Giving Her All

                                                          for the

                                                          Cause

 

“The research was done in British Columbia” Calvin replied calmly.  His calm voice and relaxed manner only served to fuel her anger.  The facts were on his side, and they both knew it although she was struggling to deny it.  The research article implied that over sixty percent of the men in North America were sterile and that meant that her position, as head of the handmaiden center, her philosophy, and her teachings were all bogus.  His calm in the face of her personal crisis was infuriating.  “It’s probably the most pristine place on the planet.  The research is sound, and we both know what it means.”

 

“You don’t know anything.” Carol tried to control the anger that was taking control of her but anger was all that was to protecting her from the fear that was taking over.  “Pregnancy, the fruit, is all a miraculous gift from our Father in Heaven.  These statistics are all meaningless.  A husband and wife pray for a child, and if they are in earnest, God blesses the breeding process.  We only position handmaidens with God fearing couples and it is God who grants the miracle of fruit…”  It was his look that silenced her.  She was quoting from her lesson plans.  It was one of the lectures that she gave the young girls that were found to be fertile.  It was intended to convince them that submitting to a strange man while his wife held her down was an honorable, even religious act.  Time and again she had heard the questions.  ‘If God makes you pregnant, why can’t God make the wife pregnant?  Why does it matter if we are fertile?  Why, why, always why...’

 

“We both know what really happens” Cal continued in his calm voice.  “We sell these bitches to the couples who can afford them.  The husbands use them as whores for a few months and then the wife sneaks them off to one of those underground breeding centers where some man mounts them, rapes them, and knocks them up.  How many of your bitches have to cut their wrists before we can start preparing them for the reality of their lives?”

 

“Get out” Carol screamed.  She could control her rage no longer.  “Get out!”  It didn’t matter that he was the director of the center; her boss.  He knew better than to refer to her girls as whores.  “We don’t sell them.  We ask the couples to make a contribution to show their commitment.  If they cannot contribute to the center, they cannot afford to raise the child that God will bless them with.  Our program is blessed by the church…”  The last two sentences were shouted at his back and then at the closed door to her office respectively. 

 

She turned and slammed the palm of her hand on the intercom.  “Miriam, you and your sister get in her.”  She slumped back into the huge office chair and kicked off her shoes.  She slid forward in the seat and put her feet up on the desk.  She was just pulling off her panties when the back door of the office opened and the two young twins came in.  The girls stepped nervously around the desk.  They knew what was expected of them.  “Come on Miriam; you take the bottom.”  She reached out for the girl’s hand and pulled her forward as she pulled her foot out of the underwear leaving the silken undergarment hanging from her left ankle.

 

“Ah… I’m Miriam” the girl in the back stammered.  They were identical twins and Carol said she could not tell them apart.  The truth was she never tried.  She really didn’t care what their names were.  They were both barren little cunts.  They hardly mattered.  They had been brought to the center when they were prepubescent girls.  They should have been sent to the mines to work, but Carol had taken a fancy to them and argued that they might begin to ovulate if they were allowed to mature.  She had put them to work as office assistants.  She had tried to convince herself that it was all legitimate, but from the first time Carol had seen the young girls in their night gowns, she had felt her pussy getting moist.

 

Carol had kept her hands off the girls for nearly a week before she gave in to her needs.  Carol was not naturally lesbian, and to get off she always thought about being fucked by a man, but still she loved the feeling of the small young fingers touching her breasts and pussy.  Sometimes she even made one of the girls hold a dildo in her mouth and fuck her with it.  Most of all she loved the hesitant lips sucking her, licking her, kissing her.  The girls hated servicing her, and at first she had to force them, break their will, but that had been almost a year ago.  Now they performed without argument.  They knew the consequences of refusal. 

 

“Well don’t just stand there” Carol said as she began unbuttoning the dark blue blouse and taking out her breast.  Angela was on her hands and knees crawling under the desk to begin work on the older woman’s pussy.  Miriam stepped forward and helped her master with the buttons. 

 

Carol closed her eyes and let the stimulation push away the bad feeling that Calvin had left her with.  Being masturbated by the girls gave her release, and she considered it less sinful than to play with herself.  It was far more relaxing than alcohol and in her position, much easier to come by.  She put one hand on each of the two heads servicing her and pressed then hard against her as she groaned.  She wasn’t actually aroused yet, but she knew she would be feeling it soon.  In her mind she visualized men shoving huge cocks into a tiny young pussy.  She could almost hear the girl screaming as the men took turns with her pussy and asshole.  The fantasy was hard core, but she needed it get off.  The girl between her thighs squirmed.  She was pressing her young face against her flesh so hard, the child could barely breathe.  Carol didn’t care. 

 

She forced them to keep on her until she came.  The trembling went through her like a wave hitting the beach.  She could feel he cunt muscles spasm and she knew she was flushing. She forced the girl’s mouth against her vaginal opening.  The girl was gagging on the juice.  She release the one at her breast to uses both hands to hold the young head against her cunt.

 

And then it was over.  “Get out” Carol pushed the girls away.  It always seemed that the stronger the orgasm, the more disgusted she felt with herself afterwards.  The two girls knew better than to wait around to be told twice.  Their bare feet made soft clapping sound against the marble floor of the office as they ran out the back door.  Carol closed her bra and buttoned the blouse of her dark blue uniform all the way up to the neck.  She opened the side drawer of her desk and pulled several tissues from the box to dry her pussy before replacing her underwear.  She sprayed the air freshener around the room and then put a couple of shots from the aerosol can up under her dress.  She allowed herself the brief hope that it would cover the musky sent of sex that filled the office.

 

She had a very stressful job.  God demanded a lot of her.  She rationalized that she could only do her best if she could focus.  It was Calvin’s fault that she had had to do this.  He had upset her with the words of sinful unbelievers.  The sin was on his head.  She would pray and repent again just in case God did not see it as she did, but she told herself that was not really necessary.  Calvin was the one who needed grace.

 

Carol was just getting back to work when her PDA chimed reminding her of the appointment she had taken for three o’clock.   “Damn” she swore.  She had forgotten to ask Sister Lydia to take her Righteousness class that afternoon.  Normally she taught the afternoon commandments class, but Dr. Landry had asked to meet with her and she had forgotten to ask Lydia to take over for her.

 

The handmaidens were supposed to get a minimum of sixty hours of study and directed prayer before they were sent to their first assignments.  Lately she had been keeping them at the center for almost twice the required indoctrination.  Problems with the first timers had prompted her to increase the intensity and duration of religious training.  She believed that the religious training was the answer.  If the girls prayed; if they really believed in the Savior, then they would see their place and the spirit would make them obedient, but it wasn’t working.  There had been three attempted suicides just last month; one had nearly succeeded.  One of the girls had been pregnant and had miscarried.

 

“Lydia,” Carol hit the intercom button only a second before she spoke the name of her assistant.  “Be sure to emphasize obedience in your lesson this afternoon.”

 

“Ah… Pardon me” the timid voice from the box on the desk showed surprise.

 

“When you do my class this afternoon, I want you to be sure to emphasize obedience” Carol replied sternly.  “Make sure they understand the importance of the ceremony and the reverence that must be shown to the scripture reading and the prayers.  They need to understand how the intercourse is special, sacred.  Be sure to focus attention on Ruth and that other bitch she is always hanging out with.  They really need to be put in their place.”

 

“I’m sorry” Lydia asked.  “My class is on Wednesdays.”

 

“Oh Lydia” Carol sounded disgusted.  “Please don’t tell me you forgot.  Last week… I asked you to take my class this afternoon.  You said you would.  Please tell me you have the material prepared.”

 

“Oh… Of course, Sister Carol” Lydia was obviously lying to cover her perceived ineptitude.  “I have my material right here.  In fact, I was just headed over.”

 

“Stupid cow” Carol whispered as she released the intercom button. 

 

She was still waving her hands through the air trying to spread the air freshener when her secretary knocked on the door to announce her three o’clock.  Carol was expecting a man and his wife.  It was presumed that the wife was infertile and the couple wanted to fulfill Gods commandment and have children.  Following the example of the Prophet Abraham, they were here for the initial interview about accepting a handmaiden.  The girl would receive the seed of the man and give them a child.  The fact that the child was not the genetic offspring of the woman really didn't matter.  The Bible made that clear.

 

Reverend Landry was a tall nice looking gentleman.  His dark suit reflected his religious profession, but the fine material and the superbly tailored fit indicated that he definitely had not taken a vow of poverty.  His hair was growing fashionably gray at the temples.  It was so perfect, that Carol was almost positive that cosmetics were involved in producing the distinguished effect.

 

“My wife will not be able to join us” Landry announced in response to Sister Carol’s inquisitive look.  “She is tied up at the parsonage with a church budgetary meeting.”

 

“That is unfortunate” Carol replied nervously.  “We feel that the selection of a handmaiden must be a joint decision.  I am afraid we will not be able to…”

 

“My wife and I live a Bible centered marriage” Landry interrupted.  “Magdalene is obedient to my decisions as Paul said it should be.  She will accept my choice as God commands her to do.”

 

“Still” Carol joined.  “We have rules, and I am afraid it just won’t be possible…”

 

“In Christ, all things are possible” Landry interrupted.  He reached inside his jacket and took out an envelope and laid it on the desk.  “We believe very strongly in the Christian work you do at the center.  We feel called by God to make a substantial contribution to support your work.”  Carol almost gasped when she peaked into the envelope and saw the amount on the check.  She also noticed that the signature block remained blank.  “I was hoping that a certain amount of flexibility might be exercised in my case.”  Reverend Landry smiled warmly.

 

“Well…” Carol forced a nervous smile.  “I don’t suppose it would hurt to look at the candidates that we have available.  I will need to meet with your wife before the final selection is made, but I see no harm in talking.”  She opened the manila folder and began handing over resumes to the doctor. 

 

Each candidate’s documents included a picture of the woman, and a few specific about age, fertility verification techniques and experience.  Landry focused on the pictures looking only briefly at each.  Carol could not stop herself from glancing, or even staring, at the small white envelop that lay on the corner of her desk.  It was so much money, and the center needed it so badly.  Landry separated out three candidates from the two dozen that he reviewed. Each was young; this would be their first assignment.  None had had children before.  Fertility had been verified by ovulation testing.  He reviewed the three candidates and then selected one.

 

“Could I meet this one?” Landry said handing back the dossier.  “I’d like to pray with her.”

 

“Oh, I don’t think… Possibly if your wife…” Sister Carol was at a loss and she knew she was babbling.  What he was asking was beyond an exception.  Normally she ruled the selection process with an iron hand.  Usually she interviewed the applicants and made the selections with very little consideration of the desires of the applicants.  Reverend Landry had her off guard.  His charming smile and persuasive manner had caused her to do things that she would normally not consider.  The applicants never got to meet the handmaidens until the sealing ceremony, and the men were never allowed to be alone with the girls even during the intercourse.  The rules were very clear but the check in the envelope on the side of her desk was a major factor.  He had shown how far he was willing to go, but until he signed it he had given up nothing.  She needed to get back on top of things.

 

“Obedelia is an excellent young woman” Carol tried to compose herself.  “She is healthy and fertile.  She will produce children you will be proud of.”  Carol was staling, trying to think of what to do.  “I don’t suppose it would hurt for you to talk to her.  I will send for her.  Possibly you might make your contribution official while we wait.”  She took the check out of the envelope and pushed it across the table toward him with one hand offering him a pen with the other.

 

“Oh certainly” he said taking the pen.  “Do you have a private chapel where I might pray with her?  Often young people are uncomfortable praying in public.  One’s faith is such a private matter.”  He held the pen waiting for her answer.  “I have made this out to you personally” he explained.  “I was not certain which of the center’s funds should receive the contribution.  I assume you will be able to distribute it into the appropriate accounts.”

 

He had spelled out the ground rules clearly.  He wanted to be alone with Obedelia.  That was the condition on which he would sign the check.  Carol knew it was a violation of every rule the center had, but she wanted the money.  She glanced over at the check in front of the Reverend who was poised to affix his signature.  She read ‘Pay to the Order of Carol Martin’ on the top line.

 

“We have a small interview room that you can use” she said.  “It’s quiet there.  You won’t be disturbed.”  The pen touched the paper and the signature made it official as Carol touched the intercom and asked her secretary to have Obedelia brought to interview room 3.

 

The interview rooms were at the end of the north wing.  That section of the complex was nearly deserted.  Carol had selected the location in the hopes that no one would notice what she was permitting.  She was not concerned about the good minister.  He was after all a man of God, but the one thing she did not want was anyone asking questions about the variations in procedures.  He could have his little prayer with Obedelia; she would have the contribution and all would be well as long as no one started spreading rumors. 

 

She was already thinking about what she would do with funds he had so generously offered.  She and the center both needed the money.  The church's support for the center was minimal, and when she complained of shortages, all she got form the bishop was “the Lord will provide.”  Her situation was little better.  She was paid, but her salary was far less than the stress of the job merited.  She deserved more.  The Lord was providing, and she was not going to get in the way of the Lord’s will.

 

Obedelia was waiting nervously in interview room 3 when they arrived.  Nervous was an understatement.  She was terrified.  Sister Carol believed in strict discipline and corporal punishment was both severe and brutal.  The young girl did not know what she had done.  She prayed both long and earnestly for forgiveness for her sins.  She tried to follow every rule of the center to the letter.  Unlike most of the others, she really believed that God had brought her to the center to give her a second chance at salvation.  She did not know what she had done this time but she had been told by other girls at the center that being guilty was a loosely defined term.  She also understood that the only part of a woman’s body that was required to be functional was her vagina and womb.  There were stories of girls who had had their fingers cut off to prevent them from masturbating.  She jumped up as the door opened.

 

“Rejoice Obedelia, God has blessed you” Carol said as she opened the door.  “This is Reverend Landry, and the spirit has moved us to understand that it is Heavenly Father’s will that you be joined with his family.”

 

“Blessed be the fruit” Obedelia said without taking her eyes off the floor.  She breathed a sigh of relief, but she was still shaking from the fear induced adrenalin rush.

 

Landry stepped into the doorway but did not move far enough into the room to allow Sister Carol to follow him in.  The room was small and much of the space was occupied by the conference table in the center of the room.  He eyed the young girl carefully and then closed the door excluding Sister Carol from the interview.

 

He stepped forward and put his hand on Obedelia’s shoulder, then moved up her neck and lifted her chin.  He stared at her face momentarily and then his eyes moved down her body.

 

“Perhaps Sister Carol was premature” he said.  “I have not actually accepted you as my concubine.  I wanted to meet with you before making a decision.”

 

Obedelia opened her mouth to explain that she was a handmaiden and not a concubine, but thought better of it and said nothing.  His hand holding her face up made her nervous.  His eyes running up and down between her hips and breasts terrified her.

 

“We are looking for a woman who will be comfortable in a God fearing home” he said.  “We believe that God intended people to live as the Bible teaches.  My wife is obedient to the priesthood as the scriptures command her.  You will be obedient as well.  We would prefer that your obedience be given willingly.”  He paused as he turned her head to the side and pushed his thumb between her lips and forced her to open her mouth.  He was looking at her teeth and down her throat.

 

“Yes sir” she mumbled when he finally finished inspecting her mouth and released her jaw.  She was not certain he had wanted an answer.  His face was hard a stone and she could not read if she was expected to answer.

 

“You will be staying with us after you’re impregnated” he explained.  “We will want to supervise your diet, your lifestyle and your prayers during the pregnancy.  We want to insure that our child is brought into a Christian world.”  His hands moved around the back of her neck and his fingers went up the back of her head feeling the shape of her scalp, her ears and the bone structure of her face.  “After God gives us our child, we will want your milk.  God ordained that a woman’s body should feed infants and we believe it is sacrilege to defy God’s plan.  You will pump your breasts and my wife will bottle feed the child.  You don’t look like you’ve got much in the way of tits.”  It was almost an accusation.  He pulled her head up by her hair and looked into her eyes as if expecting an explanation, or at least an apology for the size of her breasts.

 

“Ah… I’m young” she stammered.  “My mother and my sister both developed… well you know… later.”  His left hand griped the back of her neck and his put his right on her breast and began feeling her.  She almost screamed.  “NO… Stop” she commanded and grabbed his wrist with both of her hands attempting to pull him off her.

 

“Open your blouse” he commanded.  He released her breast but tightened the grip on her neck painfully.  “I want to see your chest.”

 

“No” she whined.  “It is not permitted.  I can’t do that.  Please…”

 

He released her neck.  Instead his fingers forced their way into the tight collar of the bright orange dress that all handmaidens wore.  He gripped the material and ripped the front of her dress open to her navel.  The cloth screamed as it tore down the back as well.  Buttons flew in all directions.  She frantically tried to close the torn fabric as she attempted to back away from him.

 

She backed into the table, its edge hitting her thighs just below her ass.  He moved with her stepping up to her stopping her retreat and pinning her in place.  His fingers pulled the shoulder straps of her bra down her arms pealing the cups off her breasts.

 

“Your nipples will need work” he said as he continued groping her.  “It’s important for an infant to have something solid to suck.”

 

“Mm… Mmm…” She tried desperately to call for help, but his hand clamped over her mouth stifling her screams.  She struggled, but the remnants of the bra and the long sleeved dress pinned her arms to her side.

 

“Shh…” he said calmly.  He brought his face up against her cheek and whispered in her ear.  “I bought you today.  Just like Abraham bought his little Egyptian slave girl, you have been bought and paid for.  You belong to me and I’m going to fuck you.  Nothing you do can change that.  If you scream, if you struggle, it’ll just be more painful.”

 

He turned her around and forced her to bend over the table, his chest pressed against her back holding her in place.  His hands grabbed the sides of the torn fabric of the back of her dress and ripped it down past her ass.  She shifted and twisted under him.  The fabric of the dress and her under pants tangled her legs making it impossible for her to struggle effectively.

 

“I have been with my wife for nine year” he explained.  She felt his hot breath on the back of her neck.  “I like to fuck, but god, the same pussy over and over for nine years.”  He unzipped his pants and took out his penis while he talked to her.  “And there are things I have always wanted to do to a woman that a man just shouldn’t do to his wife.”  His finger worked into the folds of her pussy and forced there way into her spreading her juice and getting her hole ready.

 

She stopped struggling and her attempted screams and cries for help had degenerated into sobs.  She cried out in pain as his cock forced its way into her.  This was only the third time she had ever experienced intercourse.  Her boyfriend’s mother had caught them in his bedroom and brought the women from the church to examine her.  The old ladies had had held her down and pulled her legs open while that old crone stuck a finger into her cunt.  The old woman had shaken her head indicating that the young girl had given up her virginity.  That was the end of her life as she had known it.  She was no longer considered fit for a proper Christian boy to marry.  From that moment on, she had lost control of her own destiny.

 

The Reverend Landry was humping her hard; humping her from the back like a dog.  She had been taught that this position was vile.  It was a sin against God to take it like this.  He told her to be a good little bitch and hold still for him.  She obeyed because she had no choice.  Suddenly she felt him slam into her hard.  Her whole body was thrust forward.  His legs were shaking.  His hands gripped her shoulders painfully.  It took her a few seconds to realize what it meant.  By then it was over and he lifted off her dragging his penis out of her like a stiff rope.

 

Sister Carol had not intended to leave them alone.  She had expected to be present while the Reverend conducted the interview.  She had started to protest when the door closed in her face and she realized that he was not listening to her.  She was not at all sure how she now found herself in the hallway separated by a windowless door.  She had permitted a man to be alone with one of her girls.  She told herself that it was only a minor infraction of the rules.  He was after all a man of the cloth; a minister in God's church.  He could certainly be trusted.

 

She almost opened the door when she heard the first of Obedelia’s screams.  She had rationalized that the girl was probably laughing.  A handmaiden laughing was frowned upon, but not strictly a cause for alarm.  The alternative would have been to open the door and see what was going on.  If it was as she feared, there would be questions.  How had a man been permitted to be alone with a young girl at the center?  He had given her a great deal of money and she had allowed him to get access the girl.  She would be seen as having pimped out the little bitch.  At best she would be fired from her post.  She would be disgraced, excommunicated from the church; at worst, she may be facing jail.  Suddenly the full implications of her situation hit her and she took her hand off the door handle as if it were hot.

 

She prayed that she had not heard what she thought she had heard.  She willed Obedelia to be quiet and relieve her of responsibility to take action, but the girl would not be quiet.  The noises shifted from screams to cries for help and then sobbing.  There were other sounds too; the creaking of furniture, the man grunting.  Carol desperately wanted to ignore what she knew was happening on the other side of the door.  She thought of the check that was made out to her.  She focused on it, willing her brain to ignore the auditory input from her ears.

 

Suddenly the door opened.  Reverend Landry stood there pulling up the zipper on his suit pants.  Behind him Obedelia slid off the table onto the floor in a heap line like a gallon of spilled honey.  She held her face in her hands sobbing silently and trying to cover naked body with the remains of her orange uniform dress.

 

“Yes” Landry said.  “I have decided to take her.  Have her delivered to the parsonage on Thursday.”

 

“Thursday… Well you see she hasn’t finished her training just yet…” Carol mumbled unable to take her eyes off the pathetic young girl on the floor.

 

“Training” Landry laughed.  “What you need to show her how to lie on her back and spread her legs.  Don’t worry about it.  I’ll take her as she is; Thursday… preferably before three.”  With that he pushed past her and strode away down the hallway.

 

Carol stared for the longest time trying to comprehend how things could possibly have gone so wrong.  When no answers came she shifted to what she was going to do about the situation.

 

“What have you done?” Carol said finally running forward and kneeling beside Obedelia.

 

The young girl looked up at Sister Carol with red eyes and a tear stained face.  “What have I done?  He raped me.”

 

“No” Sister Carol said.  “You tricked him into following you down here.  Once you had him alone, you attempted to seduce him.  You tried to bring out his baser nature and force him to have intercourse with you, but Reverend Landry is an honorable man and wouldn’t commit this sin.  When he refused you, you tore your clothes off and concocted this story about something that didn’t happen.”

 

Obedelia looked up at Sister Carol.  Her face cloaked in hurt and betrayal.  Ever since she had been brought to the center, Sister Carol and the other administrators had promised the handmaidens that they were there to protect them.  They were promised that the center and the church that stood behind the center were there as the shield to protect the young girls against the things that men would do to them.  The handmaidens were all fertile young women who had foolishly given up their virginity out of wedlock.  Now they would never be accepted by any except the basest of men.  No God fearing Christian man would have them since they had proven themselves unworthy.  For months now she had been forced to pray and thank God for this second chance.

 

Obedelia knew that Sister Carol had had her brought to this remote place in the complex.  She had brought a man to her and then left her alone with him so he could use her.  Sister Carol had waited outside the door listening to her cries for help and had waited while he fucked her.

 

“Yes” Obedelia said.  “I have sinned.  I will pray for forgiveness.  I deserve to be punished.”

 

“We all make mistakes” Carol said.  “Do not add bearing false witness to your sins.  No one would believe your word over his and mine anyway.”  Obedelia nodded.  She became aware of the hot semen running out of her vagina over her thigh and onto the floor.  “It will be okay” Carol continued.  “He wants you despite your attempts to corrupt him.  He is a man of God and he will help you.  You will have your first assignment with him and his wife.  Once you are in his home, his wife will look after you; take care of you.  She will insure that the ceremony is strictly adhered to.  Go clean yourself up.  Hurry now, evening prayers will start in a few moments and you don’t want to be late.”

 

Sister Carol was absent from prayers that evening.  Miriam and Angela were also absent.

Somehow I make my way home. My head has been so filled with fantasies of you that I don't know how I made it through the rest of the day. I  lie on my bed nude (I’ve always had a bit of an exhibitionist in me) and try my best to read a book, but everything reminds me of you. I finally give up and just lie there, on my stomach, and fantasize. My hand wanders down and starts lazily rubbing my clit. I’m so lost in my myriad fantasies that I don’t even hear you come into the bed room and undress. Suddenly I feel you move my hair aside and kiss the back of my neck. You grab my waist and turn me over, facing you. I can see the hunger in your eyes mirroring my own. You need me as much as I need you. I also see a hint of mischief playing behind that hunger. You are up to something, and I don’t have to wait long to find out what. I see you reach over me to my bedside table and open the drawer in which I keep my toys and scarves. You pull out the silky scarves and quickly bind my arms and legs, spread eagle, to the bed. I am in your hands now. You love the power you have over me. You don’t blindfold me because you like me to watch helplessly as you ravage my body. You start to kiss my lips, softly at first, but then more insistently. You kiss down to my neck and start to bite at my neck and collar bone with vigor, not enough to draw blood, but enough to hurt a little. A little pain can be a good thing. You continue kissing down to my milky white, double D cup breasts. You love my tits. You lick them everywhere and start to suck on my nipples, hard, alternating between the two until they are completely erect and a little red. Then you kiss down the soft skin of my stomach to my navel and continue to play with my bellybutton, causing me to squirm. When you finish toying with my bellybutton, you travel downwards still until you reach my beautifully bare pussy. I am so incredibly wet with my yearning for you that you can smell my scent throughout the room. Tantalizingly slowly you start to tease my sensitive clit with your tongue and run your fingers up and down my slit, not entering me. You do so love teasing me. You are driving me wild. I can’t help but moan and beg you for more. You start sucking on my clit in earnest, and slip two fingers into my well lubricated slit. I love when your fingers fuck me. It drives me mad. I start bucking my hips in abandon. GOD, I am so close! Then you stop, reminding me that you alone hold the power over my orgasm. You straddle my waist and trail your perfect cock up my stomach to my mouth. You lift my head to your dick, so that I can take you more easily. I suck your cock with relish. I love sucking your cock. I love the way it feels to have you in my mouth. God, it turns me on. You hold my head to your dick as I suck harder and faster, and you start fucking my mouth. You hold my head still and thrust deep into my throat. Mmmmmm.  Your cock tastes so good. I can tell that you are getting close to your first orgasm of the night. Suddenly you pull out of my mouth and shoot your load all over my heaving tits. You let me suck the last couple of drops from your dick, which I swallow completely, savoring the taste of your cum. You proceed to slide your dick between my tits while squeezing them around your cock. My tits feel wonderful around your throbbing member, and I can tell by the look of bliss on your face that you are enjoying it, but you stop and slide back down between my legs, dragging your cum all along my body. My orgasm has receded a little, but, with a little coaxing, I’m sure you could push me over the edge. There is a noticeable wet spot growing beneath me as you slide you cock in between my lips and along my slit, teasing me. I beg you to fuck me…please? Please fuck me. I need to feel you inside me. I start to thrust upwards with my hips in an attempt to force you inside me, but you always pull away just in time. You are driving me insane. I am crying out for you, begging, pleading with you. Finally, ever so slowly, you slip your dick inside my tight, hot pussy. OH GOD YES! This is what I have needed. You start picking up your pace, slamming your hard, throbbing cock into me over and over. I can feel your balls slapping my ass. I am getting so close to my release. So fucking close. I am moaning and screaming your name. You are so fucking good! GOD, YES! OH, YES, FUCK ME! I’M YOUR LITTLE SLUT, FUCK MY FUCKING BRAINS OUT! You suddenly stop and pull out right before I climax. No, please don’t stop! You untie my legs and throw them over your shoulders and pound into me. I scream my climax as you cum inside me. OH, GOD! I’M CUMMING ALL OVER YOUR COCK! My pussy clamps down on your cock and milks you dry. Or combined juices flow out of me, on to the bed. You sigh and settle onto me to catch your breath. Then you reach up and untie my hands. I relax my aching muscles and wrap my arms around you as you lay your full weight on top of me. You are absolutely incredible, you know that? We lay there, basking in the glory of the night, both finally satisfied.

Thumping. Pumping. Kicking. Banging.

Kirsten was well tooled up. E’d and spiked and sinking into narcotic euphoria. Already her long hair was damp with sweat, and it splashed against her bare shoulders. Then the squelch of the first few beats of ‘Avenue’, punctuated by ecstatic samples from something quite different. She’d been looking forward to this festival forever. Or at least since she and her friends had booked tickets on the Net. Somewhere beyond the crowds was their tent where they’d spent hours chilling out to the sounds on their CD player, passing spliffs between themselves and giggling at the small things that somehow seemed so hilarious. Paul’s tee-shirt with the beer stain on it. So fucking funny! And Sophie’s hair. Where had she got those weird beads? But all that hanging around, chilling out, getting sorted, that was behind them. The E was kicking in, not that Kirsten was really sure with the haze of dope and booze. She was fucking having it. And fucking having it large. And fucking large it was too.

Banging. Pumping. Kicking. Moving.

Gurrh! The E was coming up. She was really rushing. She pressed herself against Barry, who as always was a bit anxious when Kirsten was coming on strong. But fuck him! She was enjoying herself. She grabbed him around the waist and they boogied together as the swirling cathedral sounds of ‘Avenue’ gave way to some record she recognised but didn’t know, vocal sounds breaking in like waves of orgasm through the dense rhythms, in tune with her body as she pressed it hard against Barry, feeling his cock stiffen through the fabric of his shorts.

Thumping. Banging. Clanging.

The sun was gradually sinking in the distance and the shadows were getting longer. On the stage the arcing, swaying bright lights became more obvious as a cloud passed in front of the sun. And then a cheer as Paul Van Dyk himself hit the stage. A few brief words from the podium while Kirsten and her friends paused in their dancing, and then at last the decks erupted as the sounds burst forth from the speakers, the heavy bass thundering across the fields as ‘Iguana’ erupted. Hard house heaven. Kirsten flung herself onto Paul, brushing her tits through her tanktop against his shiny bare chest, his hands and arms twitching with the familiar beats. Sophie was shaking up and down as the rhythms pushed through her, twitching though her from crown to toe. An ecstatic smile on her face was the dead give away that her rush was coming on stronger than ever.

Grinding. Throbbing. Pulsating.

And it was Kirsten. As always. Who was the first to pull off her tanktop and let her boobs out into the summer sun, even as it fell beneath the horizon. Kirsten gave a whoop as her round breasts with their puffy nipples and satisfying orbs came loose and swayed freely with her body as she swayed freely in the beat. She could see Paul’s stare. And she laughed. Paul was so fucking uptight. What did it fucking matter what he fucking thought? She was up for it, whatever he fucking was. Through the sweat that drained off her forehead onto her eyes she could just about see other eyes on her coming from the other dancers, but they were just the ones who weren’t really getting it on yet. It felt much better for her tits to bump and wobble and rotate and sway with the music, free as the rest of her. And fuck! What’s such a big deal about tits anyway?

Hopping. Bopping. Sliding. Gliding.

In through all the trance and hard house came a clear single note, held for a beautiful long moment, gradually building up tension, other rhythms patterning themselves within it. And then bit by bit as Kirsten and Sophie and Paul and Barry sank to the size of midgets on a small corner of the earth, in a vortex of spinning ravers, it built up inexorably and powerfully and ever greater, wave upon wave of emotion and power, to finally climax with beats so heavy and dense that Kirsten could feel her stomach give way beneath her, her long hair swaying onto her breasts and hardening nipples, the ring in her belly-button transmitting hard signals of joy. And then crescendo. Passion. Ecstasy. Emotion. The four of them almost wept as the music carried them up higher and higher, wave upon wave of overlaid beats, crashing and bashing, banging and clanging. Kirsten danced with her head up, mouth open to the sky, as a full moon appeared above her, monstrous and meaningful, the energy pulsing through her as it came onto her and crashed into her.

Grooving. Moving. Kicking. Killing.

DJ after DJ. Record after record. Mix after mix. Highs. Lows. Bass. Treble. Rhythms harder than a hammer. Sharper than a knife. Like the knives cutting into her soul. Chemical Heaven. Kirsten pushed herself against Paul again, his own top thrown aside, pressing her hot hard breasts against his hot hard smooth chest, his pierced nipple occasionally slapping against her hot hard nipple. They shimmied and swirled and pirouetted and glided. Flesh against flesh. And Kirsten’s hand on his hard cock under his shorts. So long. So thick. And such a good fuck. Kirsten smiled as she remembered their fuck last night. The four of them. Taking turns as the acid wore off and the E kicked in. Not like that shit time with K that time. Paul and Kirsten. Paul and Sophie. Barry and Kirsten. Barry and Sophie. And even for a few giggly awkward moments, while the boys ogled guiltily, Sophie and Kirsten. Was it fun? Maybe. But what the fuck! You’re only young once.

Kicking. Banging. Thumping. Jumping.

And if not then, why not now? thought Kirsten, as the sounds got fast and furious, the lights flashing over the fields and the stage, dark silhouetted DJs behind decks, films synchronised with the beat on the backdrop. A deep contorted fucked-up beat squeezed itself through the four to the floor, twisted around in her belly, sank into her chest, and released itself as Kirsten pulled Paul’s shorts down, his prick standing out tall and proud, pink and purple gloriousness, pride personified. A cock to die for. Paul was too far gone to care, but his dancing became reduced to twitching as his consciousness gradually took in what Kirsten’s tongue was doing to his prick at that moment. Slurping, glurping, gasping, gulping. Saliva and sweat. And such a fucking big prick! Would Paul come on her tits? Did she want to waste such goodness?

Thumping. Pumping. Kicking. Banging.

Kirsten wasn’t sure what she wanted. But the music made demands on her. All at once “Horny! Horny!” crashed the vocals from the mix. Cheesy but so vital. Without any more thought, Kirsten stood up and pulled down her own shorts and knickers, past her pierced crotch and its triangle of light brown hair that belied the truth of her blonde hair, down, down, eased over her bony knees and then kicked off into the grass. She was now naked, except for her light green pumps, a slim bare figure in the moonlight, the rhythms pulsating through her chemically electric frame. Naked. And not for the first time at a festival. Sophie rolled her eyes, but didn’t stop her dancing. Barry looked nervous. And Paul looked positively terrified. A few other figures momentarily paused in their dancing. And one or two exchanged comments, but not wanting to look uncool. After all, it was only nudity.

And Kirsten enjoyed it. The chill air on her burning crotch. The sweat running free down her torso, onto her bare thighs without interruption or pause. Perhaps she was a naturist at heart. But perhaps she didn’t go for all that shit. She wasn’t going to be spending her time playing beachball and table tennis. She just liked being bare fucking butt naked, and she didn’t fucking care what anyone fucking thought. If her parents could see her now. They could just get fucked like everyone else.

Scraping. Grinding. Twisting. Bumping.

And there was Paul still jumping and bumping opposite her, his prick slapping from side to side with the rhythm of his dancing. A shame to waste it, thought Kirsten, getting onto the ground, knees in the grass, hands behind his buttocks and prick in her mouth. The taste and smell was overwhelming, while Kirsten’s flesh tingled with chemical tension, the prick driving deep into her throat. But not for long. All of a sudden, it erupted into a creamy trail of come, which as his prick withdrew, splattered onto Kirsten’s chest and down his legs. Kirsten smiled as more come dribbled out of her mouth, and then without pause up with the beat, as it took her higher and higher and higher.

Pumping. Thumping. Hitting hard. Banging on. Relentless. Never ending.

And then it started to rain. Not for the first fucking time at a festival. The music continued uninterrupted. And who was on stage? Kirsten didn’t know. Didn’t care. After all those weeks comparing DJs. Was Carl Cox on? Was Judge Jules, Paul Oakenfold, Ferry Corsten, Armand Van Helden? Was it going to be blinding? Or cheesy? Or hard? Or trancey? Who fucking cared? The rain beat down gently, softer than the music, barely noticed on the sweat that already had her hair sodden and damp and lank and sticking to her bare skin. But not for long. Just a shower. Thank fucking Christ for that!

Bumping. Thumping. Kicking. Heavier. Harder. Darker. Throbbing. Banging.

How it happened, Kirsten didn’t know, but soon there were others like her, naked and boogying, clothes flung aside, more pills appearing and shared and still no break in the dancing. Kirsten bounced off Sophie, whose eyes were rolling no longer, her perky pointed nipples as free as Kirsten’s fuller rounder boobs. Barry, too, had pulled down his pants, his thin prick not as proud as Paul’s even now, shrivelled into nothing, but shaking madly from side to side. The music pounding and pulling and pushing.

Perhaps it was Barry. Perhaps it was Sophie. Perhaps it was Kirsten herself. But someone had changed the tempo in their dancing, even though the music was beating to an altogether heavier, faster beat, and they were on the grass, slightly damp after the shower, all three of them, rolling about, kissing and licking each other. And when Barry put his prick in Sophie’s cunt, in came Paul, his prick recovering its hardness and straight into Kirsten, as she wrapped her legs around him, and he thrust in and out, with a rhythm totally out of step with the music. Kirsten didn’t care. The music was now just in the background. The sounds and rhythms in her skull were red and warm and liquid and tingled with narcotic energy. What the fuck had they been taking? Or was it just how the fancy took them?

And soon there were others. Kirsten didn’t know who they were. She didn’t care. Boys. Girls. As long as they had tongues and fingers and lips and pricks where pricks counted. Above them were the shadows of others dancing and twitching energetically in the moonlight, lit up occasionally by the vast strobes of light flashing from the stage. Kirsten occasionally caught snatches of tunes as they thundered by. Was that fucking Fatboy Slim? And later she was sure she heard the distinct beat and vocals of ‘Age of Love’. Occasionally, she looked into the faces and not just the bodies of the people gathered around her in this impromptu orgy of theirs. Would she normally have allowed such a fat arsed bloke with his long hair still inside his floppy hat take her up the arse like that? But who fucking cared? It was up there. Pushing up and pushing up, while below Paul (at least she thought it was Paul) was fucking her cunt. And a girl with really short hair was licking her face and eyebrows and cheeks. Kirsten grabbed the girl’s face with her hands and tugged it straight into her mouth and tongue fought against tongue.

Sophie and Barry were also hard at it interlocked by other naked bodies, sometimes flashing purple, blue, yellow or red as the massive strobes passed by. And then back to shadows in the pale moonlight. And then the hard beats of Mauro Piccotto joined the gasps and grunts and slurps and cries of the mass of bodies, building up to a climax of action, as Kirsten herself climaxed again and again and again.

And then more easy ambient noises from the stage. Bodies sagged and swayed. Exhausted by the dancing, the sex, the sweat. Sampled beats from the orient, interspersed with low ambient vocal cries, and long low hums of sound underlaying the slower rhythm. And bit by bit, person by person, the mass of naked flesh peeled off, Kirsten writhing beneath them.

Until there was only her. Lying on the grass, as people were making their way home. Her hair was splayed about her, face on one side, breasts on the ground, and legs crossed scissor-fashion behind her. Above her stood Sophie, while Barry and Paul stood off to one side chatting and passing a joint back and forth.

“Come on, girlfriend,” smiled Sophie. “Get your kit on.”

Kirsten stood up shakily, her memory of events already fragmented and incomplete. “Did we really…?”

“Here, Kirsten, have a toke,” insisted Paul, handing her the joint. “You were really way out there.”

Kirsten put the joint to her lips and breathed in deeply. Too deeply really, as she coughed up most of what she’d taken, but not so much that the effect of the skank was wasted on her.

“We really got it on there, didn’t we? We had a real fucking time, didn’t we? It was really banging!” she said with a smile as she looked up with her clothes in a bundle in her arms.

“Yeah, babe,” said Barry with an ironic smile. “That’s the word for it. Banging!”

 I had this vision going round in my head of letting him "You know?" My aunt interjected "yeah I know what you mean" with a pursing of her lips. Continuing, the woman went on, I kept thinking, well Bert did tell the boy to "Take care of me" and the feeling in my nether regions kept telling my brain this is what he was alluding to. So weakening when I knew he'd gone asleep I put my hand over and explored outside his pants, sure enough now soft his cock and balls was as I thought. Well it was sort of keeping it private in the family so there'd be no whagging tongues. I even convinced myself that if bert found out, he'd approve of my prudence. That night, it was lovely. I tweaked it around and as it got harder, I got the head out through the front flap and very gently wanked it incase he woke up. I even took some love juice off the tip and rubbed it in mine. It got me off almost immediately.

 By this time I'd sunk down onto a small box so as not to break the moment in anyway. She continued, I was so tempted to try and get it in me there and then but thought it might go all wrong and I needed that cock big time but long term. I'd waited six months so another day or two I could manage. Next day nothing unusual, he did say he liked cuddling in with me and he was sure he had a lovely dream but couldn't recall it but he knew it was nice. Come the evening I casually said you can come in with me again seeing it made you feel nice. He jumped at the chance, and so it was. That night I got the first hard cock against my ass for months. I waited again till he was asleep, Having given him a different set of pants that I knew gave easy access, I rubbed him up and reasoning he'd probably hump like a dog does I turned spoon fashion and made my nightdress rise up my back and putting my hand back over continued to rub him up. After a bit he rolled over off his back towards me and I got that first hot touch of cock on my ass cheeks. I went motionless panting like hell, half in anticipation and half in panic in case he woke up. But I kept a hold on his hardon.

 After what seemed an age, but must have been minutes he started gently short dry fucking strokes. I wiggled my ass to help position everything and a couple of times it hit me right on the asshole  but getting more slippery it started sliding right along my crack. Then it found me, I tried like hell not to move but it was to much, I just had to help it in. I'm sure he was asleep all the time though. My aunt had just chipped in, "It gets you so you can't resist" Fuck me! she's going to babble about me! Oh shit! Ding,Ding, saved by the bell. A bloke walks in. The woman says, "I'll tell you later what happened" and she was gone.

 Prior to this event when I knew about my aunt coming over I decided I had to create a situation similar to the one at the old shop. There quite by accident I got a dream situation going which with every passing month of growing up I found a wonderful pass time. Being quite young I was into every crook and cranny. (this held me in good stead in the future incidentally) So while exploring under the old shop window crawling with my torch I found some hidden jars of sweets, (an item on ration at that time, more about those later) but this area was enclosed but had end side accesses. As I got along the customer end and peered out a woman customer dropped some coins out of her purse. The coins rolled away from my hidden position,she in turn first bent to retreive some allowing me to look up the back of her clothes to the top of her thighs, but some of the money went farther under the opposite side counter so kneeling on all fours and reaching forward I could see even more including the two half moon creases across the start of her bum cheeks because her panties got pulled upwards across her ass. Being young and wondering I thought nothing of shining my torch at this sight.

 On doing so, what emerged from that gloom was what is now termed "A camel toe" pink panty right tight into the crack and as tight as hell across the puffy outer lips then tight into her groins. I didn't appreciate It properly then but later my minds eye revisited her visible offering that day with my hand working a hundred miles a hour on the beast between my legs. So from then on I searched with my torch up many skirts from my hiding place. Some having popped out while preparing a bath or such like made an offering with no knickers on at all. Generally this was when they thought we were closing. One in particular, our next door neighbour in fact, had almost a permanent counter position on a high stool we had there. Nosing for gossip and in her late fifties I would guess, she was really plump and quite short. I quickly twigged that she wore no knickers and not being fussy, I looked at all and everything. Every time she got off the stool she slid till her feet touched the floor with her legs spread. I torched this move every time to see her raw meat coloured pussy with enormous puffy labia each side and two inner flaps like a puppies ears. She looked straight at me each time and she must have known what I was torching because she always made a smile directly at me. It must have given her a buss I guess.

 This was where my crush on my aunt first started although I didn't realise what a crush was at the time. Because I also spent time under the window but at the serving side of the counter when I found my torch let me see what colour panties my aunt had on each day plus a constant look at her thighs and bum cheeks. So back at the new place I was to big now for torching from under the window. I put a different ploy in place although this was somewhat limited. There was high up shelving in those days unlike supermarkets today,these required step ladders. So as I got to do the stacking I put the most popular items high up and from the vantage seat I mentioned earlier I got lots of good views of my aunts and others upskirt offerings. Improved fluorescent lighting helped. In no time at all and bearing in mind our changed relationship she quietly whispered "Still at it but without the torch you dirty little sod,mind you don't get caught" Was nothing sacred from this woman? she must have known all the time! She equally must know I'm listening to all the smut. At that moment I decided I would do an "uncle" at the first opportunity and tell her the dirty goings on up the docks.

 It was on a stroll back from the docks with Ben we came across a real turn on. In a hilly park while heading in no particular direction we saw a girl we recognised as the older sister of one of our bus girls. She was quite petite and really pretty. She was in tow with two lads and a much bigger bloke, in fact a bear of a man, they all lived we knew in a local eighteenth century slum buildings. Nothing wrong with that mind, they were just people. We thought nothing of this but gradually they got up by us. She was obviously enjoying the company of these three guys, just laughing and joking with them. Having got just ahead of us and almost unoticed by us one of the lads crouched down behind her as she faced the bear type bloke, looking up at him, at about six foot three and her no more than five feet. totally distracted and to our amazement he gently pushed her shoulders and back she went over the other lad almost in slow motion her legs buckled as she went backwards and because of his body her legs went wide and as her bum stopped in an upward position her legs was splayed up and apart.

 Wearing no panties a beautiful miniscule pussy with an equally lovely mound of venus covered with a small bush of pubic hair came into view. This was truly the smallest prettiest pussy I've ever seen. By now the lad had got out from under and he and the other were each side of her holding her arms wrestling her pert tits out from the button opening in her dress top, no bra.She was rolling and kicking her legs around, not screaming or anything so it was impossible to tell if they were funning or about to rape her. the Bear, wearing heavy black railway workers clothes including a full length overcoat, normal for the steam railway workers at that time. (Clothes classed "gothic" now) had started to undo his coat and fly buttons. We just stood there mesmerized. Next he unleashed his heavy leather belt, no underwear and as his trousers dropped a giant cock and bollocks came out. Man they were enormous, It was three quarters hard and swinging like a pendulum. There was no way that piece of swinging meat could get in that tiny pussy. He grabbed hold of his cock knelt between her legs and with one hand on her belly he hit her tiny slot,wiggling it it up and down her pussy he must have sensed the opening his ass made a ruthless thrust her body jerked on her ass cheeks against the grass and like magic her tiny cunt splayed open enough to except his huge purple helmet as the foreskin rolled back off the head. With no more ado he pushed and I thought he had his hand on her stomach to feel how far it reached up her, in my young mind. He kept on pushing more and more till she took the lot, her cunt? it looked so tight rapped around this beast but when he started to pull back from her the lovely ring part stretched and seemed to cling on not wanting to lose this mighty rod. He then really went to town ram,ram,ram. she pulled her legs up to her chest and proceded to orgasm like there was no tomorrow.

 With several grunts he unloaded in her. When he pulled out, his was all shiny and covered in slimey jism. Hers stayed open showing lots of cum, he turned to his mate and just said "go on then your turn" this lad got in between her legs and followed up but she didn't appear to thrill. The third one declined as he pulled his cock out his fly saying "its to late" he squirted over her tits having not wanked just through watching the others and playing her tits. Bear pulled his trousers up having wiped his cock off in the tail of his shirt he'd left them down all the time,I guess in case he became ready for a second go. She stood up put her clothes straight, hooked her arm into Bears and skipped off happy as larry. Me and Ben? Oh! the third mate wasn't the only one that came off without even touching themselves.

 More in a while.