Different Loving
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Hard Drive

copyright © 1994 William D. Brame

This story appeared in edited form in Hot Talk (1994), and in The Best of Penthouse Hot Talk (1995).

The first one I met was Beckie. I had never seen her, never heard her voice, never knew her scent or the rustle of her skin against her clothing: I knew her thoughts on a computer screen. I knew her lusts. That's the essence of cybersex, the words on the screen to titillate, the knowledge that somewhere a woman is sitting breathing hard as you as she writes and reads, squirming as you are, stealing a hand from the keyboard to make sensation of script. Minds meet in cyberspace: bodies burn alone.

Beckie wasn't my first cybersex partner. They were legion, late-night lovers joined in cyberspace, a roiling orgy of white typeface on a glowing blue screen. My first time, when I was still new to computers and cyberspace, I stumbled into a real- time conference quite unaware, jarred to a full stop by line after flashing line of mutually-masturbatory script. If there had been anyone around in realspace I might've cracked a joke and moved on. But I was alone, and there was no reason to pretend otherwise: it aroused me. When I was in my teens, I used to make myself crazy thinking about all the people who must've been fucking at that very moment of thought, and where was mine? It was pretty much the same concept, made real on a computer monitor where I could watch, where I could join in.

The names and handles scroll out of memory just as they scrolled off the screen. Tawny, who wanted me to describe my tongue: Erika and her vibrator; Rickie, who was a man; Joan and her amazing interactive husband; so many more. Cybersex moves fast. In an evening I could have as many as five or six partners, all of us trying to shovel as much hot chat as we could into print buffers or onto disk for later, leisurely viewing.

But then there was Beckie, my great first. She was the first whose fantasies always interested me, without fail. She was wise and warm, a woman of experience with a 'body made for love,' or so she said. She wanted to be talked into it, a nice girl whose flesh betrayed her morals, whose appetites tore away hesitation. Take me, oh, take me, she typed, and I did, our typing and spelling becoming increasingly erratic until our screens sat blank, our fingers better employed.

It was she who suggested that we might move further, into phone. I typed my number and logged off to free the phone line, tearing out of my office to the bedroom. Minutes passed and she did not call, then the phone rang and caught me pacing in the hall wondering if she really would call, and I snatched up the phone on the fourth ring out of breath. "Hi, lover," Beckie murmured, low and throaty, as she greeted me every time after that, always with the same warning immediately thereafter: "We have to talk soft. My roomie's asleep."

As her roomie slept, I took her, instructing her, listening to the crisp background sounds of clothing sliding from her limbs, to her restrained gasps of excitement as I teased her beyond primness, telling her of how I would find her alone and naked, asleep possibly, and how I would begin stroking her soft skin, brushing her nipples and belly and thighs, until she squirmed into wakeful arousal to become my living fuck doll. And that did it, the words, the concept, fuck doll. It sent her over the top: the phone crackled with her orgasm.

It was I who suggested meeting in person. She was hesitant. So was I, but I had a conviction that this was it, that in a meeting of minds I had found the woman who was made for me. The more she hesitated the more I seized the advantage, finding her buttons and pushing them. I set up the ultimate fantasy. We would take a hotel room. She would arrive first, check into the room, undress, and lay naked on her stomach waiting for me. She wouldn't know when I would appear. When I did, I would begin using her for my pleasure, examining her in every detail, touching everything, teasing her until she pleaded to be used as a fuck doll....

It took weeks to set up, finding a hotel, getting vacation times, arranging and coordinating a hundred details in our late- night talks before telling her how she would squirm as I shaved the hair from her pubic mound. The day came, and I was useless at work, a priapic zombie checking the clock every five minutes. After work was worse. Finally, at seven, I caught a cab to the hotel and picked up my key at the front desk, fidgeting in the elevator and wishing I'd taken the stairs.

Easing the door open, I stepped inside the darkened room and listened. There was steady, sighing breathing, the almost- snore of a sleeping woman. In the dim, unfamiliar spaces, I groped to the bed and stood over her, smelling perfume and talc. I touched her back and she shuddered faintly. She was warm and soft. I trailed my fingers down her back to the swell of her buttocks, then gently, insistently, began to roll her over. Her body was heavy with sleep. Her body, I realized, was just plain heavy.

But it didn't matter! I wouldn't be so callow as to let that make a difference. At least not at the moment.

"Hi, lover," she whispered, waking. My senses thrilled at the familiar sound of her voice.

"Roll over, my darling," I said. She did. The bed rocked and swayed. I ran my hands over her ripe, fleshy breasts, feeling her nipples harden to my touch. I explored the outline of her body and it was large, yes, but exciting and so responsive. I nudged her legs apart and traced up her trembling thighs to her womanhood. Her curls were damp and hot: I parted the fringe with one finger and touched her moist, hot flesh.

"Please, don't tease me," she said.

I rubbed her lightly with my finger and said, softly, "My fuck doll." Her lips fluttered under my touch. Her legs squeezed my hand.

"I can't stand it, really, I've wanted this so long." Beckie humped her hips up, rubbing herself against my hand, sighing with pleasure. I thought of all my elaborate plans to tease her, to make her spread her pussy lips and display herself, to make her plead for relief, and I felt her desire and its immediacy and began stripping out of my clothes. I fell into bed beside her and we grappled like wrestlers, hands tugging and grasping, lips melding, a jumble of bodies and movement. She rolled over to the side of the bed and I heard a crackle of ripped foil: her hands sought and seized my penis, and I felt the cool slickness of lubricated gel as she rolled a condom onto me. Before I could react to that, she slammed me onto my back and mounted me, her hand gripping the base of my penis and guiding me in, hard. I yelped as her weight drove her encircling hand down over my testicles: she released her grip and began riding me. "Now you're my fuck doll!" she growled.

"Oh, yeah!" I shouted back. "Take me!"

Her vagina clenched me like a fist. She seized my nipples and twisted them, plunging up and down atop me as if she rode a horse. The sensation was so intense I could only groan: I felt my orgasm gathering speed and cried out as her clasping womanhood stroked me to climax. Her body went rigid, locking me in place as she cried out in pleasure. She collapsed limply, then, and panted into my neck.

"That was...." I murmured.

"Just a sec," she said weakly. She fumbled between us and seized my cock, holding the condom in place as she detached us. "You were saying?"

"That was incredible." I kissed her cheek and face.

"I can't stay," she said.

"Pardon?" I said.

"I should have told you from the first," she said. "I'm married."

"Oh," I said.

She rolled over me--I uttered a startled woof!-- and padded off to the bathroom. I saw a slice of pink buttock as she flipped on the light and closed the door. A moment passed, water hissing in the shower. "You mad?" she shouted.

"I don't know," I said.


"No!" I shouted.

The shower shut off. I lay listening to the rasp of her toweling off. The door clicked open: I saw a slice of her blue skirt before she flipped off the light. "Maybe we'll do it again soon," she said, kissing me goodbye, but of course we never have.

I was a changed man after Beckie. It's part of the natural evolution of cybersex: disillusion shortly sets in. However disgruntled I got, though, the immediacy of cyberspace always brought me back. The instant of log-on brings contact with hundreds of others, all there for the same reasons, cybercruisers on the prowl. I was more discriminating--among other things, I had just realized how many cybertransvestites there were--but I was there, and there I met Julie.

Julie's thing--ah, how we all get tagged by our things, in cyberspace--was her willingness to explore any fantasy, the ultimate hedonist. Once I got beyond a preoccupation with that, I found her an interesting person, smart, self-consciously funny. I suggested an exchange of photos to our respective post office boxes and, of course, asked if she were married. She was not.

The photo I received was a Polaroid shot of a pretty, slender blonde woman, without a stitch of clothing. Behind her, blurrily, there was a bed heaped with raincoats: I assumed the picture had been taken at a party. I had sent her a picture of me coming out of a pool, which I had thought risque, in my innocence. I cringed as one who has made an inappropriate gift and took her photo home for closer perusal.

We progressed to phones soon thereafter. The promise of fulfilling any fantasy is exciting, but the reality is that one runs out of fantasies. With increasing eagerness, I began pumping her for her fantasies. She professed not to have any. "What I like," she would say, in a Texas drawl, "is to know that I am pleasing my partner." I would go back to the well for more fantasies, but I was running dry.

"Well, I do have one fantasy," she confessed at last.

"Yeah?" I said happily.

"I have never told my fantasy to anybody," she said.

"High time, eh?" I said, touching myself anticipatorily.


"But I've told you so much, and you accept me," I entreated, paranoid when she didn't answer all that quickly.

"Yeeeees," she said. "But yours are okay."

That flipped me, since admitting to those fantasies had required depths of strength I had never thought I possessed. When would I ever have told anyone else about the kidnapped cheerleader fantasy? About the gang-bang in the shower room? I sputtered in pained defense of my perversity.

"Oh, I couldn't say it," Julie said. "I could do it."

Once again, I reserved a room at the hotel, with the change that this time I would wait naked for her.

"You're not married?" I asked, the night before her flight.


"And this whatever isn't going to, like, kill me or anything?"

"Bless your heart, sugar, no." Which was reassurance enough, apparently, because I went to the hotel the next afternoon.

I went to sleep after awhile: calling Julie in her time zone kept me up half the night, night after night, and I fell asleep any time my body was horizontal. I woke and knew Julie was there. I could feel her presence in the room. I could see an odd band of light at the extreme bottom of my vision, disconcerting until I turned my head on the pillow and realized I was wearing a blindfold. I started to touch it.

"You leave that on, sugar," Julie said. "If I told you to close your eyes you'd peek." Her hands gripped my shoulders. "I need you to get up a minute." She guided me to my feet and nuzzled against me a moment, sucking my nipple wetly. I felt a flutter of excitement, and she touched my cock. "You hold that thought," she said.

I stood as she moved away and began, from the sound of it, making the bed. There was an odd squeak in the sound. It made me think of the balloon man in the park when I was a kid, a guy with clown makeup who used to make balloon animals. There would be that same squeak as he twisted the balloons together. I pushed the thought out of my mind. The balloon man used to scare the hell out of me. The memory clashed with the mood.

"You set down," Julie purred, and gave me a little shove. I stumbled back onto the bed, which was peculiarly cold and resilient. I put down my hand and felt it. There was a rubber sheet stretched over the bed.

"Now take that blindfold off, if you like," she said. I did. She stood in front of me in the glare of the overhead light, sheathed in fiery red from her to toe. I blinked and squinted. She was molded in red rubber, like a wetsuit. Her pert breasts bobbed from openings in the front. A hood hid all her head save her face. I sat up and looked her over, up and down. She wore red rubber booties. She wore red rubber gloves.

"Aren't you hot in all that?" I blurted.

"You want to run screaming, now's the time," she said.

"The raincoats," I said.

"That's right," she said. "So how about it?" Her voice was tight and tense: her breasts were bobbing with rapid breathing.

"See for yourself," I invited, lying back to expose my erect cock: thinking, though, this is pretty weird.

She turned off the light and leaped lightly beside me, and I took her in my arms. I found the rubber oddly exciting: it rubbed against my cock and the slickness of it, the sleekness, made me grind myself into her, savoring the contact. I rolled half on top her and humped myself against her belly, taking her nipple in my mouth.

"You like it?" she whispered.

"Oh, yes," I said, moving to her other breast.

"You willing to go all the way? The way I like it?"

"Oh, you bet, Julie. This is...oh, this is too much..." I was really turned on.

"You got one of those things?" she asked. I made the lonely trip to the nightstand and tore out one of those things.

"You got to be sure," she cautioned me.

"I'm sure!" I was lying.

"I have to be on top," she said. So I lay down and she slithered on top. There was, to my relief, an opening in the crotch of her suit. She sank onto me, taking her time about it, tight and moaning a little as she forced herself down. "Mmmmm," she said. "Oh. Yeah." She stretched with a groan of rubber across my chest, resting her weight on her hands, on my wrists.

She was fucking me, holding me down, and it was great. A strand of her hair escaped the hood and fluttered against my face. Her hot breath exploded on my cheek. I felt a flood of warmth across my thighs and belly. "Aaaaah!" she cried. She was peeing all over me.

"My God," I said.

"Shhhhh!" she hissed. The rubber, wet, began to rasp on my belly and thighs, the moisture making the hairs stick. It was plucking the hairs one by one.

I began to struggle. Her hands were like iron: her body quivered with strength. She drove onto me hard, her clasping muscles milking me, keeping me erect despite the pain and confusion. I started bucking my hips, trying to stroke into her faster and harder. I wanted her to come. Soon.

"Uhhhhh," she said. "Aaaaaah. Aaaah." She dug her fingers into my wrists, the rubber pads of her gloves grinding. "Come for me, come for me now..."

Lord, I thought, can I fake it? But I didn't need to. As if it had only been waiting recognition, my orgasm boiled up out of me. I came so hard it stung, especially when she kept milking me and riding me, clamping down in orgasm when I was ready to scream in pained protest.

We showered together. Her body, unclothed, was a sleek delight to soap. Mine was red and irritated from the wet rubber.

"You didn't like it," she said.

Of course, I said it was great, what else? We cleared the rubber sheet away and made love again. She kept reaching up to the head of the bed and fondling her hood.

We had breakfast together and never saw each other again. We planned to, at first, but neither of us pushed for it. We just weren't right together. Once she had had her fantasy made real, Julie couldn't go back to hiding it: she started prowling cyberspace looking for someone who shared her desires, and the last I heard, found one.

I was glad for her. As for me, I tried the real world for a time, and it was just awful. I was used to computer speed and in the real world, computer speed brings on face-slaps and frosty goodbyes. It takes date after date to reach the same level of communication one gets in ten minutes in cyberspace. I went back to the cyber saloon, and left the singles bars behind.

Then at last there was Elaine. By the time I found Elaine I was a cyber old-timer, and so was she. A lot of the initial awkwardness just never happened: we clicked right off. We had the same fears, the same sorts of disappointments, apparently some of the same fantasies: she responded eagerly to the kidnapped cheerleader, with embellishments.

We made the exchange of photos, we started burning up the long-distance wires, and everything seemed to proceed like clockwork. I would take out her picture at work and moon over it. She was 28: her photo made her seem like 19 or 20. She wore her sandy blonde hair loose and long. Her eyes were the sort of blue that comes out clear in photographs.

Twice burned and twice shy, when the time to meet came I didn't even suggest the hotel. Instead, I arranged a business trip to her city and we met for the first time in a restaurant. I was blown away by her. I was like a kid on his first date: I was so rapt in her beauty I couldn't hear what she said half the time. It was like having someone smack a sucker punch into my gut, the same sort of surprise and breathlessness. I wanted Elaine like life itself.

"You don't look like a computer nerd," she said, desperate, apparently, to get me to talk about something.

"I'm not," I said. "I'm a telecommunications engineer. We're introducing wireless modems."

"What's the point of that?" she asked, and I showed her. I lifted my attache and there, in the restaurant, logged onto our bulletin board with my notebook. I pushed it over to Elaine. She looked at the screen and started typing. For the next five minutes, at least, the only sound at our table was the brittle tapping of the keyboard. People were turning to stare.

"They're bringing our order," I said.

"Just a second," she said absently.

"Anything interesting?"

"Oh, the usual," she said, and logged off.

After dinner she dropped me at my hotel, and I accepted that philosophically. Don't rush it. Later, though, the front desk announced a visitor, and she came up to my room in a long raincoat. I somewhat apprehensively asked her in. She handed me a plastic bag and I looked inside. There was a coil of clothesline.

"What...?" I started to ask, and looked up. Elaine was shrugging out of the raincoat. She wore a pleated skirt and a sweater, bobby socks and saddle shoes.

"Class of '83 and it still fits," she said.

I was white-hot.

"Oh, what are you going to do to me?" she cried in mock alarm.

I whipped clothesline around her wrist and tied it to the other, behind her. "First," I growled lustily, "let's see if you remembered your panties." She had, but it was the work of a moment to get them off. She didn't really resist.

I tied her to the chair. I tied her to the clothes rail. I tied her to the bed. I was a wild man. She still wore her saddle shoes and socks when I took her, the heels digging dents into my buttocks that were still apparent the next morning. It seemed to go on for hours. She writhed beneath me and whimpered, the clothesline creaking as she twisted her bound wrists.

Afterward, I released her and she melted into my arms. We kissed and joked, fondling one another sleepily. I almost passed out: I was drifting on the edge of sleep, in that weird border between dream and reality. I felt the bed shift as Elaine got up. I heard the bathroom door click. She came out wearing the cheerleader's pleated skirt, but it jutted peculiarly at the front. There was an electronic beep, which I assumed with dream logic was the soundtrack acknowledging my puzzlement. Beep. She lifted the skirt, slowly. A thick leather harness was buckled to her loins. Beep, beep.

"Oh. God, no," I said, chagrined and incredibly aroused. Beep. I tried to flee: I couldn't move. Ropes the size of battleship hawsers held my wrists and ankles. She strutted forward, the flesh-colored dildo jouncing wildly and proudly. Beep, beep, beep.

Oh, yeah, I thought. S'okay. Just a dream. And I plunged into dreamless sleep.

The next night the kidnapped cheerleader escaped her bonds and tied me to the bed, enjoying a long, slow revenge that left me quivering in lust. Afterward, I was exhausted. I went to sleep as if I'd been anesthetized. In the cold, gray light of morning, I saw Elaine at the foot of the bed, naked, peering into my attache case. "I was just sneaking a look at your setup," she said, seeing me awake.

"Ah, ah," I said. "Sneaks get spanked." I caught her just before the bathroom door.

My next visit I went straight to her house and the sex, again, was fabulous. Better than ever, for me. For her...I had a sense of something missing, a reserve, maybe, that we weren't breaking through. It was nothing I could identify, but I'm not much of a sleuth. I am, however, persistent, and that evening and night I wore myself to a frazzle exciting Elaine. She was wet, flushed, panting, everything one could ever hope for, and yet I don't think she ever came. I didn't think I'd ever seen her come.

My sleep was gloomy and fitful, and I woke to hear a strange, familiar sound. Beep. Beep. I got up and tiptoed over to the bedroom door, tripping on the cheerleader skirt, catching myself on the door frame. The door eased open a crack.

Elaine sat before a glowing computer monitor in a tiny office lined with bookshelves. There was another beep. I knew that beep well now that I recognized its context. It accompanied a private message sent on-line. Elaine shifted in her seat. Bathed in the glow of the screen, she was naked. Her fingers clacked furiously across the keyboard. She was squeezing her legs together: I saw her shadowed feet writhing over one another, crossing her ankles again and again. Her nipples, bouncing with her movements, were highlighted against the screen, hard as diamonds.

I felt like bursting in, like something out of an old melodrama, crying "Betrayed!" Just then Elaine threw her head back, teeth clenched, and gave a mighty, repressed groan. She braced her hands on either side of the keyboard and bent over, shuddering, her hair swinging in front of the monitor like a curtain. She was, apparently, capable of an orgasm.

I started gathering up my clothes, with the idea of quietly slipping away, feelings hurt. I picked up my suitcase and attache case, bundling my clothes beneath my arm. There was another series of beeps from the other room and I paused. I looked at the attache case.

I had never had trouble in cyberspace. It was in realspace that things went to pot.

It was the work of a moment to log on and find Elaine. I sent her a private message. What if there were a man in the other room....

Her message beeped back. Who is this?

I typed on. And this man came in and found you there, naked, naughty....

"Is that you?" she cried.

Give me a cheer, I typed.

"Rah!" she shouted. And typed, What would you do to me?

I shifted on the bed and touched myself, anticipatorily. I'd take some nice, soft cotton rope.... I began.

And who knows? One of these days, we'll meet in the doorway.


Joy Ride

copyright © 1993 William D. Brame

I walked in the summer heat, shuffling along the side of the road. A short ride had left me off at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere. No houses, no farms, no gas stations, nothing but forest. I had walked miles.

A car roared past in a shockwave of sound and color, almost blowing me off into the ditch. It screeched to a halt twenty feet beyond me, smoke billowing around its tires. It sat poised, engine rumbling, then jerked into motion, backing rapidly. I glanced at the fence to my right, wondering how fast I could climb it.

The car--a bright red, sporty two-door--jerked to a halt beside me. The windows were tinted black. All I could see was my own distorted reflection. The blank square of the passenger- side window hummed down and a dark woman's face emerged, eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses.

"Where to?" she asked. I held up the cardboard sign I carried.

"College boy?" she said, reading my destination.

"College man," I said. She was my age, at least, and attractive.

The driver leaned over, looking up at me. She was also young, her skin as smooth and clear as fine porcelain, framed by waves of honey-blonde hair. The window hummed up and hid them from my sight.

"Damn!" No cars all day, and then to lose this ride? But the car stayed there, rumbling and trembling slightly. I knocked on the window. It slid down. The mirrored sunglasses appeared in the gap.

"Please," I said. "I really need a ride."

The window hummed up again. I expected the car to zoom away, but instead the door swung open. "Get in," the passenger said. She leaned forward, releasing the catch so that I could crawl through to the back seat. I tossed my backpack in and scrambled after it before they could change their minds.

The passenger had short black hair, blue-black, reflecting the sun like metal. She wore a sleeveless white teeshirt. The driver wore a loose print dress and all that hair, an amazing cascade of gold down over her shoulders, spilling onto the seat back. As she spun the wheel and guided us back onto the road I saw muscle flexing in her arms, her biceps bulging.

We rode in silence for a long moment. I shook myself out of shyness and leaned forward. "Thanks," I said. "You saved my life, really."

The passenger turned, facing me in the gap between the seats.

"My name's Dan," I said.

"Charmed, I'm sure," the passenger said. Her lips were full and red. Her face was narrow, her flawless skin the color of coffee with cream.

"I'm Sharyn," the driver said, her blue eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.

"Pleased to meet you," I said.

"You're staring at me," the passenger said.

"Knock it off, Jackie," Sharyn said.

"Your shirt is all sweaty," Jackie said.

"It's a hot day." I smiled apologetically.

"Take it off," Jackie said. "Cool down a little."

I looked at Sharyn, who met my eyes again and shrugged. "We won't mind," she said. I hesitated, but they were so relaxed and casual that I felt silly for my reflexive embarrassment.

"You work out, do you?" Jackie asked, as I peeled my shirt off. I glanced down at my own chest, trying to see what she saw.

"Oh, a little," I said.

"You're being modest," Jackie said. "Do you do any lower- body training?"

"Sure," I said. "Some."

"Squats? Thrusts?"

"Military press?" Sharyn chimed in.

"I'm not a bodybuilder or anything," I said uneasily. I had no idea what they'd just asked me.

"Maybe I can give you some pointers," Sharyn said. "Be happy to."

"She's a bodybuilder," Jackie said. "How's that? You can get a professional evaluation. Let's see your legs."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Show us your legs. Let's see how they're coming along."

"Really, that's okay," I said.

"No need to be shy," Sharyn said.

If only she knew. I wasn't wearing underpants. "I appreciate the offer, but...."

"Have you got something you don't want us to see?" Jackie abruptly demanded.

"Like what?" I asked, confused.

"Oh, for the sake of argument," Sharyn said, "like a gun, for instance."

"Or a knife," Jackie said.

"Of course not," I laughed. "Why? Do you?"

"I don't," Sharyn said.

Jackie drew her purse to her. There was a small, metallic clanking as she slid her hand inside. "Two women, traveling alone," she said. "You can't be too careful." Her hand remained within the purse.

"You've got a gun?"

"Do you, Dan?"

"Nope, not me." My eyes were riveted on the bulge of her hand within her purse.

"You seem a little nervous," Jackie observed. "Like you have something to hide."

"Maybe you should just let me out," I said.

"What are you scared of, a big man like you?" Jackie took off her sunglasses, one-handed. Her eyes were a lustrous brown, faintly almond-shaped. "We can take you a long way, if we can trust you."

"Or all the way," Sharyn said.

"Okay," I said, "how about I empty my pockets?"

"That's not good enough, I'm afraid," Jackie said.

"You could have one down in the back of your waistband," Sharyn said. "Or in your underwear."

"Even in your sock," Jackie said. The way they tag-teamed their objections seemed polished, like they'd done it before. Maybe they'd had a bad experience with someone and a hidden gun. But why would they pick up a hitchhiker if they had?

"There is one way to be sure," Sharyn said.

"You'll have to take your pants down," Jackie said.

It was all just a little too pat. I started to laugh.

"Did I say something funny?" Jackie asked coldly.

"You got me. You really had me going there."

Their eyes bored into me. I looked between the mirror and Sharyn's gaze and Jackie. Neither so much as cracked a grin.

"I insist," Jackie said softly. She lifted the purse slightly. It looked like she wore a boxing glove, pointed toward me.

I slowly unbuckled my belt, still grinning, still waiting for them to admit their joke.

Moments later I sat naked and shivering, my legs pressed together, my arms crossed over my chest. My clothes and my backpack were piled on the front floorboard. Jackie's hand shifted inside her purse. "Pull over," she told Sharyn. The car bumped along the shoulder and came to a stop.

"Don't," I said hoarsely, suddenly convinced they were going to leave me there, naked.

Jackie rose, facing me. "I want you to pray," she said.

"Pray?" I echoed numbly.

"Put your hands together and hold them up. How else do you pray?"

I brought my palms together. "Now close your eyes," Jackie said. "Do it right."

I squeezed my eyes shut. I heard metal clatter and saw in my mind's eye Jackie removing a gun from her purse. Metal clanked and rattled and shockingly cold bands circled my wrists. I couldn't not look: opening my eyes I saw handcuffs, and Jackie's tan fingers snapping them tight. I jerked back, but the cuffs were locked solidly.

"That should hold you," she said. She opened the door and slid into the back seat beside me. I felt the warmth of her thigh against mine, pressing against me as the car surged forward.

"You scared?" Jackie breathed close to my ear.

"Yeah," I said.

"Why? You don't think I'd hurt you, do you?" I flinched as she trailed her fingers over my thigh. "Don't move." She leaned across my chest. I felt the pressure of her breasts on my torso. Her breasts were firm, her nipples hard: only the fabric of her teeshirt separated our flesh. She pulled the seat belt over my chest and snapped the buckle into place. There was little slack. The belt forced my arms to my sides, the chain of the cuffs pressing into my stomach. I couldn't move.

Jackie giggled, sliding her hand between my legs. Her fingers cupped my testicles and squeezed lightly, until I squirmed. "Please!" I gasped, twisting. "Please don't!"

"How big is he?" Sharyn asked.

"I'll see," Jackie said. She lightly caressed my genitals, tickling my scrotum, squeezing and kneading my penis. "What are you, a limp-dick?" she said harshly after a moment.

"No," I said, my voice coming out in a squeak.

"He's scared, the poor thing," Sharyn said, her voice warmly sympathetic.

"We wait all this time," Jackie snapped, "and we finally find one who can't get it up." She angrily squeezed my penis and jerked it.

I swallowed. "You don't have to do this. If you want sex..."

"You don't know what I want," Jackie said, slapping my penis. I gasped. She sucked her fingers and swirled her moist fingertips around the head of my cock. I felt a surge of intense sensation unlike any I had ever known. It was as primal as pain, and as inescapable, and like pain, beyond my control. One moment I was miserably apprehensive: the next I was transported to ecstasy by the teasing fingers of the dark, exotic beauty. Just the idea of what she was doing inflamed me.

"He's a big boy," Jackie said. She flicked my penis and released me.

I felt the car accelerating, bumping over the expansion joints in the road surface. I quivered with humiliated anticipation, my eyes closed in embarrassment.

"You'd like to fuck me, wouldn't you?" Jackie asked casually. I didn't reply. She slapped my balls lightly. "Tell me," she ordered.

"Yes," I groaned.

"You want to fuck me. You want to stick this thing inside me, don't you?" She squeezed my member, milking it in her hand.

"How am I supposed to drive with you doing that?" Sharyn said sharply. "Come on!"

"You'll get yours," Jackie said, her voice jerky and urgent. "Let me get mine." I felt her wriggling against me and blinked, focusing on her face, inches from mine. Her full, red lips were open, her white teeth glinting. "That's right, look at me. I want you to see." She tugged her teeshirt off.

Her breasts jutted toward me, trembling with the motions of the speeding car. Her nipples were erect, dark brown, like chocolate kisses on two mounds of coffee ice cream. How I wanted to lick them!

Jackie giggled again and brought her hand up under her breast. "Reach for it," she whispered. "Come on!" I strained, but the seat belt held me back. She pulled away, laughing, raising her hips and sliding her jean shorts down her smooth brown legs. Her panties gleamed white against her rich skin.

"Here, I know what you want to see." She plucked the elastic down. I saw the black glossy curls framing her sex. She dropped the panties on my lap and released my seat belt. "On your knees," she said, pushing me impatiently until my knees were crammed into the well behind the driver's seat. I watched wide- eyed as she stretched out full length.

"Do exactly what I tell you to do," she breathed. I could smell her desire, musky and sweet. She drew my head down to her pubic mound, raising her hips, brushing my mouth with her wet labia. "Kiss it!" she said.

I pressed my lips into her fragrant sex, tasting her. Her juices moistened my cheeks and chin as she ground onto my face, her pussy opening with little wet sucking sounds as I kissed from her curls to the swelling knot of her clitoris.

She wriggled her arm between us, stroking my throbbing penis as she commanded me to stick out my tongue. I began lapping at her. She pulled me savagely by the hair. "I didn't tell you to lick!" she barked. "Stick it out."

She rode my outthrust tongue. I felt her pussy lips ripple against my lips. It was hard to breathe. Every breath was moist with her juices. Jackie's thighs clamped my head and she groaned, forcing my face against her as I struggled frantically for air. Each exhalation made Jackie quiver and gasp. I wriggled my nose into her and breathed out. Her body went rigid. She groaned loudly, forcing my face against her. Her body convulsed in orgasm.

She pushed me back. I knelt painfully, muscles cramping, in the confined space between the seat. Jackie rested her feet against my stomach.

"I see it," Sharyn cried. I was thrown against the side as we turned suddenly. I peered out the window. A cluster of little cabins spread into the darkening trees. It was an old- fashioned motor court.

Sharyn got out and slammed the door.

Jackie turned my face to hers. "I want you to be a good boy and wait here for us," she said.

"Yes," I whispered. She sat up and wriggled into her teeshirt and shorts, then folded the seat forward and opened the door. "I'll take this," she said, cramming my clothes into my pack and slinging it over her shoulder. "If you want to run, you'll have to do it bare-ass."

"I won't run," I promised.

She smiled. "I know," she said, and shut the door.

I crouched there, so aroused that I couldn't help touching myself, watching for their return through the windshield. It never occurred to me to try to escape. The last thing I wanted was to escape this.

My eyes fell on Jackie's purse, wedged in the gap between the front seats, its flap open. I hesitated, reluctantly took my linked hands from myself, and spread the purse opening wide. There were cosmetics, an aspirin bottle, a crumpled dollar or two, and a wallet, but nothing even faintly resembling a weapon. I fished out the wallet and snapped it open. Jackie's photos peered at me from a driver's license and a student ID card.

"College girl, huh?" I said. I heard footsteps and quickly thrust the wallet back into the purse. The two women opened their doors simultaneously just as I sat back quickly.

Sharyn leaned over the seat, glancing at my penis. "Mmmmmmm. I said he'd have a big cock."

Jackie slammed her door. "Let's get private," she said.

Sharyn drove us to the last cabin on the property. Jackie got out first, shouldering my pack. Sharyn folded down the seat and drew me out of the car. I winced, tottering, as blood returned to my cramped legs.

It was the first really good sight of Sharyn I had. She was as unlike Jackie as possible: she was tall, her body lush and full under her print dress, her skin creamy white.

She grasped my penis and tugged me forward, leading me at a fast walk into the cabin's small living room. Jackie lay there on a vinyl couch. "The beds are back there," she pointed, not looking up from the glossy pages of a magazine.

Sharyn sat me on a bed and closed the door, tossing her purse onto the bedside table. "Lay down on your back," she said. "Put your hands over your head." She watched me settle down as she had instructed, her brilliant blue eyes fixed on my groin. Under her scrutiny, my penis returned to the aching hardness I had known under Jackie's tormenting touch.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," she said. Her voice was rich and strong. "What I want from you is pleasure." My mouth went dry as she unzipped the dress and let it fall. She stood before me in her bra and panties. Her belly was flat and rippled as a washboard. As she unhooked her bra, I stared in fascinated lust at the interplay of her sharply-defined muscles. She was an Amazon. Her breasts were full and firm, bulging proudly from her chest, her nipples oddly delicate and pink against her heroic proportions.

She strode to me, as lithe and confident as a stalking lioness. Sitting beside me, she rubbed her hand over my chest and stomach. Her palm was warm and firm. I shivered at her touch.

"Please?" I whispered. "Can I touch you? Feel you?"

"Of course you can," she said soothingly. She lifted me easily, holding me upright, her arm under my shoulders. "Give me your hands." She guided my cuffed hands to her breast and pressed my fingers to her. "Go ahead."

I squeezed her breast gently and lightly touched her nipple. It blossomed under my fingers, swelling as she sighed and arched her back. "Kiss it," she said. "Don't be bashful." I lowered my lips to her nipple. She held me to her, moaning softly in pleasure.

She guided me to her other breast and let me suck. "Not too much," she whispered ardently. "I've been waiting a long time. I thought I'd run off the road when you were with Jackie on the back seat." She lowered me to the bed and lifted my hands over my head again. I was dizzy with desire. Her strength, her ability to so easily manipulate me into any position, enthralled me. She explored my genitals with her fingers and eyes. Lifting my balls gently, Sharyn stroked the sensitive skin beneath with her nails and lightly scratched my aching cock. Soon I was gasping and moaning.

"I don't need handcuffs to control you," she said. "You don't want to get away from me."

"No," I said. "God, no!"

"I'm a lot stronger than you," she said. "Don't forget it." She fished a keyring from her purse and seized my wrists, quickly freeing my hands. "Now touch me," she said, breathing quickly. "Touch me here." She pulled my hand between her thighs. I felt her blonde curls part and touched the slick wetness within. She bit her lip and moaned as I gently rubbed her, pawing at her purse, spilling things onto the floor. Her hand emerged clutching a foil-wrapped condom.

"Just lay back," she panted. She knelt over me and smoothed the condom down onto my rigid flesh. Straddling me, Sharyn guided my cock into her. She was burning hot and wet. She drove her pussy onto me hard and fell forward, grasping my wrists in fists of iron and holding me captive as she shivered and rode me, pulling me inside her a fraction of an inch at a time, rising and then plunging back further.

I cried out, grinding my head into the pillow and whimpering. I was frantic with need, trying to plunge myself into her, only to be denied when she clamped down and held me in place. She controlled the tempo.

She groaned lustily, her cunt gripping me, constricting and twisting. I fought to free my hands, kicking, pleading, desperate to increase the pace. My balls were bursting-tight with my need. I HAD to cum, but she kept it from me, riding me in her own rhythm, throwing back her head and screaming as her pussy clamped tight on my raging cock. The sensation was more than I could stand. I roared and thrashed and finally, mercifully, the constriction eased and my cum boiled from my balls. I lay beneath her panting, too weak to even return the kisses she rained upon my face and lips.

"That's okay," she whispered sweetly. "You go ahead and rest. You've earned it." She released my wrists and rose from the bed. I fell almost instantly into heavy, dreamless sleep.

Hands were on my body, rolling me, lifting me. I opened my eyes reluctantly and gasped. Sharyn held me in her arms, carrying me through the bedroom door. "We let you sleep as long as we could," Sharyn said. "but it's time to go." She carried me as easily as a baby, clasped to her bosom, and bore me to the car.

"My clothes?" I said groggily. The morning air was warm on my bare skin.

"You don't need any clothes," Jackie giggled. She held open the car door. Sharyn ducked and gently laid me in the back.

"Where are you taking me?" I was still drugged with exhaustion.

"All the way," Jackie said, sliding in beside me. I opened my legs to Jackie's insistent touch.

"You'll be home in a day or two," Sharyn assured me.

"No need to hurry," I said.

They didn't

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