Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Fiction, BDSM, First, Cream Pie, .
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - This is Number 11 in the Ali Clifford Saga -- the missing link between Kristin and Horse Country. Please note the first copyright date: 1999. It's been sitting in my computer for quite a while. Moreover, it is not yet complete. At this point there are 20 chapters; hopefully there will be more to complete the story.
William Corcoran was in the midst of the strangest evening of his life. In the doctors lounge at the hospital he had heard of one of the wildest nightclubs with one of the most incredible live shows imaginable. According to the tale he heard, the floor show — if it could be called that — consisted of amateur talent — all girls — who allowed themselves to be tortured and violated. When he heard the story from a rather disreputable doctor, Hank Jones, it was immediately apparent why the talent was amateur: No professional would do what these amateurs did nor could they long survive if they did.
It seemed that young women volunteered to perform sex acts of all kinds with the patrons and submit to the most incredible tortures. According to Jones, when you entered the club, the first thing one saw was the girl secured in a steel frame. Beside her was a large chart containing a list of actions she would perform or submit to, along with prices for each one. The club only operated on weekends and its biggest night was Friday. Jones claimed that this permitted the girl to recover somewhat before Monday.
What caused the animated talk in the lounge that day was that the word had gone out that the girl performing this evening — it was a Friday in early May — would do absolutely anything.
Bill had overheard Jones conversing with a debauched buddy of his. Due to a peculiarity of his memory, Bill had also remembered both the location of the club and the password required to be admitted.
At six feet three, 210 pounds, with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes, Bill was very attractive to women. But at the same time, for reasons lost in the recesses of his memory, he didn't think that he was attractive at all. As a result, he would inevitably misread or totally miss the looks of female interest directed at him that followed him everywhere. The looks were so pervasive Bill had long ago decided it was just in the nature of things: It was just the way women looked at men It never registered that the looks he received were very different from the looks the same women accorded most other men, and because he was almost 31 years old and had been receiving such looks for more than half his lifetime, he just ignored them.
Another factor was his education. Bill had graduated from Yale with double majors in classics and history. Coupled with the science courses essential for medical school, he had spent his career at Yale studying. Beyond that, he was an excellent athlete, lettering in three sports: football, swimming and track. After being designated a Rhodes scholar, he spent his time at Oxford completing his doctorate in economics. After completing medical school at Johns Hopkins, he did his postgraduate work at New York Presbyterian Hospital and had just completed his postdoctoral training in emergency medicine.
Perhaps it was the fact that his residency was at an end and he was at a loss for what to do now that his interest was aroused by the prospect of seeing the spectacle at the nightclub. Moreover, there was another fact about Bill: He was fabulously wealthy. His parents had been killed in a plane crash during his senior year at Yale. He had inherited a substantial sum from them, been paid the proceeds of very large insurance policies, and collected massively from the airline's insurance company.
He had invested the money brilliantly. The result was that he had increased his net worth from millions of dollars to billions in the intervening ten years. The cause of his parents' death was the primary reason he had gravitated to medicine, and ultimately to emergency medicine. His parents' last moments of life had been on his mind. Furthermore, for Bill investing money to make more money was very easy ... and very boring. The result was his practice of medicine.
Deciding that he didn't want to take one of his own cars to the nightclub — he thought they were both too ostentatious and too theft-prone — he called his attorney who contacted a corporation that Corcoran controlled — although the company didn't know it. As far as it was concerned, the control was vested in the attorney himself. That company, in turn, controlled a major car-rental firm.
The result was that a new but nondescript sedan was waiting for him outside his apartment. It was a vehicle in a special fleet the rental company maintained for law-enforcement agencies. Although its registration appeared ordinary, anyone trying to run the car through the DMV computer would draw a blank. The computer would report that the car was registered and not stolen, but no other information could be released on it. It would have taken a court order to penetrate the registration so Bill wasn't concerned about either being recognized or traced as a result of his visit to the club.
It was located in New York City far over in the West 20's near 9th Avenue in what had obviously originally been a warehouse or a factory. The neighborhood was so rundown that if it was upgraded by a factor of two it would have still been a mostly-deserted slum. But its obscure location was a significant element in its ability to stay in business although Bill had no idea how long that had been.
He found a place to park close to what he concluded was the rear entrance to the club, then walked around to the front. He gave the password to the man at the door and peeled off $100 to pay the cover charge. While normally he would never carry as much as $100 in cash, tonight he was loaded. He had no intention of charging anything; he was going to be as anonymous as possible.
It was almost 11:30 when he went in. The show had been on for about an hour already, he guessed. The club was dark except for lighting on the stage that was in the center of the large area. He guessed the room was about 200 feet square. There were dozens of small tables circling the stage that were just large enough to hold drinks and ashtrays. Only enough room remained for the topless waitresses to move around to serve drinks.
Smiling at his waitress, he ordered a Sam Adams. As he did, he noticed what appeared to be scars across her body. When he raised an eyebrow, she assured him that they were just makeup. "Unfortunately," she added, "that won't be the case with that girl over there," as she motioned toward the featured attraction.
The girl was being held in position by a heavy steel frame. Both her wrists were secured by heavy leather cuffs and the cuffs in turn were secured to slides on the side rails on the arch-shaped framework. On it were holes which enabled the cuffs to be moved up and down and secured at six-inch intervals ranging from floor level to about seven feet up. By moving the slide detents up and down, she could be made to lie on the floor, to be spreadeagled, or to be secured in virtually any intermediate position.
Standing on an easel placed beside the girl was a "menu." It gave the prices of a whole range of tortures and sexual acts she was willing to perform or have performed on her. A single stroke with a bullwhip was $50. Fucking was $250, cocksucking was $200, and so it went.
Now that his eyes had adjusted to the gloom, Bill looked at the girl in amazement. She was incredibly beautiful! Although she was hooded, he could see her eyes through the eye holes which, along with a slit to permit her to suck cock or eat pussy, were the only openings in the black hood that completely covered her head. It was buckled around her neck and concealed her face and hair. Except for the hood, though, she was totally naked. As he watched, two drunken women were pulling out her pubic hair, paying a dollar a hair for the privilege.
As he watched, it appeared that the victim was taking deep breaths to recover from the tortures she had already suffered. Having her pubic hair pulled out appeared to be child's play compared to what she had been through already. And from looking at her, that had been plenty. Her entire body was already crisscrossed with whip cuts, most of which were still bleeding, and some of which were bleeding profusely. Her entire body was red with her blood. And yet, in spite of the agony of having her hairs pulled out by the roots, she appeared to be talking to the women.
Initially, they looked up with astonishment at the girl's hooded face. But she continued talking and the two women, drunk though they were, returned to their task. As they worked away, they removed every hair below a dense patch of golden-brown hair above her cunt lips. While he had never counted pubic hairs, Bill was fairly certain the girl had made over a thousand dollars by the time they finished.
While the women were working, a man came over with a bullwhip. After talking to the women, he adjusted the frame again so that the girl was horizontal. With great care, he measured her and cracked the whip across her tits. Bill had been astounded. The girl was actually arching her back and thus raising her chest to make her tits more prominent. And then when her breasts were almost sliced in two, she appeared to thank the man. Moreover, she continued to arch her body and then thank him after every stroke. After 10 strokes — $500 — he quit, and she thanked him again.
The torture and abuse continued. When the women finished, two men took their places. Lowering the detents to the floor, the girl was made to remain on her hands and knees. One man proceeded to fuck her in the ass while she gave the other a blow job. It was apparent that the first ripped her anus as he drove his cock up her ass while it was dry. Because the assault was so sudden and came with her rectum dry, it caused her to let out an agonizing scream which was largely muffled by the large cock in her mouth. But still, to Bill's utter astonishment, the girl appeared to thank the man whose cock she had just sucked, and even the man whose cock had so ravaged her ass.
When they finished fucking her ass and her mouth, she was positioned on her back with her legs spread wide apart and was ordered to elevate her pelvis while another woman proceeded to whip her cunt, already raw from having all the pubic hair pulled out by the roots.
When a whiplash cut into her clitoris, the girl let out an agonized scream and appeared to lose consciousness, causing her body to drop flat on the floor. The fact that her pelvis was no longer elevated served to enrage her tormentor who redoubled her efforts. Finally, the woman was dragged away by attendants, probably because she had run out of money.
In the final event of the evening, the girl was forced to take men three ways at once. Both her vagina and rectum were bleeding badly by this time, but that only seemed to thrill her tormentors more.
To Bill, the remarkable element was how beautiful the girl truly was in spite of the masking of her body by the flow of her own blood. It was obvious that she was in superb physical condition — or had been before her torture began.
She had full, beautifully shaped breasts with tiny pink nipples although both had been repeatedly lacerated by whip cuts and were now essentially cut up like small hemispheric pies. Moreover, when she was whipped, she jerked against her bonds causing the muscles in her body to stand out. Why, Bill wondered, is she doing this? She's utterly beautiful — or at least her body is. Why would she allow herself to be destroyed? He could not come up with any reasonable answer to his own question.
At one o'clock, the appalling show came to an end. He almost became ill when the master of ceremonies asked for a round of applause for a great trouper as the girl was released from the frame. As the show ended, she had been absorbing yet another whipping, so when her wrists were released she just dropped to her knees. Then she rose to her feet slowly and was helped towards the back of the darkened room.
The MC promised another show the following night, but added that he didn't think it would be as exciting as tonight's was. Bill's last sight of the girl was of her taking a rather large paper bag in her arms. Her share of the night's take? Bill wondered. Then she disappeared, and he made his way to the exit while trying to control his urge to vomit. And he had had only had two bottles of beer all night.
When he returned to his car and started to unlock it, he saw a girl wearing a yellow slicker emerge from the building's rear door near his car. She was moving very unsteadily, so Bill ran over to her. When he took her in his arms, she gasped in pain, telling him without words that she was the girl he had been watching for the last hours. Releasing her shoulders, he gently raised her chin — and felt his heart turn over. He was looking into the bluest, most beautiful eyes he had ever seen set in a heart-shaped face that was both adorable and utterly beautiful.
To his utter amazement he gently raised her chin and kissed her full lips. Although he could count the girls he had kissed on the fingers of one hand — with fingers left over — this kiss was like nothing he could even imagine. It was warm and sweet and loving but so much more. Initially, the sensation on his lips felt like electricity, but it just built in power. Then the electricity was joined by the ringing of bells. To his surprise, he felt her tongue penetrate his mouth and then contact his. The electricity just multiplied in intensity. Finally they eased apart, to breathe if nothing else.
"Do you need a ride?" he asked softly. "I don't know how you got here, but you're certainly in no shape to drive."
"Thank you for the offer," she replied, speaking in a wonderfully warm voice. "I was focusing so hard on what was going to happen tonight and trying mentally to prepare myself I guess it never occurred to me to think about getting home." Then she looked up at him and shook her head. "But I live in the far reaches of Queens. It's much too far for you to drive. Besides, it's getting late. I can take the subway."
"You can like hell!" Bill exclaimed. "In your condition the movement of the car — all that rocking and jolting — could kill you." Then he stood back to get a better look at her. While she had appeared to be tall when he saw her on stage, he hadn't realized how tall she really was. The girl was about five feet nine, and possibly taller.
Then with a warm smile he extended his hand and said, "Hi! I'm Bill Corcoran." His smile changed to a grin as he added, "Besides, if I drive you home, I might get another kiss. That first one was out of this world."
Taking his hand in a remarkably strong grip she said, "Hello, Bill Corcoran. I'm Caitie Collins. 'Caitie' is short for Caitlin." With a surprisingly warm grin she added, "Isn't that a dirty trick to pull on a little baby? Naming her Caitlin?"
"I think it's a lovely name. Now get in the car and let's get going before I have a disaster on my hands."
When they were driving east across Manhattan toward the Queens Midtown Tunnel, Bill glanced across at Caitie Collins and asked, "How can you stand to have that shoulder harness across those cuts?" Shaking his head he added, "You have to be the bravest woman alive!"
"Not hardly!" Caitie retorted. "The dumbest maybe, but scarcely the bravest." With a cute little grin she continued, "I was hanging there like a piece of meat and with about the same control over what was happening to me. All I did was stand there and absorb punishment ... and stuff."
"It's none of my business, I know, but why did you do it?" he asked. "For that matter, while those women were pulling your pubic hair, that guy was whipping your tits. Not only did you arch your body to give him the best shot at you, you appeared to be thanking him after every stroke. Moreover, it appeared that you thanked every one of those sadists who tortured you. What in hell did you do that for?"
"Just to get the money. And I thanked them because it might produce even more," she replied softly as she clutched the paper bag she was still holding in her arms. "I ... I ... The kids had to have those new desks, and they're being delivered Monday. And the shipment is COD. So, this was about the only way I could think of to get the money I need. And I was all prepared, anyway."
"I saw you talking to the two women who were pulling out your pubic hair. What did you say to them?"
From the corner of his eye he could see a wry grin appear on her face. "I was letting them do something I've never had the nerve to do. I always sort of wondered what it would be like to have a bare pussy. Since they didn't have enough money to do it all, we agreed that they would take off everything except for a dense patch above. Do you like it?"
"I guess so," Bill replied, "but all I can really see is a lot of your blood. But how did you ever get involved. How did you even hear about the club?"
"I honestly don't remember. I think I read about it somewhere."
Then she looked at him speculatively and added, "Since you're taking me home, you'll know soon enough: When I learned about this club and contacted them, they were interested in having me come in because I said I'd do anything. When they scheduled me to appear tonight, I made preparations."
"What preparations?" Bill probed.
"I ... I ... I bought a cock-shaped vibrator and used it to take my virginity. Then over the last couple of days I rammed it up my ass, too, to get used to what would happen tonight," she replied in a voice so soft he could scarcely hear her. "But I have to admit I wasn't prepared for the reality of it."
"My God!" Bill exclaimed. "You were an untouched virgin, and yet you still went through with that? What on earth for?"
"I told you," she replied in a stronger voice. "It was for the children."
"What children?" he almost shouted. "And what's this nonsense about new desks?"
"I teach school," she replied, ignoring his shouting. "Where I teach, almost all the kids are from very poor homes. Everything they come in contact with in their lives is broken down and old. I wanted them to have something nice at school."
She paused and then continued, "I could have talked to their parents about the need for money but they're tapped out. We decided on uniforms for the class, and that took every dime the parents could get hold of. So I decided that buying the desks would be my personal contribution."
"Where do you teach?" Bill asked. "Some small private school?"
"Not hardly!" she responded emphatically. "I teach a fourth grade at PS-61 in Queens. My kids are so good and they try so hard! And I'm really making progress with them now, too."
Bill shook his head to try to clear it. "But I don't understand. Here in New York we spend more than $9,000 per pupil on the schools. [The spending number is from 2000. It's far higher now.] Why, in Heaven's name, are you buying desks?"
"I guess your spending number is accurate," she conceded, "but we never see most of it. The brutal fact of the matter is that more than half the money never gets past 110 Livingston Street, the hallowed home of the New York City Board of Education. Besides, when I asked the principal for desks, she said she would get me some nice carpet pieces to use on the floor instead. When I told her that's not the way I teach, she looked at me as if I were crazy." Then she grinned ruefully and added, "And after what I did tonight, I have to concede that she's probably right about that, too."
"How do you teach?" Bill pursued.
"Well ... First of all, I have 42 kids in my class." She paused to reflect, then shook her head. "It's funny, I guess. In my school there are four fourth-grade classes, averaging twenty students each. But the way it's shaken down is that I have 42 while the other three teachers divide the remaining 38 kids." With a grin she added, "Can you believe it? They only have about thirteen students each."
"How did that happen?"
"It happened over the summer, mostly," she replied. "When the parents heard their child was going to be assigned to one of the other classes, they came over to school, saw the principal and insisted their child be in my class." She shrugged and added, "And I got them."
"But what's different about your class?" he asked. "It's the same school, after all."
"It's the same building," Caitie replied, "but that's about all that is the same. For example, mine is the only class in the school whose students wear uniforms." She paused and then added, "They're really neat — in more ways than one. The girls wear plaid jumpers with white blouses and the boys all wear blue pants, blue shirts, and plain blue ties."
"You're kidding!" Bill exclaimed. "Boys? Wearing ties?"
"And well-shined shoes, too," Caitie added. "It makes them feel that school is special, and they're special, too. We have textbooks; the other classes don't. My kids have about two hours of homework a night, which is about two hours more than any other kid in the school. But they learn! They're involved. And they're really great kids. So I wanted them to have nice new desks to keep their books and things. And on Monday, they'll have them. They'll be so thrilled!"
"How will you know?" Bill asked. "You're not going to be there."
"The hell I won't!" she exclaimed. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Because, young lady, you're going to be in the hospital where you belong."
"Look, Bill, in case you didn't get the hot scoop earlier, I'm bog Irish. We're known for two things: our stupidity and our toughness, both of which I demonstrated tonight."
By this time they were moving through a middle-class area of Queens filled with garden apartments. Caitie interrupted her response by directing him to a parking lot beside one of the apartment units. Bill pulled into a parking space designated for visitors and shut off the engine.
"Your car should be fairly safe here, for a while at least," she added.
Getting out of the car, Bill went around, opened Caitie's door, and extended his hand to her. Taking it, she lifted herself from the seat, grimacing in pain as she did. To her surprise, Bill left her standing beside the car while he opened the trunk and took out a black bag.
Knowing how badly she had been hurt, he just extended his arm and let her take it. Bill knew that regardless of where he might touch her, he would be pressing on some laceration. All Caitie had with her besides her slicker was the brown bag that Bill assumed held the money she had earned that night. She used her key to unlock the outer door and then the door to her second-floor apartment. Turning on the lights, she entered, then turned to kiss Bill goodnight.
Only then did the black bag register. "What's that?" she asked. "It looks like a doctor's bag."
"That's only because it is," Bill replied with a grin. "William Corcoran, MD, FAEM, at your service."
"And what, pray tell, is an 'FAEM'?"
Raising an eyebrow Bill replied in his haughtiest Oxford tone, "My dear young lady, FAEM designates a Fellow of the Academy of Emergency Medicine." Then he shook his head and added, "Although I haven't looked you over yet, I'll bet I've seen victims of head-on collisions who looked better than you do right now. Do you mind if I have a look?"
Cocking her head she pretended to be thoughtful and said, "Well, it all depends..."
"Depends on what?"
"It depends on whether or not you can examine me from the other side of a screen. I mean ... The idea ... After all, I'm a teacher! Do you really think I would allow a man to see my body? Bare? I mean ... The very idea..."
"And what, dear heart, was that action earlier this evening?" Bill said with an eyebrow raised while trying to suppress a grin.
"What action?" she asked innocently. "I was fully dressed. Or almost fully dressed." She paused and then added, "Besides, it's different. They couldn't see my face, but now you can!"
"Oh!" Bill responded. Then with a grin he added, "That makes it easy. You can wear a hood while I'm examining you."
She grinned, motioned him inside and then collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.