Chapter 3

Slowly Suzanne opened her eyes and gazed around her bedroom. She stretched her arms above her head and yawned. The early morning light filtered through the blinds, casting a soft glow around her. For a split second she began to smile, looking forward to another day; then the memory of the experiences with Donald and Ted came flooding back, swamping out the happy anticipation and replacing it with a tide of renewed horror.

With great care, she lowered her hands to her crotch and felt her mound, probing inside with her fingers where the still-tender folds of flesh told her it had not been a dream. Her finger touched her clitoris, and a hot sea of sensuality swept over her, reminding her of Ted's penis as it penetrated her. She touched her clitoris again, and once more the feeling gushed through her loins. She really wasn't hurt, she told herself.

With a sigh, she relaxed, letting her fingers coax her sexuality into a rising wave of ecstasy. Slowly she gripped the shaft of her clitoris, massaging the end with her fingers while her passions rose, and she began moving her hips slowly, her mind filled with the memory of Ted's swollen organ plunging in and out of her vagina.

With her other hand she caressed her stomach, sliding up to her breasts and tweaking the nipples gently, bringing them to a state of erection, their hard little nubs so sensitive as her fingers brushed over them. She drew saliva from her mouth and rubbed around her nipples, making them slick and reminding her of the hungry mouth that had enclosed them and the ravenous tongue that flicked back and forth, exciting her beyond words.

In her mind she recalled the heavy breathing, the excited hiss of his words as he muttered obscene comments on their union, and with each "Fuck me, fuck me," she found her loins quivering with additional eroticism as her finger rubbed quicker and quicker around her clitoris. Her hips were moving faster now up and down, just the way they had when she finally began getting with it and knew that Ted's massive phallus was the first thing that had really brought her knowledge of true satisfaction, a mind-blasting experience that shattered all her previous ideas of ultimate ecstasy. Yes, she thought, it is good, this is what I've always wanted; I've wanted to be taken, to be ravished, to feel a man on top of me, doing whatever he wanted with my body, giving himself all the sensations he could get from her hot, snapping cunt that clung greedily around that magnificent shaft as it slid into her, fitting so perfectly all the way into her vagina, its flat, wide head titillating the opening of her womb.

Her fingers pinched harder at her nipples, and her fingers pushed deeper into her canal, and in her mind it was Ted's organ there, propelling her faster and faster towards her own climax. She felt her insides begin to convulse, and her body was no longer heaving but trembling, shaking from head to toe, and she stifled the urge to scream out at the top of her voice, "Fuck me, you big- cocked stud, give it all to me, every goddamn inch of that big thick wonderful thing, jam it right up my cunt as far as you can and shoot your jism into me!"

She saw Ted's face above hers, and heard once more the giggling of his brother, his face glued between her legs, watching every movement while his hand manipulated his own throbbing cock. She could almost swear she could smell his earthy, male odor around her, filling her nostrils with extra stimulation. Then she felt her vagina quiver with its final orgasm, and her finger seized her clitoris as her other hand squeezed her breast and she felt her juices flowing and she cried out softly, moaning and twisting on the bed as she felt herself being lifted high up on a cloud of heavenly ecstasy. Then, just as she felt she had reached the peak of her climax, she heard a voice, "Suzanne... please... please..." and in her mind she saw the outline of a penis in the dim moonlight, and it was Sam's voice ringing in her brain. Her mouth opened and she screamed out, "Sam... Sam." Then all images disappeared from her imagination, and she opened her eyes to see the sun streaming through the venetian blinds, striping the carpet with a bright glare. She withdrew her hand from beneath the sheet and stared at her fingers, still slick with the juices from her vagina. With a shudder she threw back the covers and walked quickly to the bathroom, turning on the shower and stepping into the stinging spray even before it had warmed up. She closed her eyes and stood, her skin flinching beneath the chilly stream, and only opened her eyes again as the warm water began. In the distance she heard the clatter of heels on the stairs, and from below on the street the scream of tires mingled with the blast from a car horn. As she stepped out of the shower and began toweling herself, she bit her lip and once again pictured Sam's face before her. "Oh, Sam," she whispered, "Where are you, where are you?"

Suzanne found it difficult to concentrate on her classes that day. Mechanically she went through the motions of greeting her friends, of taking notes, of listening to her instructors, and eating a steerburger and a Coke at Verne's for lunch. Yvonne was in the bar, playing pool with Jeff, a young medical student whose youth and virile appeal had given him quite a reputation around town as being a ladies' man. Suzanne watched them both as they pranced around the pool table, Jeff exhibiting a boyish enthusiasm for his prowess and Yvonne doing her best Bette Davis impersonation as she studied each shot before lowering her practiced eye to the pool cue and sent the ball lazily across the green felt. Suzanne watched, thinking how their way of playing matched their personalities. Jeff took a few seconds to decide, then shot fast and hard, and usually made the pocket he aimed for; he probably picked his sleeping partners the same way, Suzanne thought. Yvonne took her time, considered all the angles, and then played slow and safe, her ball usually trickling across the table and dropping in the pocket almost as its momentum ran out. But then Yvonne was probably quite a bit older than Jeff; or would it be better to say Jeff was quite a bit younger than Yvonne? What difference did it make? It's not the age of your men, Yvonne had said once, but how well they can age you. Suzanne wondered how many years Jeff had put on Yvonne since they had met. She knew they had been going together, at least that's what the campus gossip had said. But then Jeff went with just about anyone; rumor had it he had donated his penis to the Smithsonian Institute upon his death to be enshrined as a national monument. After all, there were still quite a number who hadn't seen it, let alone had the pleasure of its company. Penis... cock... Suzanne shook her head and tried to finish her steerburger, but found herself chewing without enjoyment; tasting without taste. She pushed the plate away in disgust, staring at the meat between the bun and again remembering another piece of meat she had chewed on, a hard, throbbing member with a broad flat head, and again Ted's obscene words rang in her ears.

Yvonne's husky guffaw echoed through the bar, and Jeff threw the pool cue on the floor. His explosive "Shit!" caused several customers to turn, look and grin. The regulars at Verne's were well used to Yvonne's prowess at the pool table; her feigned concentration and naive approach concealed a pool shark from way back. She picked up her glass of beer and sashayed up to Suzanne.

"Well, darling, did you see, did you see?" she gloated, and then as Jeff walked up behind her, his handsome face frowning, she added, "You're really not mad at me, are you, baby?"

Jeff grinned at Suzanne, and slumped into a chair, sucking his teeth. "Mad? At you?" He grunted, and winked at Suzanne. "It'll take more than a pool game to get me mad."

Yvonne laughed loudly again, drained her glass, and rummaged in her oversized purse for a cigarette.

"Well, you two be good," she said. "I have to run. See you later."

Suzanne sat, toying with her glass of Coke, conscious that Jeff's eyes were fastened on her. Finally she looked at him almost defiantly.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" he countered.

"I know you've been staring at me."

"Sure. I always stare at groovy chicks."

Suzanne flushed.

"I am not a groovy chick," she snapped, sorry for her words the moment she uttered them; she knew she sounded pompous and puritanical.

Jeff laughed and stood up.

"You said it," he murmured, and wandered off back into the pool table area of the bar.

Suzanne bit her lip and wanted to burst into tears. She knew how idiotic she must have sounded; but she couldn't help it. She was conscious of his sexuality across the table; she was aware of his reputation, and something in her responded. She knew that she wanted him, she wanted to find out if those rumors about his penis size were true, she wanted him to fuck her. Fuck... Fuck... yes, she wanted that. She wanted him to...

With a toss of her head, she rose and made her way quickly out of the bar, knowing that if she stayed she might either burst into tears or spend the afternoon, get drunk and go home with Jeff and...

Her mind was a mixture of frustration and self-loathing as she walked up Woodward Avenue and turned down Forest Avenue to the campus, suddenly realizing that unless she hurried she would be late for her sociology class. Damn. What was wrong with her today? She knew what was wrong, and the slight tenderness in her crotch reminded her with every step she took. Oh, God, what if those little bastards came back?

She sat through class hardly hearing a word, her mind filled with the memory of the night before. Ted's words again rang in her ears: "You're a good lay. Good enough for a second helping." Did he mean that, or was he just trying to scare her? She finally decided he was only trying to frighten her enough to keep her mouth shut; obviously they wouldn't be back. It had been one of those rare opportunities, and even they would realize that she wouldn't even open the door to them again. So it was just an experience; and even though her ravenous mounting sexuality kept hinting that it had been wonderful, that she had felt it was something she would want again and again, she deeply regretted that it hadn't been Sam who bad been the first. She had always wanted to go to her marriage bed a virgin; now it was impossible. She'd have to make up some story for Sam; maybe she could tell him she'd done a lot of horseback riding and broken her hymen that way. Or maybe at gym class, or riding a bicycle. No, he'd never believe that. Or would he? She knew Sam loved her; at least, she felt he did. Oh, please, let him love me. I need him so much. Sam... Sam...

"Suzanne, is something wrong?"

She looked up to see her instructor standing next to her, a look of concern on his kindly face. She started, and then realized the class was empty, and she had been sitting there, tears streaming down her face, unaware that the others had left. Embarrassedly she wiped her cheeks, tried to smile, and stumbled to her feet.

"No, no, nothing," she said quietly. "I'm all right. Honest. I was just..." She paused, and then fled from the room.

She hurried back to the apartment, and climbed the stairs with her pulse racing. She knew Donald and Ted would be waiting outside her door; she knew it. She stared as she turned the top of the stairs and saw the empty hallway. With a sigh of relief, she unlocked the door, entered, and locked it behind her; then she collapsed into a chair and sobbed for ten minutes.

She finally composed herself, went to the bathroom and washed her face. She stared at herself in the mirror and tried to smile. She was being ridiculous, she knew; nothing could change what had happened, and she was just thankful that she had not suffered any grievous harm. She remembered reading of rape cases where the woman was beaten, her face scarred and her body slashed; at least all they did was have their way sexually, and looking back, she knew it hadn't been as bad as she had thought at the time. She knew she had enjoyed it, really and truly enjoyed the act; but then she knew that was only normal. After all, what girl wouldn't enjoy having intercourse with a young man as well endowed as Ted? Any young man, for that matter.

She patted her face dry, put on some lipstick, combed her hair, and decided that she was feeling much better. She went into the living room, got out her notes, and began studying.

She had her writings about the family she had been studying, Donald's family, Ted's family; oh, God, how could she possibly continue on that subject? Every time she thought about it, she would remember. Maybe the best thing would be to destroy that project and start another. There were plenty of families in the area that she could investigate without being plagued with unpleasant memories.

She was just about to rip the pages into pieces and put them in the wastebasket when she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs and her heart jumped. She knew those footsteps; they had the youthful ring of a young boy, and she knew it could only be Donald. Petrified, she froze at the desk, waiting.

The footsteps grew louder, and then stopped outside her door. A second later, the gentle knock sounded like a thunderclap to her ears. She dropped her pencil and whirled around in her chair, facing the door. Her heart was beating unnaturally loud, and her hands began to tremble. She knew if she remained quiet, he would probably go away; but what if he had been watching the building and had seen her come in? What if he knew she was there? He might continue banging on her door and there might be a scene, and he might say something which... Oh, God.

"Who is it?" Her voice was nervous and quavering.

There was a second of silence, and then she heard Donald's voice.

"It's me, Donald. I want to talk to you."

"Go away."

"Please, Suzanne. I have to talk to you. It's important."

What on earth could there be so important to this boy? She knew it was a trick to get her to open the door.

"Donald, you go away and leave me alone or I'll call the police."

She heard him laugh softly.

"You wouldn't do that; you know that. Come on, I mean it, Suzanne. I got something to tell you."

She rose from the desk and walked over to the door, pausing a moment, her handle on the knob. She could hear his heavy breathing on the other side.

"What is it? You can tell me from there."

"No, I want to come in and talk to you. I want to tell you how sorry I am about what happened."

There was a note of contrition in his voice, and she pictured his fresh, youthful face, his large innocent eyes. Maybe he did want to talk; maybe he was sorry.

"All right, Donald, but if there's any trouble, I'm going to call the police. I mean it."

There was a click as she unlocked the door, turned the handle and pulled. Donald was standing outside, and as their eyes met, she saw that he must be sorry; there was an expression of abject sorrow on his young face.

"Come in."

Slowly he walked in; she shut the door, and stood staring at him, somewhat defiantly. He shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly, and grinned at her.

"Well, what do you want to talk about, Donald?"

He moved over to the couch and looked at her.

"You mind if I sit down?"

She shook her head and walked over to the large chair and slowly sat down, staring at him curiously.

"I want to say I'm sorry about yesterday," Donald began, looking down at the floor, and playing with his hands. "It was Ted, you know that, don't you? He's a real horny one, and once he gets going, nothing stops him."

Suzanne sniffed. "Obviously you've been with him before when he's..." She paused, not wanting to say the words.

He nodded. "Sure. We've screwed girls together before, but he always starts it. He's been around longer'n I have, and I really don't think about it as much as he does. He told me that's all he likes to do: fuck girls. I guess he does it every day."

"And what about you?"

Donald grinned. "I do it now and then, when I can."

"When you can," Suzanne repeated the words, her voice dripping sarcasm. "Why don't you admit you screw around just as much as your brother? I've heard stories, and I think they're true. All you kids in this neighborhood do is screw. No wonder there are so many little bastards running around."

She amazed herself at the venom in her voice. But she felt if she showed him she was still angry, he might not try anything; or did she really want him to try something again?

Donald looked up at her and smiled.

"I know you're mad, and I don't blame you. But I did want you to know I still like you a lot, and I'm sorry. Can we still be friends? Can I still come up and help you sometimes?"

Suzanne's eyes widened.

"Still be friends? What do you mean? You're goddamn lucky I haven't called the police and had you and you brother thrown in jail. No, Donald, I think you'd better leave now, and don't bother to come back."

Donald's eyebrows rose slightly, and his mouth curled into a sneer.

"Don't be that way, Suzanne. I said I was sorry."

"Well, saying you're sorry doesn't help any. And I know if you keep coming around, maybe your brother will, too, and then..." Suzanne's words trailed off, and she became conscious of Donald's gaze, shifting from her face down to her breasts and over her body. She could sense the aura of desire in his manner, and she recognized the look on his face. "Donald, I mean it. I want you to go now."

His eyes came back and fastened on hers, very steadily. It was a most mature look for a young boy, and a very knowing look.

"You don't want me to go, you know that, Suzanne. And I don't want to. I want to stay here with you." He rose quickly and came across, kneeling in front of her, and staring up at her earnestly. "Please, Suzanne, I like you a lot, I really do. I don't want you to think I'm real bad or anything." He put out his hand and touched hers.

Suzanne felt a prickle of apprehension, but at the same time she felt a demanding warmth flood her groin. The boy's closeness, his sexuality, his earnestness, all combined to arouse her and bring back the memory of the day before, not with shame or fear, but with perverse desire. She remembered his penis, jutting out from his pants, almost as large as his brother's.

"Donald." Her voice was weak, and she began trembling. "Donald, please go. Now."

His hand gripped hers more strongly, and his other hand came up on her knee.

"Suzanne, I don't want to go. Please let me stay here."

With a sudden movement, he raised up, brought his head forward, and kissed her on the lips before she could move away. The softness of his skin against hers, his male animal smell, his forceful approach, all this and much more swept the final vestige of resistance away. She didn't have to say anything; the boy knew.

Still on his knees, he put his arms around her shoulders and pulled her to him, embracing her and kissing her passionately, his tongue forcing itself between her lips. She felt the sensuous warmth of his chest against her breasts and his hands gripping her tightly. His mouth rubbed back and forth over her own, and she felt her passions rising to fever pitch. Desperately, she broke away.

"No, Donald, no. This is ridiculous."

He looked at her for a moment, his mouth quivering.

"Ridiculous? Ain't nothin' ridiculous about me wanting you. I want some of the same stuff Ted got yesterday." His eyes flamed, and he bent his head down to hers, forcing his mouth against her lips and pushing her head back violently while his hands held her tightly. Suzanne felt a wave of nausea rise, to be quickly replaced by her bubbling desire, the slow surge of wetness in her vagina and the trembling in her loins. Oh, God, it was going to happen again; she mustn't let it. She mustn't. But stronger than that, her sexuality screamed out: Yes, yes, I want it, I want this boy with his strong, pulsating cock pushed right up into me. I want it.

Desperately she beat on his back with her fists, and then realized how strong he was. His muscular arms held her firmly, and his chest was pushing against her breasts, rubbing her nipples into hardness. Finally he released her and stared into her eyes with a mixture of warmth and defiance.

"Okay, who's kidding who?" he said softly, taking her hand and pulling it down to his crotch where his rising hardness told her he was almost ready; and within her heart, she knew she was never more ready.

His fingers caressed her breast, and she sat immobile, hardly believing what was happening, and numbly aware that her own desires were screaming out for the same thing he was after.

"You gonna get undressed so we can do it proper?"

The impact of his words brought her plummeting back to reality. She stared at him for a second, and then quickly pushed him backwards and rose to her feet, making a rush for the front door. Her hand was on the handle when she felt his fingers close around her ankle and jerk her backwards viciously. She tripped and fell, breaking her fall with her arm. A stab of pain shot through her, and she whimpered.

He was on top of her in a flash, and his weight pinned her down. His mouth began biting her neck and her ears while his hips ground his hardening sex into her. Through their clothes she could feel its demanding pressure against her vulva.

"Donald, please, please, oh, God, no, not again."

He laughed softly and then rolled off her, staring into her eyes with an expression which she took to be a marginal glimmer of tenderness.

"You know you want it, baby, just like I do. Quit horsing around. We don't have time for all that shit."

"What do you mean, we don't have time?"

There was something in his tone that made her instantly suspicious.

"We don't have time. I have to get home."

"Well, go, then. Go now, and leave me alone."

His hand shot out and slid up the inside of her thigh, and his fingers poked through her underwear into her canal. Electric tingles suffused her body, and she shuddered.