Drugfuck

by bluepervina - © 2003

( FF, FM, inc, voy, nc )

 

[ 08/01/03 ] This is an idea that I'm sure has been done extensively, but I'm not much inclined to research the story sites to find out. I know non-consent and drug rape stories are popular, and this is a story about that; however, it's not really the core of what I want to do with this. I'm more concerned with exploring the boyfriend's changes as he discovers something new, unexpected, and dangerous about his lover. I want to see how his character deals with his love vs. his lust vs. his common sense. I'm setting up the reader-as-voyeur by framing it all with the videotape viewing, and I hope that aligns the reader even more closely with the boyfriend/narrator. What's slowing me is that this story has immediacy in a way that I don't normally like. There's not much front-end development. Thus the girlfriend is a blank so far. My task is to weave a better tapestry of her after the tape is viewed. The boyfriend needs to reflect on his love and his past with her, he needs to compare what he knows about her from before with what he has discovered about her now, and he needs to show the reader the spaces, the gaps in his knowledge, and that will create a nice nervous tone for the climax to unfold within. This is also another 2nd person narration, which tends to annoy me; but I find that it can work with certain types of mood-nostalgia and melancholy especially-so I hope to stick with it here to the end and get better at delivering an effective 2nd person narrative.

 

You let me watch the videotape, that first night I moved in, and for a long time I didn't know what to think about it. I had no idea what to say. I knew you were sitting there on the other end of the couch, idly holding the remote, staring at me with your gorgeous eyes, afraid I'd freak. And I almost did.

* * *

It is your bedroom in the apartment. The camera is hidden somehow, and part of the lens is blocked by something. You drag a girl into the room and pull her awkwardly onto the bed. She is a little taller and heavier than you. Bigger breasts and hips. She has a cute little turquoise stone set in her navel ring and a tattoo of a dolphin just above her left hip.

She is dead weight, and you struggled to get her on the bed. She's completely unconscious.

Her flip-flops haven fallen off as you drag her into the room. You bend over her, briefly obstructing the camera. But then you seem to remember and switch to the other side of the girl, taking care to look up and see that everything is in the frame. Unbuttoning, unzipping, pulling softly, then yanking, you manage to get her tight low-rise jeans off. Her thong is next. You stand there and sniff it for a long time. Then you stuff it into your mouth and chew, sucking at the juices, slipping a hand inside your own jeans.

After a minute or so, you pull out your fingers and begin to lick them, dropping the thong on the floor. It is clear you don't mind the fact that you'll be putting them back on her while they're still soaking wet with your saliva.

Not caring about stealth now, you roughly pull off the girl's sport top and step back. Her nipples are both pierced with short silver bars, and she has a tattoo of some sort on her left breast. You come over and grab the video camera and take some nice, long, close-up footage of this girl's outstanding body. All the lights in the room are on, and she's still out cold. Her skin is creamy and a bit flushed here and there. The camera even picks up evidence of razor burn on the girl's armpit. It lingers, strangely, on that roughened red flesh for a lot longer than I expect it to.

You spend a long time recording her face, her open mouth, the drool trickling out, down into her ear. Her hair is matted to her forehead, and you linger on it, as well as on her sweaty throat. Obviously, the two of you have just recently been dancing, hard. As the camera trails down to her taut belly and, finally, her crotch, the outline of her panties is still strongly indented into her skin. A nice triangle framing a very well-trimmed bush.

One hand comes into the frame, and you take a jostling moment to spread the girl's legs. Then your fingers move in and spread her labia. A thick white ooze has collected in her vagina, not semen, but girlish. Dancing made this girl horny. Your finger dips in, then comes out, briefly showing the camera how it is covered with the tasty slime. Then the finger disappears from view, obviously finding your mouth. The tape, almost silent to this point, is suddenly alive with your soft moans.

You put the camera back in its hiding place, then return to the sprawled girl. Pulling your own clothes off quickly, you climb up onto the bed and begin to kiss the girl's face. Her cheeks, her forehead, her lips. You bend for a long time with your mouth over hers, obviously invading her with your tongue. The girl's feet begin to slowly rub up and down on the bedspread, and her hands flutter at her sides, as if she is trying to reach up and hold you.

Her movements startle you, and you jump away and stand to the side, your eyes wide. She moans a little and slurs something unintelligible. One of her hands begins to idly rub her clitoris, but only for a few moments; then she is still again.

You move back in, but this time kissing her neck, rubbing your palms over her nipples. She begins to flutter her hands once more, and she slides her legs open very wide. Her moans are soft and happy. You move your mouth over her breasts, sucking her pierced nipples for many minutes, flicking them with your tongue, chewing lightly, always rubbing at one when the other is in your mouth.

The girl begins to slur more nonsense, between groans, and her hand once again makes its way to her pussy, rubbing slowly on her clit.

You move down to her feet, pick one up and suck her toes, one at a time. As you do this, your free hand begins to roam over your own breasts, then down to your crotch. You lick the bottom of her foot, then between her toes, then around her Achilles. The girl's moans are getting louder, and she's rubbing herself with more speed; you go on. Moving to the other foot, you repeat your sucking and licking, all the while feeling your own parts with your free hand.

Finally, you bend over and lick your way up from her ankle to her knee to her inner thigh, taking your time with each leg. The girl clumsily raises her feet in the air, holding her legs open with a hand under each thigh, whispering "Please" over and over. Her eyes are opened, but rolled back in her head. A much more pronounced stream of drool is running down her cheek. Softly, she begins to cry.

The camera picks up the sound of quiet sobs, and soon you can be heard shushing her just as quietly, like a mother comforting a frightened sleepy child. With one last lingering "sshhhhh 3;" you bend down between her legs and begin to lick. Immediately, the girl stops crying and whispers, "Yesssss," arching her back a little.

For nearly ten minutes, the camera records the back of your head. The girl's thigh completely hides any view of your face, which is plainly glued to her wet gash. One of your hands is holding her lips open, while the other one is back between your own legs, strumming away.

I marvel, for the millionth time, at your body. You are thin, and your small breasts barely large enough to hang properly from your chest as you bend, but there is just enough to make for a nice side view. A couple of firm, baseball-sized mouthfuls, the nipples hard and long. Your narrow waist and boyish hips can't hide the fact that you are one sexy girl. Your ass is firm and round, a nice little peach, and your legs are long and perfect.

The whole time you eat her, I watch you on that tape undulating with pleasure. You moan as much as her. It's clear you're sweaty, too, and the beads of it show up depending on how you've set your back. I sit mesmerized by the sweet prospect of licking the sweat from your skin, forgetting just what I was watching you do. Forgetting how stone cold shocked I am at what I have seen. Because the whole time I watch you, I want you. I can't stop wanting you, no matter what you do. No matter how much you change. No matter how little I really know about you. I can't do anything but want you.

Finally, you raise your face and look at the camera. A glazed, drunken look has washed over your eyes. You are clearly not able to focus on the thing that's focused on you. But you want to show the camera your cheeks shiny with cunt juice, your chin dripping with it, your neck now wet from the runoff. You grin and turn to the girl, climbing up to lie on top of her, moving your mouth down to hers.

She lightly holds you to her, opening her mouth to receive your cunt-slimed tongue. As you kiss her for several minutes, you both groan and grind. Your thigh is between her thighs, hard against her cunt, and she is reflexively scrumping against it. Your cunt, since you are shorter, is level with her hip, and you are grinding it into her hip bone, obviously finding a nice little nub of bone to fit against your sloppy groove.

Getting up slowly, you crouch above her, rubbing your crotch all over her belly. You crawl up to her chest and crouch above her breasts and rub your pussy all over her ample tits. Finally, you settle yourself onto the girl's face. The camera is blocked from seeing her head, but from the movements of your ass and hips, it is clear that she is doing at least a little something with her mouth.

You ride her face, hunching, panting, obviously approaching an orgasm. The girl's hands are fluttering again, and her feet are slowly rubbing up and down on the bedspread, as if her heels itched. The force of your thrusts against her chin, mouth, and nose is startling. It is as if you've found the perfect pillow to hump. You drop to one knee from your crouch, clearly to give you better leverage and a more pleasing angle. With small yelps, you fuck your cunt on her face over and over.

And in an instant you bend, then arch back, stiffen, and shudder. Your hips are flying back and forth as you ride through your orgasm. Your hands are locked in the girl's tangled hair. She's limply flailing her hands at the empty air above her waist. She can't breathe. Her movements become more pronounced as yours slowly ratchet down to nothing. You are a lump squatting on her face. Melted, fused to the spot. Orgasmically attached. But she cannot breathe. That has to be what it is.

Suddenly, as if rudely awakened, you stand straight up and step away from her. For a brief instant, the camera shows the girl's face. It is pale and shining, covered with drool and cuntflow. Almost ghostly white, her lips are blue, but she gasps involuntarily for breath. Once. Twice. You climb down off the bed and step out of the frame as the girl continues to gasp and choke for air. Her hands are held out at a strange angle in the air. It is as if she was waiting to receive a cafeteria tray or a baby into her arms.

Then, slowly, her arms lower, she breathes steadily, and apparently she slips into a deeper level of unconsciousness once again. You return to the frame, briefly at the edge, and then the camera is lifted again and put to gathering close-ups of the mess you made. The camera zooms in to linger over her sloppy, reddened cunt. The slug-like slime trail of your own pussy has not quite dried on her belly and her breasts. And her face is a glazed doughnut.

The camera catches your satisfied little chuckle.

Cut to you stepping away from the camera, back on its shelf, and you with all your clothes on again. It takes you nearly five full minutes to get the girl dressed again, minus the thong. At no point on the tape do you wash her down with a washcloth or anything; and it's clear from the way her face is still shiny and mottled that she's going to have a nice film of dried pussy covering her all over.

You do go into your bathroom and return with a brush, restoring her hair to some small semblance of its former style. Then you pick her up beneath her armpits again and drag her out of the frame.

And suddenly the camera stops, and I see nothing but static.

* * *

For a long time, I couldn't move. My body was simply frozen. Next to me, on the other end of the couch, I can hear you breathing. Out of the corner of my eye I see one of your long feet, your sweet toes, nails painted the lightest sunset pink.

Finally, as the tape hit its physical end and began to automatically rewind, you came and sat close, rubbing my arm. You smelled like gardenias. Like the rain. Your hand was so soft.

"Craig? Baby?" you whispered, leaning in and looking up at me with a small sweet smile. You kissed my chin, then my cheeks, then the tip of my nose. Finally, you ran your tongue over my lips, then you spoke to me again. My cock was painfully bent in my pants.

"Craig, are you OK?"

I stared into your eyes and slowly nodded. My throat was dry. Embarrassed, I cleared it and looked back at the static on the TV.

"GHB?" I guessed, as I tried to sound casual, but I couldn't quite manage the easy tone I wanted you to hear. My mind reeled, and it was all I could do to keep everything in it from spilling out my mouth.

But you knew I wouldn't want to blow up at you. You knew I loved you that deeply, no matter what crazy or stupid or dangerous thing you did.

Not even if you showed me how you raped somebody.

Not even if you admitted that you loved the crime.

You nodded at me, and next I had to ask: "Do you really like doing that?"

Again, nodding, still rubbing my arm. My cock was killing me. All I wanted was to put it deep inside your wet hole and find release. It felt like, if I could do that, then I might not go crazy on you. I might not scream and shake you and sob like a baby. Maybe, I thought, if I could just fuck you right then, it could make you forget about ever doing that to someone again. You wouldn't need that because you'd have me.

I was terrified.

You knew I would be. You knew I'd be afraid you were going to jail-that you'd be locked away from me. You knew I'd be worried that you'd somehow lost your mind and thrown away our chance at building a life. I was sweating, panting a little, dizzy. You sat close and just rubbed my arm.

You also knew, though, that I'd be inexorably turned on by what I'd seen. I couldn't help myself: watching you rape that girl had sent my libido raging. There was a rare and powerful lust in me just then, but you knew there would be, didn't you?

But then I remember being absurdly amazed at how soothing the sound of television static really was. The phrase jumped into my head: white noise. How I wanted that inside me just then, instead of the thunder that pounded through my skull. And through my cock.

"Wh- H- How?" I finally managed to stammer.

You quietly answered, "Well, I guess I should tell you 3;. It was done to me."

I could only stare at the television and attempt to sit perfectly still. The part of me that was horrified and afraid of the consequences you might face was suddenly at war with a searing red scream of murder building up within me, ready to launch itself at the bastard, whoever he was, that took advantage of you.

But then I discovered I was wrong, and my violent surging blood was suddenly a strange gurgling hiccup. A sludgy, heavy throb, not sure where to flow and fill, and it was because I didn't know exactly what to make of the thing you said next.

"Girls from a sorority got me in the stacks. One minute I was drinking a Coke I'd smuggled in from downstairs, then I got up to pee, and when I came back to my seat 3; well 3;." You paused long enough to startle me, and I risked a glance at your face. You were frowning, your eyes unfocused, seeing back through a fogged memory.

I watched you concentrate like that, seeing plainly the freckles across your nose, the flecks of green in your blue eyes, the faintest fuzz of hair that dusted your earlobe. It calmed me. Magnetized me. Galvanized me. The steady, serene sight of you. I thought it maybe wasn't so bad, what you'd done. I considered the fugitive life you might soon be forced to lead. And I saw myself with you. I imagined us on the run across the country, eventually around the world, finally settling in some nice European place-or maybe New Zealand or Australia-away from all authorities that would know us. Away from anyone who could stop you from doing what you wanted.

And if you wanted to have girls that way, well, I thought maybe I could live with that.

"I still can't remember anything 3;." You were speaking in a calm, normal voice. You could have been telling me about the groceries you'd bought at the store, and your voice wouldn't have sounded any more carefree and normal as it did then. My heart ached to think that you'd been keeping this story from me for, apparently, a very long time. But I knew why you'd done it: you wanted to spare me the pain and worry while I was unable to be right there with you and help.

"Anyway, I woke up at 3 A.M. in that same stack that same night, and God I can't tell you how horrible I felt. I threw up, like, all the next day."

I just watched you talk to me, letting you rub my arm as you tried to remember. There was an itchy little place in my mind that was trying to make me figure out how strange and terrible you must be, in the eyes of the world, but I kept my mind on your words, trying to understand the moment. Of course, that little itchy place in my mind was nothing compared to the flooding gush in my heart at the very thought of you lying unconscious and abused, just like that girl. Some sorority cunt riding your face. Mouths on you, hands, sliding bodies.

"This cleaning lady found me and walked me to my bike downstairs, but I couldn't ride it. So I just puked into the bushes for a while and then walked my way back here."

I remember how you caught my eye just then and grinned. Like you'd just beaten me for the fifth straight time at Uno. You had a sparkling smile, and I was breathless at your beauty, even there in the midst of that pain and confusion.

"I skipped class the next two days. Two! Did you ever think I could do that?" You laughed and squeezed my arm, and I managed a weak smile back.

You were still chuckling as you continued. "I didn't know what to think. I still don't remember anything that happened that night. It was so bizarre.

"But I did have a lot of soreness in my vagina and butt. And I was so scummy feeling. Like I'd been layered in grease or something 3;. I remember, between the puking and all, just feeling really-well, really itchy and really sore."

Though I'd just seen you do this to someone else, I still couldn't bear the thought of someone else doing it to you. Your ass was violated too? That wasn't a place you'd wanted to share with me yet, and I felt a dark stab of jealousy at the realization that someone else had gotten into your sweet dark hole before me.

"Then, like a month later, I get this tape in the mail." You pointed at the coffee table in front of us, and a video cassette I hadn't noticed before is sitting there with its spine turned away. Slowly, you reached out and turned the label to face me, and I couldn't help but gasp.

The label was in black, feminine cursive: The Smart Bitch From Chemistry.

It was like being electrocuted. My hair felt on end, and every part of my skin tingled. My joints suddenly ached to move every which way at once, but yet I couldn't move a muscle for the pain. I wanted to grab that tape and stuff it in the VCR. I wanted to grab it and throw it down to the floor and stomp it to bits. Your hand closed around my wrist, holding me steady, and your mouth was next to my ear, talking firmly. "Wait. Don't. Let me tell you the rest first, OK?"

I eventually managed a weak nod, and you pointed at an envelope folded up beside the tape. The writing on it was different, but still feminine, your first name written beautifully across the finely textured paper.

"That's the letter that came in the package with the tape," you said. "It's a confession."

I had to stare at you, look into your eyes. Why hadn't any of us back home known about all this? Surely you had turned it in to the police, and the rapists were caught. Why did you endure that all alone? There must have been a trial!

"It said who they were, what they did to me, and why they did it. The girl who wrote it was totally torn up with guilt, and she said she deserved to be thrown in jail for what she'd done to me. She'd sent me her copy of the tape and said for me to give it and the letter to the police. She said she couldn't stop crying. It had been a month, OK? She was still crying all the time and was so tortured."

You were shaking your head, frowning again. "And I still can't remember any of it. Something that torments a person that much because it's just so horrible, and the victim can't recall one single detail about it at all! It's amazing, really 3;."

Your intellect just kills me sometimes. You sat there and cogitated on the irony; meanwhile, I'm still perversely horny and feeling insanely confused, violent, and heartbroken.

But you knew I could handle it. Didn't you? Once you discovered what had happened-once you lived with the truth-you made a decision that changed you forever, and you knew I would still love you, no matter how radical a change it might be.

Was I really always such a fucking whipped little pussy with you? I mean, really!

You cut to the chase. "So I watched the tape."

We both sat and stared at the tape again for a moment, and it was clear you were trying to carefully arrange the words you wanted to say next. But then, it was as if you gave up, because you suddenly just blurted, "And-God, Craig-it made me so horny."

You slid to the floor, between me and the tape on the coffee table. You put a hand on each of my knees, and you gave me your sunniest smile. Looking up at me, measuring my confusion and arousal, I could tell you had something in mind. You always did.

"I bet you never thought I'd like doing things with other girls, huh?" you playfully nudged me, grinning wickedly. In fact, you were exactly right. I was vaguely terrified that I'd somehow lost you forever to an enemy I didn't even know I had.

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Again, if you read what's in this story so far, and you have any ideas about how you'd like to see it proceed, feel free to email me with your suggestions. Make sure the subject says something like "an idea for drugfuck". And don't forget--the address is munged.

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Copyright 2003 by bluepervina.

Feedback welcomed!