Chapter 24 Arlene Part 3
Preparations
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The text in this story contains erotic material and is expressly written for
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This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise
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Copyright 2003
****
After the usual blowjob, water sports, and two fucks we hurried back to the
office. I think everybody at the Manchester Union from the cleaning crew to the
publisher knew that David Smyth was screwing me every other Wednesday. Earlene,
the receptionist, always gave me this special smile when we returned on those
Wednesdays. It was sort of a, "I know what's oozing out of you twat, you trashy
whore" look. I'd just smiled back in a "At least I'm getting some cock you dried
up old maid" expression. Work is not always a nice place.
The relaxed, placid expression on David's normally stressed out kisser
broadcast the story to everyone. The knowing looks and off color comments of
David's water cooler buddies signaled that he was bragging to everyone that I
was whoring for him. I suppose if you going to act like a whore, you shouldn't
be too concerned when you're treated like one.
On the other hand, maybe I'm imagining all that. The Union's reporters aren't
dumb and they're trained to be observant. The simple fact that we both took a
two hour lunch every over Wednesday was a rather unmistakable clue.
I'd considered writing a magazine article with a working title of 'The Role of
Whores in the Modern Office". Keep in mind up until that day; my career at the
Manchester Union wasn't exactly on the fast track. If I could get something
published in a national magazine like Time or the Atlantic Monthly, I could
apply at the Boston Globe or even the NY Times. The basic thesis of my article
was that far from being a way to get a better job or a raise, most women slept
with their boss just to keep their job and avoid being hassled.
The image of the office whore is someone of limited ability or lack of work
ethic that gets ahead in the corporate world by spreading her legs for the boss.
I happened to know of a few females at the paper in my situation and they were
like me, fucking the boss to keep the paycheck coming. Surprisingly, two of them
were married and their husbands knew and didn't object. Let's face it. The
bottom line is that we all have to eat and if that means the wife goes down for
her manager, then that's all part of the corporate survival game.
Anyway, I returned that day with a whole new attitude. I had an interesting
new assignment that if I handled it right, the Manchester Union's management
just might think of me as something more than David's every other Wednesday
piece of ass.
If there was one thing my six months at the paper had taught me, it was
research. For the first three months my only job at the paper had been to check
facts and gather background material for the senior reporters. I decided to
start with learning all I could about the newly elected junior senator from the
sister state of Massachusetts. Of course, the Web was the place to start. I
entered "Candace Williams" in my favorite search engine and clicked the "Go"
button.
My primary hit was the Senator's official Web site. This was the one
maintained by her Washington congressional staff. Every member of Congress has
one, paid for by we taxpayers, "www.senator.c.williams.gov ".
Her home page showed Candace and retiring Senator Ted Kennedy at a downtown
Boston hotel. Fat little Teddy was shaking the newly elected senator's hand as
they both faced the cameras and smiled. The picture was from election night.
I wonder if Ted got a piece as I read the text of Candace's victory speech.
Ted had a reputation for fucking every woman he came in contact with. When I
studied pictures of the newly elected Senator, I came to appreciate how
incredibly beautiful she was. The Senator was drop dead gorgeous. She was tall
and blonde, straight even teeth and with a figure that appeared in perfect
proportion. She had those Christy Brinkley all American girl good looks usually
associated with the head cheerleader at UCLA. She was also rumored to be too
smart to belong to Mensa.
Candace had won her Senate seat by over seventy percent of the vote. Her
vanquished Republican opponent was one of those recently created high tech
millionaires whose main qualification was his ability to lavishly self-finance
his own campaign. In a Democratic state like Massachusetts, it wasn't surprising
that Candace had won but her margin of victory had been surprising. Nationwide,
Democrats had done poorly in a non-Presidential election year. Candace William's
election was one of the few bright spots for the Democratic Party. The
Republican Party's candidate was male, bright, handsome, and articulate. He had
been expected to do much better.
Arlene recalled a conversation she'd overheard between two of the Union's
senior political reporters. The previous night, they had driven down to Boston's
Faneuil Hall to attend a televised debate between Candace and her Republican
challenger, Mitchell Rockwell.
"I got to hand it to Williams, she chewed Mitch up and spat him out," said one
reporter.
"That thousand watt smile never left her face as she demolished every argument
he made," responded the other. "God, how does she recall all those facts and
figures?"
"And we're supposed to write that last night was a decisive victory for
Rockwell, who the fuck the Union's trying to kid. Anyone who watched TV last
night knows the truth."
"The editor's got a hard on for Williams."
"I got a hard on too, but for a different reason, every time she crossed her
legs up on the stage, I got a peek at the old crotch-a-rina. The legs on that
bitch, I'd give my left nut for a piece of that."
"So would every other registered male Democratic or Republican voter in New
England. I bet she gets ninety percent of the women's vote. They say the Lesbos
worship her. "
That was the kind of male chauvinist crap you heard all the time at the Union.
Women came in three formats: wives, whores, and lesbians. All three only existed
for one purpose, to serve the sexual needs of man.
The Web site provided the basic biographical data. Candace's father had passed
away ten years ago after operating a custom tailor shop in the heart of Boston's
financial district. Mother had passed away soon after Candace was born. Step mom
was also deceased. There were no brothers or sisters.
Senator seems to have no living relatives other than a husband and daughter. I
read on to discover that Candace had attended Salve Regina College, a Catholic
school in Newport Rhode Island and then gone to Georgetown in Washington to
receive a law degree. I noted that the Senator was a Phi Beta Kappa, graduated
Summa Cum Laude, and first in her law school class. She also scored the highest
grade on the Massachusetts Bar Exam the first time she took it. There was a
little note stating that Senator Williams was fluent in multiple languages.
There were a number of pictures of Senator Williams, her husband Dan who was
an executive at Raytheon Corporation and their daughter, Briana. Dan Williams
like his wife was well educated, MBA from Wharton School of Business, currently
CFO of the Raytheon Corporation. They were quite a handsome family. Why can't I
meet a guy like Dan Williams? The media referred to them as New England's
ultimate power couple.
I had to agree with the Union's cock hound reporters; Senator Williams was
gorgeous and sexy too. I mean movie star good looking with the kind of long
tapered legs that men go nuts over. Personally, I'd kill if my legs looked half
that good. And for a US senator, she didn't mind showing them. In many of the
pictures, her skirt length approached risque. Her hem wasn't quite short enough
to start tongues wagging but it did show the world that the Senator had a pair
of gorgeous gams. Boob-wise, she was okay there too. A nice side shot of her in
a cashmere sweater caused me to guess 34C or 34D. Unfortunately her bra size was
not found on her Web site.
The Web site contained statements of Senator Williams's position on the
burning issues of the day. Her stance tended to be well thought out middle of
the road. I could see why that pissed off the Manchester Union. They preferred
Senators with views to the far right of Rush Limbaugh.
The only thing that seemed odd about Senator Williams was her committee
memberships. She had been on the House Armed Services Committee and the
Intelligence Committee. Those were also the kind of prestigious committee
assignments that only went to the most senior members of Congress. Somehow
Williams had landed them without much of a problem. Now she was on the
corresponding Senate committees. Most of the females in Congress were on
committees involved with education, environment, housing, welfare, etc.
But Senator Williams specialized in the defense and intelligence arenas. In
fact, the site contained a number of pictures of her with senior military
officials and there were numerous photos of her visits to overseas bases. She
had been instrumental in shepherding some very large military procurement
contracts through Congress. The navy had a new carrier, the army a new armored
personnel carrier, and the air force a new fighter-bomber, all largely
attributed to the Senator's efforts.
My favorite military photo was of the Senator in a set of camouflage fatigues
standing with a Special Forces unit at Fort Bragg. The caption said that she had
participated in a day's training while visiting the base. Everyone in the
picture at first glance looked happy and was smiling. The solders were looking
at Senator Williams as she accepted a Special Forces cap and jacket from the
base commander. But when I studied the picture carefully and adjusted the screen
magnification, I got a different impression. It was if the five soldiers were
looking at the Senator with something that approached awe or fear. It was
probably just the way the camera caught the scene.
I finished with the official site, book marking it for future reference.
I took a quick look at the Web sites of the other female Senators. I'll be
kind and say they were handsome intelligent appearing women who didn't compare
in looks to the new senator from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. They were
also much older. Candace Williams barely met the Constitutional age requirement
for a US Senator.
Next, I performed a search for "fan sites". Every movie star and celebrity has
them. Not long ago, in doing some research, I discovered that Catherine
Zeta-Jones and Cameron Diaz fans had created thousands of Web sites devoted to
the worship of their celebrity. That was where I got a shock. My search was
limited to a maximum of 10,000 hits and in a matter of seconds I was there.
I remember thinking God there can't be more than 10,000 Candace Williams fan
Web sites. She's a politician not a movie star. I selected my favorite Web
crawler and entered more selective criteria in an attempt to weed out porn sites
and anything else that wasn't a true fan site. The result was the same. The
search maxed out at 10,000. I quickly compared the number of Williams' Web sites
to that of better-known female Senators. One of the California Senators had
eleven fan Web sites. Candace was way ahead of anyone else. I couldn't imagine
why she attracted that level of heroine worship.
I reviewed a small subset of the fan sites to get the flavor. They contained
the normal things you find in the disturbed monomaniacal world of the 'fan'. Why
I love Candace. Why she is so wonderful. Why I wish she were my mother, sister,
daughter, aunt, etc? There was every form of sickening heroine worshipping
bullshit from people who should get a life. I never quite understood what leads
a person to go to the trouble and expense of being a fan.
The number of Web sites created by young female fans was astounding. There was
more than a hint of lesbianism in many of them. I found one site supposedly
created by a fifteen-year-old Van Nuys, CA High School freshman named Tessa that
blew me away. Firstly, the design and graphics of the site made the Manchester
Unions look amateurish. Tessa had real talent as a Web designer. The site
contained multiple images of the Senator and Tessa that I assume were created by
someone expert in PhotoShop. I say this because I seriously doubt that Senator
Williams allowed anyone to take a picture of her making out with a naked Tessa.
Tessa's site contained an illustrated S&M fantasy story in which the Senator
clad in a leather cat suit picks up a young lonely high school dyke named
(surprise) Tessa in an LA gay club, takes her to a castle dungeon, whips the
shit out of her and then makes her a very willing sex slave. The drawing that
accompanied the story showed a very real talent. After I read the story, I
discovered a certain itch in my own crotch. I corrected the problem in my usual
way by masturbating in the handicapped stall of the Ladies Room.
I book marked Tessa's site and a few others and suspended my Web-based
research of fan sites. Looking at all of them would take a year. I had no idea
what to make of Senator Williams' Web fans.
On the prurient side of the Web, there were several Web sites that claimed to
have nude photos of the Senator. They were the usual products of photo editing,
the Senator's head on some porn star's body. Some of the fakes were competently
done but others would have only fooled the severely retarded. There were also
some shots where paparazzi had caught the Senator emerging from a limo. I
recalled that Diana, Princess of Wales, was like the Senator in that she wasn't
all that careful when she swung her legs out of the limo door. One shot was of a
smiling Candace reaching up to take her tuxedo clad husband's hand. It must have
been a formal occasion because Candace was wearing a cocktail dress slit up to
her hip. The slit had parted and there was an up skirt panty shot that certainly
rivaled any of the famous ones taken of Diana. The Senator doesn't mind giving
the crowd an occasional peak at the goods I concluded.
Strangely enough, I found several erotic stories sites that used the Senator
as a character. I guess that was normal. The newsgroup,
alt.sex.moderated.stories had a half dozen fictional stories where the Senator
engaged in every form of perverted sex with men, women, boys, girls, and large
dogs. I checked to see if there were similar stores about the female duo from
California, Senator's Boxer and Feinstein and got nothing. I did find, however,
an S&M story based on Representative Nancy Pelosi becoming the House Whip.
Apparently, the person who wrote the article flunked civics and didn't
understand the being the House Whip did not involve leather and cat-of-nine
tails.
I had to laugh when I saw my search referenced a Web site hosted by something
called the "Church of the Apocalypse". The minister of this church, a Brother
Saul, claimed that Satan controlled Senator Williams. The site went on to claim
that the Senator had engaged in sex with the devil on more than one occasion.
The site included a picture of Candace that was labeled "The Anti-Christ". The
world never lacks for crazies, does it?
I combed through numerous newspaper articles about the Senator's political
career. Her initial victory over Michael Harrington for his congressional seat
had raised eyebrows. The Boston Globe had referred to her victory as a "new day
dawns in Mass politics." Harrington was a classic Irish pol that was elected
more out of habit than conviction. Candace had come out of nowhere to crush
Harrington at the polls. Actually, he had given up before the election his
standing in the polls was so low.
The Globe was a Williams's supporter of the first order by the way. As far the
boys and girls on Morrissey Boulevard (the location of the Globe's headquarters)
were concerned, the Senator's shit didn't stink.
One thing I didn't find was any hint of scandal involving the Senator. She was
amazingly untainted by charges of corruption or wrongdoing. There was not a
single solitary mention of any association with the Pagan Motor Cycle Club or
the Amazons. I was beginning to think that David's initial suggestion was full
of shit but on further thought it was my only lead.
I took a break and archived the material that I had gleaned from the Internet.
It was after six when I finished organizing my Candace Williams file. Everyone
had gone home but I decided to keep working.
I sat down at my desk and did a text search through the Union Leader's
archives for any stores related to the Pagans Motorcycle Club. I went back ten
years. I was astounded at the number of Pagan related newspaper articles of drug
busts, rapes, murders, and shootouts with rival gangs. If rape, murder or mayhem
were mentioned, there was a good likelihood that the Pagans were in the story
somewhere. There was even an FBI report describing how the Pagans controlled the
market for crystal meth, PCP, and several other dangerous drugs in the US.
Some of the stories could be best described as atrocities. For example, I
learned why Pagans always carried pliers on their belts. Last year, some drunken
Pagans had encountered a family of Canadian tourists in an I-95 rest area near
Manchester. The end result was a father, mother, son, and two daughters missing
all their teeth. Mother and daughters were gang raped while the father and son
watched. The son was forced to have sex with his mother and the father to
deflower the younger daughter. Apparently forcing family members to commit
incest was high on the Pagans list of fun things since it happened in a number
of cases.
The Union Leader had some pictures in the archive file that were much too
graphic to publish. Several sent chills up my spine. There was the mother
wrapped in a blanket trying to comfort the two daughters. People look funny with
no teeth. The youngest daughter was twelve. Somehow the dirty minded reporter
had gotten hold of all the photographs the police had taken of the 'evidence'.
Apparently the Pagans are not averse to biting your nipples off when they rape
you. The twelve year old was missing one nipple. Her older sister and mom were
now among the nipple less. How you like to be a sixteen-year-old high school
girl with no teeth and no nipples?
"Thanks David," was my reaction. What was I supposed to do? I could just
picture little Arlene walking into a Pagan hangout, flashing my reporter's
identification and walking out with the dirt on Senator Williams. What I really
pictured was Arlene walking out with toothless, bleeding gums, no nipples, and a
stretched out pussy and asshole you could drive a Harley into.
I searched the archives for 'Amazons Motor Cycle Club' and got some hits. The
Amazons were definitely lower profile than the Pagans. There was one article
that was downright scary. Six years ago, some Amazons had quit the club and
formed a rival lesbian biker gang. A couple of park rangers had come upon a
scene from hell while backpacking in the White Mountains National Park. They
discovered seven women nailed to trees in a remote area reachable only by an old
logging road. Arlene read the quote from Ranger Avery Kendall.
"The women were tortured before they were killed. Their breasts and private
parts were mutilated. Eyes were gouged out. Firecrackers were inserted in their
ears, vagina, and anal cavities and ignited. One of the women was impaled alive
on a large stake. It was one of the cruelest, most vicious murders I've ever
encountered."
There was a follow up story stating that the murdered women had all been
identified as members of the motorcycle club that split off from the Amazons. At
that point, I was ready to walk over to David and tell him to find someone else,
preferably somebody who wanted to die in a horrible, painful fashion. But at the
last moment, I remembered my Aunt Carol.
Aunt Carol had been a Pagan girl and had the tattoos to prove it. She was my
mother's youngest sister by ten years. After a wild youth that included a stint
hooking on the mean streets of lower Manhattan, Aunt Carol had returned to New
Hampshire and met Chuck LeBeau, a bona fide member of the Pagan Motorcycle Club.
My mother had told me the story several times as a caution against wild youth.
Aunt Carol had become Chuck's girl and been initiated into the club. Seven
years ago, Chuck had managed to slide his bike under the rear tires of a
tractor-trailer heading in the opposite direction on State Route 33.
Subsequently, my widowed Aunt Carol had met and married a local building
contractor and changed her life's direction overnight. She was now the mother of
two girls. She and her family lived quietly in a suburb of Manchester. Aunt
Carol went from family hell raiser to someone who never missed a PTA meeting. If
Aunt Carol would help, I'd go undercover to check out Senator William's
connections to the Pagans and Amazons.
It was after nine so I headed home to feed my cat and eat a delicious Lean
Cuisine frozen entree prepared in my microwave.
The next morning as soon as I arrived at work I hurried over to talk it over
with David.
"I need to go undercover," I announced as soon as I got to his office.
"We already do that every other Wednesday," said David with a look on his face
indicating he thought his remark terribly witty.
"No, seriously, the Pagans don't talk to the press. I need to join the Pagans
and ride with them if I'm to get the story. I could learn how they and the
Senator are connected. There might be other good stories the paper could use.
The Pagans seem very newsworthy based on the archives."
I might also add that I had read Hunter Thompson's "Hell's Angels". That book
which detailed his experiences with the Oakland Hell's Angels. It had made Dr.
Thompson into a celebrity. I was beginning to see a path to fame and glory or at
the least, a way out of Manchester.
"Couldn't that be a little risky?" asked David.
"I have an aunt who used to ride with the Pagans. She gave it up years ago and
is a respectable housewife now. I could ask her to help me pass as a biker
girl."
"What do you tell them you do for a living?"
"Work in my dad's office as a Customer Service Representative. They have a
large staff of CSRs to handle calls. The supervisor is a friend and she'll cover
for me."
"Sounds like a plan, what do you need?"
"I'll need a Harley-Davidson motorcycle and some riding gear."
"The paper could lease you one. Management's anxious to get the goods on the
Senator. They believe she's going to run for President. I hear you can lease a
Harley. I guess we could expense the rest. Clyde asked me at the staff meeting
if we were making any progress on the Williams thing. He wasn't exactly thrilled
I gave it to you. If you could get something, it'd show I made the right call."
"Good, then you'll let me do it."
"Being a Pagan girl ain't exactly like going to Sunday school. It could get
rough."
"My Aunt will show me the ropes and how to stay out of trouble. Please, let me
do this." If I was wearing a skirt, I would have spread my legs to give David a
crotch shot to encourage a positive answer but I was clad in slacks.
"All right, but I expect you to keep me up to date on your progress. You'll
have to do your undercover work on nights and weekends. You can't let your other
work suffer."
Looking back on it, if only David had said 'no way', several people would be
alive who are now dead. I'd still be in Manchester writing obituaries and
looking for Mr. Right in the meat markets. Fuck Mr. Right. I'd settle for Mr.
Good Enough. But my fate took a vastly different direction with those two little
words, 'all right'.
When I got back to my desk, I gave Aunt Carol a call and asked to buy her
lunch. Next day, we met in a restaurant near her home. I explained to Aunt
Carol how I wanted to go undercover and join the Pagans. Aunt Carol was less
than enthusiastic at the start.
"This is not smart, Arlene. If they found out, there's no telling what they
would do. You would never be heard from again."
"As soon as I get my story, I'll quit. I'm talking at most a few months."
"Does Sara know about this?"
"Mother doesn't know and I don't want her to know. She'd freak out."
"She'd also never forgive me if she found out I helped you and something
happened. Sara and I only started to be friends again last year."
"I promise she'll never know a thing."
"I haven't been around the Pagans in eight or nine years. Things may have
changed."
"I just need you to help me look and act the part."
"I still have a few friends who used to ride with them. I suppose I could call
in some favors. You realize that women who hang with the Pagans are expected to
be sexually available."
"I know that. I can handle it."
"Are you sure? Chuck once ran out of gas and didn't have a cent. I had to suck
off a gas station attendant for three gallons of regular. Could you handle that,
being given away for five bucks work of gas?"
"Yes."
"I guess you're more like your Aunt than your mother. Also, you'll have to be
inked."
"Inked?"
"Tattooed, a lot of them. I'm having the last of mine burned off at the Laser
Center. It's painful getting them and it's painful removing them."
"I'll be as inked as I need to be."
"You'll need a motorcycle. Harley's aren't cheap."
"The paper's going to lease one for me."
"Can you ride a motorcycle?"
"I used to ride Ed's Vespa."
"You're going to need some lessons. I have a friend that may help. He owns
several Harley's but he doesn't ride with the Pagans anymore.
"That'd be great."
"We'll have to get you dressed to look the part. I wouldn't suppose you own
any jeans cut off so short your butt cheeks hang out."
"No, but that's easy enough to do."
"I know a place where we can get you some riding clothes, you'll need leather
halter tops and a vest or two."
"Bike, riding lessons, tattoos, clothes, anything else?"
"How are you at eating pussy?" said Aunt Carol.
I hadn't thought of that but Aunt Carol was probably right. Being around the
Pagans meant the Amazons were nearby. I was a slut but a strictly heterosexual
one.
"I've never done that before."
"How about multiple partners?"
"I'm afraid my sex life has been strictly one on one."
"That'll have to change if you ride with the Pagans and Amazons. Maybe you
should reconsider."
"You did things in groups?" I asked.
"Lots of times, for my initiation, twenty guys fucked me on top of a pool
table. After that, I rug munched with five of the Amazons."
"Wow, Was that the worst?"
"There is no worst when it comes to the Pagans. They'll be lots of gangbangs
and orgies. One of my worst was when Charlie made me suck and fuck a Rotweiler
named Carney on stage at the annual meeting. While Carney mounted me and was
fucking away, Charlie held the microphone to my mouth and made me bark like a
dog. Two hundred people watched me screw that dog. There must have been fifty
video cameras in the audience. Those types of things happen to all the Pagan
girls. It's comes with the territory."
I hadn't realized things went quite that far. But if I was every going to be
anything at the Union Leader other than David Smyth's every other Wednesday cum
receptacle, I was going to have to step up to the bar and use my ass to buy the
Pagans a drink. Pardon me for all the mixed metaphors. Mentally I was committed.
"All right, in for a penny, in for a pound," I said to my aunt that day to
show my determination.
Fortunately for me, Aunt Carol was still enough of a wild woman to think the
idea of me secretly infiltrating the Pagans and getting the dirt on Senator
Candace Williams was a challenge. Maybe she was vicariously reliving her wild
youth through me. Who knows? As it turned out, it would have been far better if
she had told me to forget it.
Aunt Carol and I went shopping early Saturday. I bought two leather
halter-tops that my tits practically fell out of. She picked out a small leather
vest that barely covered by chest. It had two small ties in the front.
"When you're at a meeting, you undo the ties and your boobs are available in
case any of the Pagans want a feel," was how Aunt Carol described my need for
this particular garment.
Helmut, jacket, leather pants, gloves, and boots were purchased. David had
agreed the Union Leader would reimburse me for what I bought. I cut off some old
jeans to make shorts. When I modeled them for Aunt Carol, she just shook her
head and held out her hand for the shorts. She shortened them to where the lower
half of my ass cheeks showed. In the front, she cut out the crotch to where you
could see the edges of my pussy. It was apparel designed for an exhibitionist.
"Pagan girls like to flash the honest citizens. Suppose you're at the food
court in the mall and you catch some teenagers eying you, you just spread your
legs so they can see your pussy. Embarrassing honest, church going folks is one
way the Pagans enjoy themselves," explained my aunt.
I realized this was going to take some getting used to. I may be a whore but
I'm a modest one that prefers her sex private without a crowd watching. That was
going to have to change.
"By the way, Pagan girls don't wear panties, that's a rule," advised Aunt
Carol. "So when you wear cutoffs your pussy is going to show."
The morning ended in Keane, NH with me lying on a table in what used to be
called a tattoo parlor. This place had the ridiculously long name, "Earl L.
Cody's Emporium of Skin Art." A hulk of a man called Earl with tattoos covering
every visible inch of his skin inked a strand of barbwire circling my bicep, a
Harley Davidson shield with their famous motto on my shoulder and a coiled
rattlesnake below my navel in my pubic area. My Aunt had made me shave my delta
so the rattlers could end right above my clitoris. I lay there on the table
stark naked pretending Earl was a doctor. Earl and Aunt Carol knew each other
and reminisced about the good old days when they rode with the Pagans. They kept
recalling happenings where one or more Pagans died. The stories always involved
a mixture of alcohol, drugs, guns, rival gangs, collisions with semi-trailers
and other fun things. I found myself wondering if Earl was one of the twenty who
initiated Aunt Carol into the mysteries of the club.
I spent a good deal of time clenching and unclenching my hands in pain.
Getting skin art hurts like hell, especially when that needle is less than an
inch from your love button.
When that particular agony was over, Aunt Carol and I had lunch at my
apartment. A week later after my tattoos had healed, she had me dress in one of
my Pagan outfits and we drove north out of Manchester on I-93. We exited the
Interstate in the middle of nowhere. After twenty minutes on the state road,
Aunt Carol had me turn off on side road clearly labeled "Private Residence,
Trespassers Will Be Shot." The side road ended in front of a log home and
several sheds and outbuildings.
"Stay in the car until Tater get the dogs," said my Aunt. There were two
Doberman Pinchers waiting quietly beside the car. Each looked hopeful that we
were dumb enough to get out and provide them with an early afternoon snack.
It was only a minute before a very tall and large individual with an automatic
shotgun appeared. He yelled something at the dogs and they retreated to one of
the sheds, obviously disappointed at not being able to sample a little Arlene
and Aunt Carol tartare. Two other men appeared carrying automatic weapons. Tater
yelled to them that everything was all right and they disappeared back into
wherever they were hiding.
"Tater, this is my niece, Arlene."
"Hi Arlene, Carol says you want to learn to ride a hog," said Tater reaching
forward to grab my hand in his oversized mitt and bestow a kiss like he was a
member of the French aristocracy.
I replied in the affirmative. Tater was eyeing my body appreciatively. I was
wearing a leather halter-top and a pair of the shorts that Aunt Carol had cut
off. Basically my butt was hanging out and if I didn't watch it, my crotch
showed when I crossed my legs. I kept reminding myself that I was more covered
than when I wore my bikini to the water park. Of course, the water park is not
populated with vicious looking guard dogs and automatic weapon toting goons. I
smiled at Tater and thanked him in advance for my ridding lesson.
"I got an old beat up bike that you can practice on," said Tater. We went over
to one of the sheds where Tater put me on a Harley that had been crashed a few
times. He provided my Aunt a better bike and for himself, a gleaming new one.
After he demonstrated the controls, the three of us slowly rode out behind the
house onto a flat area hacked out of the New Hampshire woods. Someone had
created a small airstrip right there in the forest. A large bulldozer rested
under a camouflage tarp in a clump of nearby trees.
For the next three hours, Tater and I rode at increasing speeds around the
perimeter of the flattened area. I didn't kill myself but I came awfully close
several times. It was sort of like my brother's Vespa on steroids. It was
powerful and fast. And yes, I did find myself getting worked up feeling that
mechanical beast vibrating against my cunt. It certainly beat leaning on the
washing machine in the spin cycle.
By the time it was getting dark, I had mastered at least the basics. I was
even jumping the bike over a small incline. That was fun.
"Let's go back and get a beer," announced Tater after I had completed a
high-speed circuit of the flat area that I surmised was a landing field. I
pictured a small plane arriving in the dark ready to unload a ton of marijuana.
My Aunt had already cautioned me not to ask any questions and to forget
everything I saw that day.
We put the bikes in the shed then walked to the back of the house where there
was a concrete pad and a set of wooden patio furniture. Tater yelled something
into the house and a wiry woman I hadn't seen before brought out three bottles
of beer. Myrna was wearing cutoffs and a leather halter-top. I have guessed
Myrna's age as close to mine, maybe younger. She had cold black straight hair,
pierced ears, eyebrows, nose, tongue and lip. I've never quite understood why a
human being thinks having a safety pin in your eyebrow is attractive. Myrna
didn't lack for tattoos either.
"Myrna, meet Arlene and Carol. Carol and I used to ride together in the old
days."
We all said hello and Myrna disappeared back into the house. The three of us
were seated in cushioned lounge chairs surrounded by citron torches. I was sore
and tired. It had been a long day and I figured that Aunt Carol and I would be
polite, consume one beer and leave. I decided to thank Tater for the lessons.
"I really appreciate all the trouble you went to this afternoon." I stated in
my sincerest voice.
"Come on over here and show me how much," replied Tater as he unzipped his
pants and pulled out his cock.
Before I could blurt out a word, Aunt Carol put her hand on my arm to stop me.
Then she spoke.
"I told Tater that you'd fuck them in payment for the riding lesson."
I should have been smart enough to realize this was coming. Aunt Carol said
that Pagan girls didn't have limits when it came to sex. She'd got me clothed,
tattooed and taught to ride. Learning to be gang banged was the next logical
step. She did say 'fuck him'. She said 'fuck them."
I hesitantly stood up and took a few steps toward the seated Tater. He was
leisurely stroking his cock. All of a sudden I decided I just couldn't go
through with it. We all have our quirks and mine had to do with privacy. Sure, I
was a shit eating, piss guzzling, and fuck for the boss whore but I didn't do
those things in front of a crowd. Or at least I hadn't up to that point. I had
my limits.
"I'm sorry but I need some privacy. Could we go into your bedroom?"
"Shit no, watching is all part of the fun," replied Tater. "We're even going
to video your first gang bang."
"I just can't do this with people watching."
"Tater, Arlene needs some encouragement," said Aunt Carol. "Make her."
Tater may have been a big man but he could move fast. Quicker than I could
blink, he was up and off that chair and had sunk a fist in my mid section that
emptied every molecule of air from my lungs. I doubled over and fell to my
knees, desperate to replenish my air supply. Before I could replace any of the
missing oxygen, Tater grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled me to a standing
position. I felt hair strands separating from my scalp. Keeping a firm grip on
my dyed blonde tresses, he reached inside the leather bra top and took a firm
hold on my nipple and twisted it.
I had finally gotten enough air to express myself. My scream echoed off the
surrounding hillsides. It was a long plaintive wail, communicating the fact that
my body was racked with pain, especially the nipple that Tater was about to rip
off the end of my tit.
"You like pain, Arlene?" asked Tater with a smile on his face that I read to
mean he liked it, giving it that is."
"No, please stop." I was begging. My eyes were full of tears. Pain is
definitely the most controlling of human experiences. Tater was ripping my hair
out by the roots and lifting me off the ground by one nipple. He was in control.
"Are you ready to perform in a crowd?"
"Yes," I replied and I meant it.
"You'd suck my cock on the pitcher's mound at Fenway Park when the Red Sox
play the Yankees?"
"Yes, anything just let me go."
"Okay, let's see what you can do, get naked."
Tater released me and my hands immediately went to my hair to make sure he had
not snatched me bald and my breast to confirm that there was still a nipple.
Tater sat back down in the chair and gave me a 'get started' look. I pushed the
jeans shorts down and removed the halter-top. I guess that Pagan girls dress
that way to allow them to get naked with a minimum of fuss. Drop the shorts and
toss the leather bra and you are one hundred percent stripped for action.
" I felt to my knees, placed my hands on top of Tater's thighs and licked the
tip of his prick. I've sucked my share of cock. The part I had to get used to
was having an audience. I blanked out the fact that Aunt Carol was sitting about
three feet away. I settled down and applied the cock sucking techniques I had
been honing since I was fourteen.
"She's a fine little dick sucker," I heard Tater say to Aunt Carol, "She
reminds me of you in your younger days, she's got that long muscular tongue that
wraps around your prick like a wet anaconda."
"I do see something of myself in the way she sucks it. Is the rest of your
crew going to join us? Arlene needs to be gang fucked," asked Aunt Carol.
"We have to leave one on guard but Myrna went to fetch the other guys."
I was on my knees sucking Tater's cock when I heard the sound of the patio
door opening and people walking onto to the patio.
"How is she, Tater?" I heard a male voice say.
"She's good, but of course, this is the first peter been in her yap tonight.
We'll see how she holds up after all you boys had dipped your love muscle in her
pretty mouth. Arlene, say hello to the boys."
I turned around to see how many love muscles I would be dealing with. There
were six young males standing behind me. With Tater, I was dealing with seven
males, a number I considered manageable when I heard Myrna pipe up.
"Eating pussy's more work that sucking cock. I want her to eat me out."
"How about you, Carol, you going to let Arlene munch your rug?"
"I wasn't going to, what with it being incest, Arlene is my niece and all but
I changed my mind. Myrna, what do you say we have some fun together while the
men entertain Arlene. I feel like eating some pussy."
"Sure, honey, let's do it." I heard Myrna reply. My peripheral vision picked
up Myrna walking over to a lounger, removing her jeans and top then lying down
and starting to run her fingers over her cunt. Aunt Carol had apparently
undressed behind me. A naked Aunt Carol, who in spite of her forty years still
had a good figure walked calmly over, kneeled on the bottom of the lounger and
began to lick Myrna's cunt. I guess you can take the girl of out of the Pagans
but not the Pagan out of the girl.
"That's it Carol, lick that hairy hole," said Myrna as she put her hands on
the back of my Aunt's head and pulled her face closer to her hole. I might add
Myrna's hole was adorned with three pairs of labia rings and another center ring
that went right through her clit (ouch, double ouch). How Myrna got through an
airport metal detector was beyond me. Maybe the TSA took her into a room and
stripped her. She'd didn't look like she would mind.
I felt movement immediately behind me. Someone had thrown a chair cushion on
the deck at my feet. I felt male hands grab by waist and position me. In a
matter of moments, I grunted as a good size cock slide into my cunt. The man was
well hung and apparently horny as hell because he fucked me for maybe thirty
seconds then pumped a load of semen inside me. Giving head while being fucked
was a first for me. It was busy but good. You feel invaded twice over.
Aunt Carol had warned me that nothing was considered more un-Pagan than
condoms.
"If you get the clap or syphilis, you'll just have to go to the doctor and get
cured."
"How about AIDS?"
"There's no cure for that, you'll die. Pagans believe in taking risks."
"Why don't they use condoms?"
"It's against the Pagan ethos of living free."
The cocks in my mouth and cunt weren't clad in latex. When Tater shot off, he
held my head and spoke, encouraging me to be neat.
"You spill a drop and I'll take a belt to your ass."
I'd been swallowing boy paste since I was fourteen so that wasn't a problem.
As soon as Tater and the man at my rear finished, the next two replaced them. I
have to admit that when you're given no choice, you might as well relax and
enjoy it. Aunt Carol and Myrna were having a good time. I could hear my Aunt's
mouth working on Myrna's cunt.
Myrna, in a display of yoga like flexibility, had bent her legs back to the
point that her feet were past her head, causing her butt to point directly up in
the air. Tater walked over and assisted Myrna by grabbing her ankles and pulling
them downward to where she could kiss her own knees. I surmised that Myrna like
me also practiced Hatha Yoga.
Tater straddled Myrna and lowered himself to where she could take his cock in
her mouth. Myrna was bent in the shape of a Bobbie pin. Aunt Carol's mouth was
busily licking Myrna's pussy and asshole. Every one in a while, Tater would
switch his cock from Myrna's mouth to Aunt Carol's.
I have to say that once I got over my initial fears, I was enjoying the sex. I
had two firm cocks inside my body. The guy I was blowing was lying back in the
lounger letting me do all the work. I was doing his balls and cock. He was
flexible enough that he could raise his legs to let allow me access to his butt
hole. I prefer to provide oral sex in a definite pattern.
To start, I like to suck a guy hard using only my mouth. The only physical
contact he has is my warm mouth sliding up and down his cock while my tongue
alternates between his piss hole and licking the ridge of skin on its underside.
A couple of times, I'll force the cock head into the opening of my throat. I
mastered the art of suppressing the gag reflex when I was fifteen and my brother
showed me a copy of Linda Lovelace's performance in "Deep Throat." At the time,
I told myself if Linda could do that so can I.
After they're hard, I switch my mouth to their balls, taking them in my mouth
one at a time and gently sucking them. My hand strokes their dick to keep it
hard while I mouth massage their nuts. If the angle is right, I work my mouth
down past their balls to their shit hole. Many girls consider eating butt too
nasty or perverted but I love the feeling you get when you force open that tight
brown hole and slip your tongue inside. Guys are crazy about that. Once you got
their anus wet and loosened up, you keep a finger or two deep inside as you go
back to cock sucking and massaging their gonads. It can get busy finger fucking
their butt, rubbing their nuts and trying to nose breathe with a cock in your
esophagus but the guys really enjoy it and my routine has received numerous
complements.
"She's good," said the guy I was blowing that night on the patio. I never got
his name.
"Nice tight pussy, too, she really gives you a squeeze, she must be a pro,"
said the guy fucking me. His name was an unknown also. He thought I was a
prostitute. I suppose I should take that as a compliment.
The three of us had gotten into a rhythm. The fellow in my cunt was delivering
long powerful strokes, pulling back to the opening of my vagina then sliding
forward to where his balls slapped against my pussy lips. My front side
companion was starting to breathe faster and heavier, a sure sign that the load
of sperm residing in his nuts was planning an imminent escape. There's nothing
quite like feeling your mouth fill with cum for the second time in ten minutes.
I love the noises guys make when they get off. I remember what the guy in my
mouth shouted when he filled it.
"Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh fuck."
It wasn't exactly Shakespearean but it conveyed his approval of my efforts.
The guy in my cunt finished a minute later and before I could say, "Was it good
for you?" The third pair mounted me.
I suspect being willing to fuck in public is sort of like going to a nudist
colony for the first time. Initially, you're reluctant but once you step out and
let everyone see, it's no big deal.
I heard Tater bark out an order.
"Lenny, go in the kitchen and get a can of Crisco. I got a yin to see some
lesbo fist fucking."
Tater having reacquired an erection had mounted Aunt Carol from the rear and
was slowly pounding away. My Aunt's mouth was busily munching Myrna's rug while
Tater was fucking her doggie style.
"You'll still tight, Carol honey." I heard Tater say.
"And I still love the way you fuck me," replied my Aunt who was obviously
getting off at the compound sex.
The guy fucking me from the rear had started working a wet finger in my
asshole. I felt some type of lubricant being applied and in a moment there was a
second slick finger inside my rectum. He was loosening me up, stretching me out.
It was an easy guess why.
Over the years, I'd had anal intercourse. I couldn't say I prefer it but it
wasn't bad especially if you had a few drinks and the guy took it easy and let
you get used to having something that big up your ass. I had relaxed and was
getting my head into being double penetrated. I was squeezing the cock of the
guy in my pussy as I made love to the hard cock in mouth. I can always tell when
I get aroused because I start grunting each time the guy slams it home. The guy
in my cunt was well endowed and I could feel it bottoming out deep inside my
female parts.
Some men enjoy sex more when they can cause their female partner pain. The guy
fucking me from the rear was one of those. He gave me a couple of powerful swats
on my rear. I yelped and that encouraged him to deliver two more. Then he
reached under me and grabbed a nipple and twisted it. I yelled, "Stop, that
hurts." He took that as encouragement and twisted harder. It's hard to
concentrate on sucking a cock when someone's trying to take your nipple through
a three hundred and sixty degree turn. I squeezed his cock with my pussy hopping
to distract him but that didn't work. Finally the guy with his cock in my mouth
gave me a hand.
"Ease up, Ray, she can't suck properly while you're playing with her."
Ray did ease up "playing" with me for now. Later, Ray was to get his chance
for a one on one. I left Tater's with the marks to show for it.
I took a brief look to my right where Aunt Carol was slowly working handfuls
of Crisco into Myrna's cunt and asshole. Fisting in my mind was a gay/lesbian
thing. I'd never had sex with another woman although one night in the dorm when
I was a freshman I watched two drunken coeds eat each other out. I was too
intoxicated to join them or I probably would have engaged in a rug munch. Myra's
squeals caused me to look over at her and Aunt Carol.
"Oh I love that feeling, do it deep and slow." Myrna was twisting her body
from side to side. Aunt Carol had managed to get a latex gloved hand inside
Myrna's vagina. I could see Myrna's vagina gripping my aunt's wrist.
"Tickle her ovaries," said Tater who had returned to holding Myrna's legs out
wide and bent over her head.
"Look at that. Her hand is inside that pussy. Now do her ass," exclaimed
Tater.
"People get off on different things and Tater's thing was seeing a woman
stick her hand in side another woman's vagina and rectum. I'd never seen anybody
fisted and wondered how it felt. I was to find out shortly. Myra was taking deep
breaths as Aunt Carol worked her other hand inside her ass. Crisco was
everywhere. Tater's head was definitely into what my Aunt was doing inside
Myrna's rectum.
"I see two fingers, give me three." A minute later, he yelled.
"Three fingers in her shitter, Myrna you can take it, go for four." I heard
Myrna breathe deeply then Tater exclaimed.
"Four fingers. Look at the size of that butt hole, slip your thumb in." There
were more long breaths from Myrna then I heard Aunt Carol say, "I'm in all the
way."
"Hold it there. I'm going to get the camera," said Tater taking his cock out
of my Aunt's cunt and dashing into the house.
I concentrated on the two cocks I was working on. I noted that the four other
men I had already fucked besides Tater hadn't gone anywhere. They were lounging
around drinking beer and stroking their cocks. I wasn't done not by a long shot.
This was a play that definitely had a second act and maybe a third.
Tater came hurrying back with a video camera. Tater started to film my Aunt
fist fucking Myrna. I wondered at the time if Aunt Carol wasn't worried that the
video would fall into the wrong hands. I can't imagine how it would be if one of
her two girls came home and said, "This boy showed me a picture of you with your
hand inside another's woman's pussy." Later, she explained it this way.
"It's just a risk you take. I've known Pagan girls who wound up on those
amateur videotapes being sold in stores. Being a Pagan is about taking it to the
limits and daring fate. You go at life as fast and hard as you can. Something
eventually kills you: drugs, alcohol, the law, STD's, anything but old age.
Pagans don't plan to die in bed anyway. After you've been with them a while,
you'll understand that."
"Give me a big smile, Myrna," directed Tater as he aimed the camera toward
Myrna's face.
I later learned that Pagans are into video capture of just about anything they
considered interesting. I recalled that one of my newspaper articles mentioned
that three Pagans were convicted of rape and sodomy because when they were
arrested, they were found with a camcorder loaded with evidence. It's difficult
to get an innocent verdict when you provide a film of you committing the crime.
Before my stint with the Pagans was over, there were several hours of video of
little Arlene committing crimes against nature.
"Look at that, up to her elbows in both holes," I heard Tater say. I looked
over to confirm it was true. Aunt Carol hands and forearms were inside Myrna's
pussy and ass. It looked bizarre. Myrna was letting out these little mewling
sounds. I could see sweat glistening off Myrna's tits.
"Oh God, I love feeling this full," moaned Myrna.
"Now give her ten power strokes. Ray, you hold her. I want to hear her
scream," said Tater.
I looked over to see that Ray had pulled Myrna's legs in a V shape and
backwards until her butt pointed toward the sky. My Aunt was kneeling on the
lounger her arms inside Myrna's holes.
"One," yelled Tater the auteur. My Aunt had drawn her arms out to where just
her fist was just inside Myrna's holes. When Tater yelled the number, Aunt Carol
punched forward delivering a quick shove that buried both arms to her elbows.
Myrna screamed in pain. And I mean it was a loud, bounce off the surrounding
hills, shriek of animal pain.
"Did you see her face when Carol hit bottom? That was great, Two," said Tater.
Another full thrust and Myrna screamed again.
Pagans and former Pagans get a hardon when they hear the sound of a human in
pain. All seven of this crowd had come in either my mouth or my pussy and they
were ready for the other hole. They pulled me up on the lounger onto my back and
bent me double. One of the guys with a large hard cock positioned his cock at my
brown hole and pushed slightly to open me up. I was already lubricated but only
fingers had been inside my ass at this point.
"Watch her take it," said whoever the hell it was with the big cock poised
inside by butt hole.
"Take it easy at first until I get used to it." I said wasting my breath.
At that moment, he went in all the way to his balls. Now, every guide to anal
sex talks about enemas, lubrication, and taking it nice and slow to start with.
Of those three, I only had lubrication and that was mostly spit. The feeling of
a large cock being rammed up your unprepared ass is agonizing. I tried to raise
myself up to push him off and get that thing that felt like a red hot poker out
of my ass; but two hands grabbed my shoulders and held me down.
"Easy, easy, you're hurting me," I begged, "it hurts, take it out for a
minute."
"Sure, bitch, does this feel better?" At that point, he pulled it back then
plunged it in again. I tried to twist away. My guts were one fire for I would
say the first ten times he fucked my ass. After that it slowly got better. After
he unloaded inside my ass, it didn't take five seconds for another cock to
invade my poop chute. The pain had taken a lot out of me. I just lay there
grunting as all six of them fucked my asshole. The last guy was the mean one. He
turned me over on my back, put my legs on his shoulders and shoved it inside my
sore rectum.
I felt his thumbs enter my mouth and pull it wide to the point that my lips
would split. Then he leaned close to my open mouth and slowly released a gob of
chewing tobacco spit between my lips.
"Swallow it," he whispered.
"I thought about spitting it in his face. Luckily I decided that was a bad
idea and gulped it down. Swallowing someone else's spit is one of the most
degrading and sickening things you can do. It makes you feel less than human. As
soon as I did that, he began to bite my tits. He'd grab a nipple in his teeth
and crush it. I'd scream and he'd bite down harder. He'd take my areola, suck
that into a point and chomp down. I was screaming my lungs out. He eased up
after I heard Tater say, "Take it easy Ernie, nothing permanent, she's company."
When Ernie finished in my ass, he climbed up on top of me and pushed his
shit-covered cock between my lips. Since I hadn't been properly cleaned out, my
ass was leaking cum and shit.
"Lick it clean," Ernie commanded.
If I didn't, they find some way to make me, so I raised my head and used my
tongue to clean all my shit off his dick.
After that they carried me over and laid me down on the picnic table. One guy
got under me. I was on my back on top of him. He slipped his cock into my ass.
Another entered my vagina from the front while a third held my head and fucked
my mouth. It was brutal, mean, triple penetration. I saw Tater standing nearby
capturing the entire gangbang on video. I recall thinking it would be something
to show my grandchildren not that I'll ever have any. After those three, there
was a second threesome. I was too exhausted and hurting to care what happened.
You reach a point where you just do what they say and hope it will soon be over.
"You girls can have her now," I heard Tater say.
I found my face being straddled by Myrna's pussy.
"Get to licking, honey" was all she said. I raised my head and licked her
dirty hole. It smelled of Crisco, piss and sperm. I guess somebody had dumped a
load in Myrna sometime during the evening. There was certainly enough cock
around to get the job done. I licked slowly trying to get into lesbian sex. For
the first time in hours, no one was hurting me. I felt a hand rub some type of
grease into the opening of my pussy.
"She's already so open, I'll get in without a lot of effort," said my Aunt. I
realized that fisting was on also my dance card at that point. I opened my eyes
to see Tater's camera was less than a foot from my face as he filmed me munching
Myrna's rug.
"Give her a little squirt, Myrna," said Tater, "Open wide and swallow,
Arlene."
I did as I was told and got my first mouthful of girl pee. You reach a point
in a gangbang where you just go with it. You don't have a will. My Aunt was
stroking my clit as she worked her hand inside my vagina. I was starting to feel
a lot of pressure as she slowly increased the number of fingers inside my
vagina. As my vagina filled, Aunt Carol went to work on my asshole. I lay there
listening to their conversation.
"The boys loosened her ass up too," said my Aunt.
"Pull your hand out of her ass. I want a close up of her gaped open butt,"
said Tater.
"You get that?"
"Sure did, looks like a superhighway. They practically turned her inside out."
"Pussy's open too,"
"Yea, I already got that."
"I'm going in deep."
I felt hands moving slowly up my bowels and birth canal at the same time. I
remember thinking that I would never again be able to take a normal shit or have
a baby.
"Elbow deep," I heard my Aunt say. It was a weird feeling. There was a lot of
pressure. I felt my Aunt twist her hand back and forth.
"Give her a couple of power fucks so she knows what its like."
Myrna grabbed my ankles and held them. I felt my Aunt slowly retract her fists
until they were just inside my openings.
"Now," whispered Tater.
I saw stars as two fists punched deep inside my body. The one in my vagina
slammed into something solid like my uterus, womb, or other organ, slid off and
went deeper. I opened my mouth and let out a plaintive wail of agony. It trailed
off in time for a second hard fist thrust that caused me to pass out.
"Make her yell again," directed Tater as he aimed the camera at my face. That
was the last thing I heard.
When I woke up, I was laid out in the back seat of my car. Aunt Carol was
driving back to Manchester. I had an awful taste in my mouth and was dying of
thirst.
"Hand me that bottle of water," I said to my Aunt.
"Good you're awake. Do you need to go to the emergency room?" asked Aunt Carol
as she handed me a bottle of Poland Springs that was lying on the console.
"No, I'm okay, just sore." I wasn't really sure that my insides hadn't been
turned to mush but I didn't feel like anything was truly broken.
"I hated to do that, Arlene, but you needed to know what being a Pagan girl
was like. Being brutally gang raped is part of it. Things like that will happen
to you more than once. Now that you've seen, do you want to call it off?"
"No, I'm okay."
"Well, I guess you're tougher enough to be a Pagan girl. Speaking from
experience, I'm not sure that's a good thing," said Aunt Carol.
It was later after I'd used a whole package of Summer's Eve attempting to get
the Crisco out of my pussy that I had time to reflect on the day's events. Aunt
Carol had left after I declined her offer to give me an enema and douche to
remove all the non-hydrogenated fat that was packed inside my holes. I felt
like enough people had been working my holes that day and I needed a little
privacy to reflect.
Aunt Carol gave me the impression that in spite of her concerns about me she
had enjoyed the sex at Taters. I guess life in suburbia does get kind of dull if
you're used to being a biker slut. I didn't think Aunt Carol wanted to go back
to her old life permanently; however she hadn't minded an afternoon revisiting
her wild side. Tater and a couple of his crew plus Myrna had screwed Aunt Carol
and she had the relaxed look of the well fucked when she said goodbye.
It had been a day of firsts. I had my first ride on a Harley-Davidson
motorcycle and I could see why it symbolized the outlaw biker. They were sleek
and powerful and just riding one made you horny. I couldn't wait for the paper
to lease mine.
I had pulled my first train. I'd come close in college to participating in a
gangbang but lost my nerve at the last minute. It was at an ATO fraternity party
my junior year. Several of the girls from my dorm were invited. There was a girl
who lived on the same floor named Cassidy that I didn't know that well. Cassidy
gave the impression that she was shy, reserved, and not much of a party girl.
That was before she had a drink. We'd been there about two hours dancing and
drinking when Cassidy hopped up on a table and proceeded to take all her clothes
off. After that, she announced to all present that she wanted to pull a train. A
group of the frat boys took her upstairs and proceeded to fulfill her request.
I wondered up and looked in the room where Cassidy was riding one guy while
sucking off another. A guy I'd been dancing with asked me if I wanted to join
Cassidy pointing out it was a queen size bed and there was room for another
girl. I came close to saying yes. But at the last moment, I asked the guy to
take me somewhere private where just the two of us could fuck. He accepted that
(why am I not surprised?) and I spent the whole weekend in his room screwing.
Still I could recall being turned on watching Cassidy get gangbanged.
I'd also for the first time engaged in lesbian sex. I'd eaten Myrna and Aunt
Carol and they'd munched my rug. That was something I would later really get
into. Today, here at the Palace of Sin, I'd definitely classify myself as
bi-sexual.
And of course, there was being fist fucked in both holes. Frankly, I was so
sore that was something I was not anxious to repeat. Later under more gentle
circumstances. I learned to appreciate the pleasure of having a loving female's
fist and arm buried in my plumbing.
It was also later I came to understand how sex with the Pagans was different
from the kind of sex I was used to. Outside of David, the men I was dating and
screwing were pretty average guys. They were actually concerned that I orgasmed.
I don't mean to say they lost any sleep if I did not hit the big "O" but they
expressed an interest. It was part of their game plan.
But Pagans put it in the hole of their choice and fuck you until they shoot.
They could care less if you get off. But if they don't, that's a good excuse to
slap you around or grab your nipple in their pliers and make you scream. Sex
with a Pagan guy is always a rape even when the girl consents. Pagan sex is
emotionally cold but physically hot.
In a Pagan gang rape, you're lying there with a line of Pagans anxious to fuck
you. They're watching their fellow Pagans screw you while they jerk off. Their
only concern is when they get their turn. They don't care shit about you.
They're not interested in your astrological sign, your career or who's your
favorite band.
The fact that you're a naked female lying there with your legs spread and
semen dripping out of a pussy that's gaped open from being fucked a dozen or
five dozen times turns them on. If you're sobbing, begging them to stop, that
turns them on even more.
If your husband, son, or father is being forced to watch that makes it even
better. On many occasions, I've sat and listen to those bad ass bikers recall
the wonderful time they had busting some fourteen year old's cherry while their
family watched.
"You should have seen the look on her Daddy's face when I split his little
girl's cherry. I busted that son-of-a-bitch wide open. She squealed like a stuck
pig. You could tell Daddy wanted to fuck his little girl himself so we made him.
He got his nut off in five strokes," was how one Pagan described a particularly
satisfying rape of a family.
It was later after I became a full initiated Pagan that I came to understand
the Pagan psyche. I also became someone who enjoyed watching and participating
in a gang rape.
Nietzsche said that when you stare in the abyss, the abyss stares back into
you. My ambition had committed me to staring into the Pagan Motorcycle Club.
What I did not understand was that it was also staring back into me and before
long I would become part of that abyss.
