FORWARD
Auspicious Beginnings
She was eighteen and just beginning college. Her dreams were large, full of hopes of a
position in a large law firm, perhaps as a paralegal. She didn’t see herself as a lawyer,
but an assistant to one. She liked helping people and, although she would not admit it to
anyone, she liked being told what to do. It gave her a sense of both peace and purpose.
Her name was Jocelyn Silvers. She had been raised in a progressive Jewish home, with
parents who loved her, yet she always felt as if her desires, her dreams were stifled
there. They wanted her to marry a lawyer or a doctor. She wanted to marry a powerful
man, a strong man with hands like iron on her arms, with a forceful kiss that took her
breath away.
She sighed, and the boy on top of her stopped pumping and looked down into her pert
face. “Are you okay?” he asked nervously. She restrained another sigh, and forced
herself to smile.
“Of course I’m alright; don’t stop!”
He resumed his vigorous but unskilled movement and she returned to her thoughts. They
were certainly more interesting than what was going on to her body. His meaty hands found
her breasts and squeezed them, kneading them as if they were dough. It was completely
without sensuality and actually turned her stomach. When he attempted to kiss her, she
managed to avoid his lips. She had heard that prostitutes would not kiss their johns, and
she now understood why. It was much too private a thing.
After what seemed an eternity, he grunted and collapsed on her, breathing heavily.
She felt almost violated, used … but somehow, that feeling was a good one. She liked the
idea of being used.
He rolled off of her and soon his breathing became light snores, leaving Jocelyn
staring at the ceiling, without orgasm yet dirty and finding that delicious.
She knew that she must be ill, if her fantasies were full of visions of old,
disgusting men on top of her, their mottled faces leering and making her cringe; powerful
men who casually alleviated their tensions on her willing flesh and then returned home to
their trophy wives; or – most delicious of all – to belong to a man, to have to do
everything he said, to be used and given to others at his whim. Frankly, to be his
slave.
She felt silly. Slavery, in this day and age? And to willingly give up her freedom
to another, to say that he had complete control over her, seemed so … medieval. Wrong.
But oh so, so delicious.
She rose from the bed, pulled on a big white T-shirt that fell to the top of her
muscular thighs. The window invited her, and she leaned forward, peering out at the
night. It was quiet at this hour; a school-night, and the stars were bright in the dark
sky, like little beacons towards her dreams.
It was funny; she didn’t really think much about her career, to tell the truth. She
just thought about her sexual partners and, maybe, a husband. She’d like to have a job
that paid well, something that allowed her to live comfortably, but things didn’t matter
as much as safety. Peace.
She looked over her shoulder at the lump asleep in her bed. He offered her nothing.
She padded over to the bed and pushed at him.
“Eh … what?”
“You need to go.”
“What?”
“My roommate’s coming back soon,” she lied. She knew that Corinne was spending the
night in her boyfriend’s room, but this loser didn’t know that. Right now, Jocelyn wanted
to be alone with her thoughts.
“Um … okay.”
He blearily dressed, then attempted to kiss her. She turned her head so that it fell
on her cheek. “Good night.”
He shrugged, his eyes hurt. “Tomorrow?” he suggested in the tone that meant he knew
she wouldn’t agree. She didn’t care. There was a coldness towards him, even though they
had just shared the most intimate of moments. She took no pleasure, no satisfaction in
the knowledge that her actions hurt him, but rather pitied him. That seemed worse,
somehow.
He moved towards the door. “Bye,” and it was so plaintive that she almost told him he
could stay. Almost. She let him leave, then moved back to the window.
Her imaginings began to take hold, and she dreamt …
She ran across the campus, hair flowing behind her, completely naked. Behind her were
three boys from a fraternity, all of them large and muscular. Although she was fleet,
they caught up with her at the shore of the lake that sat on the edge of the college
grounds. One tackled her, rolling to soften the blow, but ending up on top of her,
pinning her down. His handsome, young face grinned down at her.
“Gotcha,” he whispered, then leaned down to kiss her. Despite herself, she responded
to his fierce buss, her mouth seeking his hungrily, for she was starving for what they
offered. Still, her body struggled under his, her bare skin rasping against the fabric of
his shirt and his jeans. His sandy hair was long, longer than she would expect someone
like him to have. It brushed against her cheek as he pulled away.
“Hold her,” he told the other two. Her hands were restrained above her head by one,
one ankle by the other. She kicked with her free foot as he stood, but she didn’t
connect. He stood, looking down at her, and slowly unzipped his jeans. His warm brown
eyes never left hers.
Jocelyn swallowed, mouth dry. His large member was exposed, and then he dropped back
upon her body. She tried to keep her legs together, but it was futile. Between him and
the one holding her ankle, he pried her open.
Despite her fear and apprehension, she was sopping wet, so when he plunged into her
unprepared depths there was little pain at entry. Her body took over and she matched each
thrust with one of her own, her nether regions taking pleasure in the pounding it was
receiving. There was something very fulfilling about being used solely for his pleasure,
with him taking no concern for her or her needs. His pace was quick, driving, the
unskilled sexual ability of a youth. He came with an explosion of breath, then moved
aside for the next, switching positions with the fellow holding her foot after rearranging
himself.
The second was more brutal than the first, his hands grasping at her soft breast,
digging in, and she knew she would be bruised the next day. Despite the outrage at being
violated, she welcomed the marks. Honestly, there was little outrage, only pleasure in
the thoughtless use of her body. She felt desirable, so desirable, pleased that of all
the girls of the party she was the one who had been pursued. She was the one whose
clothes came off during the game of strip poker, and she was the one who made these three
so hungry for her that in their drunkenness they decided that they had to have her at any
cost. Vanity, certainly, but the selfish sensation was no less delightful for it.
She was brought back to her body when the boy atop her bit her lip, hard, hard enough
that she tasted blood. The pain alarmed her, and she struggled more honestly now,
although it was futile.
“Hurry up,” the third boy urged. “It’s my turn soon.”
The one atop her redoubled his pace, looking down at her. There was a savagery in his
eyes that swept her into them, and she felt an orgasm building. She half-wanted it,
half-didn’t. It was as if to enjoy what was happening to her was an acceptance of the
situation; it was a desiring of the situation.
She didn’t care.
She came, fiercely, and cried out. The two holding her snickered a little at that,
but the one fucking her ignored her paeans of pleasure, concerned only with himself. He
at last emptied himself into her, burning and hot, a flood of jism that added to that
which had been poured into her by the first.
The third was eager, so eager that he fairly leapt upon her body, almost driving her
into the ground. The grass pressed against her, cool and damp, and she welcomed his
entry. He slid in so easily, because she had been painfully stretched by the two who
preceded him, and because she was wet with their and her own juices.
He ground himself into her tender orifice, setting off little sparks of pleasure like
fireworks. She sighed, relaxing her body, no longer struggling. She lay there and
watched the stars in the deep sky as he had his way with her, relishing in the sensation
of helplessness that was brought to her by her hands above her head and her leg
restrained. Her breasts ached, and there was a soreness in her snatch brought on by the
rubbing of jeans and zippers against her. She didn’t care.
Finally, he finished and then she was released. All three stood there, looking down
at her as she lay spread-eagled on the grass, beneath the night sky.
“Damn,” one whispered.
The first boy smiled then, a crooked grin reminiscent of Harrison Ford’s cocky
expression. “You liked it,” he told her, almost accusatorily. “You liked it a lot.”
She wanted to deny it, but couldn’t. Her mouth opened slightly, as if she desired a
kiss, but she made no move to rise. The first laughed then, a harsh bark, and turned to
leave.
“We’ll have you again,” he called over his broad shoulder, while his companions filed
away with him. “When you don’t expect it, we’ll have you again.”
As she listened to their laugher and conversation fading into the evening, she moved
luxuriantly on the grass, every nerve of her body alight with pleasure.
“I hope so.”
Jocelyn broke from her dream with a start, leaning against the windowsill and
breathing hard. She had three orgasms during her reverie, and now her legs were sticky.
She drew in a shaking breath, and another.
Just dreams. They were just dreams that wouldn’t ever come true. Worse, they were
dreams of violence, of violation; how could she justify them?
Oh, but she could wish, couldn’t she?
And she did. She wished hard.
Once he was gone and from the room, she was left with a sense of emptiness and a vague
odor of sex. She sat upon her bed, arms resting on her knees braced on the floor, and
reached for the letter on the floor.
It was from her friend Nan, who lived in New York City. They had been closed in high
school, but didn’t really get to know each other well until they began to exchange letters
and emails. Nan seemed to prefer the old-fashioned method of pen to paper, and her
handwriting was smooth and delicate.
It was the contents that made the letters so precious to her. Nan lived a wild,
hedonistic life. She was a professional dominatrix and a regular at the Burning Souls
Club in the lower East Village. Although she spent her days punishing others to satisfy
their craving for release from responsibility, she was herself a submissive and went to
the club to be used.
Jocelyn lay back on the bed with her favorite part of the letter:
… So i went into the club on a leash held by Dominick. He had me strip at the door,
and i had to enter on all fours. There were people who, after securing His permission,
would slap my butt as i moved through the crowded club. There were others like me there,
serving slaves, sexual slaves, both male and female. Some were dressed beautifully and
others, like me, had no clothes at all.
He motioned, and a drink was brought to Him. He led me towards the back of the bar,
where the cries of the beaten could be heard over the rhythmic music. i felt a chill in
my stomach that was a combination of fear and anticipation. Oh, Joce, i had no idea of
what to expect. i guess that’s the most difficult part of being His, the fact that i can
ask no questions, only do what He tells me to do.
He approached the racks, and i shivered. No, not the racks. He delicately helped
me to rise, caressed my cheek and lay a soft kiss on my forehead.. i warmed with pleasure
while He removed the leash and left the collar on my throat. He raised my hands above my
head and affixed them into manacles that were attached to an eyehook. It was so high that
i had to stand tiptoe.
Then He pointed, and two women pulled my legs apart and manacled each ankle, and
attached them to strong eye-screws in the cement floor, creating a “V” with my legs,
exposing my sex and breasts for all to see.
And they did more than see. Dominick turned to the watching crowd, lifted my chin
with his finger, and announced, “This is my slave. Tonight, i feel generous. Her snatch
is open to any Master or Mistress who wishes their submissive to partake of the delicacies
within.”
Despite myself, i was wet immediately from His command. my mouth went dry, and my
eyes sought His desperately, pleadingly. He approached me, revealing a swatch of black
silk in His hands, which He affixed so that i could not see.
my breathing quickened as He stepped away and I hung there, open for all. my senses
seemed to heighten; i could smell people around me, their excitement, the sharp odor of
sudden sweat. Their breaths blew upon my skin, and light fingers touched my breasts.
“No,” Dominick’s voice cracked like thunder. “I have told you what may be done.
That is all.”
As always, He looked out for me. Still, i tensed when i felt the first small hands
on my thighs, the long nails caressing the flesh and raising goose bumps. A tongue
flicked out, lightly, and i shivered. There was the sound of flesh being struck, and then
my lower lips were parted and the unknown person began to lap at me. It was amazing. i
came within seconds, my body convulsing, crying out. All around me, i heard applause and
knew that i was on show.
Somehow, that didn’t upset me too terribly. There was a delicious languor about me,
as another pleasured me, then another. All in all, i had seven women taste me, and all
brought me to orgasm. Some were delicate and gentle, and others were rough and
passionate. But Joce, i’ve never been so satiated as i was at that time.
When Dominick took me home that evening, He took me so savagely, so fiercely, that i
knew that i had pleased Him. There’s such a peace in that…
Peace. Jocelyn sighed, holding the letter to her full chest. Peace. Would she ever
be lucky enough to experience the same peace her friend did? Or was Nan just lucky, able
to have everything that she sought in life, while other people had to be content with
sharing their juicy lives vicariously?
She thought back indifferently to the boy who had just recently been atop her, and
sighed. What she sought wasn’t going to be found in people like him. But where to find
it?
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