## Archive-name: Jessica

From: jfriday@westmark.Stanford.EDU (The Crazy Archivist)

Subject: STORY: Jessica (part 1) by YoungOne

Newsgroups: alt.sex,alt.sex.stories

I am posting this for someone wishing to remain anonymous. It was first posted on alt.sex.bondage through WIZVAX. I am trying to help with the distribution of the story.

This is NOT the same as the "other" Jessica story. I can't comment on the nature of this story other than it was posted to alt.sex.bondage so that must say something for it.

Article 26336 of alt.sex.bondage: Path: athena.cs.uga.edu!emory!wupost!uunet!olivea!bu.edu!wang!wizvax!wi.4684 From: wi.4684@wizvax.methuen.ma.us Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage Subject: Jessica, chapter 1 Message-ID: <1992Aug17.141146.21882@wizvax.methuen.ma.us> Date: 17 Aug 92 14:11:46 GMT Sender: root@wizvax.methuen.ma.us (Anonymous Contact Service) Reply-To: wi.4684@wizvax.methuen.ma.us Followup-To: alt.sex.bondage Organization: Anonymous Contact Service @ wizvax Lines: 327 X-Acs2-Version: 2.0

[Someone who wishes to be known as YoungOne here...]

Hello, everyone. Here's a story I wrote some time ago that I thought I'd finally get around to posting. It's loosely based on a couple of real incidents a friend of mine went through. It ain't pretty, but I think it's a good story.

I'm posting it anonymously because I don't approve of a lot of things in the story and don't want to sour any opinions of me that some of you may have. Does that make any sense?

Anyway, a brief word of warning: There is a fair bit of non-consensual naughtiness in this story. But, believe it or not, it's not what you think. Read on.

This is chapter one. It's not strong on what I'd call really exciting sexual content, and is by far the most violent chapter. I'll respond to email, and don't mind coming out with my real address in email. I'd just rather not post it. I welcome comments. Let me know what you think.

ObAnnoyingBit: This story is COPYRIGHTED! You may NOT reprint it except for your OWN use without my permission. That means no anthologies, compilations, books, magazines, or anything else. You may repost it however, so long as you keep it completely intact and don't add anything of your own. And you may NOT claim that you wrote it.

So, without further ado, may I present...

Jessica

Chapter 1: The Salvation

I'd never been to the club before, and I had my reservations about it the second I walked in. But my friend Sally was supposed to meet her boyfriend there, so we stayed. The only word I can think of to describe the atmosphere was, well, hostile.
I know now that this type of club is far from uncommon, but back home in Idaho, we had nothing like it. I'd never seen much leather in one place in my life (well, maybe at my cousin's place in Texas, but it was on cows there, not people). Spikes, too. Piercings were everywhere. The crowd seemed young, really young.
I looked spectacularly out of place. Sally had left a message on my machine after work: "Jessica, I'm supposed to meet Bruce at a club tonight. I really need someone to come with me and you're the only one around. Can I pick you up at nine?" Sure, Sally, you know I don't have many friends (I'd recently moved to Los Angeles and haven't met many people yet). So I got dressed in nice clothes thinking we'd go to one of the big dance clubs. Not a little, seedy punk joint in Venice. Thanks, Sally. She, at least, wore black.
But it wouldn't be bad. Bruce had to see someone, then he and Sally would meet and go off to where ever they went and I'd head home. Probably spend the weekend working. Working, that is, if I didn't end up stabbed for no particular reason. When I caught Sally's eye next time, I actually growled at her. She looked harried back at me.
We didn't even try to get drinks. We just kind of huddled at the back of the place and hoped no one would notice us. It was a good plan, but why did I keep thinking of sharks circling a pair of helpless swimmers? We waited. Bruce was late. Of course.
We got to wait almost ten minutes before a group of four men (Men? Boys? Where is the transition point?) circled in closer. Four identical leather jackets. Two nose studs. About fifteen earrings. Six gallons of gel. Enough spikes for an entire track team. Oh yeah, and two very frightened office-workers.
"Hey! You want to dance!" Er. Um. No, we'd just as soon get straight on to the stabbing if it's OK with you.
Then Sally stepped forward to save the day. "We're waiting for someone! Sorry!" She even smiled.
"Come on! Let's dance! This is a great song!" It was a good song, too. Just cut the volume by about 60%. "Whoever you're waiting for will be here when you come back!" One of them looked at me, then reached out and grabbed my hands.
"Come on! Let's dance!" He yelled as he pulled me away from safety.
And so I met John. His name surprised me. Given the atmosphere and his clothing, I expected something like "Slash" or "Knife" or even "Death". Nope. Just nice, simple John from Santa Monica. He worked in a record store and was only 19 years old. He used his brother's ID to get in.
We danced for one song then wandered back to where Sally waited. Bruce was there and they looked sort of impatient. Sally leaned close to me. "We've got to go! Do you want to leave with us?"
I should have said yes. But John was standing right there and he seemed really nice so I yelled back "No! I'm going to stay a little bit longer! You guys go on and take off!" Sally looked like I had told her I was joining the Hari-Krishnas. "Yeah! I'm going to dance with John again! Go ahead and go!" After a few pleading looks she finally waved her hands and took off.
John and I talked for a bit, then managed to find a place to sit. I sat down, he left to get us drinks. I was actually beginning to enjoy myself. I hadn't gone out much since leaving my parent's house in Idaho and was enjoying the experience.
Then John came back with another friend. "I've got to go!" He yelled over the music. "My friends are leaving and I've got to go with them!" He just shrugged in reply to my crestfallen look then the two of them left. So much for nice, simple John. I decided to leave, too. It was about 11:00.
In order to get back to my car, I had to walk across one parking lot beside the club, past a building, and across most of another lot. I left the club and got across the first parking lot before it hit.
You know that tight, icy ball of pure terror that can crawl into your stomach when you know something really, really awful is going to happen? It's the feeling you get when you see your family dog wander onto the highway into the path of a large truck. It's the feeling parents get when they get a phone call at 2am on a Friday night when their 16 year old child took the car out for the first time. It's the feeling a mother gets when her son is away in the Army and a telegram arrives from Washington. It's the same feeling you get when you're walking across a parking lot alone in the middle of the night and you see two men get out of a car you just passed.
Terror. Some people say it makes time slow down. Some say it makes it speed up. Some say they're never afraid. I experienced sheer, unadulterated panic right there in that parking lot. I *knew* I was in trouble even before they said anything. My thinking froze. I heard the sound of their car doors open. Then I heard them close. I couldn't think. All I could do was worry.
"Hey, lady! You got the time?" They walked towards me. I didn't stop or slow down. I just kept on walking. I heard them walk behind me. All I could think of was getting to my car. I guess what I should have done was just start screaming, but for some reason I didn't. I was just hoping that if I could get to my car and get in, I could get away from these two and get home. I worried that if I ran, they would just overtake me. So I just sped up my pace a little and kept going.
They let me get halfway across the building before they made their move. Once again, I should have seen it coming. There was a doorway recessed into the wall and I guess they were waiting for that. I heard two quick steps and before I could do anything there was a hand on my shoulder. It spun me around. I faced them. Obligatory leather jackets, spikes, and all that.
"We asked you if you had the time." They sneered.
"Hey, she's pretty! Isn't she pretty?" The one with his hand on my shoulder slid it down my arm to my elbow, which he held tightly.
"Yeah." The other one advanced towards me and together they forced me back into the doorway. I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell. But I couldn't say anything. All I managed was a whimper. I felt the door behind me. They pressed close in front of me. It was dark and it stank.
Then I saw the knife. I saw what little light there was glimmer off its edge. One of them held it up in front of me, turning it so it caught the light. He pushed it forward, placing it against my face. "Now you just be real quiet." He slid the blade down along my cheek until the point rested on the bottom of my chin. "My friend and I are going to have some fun. We won't cut you or hurt you if you don't scream or try to get away. We've each got a blade and we'll cut you so bad you'll wish you weren't ever born." I whimpered again. Frozen thoughts. Knives terrify me. A gun wouldn't have frightened me any more than that knife. "You understand me?"
"Uh...Uh..." I couldn't make any words come out.
"Bitch! Do you understand me or do I have to cut you?" He pushed up with the knife a little, causing me to have to lift my chin.
"Uh...Please don't hurt me!" The damn broke, I could speak again. But it was too late to scream.
He pulled the knife back a little. Then I felt his other arm around my side. He pulled me forward, towards him. I gasped and wanted to scream. He was ready for it. With a quick gesture, he did something to the knife that made the blade go away. Then he punched me. Hard. In the stomach.
I doubled over in agony. White dots danced in front of my eyes. I gasped for breath. I felt like I was going to vomit. Then one of them grabbed me again. He spun me around and rammed me into the door, twisting my arm behind my back. The white hot agony from that overpowered the pain from my stomach. A hand pushed against my back, forcing me to turn my head to one side. There was some noise and it took a second before I realized that he was speaking again.
"...just do what I say. Remember, next time we'll cut you." And again the knife flashed in front of my eyes. He brought it closer until its tip touched my nose. "We'll cut you so bad you'll get sick every time you look at yourself in the mirror. You understand me, bitch?"
"Please...Please don't hurt me. I'll be quiet. Please." All I wanted to do was make the pain stop. "Please...My arm..." And it did stop. Or at least lessened. They released my arm, but the hand in my back stayed in place, holding me against the door.
Then I felt a hand on my dress. It fumbled at the zipper, then yanked it down. It tore. He yanked at it until it slid off. I held myself still, numb. He reached inside my panties and tore them next. The pressure against my back lessened some, allowing the remnants of my clothing to fall to the ground.
"Oh. Damn, but aren't you built. Now you just do what we say and you'll get out of this OK. You fuck up and you'll wish you never even heard of a knife. You got that? No sound from you. You do what we say. Understand, bitch?"
"Uh...Uh..." This wasn't really happening. It wasn't me. It was all a bad dream.
The hand on my back slid down where it was joined by another. Two hands cupping my butt. Then they slid around, he pulled me against him. I could feel the leather of his jacket, the spikes, and the zipper. I kept gasping for breath. Short, shallow breaths. My knees felt shaky.
His hands explored my sex. Two fingers pushed in, rough. It hurt. I felt his breath in my ear. "Oh yes, you want it." Oh, God, no I didn't. "Baby." Asshole. His hands slid up, holding my sides below the ribs. "Yeah, baby. You might even enjoy this." It wasn't happening. It would be over soon.
He turned me around. I could see his friend behind him, watching. I had no idea where the knife was. He pressed forward, kissing me. He reeked of alcohol. I didn't resist.
Then it happened. Once again, I heard a few quick running steps. I saw a shape move out in the street and heard a "CRACK". The rapist standing in the street fell like a puppet with its strings cut. Another man stood there with some kind of a black club. The animal on top of me turned half around and started to speak when the club crashed straight into his his face. This time it wasn't so much swung as thrust. Blood spurted out as he crashed into me. I fell back into the corner. The rapist had his knife in his hand, but seemed dazed and confused. One hand held his nose, trying in vain to stop the bleeding.
The club swung again into the animal's cheekbone. A foot swung, crushing the hand with the knife. It clattered to the ground. The club swung into the other side of my attacker's head. Another foot kicked out into his groin. The club struck forward again into the animal's stomach. The only thing that seemed to be hold him up was the wall he had fallen against. His face was covered in blood. The club lashed forward again, striking the rapists' mouth. I'm sure he lost teeth in that blow.
The the club reversed and pressed against the animal's neck. A voice spoke. "Miss? Are you OK?"
I had an urge to laugh hysterically. Here I was, stark naked, about to be gang-raped in an alley and he asks me if I'm OK? "Uh...OK. Yes."
"Good. These two aren't going to bother anyone right now. Why don't you stand up and get dressed?" The bloody pulp next to me groaned.
I fumbled for my clothing. My panties were a total loss, of course. My dress, while torn, would at least cover me. I grabbed it and sort of crawled out from under the two men. It didn't take long to make myself as serviceable as I was going to get. I wasn't sure what I should do next (though the thought of running away screaming seemed to fill my thoughts).
Then the man who saved me spoke again. He had stopped pressing on the rapist and now faced me. The rapist was lying motionless on the ground. "Neither of these two is going anywhere. Why don't I get you someplace safe and I can call the police?"
Safe. What was safe?
"Come on, miss. My car is right over here." He put is arm around me and led me off down the street. Less than a hundred feet away, he guided me into a car. I sat down in the passenger seat while he crouched there facing me. "Are you OK, miss? Do you need a doctor?"
Doctor? Did I need a doctor? Yes. "No." I was numb. This hadn't happened to me. "Just, please, I want to go home. Please. Home."
He looked unsure. "We really need to call the police."
"Please, my car is right over there. Home." All I could think about was my little, safe apartment with my cat, Katina. And the quilt my mother had knitted me when I was eight years old. I started crying. It started small, just a few tears. Before long it was loud, hysterical sobs. I couldn't speak. I couldn't think.
The man looked at me for a second, then closed the car door. He walked around, got in, and started the engine. "Where do you live, miss? I'll drive you home."
I pointed down the street, unable to speak. We started off. I tried to straighten my dress, to cover myself a little more. To hide my legs. I sobbed again and again and again.
Somehow, I guided him to my apartment. We parked in the fire lane in front and he half walked, half carried me up. I let us in and more or less ran straight to the bathroom.
I guess it's cliche to talk about climbing into the shower and scrubbing my skin raw, but that's exactly what I did. Trying to get the feeling of them off of me. Eventually, I slowed enough to start cataloging the bruises, scrapes, and cuts. I had no idea where most of them came from.
Sometime later, I emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a robe an three towels. There was a plate of fruit on the table with a note.
Miss,
I wasn't sure if you would want to find me
here when you were finished showering. So I
left. Here is a plate of fruit from your
icebox. Having something to eat will make you
feel better. When you're done, you really
should call the police (555-8436). If you
want to call someone and just talk, the
Santa Monica Rape Crisis Center answers the
phones 24 hours a day. Their number is
555-2749. I'm sorry about what happened
to you, but it wasn't your fault. Some men
are animals.
(signed)
Mike

I cried. Sometime later, I stopped. I nibbled at the fruit, then realized how hungry I was and ate all of it. I looked at the two phone numbers for a long time. I looked out the window for a long time. My cat came and curled up in my lap. She purred.
I decided to go to bed. I tried to sleep. It didn't work. I sat up, in the dark. I thought about what happened. I thought about the two animals who had hurt me. I thought about the man who had saved me.
The animals. The last I had seen of them, the were bleeding, half-dead, lying on the street. Should I call the police? I wasn't sure. Well, I was sure that I should. But did I want to? What would it serve? I was safe. I doubted I'd ever see them again. Did I want to go through the agony of a trial? No.
The man who saved me? Who was he? Would I hear from him again? Did I want to? What would I do if he came back?
Eventually I slept.
Dawn brought aches, pains, new worries, and a surprise. There was a note under my front door. It read:

Miss,
I borrowed your car keys and brought your
car back. Hope you don't mind. It's parked
on the street outside.
(signed)
Mike

Who was this Mike? Why was he helping me? I'm ashamed to say that I hardly paid attention to him last night. I'd recognize him, but barely. How had he located my car? The keys were near the note. I looked at them. OK, he could tell the make of car from those. And I had motioned to the parking lot. If he took the keys from my purse, he could probably have deduced the correct car.

[to be continued]

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From: jfriday@westmark.Stanford.EDU (The Crazy Archivist) Newsgroups: alt.sex,alt.sex.stories Subject: STORY: Jessica (part 2) by YoungOne Date: 26 Aug 92 03:05:31 GMT Organization: Stanford University

Article 28361 of alt.sex.bondage: Path: leland.Stanford.EDU!stanford.edu!agate!ucbvax!cis.ohio-state.edu!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!rpi!bu.edu!wang!wizvax!wi.4684 From: wi.4684@wizvax.methuen.ma.us Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage Subject: Jessica, Chapter 2 Message-ID: <1992Aug20.070345.16142@wizvax.methuen.ma.us> Date: 20 Aug 92 07:03:45 GMT Sender: root@wizvax.methuen.ma.us (Anonymous Contact Service) Reply-To: wi.4684@wizvax.methuen.ma.us Followup-To: alt.sex.bondage Organization: Anonymous Contact Service @ wizvax Lines: 377 X-Acs2-Version: 2.0

[Someone who wishes to be known as YoungOne here again.]

Hello, everyone. Here's a story I wrote some time ago that I thought I'd finally get around to posting. It's loosely based on a couple of real incidents a friend of mine went through. It ain't pretty, but I think it's a good story. This is the second chapter.

I'm posting it anonymously because I don't approve of a lot of things in the story and don't want to sour any opinions of me that some of you may have. Does that make any sense?

Anyway, a brief word of warning: There is a fair bit of non-consensual naughtiness in this story. If you like, or dislike, or have anything to say about this story, mail me. Authors crave email. If this touches a specific nerve, please let me know.

ObAnnoyingBit: This story is COPYRIGHTED! You may NOT reprint it except for your OWN use without my permission unless you're doing it for free. If you try and charge any money for this story, I'll sick my dentist on you. Simple, eh?

One last note: "The Archivist" has informed me that there is already a story named "Jessica" floating around out there. For personal reasons, I really don't want to rename this. So, if it's included in any archives (nothing that charges any money, of course), you might want to add my name to the front or back (eg, "Jessica by YoungOne").

So, without further ado, may I present...

Jessica

Chapter 2: The Saviour

The day after my attack was a strange one. I spent a lot of time sitting around thinking. Dwelling on the attack. Wondering what I should do next. I decided that I didn't want to call the police. The animals who hurt me got hurt worse in return and I didn't want to put myself through a trial. I thought I could just go on living my life as if nothing had happened. Fool.

I didn't go out that day. I cleaned. I did laundry (well, OK, I had to leave the apartment to do laundry, but I was never more than a few feet from my front door). I played with my cat. I had no intention of doing anything that night.

About 7pm, though, the doorbell rang. At first I was terrified. I froze where I was and started shaking. Then I told myself to stop acting silly and went to answer it. I walked over, paused, took a deep breath, turned the knob, and ended up face to face with the man who had saved me. I started shaking again.

He smiled kind of nervously and said "Hi. Uh, I don't know if you want to see me, but I thought I'd drop by and see how you were doing."

"Uh." I felt some pain from my hand and looked down to see I was holding the doorknob so tight my knuckles were white. "Hi."

"My name's Mike." He smiled again. "I figured you might not want to go out today, so I brought you some food." He offered a bag. "It's just some fruit and a salad, but I wasn't sure what you would want..." He looked down at the bag, then back at me. "Uh. Um. Here, I'll just set this down and you can take it or whatever." He started to lean down to set the bag down when I work up.

"NO!" He jumped back. "Uh, sorry. I mean, you don't have to set it down. I didn't mean to be rude. You just shocked me." I smiled. "Uh, would you like to come in?" I stepped back, inviting him in to my newly cleaned apartment.

"Sure. Thanks."

"I'm Jessica. Hi, Mike." I held out my hand, which he shook. "Sit down." I set the food he had brought on the coffee table and took the easy chair for myself. "I, uh, never got the chance to say thanks for last night. Thanks."

"Don't worry about it. I'm sorry I didn't get there before they..." He looked confused. "Uh, I mean, I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner."

"Thanks. I mean that. You got there before they really hurt me." My God, was I really talking about that? I didn't even feel that bad about it. "If you hadn't been there..."

"Yeah. Uh, are you going to call the police?"

"I don't know. They didn't seem to be in much shape to hurt anyone for awhile, and since they really didn't hurt me, I was thinking of just going on with life." He nodded along with me at this.

We sat in silence for a little while. I thought about the attack again and felt my hands shaking a little again. He eventually spoke to break the quiet. "So aren't you even going to look at what I brought?" He smiled.

"Oh! Sorry!" I dug into the bag and pulled out two apples, a salad from McDonalds, an orange, four different types of dressing, and some orange juice. "Wow."

"I remember that your icebox had lots of fruit, so I thought maybe you were a vegetarian."

"Oh. Ah. Well, I ate the last of my chicken yesterday. Down to nothing but fruit." Whoops. "No...I didn't mean it like that." But he looked crestfallen. "I like fruit, really!" To demonstrate, I started eating an apple.

"Hey! Since you've probably been locked up here all day, why don't I take you out to dinner?"

I know I shouldn't have, but he looked so hopeful. And I'd noticed that he was really cute, too. Athletic with really well defined muscles (but not a body-builder), about six foot, close cropped blond hair, blue eyes, and a nice smile. "Uh..."

"Oh come on, it'll be fun." He smiled again. I couldn't resist that smile.

"Well, alright. But someplace near here."

And so we went out for the first time. Mike and Jessica. We took his cute little red LeBaron convertible to a local Italian restaurant and had a wonderful dinner. When he put his arm around me, it was so solid and I felt so safe that I almost forgot about how we'd met. He took care of everything at dinner. He asked me what I wanted, ordered the wine (something I've never done with any success), picked dessert, guided the conversation (he got me talking about myself, we never really talked about him), and eventually drove me home. It felt so natural to let him take charge of the evening.

When we got to my place, he escorted me to my door hugged me at the threshold, and waited. I made the decision to kiss him. It was wonderful. Melting into his hard frame, feeling him hold me, feeling his lips on my own, neither of us wanted to break it and for a long time neither of us did. I was breathless when we parted.

I looked into his eyes for a bit and then said, "Would you like to come in?" I know I shouldn't have. But he had been so nice. And he'd taken my mind off the horror of the previous night. And I really liked him. He accepted with a little smile and came in.

I offered coffee, he declined. I put on some music (some soft jazz). We talked for a brief moment. He sat on one end of the couch. I sat next to him. Before long we were kissing again. Long, slow, deep, wet kisses that last three days (I know what Kevin Costner was talking about now).

We gradually progressed. I unbuttoned his shirt, running my hands over his chest. Holding him, feeling his strength, reveling in it. We paused, lying side by side on the couch, panting for breath. I whispered "I think we should slow down..."

"Mmmmm." He kissed me again, one hand cupping my (still clothed) breast. "Does this feel good?"

God, Yes. "God, yes..."

He lightly bit my neck. "And that?"

"Mmmm...Hmmmm." Yes.

"Shhhh, now." And he squirmed until he was sitting up, pulling me atop him. "Shhh, don't say a word." He stood, carrying me tight against his chest. We walked into my bedroom. He gently set me down on my bed, kneeling in front of me, somewhat between my legs. "Shhh. Don't say anything. If you want me to stop, say so. Just relax and enjoy. Shhhh."

I wasn't sure. I tensed, and he felt it. "Mike...It's our first date. I don't know..."

He kissed me. "Jessica, I'll do whatever you want. Just relax, please?" And he smiled again. That damn smile...

He rolled me over onto my stomach and climbed up on top of me. "You're so tense..." And he started rubbing my back. Kneading it. It felt so good. I started to relax. Before long, he slipped his hands up the inside of my blouse. It felt better. I allowed him to turn me partially over and unbutton it. He felt me tense a little again and whispered, "Shhh, Jessica. I'll do whatever you want. Shhh." And he pulled my blouse off. He was really good at that backrub thing. I relaxed again.

I lifted myself up to help him with my bra. It did feel much better being rid of the thing. "Shhh, Jessica..."

Getting my jeans off was a bit of a logistics problem, but he managed it by simply lifting me up (did I mention he was strong), allowing me to unbutton, and lightly tugging. My panties followed.

He then set me back down and resumed the massage. I think I actually dozed off because I missed him disrobing. I did remember him fondling me though, light caresses that slowly aroused me and brought me back from my slumber. I wasn't a virgin, but I wasn't very experienced, either. In my 22 years to date, I had slept with a grand total of three men. Two of those were in high school (I only slept with one of them once), and the other was a virgin when we started. I'd never been with an experienced man before.

Mike made me feel wonderful. His hands made me squirm. I would have said that no one could have made me want sex again, but he did. He hadn't even been trying very long before I rolled over and tried to pull him onto, into me.

To my surprise, he resisted. I was pulled up rather than him down. He kept one hand down there, and used the other to guide my mouth to his. We kissed briefly. He broke it and whispered, "What do you want me to do?"

"Mike, please..." I wasn't sure what he wanted, but his hand was driving me wild.

"Tell me what you want, Jessica. Tell me." His hand was stroking my breast. He gently pushed me back down on the bed, straddling my stomach. When I reached for him, he grabbed and held my hands. "Do you want me to make love to you?"

"Mmmm....Yes."

"Tell me, Jessica."

"Mike, please...Make love to me. Please." The sudden cessation of his caresses made me ache. The sight of him there, his organ erect right in front of me made kept me aroused.

But he didn't, yet. "Please, Mike, make love to me. Please!" I wasn't thinking about the fact that I was begging him, I just wanted him.

"Yes, Jessica. But first, you have to make me happy." Huh? And he inched forward, presenting me with his penis.

I'd never looked closely at a man's organ before. I had always made love in the dark, rarely holding it, almost always letting him guide it into me. Looking at Mike's right there in front of me (getting closer), I was enraptured. I was warm and red, almost purple. When I reached out for it, it jumped. It seemed alive. I stroked it, it felt strange. There was a droplet of liquid at its tip, I rubbed it. The skin was soft and loose, it slid freely about. I moved one hand to Mike's scrotum behind it. It felt strange, hairy and soft.

When Mike spoke, it startled me. I had completely forgotten that this organ was attached to a person. His voice pulled me out of my spell. "Shhh, Jessica. Open your mouth. Use your tongue."

I'd never performed oral sex on a man. When a past boyfriend suggested it, I was almost sick at the thought. But now, with this in front of me, I gingerly reached out my tongue. It didn't taste bad. There was almost no taste at all, in fact. The smell of musk, however was overpowering. I licked it. Mike pressed forward, it entered my mouth. I closed my eyes, just like I was kissing someone.

I could feel it in my mouth. I ran my tongue over it. Mike pressed deeper, then withdrew. Then pressed. I nearly gagged, then he pulled back. He was utterly silent. Press, withdraw. Press, withdraw. Then he spoke again, "Keep licking the head when you take it. The head is the key. Keep your lips over your teeth."

I tried to follow his directions. I wanted to tell him to stop pushing so deep, but I couldn't speak. I mumbled something.

"No, Jessica. Don't try to talk, it exposes your teeth. Just keep using your tongue. Yes, good girl."

When I tried to speak again, he pinched my thighs with his hands (I guess he was leaning back). I gasped. He said, "No, don't speak. Keep working at it." And he pumped faster.

I just wanted to say a few words, but he didn't want to let me. I could have fought him and forced him to withdraw, but it didn't seem worth it. I kept working at it.

His breathing increased. I could tell he was getting close when I realized he was probably going to finish in my mouth. I grew frantic. I didn't want that. I stopped. He kept pumping and said, "Jessica, just a few more seconds. Yes, good girl." No! I had stopped. I tried to turn my head, but it was too late.

It seemed like he filled my mouth to overflowing. I gagged, but his hands held my head still. He kept repeating, "Shhh, Jessica, don't say a word. Shh, Jessica, don't say a word." I could feel him still pouring into my mouth. The taste was strange. Not really bad, just salty (is that too cliche? Well, it was salty...). The consistency was awful, though. Like a thick, warm soup.

I swallowed. I didn't really want to, but it was already there and he had prevented me from spitting it out. He slowly withdrew, then got off me and cuddled close. "Thank you, Jessica." He kissed me.

I couldn't decide whether to be mad at him or not. But his lips kept me from speaking immediately. As we kissed, his hand wandered back down between my legs, reawakening feelings that had cooled somewhat. When he released my lips, I was gasping. He whispered, "Shhh, don't say anything." And he played me like that, one hand at my breast, one in my sex, whispering in my ear to not say anything. It felt wonderful.

I'm not sure how long we went on like that, it was probably close to half an hour but may have been as little as ten minutes. Eventually, though, as I was gasping and squirming almost totally out of control, he rolled over and slowly entered me. Oh, God, I had never felt such a release. I reached out and yanked him down on top of me. But he once again resisted, whispering into my ear, "What is it, Jessica, what do you want me to do?"

"Oh, God, Mike, please, quickly, make love to me!" He moved, but so slowly it was maddening.

"Beg me."

"Please! Please! Please! I'll do anything. Please make love to me! Mike, please! Make love to me!" I tried to make him move, but he still just moved enough to keep me aroused.

"Tell me to take you. Beg me to take you."

"Oh, God, Mike. Please take me. Please! Take me! Take me now!" He sped up, then slowed again, leaving me gasping.

"Beg me to dominate you."

"Mike! Oh, please! Please just do it. Please take me! Dominate me! Please! Do it!"

"Now, just one more. You'll be mine, Jessica. All mine. Beg me to make you mine. Beg me!"

"Mike, please! Now, please, Mike. Make me yours! Take me, dominate me, just please make love to me now!"

And he did. Oh, God, it was fantastic. It seemed to go on for hours. He made me feel wonderful. I was never sure in the past if I had an orgasm, but I know I did with Mike. It was wonderful.

Only when he was done, lying on top of me, both of us gasping, covered in sweat, did I realize we had used no protection. Shit! My sponges were put away safely in my cabinet and here he was, lying on top of me after filling me with his seed. And this was California, land of the STD. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. And I barely knew him. Shit shit shit shit.

He felt me tensing. "What's wrong, Jessica?"

"You didn't wear a condom! I didn't use anything! Shit! How could I have been so stupid? Shit!"

"Shhh. It's OK. I'm healthy. You're healthy. If you're pregnant, we'll deal with it then. But I think it's OK." He stroked my face as he said this, and kissed me lightly. Somhow, this make me feel infinitely better.

I relaxed. Against my better judgement, I relaxed.

Before long, we dozed off in each other's arms. Me, the near-rape victim and my handsome saviour.

When I awoke the next morning, he was gone. There was a note on the bedside:

Jessica,
I'm not abandoning you! I have to be at work at
6 in the morning and didn't want to wake you.
Please don't be upset, I had the most wonderful
time with you. I WILL call you tonight. Please
don't make any plans, I would LOVE to see you
again.
Mike

[To be continued]

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Last modified (10/09/96 12:14:56) by Eli-the-Bearded.

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