Jane's Nasty SurprisebyOldNicksMan©
© OldNicksMan 2003
(The author does not condone non-consentual sexual or other violence against men or women. This story is a fantasy. Any resemblence to actual people or events is entirely coincidental.)
A beam of light falling through a gap in the curtains disturbed further her restless sleep. Jane gingerly opened one eyelid, wincing as the early morning light struck her full in the face. She blinked, closed her eyes again and breathed heavily.
She tried hard to think. She was lying face down on a bed in a hotel room. The bed was familiar. The room was familiar. She was naked. She felt bad. Jane opened both eyes slowly and raised her head from the rumpled, stained sheet. Her mouth was dry – very dry - and there was a vaguely familiar taste in her throat. Jane raised herself on her elbows and felt the churning in her stomach increase. She turned onto her side, and suddenly leapt to her feet, her hands to her mouth as she rushed across the room to the bathroom. Flinging herself onto her knees, she hung her head over the toilet bowl and was violently sick. Her body contorted with powerful spasms as she held onto the rim of the bowl, the smell of vomit in her nose. The spasm passed, came again, and eventually subsided. She held on firmly to the bowl to steady her trembling body, and tried to breathe her way back to sanity.
Her head stopped spinning and at length she managed to flush the toilet, the slight spray of cold water reviving her a little more. Slowly her body came back under her control. She closed the toilet lid and, remaining on her knees, she breathed in deeply again and felt her stomach settle a little more. Nervously raising her head, she stared blindly at the ceiling. What had happened to her? She raised one arm to the sink, and with a hand on the edge of the bath, lifted her body and swung around to sit on the toilet seat.
The pain hit her.
As the cold surface of the seat touched her naked bottom, pain like pins of steel shot through her, a fierce, sharp pain that burned the cheeks and lips between her legs and seared the angry ring of her anus. She cried out loud, tears bursting from her eyes, and stood up, her knees weak. Dizzy, she held onto the sink for support and looked around. With great care she slowly slid her right hand down and between her legs. Her body screamed back at her; the pain intense, a fierce soreness. She couldn’t bear to touch herself more, but had to know the cause of her agony. Reaching into her sponge bag, she withdrew a hand mirror and opening her legs, held it between her thighs.
What she saw amazed her.
Instead of the base of a neatly trimmed triangle of light brown hair, she saw angry, swollen red lips. She saw bare skin where once her pubic hair had curled; she saw streaks of body fluids, some dry, some still wet and sticky and…....‘Oh God, What’s that?’ She stared in disbelief at the single gold ring that now hung from her angry vulva. ‘No!’ she cried, and made a grab at the ring to sweep it away. Pain shot through her like an arrow and she cried out loud. The ring was firmly attached, piercing her skin, just above her swollen and abused clitoris. She tried again to dislodge it, her brain not yet registering the futility of this action, and the pain hit her even more strongly, causing her to gag. Beyond speech and totally confused, Jane burst into uncontrollable sobs, her body convulsing as she dropped to her knees and wept.
But her despair was short-lived. Jane had not risen to where she was through weakness. Turning on the bath taps, she stood unsteadily at first, then with more confidence walked back to the bedroom, her newly discovered soreness forcing her into a strange, cowboy-like gait. She looked around the room for clues to what had happened. Her clothes – the suit and blouse in which she had made last night’s speech – were in a pile on the floor. The bedclothes were swept aside. The remaining, rumpled sheet was creased and stained, she could guess what with, and was that a patch of blood?
Jane did not understand how all this had come about, but she did understand that whatever it was must not be allowed to interfere with this most important day. It was to be her first speech to the Shareholders at the AGM. Women in industry all over the country were looking to her to do things right. There were few women on the boards of large companies – still fewer in male-dominated industries like hers – and this was perhaps the most important day of her professional life. It must not be ruined.
Picking up her clothes she looked at the bedside clock. 6.15 am. There was still time. She turned off the bath taps and called the night porter. ‘Urgent pressing needed – there’s a large tip in it for you’. She put on her bath robe and began to tidy the room. There was a knock on the door. The porter smiled and took the rumpled suit without speaking. ‘I need it in 30 minutes’ she said, pressing a crisp $20 note into his hand.
Closing the door, she returned to the bathroom and let the gown fall to the floor. She looked at herself in the large over-sink mirror. She saw as expected, a slim, attractive woman in her early 40s, dark haired, tanned and usually confident. She turned from left to right. She saw bruises on her upper thighs and buttocks. She saw tooth marks on her breasts. She saw the edge of the angry soreness between her legs and whimpered. Realising she was about to cry again, she shook her head angrily and forced herself to step gingerly into the bath. Warm, deep water wrapped itself around her legs, and she lowered more of herself into it. As it reached her vulva she winced and paused, letting her mind get accustomed to the pain, then lowered herself all the way in.
She laid back in the water and let its warmth sooth her. She felt it creeping into her sore places, around her bruises, and felt her aches begin to subside. Her head and stomach settled and she began to piece together the events of the night before.
Her speech after dinner had been good. She had left them laughing and she knew she had made the right impression on the rest of the board. She remembered actually looking forward to the big speech tomorrow – today now. She remembered going to the hotel bar after the dinner; the congratulations – some of them genuine; the drinks pressed into her hands; the back slapping – not all metaphorical; making excuses to go to her room; walking to the lifts …….and that was all.
Jane knew she had not been drunk. She had taken great care to remain in control, knowing that her wits needed to be at their sharpest. She had planned to get up early and make any last-minute changes to her speech for today. She seemed to have lost about 7 hours of her life. She tried again to remember, then out loud shouted –‘The drinks!’ She tried to remember just who had bought her the Bucks’ Fizzes that had appeared in her hand in the bar. She realised that she could not. The company was paying the bar bill so it hadn’t mattered at the time, but she realised now that she had no idea who had actually given her the glass of bubbles and….what else?
Feeling more in control now, Jane began to wash herself carefully. Her body still ached, but was feeling more human now. She ran more hot water into the bath. Feeling more confident still, she slid her fingers tentatively down between her thighs. She was still very sore, but clean now. More carefully still, she lightly touched the ring transfixing her clitoris. It still hurt badly, but less intensely now. She ran her fingers around the ring. She could find no gap, no opening, no clue how to take it off – and anyway she was still too swollen to try and remove it. Abandoning it, she carefully washed her breasts, pleased to see the tooth marks beginning to fade. Nothing would show when she was dressed, she thought, relieved.
She washed her hair in the bath, unusual for her, and rinsed it with the shower head. She took her weight on her arms and lifted herself up, stepping out of the water onto the white bathmat. Towelling herself down, she looked once again at her reflection.
‘I’m not going to let them win’ she determined. ‘I’m going ahead today as planned – and then I’ll find out who did all this.’ She touched her ring once again. ‘I’m keeping you there until I’ve got the bastards’.
Slipping on her gown, she walked out of the bathroom as a knock came on the door. Her clothes were back. She would carry on, but would be watching very closely all those around her from now on.
Jane opened the door of her room and stepped inside. She closed the door and leaned with her back against it. Her hand sought out the lock and clicked it home. She breathed out noisily. It was over! She had done it!
She walked over to the mini bar and took out a half bottle of champagne. Even at these prices, I deserve this, she thought to herself, and opened it carefully so as not to spill a single precious drop. She poured it into a bathroom glass – very sophisticated, she giggled – and took a long sip. The cold bubbles refreshed her and she walked to the window, thinking about her day. She had been good. No, not just good, brilliant! The AGM had gone smoothly, her speech had been pitched just right – not triumphant, not supplicating – and, most importantly, nobody had seemed to know anything about last night. There had been that one moment at dinner when she had sat down too firmly and the pain had made her leap up again. She’d had to pretend something was on the chair. And it had been difficult going to the toilet all day, her newly shaven vulva - very sensitive to the material of her knickers – making her feel in need of a pee all the time. That would have been funny she thought, if only it wasn’t so serious.
She had been to busy to watch everyone too carefully, and had seen nothing obvious today to give her a clue as to what had happened last night. More than ever she was determined to find out, and to take her revenge. She had quickly decided against going to the Police. Any story of this nature would make multi-page headline news in all the papers, and effectively destroy her career. She could imagine all the ‘lady director’ jokes now – the internet would buzz with them. So she would have to do it herself.
She looked around the room again, and started! Nestling on her pillow was a small package, wrapped in brown paper. Small and flat, it looked like a small book. She picked it up and opened it. It was a CD in a case. There was no note, nothing written on the CD, no clue as to where it had come from. She crossed to the desk and took out her laptop, waiting impatiently for it to boot up. Sliding the disc into her DVD drive, Jane watched with intense interest as the program started automatically. Her interest soon turned to horror as the scene unfolded in front of her.
It was a video; a home video, but really well, almost professionally filmed. The camera was following a lady through a hotel corridor. The lady was dressed in a business suit. Her gait was a little unsteady. ‘God!. It’s me’. Jane put her hand to her mouth in horror. The lady reached the door to a hotel room, her room, and turned to face the cameraman. ‘This is my room. Do we go in?’ Jane recognised her own voice, but it was slightly slow and slurry, as if she was a little drunk. The cameraman – and it was a man – responded, but Jane couldn’t understand his voice. Whoever made the film had distorted the voice beyond even understanding what was being said. Jane saw her on-screen self smile and enter the room. The camera followed.
With mounting concern, Jane watched the screen. The camera was on her face as a question was asked. The man must have said something amusing because she giggled and looked coyly at him. ‘OK’ she heard herself say, and watched aghast as she slowly, provocatively began to undress herself. The film broke into ironic music as she slid off her suit jacket, casting it aside, then slowly unbuttoned the side of her skirt. Sliding down the zip, her skirt slid to the floor and she stepped out of it towards the camera. She was smiling a slightly lewd, slightly silly smile. She removed her cravat and began to unbutton the front of her blouse. She thrust her breasts forward as she did this, and as she slipped the blouse off first one shoulder, then the other, her full breasts and white bra were prominent in the picture. The camera panned back to show Jane in only white bra, knickers and stockings. She looked very sexy – obscenely so, thought Jane, transfixed.
The cameraman said something more, and Jane watched herself reaching behind her back to undo her top. It popped open and fell forward as her breasts broke free. As the cool air in the room hit them, their nipples began to harden – or was it something else causing her breasts to firm?
At another word of command, she turned around and, looking over her shoulder at the camera, pointed her bottom towards it. Her cheeks were firm, she noticed, involuntarily pleased. Another word of command saw her slide a thumb into each side of her knickers and slip them teasingly over her cheeks to rest in the fold of skin below. Her hands reached behind to her buttocks and spread them for the camera. Jane gasped as she saw her own tight sphincter exposed on film. Her screen self then slipped the knickers down to the floor and, turning to face the camera full-on, stark naked, she moved back and sat on the bed, her legs over the side, not touching the floor.
Her face looked up at the camera, smiling slightly dully. She leaned back on her straightened arms and opened her legs. The camera angle changed as the cameraman lowered himself to look full on at her vulva. Her breasts seemed to loom over the shot and her legs opened a little wider. Another instruction and Jane saw her hand pass along her inner thighs, then watched as her fingers toyed with the curls of her pubic hair. Her hand passed to her nipples then returned between her legs and her face looked up as if in response to a question.
The question was repeated and after a pause, Jane saw herself nod. The film stopped for a moment, then resumed with Jane still in the same position on the bed, but next to her were a tube of man’s shaving gel and her own underarm razor. Watching in silence, Jane knew with a dreadful certainty what was going to happen next.
In fear she watched as her right screen hand took the shaving cream and squeezed out a length onto her left palm. The strip of white cream looked obscene, Jane thought. She watched her screen self giggle and say ‘Of course, silly’ as the camerman mumbled something, then begin to massage the cream into her light brown, tightly curled pubic hair. Within minutes her groin was engulfed in white foam, like a long white beard, her lips in the middle in a grotesque parody of Father Christmas, thought Jane. Her screen hands took hold of the razor, and, starting below her navel, began to shave off the foam and the hair beneath.
Despite her obvious revulsion at the sight, Jane found her hands straying down to her groin, and stroking the smooth newly-hairless skin around her vulva. She found herself curiously excited as her screen hands held her outer labia tight so that the razor could do its work without nicking her. The camera never left its low angle, not wanting to miss a single second of this action, and Jane could hear her screen self panting and breathing over the soundtrack.
Moving to the tops of her thighs, the razor removed foam and hair from the sides of her vulva, and with an extreme opening of her legs, Jane saw herself pass the razor from the cleft of her buttocks upwards to her lower labia. A towel was passed to her (did she see a hand in a black leather glove?) and Jane’s screen self wiped her body clean. The camera moved up to her face. She was smiling stupidly, obviously pleased with her performance. It returned, via her full breasts with obviously erect nipples, to her newly smooth, pale and soft ‘pussy’ – there was no other word for it now.
After a good few seconds on the pussy, another indecipherable command saw Jane’s obviously willing right hand move to her new smoothness and begin to stroke. Her slim, dextrous fingers stroked first the fold in her skin at the top of her thighs, then her outer lips. A single bold finger traced a line from the base of her slit to the top, and returned. Jane watched herself lick the finger, then return it to its job. The finger parted her lips more positively now and began to slide lightly up and down between them. Her breath came more heavily and noisily now. Other fingers parted her lips wider to allow her long middle finger to slide between her inner lips and expose her moistening core. As it brushed over her clitoris, Jane heard a gasp which she recognised as her own voice, and watched beads of moisture appear on her vagina. The finger moved into her and out, glistening more with moisture every time, and then rose to touch her clit again. This time it remained there, working first lightly in small circles, then more firmly on her nub.
Jane watched on, mostly in horror, but also remembering how she had not masturbated for a long time. How long it was now since John had left her?
Her screen self was getting more and more excited as the finger did its work. Her body started to wriggle and buck against it, and the camera cut to her face which was screwed up in either pain or pleasure, Jane couldn’t tell which. Cutting back below, her vagina now filled the screen, and the huge finger appeared to be driving her mad. Her hips bucked more and moisture spurted out of her vagina, the lips of which were now swollen and red. She heard herself choking and gasping as an obvious orgasm approached, a load moan and then silence, apart from muffled grunting and bodily heaving. The movement slowed, but did not stop.
A mumbled question was asked as the camera panned to her face. Jane saw herself flushed pink, dreamy eyed with a little saliva dribbling from the corner of her mouth. The questioner stopped and Jane watched herself nod eagerly. A hand appeared (definitely a gloved hand this time) and passed to Jane the biggest vibrator she had ever seen. Shaped like a grotesquely swollen erect penis, its head was broad and smooth and its shaft studded with vein-shaped lumps. It was jet black. Her screen self held it reverentially, gazing in awe. The voice spoke again, and slowly Jane lowered the vibrator to her moist and open pussy. The camera focussed in as its enormous rubber head touched her lips and a gasp was heard. A little pressure easily parted the swelling lips and the huge head passed with difficulty into her vagina.
Jane gasped, watching herself on screen. Surely she had never been close to anything as big as that before. Even after having two children, she would have been stretched by such a huge monster. Unable to take her eyes off the screen, Jane saw in extreme close up her vagina stretching and stretching to accommodate the vibrator. Se could see the tension in her skin and the pressure on her inner lips as it entered. She watched as slowly the head, then one, two, three inches slid into her, and heard herself moaning incoherently, unable to speak. The cameraman was obviously beginning to get excited himself, and after a few mumbled words and a dazed nod from Jane who was biting hard into her lower lip, the gloved hand grasped the end of the vibrator and began to push it into her more.
Inching in, pulling back, then advancing again, the huge machine gradually filled Jane’s body. Watching the screen, she couldn’t tell its real size, but the man’s hand could barely encircle half its girth, and it was at least the length of four fists. The monster cock was now half way into her as the man began to pump it with a slow, steady rhythm. Jane heard her own voice begin to speak, then choke, then pant. The pace increased. With each stroke, the cock went in deeper, with each stroke Jane saw herself get hotter and more flushed. She was crying now on screen, begging for more. The invisible hand was providing. In and out the cock pumped and as she thrashed on the bed, Jane’s screen self was moaning loudly.