,
lingering lick, and then took it in my mouth. It started to get hard
immediately, and it was almost fully erect before he came completely awake.
	"Beth!" he said, still groggy. "Jesus. What are you doing?"
	I took my mouth off him for just a second. "If you don't know," I said,
"I must be doing it wrong." Then I started doing it again.
	"Oh my god," Jerry said. "You're not doing it wrong. But Christ, Beth, 
you shoudln't . . . I mean, right now . . . you . . . ohh my god, oh Beth . . .
"
	I was doing him good, using my tongue all over and taking him all the
way into my throat each time my head went down. I wanted to make him feel good.
And I did. In two minutes he was shooting down my throat. I took it all down,
gave him a last lingering suck, and let him go, smiling at him as I lay back.
"That's to thank you for everything you've done for me," I said.
	He was still breathing hard. "You don't need to thank me," he said. "You
know why I did it." He leaned over and kissed me. Again I thought, what is wrong
with me? This is a good guy, he cares about me, he says he loves me, why isn't
that enough?
	"I want to do that for you too," Jerry said. "Let me do it to you,
Beth." His head moved down, his mouth going to my breast, tasting my nipple,
making it hard. Then the other breast, then down over my stomach. I felt his
tongue on my flesh. He spread my legs gently, and then his mouth was between
them. He pulled them over his shoulders so he could get closer, and I felt him
licking my crotch. My pussy and then my clitoris.
	Nobody had ever done this before. The guys in the club had not shown any
interest in eating my pussy. Nor had the girls, for that matter. They loved
making me eat theirs--and I loved it when they did--but they didn't go for the
other way around. So this was new to me.
	It was nice. The sensations were pleasurable. I liked the feeling of his
tongue in my pussy, and I did feel a certain excitement when he licked and
nibbled and sucked on my clit. I even moaned a little, and squirmed around.
Though I think I was doing that as much to make Jerry feel good as anything
else. He was such a good guy, trying so hard to give me pleasure. I closed my
eyes and tried to go with the excitement, let it take me further.
	It went on for a long time. Jerry kept licking, kept eating, stroking my
breasts and behind as he did, varying his tempo, doing everything he could.
	It was nice.
	I kept thinking how sweet Jerry was, how he had been so good to me, how
good he was being now. Then I thought, what if he wasn't? What if I didn't want
this, what if he was forcing me, making me submit to what he wanted to do to me?
My eyes were still closed. I stretched my arms back over my head and grasped the
rail at the head of the bed. I am tied this way, I thought. My wrists bound and
tied to the head of the bed, my arms stretched, my body imprisoned. I could
almost feel the ropes around my wrists. I pulled at them, but my hands still
clutched tightly to the bed rail. My body stiffened, straining, trying vainly to
get away as this man despoiled my body with his filthy bestial mouth . . .
	And then I came.

					#

	Calvin set it up all right.
	Another of Calvin's "parties." All male, of course.
	Except for me.
	They weren't the same men who had attended the party at which Calvin had
introduced the game with the cigarettes. Well, some of them were. Jesse was
there, for sure. And George, the man who had won the cigarette game. Maybe one
or two others I had met before. But most of them were strangers to me. Calvin
enjoyed spreading his favors around. And showing off his power to new people.
Showing it off to them, and to me.
	Before the men got there, Calvin told me what he was going to do. But
first he told me what he wasn't going to do.
	The bastard.
	"I've been thinking about the best way to do this, Bethy," he told me.
"You remember Dorothy, don't you?"
	I remembered. Dorothy was the girl Calvin had fucked in the bed next to
my bound body. The one he had forced to go down on me.
	"Dorothy was a pretty little thing, but she wasn't like you, Bethy. I
had a lot of trouble with that one. I had to keep her in line, you know? Remind
her who she was once in a while. So this one time I had a big party and I told
all the guys to save up their piss all day long--just like I've told the guys
tonight, you know?" He smiled at me.
	I didn't say anything.
	"Then I took Dorothy and I tied her up in the bathroom. I sat her down
on the floor right in front of the toilet bowl, you know? With her hands tied
behind her and her legs stretched out and spread open. And I took that long
pretty blonde hair and made it into a braid, so I could tie it around the flush
handle. I used some rope to make it real secure, and I pulled it tight, and that
brought her head right back, you know? Her head pulled back right over the open
toilet, with her neck stretched so taut she could hardly close her mouth. That
was a real pretty sight, Beth. I can see that you agree with me."
	Because I was picturing it, and of course picturing myself that way. My
nipples were hard and I supposed I was breathing faster.
	"I kept her there that way all night long. Well, you can imagine the
scene. All the guys coming in, one after another, and pissing into her mouth.
Mostly into her mouth, but most of them didn't care too much if they missed her
mouth and peed all over her face. Some of them preferred that. Some of them even
pissed on her body. She wasn't naked, she had this little silk blouse and a
short skirt, and after a couple of guys went all over that blouse it was
plastered to her tits and you could see everything she had right through it. But
most of them stuck with her mouth and face. God knows how many gallons of piss
that girl swallowed. Oh, she got sick a couple of times, but the piss just
washed the vomit away. Of course some of the guys got carried away and wanted to
fuck her mouth instead. Or in addition. Hell, some of them got so hard just
seeing her that way that they couldn't piss till they had dropped their load
down her throat first. But that was okay too. And this went on all night long,
you know? Guys would go in there to piss four or five times during the night.
Sometimes more. At the end, when she was such a stinking mess that nobody even
wanted to piss on her any more, I cut her loose and dumped her in the bathtub
and ran the shower to clean her off, and then had her fuck or suck anybody who
wanted her for the rest of the night. She didn't give me much trouble for quite
a while after that."
	By now I was almost panting, and squirming in my chair. I felt hot as
hell.
	Calvin smiled at me again. "But I'm not going to do that with you,
Bethy," he said.
	Of course not.
	"You'd like it too much," Calvin said.
	The bastard.
 		
                                                         	#

	My father always liked Jerry
	Jerry was polite to him. Jerry had a steady job. Jerry dressed neatly,
but not expensively. Although he owned a motorcycle--a definite drawback, in my
father's eyes--he didn't act like a punk. And Jerry obviously respected me. My
father came to accept Jerry as my boyfriend. Jerry seemed to assume that that
was the case. And after a while I guess I did too. Sort of.
	My father didn't know we slept together.
	Jerry didn't know I slept with other guys.
	I never went back to the motorcycle club. Jerry saw to that. And I never
tried going to a bar again. I wanted to be raped and hurt, yes, but I didn't
want to be killed. I couldn't find anybody to really give me what I wanted. What
I needed. But I did the best I could. I picked up the punks. The lowlifes. The
kinds of guys that tended to treat women like shit.
	That's what I wanted to be. Shit.
	I picked them up in movie theaters, in bus stations, on the street
sometimes. Often they thought I was a whore, but I never took money from them.
What I wanted was their contempt, their hatred. It wasn't enough, but it was the
best I could do. Not all of them even gave me that. But most of them did, to
some extent or other. Treating me like dirt. Calling me bitch or cunt or "ho."
Being rough with me in bed, and if I was lucky even slapping me around a little
bit outside of bed. It was the best I could get.
	The more I gave myself to these guys, the more I came to appreciate what
a basically good guy Jerry was, and the more I grew to like him, even admire
him. But the more he treated me nicely, the more gentle, vanilla sex I had with
him, the more I needed those punks, and the more avidly I sought them out.
	Maybe I grew to love Jerry. I don't know.
	If that was love, it wasn't enough.
	Not for me.

                                                     	#

	Love.
	Jesus.

					#

	Jerry found out, of course. Eventually. Somehow or other. Maybe I wanted
him to find out. Maybe for his own good. Maybe not. I don't know. Anyway.
	I never saw him so angry, not even when we fought about me going to the
clubhouse. Of course he was hurting more now. I didn't blame him.
	He called me a whore.
	Of course I liked it when he did that.
	Oh god, if only he'd have hit me then. Beat me up, punished me, taken
out his anger on my body. It might have saved us. Given him what he wanted, and
me too.
	Or maybe not.
	Anyway, he didn't. He wouldn't hit me. He hit the wall, and he called me
a whore, and then he cried. And then he left.
	For good.
	Just as well, really.

                                                     	#

	I wasn't really a whore, though. Not then.
	Not yet.
	
                                                     	#

	So Calvin wasn't going to tie me down over the toilet for his friends to
piss in my mouth. The whole idea was for him to show them he didn't have to.
That I would do it voluntarily. Because he wanted me to. That was the idea.
	As he said, he had told all the guests to save up their piss for this
spectacle. This time they wouldn't have to go into the bathroom to get rid of
it, though. The toilet would come to them. I was the toilet. And as such I was
to go from man to man--on my hands and knees, of course--and ask each of them if
they would like to piss in me. I was to do this all night long. And each time a
man said yes, the toilet would unzip his pants and take out his cock and put it
in her mouth. And swallow every drop of his piss as it came out.
	"And I don't want any piss on my carpet, Beth," Calvin told me. "Not a
drop. Not one little drop, you understand?"
	I understood. I would swallow it all.
	Of course some of the men might find this process rather stimulating,
and find themselves with erections which made it difficult for them to pee. In
that case, Calvin said, obviously I would have to find a way to make them soft
again, so they could relieve themselves after they had relieved themselves, so
to speak.
	Calvin had told me to wear my most elegant, most formal evening gown to
the party. A crawling toilet in an expensive strapless gown. What could be more
exciting?
	What could be more degrading?
	I didn't want to think about that.

					#

	I could have said no.
	Sure.
	I could say no any time. That's the point. He knows I won't. He knows I
can't.
	Calvin wouldn't punish me. Not physically. He never hurts me to punish
me. He hurts me because he wants to. When he wants to. And because he can. And
because he knows it binds me to him.
	Calvin wouldn't coerce me in any way. He wouldn't kill me, or have me
killed.
	He would just leave.
	I would never see him again.
	And I can't have that.
	It can't happen.
	I couldn't live without him.
	And Calvin knows that.

					#

	Calvin has always known. From the first moment he saw me.
	After Jerry left I started to drink. I had scorned him and cheated on
him, but I knew he was the only good thing in my life. And that if I hadn't
loved him, I should have. Now I didn't have that any more. And I didn't have
what I really needed either. I had nothing.
	I was out of school by this time. I had to get a job. My father wanted
me to go to college, he had been saving money all my life to pay for it. I
didn't want to. I told him I didn't know what I wanted to be yet. Maybe I could
go to college later. He didn't like that idea. He said I had to go to college.
	I told him to go to hell.
	I thought he would throw me out of the house, but he didn't. He just
stopped talking to me. For a while. Later he came around. But things were never
the same.
	I had to get a job.
	Instead I started to drink.
	I didn't have much money saved up, and I didn't have an allowance any
more. Soon I couldn't afford to buy what I needed to drink.
	That's when I became a whore.

                                                            #

	There must have been two dozen men at Calvin's party. As I said, most of
them were strangers to me. Following Calvin's instructions, I waited in the
bathroom until they had all showed up. Then Calvin brought me out and introduced
me. Not by name. "This is our designated toilet," he said. "Okay, toilet. You
can start now."
	I got down on my hands and knees and crawled across the room to the
first man.
	Not that there was any particular order. They were all sitting or
standing around the large room, not lined up or anything. Calvin hadn't given me
any instructions about where to start, or in what order to proceed. I just chose
one arbitrarily. A stranger, sitting in a chair. I crawled to him in my elegant
blue evening gown. I had to pull the skirt up in order to crawl properly, pull
it up around my waist actually, to get it out of the way. The gown was low-cut,
and I knew much of my bosom was visible in my crawling position. I crawled to
him and, as Calvin had instucted, I asked him if he would like to use me as his
toilet.
	You don't think he said no, do you?
	
                                                            #

	Being a whore, I found, wasn't that hard. I picked up men just as I had
picked them up before, only this time they paid. And this time I wasn't looking
especially for rough guys, just guys with money. If they were rough, that was a
bonus. But usually they weren't. Usually they weren't very attractive either.
But I didn't care, really. I made enough money to keep me in drink.
	I wasn't happy. I wasn't getting what I needed, emotionally or
physically. Drinking helped, but not enough. So I drank more. And I whored more.
	I told my father I had a job as a cocktail waitress. It explained my
late hours, it explained why I wasn't broke. I hid my drinking from him, as much
as I could. We didn't really talk much.
	But after a while I found that an independent street whore attracts a
lot of attention. Mostly from other street whores, not so independent. A couple
of times one or another of them approached me and told me to go someplace else.
I told them to drop dead.
	And that's how I met Calvin.

					#

	In some ways, the first part of the evening was the hardest.
	They were all harboring the day's accumulation of piss, and they all
wanted to get rid of it as quickly as possible. Aside from the danger of being
nauseated by the piss itself, there was the question of how much my stomach
could hold. I knew I could not throw up in front of them. Calvin was quite clear
on that point. So whenever I absolutely could not keep it down, I crawled into
the bathroom, praying for the strength to hold it until I got there, and threw
up in the toilet. Then I washed out my mouth and returned to the next man.
	Also, at the beginning they were all quite fascinated by the spectacle,
and all their attention was on me as I went from man to man, as I took their
cocks in my mouth, as I sucked them off when necessary. As I swallowed their
piss. Later on, as the novelty wore off, I was no longer their only source of
amusement. They began to talk among themselves, they milled around, they ate
Calvin's food and drank his liquor. They still watched, they still enjoyed the
sight, they still laughed whenever I crawled off to the bathroom to throw up.
But they got used to it. And in some ways, so did I.
	On the other hand, as their initial need to get rid of their piss was
diminished, more of them tended to get hard when I took them in my mouth, and I
had to suck them off, and swallow their come, before I swallowed their piss. My
mouth got very tired. All of me was tired. But there was no stopping, no rest,
as the evening went on. Someone always wanted to piss. Or to be sucked. I must
have sucked every man there at least three times during that evening.
	Except for Calvin, of course.

                                                            #

	Like I said, Calvin knew the moment he saw me. He knew everything.
	"What are you doing, girl?" was the first thing he said to me. "You're
no whore."
	We were sitting in a little coffee shop. It was late at night, there
weren't many people around. I had been invited there to talk to Calvin. The
invitation was more of a command. Two guys had come up to me on the street and
told me Calvin wanted to talk to me. I didn't know who Calvin was. They didn't
bother to explain. They took me by the arms, one on each side, and brought me to
Calvin. The two guys were now sitting with us at the table. One of them was
Jesse.
	"Yes, I am," I said. "What do you want, anyway?" Of course I had an idea
about that. Independent whores weren't popular. Especially among pimps.
	Calvin smiled faintly. "You think because you take money for fucking
guys, that makes you a whore?"
	"Yes," I said. "That's what I think."
	"What's your name, girl?"
	"Beth," I said.
	"Listen up, Beth. You're not a whore. For two reasons. One, nobody in
this city is a whore unless I say they're a whore. That's one. You understand
that one, Beth?"
	I started to say something. I don't remember what. Something to show him
I wasn't afraid of him. I was, of course, but I wasn't going to show it. I
looked into his eyes to show him how tough I was. And when I did I saw how he
was looking at me. Looking into me. And suddenly there was nothing else in the
world but those eyes.
	And what I said was, "Yes."
	His eyes looking into me. Opening me up and seeing it all. Everything.
Even the darkest things. Especially them.
	"Two," he said. "I see you, Beth. I know what you are. You're not a
whore. You're a slave."
	I felt like he'd knocked the breath out of me.
	"A slave," he said. "And a slut. A pain slut. Isn't that right, Beth?"
	I couldn't say anything.
	"Tell me," he said. His eyes. Looking into me.
	"Yes," I said. I didn't know I was going to say it. I didn't want to say
it. I said it.
	Calvin smiled. I'll never forget that smile. It gave me chills. It made
me sick, almost literally. And it clutched at my very soul and made me wet
between my legs.
	"Give me your hand, Beth."
	I was shaking.
	Calvin put his hand out, resting on the table, palm up. "Give me your
hand."
	I put my hand in his. Slowly. Shaking.
	Calvin closed his hand around mine. Still looking right into my eyes, he
began to squeeze.
	Calvin is very strong.
	Tears came to my eyes. Then I began to whimper. Then to moan.
	Calvin squeezed harder. "Don't get too loud, Beth," he said softly. "We
don't want to attract attention."
	And he squeezed harder.
	"You're wet, Bethy," he said. "Your nipples are hard. You love this."
	I closed my eyes, the tears oozing out beneath my lids, rolling down my
face.
	"No," Calvin said. "Look at me, Beth."
	I looked at him. Through waves of pain. And pounding lust.
	"Do you want me to stop, Bethy?" Calvin said.
	I could hardly speak, but I managed to get it out. "No," I said.
	
	                                               	#

	At the end of the evening, after the two dozen men--except for
Calvin--were all completely pissed out, and sucked out, and ready to go home,
Calvin had one more trick to show them. He also had been saving up his piss all
day, and now all night. But Calvin, of course, would not put his cock in my
mouth. Instead, he told me to crawl into the bathroom and get into the tub. And
there, in front of as many of the men as could crowd into the fairly large
bathroom, with the others straining to see over their shoulders, Calvin
proceeded to piss on me. Lengthily. All over. Soaking my gown. Soaking my body.
And then pissing in my face. All over my face, and in my hair. My hair streaming
with his piss. And my face again. When I closed my eyes he ordered me to open
them, and he pissed in my eyes. He pissed in my mouth. He pissed up my nose, in
my ears, all over my face, and down my body again. It seemed to go on for an
hour, although I know it couldn't have. And then Calvin zipped himself up,
turned and left the room. Some of the men left with him, but many of them stayed
to watch me. Because I was bringing myself off. I couldn't help it. I couldn't
stop myself. Totally degraded, soaked with piss, a sorry, soggy, stinking mess,
watched over by a dozen strangers, I rubbed and stroked and fingered myself
there in the tub, moaning and twisting and coming again and again and again,
over and over, until I had no more orgasms left in me.

					#

	Yes, Calvin knew.

                                                             #

	Walter and I got caught finally, fucking in Mr. Pierce's office. Walter
was fired. Mr. Pierce told me he was shocked at my behavior, and that he was
going to fire me too. Unless, of course, I would do for him what I had been
doing for Walter. Any time he wanted it.
	I told Calvin. Calvin said I should do it. Also, Calvin said, I should
keep doing it with Walter. Every other Friday. Wherever Walter was working on
his new job. There was no reason for Walter to lose out just because I was
careless, Calvin said.

                                                              #

	Of course, as soon as I admitted to Calvin that I didn't want him to
stop squeezing my hand, he stopped.
	But that wasn't the end of it.
	He still held my hand in his, and he told me I belonged to him.
	"You belong to me, Beth," he said.
	I knew  he was right.
	"I'll show you how much," he said.
	He didn't have to show me. I was his forever, and I knew it. But I
didn't say that.
	It wouldn't have made any difference anyway.
	Calvin smiled that smile again. Then he took hold of my little finger
and bent it back. Far back.
	I reacted as before to the pain, of course. But now I began to be
afraid.
	"Please," I said.
	"Please what, Beth?"
	"Please don't," I said. He was holding the finger back as far as it
would go, I felt, without breaking. It hurt very badly. I was biting my lip and
twisting in my seat. I was very aroused, and very frightened.
	"Please don't what?" Calvin said. "Break your finger, you mean? You
wouldn't like that, Bethy?"
	"No," I said. I could hardly get it out.
	"Then I won't," Calvin said. Holding my finger where it was. "Not unless
you ask me to."
	I stared at him through my tears.
	"You have to know, Beth," Calvin said, "how much you belong to me. How
completely. I know already. And maybe you think you know. But I want you to show
me that you know."
	"I know," I gasped out. "I do know."
	"Then show me," Calvin said. "And I'll show you. Because I will do it,
Beth. If you ask me. I will break it. So we'll both know."
	I wanted to faint. I wished I could. The pain was already strong enough.
But I didn't.
	I started to shake my head. But I couldn't. Calvin was looking at me.
	Waiting.
	"I--" I choked. "I--I don't--"
	"You have to choose, Beth. If you ask me to break it, you'll belong to
me. Always. If not, I'll go away and leave you alone. As long as you don't try
to be a whore, you'll never have to see me again. That's a promise."
	"Oh god . . . " I said. That was an impossible choice.
	"I'm waiting, Beth," Calvin said.
	I closed my eyes. "Break it," I said.
	And he did.

            				#
	
	And that's how I met Calvin.
	Touching story, isn't it?
	They ought to make a movie.

					#

	I haven't written anything here for a couple of weeks. I don't know why
I'm doing it now. My life is shit. All I have is Calvin. He's what I live for.
Is that a thing to be living for?
	But I can't lose him. I'll die.

                                                           #

	I'm not fucking Mr. Pierce any more. He started calling me in more and
more. He was keeping me after work every day. He loved to have me suck him off.
And he enjoyed fucking my ass. Finally he said he wanted me to do a threesome
with him and his secretary. When I told Calvin about that, he said Mr. Pierce
was taking advantage. He said I shouldn't do it with Mr. Pierce any more. I said
I was afraid I'd lose my job. Calvin said not to worry about it. He'd talk to
Pierce, and I wouldn't lose anything.
	I guess Calvin has some influence with Mr. Pierce. After all, he got me
my job there in the first place.
		            	
                                                            #

	After he broke my finger, Calvin took me to the hospital. They put a
splint on it.
	I told my father I fell down.
	Calvin not only stopped my whoring, he stopped my drinking too. He said
I shouldn't drink any more, so I didn't. I told him I needed money, so he got me
a job at Whitman & Pierce. Simple as that. I don't know how he does these
things. Calvin is Calvin.
	Damn him.

                                                            #

	My father is suspicious.
	I don't know quite what he's suspicious about. He never asks me anything
any more. When we talk, we talk about the weather. Or the garden. Or he tells me
how the Yankees are doing. Great, I say. That's just great, Pop. Like I care.
	But he is my father.

					#

	I'm not going to do this any more.
	Have I said that before?
	Some day I'll have to read this.

                                                            #

	It wasn't long after Calvin told me--and showed me--that I belonged to
him, that I found out that he wouldn't have sex with me.
	But I never found out why.

                                                            #

	I guess it was only a matter of time.
	My father is a cop, after all.
	I knew he was suspicious, but I didn't know he was interested enough to
do anything about it.
	He was.
	He followed me.
	He found out about Calvin.
	He threw me out of the house.
	I came home last night and my bags were all packed and sitting by the
door. My father was standing there. I thought he was going to hit me. Maybe he
did too.
	"A nigger," my father said.
	I just looked at him.
	"You're running around with a fucking nigger," he said. "You whore. You
filthy tramp. Get the fuck out of my house," my father said.
	I couldn't say anything. I couldn't move. I was in shock.
	My father pushed me out the door, put my bags out and shut the door in
my face.

					#

	I went to a hotel. Which is where I am now.   
	What am I going to tell Calvin?

	                                                #

	I told him the truth.
	I told him everything.
	When I told him what my father had said, Calvin slapped me. Very hard,
right across the face. So hard I fell down.
	It wasn't so much the slap that surprised me. Calvin had slapped me
before.
	And of course he'd whipped me and tortured me and done god knows what to
me, many times.
	But this was the first time I had ever seen him lose his temper.

					#

	Calvin wouldn't let me stay at the hotel. He took me home with him.
	He kept me tied up. I don't know why. He knew I wouldn't run away. Even
if I wanted to, I had no place to go. But I didn't mind. I liked being tied up.
I even thought that maybe this was Calvin's twisted way of making it up to me
for hitting me when he really wanted to hit my father. But maybe not. At night
he tied me on his bed, as he had once before, and had sex with another woman
right beside me. But he didn't make me participate this time. He just ignored
me.
	This went on for three days.
	On the fourth day Calvin spoke to me as I was eating lunch. I was
crouched over on the floor, on my knees, with my thighs, calves and ankles roped
together and my hands tied behind me. I was eating out of a dog bowl on the
floor. Eating dog food.
	"Your father is making trouble," Calvin said.
	I raised my head to look at him.
	"Don't stop eating, doggie bitch," Calvin said.
	I lowered my head and went on eating.
	"I don't have trouble with the police," Calvin said. "I take care of
them. They leave me alone. But now your father is stirring things up."
	I went on eating.
	"I have to do something about that," Calvin said.
	I had finished eating now. My face was a mess from being immersed in the
dog food in the bowl.
	"You've always wanted me to screw you, Beth," Calvin said.
	I could only stare at him.
	"I think I'm ready to do that now," Calvin said.
	I didn't say anything. I couldn't.
	"And I'll let your father watch," Calvin said.
	
					#

	I wanted Calvin to have sex with me more than anything in the world.
	And now I begged him not to.
	I couldn't help myself. God knows just the idea of what Calvin's
reaction might be made me sick and hollow all the way down to my soul. And god
knows I had reason to hate my father now. But I couldn't accept what Calvin was
suggesting. I couldn't even think of it. He was my father.
	Calvin was displeased. He called Jesse in to whip me.
	He would have done it himself, but he probably thought I would enjoy
that too much. Of course he knew I would enjoy being whipped under any
circumstances. But he knew how much I despised Jesse, and how much I would hate
the fact that it was he who was whipping me. This was punishment.
	Calvin cut the ropes on my legs and told me to lie on my back on the
floor, and to spread my legs as widely as I could. When Jesse came in, Calvin
told him to whip me. Jesse, grinning widely, took off his thick leather belt.
	With my bound arms beneath me, my body was arched toward Jesse like an
offering. I didn't dare move, or roll over or close my legs. Jesse whipped me as
hard as he could. Most of the time he whipped my breasts and my cunt.
Occasionally he would vary this by taking a cut at my belly or my thighs; then
he would go back to my breasts again. And my cunt again.
	Of course I screamed. I screamed till I was hoarse. And of course I
came. I tried not to, but it was no use. When Calvin finally told Jesse to stop,
it was obvious from the bulge in Jesse's pants that he was very hard. Calvin
ordered me to suck his cock for him. Slowly and painfully, I got up onto my
knees. I opened Jesse's pants, took out his cock and sucked him off. It didn't
take long.
	After Jesse left, Calvin came over to where I was kneeling, took a
fistful of my hair in his hand and pulled me to my feet that way. He held my
face close to his. "Was there something you wanted to say to me, Beth?" he said.
	"No," I got out. "No, Calvin."
	"Good," he said. "Now here's what we're going to do. You still have a
key to your house, don't you, Bethy?"
	"Yes."
	"Yes. Well, tomorrow you and I will go there. Along with some other
people. And when your father comes home we'll have a nice surprise for him.
We'll make him nice and comfortable, and then we'll give him a show. We'll show
him his sweet darling daughter getting fucked by a nigger. Maybe by several
niggers. We'll show him how she takes a nigger's cock in her cunt, and in her
ass, and in her mouth. And we'll show him how much she loves it. You understand,
Bethy?"
	"Yes," I said.
	I was crying, and not from the pain.

                                                            #
							 							
. 	I can't.

					#

	Oh god, burn this thing, you stupid fucking bitch.

					#

	Okay. There was Calvin, and there was Jesse, and there were two other
guys. I let them in the house with my key, and we waited for my father to come
home from work. My father was a cop, he had his gun, but four guys took him by
surprise and it was no contest. They tied him into a chair in the living room.
Very securely. They took his gun away. Once they got him tied and he couldn't
struggle any more, my father got very still and quiet. He looked at me, and he
looked at the others, and then he looked back at me. His eyes stayed on me, but
I couldn't tell what he was thinking. They stayed on me until Calvin started to
talk.
	"You know me, Detective Lawrence," he said. "You know who I am, anyway.
You've been trying to destroy my business. That's not a good idea. You should
know that."
	My father said nothing.
	"Also," Calvin said, "I'm the guy you think is fucking your daughter."
	I couldn't look at my father now.
	"But you know what?" Calvin went on. "That's not true. Is it, Beth? I
haven't been fucking her. Not until today. But now I'm going to, Detective. Now
I'm going to fuck her good. And you get to watch it all."
	"I'll kill you," my father said. His voice sounded like something I had
never heard.
	"Well, I kind of doubt that," Calvin said. "Beth, take off your
clothes."
	I wanted to die.
	"Beth," Calvin said softly. "You're not cooperating. I want to show your
father how obedient you are. What a submissive, shameless, crawling slut bitch
his daughter is. You don't want to let me down, do you, Beth? Take off your
clothes for your daddy."
	I still wanted to die, the more so because even his cruel words were
getting to me, even now. How  could I do this?
	I started to open my blouse. My hands were shaking.
	"Wait," Calvin said. "Stop."
	I stopped.
	"You're not watching, Detective," Calvin said. "And I do want you to
watch. I want you to see everything. So from now on you keep your eyes on Beth
here. All the time. Because if you don't, Detective, I'll kill her. I promise
you. I'll kill her slowly. You may be angry at her for fucking niggers, but I
don't think you want that, do you?"
	I wondered if he meant it. I thought he probably did.
	My father was looking at me now.
	"Go on, Beth," Calvin said.	
	I didn't look at my father. I looked at the floor. I opened my blouse.
Then I took it off. I had a black bra under it. That was all.
	"Just drop it," Calvin said.
	I dropped the blouse. I stood there. Calvin didn't say anything. Neither
did Jesse or the other two. All of them had seen me naked before. Except my
father.
	I opened my skirt and let it fall. In my bra and panties, I looked over
at Calvin. He just nodded.
	I looked back at the floor. I felt as though I might faint. I don't know
how I made my hands work. It took me a couple of tries to open the catch at the
back of my bra. Finally I did. And then I took it off.
	And then I took off my panties.
	I had tears in my eyes.
	Nobody said anything.
	I stood there.
	"Sexy, isn't she?" Calvin said then. "Real nice body. Don't you think
so, Detective?"
	My father didn't say anything. I couldn't look at him.
	"Turn around, Beth," Calvin said. "Show your father your pretty back."
	I turned. I knew there were still burn marks on my back, from the game
Calvin had played with the cigarettes. I heard my father catch his breath.
	"Yeah," Calvin said. "We had a little fun with Bethy awhile ago. Maybe
I'll tell you about it later. But don't worry, Detective. She enjoyed it. She
likes being hurt, our Bethy. Did you know that, Detective? Your sweet baby
daughter gets off on pain. She's a real masochistic bitch. You want to see?"
	Calvin came up behind me. With one swift movement he clutched one hand
in my hair, pulling my head back sharply, while the other grabbed my right wrist
and twisted my arm high up behind my back. I cried out, going up on my toes in
an instinctive effort to relieve the pressure. Calvin held me that way with his
strong hands, pulling down on my hair, pushing up on my arm, the searing pain in
my scalp battling for supremacy with the bone-wrenching ache of my strained and
twisted arm. The sudden agony ripped through me, only increasing as Calvin
retained his hold. I began to moan. I was writhing in his grip, at first because
of the pain, but then because of what it was doing to me. My moans changed. I
was wet between the legs. I couldn't help it. Calvin had proved his point.
	Now, without loosening his grip, he turned me around to face my father.
My body was arched and straining, my head pulled back, my breasts thrust
forward. I knew my nipples were hard. I was gasping heavily now, and between the
gasps strange animal sounds were coming from my mouth.
	"See?" Calivn said. "See how she loves it, Detective? Your darling
little daughter is a twisted, pain-loving, shit-eating, nigger-fucking slut
cunt. Aren't you, Beth?" When I couldn't answer immediately, he exerted more
pressure with his hands, causing me to arch myself even more tautly. "Aren't
you, Beth?" he repeated. "Tell your daddy."
	"Yes!" I cried, through my moans, through my gasps, and now I began to
sob. "Yes!" I choked out. "Yes, I am! Yes!"
	"That's right," Calvin said. "And she sucks a mean cock, too. Or so I've
been told. Now I'm going to find out. You've always wanted to suck my cock,
haven't you, Beth? Well, now's your chance. You can show me and your daddy what
a fine little cock-sucker you are. Okay, Beth?"
	I couldn't say anything. For one thing I was crying too hard, and
struggling to take in air. For another, the agony in my mind was more painful
than that of my body. God knows I had longed beyond measure to have sexual
contact with Calvin, any kind of sexual contact, which he would never allow; and
if sucking his cock was all I could get, I would have gladly settled for that.
Now he was ordering me to do it, and disobeying him was unthinkable. And of
course, what he was doing to me--not only the physical torment, though that was
most of it, but also, god help me, the horrible situation itself, the shame, the
humiliation, the degradation in front of my father--was whipping me into a fever
of lust, intensifying my desire, my need, to the point where nothing else
mattered. And yet--my father...it was...how could I...
	Calvin bent me backwards even more, pulling on my hair, pushing on my
arm. I screamed, but it came out as a choked, gurgling cry. Calvin moved his
head next to mine and bit my earlobe, very hard. I think he drew blood. "You'll
do that, won't you, Beth?" he said. His voice was low and calm, but I heard what
was in it.
	"Yes..." I choked out, still sobbing. "Yes...oh god...yes..."
	"That's my sweet slut," Calvin said. "Now get on your knees."
	He let go of me and I sank to the floor. I couldn't have stood up anyway
at that point. I would have collapsed completely, but I managed to stop myself
from falling flat, and instead crouched on all fours, holding myself there with
an effort, my head hanging down, gasping, panting, shaking. But Calvin was
waiting. I lifted my head and then rose slowly on my knees. Kneeling now in
front of him with my head on a level with his crotch.
	"You know what to do, Beth," Calvin said.
	My hands were shaking so hard I could hardly get his zipper open. But I
did. And reached inside. And pulled out his cock. I heard a noise from where my
father was sitting. Then suddenly Calvin's hand was in my hair again, pulling my
head back, and his other hand was holding a small knife at my throat. I felt the
tip of the blade pushing against my flesh. I felt faint.
	"I told you to watch, Detective," Calvin said. "If you turn away again,
even for a second, I will kill her. Slowly. Do you think I'm bluffing?" The
knife pressed harder, and I thought it would surely break the skin. I couldn't
breathe. "Do you?" Calvin said.
	I didn't.
	My father must have shaken his head. Calvin took the knife away and
released my hair and straightened up. "Go on, Beth," he said.
	Calvin's cock was semi-hard. I closed my eyes, then opened them again. I
wasn't sobbing now, but there were still tears coming from my eyes, rolling down
my face. I couldn't stop them. I opened my mouth and took Calvin's cock into it.
I heard another sound from my father's chair. It might have been a sob.
	"Slowly," Calvin said. "Make it last, Beth. I want your daddy to enjoy
this."
	I sucked him slowly. I closed my eyes, but the tears kept coming out of
them. I hated the knowledge that my father was watching me do this. But that
also added to the squirmy excitement that I couldn't completely ignore. It was
Calvin's cock in my mouth. I took it deep, took it into my throat as I sucked. I
used my tongue, I used everything I had to give him pleasure. I had no choice
but to do it well, but I couldn't have done it differently anyway.
	Calvin's cock stayed hard, but otherwise he showed no sign of arousal.
He stood there and let me suck him. Probably watching my father all the time. I
must have sucked him for at least twenty minutes. Finally he was ready to come.
His cock seemed to swell, and began to twitch in my mouth. There were no gasps,
no moans. Calvin siezed a handful of my hair and pulled my head off his cock.
Then, holding my hair to keep my head still, he shot his come right in my face.
All over my face. Then he let me go.
	I heard the sobbing noise from my father's chair again.
	"Did you enjoy that, Detective?" Calvin said. "I told you she was a good
cocksucker. But that was just the start of the show. The overture, you might
say. We've got a long way to go yet."
	"I'll kill you," my father said hoarsely.
	"You said that, Detective, but it doesn't seem very likely, does it? You
just keep watching now, okay? All right, guys. She's all yours."
	Jesse and the other two men took off their clothes. My father made a
noise. I heard thrashing sounds, as if he were struggling with his bonds. I
still couldn't look at him.
	The three of them came at me then.
	They used me every way they knew how. They used my cunt and my mouth and
my ass. They did it singly and doubly and with all three of them at once. They
did it in every position they could think of. They took me over and over, and
they weren't gentle. God knows they weren't gentle. I cried and groaned and
screamed and howled. And of course I came. Again and again I came, and the
harder and more cruelly they used me the more I kept coming. When they thought
they couldn't do it any more, Calvin had me suck them and suck them until they
were hard again, and then they fucked me again. Until finally even my mouth
couldn't revive them, and it was over.
	My father was sobbing continually now.
	Calvin hadn't joined in with the other three. He had just watched it
all.
	"Okay, guys," Calvin said then. "You can go now. The rest of this is
between the detective and me. And little Bethy here."
	"You sure, Calvin?" Jesse asked. "That bastard gonna kill you for sure,
he gets a chance."
	"He won't," Calvin said. "The detective's not going anyplace. Except
maybe straight to hell."
	Jesse was still hesitant, but nobody disobeyed Calvin. The three of them
put on their clothes and left.
	"Alone at last," Calvin said. "So, Detective Lawrence. Is our Bethy a
hot little whore or what?"
	My father's sobbing had stopped, but it took him a minute to speak. I
still didn't recognize his voice. It was like he was at the bottom of a deep
hole. "You better kill me," my father said. "Because I swear I will fucking rip
you apart, first chance I get. I swear it. So you better fucking kill me, you
fucking filthy nigger bastard!"
	"Oh, I will," Calvin said. "I surely will, Detective. You don't have to
worry about that."
	I went numb. I looked up into Calvin's face in shock. "Calvin!" I
gasped.
	"What's wrong, Beth?" Calvin said.
	"You--you're not--you can't--"
	"Oh, I can," Calivn said. "Your daddy has insulted me and tried to ruin
me. And now he'll surely kill me if he can. You heard him say so. So I have no
choice, Beth. Now do I?"
	"Oh god...Calvin...please...for god's sake...he's my father...please..."
	Calvin looked at me. I saw something in his face that chilled me. I
began to tremble.
	"How touching," Calvin said. "Filial devotion. I can see you love your
father, Beth. That's so sweet. Since you love him so much, why don't you show
him, okay?"
	I stared at him. I felt faint. "What? Calvin, what do you..."
	"Sure," Calvin said. "It will be a nice treat for him. Like a last meal,
you know? Only you'll be doing the eating, Bethy."
	"Calvin--" I couldn't get my breath. "Calvin, for god's sake..."
	Calvin was smiling. I knew that smile. I heard myself whimpering.
	"Don't you want to do something nice for your daddy, Beth? Don't you
think he'd like having his hot little slut daughter doing him? After everything
he just saw, he's probably hot as hell for your luscious whore's body. Aren't
you, Detective?"
	"You motherfucking nigger prick," my father rasped.
	"Sure you are," Calvin said. "Do it, Beth. You don't even have to get
up. Just crawl over there, take out your daddy's cock and suck him off. After
all, he got to watch while you did it for me, so it's only fair, don't you
think?"
	"Calvin, no..." I said. I could hardly talk. I was breathless, and just
barely got the words out. "Calvin...no...please..."
	Calvin was still smiling. He took his belt off. He held it by the buckle
and wrapped it around his hand a couple of times and then started whipping me
with it. He did it as hard as he could. He slashed at my body as I crouched
there, hard and fast, the belt whistling as it came down. He hit my breasts, and
when I tried to cover them he beat my back and the rest of my body, viciously,
savagely, again and again and again, until I stopped even trying to protect
myself and, screaming and crying and moaning, I began to crawl toward my
father's chair. He hit me a couple more times as I crawled, until I was kneeling
in front of my father, between his bound and widely spread legs.
	"Do it, whore," Calvin said.
	I reached up with shaking hands and opened my father's trousers.
	"No!" my father said. "No, Beth! Don't!"
	I got his cock out. It was not hard. I looked at Calvin. I could barely
see him through my tears.
	"Do it," Calvin said.
	"Beth!" my father pleaded. "For god's sake, you're my daughter!"
	I bent my head and took my father's cock in my mouth.
	I heard him groan. Not with passion. With heartbreak.
	I knew what I had to do. I squeezed his cock with my lips and caressed
it with my tongue. I licked it all over and I rolled it in my mouth. Before too
long it began to stiffen. As it grew bigger, I heard my father give a kind of
despairing whimper. And then he was quiet.
	I kept licking and kissing and stroking until his cock was fully erect.
Then I began to suck him in earnest. There could be no stopping now. I had to
make him come.
	I didn't want to think of what would happen after that.
	I took him deep. My father. Opening my throat, taking all of him,
sucking him as skilfully as I knew how. Slowly. Using my tongue.
	Crying.
	My breasts and back burned fiercely from Calvin's whipping. My arm ached
from his twisting of it. My scalp still throbbed from his pulling of my hair. My
body was bruised and sore all over from the use his three friends had made of
it. And I was kneeling naked in front of my father and sucking his cock at
Calvin's command.
	So naturally I was turned on.
	And I hated myself.
	I was a sick twisted unnatural piece of shit, and I knew it. I had
always known it, but I had never cared all that much. I needed what I needed,
and I took it however I could get it. And damn the consequences.
	These were the consequences.
	So I cried as I took my father's cock deeper, and sucked it harder and
faster, but not too fast, my tongue stroking, my lips caressing, slavishly doing
what I had to do, but trying to get it done quickly, to make him finish, to get
it over with. And I knew it was happening. He started to stiffen in his bonds,
and I could hear his heavy breathing quicken. I wondered if Calvin would make me
swallow it, or if he wanted my father to come on my face, as he had done.
	"Beth, no!" my father cried desperately. "Stop, for god's sake!"
	"Yes, Beth," Calvin said. "Stop."
	I stopped, dazed, my father's cock stiff and throbbing in my mouth. I
lifted my head off it and looked up at Calvin.
	He was smiling. "We might as well give him the full treatment," Calvin
said. "Since it's his last fuck and all."
	I didn't want to hear what he was saying. My ears heard it, my mind
resisted.
	"Wouldn't you like to screw your daughter, Detective?" Calvin said.
"I'll bet you would. I'll bet you've wanted to do that for a long time. I'll bet
you've thought about how it would be. Probably jerked off thinking about it.
Your own daughter. But you would never do it, would you, Detective? Well, now
I'm going to make it happen for you. What a lucky guy."
	"NO!" My father tried one more time, with all his strength, to pull out
of his bonds, his whole body straining mightily. Calvin just watched, smiling.
Finally my father subsided, panting. I took one quick look at his face. I didn't
want to look at it again.
	"Do it, Beth," Calvin said. "Fuck your daddy."
	"Calvin," I said. "I--Calvin, I--"
	Calvin just looked at me. Smiling. Waiting for me to go on.
	I didn't. What was the use? I knew I would do it in the end. Calvin
would whip me, or torture me, or do whatever it took to break my will, but that
wasn't why I would do it. I would do it because Calvin was Calvin. And I was me.
	I got to my feet. I was shaking all over, but I did it. I got onto the
chair, kneeling on it, straddling my father's legs, with one knee on either side
of his thighs, and I moved forward, positioning my crotch just above his still
hard penis.
	My father was shaking his head desperately. "Beth, no," my father
pleaded. His voice was so strained I could hardly make out the words. "No, Beth,
for god's sake, don't. Please. Please Beth, don't. Please."
	I closed my eyes. I reached down and found his cock and brought the head
of it to my slit. Then I lowered myself over it.
	My father gave a cry as though he had been stabbed.
	I took him all the way inside me.
	"Open your eyes, Beth," I heard Calvin say.
	I opened my eyes. I still couldn't see very much.
	"Fuck him," Calvin said.
	I fucked him. I moved mechanically, my thighs pumping, my body rising
and falling. Up and down. Up and down. I fetl nothing. My father was sobbing
now, but his cock was as hard as ever.
	"Put some life into it, Beth," Calvin said. "Stick your tits in his
face."
	I leaned forward, pressing my breasts against my father's face. He
turned it away, but I still rubbed  my breasts against it. I felt nothing.
	"I don't think you're enjoying this enough, Beth," Calvin said. "Let me
help you." And out of the corner of my eye I saw him pick up the belt again.
	A moment later I felt the lash of it across my back. I cried out and
moved harder.
	Another lash. My back, still on fire from the last whipping, exploded
with pain. I screamed. And waited for the next blow. Which soon came. And now
the agony did its work. My juices were flowing, my tortured body was electric
with lust. The thing in my cunt was no longer my father's cock, it was the
instrument of my pleasure, a pulsing pole on which I slid abandonedly up and
down, working out the passion that grew and flourished under the hard, rhythmic
blows of the strap.
	Calvin continued to whip me. I was screaming almost continually now, my
body working spasmodically, moving wildly up and down, my head flung back, my
cunt clutching tightly at my father's straining cock. I flung myself forward
against him as I felt my climax overtaking me. Calvin didn't miss a beat. The
belt crashed into my back one final time, and I howled and writhed in orgasm. My
twisting convulsions were too much for my father, who gave a despairing cry of
his own as he spurted helplessly up insde me, again and again.
	I was barely aware of sliding off the chair and dropping to the floor. I
could hear my father sobbing as though from a great distance. I just wanted to
disappear.
	"Did you enjoy that, Detective?" I heard Calvin say. "I know Bethy did."
	Gradually my father's sobs diminished, and finally I heard his voice,
choked and gravelly. "Kill me now, you fucking shit-sucking nigger maggot."
	I heard a blow. When I looked up I saw the bruise on my father's face.
Calvin's eyes were glittering with rage. But he still spoke softly. "Yes," he
said. "I think it's time."
	"No!": It was my own voice I heard. I struggled to my knees, trying to
get to my feet, but my agonized body would not respond. "Calvin, no!" I gasped.
"Please. I'm begging you . . . "
	Calvin stepped over to me, grasped my hair and pulled me up by it. I
came up shrieking, and when he let me go I managed to stay on my feet by
clutching at his body. "Please, Calvin," I moaned. "Please don't kill him.
Please."
	Calvin looked at me like I was a bug. "You fucking bitch," he said
flatly. There was something in the words, or rather in the way he said them,
that struck me more painfully than his belt had done. And then he was smiling
again. "All right, Beth," he said then. "All right, Bethy. I won't kill him."
	"Oh god, oh thank you, oh thank--"
	"You will," Calvin said.
	I froze.
	When they had overpowered my father and taken his gun away, they had
placed it on a table on the far side of the room. Calvin now went over and got
it and brought it back. I was still unsteady on my feet, but I stayed upright.
Calvin smiled that smile again and held out the gun to me, butt first.
	I backed away, horrified, shaking my head dumbly.
	"Take it, Beth," Calvin said.
	"I--I can't . . ."
	"Sure you can. It's all right, the safety's on. Just take it."
	"No . . . please, Calvin . . . no . . . "
	The smile disappeared. "Take it," Calvin said. "Or I'll kill him and you
too."
	I reached out a shaking hand and took the gun.
	"That's the girl," Calvin said. "Now when I tell you, all you have to do
is point it at your daddy and squeeze the trigger. Until I tell you to stop.
Okay, Beth?"
	"No . . . Calvin . . . I can't . . . I can't . . . "
	"Sure you can," Calvin said. "And you will. Now release the
safety--that's that little button right there, just push it up. That's right."
Calvin backed away. "Now point it at him. Go on. Arms straight. That's the girl.
Right at his body."
	I was shaking badly. There were tears in my eyes, and through them I
could only make out my father's shape. I couldn't see the expression on his
face.
	"Calvin," I panted, "I don't . . . I can't . . . "	
	"Put your finger on the trigger," Calvin said.
	I did so. I felt numb.
	"Now shoot him," Calvin said.
	"Calvin, for--"
	"Shoot him, Beth."
	"I . . . I can't . . . Calvin, please . . . "
	"Shoot him, you shit-faced cunt!"
	I didn't know I was going to do it. I didn't plan it, I didn't think
about it. It just happened, like it was somebody else. The gun was pointing at
my father, and then I turned, and it was pointing at Calvin. Calvin opened his
mouth to say something, and then I shot him. I shot him three times. When he
fell to the floor I dropped the gun and flung myself on his body, screaming.
	I don't know how long I stayed that way, screaming and crying. I knew he
was dead. And I knew I had killed him. That was all I knew.
	I don't know when I became aware of my father's voice. "Beth," he was
saying. "Untie me, Beth. Get me out of this, for god's sake!"
	It took me a while to be able to move at all. When I did I couldn't
stand up. I crawled over to my father's chair. I was in a haze, moving like an
automaton. I tugged at the ropes, pulled at some of the knots, but I couldn't do
anything with them. Then I became aware of my father telling me to get a knife
and cut the ropes. I crawled into the kitchen. I got a knife. I crawled back. I
was crying the whole time. I managed to cut some of the ropes. When my father's
hands were free he did the rest.
	I crawled back to Calvin's body and flung myself down on him again,
holding him, rocking him, moaning and weeping.
	At last my father was free. He got up from the chair and moved stiffly
to where the gun still lay on the floor. He bent slowly and picked it up. Then
he moved toward me as I lay sprawled on Calvin's body, holding the gun in his
hand. I looked at him. He raised the gun, and I thought he was going to shoot
me.
	I wanted him to shoot me.
	But he didn't.
	Instead, he turned the gun around, put it in his mouth, and blew the
back of his head away.

					#

	I think I passed out for a while. I don't know. I know that I lay there
for a long time, over Calvin's body, unable to move, unable to think. I don't
know how long. I was still there when Jesse and the others came back, looking
for Calvin.
	I don't know how they cleaned it up, or what they did. I don't want to
know.
	It all got buried somehow.
	Jesse took me home with him.
	I'm still there.
	I didn't have the strength or the will to protest.
	I didn't care what happened to me, and I didn't have anyplace else to
go.
	And if Jesse was the last person on earth I wanted to be with, I figured
that's what I deserved.
	
                                                            #

	Jesse fucked me the first night.
	After that he left me alone for a few days. I was completely numb. I
could barely function. I couldn't even cry.
	Then I cried. A lot. And after that the numbness came back, only now I
could function more normally. I could even think.
	Not that I wanted to.
	Then Jesse came to talk to me.
	"You wanna stay with me, Beth?" he asked.
	"Yes," I said.
	"How come?" Jesse said.
	"Because I hate you," I said.
	He nodded. "I know." Then he said, "It'll be worse than with Calvin, you
know. You might not believe that."
	"I believe it," I said.
	"You don't care what I do to you," Jesse said.
	"No," I said.
	"You'll be my bitch like you were Calvin's," Jesse said. "The same way,
no matter what."
	"Yes," I said.
	"Remember when Calvin broke your finger?" Jesse said. "To show you how
much you belonged to him?"
	"I remember," I said.
	"I won't break just one finger, Bethy," Jesse said. "I'll break them
all. Every one of them, both hands. One right after the other."
	"All right," I said.
	"And you know what, Bethy?" Jesse said. "I'm gonna do it while I'm
fucking you. Yeah. While my cock's inside you. So every time I break a finger,
and your body starts jerking around 'cause it hurts so much, I'm gonna feel it
against me. I'm gonna feel it on my cock. What do you think about that, Bethy?"
	"All right," I said.

                                                            #

	And that's just what he did too.

                                                            #

	That was just the beginning, of course. For a long time I couldn't write
here because my fingers were in splints. Jesse liked to play with the splints
while he fucked me. Making the half-healed bones grind together, listening to me
scream and enjoying the contortions of my body.
	Jesse likes to do a lot of other things. Worse things. Along with his
friends. I'm not going to put them all down here. I don't want to write any
more.
	Yes. Of course. The day came when the numbness wore off enough for me to
start responding to the things he did to me. In spite of everything. I came a
lot. I still come a lot. And the more I do the worse I hate myself, and the
better Jesse likes it, and that makes him think up even more and crueller things
to do.
	I expect Jesse will kill me one of these days.
	I only hope it's soon.

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