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Contains adult themes and explicit sex.  Read at your own risk.

Comments and suggestions welcome.  Flames cheerfully ignored.

For personal use only - if you repost, please include this header.

Copyright 1995, by Javahead

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Note:

This one is heavy on development, and saves the sex to the end.  It's
also one I would *not* like to live out in real life.   In fact, even
as a fantasy, I found it at least as disturbing as arousing.

But several things jelled at once when I was thinking about story
possibilities - and I had to write it to keep get it out of my system.

I have a hard time being objective about this one.  But if it doesn't
disturb you, I didn't get it right.

Javahead

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			"Party Girl"
			    by
			 Javahead


"Was it worth waiting for?"

I turned and mimed applause.  She was an image of cool  elegance,
slender  in a snug-fitting black slip dress.  No stockings - with
her olive skin, she didn't need them.

As I helped her into her coat, I  realized  that  the  dress  was
*all*  she  was  wearing;  the dress was thin enough that I would
have noticed bra strap or panty lines.

I swallowed. "Are you *sure* you want to go the party?   I  could
call  Rob and give him our regrets, and we could settle down here
. . ."

She cut me off with a laugh.  "Down  boy!   Public  party  first,
private party later."  She danced lightly out of range of my mock
grab, and laughed again.

===

I offered her my arm as walked towards the house.  Though we were
early,  the  closer  parking was already taken.  Laughter drifted
around from the terrace in the rear.

"Remember, don't let me drink too much."  Her expression was half
serious.

Shelly has almost no capacity for drinking - even a glass of wine
turns  her  giddy;   it also tends to make her very, very, horny.
More than two, though, and she gets sleepy, almost comatose.

I laughed at her.  "One or two, no more.  I have plans  for  you,
my dear."  She made a face back at me as I put on my best leer.

I *would* keep an eye on her, not  that  she  usually  needs  it;
she'd  learned the hard way how little tolerance her body has for
drinking.

===

A young man, one of the college boys Rob had hired to  help  with
the party, let us in.  After a brief detour upstairs to leave the
coats in one of the spare bedrooms, we threaded our  way  through
the  mob  in  the  living room to join the even larger mob on the
terrace.  There must have been over 50 people there already.

Rob waved us a welcome without interrupting his conversation;  we
waved  back,  and  moved  on.   Most  of the guests were people I
didn't recognize.

"Do you want to dance?"

Shelly shook her head.  "Maybe later.  I'd like  to  circulate  a
bit and meet people, first."

Wine glasses in hand, we did just that.  Before  long,  a  female
friend  claimed  her,  and  I  wandered  over  to  join the group
listening to the band.  Looking back, I could see the  two  women
now had several men in attendance.

Somehow, I found myself roped into a heated political discussion,
the  kind  that  usually  ends  with  some  variation of "I guess
they're *all* crooks!"  I didn't get to hear the end of this one,
though  -  just  as  it  started  to reach the loud stage, Shelly
reappeared and pulled me out onto the dance floor.

Though she was enjoying herself,  she  wasn't  dancing  with  her
usual  careful  restraint.   I took in her flushed expression and
raw, almost predatory, dancing style with a frown.

"Shelly, just how much wine did you drink?"

She giggled at my worried expression. "I know, I know - I've  had
all the wine I need.  Don't worry, dear - I only had two glasses,
and I'm switching to punch after this.  You'd better switch,  too
- you're going to need all your strength later."

Though she tried her best, Shelly's face isn't really  built  for
dirty  leers.   Though  I was delighted by the sentiment, it took
all my willpower not to laugh at her.

Instead, I steered her towards the buffet.   She  wasn't  hungry,
but  did  accept  a tall glass of the milky-looking orange punch.
She sipped, then took a much bigger drink.

"This is good!"

I *did* laugh at the pleased surprise in her  voice,  and  got  a
glass  for  myself.   I  had  to  agree with her - it *was* good:
creamy, mildly orange flavored, and  slightly  fizzy.   I  sipped
mine  slowly, then laughed again when I saw that she had finished
her first glass and was asking for a refill.

"Ready to go home, Shelly?"

"Let me sit down and listen to the music for a  while.   And  you
can  help  yourself  to  some of the food that I see you drooling
at."  She laughed back at me as my stomach gave a rumble.

I walked her to the nearest seat before returning to the  buffet.
She gave me her empty glass to take back.

"What was in that punch?  My wife really likes it."

The bartender gave a shrug.  "Nothing hard to find - a  quart  of
orange  sherbet, a big bottle of ginger ale, two bottles of cheap
sparkling wine."

I suddenly lost  all  interest  in  the  buffet.   Even  at  that
dilution,  Shelly  had  just  finished the equivalent of at least
three more normal-sized glasses of wine.  If  I  didn't  get  her
home soon I'd have to carry her.

Even in the short time I'd been gone, it had  started  to  affect
her.   She  swayed  visibly  when  she stood, and clung to my arm
desperately as I led her back towards the house.

"I need to lie down for a while.  I'm  sorry,  honey.   I  didn't
mean  to  make such an idiot of myself."  Her voice was muted and
more than a little slurred.

"Shh, sweetheart.  Not your  fault.   Can  you  stay  awake  long
enough for me to get you home?"

"I'll try."  Her voice sounded doubtful.

Rob must have a sixth sense - he met us before we'd covered  half
the distance to the house and took her other arm.

"What happened?"

"Your punch - she didn't know it was spiked.  I need to  get  her
somewhere to lie down."

He looked thoughtful.  "If we can get  her  up  the  stairs,  the
spare bedroom next to the coatroom is empty.  If she doesn't feel
better later, you can spend the night there."

Despite our worries, Shelly stayed awake long enough to  make  it
to  the  bedroom.   With  a  final, worried look, Rob headed back
down.

"Will you be all right, honey?"

She  managed  a  sleepy  smile.   "I'll  be  fine  after  a  nap,
sweetheart.  Give  me  an hour or two and I'll feel better.  Just
turn out the lights and let me sleep till then."  She kicked  off
her shoes and scooted onto the bed.

When I checked on her ten  minutes  later,  she  was  so  soundly
asleep  that she didn't even stir when I tugged her dress down to
a more decent level; it had risen  enough  to  confirm  my  guess
about her lack of underwear.  I gave her a gentle kiss and headed
downstairs.  We obviously weren't going anywhere for a while.

===

Though I tried, I was too distracted to really enjoy  the  party.
Rather than just wander aimlessly, I took over the indoor bar; it
had the benefit of keeping me too busy to brood.  Over  the  next
couple of hours, the crowd shifted gradually outside, till only a
small, all-male group was left, dividing their attention  between
the bar and the television in the far corner.

As the demand on the bar slowed, I had time  to  notice  a  minor
oddity;  guys  would  head  upstairs,  be  gone for a while, then
return to the main group.  I shrugged; probably just looking  for
an open bathroom.  Seemed kind of a long way to go, though.

Finally, one of the college boys relieved me.   I  headed  up  to
check  on Shelly.  At the foot of the stairs, the doorman flagged
me down.  I paused.

"How's your wife?"

"I was just heading up to check on her."

"If she's feeling better, you might want to get her  home.   Some
of  these boys are getting a little raunchy.  I heard someone say
there's a woman pulling a train in one of the spare bedrooms.  If
you  stay,  you'll have to listen to them all night long.  Or Rob
trying to calm them down."

That explained the back and forth traffic I'd been  seeing.   But
he  was  right;  she'd  be  better off at home.  I started up the
stairs.

At the top of the stairs, I shook my head  wryly;   somewhere,  a
woman was moaning.  I passed the coatroom and turned the corner.

I noticed that Shelly's light was on, and the door was ajar.  But
I was in the doorway before I realized that the moans were coming
from here.

After an endless moment of shocked paralysis, I  rushed  forward.
I  hadn't  the  time - or the mental clarity - to form a coherent
plan; I was operating on the level of reflex.  And  it  was  pure
reflex that bludgeoned me to a horrified halt in the doorway.

From the door, I could only see the  back  of  the  man  who  had
mounted  her,  his pants puddled around his ankles.  What held me
frozen, though, was the sight of Shelly's heels hooked  into  her
favorite  position behind his knees, urging him in.  Her face was
contorted in her familiar,  just-before-orgasm  rictus;   moments
later  her  heels  locked  in  place and her moans changed to the
choked  whimper  that  signals  her  release.  Before   she   had
completely finished, a much deeper groan signaled his.

Almost immediately, he was on his feet and pulling his pants  up.
He  showed  no surprise when he turned and saw me in the doorway;
probably, he took me for the next in line.  With a friendly  nod,
he  brushed  past me and out before I could get my frozen muscles
to respond.

Shelly lay naked on the bed, her dress a  wadded-up  ball  beside
the  pillow.  Her face had relaxed again; eyes closed, she seemed
at least half asleep.  Her chest still had a faint, post-orgasmic
flush,  though,  and  her  dark  nipples  were  erect.   I gave a
shuddering gasp and stepped forward, closing the door behind me.

Not too surprisingly, the whole room reeked of sex.  As I  walked
closer,  I  could  see  a  white stream of semen running from the
swollen lips of her her vagina.  Even now, she didn't seem to  be
aware of me.

"Shelly!"

 No response.

"*Shelly!*"

When I shook her, her eyes remained closed, though she did mumble
something that might have been my name.

I began to tremble with rage as I stood beside the bed.  I  could
see it all, playing like a movie inside my head:

The first man stumbling in to find Shelly asleep, her dress above
her hips once more.

His embarrassment changing to arousal.

Knowing Shelly, she was probably already wet  -  and  her  normal
sleeping response is to spread her legs in invitation.

His acceptance.

If she's  already  aroused,  Shelly  can  respond,  even  orgasm,
without fully waking.  I'm sure she gave him a great ride.

And since she was so eager, he probably couldn't resist  bragging
to  a  friend or two.   Of course, they had to check it out.  And
brag in turn.

I tried to remember how many men I'd seen make the  trip  up  the
stairs.  Five?  More?   I couldn't be sure; some had gone up more
than once.  At a minimum, her body had been taken -  raped  -  by
half a dozen men.

I stared down at her nude body.  Even now, she was so lovely that
it  hurt.   Her legs were flexed and slightly spread, framing her
ravished sex.  Though her  inner  lips  were  still  swollen  and
slightly  agape,  the  pink  of  her core was hidden by the white
stream that oozed down to form an obscene pool beneath her.

My fists and my jaw were so tightly clenched they  were  painful.
I tried to think of what to do.  Tell Rob.  Call the police.  Try
to avoid attacking the men responsible.  Thank God she was on the
pill.  Take her to the doctor.

I thought some more.  Could we prove rape?  I had only  seen  one
of them with her.  And he could claim - truthfully - that she had
enjoyed it.  Would the police even bother to file  charges?   Was
Shelly  willing  to  deal  with  the smear campaign their lawyers
would hand out?

I reluctantly decided that she'd be happier  if  I   kept  quiet.
She  could  deal  with  this - to her, it would be no more than a
half-recalled erotic dream;  notoriety and a trial we  might  not
win would be the problem.

("Deal with it? She *enjoyed* it!") a nasty  corner  of  my  mind
whispered.   One  of  her hands had slipped down and was sleepily
caressing her slit.  With feeling of  self-loathing,  I  realized
that  I  was erect and throbbing.  I turned away just long enough
to pull off my clothes.

I could feel the semen being forced out as I thrust into her.   I
took her four more times that night.
