The way Mike was holding my hips I doubt that I could have fallen over. Nonetheless I balanced myself on one hand and reached for the blond boy's prick with the other hand, trying to bring it up to my lips, to my mouth so I could suck on it while I got fucked and sucked. I wanted to know that every orifice in my body was occupied with the sexual act so that I would come all over… every part of me would orgasm. But I'd waited too long. I was too close to my own release. I gripped his cock tightly as my body exploded with violent spasms, my rectum clutching tightly at Mike's prick as he spewed his molten sperm into my ass. Calling me names while he orgasmed, he twisted my tits brutally with his callused hands. When he was through, and had let go of me, I collapsed across Tom's body, his cock inches from my eyes – I was surprised to see that he'd come all by himself. His prick was limp, lying in a puddle of his own ejaculation, slowly running down his groin to his balls.
It had been such a strange experience for me, such a violent one, that I felt totally drained of all thought or care. I lay there exhausted and unfeeling. Sated, I suppose, in a way I'd never known before, I was amazed at how much I'd enjoyed such a savage act of sex. Mike had brought a bottle of booze with him, and after taking a slug of it, he passed it to Tom, who then passed it to me. At first I declined, but Mike grabbed me by my hair and told me to take a drink or he'd ram the bottle up my ass. I did as I was told, too weak to argue.
No sooner had I complied than Mike yanked the bottle from my hands, and shoved his groin into my face.
"I got other plans for your mouth, sweetheart. You're gonna suck my cock hard again, hard as baked shit, and you're gonna suck me real nice till I shoot my come down your gullet!"
"But it's been inside my asshole," I protested, "you haven't even washed it…"
Mike's grin was not a pretty sight. Twisting my hair painfully, leering at me with cold, hate-filled eyes, he rubbed his limp, feces-encrusted cock across my lips. "If you don't suck it, baby, I'll gouge out your eye and fuck the socket. Take your pick."
His imagery horrified me, the mere fact that he could think of such a thing terrified me. And, needless to say, I quickly realized that I was not dealing with normal, civilized people. These two were worse than apes, and capable of any foul act just for the kicks of it. I began to lave Mike's limp prick, half sick to my stomach from the taste of it, and half scared to death. I sensed, rather than knew, that Mike didn't need much excuse to either beat me to a pulp or murder me, and I didn't doubt for a moment that he'd enjoy fucking a corpse. Occasionally, I'd gag, but Mike would twist my hair until I was sure he would leave me bald.
And as I tongued his revolting cock, Tom once again began to suck my vulva, to lick at the insides of my thighs, my asshole.
"Get outa there, Tom!" my tormentor commanded. "Hump her ass… then we'll make her suck your cock, too. Hurry up!"
The boy did as he was told, though reluctantly. But no sooner did Tom start to fuck my ass than Mike's cock came up to an incredible hard on. By then the taste of his cock was practically a normal one, and as Mike watched Tom's cock gliding in and out between the cheeks of my ass, he matched Tom's strokes, shoving his cock deeper and deeper into my throat.
Perhaps these brutes never learned to control their orgasms, I don't know. It did seem to me that both of them orgasmed very quickly. They simply collapsed on the bed after that, leaving me hot as hell and unsatisfied. I waited for them to get their breath, and then began to beg them to fuck me right, to let me have an orgasm, too. But that was a mistake. Mike sat up slowly, glaring at me, whispered something about a whining bitch, and slapped me across the face, telling me to shut up. There were a few other sordid details involved with that ghastly night, but they're too painful to discuss. I was held there all night long, while Tom was sent out to fetch other men. Mike charged them one dollar – one dollar! – to fuck the beautiful bitch. By the time they left me, I was too sick and wracked even to crawl out of that place.
It's strange, really. While I would never ever want to encourage such a thing happening again, I do take some pleasure in remembering it. I can't explain why, really. But, somehow, I seem to attract men who enjoy being cruel in one way or another. I'm not really a bitch, so I can't understand why this happens. Yet, invariably, the men who are attracted to me enjoy hurting me – either physically or emotionally. I must resort to what I said earlier: beauty is a curse. If you're beautiful, you're resented. And when you're resented, people want to hurt you. I don't understand it.
It is felt that prognosis here can be relatively optimistic. Frieda L. appears to be intelligent enough to understand the erroneousness of her rationalization and of her beliefs. The fact that she does not accept her masochistic tendencies, or does not seem to recognize them, should make the matters even easier for the psychotherapist, because it is felt that the subject simply wishes someone to reveal to her, publicly, so to speak, the nature of her problem and the potential seriousness of it, at which point she should be able to get back on the road to sexual normalcy.
CHAPTER THREE
I was born two years before Lori, so you would think that I would be the one to say what should happen or what we should do, but I never got the chance to say anything.
My mother, Sheila, was a child bride. She admits that she has always been oversexed, and she raised her kids to be the same way.
She is a honey blonde, with long, straight hair that hangs way down her back. Her complexion is the light, Nordic kind that sort of goes with her hair. She has beautiful blue eyes and a pretty mouth. Her bod is simply glorious with nice plump boobs that are not too big and not too small – just right. Lori is just like her, but Lori is a mean bitch, always has been. With me, anyway, and with others, too, I guess.
Lori was always paddling my ass when we were kids, and I got so I wouldn't take a deep breath without asking Lori if it was okay. That was all right with Sheila. She was always telling me to ask Lori if I could do things, and I sort of got used to it. But, like I say, Lori is a mean bitch.
Sheila was always working so she let Lori run things in the house. By the time I was twelve, I was used to Lori and the way she was. In spite of her years, she was growing up to have a beautiful shape. Her hair was a little darker than Sheila's – she let it grow long, too.
Well, I was always beating my meat, because I was big for my age, and had a big cock. I think that watching Lori around the house got me turned on a lot of times. Too, knowing that she would wallop my ass for the least little thing always kept me in a state of sexual excitement. Then there was this one day when everything changed.
It was a Friday afternoon, and Lori was pushing me around, but I didn't feel like doing what she wanted me to do. I forget now what it was, but she got really sore. Lori told me to go to my room, and she would be in shortly. I was sure she was going to give me one hell of a spanking.
I obeyed her for there wasn't anything else for me to do. She came into my room a few minutes later with a thick strap in her hands. I was told to take my pants off, which I did. Then she told me to take off my underpants. That seemed strange, but I had the feeling she really wanted to give me that strap where it did the most good, so off came the undershorts.