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Message-ID: <62546asstr$1359205802@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Ed Rider <edrider73@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Yo-Yo Chronicles 7, Bump.txt
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Date: Sat, 26 Jan 2013 08:10:02 -0500
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<1st attachment, "Yo-Yo Chronicles 7, Bump.txt" begin>

Yo-Yo Chronicles 7: Bump



   By Ed Rider



   Peter is in outer space, and his orbit is widening.

   He resonates to the DJ, who is slowly building his mix to frenzy level.
Everyone in the club is dancing wildly, but Peter is beyond dancing.  His
nearby friends are blurred in a haze of drugs and booze.  His feet have
detached from his body and are circling around him, around his friends and
around everyone in the club.  They are climbing high, higher, highest

   Looking down from outer space, Peter sees a beautiful girl dancing with
other beautiful girls.  They are all holding up their iPhones, taking
photos of each other.  They are beautiful, and Peter's friends are
beautiful and everyone in the club, everyone in the world, is beautiful as
he orbits.  But she is the most beautiful of them all.

   He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his iPhone and raises it above
his head.  He dances around his own arm.  His arm is a pole and he is
rubbing and writhing around it, even though it is above his head with the
iPhone in his hand all the way at the top.

   His orbit takes him closer and closer to the beautiful girls and the one
who is the most beautiful of them all.  Is she still there?  Yes, there she
is, and she's holding her iPhone high, like Peter, aiming it down at her
and her friends.  Now Peter is jumping higher as his orbit brings him
closer to her.  And then it happens.  He reaches out and their phones
touch.

   Bump!

   She is startled, and she looks at him, at first confused.  Then her
expression changes to one of anger, and she stops dancing and starts
walking toward him.  But he is off in another orbit now, and he's forgotten
all about her, because he doesn't engage with her, even though she puts
herself directly in his path several times.  She is shouting at him, but he
doesn't hear her.  He's in a different galaxy as the DJ slows the tempo and
then increases it once again.

   For a while, she stands there glaring at him, and then she turns and
looks for her friends.



   The next day is Sunday, and Peter wakes up at 3 in the afternoon, after
sleeping nearly 12 hours.  He remembers nothing of Saturday night, as
usual. Saturday night is for frying his brain.  Sunday is for coming down.
Monday is for going back to work in the research department of the large
investment banking company -- 12- to 14-hour days until Friday night, when
he begins another two days of swallowing and dancing.

   He's bumped a lot of beautiful girls on Friday and Saturday nights, but
even though the touching of iPhones exchanges contact information, he's
rarely called or messaged any of them.  Not that the ones he has called
have turned out badly.  Usually, they are happy to share bodies and drugs
with a fellow weekend wildie who is as oblivious to them as they are to
him. But when he looks at the new contacts, often at lunch on Monday, he
usually has no idea who they are.  Often, he doesn''t even look at them. 
They remain in his growing contact list, untouched.



   Two weeks later, on a Wednesday afternoon, his iPhone rang.  Mira
Barton. He didn't recognize the name, so he figured it was a mistake and
ignored it.  The same person called back 15 minutes later, and then every
10 minutes after that.  He was busy with some important figures, but
finally he picked up the call and in the fake officious voice he used when
he was irritated, he said, "Yes, Mira, how may I help you?"

   "Is this Peter Madison," said a pleasant voice.

   "But you know that already, Mira," he said.

   "I just wanted to make sure," she said.  "Peter, I need to meet you
tomorrow for lunch."

   "But I don't know you, Mira," he said.  "You sound very nice, and I'm
sure if I ever met you, I'd love to ask you out to lunch.  Tomorrow happens
to be a very busy day for me."

   "I know you don't know me, Peter," she said, "but that didn't stop you
from raping me a few weeks ago." She said this in the same pleasant voice
and continued in that voice.  "If you don't want trouble, you better be at
the Denny's across the street from your office at 1 p.m.  tomorrow."

   "Wait a second," he said.  "What is this?"

   "I've got to go now," she said.  "I know where you live and where you
work.  If you aren't there tomorrow, you'll be sorry."

   "I don't believe you," he said, but she told him his work and home
address and phone numbers and hung up.

   Peter knew he hadn't raped anyone, but he was scared anyway, because on
Sunday mornings, he never remembered much of Saturday night.  He often
didn't know where he'd been or how he got home.  His friends told him that
he was never violent when he was high, usually more helpless than anything
else, and he knew that he was incapable of forcing himself on a woman -- at
least the thought was repugnant to him.  And she certainly didn't sound
angry, just insistent.  Something was fishy.

   The next day, he arrived at Denny's 10 minutes before 1 and sat down at
a table in a corner as far from everyone else as he could.  A few minutes
later, a stunning brunette entered the restaurant and looked around, then
headed straight for him and sat down across from him.  She smiled quickly
and then looked serious.

   "Mira?" he said.

   "What?" she said, and then she shook her head and smiled again.  "Yes,
I'm sorry, I'm Mira," she said.  "Listen, Peter, I know you don't want to
be here talking about this any more than I do.  There may be a way to
settle this quickly.  May I look at your iPhone for a second."

   Peter pulled his iPhone out of his pocket slowly and looked at it.  She
didn't look like an iPhone thief.  He tentatively extended it to her.  In
an instant, she snatched it out of his hand and went to work on it.  "Here
it is," she said about 15 seconds later, and she poked at his phone a few
more times, then handed it back.

   "Problem solved," she said and started to get up.  "Goodbye."

   He grabbed her arm roughly and pulled her back down.  "What did you just
do," he said.

   "Don't worry about it," she said.

   "I am worried, and you're not leaving until you do some explaining."

   "I'll scream for the cops," she said.

   "Go ahead," he said.  "I'll hold onto you until they arrive.  Every man
in the place saw you come right over and sit down at my table.  So you can
tell them your story, and I'll tell them mine.  I want to find how you got
my office and home phone numbers, why you called me and what you did just
now.  Either you'll tell me or you'll tell the cops."

   She laughed and slid back into the booth.  Her laugh was as melodious as
her voice.

   "This is so funny," she said.  "The rapist is accusing the rape victim.
OK, Mr.  Rapist, have it your way.  I got what I came for, so I'll tell you
what you want to know, and we'll both leave here and never see each other
again.

   "What I just did was remove my contact information from your iPhone. 
No, Mira Barton is not my real name.  My real name was in there, but now
you're never going to know it.  You had no right to bump rape me.  You
violated me just as much as if you -- you know what I mean."

   "Slow down," he said.  "What are you talking about?  I'm sure I never
touched you.  I don't think I ever saw you before in my life.  I think you
need help."

   "Oh no, Mr.  Rapist.  Back off.  How do you explain that my information
was in your phone?  You can't get away that easy."

   Peter was getting exasperated.  "Mira or whatever your name is, try to
make some sense," he said.  "What do you think I did to you and when? 
Let's start there."

   She told him about being in a club, one he went to often, on a Saturday
night having a good time with a bunch of girlfriends and how he had danced
over to her and bumped iPhones with her.

   "Don't tell me you never used that app," she said.  "You had to download
it.  You knew that if you asked, I would never agree to bump phones and
exchange information.  So you bump raped me by waiting until I wasn't
looking and then reaching over with your phone.

   "I went after you, but you were so high that after a while I could see
it was useless.  I thought maybe you'd call, and when I explained what you
did, you might even be apologetic and remove my name.  But then I realized
you were some drugged-out wacko.  Maybe you sell information on girls to
get more drug money.  You violated the privacy of my person, and you
probably don't have enough morals or brains to care.

   "I talked it over with my girlfriends, and we agreed that I had to
confront you.  If you hadn't been cooperative, we were prepared to go all
out.  We didn't think the police would do anything, but we figured out a
way.  You probably didn't see me get right up next to you at the club and
take some photos of your face.  The strobe lights ruined most of them, but
one turned out bright and sharp.  We have it ready to go around the world
on the Internet in a wanted poster with your personal data that tells every
woman you will ever meet that you are a bump rapist."

   Now it was Peter's turn to laugh.  "Did anyone ever tell you how
beautiful you look when you're delusional," he said.  "I'm sure your facts
are all right, but the way you put them together is pure fantasy.

   "Yes, I go to that club a lot.  Yes, I was probably high and had no idea
what I was doing.  Yes, I bump with a lot of girls, but I usually can't
remember them, so I never call them back.  Yes, maybe I saw you raise your
iPhone and saw how beautiful you were, so I bumped you.

   "You saw my contacts just now.  There are nearly 2,000 names there, and
many of them are from bumps.  Even if I wanted to go after you, I would
have no idea which one you were."

   "Well, if you're telling the truth, Peter, I'm glad that my fears were
misguided," she said.  "Now let's say it's been great and call it a day."
She started to slide out of the booth, but Peter put his arm in the way.

   "Just one more minute," he said.  "You are funny as well as crazy and
beautiful.  I'd like a chance to really talk to you.  Don't worry.  You
would pick a place in broad daylight where all of your girlfriends can
watch us.  You nearly gave me a heart attack, so I think you owe me that."

   "What could I ever owe a pathetic druggie, Peter?" she said, and she
wasn't smiling.

   "You were in that club, too," he shot back.

   "Yes, I know that club is famous for what you can buy and use there, but
believe it or not, some people come there for the DJ and get high on the
music and dancing.  You and your friends probably think we're lame, but we
don't care.  We think you are all disgusting."

   "All right, but I still would like to talk to you one time," he said. 
"Please, Mira.  Have you ever felt that way about someone you just met? 
Probably, the conversation will go just like today, and then we can go our
separate ways.  If you ever get to know me, you'll find out that one of my
worst traits is honesty.  And right now I'm honestly saying, I need to talk
to you one more time."

   "Too bad," she said.  "Please move your arm.  Thanks.  Goodbye."

   He didn't know why, but as she got up, he said to her, "You haven't seen
the last of me, Mira.  I'm going to find you." Just as he was thinking that
sounded just like a stalker, she turned around and smiled at him and then
walked out of Denny's swaying her hips in an exaggerated and very sexual
way.  That's when he noticed her purple pants were so tight that they
looked painted on her amazing round and sexy rear.  She turned one more
time as she left the restaurant and must have seen how his jaw had dropped
and his mouth was wide open.  Talk about making a bad impression, he
thought.

   For some reason, he walked back to the office with a spring in his step.
The first thing he did when he got to his work station was synchronize.  He
usually synchronized every few days so the information on his iPhone was
the same as on his work station.  She obviously didn't know much about
smart phones, because now he once again had her personal information.  All
he had to do was go through about 1,500 girls whose names he didn't
recognize.  She'll probably have two kids by the time I find her, he
thought.

   Then he remembered that Bump sorted contacts by the location where the
bumping took place.  Now he was down to only 300 girls.  He began calling
that night.  It went quickly.  As soon as he heard the girl's voice, he
said he must have misdialed and hung up.

   He stayed home Friday night to dial, and then Saturday.  About 9:30
Saturday night, he called Anya Tobias, and he heard Mira's voice asking him
to leave a message.  What should he say?  "Uh, hi Anya," he said nervously.
"This is your bump -- no, I'm not going to say it.  This is Peter, who
won't give up until you talk to him -- just once.  I have all your
information again, but I promise to erase it after we meet.  Please call me
back.  In case you've erased my info, here are my numbers." He left his
home and work numbers and hung up.  His heart was racing.

   He hurried to meet his friends who had texted him where they were, and
Saturday night turned into a typical night of oblivion.  There were no
messages when he checked his voice mail Sunday.  He decided to stay in all
that day and evening, but he received only one call from a friend.

   "You bastard," said Anya's pleasant voice when he picked up the phone
call from "Mira" the next afternoon at the office.  "Can't you let this go?
We have nothing in common.  I don't do drugs.  I don't binge.  I don't do
unprotected sex with anyone within five feet.  What is there to talk
about?"

   "Nice of you to call, Anya," he said.  "I hope you had a nice weekend.
I'm looking forward to getting together.  Tell me when it's convenient for
you.  I'm pretty flexible."

   "Peter, I told my friends, and they warned me that if I gave in to you,
I was asking for it.  You would promise or lie or do anything to get what
you want, because you are a narcissistic jerk who doesn't care about
anything except his own pleasure.  I think they've got it right."

   "They sure do, except I haven't broken any promises yet, and I haven't
lied.  I did promise you that I'd find you, and I kept my promise.  So when
do you want to talk?"

   "Peter, my friends want me to go ahead and put that wanted poster for
the bump rapist out.  It's going to go viral pretty fast, I'm sure." Even
when she's trying to blackmail me, she sounds sweet, thought Peter.

   "Well, if you don't like what you hear when we get together, go ahead
and put it out," said Peter.  "When you find out what a monster I am,
you'll feel better about destroying me.

   "On second thought, why don't you and your friends put it out right
away. I don't care.  It won't make any difference.  Get a court order, too.
I want that meeting."

   There was a long silence at the other end.  Whoever speaks first, loses,
thought Peter.

   "I have to think about this some more," said Anya.  "It may take a
while. I'll get back to you." Click.



   Anya called his cell phone on Thursday while he was in a meeting and
left a voice mail message for him to meet her at that same Denny's on
Saturday night at 9 p.m.  Since he didn't give her his cell phone number,
he realized she had never erased his contact information.  Maybe he'd
accuse her of hypocrisy Saturday night.

   On Saturday, Denny's was nearly deserted when she walked in with five
other girls.  All of them were dressed up for a night of dancing, and all
were hot.  She left them at a table across the room and joined him at the
same corner table where they first talked.  She was silent until the
waitress brought their coffees and left the table.

   "I'm going to tell you a little bit about myself.  The first and most
important thing you need to know is that I lie.  You told me you always
tell the truth, but before I even talked to you, I lied by making up a
name. Maybe half of what I'm saying, or maybe all of it, could be a lie. 
We'll probably never see each other after tonight, but if we do, you will
never know whether I'm telling the truth or not.

   "I lie mostly to manipulate people, Peter.  I don't do it for money but
because I'm perverse and sadistic.  I don't abuse drugs or alcohol.  But I
abuse sex.  I mean, I abuse others using sex.  I mean men.  I use sex to
twist men and torment and humiliate them and degrade them until they're
broken and helpless.  Then I dump them.

   "You want to stay away from me, because even though you are a sicko
druggie, you seem to be a nice person, at least during the daytime.  You've
never met someone like me, and unless you want to end up like a dog in the
dust, this will be the last time we talk." She looked at him intently, and
she wasn't smiling now.

   Peter was speechless when she was finished.  She certainly has a way
with words, he thought.  But there was a disconnect between what she was
saying and the sweet way she said it.  Even the glare she aimed at him now
didn't fit the person whom he spoke to before.

   "I understand," he finally said and tried to keep a serious face.  "I
appreciate your warning.  I tend to think of myself as pretty far out there
when it comes to messing around on the edge, but it sounds like I'm not in
your league.

   "You told me twice now that you lie, but I'm still going to be honest
with you.  For some reason, I feel the need to follow this further.  It
doesn't look like it will lead anywhere good, but until my instincts tell
me differently, I'm willing to play along with you for a while.  If you
want to be the evil woman, go ahead.  I promise you that I won't complain
if I get burned playing with fire.  Is that fair enough?"

   "I've got to go now," she said, "and don't follow us.  I'll call you
Monday afternoon and tell you where we'll meet the next time.  I'm warning
you again, though.  You're going to regret this.  If you can engage your
brain, you'll tell me to forget it on Monday.  Bye." She got up and joined
her friends, and they were gone in a flash.



   Monday afternoon, she called him at work.  "You have my address," she
said.  "Be here at 7 tonight." Click.

   Her apartment was a nice two-bedroom.  She showed him around.  One
bedroom was her office, but she didn't say what she did for a living.  Her
bedroom had a lot of professional lighting equipment and six different
cameras on tripods around the room, all aimed up, down or sideways at the
bed.  What did she do there?  he thought.  Was she one of those webcam porn
workers who did whatever the customer paid her to do?  This was getting
strange.

   She sat down in the living room on a couch and motioned him to a chair.
"OK, Peter, this is what you wanted," she said.  "You can back out any
time. My first order to you may be the deal breaker.  From now on, your
Saturday nights belong to me.  That's when we'll have our weekly dates. 
Unless I tell you otherwise, all the dates will be right here.  You need to
arrive promptly at 8 p.m.  If you're late, you may as well go to the club,
because you're never going to see me again.

   "You might be here until midnight or later, but afterward, you must go
straight home.  And you're going to have to stop the drugs and bingeing
cold turkey.  Can you handle that?"

   Wow!  he thought.  She was right about making it hard.  Could he handle
this?  Probably not for long, but he wasn't going to back out now.  He
gulped and said quietly, "Yes."

   "Good," she said, "let's have some cheese and wine." For the next three
hours, it was their first date.  They talked about themselves, their lives,
their families, their hopes, their fears.  She didn't hold back, except she
never quite mentioned what her career was.  The more she talked, the more
he liked her.  After a bottle and a half, Anya's questions seemed to direct
themselves more and more to his love life and what kind of girls he liked
and didn't like.  Then it got a little strange when she started asking what
he liked to with his girlfriends and what he didn't like and even stranger
when she asked what kind of porn he liked and what didn't like and why.

   By that time, the wine had loosened his tongue, and he did most of the
talking.  He noticed that occasionally she wrote some things down in a
little notebook.  He wanted to ask her what that was all about, but he
forgot.

   At 10 p.m., she made some strong coffee and turned the conversation to
lighter topics like music and books.  She insisted he have three cups of
coffee, and at 11 p.m.  she insisted he walk around the room a few times
while she watched him, and then she shoved him out the door and told him to
go home.

   Even though he was sober now, he was high on the evening.  This Anya was
the girl from the first Denny's date, not the second one.  She was not only
beautiful and had a hot body, but she was funny and warm.  He was enchanted
and glad that he hadn't been scared off by her strange talk.  He was even
looking forward to next Saturday night without his friends, his drugs and
his DJs.  He knew his date with Anya was going to be much more exciting.



   He knocked on her door Saturday night a few minutes early.  "Come in,"
she said.  She was wearing a sweatshirt and shorts, and she didn't have
much makeup on.  How beautiful she is, he thought as he looked at her. 
Even in her grubs, she looks amazing.

   He followed her to the living room with the hardwood floors and throw
rugs.  She turned to him and said, "Let's get started.  Take off your
clothes and throw them on that chair." She began pulling off her sweats.

   Peter watched her strip down to bra and panties in a trance.  She wore
one of those sexy, frilly bras that barely contained her luscious breasts.
The panties were red bikinis.  He looked away when saw that she was a
natural, and there was a lot of hair sticking out around her panties.

   "What are you doing?" she said loudly.  "Did you hear what I said?  Get
your clothes off.  I won't be taking any more clothes off for now, but I
want you naked."

   He began removing his clothes slowly, automatically, still staring at
her.  She had her arms folded over her chest and was looking at him with a
smile across her face.  When he was naked, she handed him a wide-mouthed,
deep plastic cup and motioned for him to get off the rug and stand on the
hardwood area.

   "First, I want to see what you've got," she said.  "You are going to
masturbate while I observe you.  When you come, you need to do it into that
cup.  I want you to do it right at the opening, and not stick yourself
inside, so I can see it.  Be careful, because whatever falls on the floor,
you will lick up.  Are you listening?"

   Peter shook himself and nodded.  He was listening, but he couldn't
believe what he was hearing.  It was the same voice that had entranced him
a few days ago when she was talking about herself.  She had high
aspirations for her life and high standards.  Was this her evil twin?

   "Whenever, you're ready," she said.

   "I don't know," he said.

   Her voice, which had been pleasant and soothing up to then, changed. 
Now it was dripping with contempt and disgust.  "You don't know, Peter?"
she said.  "That's right, you don't.  You don't have a clue.  You are a
worm in the ground who gets high every Saturday night and thinks he's a
butterfly.  You have a good job because you manage to recover by Monday,
but you're already noticing that it's getting harder.

   "You are an ant during the week, scurrying around the dirt tunnels at
work.  You have no ambition.  As long as you have enough money for drugs
and booze, you are content to play the ant as long as they will let you.

   "You don't know, Peter.  And you never will.  Why don't you put on your
clothes and leave right now.  You can meet your friends at the club and
soar like a butterfly, or at least like a worm who thinks he's a butterfly.
Put on your clothes and get out.  The sight of you is making me sick."

   As she went on, he hung his head.  He felt like crying.  What was
happening to him?  Why didn't he leave and slam the door behind him.  She
was some kind of weird chick.  Maybe she was bipolar.  This was not his
kind of scene.

   The room was silent for a while.  He saw her looking at him, but her
expression was no longer angry.  It was questioning.  Then he noticed
something that she didn't want him to see, because she was trying to hide
it.  But her eyes gave it away.  She really wants me to stay, he thought.
Why?

   "Tell me again what you want me to do," he finally said.

   "Stand there and whack off with one hand and come into the cup," she
said.

   "I don't know if I can do it," he said.  "I've never done it in front of
anyone before."

   "Try," she said.

   He began stroking himself but didn't get a response.  After a minute, he
looked up and saw her staring at him.  This time the expression was
fascination.  She quickly wiped it off her face when she saw him looking
and tried to put on a bored look.

   "Put the cup down for a moment and fondle your balls with your other
hand," she said.

   That didn't work much better.

   "I can't believe I have to help you," she said.  "I thought that my body
would turn you on a little.  Step over here by this end table."

   "Your body does turn me on, but I forgot to look at it," said Peter,
apologetically.  What was he apologizing for?

   "See this little machine," she said, pointing to something on the table.
"It's a breast pump.  There's a tube leading from it to this little suction
cup, and there's the receptacle where the breast milk is collected.  I
could milk you with it, but I want you to bring yourself off into the cup,
so I'm just going to use it to get you started.  Don't you dare touch me
while I'm helping you."

   She placed the suction cup on the tip of his penis where it was hanging
down and flipped a switch.  He didn't hear anything, or maybe it was a soft
hum.  He felt a little tickle at the end of his penis.  That wasn't going
to help.

   He looked down and saw his penis gently sucked in and then released,
over and over.  Nothing was happening.  Then he felt something down by his
crotch, inside of him.  Something was stirring.  A few seconds later, his
penis was beginning to move around.  She followed it with her hand, keeping
the suction cup against the tip.  Gradually, the penis got firmer.  It was
bent over and then it began to rise until finally it was sticking straight
out in front of him.

   He didn't obsess over his penis size because from an early age, when he
compared it to other boys, it was always a lot larger.  Some of his
girlfriends told him that he was hard for them to take, but they weren't
complaining.

   Anya whistled when he was unfurled but didn't say anything.  She kept
the suction cup sucking at the tip, and now he was starting to feel some
urgency.  This thing was going to make him come, he thought, as he felt his
body moving into it.  Then she took the cup away.

   "That should be enough to get you started," she said.  "Now pump it with
your right hand and hold the cup with your left hand.  Don't miss or else."

   He began pumping, and he felt his nerve endings respond.  It felt good,
but the urgency was gone.  He looked down and noticed that he wasn't
sticking straight out anymore.  He was starting to slump.

   In a second, the suction cup was back, and in 10 more seconds, he was as
hard as before.  She left the cup in place another 30 seconds as his
breathing grew faster and louder.  As she took it away, she said, "Hold
your right hand out."

   He did, and she squeezed something greasy onto it.  He began pumping
again, and this time he felt his response getting more urgent.  His face
was getting warmer, too.  He pumped in a steady rhythm, but then the rhythm
started getting erratic and out of control.

   "Grab the cup!" she yelled, just in time, because almost as soon as he
got the cup into position, he was exploding into it.  Thank goodness it was
deep, because he felt his sperm ricocheting off the bottom and bouncing
back to hit him.  He groaned with the release and staggered a little.

   "You put it too far into the cup," she said, "but at least you didn't
spill.  It will have to do for now.  Give me the cup and go wash yourself
off at the bathroom sink."

   When he came back to the living room, he was wondering, where do we go
from here?  Then he saw her.  She was sitting on one of the easy chairs
with wide padded arms.  She was leaning back against some cushions and her
lower body had slid forward, so her rear was right at the edge of the
chair. Each leg was pulled back and spread apart, resting on the chair's
wide arms.

   The area between her legs was pushed out and open, but all he could see
was a huge mass of hair.  She had taken off her panties.  He shuddered.

   "As a reward for finally finishing yourself off, with a lot of help from
me, I'm going to give you something to eat now, Peter," she said.  "You may
not remember telling me, but I know you have a phobia about pubic hair. 
You won't have sex with anyone who isn't shaved.  You don't even want a
landing strip.

   "You told me the other night that you find pubic hair unsanitary and
disgusting.  You laughed when you said there are probably things crawling
around in there that could jump in your mouth and gag you, but I could tell
that's what you really think, isn't it, Peter?  You've smelled the smell
before, and it made you sick.  Even when your ladies are shaved, it's hard
for you to give them oral because the opening of the oyster repulses you.
Before they get too excited and juicy, you get your head out of there fast
so you don't have to see it or taste it or smell it.

   "Peter, you're going to have to get over this hangup.  Women are the
perfection of God's evolutionary plan.  Everything in our bodies is there
for a reason, and men should exult in all our organs, from our armpits to
our toenails, and especially our beautiful foliage.

   "I'm sorry to say that I let myself get talked into a bikini wax and
trim a few years ago, but almost as soon as I did, I asked myself why was I
putting myself through all the soreness and discomfort, and ever since I've
been growing wild.

   "Now I want you to kneel down here on the rug at my feet.  That's it. 
Now lean forward and look at that bush.  Breathe in through your nose.  Do
you smell my secretions?  You don't look too happy, Peter, but try to hold
it together.

   "Come closer and push your face into the thicket.  A little bit more. 
That's not enough.  You need to bury your face inside, so all I can see are
your ears.  Don't worry.  There's space between the hairs, so you can
breathe.  That's better.  Now move your face around and feel the hairs
tickling you everywhere.  I feel your mouth closed tight.  Open it and feel
the hair and the moisture on your tongue."

   Peter was starting to feel suffocated and short of breath.  He couldn't
take this.  He had to pull out now.  He tried to control himself, but he
couldn't stop his gagging sounds.

   "Go to the bathroom if you have to," said Anya, and he ran to the sink
and retched, but nothing came out.  He ran cold water over his hands and
patted all over his face.  When he came back to the living room, she was in
the same position and smiling.

   "You lasted longer than I thought you would," she said.  "But we can't
stop now.  Put your head right back in there and keep your mouth open.  Now
rub it all through the hair like before.  That's it.  See, it's easier now.
You'll get used to it.

   "Now lift your head up, and put your fingers in my hair.  Gently push
the hair to the side, until you see the outside of my vagina.  You are
going to lick up and down it lightly until you see the lips start to part.
Then you are going to push your tongue between the folds as you lick and
taste my secretions.  As I open wider and wider, you will push into my
vagina and explore it with your tongue.  I want to spread my open vagina
over as much of your face as I can.

   "You'll lap up all the juices that will be pouring from me.  And then
you'll find my clitoris and start gently licking there, gradually
increasing your speed.  If you do it right, you're going to see me lose
control and slam my vagina into you.  Will you be able to handle all the
juices splashing into your nose and mouth?  Will you succeed in giving me
an amazing orgasm?  I'm not expecting much, but we'll see.

   "After I recover, we're going to get you off into the cup one more time,
and then we'll call it a night."

   Despite having to get up three times and run to the bathroom as he
gagged, Peter thought he did pretty well.  She certainly seemed to lose
control, and her face was bright red as she flopped around.

   But then came the low spot of the evening.  Even though it was his
second time that night, his orgasm was wilder than his first one, and he
wasn't careful enough with the cup.  When he had recovered, he saw her
looking at his feet.  There were three white spots there, one the size of a
quarter and two the size of a dime.  He looked up at her, and she looked at
him without expression.  Or did he see a slight smile that she was trying
to hide?  He couldn't tell.  n She took the cup from him and looked down at
his feet again and then at him.  He looked down and then at her.  Nobody
said a word for a while.  He opened his mouth to tell her that he would
probably throw up all over her floor if he did what she wanted.  But then
he thought better of it.  He had passed her other tests tonight, and he
would pass this one.

   He wrinkled his nose up, trying to close his passages so he wouldn't
smell anything, and then he got down on the floor and began licking.



   The second Saturday went better than the first, even though she pushed
him much further.  They started off the same way, but this time Peter only
had to run to the bathroom one time while he was eating her out.  After his
second whacking off session without spilling a drop, she took him to the
bedroom and took off her bra for the first time.  She watched as his jaw
dropped.  "They're perfect, aren't they?" she said, trying to act haughty,
but he could see she enjoyed his reaction.

   She told him to lie in the middle of the bed on his back, and she put a
couple of pillows under his head to lift it up.  Then she got on top of him
in the 69 position.  He saw her thick bush inches above his face and felt
some secretions from her earlier climax dripping down on him.  Oh no, he
thought, not again.

   She spoke softly while facing away from him, but he heard every word. 
"Today, is about you realizing you're a real bottom feeder.  You're going
to start by plunging into the jungle again and licking me like before," she
said, "but then you're going to really go down, because I'm going to move
forward a little, and you're going to put one of your hands on each of my
buttocks and slowly pull them wide apart.  Then I'm going to lower myself
until you can lick up and down my crack for a while.  There's a lot of hair
there, too, and it should be pretty sweaty by that time.

   "When I tell you to, you're going to stick out your tongue, and I'm
going to position myself so it's right at my anus.  You're going to lick
around it and then over it for a while.  Then I'm going to push out.  I
cleaned myself out earlier, so nothing should come out.  When I push,
you're going to push your tongue in as far as it can go and then open your
mouth wide and push your entire face between my cheeks.  You may not
succeed, but try as hard as you can and keep pushing the tongue deeper
inside me.

   "While you're doing that, I'll be using one hand to suck you with the
pump and the other hand between my legs.  When you feel the muscles inside
my anus start to grab your tongue, that means they're spasming and I'll
soon be coming.  While you make love to my rear hole, I'll be working you
with the pump, and when I see that you're getting close, I'm going to jump
up and hand you the cup, and you go stand over there and come into it."

   She stopped and waited, but when she heard his gagging noises, she
jumped up quickly, and he ran to the bathroom and threw up.  While he was
heaving, he asked himself whether this was the point where he should call
it quits.  She would savage him verbally again, but this time, he really
didn't care.

   How could she call him a sicko?  He had never asked any of his
girlfriends to stick their tongues in his ass.  What was she getting out of
all this anyway?  Why was he doing this?  Yes, she had an amazing body, but
so did a lot of other girls.  And they shaved between their legs.  Yes, she
was fun to talk to, but not in this situation.  Even if he got her to like
him, is that what he really wanted?

   He walked back to the bedroom, but he didn't tell her what he was
thinking.  He lay down on the bed and did what she told him to do.  It was
ugly, it smelled bad and it tasted worse.  The only good thing was that it
wasn't as bad as he had imagined.  He didn't have to run to the bathroom
again the rest of the night.  He almost felt proud about that, and then he
felt sick about being proud.

   While she was rubbing her rear all over his face and using her fingers
to get off, she was playing the breast pump on him like a musical
instrument, bringing him to the edge over and over again, only to slow down
the tempo and leave him frustrated.  He started feeling a pain in his
testes.  When he got up and used his hands, he came at once and it felt
like his whole body was pouring out of him through the end of his penis. 
He was amazed that it was his third orgasm of the night, and the strongest
of all.

   When it was over, he went back to the bed and collapsed onto it.  He saw
her sitting on a chair next to the bed watching him, but he was too tired
to raise his head.  She hadn't put any clothes on, and deep within his
brain, her body still excited him.  I'm really sick, he thought.  When he
finally sat up, she got up and gave him a kiss on the cheek, but she didn't
say a word as he dressed and left.

   During the next week, he tried not to think about Saturday night, but as
it drew closer, he realized he was scared.  The second week had built on
the first week, so he expected the third week to be even worse.  The more
he thought about what she made him do, the more he knew he couldn't do it
again.  Several times, he began to call her and tell her he had enough, but
he never finished dialing.

   He decided that he'd go to her apartment and tell her in person, but he
was too scared to do it alone.  So he looked around his apartment and found
some solid courage and some liquid courage.  He didn't take too much
because he wanted to be able to tell her the truth, that he liked her, but
he was out of her league.

   When she opened the door, he was still thinking about how he should tell
her, and he didn't say anything when she handed him the deep, wide cup.  He
even took off all his clothes and started whacking.  Maybe he could get
through tonight after all and he'd call her next week, he was thinking as
she approached him with the suction cup.

   But before she put it on his tip, she sniffed, and then she looked at
him closely.  And then she jumped back and screamed at him.  "You gutless
bastard," she cried out.  "You're higher than a kite.  How dare you come to
me like this?"

   Her voice wasn't so soft and melodious now.  It was loud and angry, but
when he looked at her, he saw she was trying to cover up again.  There was
anger in her face, but much more there was the look of someone betrayed. 
In his drugged-out state, it made him feel all apologetic and anxious to
please her.  He moved to her and tried to tell her he was fine, and he was
ready to do whatever she wanted, but his words got jumbled.

   She pushed him away so hard he nearly fell over.  "Stop taking off your
clothes," she said.  Her voice was under control now, but it still had an
edge of hysteria.  "Come to the kitchen.  Sit down there at the table."

   He watched her, but he couldn't see what she was doing at the counter.
He decided he better not say anything else, and she didn't talk either. 
Finally, she turned around and brought a cup of black coffee to the table
and handed on to him.  She sat down facing him.

   "Drink that," she said.  "You're not leaving here until I've poured a
few cups down you.  How did you manage to drive here without killing
anyone? You are too stupid to live, but I'm not going to have your death on
my conscience.

   "I don't know if you are even able to hear me, much less understand what
I'm saying, but I'm going to make this as simple as possible.  I explained
to you that this was zero tolerance, that if you slipped up once, it was
over.  But against my better judgment, I'm giving you one more chance,
because you did so well last week.

   "Once I've got you where I think it's safe for you to drive, we're
finished for tonight.  Maybe you'll go find your druggie friends and spend
the rest of the night in oblivion like you did before you met me. 
Tomorrow, when you come back to the real world, you might remember what I'm
telling you now.  If you don't, that's it.  Sayonara.

   "If you do remember and your brain is functioning at all, you will have
two choices.  Choice Number One is to realize that you can't handle what
I'm doing to you and you need to give up trying.  You'll have your friends
and the wonderful life of fun you had before I began to abuse you.  You
could call me and tell me that, but why make it hard on yourself.  Just do
nothing.  That should be easy for you.  If I don't hear from you by
tomorrow night, you're never going to see me again.

   "Choice number two is you call me and leave a message apologizing for
tonight and swearing you will never do it again if I give you another
chance.  Do you understand, Mr.  Dopey?"

   "Yes," he said, "I'm sorry, Anya, I--"

   "Not another word," she said to him, almost spitting out her words. 
"When you start talking with that slurred voice, it makes me so angry I
want to take a knife and cut out your tongue.  Just shut up and drink your
coffee." She didn't say another word, and neither did he.

   He was sober and hopped up from caffeine when he left her apartment, but
he hailed a cab, and within 30 minutes he was high again, surrounded by
familiar faces and orbiting around the dance floor.  He began
hallucinating, and that felt comfortable, too, because when he was high, he
always conjured up happy images, whether they were colorful abstractions,
distortions of friendly people or sexy girls.

   This time the hallucinations came and went like always until it got to
one of the sexy girls, where he got stuck.  He wanted them to keep going,
but he couldn't.  There was this beautiful naked girl with an incredible
body reaching out for him, but she was crying.  It was foggy and he
couldn't see her clearly, but he definitely heard her crying.  Why wouldn't
she stop?

   Then some wind came and blew the fog away, and he noticed two things. 
First he saw that in addition to her arms reaching for him, her legs were
also spread out and ready to receive him, and in between them there was a
huge black bush of hair that was so big and thick, it even hid her belly
button.  Then the face on the beautiful girl morphed into Anya's face, and
there were tears streaming down her face.

   Peter kept whirling and orbiting to the music, and he tried to move on
to a happy hallucination like the ones that he usually saw.  But Anya
wouldn't go away.  He danced faster in desperation, and finally he
collapsed on the floor.  His friends carried him to a chair, and he sat
there for a while.  They saw he was crying and left him alone.

   After a while, he got up, walked out of the club and took a bus home. 
As soon as he closed the door to his apartment, he picked up the phone.  He
told Anya's voice mail that he was sorry about tonight, that he would never
break her rules again and that he didn't need until tomorrow to make his
choice.



   He regretted that message the next Saturday.  He was right about the
evening beginning exactly the same as before.  After that, it got much
worse.

   "I heard what you said on the phone," Anya said after he had produced a
third ejaculation into the cup, "but I'm going to give you a chance to
leave anyway after I explain what's next.

   "I'm going to tie you to the bed and put a blindfold on your eyes and a
gag in your mouth.  Then it's time to work on your body.  I'm going to add
some pain to the humiliation for the first time.

   "So if you want to back out, tell me now, before I put the gag on.  I've
pushed you pretty far, and maybe you just aren't strong enough to take any
more."

   He didn't reply and didn't resist when she took her panties from the
chair where she had thrown them and stuffed them in his mouth.  Then she
pulled a thick, tight elastic band around his head and across his mouth,
pushing the panties further in and holding them in place.

   "Turn around and reach your hands behind you," she said.  As he did, he
heard her open a drawer and pull some things out that banged together
metallically.  Then he felt handcuffs snap shut over his wrists.  While he
was still absorbing that, he felt another cuff snap onto his right ankle.
He tried to move away from her, but she pulled him back by his handcuffed
wrists and a chain that she attached to his right ankle cuff.  Then she
tugged at his left ankle and he almost fell over.  As he moved his left leg
to maintain balance, he felt a cuff snap shut over it.  She walked around
in front of him.

   "I didn't want to use cuffs," she said.  "But I need to clean you out,
and I was afraid you might get skittish and hurt yourself.  Follow me."

   He looked down and saw that the cuffs on his ankles were attached to a
short chain that permitted him to shuffle forward.  He followed her into
the bathroom, where she told him to kneel on the floor.  He saw her dip two
fingers into a jar of thick grease and then he felt one, then both enter
his anus.  He watched her as she poured some liquid detergent into the sink
and then filled it with hot water.  He got frightened when he saw her pick
up a long, thick turkey baster and dip it into the sink.  She pressed the
bulb at the end and sucked the water into it.  Then he felt the end of the
turkey baster probing at his anus.  She pushed the tip at his hole slowly
several times, and then the grease let it go right in.  She pushed it
gently and it slid deeper.  When she stopped, he felt the rubber bulb at
his anus.

   "I think the water has cooled down now," she said.  "Let me know if you
feel any pain." She squeezed the bulb, and he felt like a water cannon
filled with warm water was shooting up inside him.  She used two hands to
squeeze the bulb as hard as she could, and then she slowly began sliding
the baster out.

   "I think one more squirt will do it," she said.  After the second
injection, she sat on the edge of the tub and watched him.  In a few
minutes, he was squirming.  "The longer you hold it, the cleaner you'll
be," she said.  "Tell me when you feel you have to let go."

   When he couldn't stand anymore, he was about to open his mouth, but she
was already helping him up onto the toilet seat and hurrying out of the
bathroom.  He was grateful that she didn't stand there and watch him.

   After he moaned and groaned for least five minutes, he heard her call to
him, "Let me know when you're ready for me to come back and help you." He
waited until his body stopped shaking before he called her.  He saw she had
a nose clip on when she came back.  "I couldn't put one on you because of
the gag," she said with a laugh.  "We don't want to suffocate, do we?"

   She flushed the toilet and washed him off, then pushed him back on the
floor again and started the process all over.  "I'm sure you're all clean
now," she said apologetically, "but I just don't want to take any chances.
I got those rugs in Italy." He laughed, and she laughed, but only for a
second.

   When the second time was over, she removed his leg cuffs and told him to
stand in the tub.  She washed him all over with a soapy sponge and the
handheld shower attachment and then rinsed him off and dried him.  He just
stood there.

   She pulled his arm and led him to the bed and pushed him down on his
back.  He was lying on his handcuffed wrists that were behind him, and it
hurt.  He watched her attach some padded straps to the corners of the bed,
and then to his wrists, above the handcuffs, tightening them around the
wrists with velcro.  Then she unlocked the handcuffs and removed them. 
After that, she pulled on the straps attached to the wrists until his arms
were above his head.

   She pushed a bunch of pillows behind him so was half sitting, half lying
with his hands pulled back toward the bedposts.  Then she took a much wider
strap device and ran it under one thigh, right above the knee.  With both
her arms, she strained to pull his leg up and back toward his body until
she realized that by wrapping the strap around the bedpost, she could get
more leverage.  When she finished with both legs, his feet were waving high
above him, his thighs were pressed against his chest, his rear was in the
air, his cheeks were spread apart and his anus was facing almost straight
up.

   "Wow!  You have as much hair in your crack as I do," she said.  "I'm
glad I don't have to do what I made you do.  Ugh."

   Suddenly the lights went out as she fastened a blindfold around his
eyes. He panicked and tried to move away from her.  He had changed his mind
again as things got scarier, but it was too late.  He could barely move,
and when he tried to speak, allthat came out was a muffled sound.  He tried
to relax, but he was shaking.

   She saw his reaction.  "Don't get panicky," she said.  "I'm not going to
castrate you or anything." She laughed.  "Today is not about the visual
sense.  Today is about smell and taste and texture and sound.  You won't
get in trouble if you just listen to me and do what I tell you.

   "Right now, I'm using my visual senses for my pleasure.  What I see in
front of me is a bump rapist waiting to be raped.  I see the bump rapist
trying frantically to twist and writhe even though he knows there's no
escape.  He's spread wide open for me.  I put my thumbs in here like this
and pull that wrinkled hole open and look straight down inside him. 
There's a long, dark tunnel there.  Where does it lead?  Does it lead all
the way to his soul?  Does he even have a soul?  Maybe there's nothing
inside him at all, no soul, just emptiness."

   Peter stopped squirming as she talked.  Her voice was the same, but her
words were those of an insane person.  Why did he come back?  Would she
eventually kill him?  Or would she twist his mind so he would willingly
die?

   She stopped talking.  "Wait a second," she said.  "I think I heard a
knock." He heard her bare feet pad out of the room.  All was quiet.  He
could hear a pin drop.  He heard her apartment door open and some muffled
voices.  Then he heard someone wearing shoes come in and walk through the
living room.  The person was coming into the bedroom.  He heard the person
sit down in the chair not far from the bed.  He strained to hear, but he
couldn't hear a thing.  Whoever it was must be holding his or her breath,
he decided.

   Then he heard Anya's bare feet padding back to the bed.  "If I took off
your blindfold now, Peter, would you enjoy seeing my friend, Carrie?  Would
you care if she was sitting here watching us.  You'd be surprised if you
heard Carrie laugh, but Carrie can also be as silent as a mouse.

   "Do you think Carrie enjoys the sight of my bump rapist opened wide,
waiting to be raped for real.  Maybe she's disgusted by what she sees. 
Maybe she's getting turned on.  What if she wanted to stick her tongue in
there?  Would that get you excited?  What if she wanted to push stuff
inside you, like a vibrator, or maybe a baseball bat?  What if Carrie were
even more perverted than me?  Wait a minute, I think I hear another knock.

   On her way out of the room, he heard Anya whisper something.  It was so
still that he could make out the words.  "Wait right there," she said. 
"He's here."

   Peter tried to slam his entire body across the bed.  He heard the noise
of the bed scraping across the floor as the result of his impact, but
nothing came loose.  He heard voices at the door again, and then the tread
of feet coming to the bedroom.  This person must be heavier, at least
that's how the steps sounded when they came into the room.  The person
didn't sit down.

   Now Peter tried to rub his face against the pillows and scrape the
blindfold off.  If he could just get a quick look, he wouldn't be so
scared, he told himself, but at the same time, he knew he might be even
more frightened.

   He heard Anya come back into the room.  "Is everybody all right here?"
she asked.  "What do you think, Peter?  Do you hear Rip and Carrie? 
They're so quiet that maybe they're not here.  Would you like to be alone,
or do you get excited by performing in front of others?  Isn't that what
you do when you are flitting all over the floor at your club?  Everyone's
eyes are on you, or at least you hope they are.  You are really an
exhibitionist, so I'm giving you a chance to exhibit yourself.

   She turned away from him, and he heard her whisper, "Come here." Then
she was speaking to him again.  "I'm going to pull you over to the side of
the bed for a minute," she said.  "I want to engage your sense of touch. 
Let's just imagine that I have a friend named Rip, and Rip is gay, and he
loves to work out and he loves to make love.  He's a top, so he's the one
who goes into the other one.  I know you told me it makes you uncomfortable
to talk about manlove, Peter, but you see them all the time at your club,
and I know some of them have approached you.  They're watching the
exhibitionist, just like everyone else, and they're turned on, just like
you get turned on when you see a girl with everything hanging out.

   "For a lot of gay guys, their fantasy is hooking up with a straight guy.
Usually, they want to show him that gay sex is better than anything a girl
can give him and get him to cross over.  I know that some of them have the
fantasy of doing this by force.  They're sure that once they rape the
straight guy, he'll love it so much that he'll join their side.  See, even
though they're gay, they're still guys, and some straight guys have the
same sick fantasy about raping girls.

   "Just like a girl, you think you don't want to be raped.  You don't want
an unwelcome organ to tear into you against your will, hurting you,
degrading you, humiliating you, frightening you.  But what if I had a
friend named Rip who is sure you'd change your mind once he could show you
how great a lover he was.  If you liked it, would it still be rape?

   "What if this Rip was standing right next to the bed, totally naked, and
what if someone named Carrie was looking at him and you and enjoying the
spectacle.

   "What if Rip was really well endowed and let me take his equipment and
rub it over your face like this?  Does that feel big to you?  It's so soft.
Do you think it could ever get hard?  Do you think it could get even
bigger, maybe twice the size, maybe three times.  Here, feel it again. 
Does it feel like it's grown since a few seconds ago?  OK, I'm going to
take it away from your face.  I need to go to the bathroom now, and while
I'm gone, here's what I want you to imagine.

   "Imagine there's a really sexy girl named Carrie who's sitting in a
chair watching you and getting all hot.  Imagine there's a big, muscular
guy named Rip with a huge apparatus standing next to you stroking himself
slowly, and imagine this huge, thick, long telephone pole rising in front
of him, higher and higher until it's sticking almost straight out.

   "Now imagine I'm making everything up and there's no one in the room but
you.  See if you can go back and forth with these visions.  Which one seems
more real?  Use your hearing and your sense of smell and see if they help
you.  I'll be right back."

   Peter tried hard not to think of either of Anya's ideas, but he was
listening intently.  Did he hear some breathing or a body shifting?  He
thought he did, but he couldn't be sure.  Was Anya really playing a trick
on him?  Would she whip the blindfold off and show him no one was there? 
Oh, if only she would!  But what if she took off the blindfold, and he was
face to face with a nightmare?  He heard her come back into the room.

   "I've been filling the baster again, Peter, but this time it's not to
clean you out.  You're as clean as a whistle.  Ha, ha.  I was thinking,
what if there was a guy named Rip here who really wanted to stick his huge
thing right into you and rape you and what if he went ahead and did it, and
you weren't lubricated?  Do you know how painful it is to be torn down
there.  No, it never happened to me.  I've never been in your situation. 
But I've heard that it can take a long time to heal and that each step you
take feels like someone is stabbing you in the rear.  And let's not even
talk about going to the bathroom.

   "No, if we can imagine Rip, we can definitely imagine him hurting you.
So I'm going to squirt just a little lubricant on your wrinkly hole, and
now I'm going to work this tip in and squirt in a little more.  Now I'm
going to gently push the whole baster in again and squirt every drop of
lubricant into you.  See how much easier it goes in than before, because
you're more used to it now.  Do you think you could eventually get used to
a gigantic, thick, long pole, much thicker and much longer than this, going
into you.

   "What if a guy named Rip really believed you could and he wanted to take
you away for a while to someplace private and secret, so the two of you
would have a chance to be alone and he could practice with you every day
until your body would welcome him, and you would spend the rest of your
life enjoying his gigantic freak of nature.  No, no, Peter, relax.  Don't
wear yourself out.  We're just enjoying some daydreaming.

   "No, even if there was someone like that in this room right now, and
even if he wanted to do that, I wouldn't let him.  You know why.  As much
of a druggie and bump rapist as you are, you put your trust in me and
allowed me to make you helpless so I could control you completely.

   "But maybe I'm wrong.  Could it be that you did that because you really
want me to give you to someone like our imaginary Rip?  Do you really want
to live a life of utter degradation?  No, I'm not going to go there.  I
don't want to believe that, even if it's true.  Wait a second."

   He heard her whisper.  It sounded like she had turned her head and was
whispering in a different direction.  It sounded like she said, "Come
here."

   "Peter, I'm going to rub something on your face again.  It's OK to be
scared, because that's part of the point of tonight.  Let's imagine it's
Rip, and he's hard and as a rock and anxious to bury his tool in you.  Do
you feel it as I pull it across your face.  Can you feel how long it is? 
Does it feel real like real skin, like real veins.

   "Do you know that they can make dildos that feel exactly like human
flesh?  They feel so real that some girlfriends have told me they can't
tell the difference, except they can order them in whatever size they want.
They won't tell their boyfriends because they're afraid if they saw the
dildos, it would devastate them.  Boys don't understand that they have
something special that no dildo can ever give us, but that sometimes when
they aren't around, a girl needs a friend.

   "Can you feel how warm this imaginary Rip is?  My girlfriends say that
some dildos have electric circuits that can even make them warm.  Does it
feel like this is one of those dildos, or does it feel like a real man? 
Here, put your hands around him.  Don't pull him.  I just want you to feel
that even your big hands won't go around him.  Are you excited that this
imaginary man might soon be entering you?

   "Are you a little scared, too?  Are you excited that imaginary Carrie
may be watching you and putting her fingers between her legs right now?  Or
maybe she'll put her fingers between my legs, and I'll put my fingers
between her legs.  Does that turn you on?  Can you imagine us getting that
crazy?

   "Now, let's imagine that a man named Rip is going to get on the bed
between your legs.  Here, I'm going to pull the straps around the posts a
little tighter so your legs are further apart and you're pulled open a
little more.  It should make it easier for imaginary Rip to access you. 
I'm going to get right behind the imaginary Rip and tell him what to do,
because I don't want you hurt.  Of course, I might be using one of those
new dildos and pretending it's Rip that I'm talking to."

   Peter was shivering now.  His body was vibrating like a car engine.  He
felt someone get on the bed between his legs, and then he felt a probing at
his anus.  The thing pushed in a little.  It was so thick that it was
pushing his cheeks even wider apart, although he thought that was
impossible after Anya tightened the straps moments ago.

   He felt some lubricant come out.  The big thing began rubbing the
lubricant up and down his crack, and then it pushed again, and more lube
came out.  There was more rubbing, and his ass hair was becoming greasy and
slick.

   Now the thing came back to his anus and pushed a little harder.  Juice
came out as it pushed.  It didn't increase the pressure, but it didn't let
up.  Peter felt like there were a million layers of muscle inside his anus,
and one by one, they were being pushed aside.  The thing was not moving
into him, but he felt it making progress anyway as the pressure was peeling
back the muscles that were preventing it from entering.

   He felt the layers going away faster and faster.  Sweat broke out on his
forehead.  He heard someone breathing slowly and deeply, but he couldn't
tell who it was.  Was it Anya?  Was it Carrie?  Was it Rip?  Could this
really be a dildo?  No it couldn't or he wouldn't be feeling as frantic as
he was.  But that didn't make sense.  She had messed with his mind, and he
had no idea what was really going on.  Would he ever find out?

   Then he felt the layers flying and a slow pain beginning, and suddenly
Rip or whoever burst into him.

   "Hold it, Rip," Anya said.  Her voice was soft and coming from either
the side of the bed or down by his feet.  He couldn't tell.  "That was
beautiful.  You did just what I told you, and I don't think you hurt him.
Remember what you promised.  Today is not about being rough.  When you take
him away -- if I let you -- you can be as rough as you want.  Today, it's
easy.  This is his first time, and you're a lot to take any time.

   "OK, you can push in a little further.  I want you to just apply the
slightest pressure.  Let Peter come to you.  There's a lot of lube in
there, and with just a little pressure, he's going to open up and let you
in.  And remember, I don't want any contact with your thighs, your balls or
your hands.  That's why I opened him for you.

   "Just think of yourself as a big, expensive dildo that I'm pushing into
him.  That's it.  See, you're barely pushing, but you're gliding right in.
Do you hear that juice squirting out of him?  It sounds like a plastic
ketchup bottle that you're squeezing.  When you push into him, the lube has
no place to go but out.  It looks so great.  Look over at Carrie.  She
likes it too.  She's really going to town between her legs.

   "Ok, no further.  You're in really deep, and I don't want you to make
him bleed.  Damn it, Rip.  Why didn't you stop?  I'm sure he felt those
balls bounce.  That's it, pull back and work from there.

   "Peter, did you know that some of new dildos even have balls that are
loose to make them more realistic.  Rip could just be one fancy dildo with
all the bells and whistles.

   "That's good, in and out slowly.  He's feeling it.  I can see him
squirming around trying to get away from you and I hear him screaming
through my panties.  OK, now a little faster, just a little.  That's a good
rhythm.  Keep it up while I get my breast pump on him.  Good.  Carrie, see
how Peter's mouth is twisted with pain but his penis is getting hard. 
That's a man for you.  Nothing gets in the way of getting off.  I wish
women had it that easy.

   "OK, stop, Rip.  Stay right in there where you are.  Did you feel his
ass start spasming on you.  I think he's close.  I need to go to the
kitchen for a second.  Wait right there.

   "OK, I'm back.  I'm going to dip his hands in some of the lube that is
all over the bed and put them on his tool and balls so he can get himself
off.

   "What's that, Peter?  You don't want to do that today?  You're nodding.
But Peter, you have no choice.  That's the agreement.  Well, I can't force
you, but I can tell Rip to keep going and start ripping into you really
hard -- like he wants to do -- until you cooperate.  That's more like it.
OK, you've drooped a little.  Let me get you hard with the pump again. 
There.  See, it didn't take long.  OK, get those greasy hands on yourself
and get to work, mister.  That's good.  Great.

   "OK, Rip, you can get started again, but this time I want you to follow
Peter's lead.  Keep your pace exactly the same as his.  When he starts to
go faster, you can go faster, and when he comes, you can come, but not
before him, understand?"

   Peter pumped away at himself, faster and faster.  He was focusing on
getting this over with, but he couldn't bring himself over the edge because
the huge tool was slamming into him as fast as he was pumping and driving
him out of his mind with pain.  To distract himself from the pain, he
started thinking how humiliating it was that that Carrie and Anya were
sitting there watching him being ravaged.  He felt a stirring.  Maybe he
was finding the answer.

   He focused on how disgusting the scene was, how the sound of the lube
squirting out of his rear was sickening, how bizarre it must look to see
that huge penis driving in and out of him.  He felt his breathing get
irregular and an overwhelming urgency in his loins.  He started to get
nauseous as he realized how his degradation was actually turning him on,
but before he could think any more about that, he exploded, sending his
stuff flying into the air, and a second later, he felt a firehouse turning
on inside his guts and washing them with Rip's come.  The warm come kept
spurting inside him, and he felt some of it squishing out of him around
Rip's tool, mixing with the lubricant.  He also smelled it.  It smelled
much stronger than his own sperm.  He realized it was the real thing, and
that suddenly devastated him.  Rip didn't wait to get soft, but he pulled
out slowly.  Peter heard a breathy voice repeating, "Slow, Rip, slow, slow,
slow." It was Anya, and she obviously had gotten off, too.

   Peter lay there in a daze.  He felt as if his body was slowly slipping
into his grave.  He heard steps and the door to Anya's apartment opening
and closing, but it sounded far away.  He felt the blindfold being removed,
but he couldn't open his eyes.  The panties came out of his mouth, but he
couldn't speak.  He felt his legs being detached from the restraints and
falling on the bed as if they had been dropped from the ceiling.  He felt
his arms being freed, but he couldn't move them.  Someone else brought them
down to his side.

   Only when he felt a damp cloth on his forehead and a kiss on his cheek
did he open his eyes.  Anya was smiling down at him.  Why did she have to
be so beautiful and nice when she wasn't being beautiful and evil?  Those
were his last thoughts before he fell asleep.

   The next morning, he woke in her bed, and as soon as he moved a leg, he
felt the stabbing pain inside his cheeks.  He winced, and she came running
into the room looking concerned.  Then she smiled that smile.  "I've made
you some breakfast," she said.  "I could bring it in here, but you need to
start dealing with your pain right away so you can go home and get to work
tomorrow."

   At breakfast, she was all compliments.  "You were amazing last night,"
she said.  "You may not realize it, but I think you're on the verge of a
breakthrough that's going to rock your life.  I'm thinking we only need one
more session to achieve that, but it won't be next Saturday.  First of all,
I'm going to be out of town, and secondly, you won't be healed enough. 
When I get back to town a week from tomorrow, I'm going to call you and see
if you're ready to finish what we started."

   I can already tell you the answer is no, he thought to himself.



   Peter was surprised by how many people at his office seemed concerned by
the pain he was suffering.  He wondered if they really felt bad or if they
were just trying to find out what had happened to him.

   On Tuesday morning, the staff was told that there was a required party
on Thursday night, but that they could bring spouses, partners, live-ins or
friends.  BBB was coming to spend a couple of days at the office, and the
party was for him

   Big Boss from Boston was young, only 10 years older than Peter, and he
was always looking to meet people who were important in the lives of his
employees.  The word was that your upward mobility could be affected
positively or negatively by the person you brought to his parties.

   Peter never brought anyone to these parties, because he didn't care
about upward mobility.  He knew that his salary was good enough to buy
himself what he wanted, and otherwise he preferred just being let alone to
do his job.  He knew he was good, but he didn't care.  He lived for the
weekends.

   Spouses, partners, live-ins, friends, thought Peter when he got the
office message.  He didn't have any of them, and he didn't care.  Well, he
did have friends, the group he hung out with and got stoned with on the
weekends, but he couldn't bring any of them to a company party.  He'd go
alone as usual.

   Right in the middle of analyzing trends in corn syrup that afternoon, a
weird thought entered his mind.  What if he invited Anya to the party? 
That would show the bosses.  Maybe the good Anya would show up, and
everybody would be drooling.  Or maybe the bad Anya would come and pin back
everyone's ears with her bizarre talk.  Either way, he wouldn't care.  He
called her and left a voice mail message and then remembered she told him
she was going out of town.  He forgot about it until she called him
Thursday morning.  She sounded harried.

   "Peter, I'm so sorry I couldn't get back to you until now.  Things have
been crazy, and I haven't even had time to pack for the flight tomorrow
morning.  But I can do that later.  I'm sure you've invited another friend
by now, but if you haven't, I'd love to come with you tonight."

   Peter didn't know what to say at first.  Finally, he cleared his throat
and asked her if she'd like him to pick her up.  She said she'd be rushing
over from an appointment, so she'd meet him at the party.

   After she was a half-hour late, Peter figured she was a no-show.  He was
still feeling pain with every step, so he had remained near the bar, where
he was talking to a couple of people in his department when he heard a
commotion behind him.  Everyone in the room was buzzing.  He turned around
and saw that someone had just come into the hotel meeting room and a path
was being cleared for the person.  He knew it couldn't be the BBB, because
he was already there.  Then his jaw dropped.  It was Anya, and she was
walking right to him, and she was smiling.

   What was causing the buzz was the way she was dressed.  Her outfit was
cocktail casual, just as he had told her, but the bright green dress was
made of a thin shiny fabric that seemed to envelop her voluptuous body like
a shimmering coat of paint.  It moved with her body.  As she flexed, it
flexed.  As she jiggled, it jiggled.  It feathered her every curve and
softened it, but it didn't hide any of them.  It was the sexiest outfit
Peter had ever seen.

   When she walked up to him and gave him a quick kiss, he felt like a
spotlight was on him.  "Wow!" he said.  "You're supposed to be making me
look good to the BBB.  I don't know what he's thinking right now, but you
definitely made an impression."

   "I hope you're not angry that I'm late," she said sweetly.  "You can
punish me later if you want." He looked at her and frowned, and she laughed
brightly.  "I'm only kidding," she said.  "Don't look so serious.  Point
out your boss without pointing at him, so I can do what I came here to do."

   That statement worried him.  "Uh, he's over there by the piano, in that
tan suit," he said.  "But please be careful.  I like my job."

   He introduced her to his colleagues at the bar and to a lot of other
people he worked with.  They were almost lining up to meet her, he noticed.
She left to powder her nose, and when she didn't come back, he noticed she
was in heavy conversation with the BBB.  He wondered what she was telling
him but decided he didn't care.  Or maybe, she's not talking about me but
making a move on him.  Could it be that she's recruiting him for her sick
games for when she's finished with me?  He watched her animated
conversation with the BBB for half an hour, and then she walked back over
to him.

   "I like your boss," she said.  "He's got a good head on his shoulders
and some great plans for your company."

   "What were you two talking about for so long?" he said.

   "Oh, nothing much," she said.  "Were you jealous?"

   "No," he said.

   "Well, we did talk about you a little bit," she said.  "He didn't know
much about you, and he wanted to know more."

   He groaned.  "So of course you told him," he said.  "Great!  You might
as well stick a fork in me."

   "Yes," she said.  "You're definitely finished." She laughed her
sparkling laugh again, and it came to him that the devil is a master of
disguise.

   "I'm sorry, but I've got to leave and go home and pack.  I'll call you
next week." Her exit was as dramatic as her entrance.  The people in the
room parted like the Red Sea as her shimmering green body flowed through
them.

   After she left, the BBB came over to him.  "Your girlfriend is really
impressive, Peter," he said.  "And her brains are even better than her
looks, if that's possible.  From the way she talked about you, I'd say
you're a lucky man.  Don't let her get away."

   "Thanks," said Peter.  "That's kind of you." What was he saying?  He was
going to get as far from her as he could.  But then why had he invited her?
Was she right that he was self-destructive?

   When she called him at work on Tuesday, he meant to tell her to forget
about Saturday, but instead, he asked her how her trip went.  "Oh, you
know," she said.  "I visited my family.  They are great, but they're also a
pain.  They asked me if I was seeing anyone, and I told them that I had
seen a lot of you.  No, just kidding.  Of course, no one knows about us."

   "What about Carrie and Rip?" he said.

   "But they're imaginary," she said with a laugh.  He didn't tell her what
his sense of smell had told him about what the imaginary Rip had deposited
inside of him.

   "You're going to see everything Saturday night," she said.  "I'm hoping
it will be a real eye opener."

   "I'll bet," he said.  Why didn't he tell her he wasn't coming?  What
kind of a hold did she have over him that he was cooperating with her sick
schemes?  Why did he know that he would show up Saturday night?  Despite
the compliments he'd been getting since last Thursday about his
"girlfriend," and the jokes about how that explained why his crotch was in
pain, he was feeling depressed, and his mood wasn't any lighter when he
knocked on her door Saturday night.

   She welcomed him to her living room, and before he could think of
something to say, he had his clothes off, and they were into their routine.
The only things different were that she didn't ask him to ejaculate into a
cup this night and she seemed to be putting a lot more into her role,
especially in her verbal abuse.  When he was eating out her anus, she said,
"You really are getting to like it in there, aren't you, Peter.  Is it the
flavor or the aroma?  I bet you can't wait to toss someone else's salad to
see how it tastes.  Are you going to stick to girls, or will you also snack
on boys?  Listen to you.  Do you have to smack your lips?  That's gross."

   It got so bad that he became nauseous again and had to push her off and
run to the bathroom.  While he was retching, he also felt relieved.  At
least I'm not getting used to it, he thought.

   When he came out of the bathroom, she led him into the bedroom and sat
down next to him on the bed.  "Last week, I used handcuffs to keep you
under control," she said, "because they fit that night.  But this week, no
cuffs.  Here's what I'm doing instead.  See this string.  It's very thin,
but very strong.  See how it's looped, like a Yo-Yo string and how I'm
making a slip knot." She got off the bed and kneeled between his legs.

   "See how I'm putting the slip knot around your sack.  Now I'm pulling it
closed.  That's all there is to it.  It's a much less obtrusive way of
making sure you don't get out of control and hurt yourself."

   "I don't understand," he said.

   "Well, in my hand, I've got the string attached to that slip knot," she
said.  "Watch what happens when I pull it.  I'll pull very slowly.  Do you
feel anything?  Look down.  See how I'm pulling your sack away from your
body slowly but steadily.  Do you feel anything yet?  Yes, I heard you. 
I'm letting the string go slack.  Now you can't feel any more pain, can
you?

   "This is so effective because just a gentle tug like this reminds you to
listen and do what I say.  If you're distracted and don't respond, then I
can get your attention with just a slow steady pull.  I've been told that
by accident, some people have actually pulled the balls loose from the
body. That's not good, because if they aren't recovered and sewn back
together within a half an hour, evidently they die.

   "I'm not going to let that happen even though you're so self-absorbed
that you probably won't ever have a family anyway.  So for us, the gentle
tugs and maybe some slow stretching will just remind you of what could
happen and get you going in the right direction.  Right now, we need to
move in the direction of the bathroom."

   He looked at her, but he didn't move.  She looked at him and waited.  He
saw her lift the string and smile.  She tugged once.  She tugged again. 
She started pulling slowly and he saw his testicles coming into view as he
looked down.  He watched them moving away from his body until he couldn't
stand the pain anymore, and then he lifted up his hand.  The pulling
stopped immediately, and he got up.

   "I love you, Peter," she said brightly.  "You want to experience
everything, don't you?  You must be very happy now anticipating the pain
and degradation that awaits you tonight.  I promise you I won't disappoint
you."

   After two cleansings in the bathroom, she brought him back to the bed
and told him to lie down in the middle.  After she fastened her panties
into his mouth again, she said, "Tonight we're going to do a variation of
last week's position that brought forth so much emotion," she said.  "I
want you to lift your legs up high in the air.  That's it.  Now bring them
slowly back.  Further, further, until they are over your shoulders now. 
OK, now bring them back until your feet are over your head.  Here, let me
push some pillows behind your back to make it easier.

   "Try to lock your feet behind your head.  That's it.  You are very
limber.  Maybe all that dancing isn't so bad for you.

   "Now lift your arms straight up in the air.  Good.  Now lower your right
arm and drape it over your right leg, just behind the knee.  Good.  Now
just let the arm fall onto the bed at your side.  Now the same thing with
your left arm.  There, right behind the knee.  Now let the arm fall on the
bed on the left side.  OK, stay like that just a minute.

   He felt her moving around and then she was fastening his wrists with the
Velco again.  Then he felt her crawling under the bed.  Suddenly, he felt
his arms being pulled down and away.  She had connected the wrists with
straps that ran under the bed, and now she was pulling them tight.

   She got up from under the bed and stood over him.

   "Perfect," she said.  "This is called the Viennese Oyster position, and
it's good because it offers easy access and deep penetration.  The straps
under the bed add the element of complete control, and that's why I'm
taking the string off of you now.  It won't be necessary any longer.

   "Can you see that you're looking straight at your penis and, there,
right beyond it, is your anus.  That's the idea.  This week it's all about
visual, but of course, you're going to feel and hear and taste, too.  I'm
going to adjust the pillows a little now.  See how that pushes your penis
closer to your face.  Let's get the breast pump going.  Watch what happens.
See, you are so well endowed that when you are aroused in this position,
your tip is only inches from your mouth.  And this is before we even get
started.  Now it's time for some lube.  This week, we're going to use this
white Crisco because it will make for a good visual.  I'm going to stick my
index finger into it and dab some around your wrinkled rosebud like this.
Now, I'm going to rub it around the area lightly.  You like that, don't
you? I can tell from your response.

   "Now the finger is going into you easily.  Back to the white paste, back
into the hole.  Moving around, and out.  You're opening up nicely.  Let's
take two fingers and scoop up a lot more white paste.  In we go, smooth as
silk.  There's some left on the outside.  Let's push that in, too.  Round
and round inside.  Spreading the lube to every nook and cranny in there.

   "OK, get ready, Mr.  Bump Rapist, you're about to accept three fingers
for the very first time.  Well, that was disappointing.  I thought it would
be a real event, but they just went right in.  Let's use the three fingers
to get a really big ball of white stuff in there.  First we pull them out
fast, so the hole stays open for a few seconds, and there, before it closes
we pushed a big bunch of Crisco in there.  Now the three fingers go back in
and spread it around.  Around and around, and out.

   "No need to wait for four fingers with you, I can see.  I'm just going
to pull the three out fast and then put four back in.  You probably won't
even notice a difference.  Oh, you did that time.  I saw you squirm and
heard something through my panties.  You're starting to respond.  That's
good.

   "Now we're going to pretend my four fingers are a vibrator.  Let's put
the vibrator on low.  In and out they go, very slowly, just past the first
knuckles.  Uh oh, someone switched to fast.  Look at them pick up speed. 
They're vibrating in and out of you so fast, I can hardly see them.  Your
body is squirming like crazy and your face muscles are all over the place.

   "Now it's switched back to low, slower, slower, slower.  It's just
chugging away and you're so into it that you didn't even notice I bunched
the fingers together and tucked my thumb behind them.  Now all five fingers
are going in so slowly and so smoothly.  Let's pull them out now.  Can you
see how large your hole has become?  Do you feel the big ice cream scoop of
Crisco I just pushed in there?

   "Back go the fingers, slowly, but now they're starting to speed up.  I
hear you sobbing, Peter.  That's it.  Let it all out.  Every emotion in
your body.  You're thinking you know where this is leading, Peter, and
you're thinking that you can't take the total humiliation and the horrible
pain, but you can, Peter.  Together we can find the bottom.  We can take
all drugs and all the booze and all the anonymous sex and push it down to
the bottom, just like I'm pushing this white stuff into you.

   "But that other stuff that's part of you isn't white.  It's black,
totally black, and it smells worse than anything you've smelled in my
apartment, and it tastes more disgusting than anything you've tasted here.
It's vile and evil and it's you.  No dumb animal would ever do to its body
what you've been doing to yours.

   "Do you feel a little push with the vibration now, Peter?  Do you feel a
little stretching there around the pit where we're pushing your terribly
wasted life.  Nobody knows how wasted it really is.  You've certainly
fooled the BBB and everyone in your office that I met.  Not even the
friends at your club understand, because they are all jelly inside with no
spine at all.

   "No, the only ones who know are you and me, and here we are, working
away at you.  I'm in no hurry.  We've got to do this right all the way to
the end.  Because where we're going is further than you think, Peter. 
We're going below the bottom, all the way down.

   "Every shred of dignity is going to be squeezed out of you like the
white stuff that's squirting out around my fingers.  We need to push that
black stuff so far down and so tight that it becomes a cannonball that
weighs 50 pounds.  Inside that cannonball is every poison that's slowly
murdering your mind.  We're going to shoot that poison cannonball out of
you.  When it lands, it will explode, and all the poisons will dissipate.

   "I think I feel something, Peter, and from the way you're trying to kick
your legs free, I think you do, too.  That's why I tied your arms down over
them, because when you are kicking wildly, you could hurt yourself.  Oooh,
there it goes.  Did you see how your ass seemed to climb over the thickest
part of my hand and just swallow it up?  Now I'm into you up to my wrist,
and I'm going to stop so we can both catch our breaths.  That's it. 
Breathe through your nose.  Long breaths.  Try to slow them down.  Good.

   "My hand feels so good inside you, Peter, like it belongs there.  I can
feel your soft insides around it like a glove, and when I wiggle my
fingers, the lubricant makes them glide smoothly in and out of your folds
of flesh.  Now I'm going to bunch the fingers together into a fist.  That's
what this is called, Peter, fisting.  There, that was easy.  Now I'm moving
it around.  Where is that black stuff?  I need to push it and together into
that heavy cannonball so we can get rid of it.

   "When we've shot the fat black cannonball out of your ass, Peter, you're
going to be totally empty and alone.  Then you'll be in the real danger
zone, much more dangerous than anything I'm doing to you today.  It will be
your moment of crisis.  What's going to fill up the empty space Peter? 
Will it be the same poisons again?  Will nothing change?  Or will the empty
Peter find his way to substance, to meaning, to real human feelings, maybe
even someday to true love.  I'm giving you a chance, Peter, but I can't do
it all for you.

   "Now it's time to pull out, but I'm going to make it hard for you,
because I'm going to keep my hand balled up in a fist.  I'll pull as gently
and steadily as I pushed before.  Squirm and kick if you must.  And scream
if you have to.  Let everything out as I start pulling toward the opening.
I see it pulling at the hole, I see the hole stretching.  It's coming, it's
coming, and out it goes and right back in.

   "Did you see that?  When I pulled it out, you were stretched so wide
open that it went back easily.  Well, easily for me, maybe not for you. 
Now I'm going to squeeze my fingers together and tuck my thumb in behind
them to make them much smaller than a fist.  Do you know that I'm so petite
that even when my hand is in a fist, it's smaller around than the imaginary
Rip from two weeks ago?  Now that it's as small as I can make it, we're
going exploring.  We're going to go deep into the tunnel, even deeper than
Rip did, and we're going to look for any scrap of blackness that might be
hiding in a crevice.  We've got to push every tiny bit of your disgusting
life into that heavy black cannonball.

   "See how my arm is gliding into you.  It's up to the elbow now, and
you're thinking you've hit bottom now.  You can't be any more demeaned than
you are now, but you're wrong.  My arm is slim enough that I can go
further. Look, we're coming to the last hill, and that's my bicep.  Too bad
I work out, Peter, because my biceps aren't so slim.  I'm just pushing
gently but persistently, and there goes the bicep.  I'm into you all the
way to my shoulder.  It feels amazing.

   "We're at the bottom for you, but we're not done yet, because there's a
bottom below the bottom, and we need to get there.

   "I'm pulling out slowly now, and when I get close to the entrance, I'm
going to ball into a fist again and go even slower.  So prepare yourself.
It won't be as painful as the first time.  It never is.  See, we're out.

   "Now before we finish, we need to get Part 2 going.  I see you're all
soft and floppy.  Do you think you can pump yourself up?  No?  OK.  Let me
adjust the pillows again to get you into a better position.

   "Now here comes the breast pump.  Amazing.  I can see from your tears
that you must be feeling terrible pain inside your anus, but look at that
thing jump up like nothing's the matter.  You're not as big and long as the
imaginary Rip, but you are plenty big enough because your thing is going
past the side of your head and beyond your ear.

   "Now listen carefully.  I'm going to pull your head back and move your
tool until the tip is pushing right in the middle of your lips.  I want you
to open your mouth, so I can take out my panties.  And then it will go
inside.  You know where I'm going with this.  Why are you shaking your
head? This is absolutely necessary.  Can you imagine anything more
degrading than sucking your own dick until it comes in your mouth?  You
have to do it.  You refuse?

   "OK, listen, Mr.  Bump Rapist.  I'm not going to put the string on you.
That would be too easy.  I'm going to use something much worse, this little
suction cup.  You remember last week how I played you with it.  I sucked
you right to the edge and then stopped before you could come and left you
frustrated.  Remember toward the end, you were starting to feel a little
pain and discomfort in the area of your balls before you finally got your
release.

   "That was nothing.  This time I'm going to keep going.  There will be no
release.  That pain is called blue balls, and it's going to get stronger
and stronger.  Even if I kick you in the balls right now, it won't hurt as
badly as that will hurt.  Eventually, you're going to be a quivering mass
of jelly, and you'll do anything I say.

   "Is that the way you want to end this?  Are you man enough to suck
yourself and choose to accept your utter debasement.  Or are you too
spineless to make the decision that could change your life?  Do you really
want me to turn you into a puddle of pain, not even human.  You'll end up
doing it anyway.  No answer?  OK, here comes the sucking bulb.

   "You're nodding your head.  You've changed your mind?  Good.  Now I'm
still going to use the bulb, but only for few seconds.  You've agonized
over this so much that you're drooping.  There, back up goes the flagpole.
OK, open wide.  That's it.  I'm taking the panties out.  Quiet.  Not a
word. Now let me push your head back while I slide your hard pole over in
front of your mouth.  Now I'll let your head go and the pillows behind it
will push it around your pole.  Oh, sorry, I think it hit the back of your
throat.  I know from experience that's not comfortable.  Let me adjust the
pillows some more.  There, that's more like it, deep but not uncomfortable.

   "OK, I want you to start sucking it.  Not hard, just gently.  Pretend
you're the breast pump.  Just enough to keep it hard.  Don't think orgasm.
Think lollypop.  That's it.

   "Your hands are already coated with the white lube that squirted onto
the bed, but they're tied down at your sides.  I'm not going to release
them yet, but when I do, I want you to fondle your balls with one hand and
pump the long part of your tool that's still outside your mouth with the
other.  Grab those balls hard.  It will add to the momentum.  All set?

   "OK.  Now back to your rear cheeks all spread wide for me.  First, lets
get a lot more of that Crisco in there.  We're going to need it.  Don't
stop sucking.  That's it.  Not too hard.

   "Now, let's start with one index finger.  In and out, nice little
rhythm. Now Mr.  Finger's twin from the other hand is joining the dance, a
nice duet.  Let's make it a threesome now.  Good.  Now two couples dancing
side by side.  Oops, here comes someone without a partner joining in. 
Let's bring his partner in from the left.  Do Si Do.  Six fingers going in
and out together smooth as silk.  Now let's add two more at the same time.
See, no problem at all, Peter.  I'm praying for you.  See how my hands are
tight together for praying and they are going all the way in over all the
knuckles until the thumbs stop them from going further.  Even with eight
fingers inside of you, you're handling it fine.

   "But that's about to change, Peter.  Can you feel me pulling my hands
apart as I continue going in and out, in and out.  I'm pulling you open
wider.  Now there's a gap between my hands.  If I had a third hand, I could
get it in there.  Maybe I can move a foot around.  Only kidding, Peter. 
Keep sucking, but not too hard.  Suck the lollipop.

   "The gap between my hands is pretty big now.  This is the most you've
ever been opened.  Now I'm tucking my thumbs behind the fingers of each
hand as I go in and out, in and out, while keeping that gap as wide as I
can without tearing you.  OK, get ready, here we go.

   "Did you feel that?  I got both hands in all the way to the wrist before
I pulled them back out.  No resistance.  Here we go again.  A little more
resistance that time.  I forgot to keep the hands pushing sideways as they
went in, and you collapsed on me.  I'll be more careful.  Here we go again.
Whee!

   "OK, let's take the rhythm from the outside and bring it in with both
hands.  There they go, back and forth, all the way to the wrists now and
still pushing out so they don't get stuck and hurt you.  You're even bigger
now.  That darn tunnel is getting some light at this end.  In and out, in
and out.

   "Now I'm stopping with the left hand inside you.  The right one is still
going with the same rhythm.  In and out.  Now this is going to be the
hardest thing I do all day, Peter, at least for me.  I'm going to try to
start my left hand again, but in the opposite direction of my right one. 
Wait, wait, there, it worked.  Do you feel me going in with the left while
I'm coming out with the right?  I bet that feels different.  I'm coming and
going in you at the same time?

   "It's time for your final test, and it's not going to be easy.  While
I'm working at your bottom, I want you to work on the other side.  I didn't
make you come earlier, so you should have a lot of semen in there, and I
want you to suck every drop of it into your mouth and hold it there.

   "The way you're going to do that is simple.  You're just going to
increase the suction slowly until you're sucking as hard as you can. 
Meanwhile your right hand will pump the Crisco up and down your shaft and
your left hand will be pulling your balls harder and harder back and forth.
You'll soon be ready to explode into your mouth, even though you'll
probably try to hold back because you're thinking how humiliating it will
be.  That's OK.  Hold back as long as you can, because it will make you
come even harder when you can't stop yourself.  Ready, let's go.

   "Ok.  I'm still going in and out fast with my left hand, but I've
stopped with my right hand, and instead, I'm starting to push it in
further, like I did before.  It's gliding up your colon like a ship down a
river.  Smooth smooth.  It's already at my elbow.  Don't look, Peter.  Suck
harder, pump faster, pull those balls like taffy.

   "Now here's the final frontier.  My right arm is in up to my shoulder?
Can I get my left arm in there alongside my right.  I'm starting to push a
little, but it's stuck.  Let me pull it to the side and stretch your hole a
little, although I don't know if that will help further down.  There's
still plenty of lube in there.  It was really squirting out when my right
arm went in.

   "OK, I'm starting to push my left hand in again.  I've made it as narrow
as I can.  It's starting to slide, it's going in slowly but smoothly.  it
just needed a little momentum to get started.  Wooooo!  It's all the way
down, and my hands are praying again.  We're nearly there.  I hear some
sounds coming out of your mouth even though your huge penis is filling it
up.  Is it pain from how I'm stretching you or are you getting ready to
come.  Or both?  Keep going with your hands and keep sucking.

   "I'm going to start moving my hands and arms inside you.  I can't do
much, because it' so tight, but maybe we can get a little movement.  There,
that's not much, but it's a least enough to get a slow rhythm going.  Your
body is twisting like a pretzel.  I don't think it likes the rhythm.  Maybe
it would like a faster one.  No?

   "It's really in your hands now, Peter, and in your mouth.  As soon as
you come, we're finished.  I see your eyes are starting to bulge.  You are
afraid of what you're feeling.  You're afraid to come in your mouth. 
That's OK.  Embrace the fear, embrace the shame.  This is you all the way
to the bottom and beyond.  That big black cannonball is ready to be shot,
and all the poisons from your body and mind are going into it.

   "Suck harder.  Pump faster.  That's it.  That's it.  I hear you, I hear
you.  Even though your mouth is filling up with your semen, you're telling
me, and I hear you.  Look, it's squirting out of your nose.  I see you're
having trouble breathing.  Open your mouth wide and swallow as fast as you
can.  Now you can breathe through your mouth.

   "I see you glaring at me.  You really hate me now, don't you?  You have
to hate the person who pushes your face in the mud, who turns you into an
object of scorn, who torments you to the edge of madness.  Yes, that's me,
Peter.  Remember, when I told you what I was and what I did to men.  I've
told you a lot of things.  Do you remember all of them?

   "OK.  Now let's bring your level of hatred as high as we possibly can.
No, save your breath Peter.  You're so exhausted that I can barely hear you
anyway.  I'm going to pull my arms and hands slowly out of you, but when
the hands get close to your hole, they are going to become fists again.  I
want to see just how wide I can stretch you.  Can I pull both fists through
the opening at the same time without tearing you in two.  Time to find out.

   "No, it won't help for you to twist and writhe like that.  And even if
you could reach down and hit me with your hands, it would only make this
more difficult.  Just try to relax and watch.

   "OK, my arms are back out.  All that's left is the two fists.  Now I'm
starting to pull very slowly.  I hear you moan Peter.  You are weak, but
that moan is strong.  It's a moan that will go around the world and end up
right in this room.  It's the moan that that is going to fire the cannon
that is going to shoot that cannonball out of your body and take with it
the disease afflicting your soul.  It's the moan of a man that's about to
become totally empty and open to every possibility, good and evil, just
like the man in the Garden of Eden.

   "Moan for me, Peter, moan for me.  My fists are forming the huge black
ball full of poisons that you must shoot.  I see the fists struggling,
struggling to get out.  You've got to shoot the cannonball, Peter, to save
your life.  It must be shot, and it will be shot, and you're shooting it
right now!

   There was a wooshing sound as the fists broke free of Peter, and a lot
of Crisco came out with them.  Peter's loud groan went up a couple of
octaves and then faded to whimpering.  He curled up in a fetal position. 
His hands were close to his come-coated face, and he looked like he was
going to put a thumb in his mouth, but he didn't.

   Anya rushed to the bathroom and came back with a damp washcloth that she
used to gently clean Peter's face while repeating softly in a soothing
voice, "It's over, Peter, it's over, it's over." When she saw he was
sleeping, she left the room.

   This time he didn't sleep until the next day.  He awoke with a start
shortly after midnight and looked around.  Anya was sitting by the bed
gazing at him with concern.  He felt nothing but hatred for her, for what
she had done to him.  She had warned him she would degrade and humiliate
him.  He felt contempt and shame for himself for letting her do it.  He
still couldn't understand why, but now he didn't care.  He needed to get
out and make sure he never saw her again.

   "The string is back on, Peter," she said.

   "What!" he yelled and started to jump up, but then he felt it pulling
and sat down on the bed.

   "Haven't you done enough yet," he said.  "What's left except for you to
cut off my balls."

   "We're done here, Peter, both of us.  The only reason I put the string
back on is because I have to tell you a few things, and I was afraid you
might leave before I could finish.

   "I don't want to listen to your psycho talk ever again," said Peter.

   "Yes, Peter, you're telling the truth even more than you realize," she
said.  "It was psycho talk.  But you will need to listen to it for a few
more minutes.  Do you remember the second time we met at Denny's, when my
girlfriends were waiting for me.  Do you remember everything I told you
that night?  Do you remember how I warned you that I was perverse and
sadistic, that I used sex to twist men and humiliate them and degrade them
until they were broken and helpless, and then I dumped them?  Do you
remember that I warned you that if you got involved with me, you would end
up like a dog in the dust?

   "But you decided to ignore my warnings.  Now I've delivered what I
promised you, and it's over.  I can see you're angry and bitter.  I didn't
tell anyone what we've been doing, but I did tell my girlfriends that I'm
breaking up with you and that we had a stormy relationship.  They insist
that I move out of this apartment to a place where you'll never see me
again.  I agreed, because in your present state of mind, you might do
something foolish that you'll later regret.

   "I'm sure in a few days you'll be able to think straight again.  Then I
want you to think about this: The worst thing you could do is ever see me
again.  You don't want to become one of those men who are so sick that even
after what I did to you, you'd crawl back to me and beg for more.

   "I would really be disappointed if you turned out to be one of them.  In
case you ever even think about it, I'll tell you what will happen.  First,
I'll spit in your face.  Then I'll tell you that you are pond scum to me,
and that up to now, we dealt only with each other, but if you ever show
your face again, I will tell my friends all about our relationship and show
them the videos.  Yes, Peter, this apartment is set up with hidden cameras
everywhere.  They recorded us in high definition from different angles and
even in close-ups that look so real that when I watched them, I almost feel
the slimy lubricant.

   "I'll never show those videos to anyone, Peter, unless you bother me. 
Nobody knows what went on between us, except you and me, and it will stay
that way."

   "What about Carrie and Rip?" he said angrily.

   "Yes, the imaginary Carrie and Rip," she said.

   "That come inside of me wasn't imaginary," he said.

   "No, you're right, Peter, it wasn't," she said.  "And I guess that is a
good way to end this conversation.  You see, Peter, I don't owe you
anything.  I did what I did for my reasons, and you did what you did for
your reasons.  You're on your own for the rest of your life.  Do you think
there was anything positive about what we did?  No.  I thought so.

   "We could call it even, but I like to always be ahead.  So I'm going to
tell you right now that you overlooked something.  It's not a secret.  It
was there from the beginning as plain as day.  I've just given you some
information that could be important to you, but you'll probably ignore it
as soon as you leave here and return to your so-called life."

   "Wait a minute," he said.  "That isn't fair.  You've found a way to
twist the knife in me one more time.  If you have any decency at all,
you'll tell what you're talking about.

   "OK," she said.  "Remember Denny's?  Think about Denny's.  Now let me
take that string off so you can get dressed and go home."

   Neither of them said another word, but for some reason, when he was at
the bottom of the stairs, he looked up and saw her standing there watching
him from her doorway.  When she saw him look up, she turned around and went
into her apartment and shut the door.

   A few months later he was passing her building.  He turned around and
parked his car and walked to the entrance.  There was a new name next to
her apartment.  He looked up to where he had last seen her and stood there
a minute, then turned and left.

   His life was different now.  For a couple of weeks after their last
encounter, he went to work and came straight home.  On weekends, he also
stayed home.  He didn't call anyone, and no one called him.  Even after the
pain inside his anus was gone, he still stayed home at night.  He felt
depressed, but he didn't feel like getting high.

   A cute girl at the office broke the pattern.  She mentioned that she was
inviting some people from the office and other friends over Saturday night,
and he was included.  He went and had a good time talking with people he
had worked with and ignored for years.  He drank a few glasses of wine and
felt good, but he didn't feel he had to get out of control.

   As the weeks went by, he was surprised that he didn't feel like going
back to the clubs and seeing his old friends.  They never called him, but
he didn't care.  He was making new friends, the kind of people he used to
make fun of.  He hooked up with some nice girls and even saw one for a few
months until they realized they liked each other but weren't in love.

   He did well at work and got promoted.  When the BBB came to town to tell
him about his new job, he asked Peter about Anya.  "That didn't end well,"
Peter told him and then remembered how highly the BBB had spoken of her. 
"Probably my fault."

   "Probably," said the BBB.

   Everything was going well for Peter, but one thing bothered him.  It was
a little thing, but he wondered why he was doing it.  Why was he going to
Denny's?

   It was the Denny's across the street from his office.  For some reason,
when he had an odd free moment, he often found himself there.  And unless
it was taken, he always sat down at the same table where he had sat the
first two times he had talked to Anya.  He looked through the entire menu
each time he went, but he only ordered coffee.  While he was waiting, he
looked at the walls of the restaurant, the floors, the booths, the tables,
every square inch.  He even inspected the john a couple of times.

   One Saturday night, he was driving to someone's home, and his route took
him right past the club where he had bumped Anya.  "Bump rape," he said to
himself.  But he must have said it louder than he thought, because the girl
next to him said, "Bump what?"

   "See that club," he said to her, pointing to it.  "I was there one night
-- it was a while ago -- and I was high on drugs and booze.  A beautiful
girl was taking a picture with her iPhone, and I bumped it with my iPhone
and exchanged contact information with her against her will.  She accused
me of bump rape and gave me a lot of trouble."

   "What a cute story," said the girl next to him.  "That's not rape.  I
wish someone nice would do that to me.  It sounds pretty romantic."

   Romantic, Peter thought.  That's the last word I'd use to describe Anya.

   The next day, he began searching for her.  Even though her former
landlord didn't cooperate and he didn't know any of her friends, or even
where she worked, it only took three weeks, thanks to the Internet.  He
decided he'd better do what he had to do in broad daylight to prevent any
misunderstanding that might result in his death.

   One afternoon, when he was able to leave work early, he drove to her new
apartment building and parked in a place where he could see both the lot on
the side of the building and the entrance.  He saw her and one of her
beautiful girlfriends walking from the lot toward the door and got out and
hurried to them.  She turned and saw him just as she was fishing her key
out of her purse.

   Her angry voice didn't match the strange expression on her face.  "So
now you're a stalker, Peter," she said.  "Cindy, stay here.  I have
something to say to Peter." She took a step toward him and spat in his face
while Cindy screamed.

   "You really are even more disgusting than I thought," she said.  "If you
don't get out of here now, Cindy and all my friends are going to see your
video.  And next time I see you, I'll get a restraining order."

   "Damn it, Anya, shut up for a second," he yelled back while wiping his
face with his sleeve.  "I'm not interested in more of your sick games.  I'm
only here for one reason: Denny's."

   "Denny's?" said Anya and Cindy in unision.  "What the hell are you
talking about?" Anya said.

   "I'm talking about the weird thing you said to me," he said.  "The last
time I saw you, you mentioned something about important information and
when I tried to get you to tell me, you said, 'Think about Denny's.' You
were probably lying as usual, because you knew that would eat me up.  I
feel like a fool telling you this, but I've been back at that Denny's
dozens of times.  I'm so stupid, I'll probably go to jail, but I'm not
going to leave you alone until you tell me about Denny's."

   He dropped his head in silent admission that she had victimized him
again and there wasn't anything he could do about it.  He waited for her to
gloat or call him names or tell Cindy what a loser he was.  He didn't hear
anything, and after a moment, he raised his head to see what was going on,
and he stepped back in shock.  Tears were streaming down her face and her
gorgeous breasts were heaving up and down.

   He had never seen her cry before, and for a moment, he wondered if this
was another game.  If it was, it was her most powerful game ever, he
realized, because she was twice as beautiful crying as she was laughing. 
He shifted from foot to foot and said nothing until she choked back her
tears and started talking.

   "Oh Peter, you idiot," she said.  "You told me just now what I told you
at Denny's.  Don't you even listen to yourself?  Can't you remember when I
said the first thing you needed to know was that I lie, that you'll never
know whether I'm telling the truth or whether I'm just manipulating you. 
You silly, stupid idiot.  You don't need a blindfold.  You are a blindfold.
Now get out of here."

   She turned around and put the key in the lock and pushed into the
building lobby.  She was sobbing loudly.  Cindy was bending over her purse.
When she lifted her head, he saw she was sobbing, too.  She looked back at
Anya and then rushed at him, stuck a piece of paper in his hand and rushed
back to Anya.  He looked at it.  It was a phone number.

   His mind was reeling as he walked to the car.  He drove to the nearest
coffee house and ordered a big black one and sat as far from everyone else
as he could.  He looked into space and went over in his mind every minute
that he had ever spent with Anya, whether on the phone or in person.  There
weren't that many, and he was soon finished.  And then, even though he
already knew, he went through everything again just to be sure he was
really that stupid.  When he was done sifting through their lives for the
second time, there was one thing that still bothered him, but at that point
it didn't matter.  He picked up his iPhone and dialed the number.

   Cindy answered, and he heard loud sobbing in the background.  "What
should I do?" he asked her.

   "I'm sorry, Mr.  Jones," she said.  "I'm busy right now.  If you're
still at the office in an hour, why don't you call me back then."

   He called back in an hour, and she said, "I'm on my way home.  If you're
not the dumbest jerk in the world, you'll go over there right now." She
hung up.

   When he buzzed, he heard a soft weepy voice ask, "Who is it?" He didn't
say anything, but a minute later buzzed again.  This time there was no
voice, but she buzzed him in.

   He knocked at the door and waited.  After a couple of minutes, he
knocked again.  He heard feet shuffling.  She looked through the peephole
and then ripped open the door.  She was in a robe and her beautiful face
was streaming.  "Oh Peter!" she said as she fell into his arms.



   Even though he had finally understood in the coffee house, he still
didn't understand all the details, especially the one that disturbed him
the most.  When she had calmed down, he said he wanted to hear about
everything.

   "You will, Peter," she said through her tears, "all in good time, but
there are priorities in life.  First, I have to ask you, no, I have to beg
you to forgive me.  See, I'm down on my knees, Peter.  I don't deserve you
to forgive me, but I'm selfish and I want it anyway.  If you can't, please
lie to me Peter.  I'll cherish that lie for the rest of my life.  I'll live
that lie for you if you'll only give it to me.  Please, Peter."

   Peter was melting like an ice cream cone, but he tried to stay frosty.
"Now who's stupid, Anya," he said.  "You lied, so now I should lie.  I'm
not ready to forgive you yet.  See that clock over there.  In exactly half
an hour, you're forgiven and not one minute before.  But only if you
forgive my stupidity."

   "I'm afraid we're running into a second priority," she said, standing
up. "We'll have to postpone the forgiving for a while longer."

   She took his hand and led him to the bedroom.  As she opened her robe,
she said, "Tonight is about tenderness and love.  Everything is soft and
smooth.  Nothing is hard or fast or frenzied."

   She pushed him away when he tried to put his head between her legs. 
"Thank you, Peter," she said.  "I know you mean well, but tonight is about
doing only what we love to do."

   "But I've changed, Anya," he said.  "I want to make love ten thousand
times to every one of the ten thousand hairs between your legs."

   "Not tonight," she insisted.  "I want to be sure you're not being stupid
and sacrificing yourself.  You know, you were stupid once."

   "I know," he said.

   For the next three hours, there were tears and many other secretions. 
There were softness and tenderness, but there were also hardness and
frenzy. More than anything else, there were sighs, sighs of pleasure, sighs
of satisfaction and sighs of contentment.  They fell asleep in each other's
arms, and they woke the same way.

   He called in sick the next day.  After breakfast, he began pumping her
for information.

   "I'm still not going to tell you everything at once," she said, "because
you need time to absorb it.  All I'll tell you today is that after you
bumped me, I was angry, but by the time I got home, I was curious and by
the next day I was dying to hear from you.  I waited more than two weeks to
call you with that phony bump rape story so I could finally see you."

   They saw each other every night after that, and once they were exhausted
from making love, she told him more.  She told him how she was just
starting her career as a clinical psychologist and often worked with drug
and alcohol dependencies, how she wanted to try out some theories about
treatments for severe cases but she couldn't experiment with actual
patients, how she lied to him when she said she had degraded other men
before him.

   She told him how even the first time she talked to him, she felt
strange, and that she started liking him against her better judgment.  She
knew there was a good chance he could retrieve her contact information by
synchronizing, but she doubted he would.  When he called her, she was
surprised and also happy, but when they hung up, she thought a long time
about what she should do.  She was attracted to him, but at the same time
saw the spiral he was going down and wondered if some of the things she was
theorizing about would help him.

   In the end, she decided that trying to save his life was more important
than anything else -- even if it turned out that she loved him.  She told
him how she was hoping and praying that what she had done to him would snap
him out of his lost weekend syndrome, how she was disgusted with herself
after she gave him the Denny's clue because she had put her love ahead of
curing him, how she still daydreamed about him even though she knew they'd
never be together, how when she saw him, she was afraid that he wanted her
only for more humiliation and that's why she had to spit at him, how when
he left, she felt that it was over for good and was devastated.

   Peter was glad she gave him the information slowly, because it was hard
to digest.  A couple of weeks after they reunited, he told her, "I no
longer forgive you."

   "What?" she said in a frightened voice.

   "If you want me to forgive you, you've got to do something bad to me
first," he said.  She held him and cried for 15 minutes.

   He kept waiting for her to explain the one thing that bothered him, but
she never did.  Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer.  "Damn it, Anya,
you've talked about all your lies but not the one that hurts the most.  You
promised me that you would never tell anyone about us, that what you were
doing was just between the two of us and no one else.  I'm sure your friend
Carrie and Rip will keep their mouths shut, but everybody's human, and I'm
worried that one night one of them might get drunk and tell how you let a
man rape me while you and your girlfriend watched."

   "Give me a minute," she said and went to her laptop.  A few minutes
later, she said, "Come over here.  I know you don't want to watch these
videos, Peter, and I thank you for permitting me to watch them even though
it makes you squeamish.  Each time I watch them, I learn more things that I
can adapt for my practice.

   "Stand right behind me and look at the monitor.  Do you see that woman
pushing the giant lifelike dildo into you?  Does she look familiar,
although my hair was cut shorter then?  Now look at the chair where there's
a woman watching them."

   "Why that's a doll," he said.

   "That's Carrie," she said.  "And Rip is that Viking doll on the other
chair.  It's amazing what you can do with a few whispers and changing shoes
and opening and closing doors.  All it takes is imagination.  I see you're
absorbed in that huge dildo going in and out of you.  Does it turn you on
like it turns me on?  Whenever I see that, I want sex with you.  You're
engaged to one weird chick."

   "I was just wondering how the dildo managed to squirt semen into me," he
said.

   "Well, I'm glad you didn't look in my refrigerator," she said.  "I was
collecting everything you ejaculated into those cups and keeping it cool. I
microwaved it before putting it into the dildo's ejaculator.  The only
trouble was heating it up made the smell so strong it was almost
unbearable. I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

   "You can turn the video off now," he said with a shudder.

   At the wedding reception, the BBB told him his wife was worth a dozen
Peters, and Peter told him he was right.  Then the boss introduced his
fianc� to both of them.  She became Anya's best friend, and when Peter
became vice president, the four of them often took business trips together
followed by vacation getaways.

   After they had their first child, Anya continued to see patients part
time and was often asked to give seminars about her research and use of
semi-sadistic therapy for hard-core dependence.  Many psychologists weighed
in on her theories about stripping a patient's life away until all that was
left was a foundation on which to build a new less self-destructive
personality.  There was much pro and con argument about the technique's
efficacy in peer-reviewed journals.

   Sometimes a new acquaintance would ask Peter how he met Anya.  His
answer was always short and to the point.
   "I was one of her early patients," he'd say.  

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