Lizabet - A short

The Psychology building was deserted as she walked down the hall. Normally, that made her a little nervous. She was so used to seeing people going back and forth, that those rare occasions when it was momentarily empty it seemed unnatural. But this time, it was almost reassuring. The subliminal fear that some maniac might burst out of a hidden corner and attack her, was overwhelmed by the relief that there was no one to cast eyes upon her, to see her blush and lower her face, to wonder what she was doing, and where she was going and what for?

She proceeded to the smaller hallway, the one with the interview rooms. She counted down the numbers, her heart pounding louder as the number climbed. Room 104. She could hardly breath. Her mouth was dry.

She stood in front of it for a moment, debating whether to just turn around and walk away. Or run, some part of her screamed. What are you doing? You’ll go to hell for this! Run! Abandon this sinful foolishness.

She didn’t move. As strong as the voices screaming in her head, the compulsion, the need was greater. Go away? Go back to what? If she ran now, she’d just be in front of another Room 104 sooner or later, in minutes, hours, days, weeks. It didn’t matter. She’d be in front of a Room 104.

And run away every time? No.

Those other doors, those Room 104's. They were unknown, probably more dangerous, more desperate. She’d be sloppier, or reckless, or desperate. Stupid. Stupid was bad.

At least this door was the right kind of unknown. She knew what would be on the other side, an interview room, chair, table, lights, a two way mirror. A small, clean room on in the Psychology building on the University Campus. She’d used these rooms for interviews herself.

So she knew the room, that was something. She even knew who was waiting for her, somewhat. She knew what he did, or some of it.

She just didn’t know what would happen in there, or what would be done to her. But she was willing.

She raised a hand and knocked on the door. Nothing. No response.

After counting to ten, she tried the doorknob.

Unlocked.

Her breath almost whooshed out of her.

She opened the door, her heartrate racing all over again.

The room was empty. There wasn’t even a table. Just a chair. All the track lights had been shifted to center on one spot. Did she have the wrong room? The mirror was dark. Perhaps they were behind the mirror?

“Hello?” she ventured softly. She found herself trembling. What if there was no one? What if this was all a joke. Even the idea of it burned with humiliation. Was she being mocked, was this some cruel trick to make her look foolish and weak.

“Lock the door. Step into the light, on the mark please,” a voice said. It was slightly electronically distorted, giving it a neutral, alien quality.

She looked at the light. There was an x marked with tape on the floor.

“It’s happening,” she thought. “It’s happening.” Suddenly, she felt giddy, almost weightless. Her body felt awkward, uncoordinated. She shut the door, fumbled with the lock, her fingers couldn’t seem to work, it but then finally the lever turned, the bolt clicked. It had taken too long, they must think she’s a fool. She was having trouble catching her breath. She tried to step into the light, but it turned out to be a half leap, half stumble. She overshot it by half a step, and looking down, had to back up to it. She felt like an idiot.

Deep breath, she thought. Take a deep breath.

“Do you have a phone or any electronic devices on your body?”

“No.”

“You realize that if you do, this is over immediately.”

She didn’t know that actually. She didn’t know what to expect or think. But it wasn’t a question, she realized.

“I don’t... I didn’t bring my phone. I didn’t even bring my purse.”

“We will see,” the voice said. It paused.

“We want you to understand, this room is soundproofed. No one can hear you. The door is now locked, you can’t unlock it. It is Friday, the building will be empty until Tuesday. You cannot escape. No one will rescue you. You are completely in our power. We can do whatever we want with you.”

Her woman’s part suddenly clenched, spasming with an intensity that startled her, and she went hot all over. A thrill ran up her spine.

“I understand,” she said.

“It’s happening!” went through her mind, with an emotion that felt like high pitched glee, full of intensity and weightlessness. “It’s happening!!!”

Her heart began to pound. She tried to speak again, couldn’t. Swallowed twice and wet her lips.

“What... What are you going to do to me?”

The voice waited, the seconds passing unbearably.

“Right now?” The voice said finally. “Nothing. We’re going to ask you questions. You will answer. You will not argue. You will obey. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

She felt a sense of deflation, the heady, intoxicating, terrifying sequences of possibilities evaporating.

“We don’t have any patience,” the voice said. “No second chances. If you annoy us, we can just walk away. You’ll be trapped in a locked room for three days. You’ll have to shit and piss in a corner. You’ll have no food or water, but you’ll survive. When they come, they won’t even find fingerprints, or any explanation as to how you ended up here. Do you want that?”

“No.”

“If you resist us, we can come into the room. We promise, you won’t like that.”

“No,” she agreed, a little frightened, despite herself.

“If you anger....”

The voice cut off. But she could imagine. Three days to make her disappear. To remove all traces from this room, anywhere else.

“I understand,” she said quickly. They weren’t like that, she told herself. That wasn’t what they did. She hoped that she hadn’t made a terrible mistake.

“Good,” the voice said. “How did you find us?”

“There was a girl, a fellow student, Barb. I didn’t know her well. Different department, I guess I didn’t know her at all, not really. Someone you see around, maybe you hear their name, recognise their face. She is quite beautiful. Confident. I heard a rumour, that she was doing ... sexual things. Depraved sexual things. I was curious, I paid attention. She... maintained her life. But deeper, there was the sexual things, all kinds of things. A second life that barely touched, full of... “ she struggled for the word, “sex things.”

“And...”

“I investigated. I found that Barb’s... other life... was controlled. As if she had pimps. But not pimps for money... “

She looked up into the lights, blinking. She was saying it all wrong. The delicious wantonness, the promiscuity, the casualness of Barb’s sexual adventures, at parties, in bars, hotel rooms, strip clubs, all of it elusive and vague but always to enticing, she’d found only ghosts of rumours, most of them not connecting to Barb at all, but locker room talk of sluttish wanton-ness, framed as male triumphs. A story from residence by three guys about tag teaming a girl in a men’s toilet in some dive bar, things like that.

With insight or epiphany, she’d connected the stories, or pieces of stories or rumours of stories to Barb, wondering if perhaps she was merely projecting, creating a fantasy.

But then, online, following up on clues had taken her to certain message boards, hidden sites, mostly male vulgarity, but recurrently, traces of anonymous men, offering women for any depraved act, all inquiries considered, no matter how depraved. The anonymous men resolved to an anonymous man, perhaps no more than two, under different email addresses. The women they offered up with such consistency could only be a single woman, who she decided had to be Barb.

Not quite whoring, she was not merely offered for sex to whoever paid. It went beyond that, it was not about money, it was about sex. Barb on a sexual odyssey, a carnal journey, a descent into sleaze and degradation, of pure sluttish, wanton, uninhibited depravity, a total absolute sex slave.

She’d unravelled this with an obsessed fascination, coming to conclusions that left her breathless. Even thinking about made her tremble with need and excitement.

How could anyone find this and not want it.

Barb had two associates. Colin and Ted. She suspected them. She’d approached Colin, and he’d rebuffed her, startled and quite intimidated. Had she been wrong about everything?

Then she’d tried the email.

And almost wet herself when a response came back within a minute. So sudden and unexpected it almost felt like being struck, as if the breath had been pushed out of her.

In that moment, she’d almost been frightened off. Almost deleted the email, shut down her computer, and fled, looking over her shoulder.

Instead, after a frantic twenty minutes of terror and soul searching, she had replied.

She suspected that she had surprised him... them? They probably hadn’t expected another applicant. Perhaps they weren’t interested? Whatever was going on, Barb seemed the center of the constellation, the blazing star of whatever drama. They were used to invitations, Barb to be urinated upon in a child’s waiting pool by a dozen men, Barb to satisfy a black man for a crowd of Asian men, Barb drenched in semen, or milk or chocolate sauce, Barb in a box with holes, Barb... But another woman? An applicant? That’s not what they’d been trolling for.

But there had been a short exchange, and it had lead to her invitation here, under strict conditions, for what she now realized, with a tinge of disappointment, was practically a job interview.

Not a grand, sensual adventure. Just an interview....

She stared up into the lights. She couldn’t see past them. She couldn’t see the mirror, or anything outside the circle of lights, it was just darkness out there. She knew it was a psychological tactic. Like a police interrogation. She shivered.

“It was ... sex things,” she finished lamely, “all kinds of sex things.”

“And that’s what you want from us?” the voice asked. “Sex things.”

She felt herself blushing. She looked away from where she knew the mirror was in the darkness. Looked down at her feet. Butterflies were surging in her stomach. She licked her lips, unable to answer.

Silence. Whoever was behind the voice was waiting.

She was here! She thought, that should be answer enough.

Finally, the voice spoke.

“Take off your clothes. All of them. When you are done, place them next to the door beside the mirror and then return to the mark.”

She nodded.

“How do you want me to take them off? Should I go slow?” she wondered if she was being ordered to strip, as opposed to undress. She had no idea how to do that. Some sort of dancing as she was undressing. She wasn’t sure she was coordinated enough.

“Just take them off,” the voice said irritably. “Put them next to the door. Go back to your mark.”

She shivered, a little intimidated.

“Yes Sir,” she said.

She pulled off her sweater, and started unbuttoning her blouse. He fingers fumbled with the buttons, embarrassing her. Then she undid her jeans, and unzipped them. She was struck by a moment of indecision. She should take off her runners first. Hastily she bent down, pulling the laces. But one of them pulled wrong and it collapsed into a knot. Blushing, she shoved the runner off with her other toe, wobbling.

Okay, now the jeans, or should she take off her socks first? What about her blouse, she’d started on that. And if she took off the blouse, what about her bra? Now, or after her jeans? She felt a little uncertain about the bra, about them seeing her naked breasts, but they had made no exceptions, and they’d been unequivocal about the finality of their demands. Best not to chance it. With one sock off, she rolled down her jeans and stepped out of them, then took off her blouse, and unhooked her bra. As her bra floated loose on her shoulders, she realized she still had one sock on. For a fleeting second, the idea floated that they might just walk away in disgust at her ineptitude.

The sock came off. Then the panties. Her hands shook. Her woman parts exposed, the thick thatch of pubic hair. The traitorous part, that even now clenched, that announced its wetness, that throbbed and sent shivers. She lacked the courage to look at where the mirror was, staring at the floor as she worked them down her hips.

The clothes were piled into an untidy bundle, and she quickly deposited them at the door next to the mirror, locating it by feel against the wall. Her pupils were narrowed from the bright light, and she couldn’t see at all. She stepped back, finding her mark and managing not to stumble over it this time.

“Put your arms down,” the voice said.

She’d been covering her breasts with her hands, unconsciously. With an effort, she forced them to her sides.

“Yes Sir,” she whispered.

“You are naked for a reason,” the voice said. “Don’t try to cover yourself.”

She nodded.

“Yes Sir,” she agreed.

Despite that, the urge was almost irresistable. It was as if her hands had a will of their own, an innate desire to place themselves over her pubic region, to cover her nipples. She placed them firmly against her hips.

“Feet a little further apart.”

She spread.

“A little further.”

Spread more, until they were just over shoulder width, wondering how much wider, almost excited to find out, but worrying about balance.

“Good.” The voice said. “Stay like that. Relax.”

She wasn’t sure she could relax. She balanced awkwardly on her heels.

“Do you understand, we are going to fuck you.”

Her heart sped up, smashing against her ribs. Her breath caught in her throat, she had to force herself to breathe. Her skin tingled. Her girl part clenched and she swore she became wetter, slicker.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“We’ll make you fuck our friends.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll give you to complete strangers to fuck.”

“Yes.”

“You’ll suck cock whenever we tell you to, anytime, anywhere.”

“Yes,” she breathed. It was unbearable. She was almost aching with need.

“Ever been fucked up the ass?”

“No.”

“We will do that too. We’ll do whatever we want with your body.”

“Yes.”

She struggled to keep her expression neutral, to be poised. But inside she was elated. It’s happening, she told herself over and over, it’s really happening, unimagined and unimaginable carnal possibilities were blossoming in her mind, each one erupting before being replaced, too many to count, too many to conceive. Her woman bump between her legs was throbbing, her body felt more alive than it ever had.

The voice was silent.

“Good,” it said finally. “Tell me about you. Where are you from?”

“Gambia,” she said, “in West Africa, near Senegal.”

“Interesting. You speak English very well.

“Thank you,” she replied politely.

“Is that your original language?”

“English and Mandinka. I speak French too, from Senegal next door, German, a bit of Portugese... some Chinese, though that’s hard. And some of the African languages from home, I can get by in Wolof.”

Her heart rate slowed. This was a little disappointing. She wanted them to get back to the sex things, to tell her what they wanted to do with her, what they would make her do.

“That’s very impressive,” the voice said. It actually sounded impressed, and a little surprised. “Is Gambia a Christian country?”

“Muslim,” she said. “I’m muslim. But Gambia was ruled by England, it was part of the slave trade back then.”

She was fascinated by the slave trade, it sparked feelings in her. There was something about the utter degradation and despair of the slaves. To be abducted, chained, packed like sardines on those tiny boats, to be taken away from everyone and everything you’d ever known, and to be utterly helpless in a strange and alien land, the property of strangers, at the mercy of their every whim.

It was monstrous of course, utterly monstrous and horrific. She knew it was an utter nightmare where millions had died, and millions more had suffered horribly. It was a centuries long holocaust of human suffering almost unrivalled in history. In that respect, it was fascinating, as historical atrocities always were, the contemplation of the worst in humanity.

But there was something else, something that deeply shamed her. Contemplation of the slave trade, reading about it, sometimes sparked vague fantasies, daydreams. Sometimes she imagined herself in chains, sometimes laying in the cargo of a slave ship, the press of humanity, the helplessness.

She wanted the voice to ask about the slave trade, or about slavery, or sex slavery, or anything like that. She wanted to hear it said out loud in words that weren’t in her head. To be told, or asked, or made to speak.

“What are you doing over here?” the voice asked.

Her heart fell a little.

“I have a Scholarship, advanced degree program,” she replied.

There were more questions, and little by little it started to feel like a job interview. A naked job interview under harsh blinding floodlights. She still trembled, her skin still tingled, there were goosebumps and nervous tremors. But question after question as in some sort of job interview. She didn’t want to stand here and ask questions.

Why didn’t they use her?

They said they were going to fuck her. They promised.

“Tell me about your sex life.”

That question came suddenly out of the blue. She coughed a little. Glanced down at her bare feet with embarrassment.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Tell me the first time you had sex? How old were you? How did it happen?”

“I’ve never had sex,” she said.

There was a moment of silence. Surprise?

“You’re a virgin?”

She nodded.

“Never sucked a cock?”

Shook her head.

“Handjob?”

“Done anything? Kissed a boy?”

Shook her head.

“But you’re here, naked, that’s your choice. No one forced you.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She shrugged.

“I need to be.”

The voice paused, clearly unsure where to go next.

“What have you done? There must be something. You’re here after all. Do you like porn?”

“I’ve looked at it,” she admitted. “Not much. But I know what a man’s part looks like, and how people do it, sort of. I don’t watch it for long, I just look and then I stop.”

“Cock.”

“What?

“You said ‘man’s part,’ that’s a cock.”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“The man’s part.”

“No. Cock. Say ‘cock.’”

“Oh.”

“Say it. Say ‘cock.’”

She licked her lips, her skin flushing warm. She mouthed the word, but it didn’t come. She tried again, forcing air through. “Cock.”

“Why don’t you look at porn?”

“I do,” she replied. “Just not... Just, I can’t look at it much, it’s wrong. So I look and then I stop.”

Again, a moment of silence. She felt a moment of irrational dread, that the voice was dissatisfied. That it would tell her to put on her clothes and leave, that somehow she’d failed a test.

“Do you masturbate?”

“No.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She lifted her shoulders, and dropped them. She thought about lying briefly. But maybe they’d be able to tell. “I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s wrong.”

“But here you are, naked. Being recorded. And you’ve asked us to do things to you.”

There wasn’t a question there, it seemed to her. But she decided to be safe. “Yes.”

“What do you think we’ll do to you?”

She shrugged, that was it wasn’t it, that wet, bottomless, writhing pit of possibility.

“Whatever you want,” she said. “I guess.”

“We might do anything,” the voice said.

“Yes.”

“Things you might not want. We might not give you a choice.”

She shrugged and gave a small nod. Somehow, she was terrified by the uncertainty, that she might be asked to leave, that she might be kept.

“We’ll use you like a slut,” the voice said, “you understand? We’ll fuck you. We’ll do anything we want. We’ll share you. Sluts fuck everyone. They suck cock, they take it up the ass. All kinds of things.”

“Yes.”

“Do you understand what that means?”

“I’ve seen porn,” she insisted.

The voice paused.

“Why don’t you masturbate?”

“It’s wrong,” she’d answered that before.

“So what?”

“I can’t!” she snapped, and then bit her lip with embarrassment.

“You can’t touch yourself?” the voice asked.

“Yes. No. Not there. Not for pleasure,” she replied. “I can’t do it for myself.”

“You can’t do it for yourself...” the voice said. “But you want to.”

She couldn’t speak it. She looked down and nodded slightly.

“Have you ever had an orgasm?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve read about them though.”

“You can’t masturbate for yourself. You want us to do it for you?”

A shiver of relief slipped through her.

“Yes.”

“My sister, my older sister, she did it. She couldn’t help it. She got caught, and they watched her, and caught her again. My father beat her, but it didn’t stop. So finally, they took her to a medicine woman, deep in country. They were gone three days.”

“When they came back, she had been fixed. She was very sick, and she bled. It got infected, and smelled bad. I remember the smell of the old bandages that went in the trash. My sister was different after that, not happy, sad. But my father didn’t have to beat her. My mother thought she was better.”

“My mother showed me the parts on her that they cut off. She pulled on my lips below, on my woman parts, and she pinched me there, it hurt, and she said if I was bad, they would cut it off.”

“Did they?”

“No. I heard them talking about it though, when I was a few years older. It was expensive, and my father didn’t want to, he didn’t think I needed it. My mother thought I should, or it would be hard to find a husband. But I was a good girl, so they didn’t bother. I wasn’t like my sister.”

“You didn’t masturbate?”

“No.”

“You didn’t even touch yourself?”

“No.”

“You’re over here now,” the voice said. “Did you try to masturbate when you were here?”

She blushed deeply, feeling a wave of shame.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“But it didn’t work?”

She nodded.

“I see.”

The voice was silent for long moments.

“You realize,” the voice said, “if you go forward, there’s no turning back. You can’t back out of it. We won’t allow you to back out of it. You’ll no longer have any choice. We won’t allow it. We will choose. Just us. We’ll do whatever we want. You’ll do whatever we want. You won’t be allowed to say no.”

She shivered, it didn’t go away, it built and spread until her whole body was trembling.

“Yes,” she said quietly, “I understand.”

“We will make you do things,” the voice continued, “give us things, just to make sure you’ve got no choice. We’ll take pictures, for example. And video. We are recording you right now. We’ll do whatever we want with it.”

She nodded quietly, shivering. It was what she wanted, not to have that choice, to be free. Not to always be forced to be a good girl, a moral girl, never being able to even touch herself, or look at porn for more than a moment, or to have the freedom that everyone else enjoyed. She could never choose that, not as long as she had the choice. Taking away the choice, taking it irrevocably, was what she wanted. Needed. Craved.

“Hands above your head,” the voice said.

She obeyed.

“Turn around slowly.”

She turned around, hands over her head until the voice ordered her to stop, facing the way she was

“Bend forward, hands on your knees. Arch your back.”

She obeyed

“Twerk.”

“What?”

“The move,” the voice ordered. “Twerk.”

She remained still.

“I don’t know how,” she admitted.

“All right,” the voice conceded. “Bring the chair forward, sit in it.”

She did as she was told, dragging the chair a few feet forward. She sat primly, knees together, hands on knees.

“Put your heels on the edge of the chair, spread your legs.”

She obeyed.

“Wider.”

She felt her lips part as she spread her thighs open. She felt breathless, struggling not to pant. Her skin tingled, her nipples were so hard they ached. She could feel the wetness between her lips, so thick it felt like she was dripping. She could feel the light on her skin.

She knew she was exposing herself, exposing her most private place, a place she hardly dared even acknowledge on her body, barely named, a place of shame, of fleeting touch only for the most necessary purposes.

A camera was recording it. A complete stranger was looking at her there. Was looking at her pussy lips parting, was seeing how wanton and sluttish she was, was making her do it. She had no volition, it was not her choice. She had surrendered, and been ordered, it was irrevocable and out of her control.

The excitement of the moment almost laid her light headed.

“Pink,” the voice said. For a second she was confused, she had no idea what it was talking about.

“You’re wet,” it accused.

“Yes,” she confessed.

“Reach down with both your hands, I want to you to pull your lips wide open. I want to see how pink you are.”

Under the careful neutrality of the voice, there was something hungry for her degradation, for her use and abasement. There was a hidden lust to defile her, that excited her immeasurably.

She reached down, grasping each labia in a way she’d never done before, reveling in the uncharted territory, in the newness of her touch of herself. She pulled, feeling the walls of her vagina parting as the labia stretched apart, the clitoris exposed. She could feel the wetness running down her insides, she could feel the touch of light on her private place. The knowledge that they were video recording this wanton exposure only excited her more. She pulled tighter, stretching the labia, pushing the clit to prominence, staring down at this part of her body as if she’d never seen it, had never really acknowledged its existence. And truth, she hadn’t. It was brand new to her.

“Close your eyes,” the voice ordered.

Something new was coming. Reluctantly, she closed them. She hadn’t finished staring at her pink clitoris. She wanted them to make her stare at it for hours, to watch it now that it was exposed, to revel in its unassuming mystery.

"Touch it," the voice ordered.

"What?" she asked, genuinely confused, her eyes scrunched tight.

"Touch your clitoris."

Yes! Yes! Yes! Her heart leaped. Then: No!

"I can't," she told the voice.

"Why not?" the voice demanded.

"Because it's wrong," she said.

"Touch it," the voice snapped. "That's an order."

Obediently she brought her finger to it, touched it and moved away. Her heart sang with excitement.

"What did you just do?" the voice sounded annoyed.

"I touched it."

"You will touch it again, but this time, do not take your finger away. You will keep your finger there and make a circle around it, again and again, keep making circles, until we tell you to stop."

The horrible wrongness of it took her breath away. She remembered her sister, and then afterwards, the stinking bandages from between her legs. But she had no choice. She could not do it, but she could not disobey. She said a small prayer, hoping God would understand, and did as she was told.

Once she started, she found herself gasping. The sensations were indescribable. Truly, this was sinful. But so breathlessly delicious. Truly these were evil men she had fallen before, to force her to do this.

She shifted in her chair, it was not comfortable for what they were making her do.

"Keep going," the voice demanded.

She nodded.

"May I ask a request," she breathed.

"What is it?"

"May I open my eyes?" For perhaps the first time in her life, a genuine sexual fantasy was running through her mind.

They had come into the room while her eyes were closed. They were silently watching her touch her woman part. Their man parts were out, and when they were ready, they would take her and do evil things. She had studied enough texts to know the mechanics, man parts would wiggle up into the lady parts somehow, it was kind of vague. But that didn't matter, it would happen.

"Go ahead," the voice said. Her heart almost exploded. She would open her eyes and see live man parts!

Her eyes opened. She was alone in the room. It was disappointing, but the sensations emanating between her legs were overpowering.

She stared at the black mirror.

"May I make another request?" she asked.

"Go ahead," the voice said.

"May I look at it?" she asked.

"Yes."

She continued to stare at the mirror, making circles. The sensations were becoming stronger. With each circle, she found herself gasping a little more. She was going faster now.

"You're not looking."

"I can't."

"I order you to look at your pussy while you play with it," the voice said.

She nodded, ashamed, but helpless. There was no choice but to do as she was told.

She looked down. The sight was astonishing, she was so wet! So pink! Her clitoris was shamefully swollen and visible, she had never seen it like that. Her fingertips teased and teased.

Then all of a sudden, it felt like God reached in and seized her. She could not breath, her heart raced, her muscles stiffened, but her legs kicked out straight. For a moment, she was certain God was striking her dead for her sinfulness. Then in the next instant, she was certain that they had somehow wired the chair to electrocute her so that she could not bother them again. She wailed helplessly. Her body convulsed. From between her legs came a jet of clear liquid spurting almost to the mirror.

Then it passed and she was weak and trembling. She tried to keep making circles as they'd told her. But her muscles did not work.

She blushed. Had she had some kind of seizure? She knew of epilepsy. Strokes. Some kind of neural dysfunction. Perhaps a brain tumour. She would have to go to the hospital, get tested. Her heart fell. This was awful, to be afflicted suddenly, just as things had been going so well.

"I am sorry," she said. She was almost heartbroken. So close, and now this? Truly god was punishing her, this sudden affliction, so near to achieving her desire, it could only be judgment.

"Do you know what just happened to you?" the voice asked.

She nodded. Quickly, she went through the list of causes and effects, until she identified the most likely candidate.

"Brain tumour."

"No."

"No?"

"That was an orgasm."

She thought about it. It wasn't at all what she'd thought an orgasm would be. It was nothing like what her sister had seemed to experience before she was fixed. The literature was quite vague, but the few romance novels she had read suggested something more flowery and less... explosive. She wasn't going to rule out a brain tumour just yet. But she wanted to be polite.

"Oh," she replied. She stared at the liquid smear across the floor that had discharged from her body. That was concerning.

"Do you want more?"

"More what?" she hoped that they would say Orgasms. She wasn't sure that was really what it was. And if it was, it was sinful so she would have to say no. But she hoped they would insist.

"Never mind. We want you to touch yourself again. This time, you must go as slow as possible, until it happens again. Then you will put on your clothes and go home."

"Yes."

"You will tell no one about this," the voice said. "Or about us."

So there were definitely two of them at least. A thrill ran through her - maybe more than two!

"Yes."

"You will shave off all the hair between your legs."

"Yes."

She wasn't sure how to manage that. That seemed like excessive touching and that was forbidden. But then, it was an order. She resolved to try her best.

"We will contact you with further orders."

She almost wanted to shout for joy. Whatever test this was. Whatever interview or audition this had been, she had passed? They had accepted her. They would do all the things they promised to her.

She still had some small hope they would do them all right now. But she was patient, she could wait.

"Start touching yourself," the voice ordered. "Legs up on the chair, open wide. Touch your clit."

It was all she could do to maintain a neutral expression, and not grin, as she obeyed.

"And look at it, as you touch it. You need to watch it, to make sure you are doing it right."

There was a shiver of fear. Was there a wrong way to do it? What if she displeased them. She hoped that they would correct her if she made any mistakes.

But these misgivings faded away, as she stared at her swollen pink clitoris and dripping labia, and made circles of delight.

******

"Jesus," Ted said. "Jesus Christ, she was asking for it. She was spreading her pussy for us. We should have just walked in there and fucked her and popped those cherries."

“What if something went wrong?” Colin asked.

"So what, she was fucking gagging for it. We could have done anything to her. Fucking anything," Ted sneered.

"And then what?" Colin replied.

"And then what?" Ted was incredulous. "Dude, we could have had black virgin pussy tonight. You heard her. Virgin pussy! And virgin ass. We could have spent the whole night popping cherries. She doesn’t even know who we are."

"We could have fucking done anything, kidnapped her, chained her up in a basement somewhere..." Ted continued.

"Do you have a basement?" Colin asked.

"No, but that’s not the point. There were no limits. No matter what we did... we could have done it. No limits dude."

“She tracked us down twice,” Colin pointed out. “Once in person, once online.”

“Yeah, so...” Ted replied.

Colin rolled his eyes slightly, and grunted.

“I’ve heard of this one. She’s fucking smart. The word is she’s Nobel prize material. She’s special. We need to be careful, Colin said.

"Careful? Fuck, we’re just going to walk away? Man, if we were going to do that, you should have just let me pop her cherry, she was fucking begging for it."

"We’re not going to walk away," Colin told him. "I’m not going to walk away. But I want to do this carefully."

"Imagine, a fucking Nobel Prize candidate," Colin continued, "and if we do this right, she’ll spend the rest of her life on her knees in basements sucking cocks for a living."

"Bro, you can be fucking chilling," Ted said quietly.

"Thanks.

"No seriously, you’re fucking evil."

"Is that a problem?" Colin asked.

"I’m just impressed."

****

POSTSCRIPT: A long while ago, I wrote these stories about a girl named Barb, who fell under the control of two jerks at University, Colin and Ted, who made her do all sorts of sleazy and depraved things.

They thought they were in control, except that Barb was using them for her own perverse desires, pretending to be a sex slave, but rather contemptuous of them. As it turned out, they knew or realized Barb was using them, and used that to control her. In the end they won over Barb... Or so they thought. But once Barb was 'fully enslaved' she became voracious and demanding in her depravity, to the point that they were spending all their time and energy coming up with scenarios to humiliate and degrade her. So who really was in charge?

I was playing with the idea of Topping from the Bottom. The idea that the submissive was actually in control, and in a pain-in-the-Ass sort of way. And playing with who was really in control. Barb, Colin and Ted were all awful people, and it was fun.

Maybe I'll dig up those old stories and try and fix them up.

Anyway, as I was writing this and playing things out, it was like a background character in a Barb story noticed... And that lead to this story.

That can happen. You're writing a story, and you introduce this little throwaway character for a scene, or write them into a background. Then for some reason, they kind of become interesting to you, and you end up doing more with them.

In Kayley and Sam, in the dream sequence, there's a character named Mandeep - total throwaway, except I realized he'd shown up a couple of times before without really being named or described. He came out, did his scene with Kayley, and I fell in love... sort of.

Mandeep, for the record, is a tenured professor of Ancient Literature at a University, who also has a secret sideline (which is also the source of his money) as the foremost Tamil pornography writer, working heavily with S&M themes. Nominally quite pleasant, he conceals a deep hatred for white women, particularly young ones, and a talent for psychic deconstruction and destruction. Let's just say that through the course of Mandeep's career, he has met several brilliant young women who would have become Doctors and Lawyers, Engineers, Artists and Models, but who found themselves diverted into lives in the gutter, turning tricks and giving blow jobs. He's a monster. And I so absolutely want to write about him again. He may get involved with Kayley and Sam, or end up in his own story. It will be dark, nasty and psychological.

But sorry about the distraction. We're speaking of this story, and Lizbet, who was a supporting character in a scene, who somehow takes on a life of her own, to the point I wrote this for her.

Lizbet is a brilliant young woman, speaks a half dozen languages, advanced scholarships, genuinely a future Nobel Prize winner. But she's also incredibly traumatized and repressed, she's boiling with potent frustrated sexual desire that she can't ever act on. She wants it all so badly she can taste it, but her repression and upbringing means that she can't even look at porn for more than an instant. So when she notices Barb's antics and figures out what's going on, she suddenly sees a way...

Compared to her, Colin and Ted are about as smart as tree frogs. But they offer something. A pathway to sexual freedom, a work around for her repression.

I liked the idea of a sub who was just so much more brilliant and capable than her doms, that they had to struggle just to keep up.

Ultimately, I never did anything more with Lizbet. Maybe I should. She was a really interesting character study, and while Barb was just depraved, Lizbet's adventures of liberation through submission might be exciting.

Maybe partly, because she was too good for Colin and Ted, and I didn't really want them to put her where they wanted her to end up - all her limitless potential destroyed, and end up sucking cocks in basements for money.

Oddly, that might be the fate that Lizbet prefers. All her work and brilliance, never amounts to anything but work and hardship and unforgiving duty for her. It's a life that gives her no pleasure. A life of carnality, submission, degradations and orgasms might draw her.

Anyway, I found the old file mixed in with some other junk, so I thought I'd put it up. Maybe people might enjoy it. Maybe I'll come back to her again, someday.

POST-POSTCRIPT - This Friday or Saturday, the second of the three parts of THE CUCKOLDING comes out. Kayley gets officially penetrated and becomes property of her bull, Sam videos his emasculation, the loving couple must struggle with the fact that the sex is very real... the rest might be too.