Chapter 4B: Girl Talk and Videos

Sharon had had a rough afternoon. She'd spent the morning nerving herself, then settled in, fully dressed, to watch more of the DVD, the emphasis to be on education rather than sex; it was blatantly apparent that she'd been kidding herself for some time, if the scenes she had seen had been truly representative (surely, they weren't!) Unfortunately for Sharon, they were; she watched four scenes where her memories failed to include Armand bringing her to a boil until the video dragged them forth, making denial fruitless. Worst was the fact that the mentally augmented replay was so arousing! Even blowjobs -- Armand had a habit of forcing himself down her throat at the moment of orgasm, and it didn't look pleasant on video, but Sharon REMEMBERED her pussy spasming in synch with his jets of semen, suffusing her with pleasure even as she choked. By the end of the fourth scene, she'd crossed and uncrossed her legs a hundred times, and the crotch of her culottes was soaked; her nipples burned in her brassiere, and every movement brought a feeling like the skin was being sandpapered off. By the time scene five was well underway, her hand had stopped following conscious directives, and her fingers were inside the leg band of her panties, sliding along the fringed lips of her soaking wet gash. Armand had been angry about something, and she'd been handy; he'd deliberately popped every button off her blouse, then used a penknife on her brassiere before grabbing a handful of her hair and forcing his erection down her throat. But those were merely the preliminaries; having no new 'toy' to impress, he'd withdrawn before ejaculation and thrown her gasping body over his desk, then subjected it to an unaccustomed pounding vaginal attack that brought her three screaming orgasms despite the fact that his hands made her ass cherry red in the process. Then he'd withdrawn and, using her copious vaginal secretions for lubrication, and going back there for more when it ran out, forced his cock into her screaming, burning ass to ejaculate into her colon.

Sometime during this trip down memory lane, Sharon lost it, totally. When she came back to her senses, her culottes were across the room, her panties were a shredded rag draped around her waist, and her blouse and bra were both up around her neck. Her bedclothes were soaked; she'd actually ejaculated during the screaming orgasm her bunched fingers had wrung from her vagina!

... And the operative on duty for Witherspoon Confidential Investigations, LLC., was on the phone to his superior. "Mr. Wilson will want to see this, ASAP," he announced firmly. The shift manager took this seriously, and Armand was notified in his office, prompting a forty-five minute disruption in his appointments schedule. But the man was right; at the end of it, a pensive Armand picked up the phone and instructed that the operative was to receive a two hundred dollar bonus. Armand was beginning to become concerned; the videos were apparently prompting an epiphany in Sharon -- one he wasn't certain he wanted to occur.

It had taken Sharon an hour to clean up the results of her masturbatory orgy -- new sheets, blankets, bedspread, then a looooong shower in the hopes that the water pouring over her weakened body could wash away the shame... The outfit had to be replaced -- the shredded panties thrown away while the rest went directly into the wash. She spent five minutes trying to decide whether to destroy the DVD, but ultimately decided that her sluttishness had nothing to do with the piece of plastic it was recorded on, and put it away.

Now she was sitting at the table, trying to deal with the reality that the videos had rubbed her nose in. It was tough going, discovering that the real Sharon wasn't the controlled, morally-upright woman who periodically martyred herself to her rapacious ex-husband as an offering to continue the physical and financial well-being of herself and -- more importantly -- her daughter. No, the REAL Sharon was apparently the slut that happily gurgled around Armand's deeply inserted erection and wailed in orgasm to the feel of it pounding her ass. The REAL Sharon got that little something extra out of the humiliation of having some strange model-type watch Armand put her through her paces; the REAL Sharon could layer pain atop pleasure and reach an even more explosive orgasm thereby. For she DID orgasm regularly under Armand's rough treatment; how could it be rape if she enjoyed it so? The Sharon she was used to being thought of sex as something that could be pleasant, but wasn't necessarily so -- and had memories of multiple sex acts that apparently weren't. No, her mind had shielded her from her baser nature, erasing the memory of the pleasure that other Sharon obtained from the acts in the process. The Sharon she was used to being had had no interest in acquiring a new lover; quite aside from the embarrassing explanations (not to mention possible dangers) revealing her relationship with Armand would entail, she hadn't any memories of the whole thing being worth it. The past couple of days, however, had been a series of revelations; not only COULD she enjoy sex, she was staring the unpalatable fact that she DID enjoy sex -- rough, nasty, humiliating, painful sex -- dead in it's unwinking eye.

She'd cried a little bit, mumbled to herself QUITE a bit, but mostly, she'd just sat there, dumb, while she tried to integrate recent experience in her world-view. The old Sharon had been relatively simple, if rigidly structured. Now she knew that most of the pillars that had supported and enfolded the old Sharon weren't rigid at all, but gave and flexed, and let her out of their embrace on occasion. She was struggling hard with the new Sharon; the arrival of Nora and her boyfriend was a brief, unwelcome distraction from that silent struggle. Sharon dealt with it and went back to her primary occupation.

Armand Wilson knew concern as he watched his ex-wife and chief play- partner on the small monitor at his desk; he'd gone from the captured video to the live feed during Sharon's cleanup. The videos had apparently been a serious mistake; how to recover from it was the question uppermost in Armand's mind at this point. Obviously, tomorrow's session was going to have to be handled with some care... Armand didn't want Sharon mentally or emotionally damaged; her peculiar makeup, while not necessarily reality- based, had served them both well for nearly two decades, and, if possible, Armand didn't want it rattled too much. But the damage may have already been done... Armand was an instinctive psychologist with a couple of decades' worth of experience in both reading and manipulating people -- he knew that if anyone was going to preserve things as they were, it would have to be him; conventional practitioners of the art would not be concerned with the preservation of Sharon's dual nature.

But there was more to it than that; the current situation, which Armand loosely defined as 'Nora growing up', had rubbed his nose in something else that conventional practitioners of the arts of mental healing were taught during their formal education and more or less forced to make allowances for: the first person that you delude is yourself -- self- analysis is fraught with pitfalls. Armand hadn't examined his motives in 'releasing' Sharon and Nora all those years ago -- and he'd done even less analysis of the reasons why he hadn't just gotten shut of the pair and forgotten them. Why DID he waste thousands of dollars a year collecting data on the trivia of their lives? Why DID he summon Sharon to his office, again and again, to use, abuse, and humiliate? Only now, when he'd basically had his nose rubbed in it by the fact that the situation was fluid and in the process of changing radically, did things begin to come clear... Instinctively, Armand had sensed the sea change dictated by Nora's advance into womanhood, and instinctively, he'd reacted. In general, things were going well, but because he'd misunderstood his own needs and goals, things were threatening to go awry where Sharon was concerned...

For the next ninety minutes or so, things went along pretty much without incident; the young people concentrated on their studies while Sharon stewed in her self-discovery. But then, almost simultaneously, both groups lurched into action; as Sharon rose to begin supper preparations, Nora looked up at Nate and queried, "Done? Good! Come with me!" She hopped up and tiptoed to the door, her finger to her lips.

Nate rose silently to follow, wondering what Nora was up to. When the couple crossed the hall and entered Sharon's room, he knew that, whatever it was, it was no good...

Nora wasted no time in crossing to the 'toy box' and opening the lid. The contents were frankly amazing; Nora failed to throttle a titter of embarrassment as the various sex toys were revealed. With each new item, Nate's eyes got wider and wider; by the time the big black dildo surfaced, the whites could be seen all around them! Then the DVDs came out, while Nora whispered explanations: "Daddy sent this Sunday, and told Mom she should put the stuff to use... Wow! Look at this!" 'This' was the interracial video -- Nora knew instinctively that her father had included it to harass her mother. A moment's thought brought on the mental leap that her father had quite possibly teased her mother with the idea of finding HER one or more black studs -- the more Nora discovered about her Daddy, the more it made sense... "Daddy did this to upset Mom -- this isn't her kink..." Nate shrugged; he could get offended, if he wanted to work at it -- but over what? The fact that Nora was the first person in her family to develop a taste for dark meat? So what?

The pair riffled through the other content, ogling the cover photos and lurid descriptions of the commercial products. "Looks like your Daddy left your Mama a broad selection," Nate observed. Nora nodded absently and reshuffled the disks into their original order, the two blank cases on bottom -- then stood there, fingering them. They were what she was here for, anyway. "What are those?" Nate asked.

"If I'm right, they're movies of Mom and Daddy having sex," Nora replied. "From what Mom says, it's more like Daddy raping her -- but it's been going on forever, and..."

Nate frowned and nodded. "Ain't nobody dead or in jail. Your Mama gets pretty weird when she talks about your Daddy, though. You sure you ought to be lookin' at 'em?"

"Both of them kind of left the door open, at one point or another. I think Mom believes I should see Daddy at his worst before Thursday, for instance. But we'll do it quietly, anyway, in case she's changed her mind." Nora took the first disk -- the one Sharon had spent the afternoon viewing. She closed the box, and the pair tiptoed back into her room, where Nora turned on her combination TV, VCR, and DVD player and fed it the disk, then threw herself prone on the bed, facing the screen. Nate climbed up beside her and sat tailor-fashion, rubbing her back (and, yeah, her ass -- he loved that sweet, soft flesh... ). The menu came up, surprising Nora with its professionalism. More or less randomly, Nora selected the fifth scene -- which just happened to be the one that triggered Sharon's wild ride to orgasm a couple of hours before!

The scene opened with Sharon passing a camera positioned before Armand's desk, and stopping before him. Armand grunted, "About time!" and turned back to the other man in the room, ignoring Sharon's sputtered assertion that she was five minutes early... "Get that moron on the phone and tell him if we got anything tainted from his cut-rate supplier, I'll have HIM ground into hamburger! Tell him he'd better go mend fences and get the distribution network back the way it was, or else!" Armand stopped for a moment, glaring. "Give him a week, then see to it that 'or else' occurs, anyway! Stupid, greedy bastard!" Armand waved, and the man nodded and left. Armand turned his attention to Sharon. "So, what ELSE is going to turn out wrong today? What's the word on Councilman Pedersen?"

The camera angle shifted to a shot from behind Armand and to his right that captured Sharon's white face. It was abundantly clear that she didn't want to be in the room with Armand while he was in his current mood. Sharon blurted, "He's proving difficult to pin down -- but I think I might have something!"

Armand's glare didn't require a shift in camera angle to pick up -- it was there in his voice. "Are you telling me the truth, or merely attempting to avoid my anger?"

"No, no!" Sharon temporized, "I think I have something that will get him going! There is a youth hockey league..."

"Fine, I don't care to hear the details, if it's going to work -- tell the accountants!" Armand stepped around the desk, where a third, side camera picked him up. "Come here!"

"Armand..."

"Shut up, Woman, and follow instructions! Take off your blouse!"

Sharon hesitated momentarily, and it was her undoing. "Never mind!" Armand grunted, and snatched at the fabric. Buttons went everywhere. "Now get out of it!" Sharon started frantically yanking at the cuff buttons, but Armand produced a penknife. "Hold still!" The blade went underneath the fabric connecting the cups of Sharon's brassiere, and suddenly they were flopping against her sleeves. "Cuff!" Sharon laid a wrist in his hand, the knife flicked, and the button flew. "Now, the other one!" The procedure was repeated. "If you want ANY of your clothing to be intact," Armand warned, "you'll get out of that skirt, NOW!"

Sharon's hands scrabbled frantically at the snap and zipper, but only the fact that she took a step back gave her the required instant; Armand's impatience was at its peak. She stepped out of the skirt, but while she bent, Armand collected a handful of hair. "Come here and kneel!" he demanded.

The hand in her hair left Sharon without options; she found herself kneeling on her knees before Armand while he wrestled with his belt. He jerked her head back and glared into her eyes. "You know what to do!" Sharon did; she reached out and began fumbling with his snap and zipper. Finished with the belt, he put his hand on his hip and suffered her fumbling impatiently. Finally, she got it all and tugged his trousers and boxers to his knees. Armand pounded his intercom button and announced, "Charlene, hold my calls!"

"Yes s--." The intercom was off before Charlene finished her acknowledgement. "Hands behind your back!" Armand ordered, the hand raised, a slap imminent. Sharon did as she was told. "Take it!" he demanded, ramming his cock at her lips.

"Armugghhmmmph!" Opening her mouth to speak wasn't the wisest thing to do at that juncture. Armand unceremoniously filled it with meat and kept on going, dragging her head toward his crotch by the hair. Instinct and experience lowered her head and straightened her throat, and Armand drove on in. Sharon's hands came up to fend him off as she gagged, but he growled and slapped at them, and she subsided, concentrating on acceptance; it was 'way too late for anything else. He settled himself, holding her deep, then released her, only to set up a pattern of long, gagging strokes that kept Sharon fighting for breath. This went on for about ninety seconds, Armand varying his timing to suit the sensations involved and Sharon slowly losing the fight for breath until there was no struggle left in her; all of her energies went to breathing and maintaining consciousness. Armand was a pro, however; he knew where Sharon was, and he let up before he lost her to unconsciousness. Her state made her particularly pliant, however, when he snatched her to her feet and dragged her around to his side of the desk.