Line of Sight

I should explain my apartment development. It's laid out like a stylized, mirror-image letter K. Actually, the parking lot is, with the buildings grouped in clusters along it. If you Google the place, the shape is readily apparent. It could also be construed as the stylized image of a man, facing left, in profile, like what you might see in Egyptian hieroglyphics or in the Andean desert. His arms are raised in homage or offering, his right leg forward, his left leg back, in line with his body. My apartment complex is located at the tip of his right foot, running vertically out of the ground. It's comprised of three separate buildings, my building being the first out of the ground. Each floor contains six apartments; two bedroom apartments on the left side of the building; one-bedroom apartments, like mine, on the right side. Each building is three stories tall. I am (or was) in the front, 2^nd floor apartment.

In front of the man's right leg, starting about mid-shin and extending to about his waist is a two-building complex, and directly across from me at twice the distance is another two-building complex, in front of his left leg. It's tilted away from my building at about a 15 degree angle. The end of those two buildings and mine are roughly aligned at the man's ground level. It's that two-building set of apartments I had to worry about. The other two buildings were too far to my left to offer a view into my bedroom window.

Of the six apartments with a view of my bedroom window (all are one-bedroom's I later discovered), the apartments on the far left offered the best chance. This would actually be three apartments, one on each level. I figured the 2^nd and 3^rd floor apartments offered the best chance; the ones on the ground floor, not so likely, due to elevation differences, but still possible, I guess.

The apartments to the right of that 3-story stack offered a more restricted view of my bedroom, but still plainly saw my bed. My best guess was the top left or the apartment just below it. Sitting there at the dining room table, I could envision it in my mind's eye. And felt depressed. How could I be so stupid? At least, I wasn't being stupid now.

I wanted the black, 12" long cock. I'd reserve the 9" Super Ballsy-Cock for when I went to bed later on, after some of the anxiety passed. The truth was, I wanted to see if I could handle something so big. The thought had me trembling.

Refusing to stand the thing upright off the kitchen floor, I looked around for an alternate place to stick it. The dining room wall immediately came to mind; but I saw a problem there too. I wanted the dildo all the way in me; planting it against the wall could keep me from doing that. My toes might hit the baseboard, and I had no experience fucking a dildo suctioned to the wall. A second option presented itself: The kitchen doorway? I could straddle the wall either side and press back against the jamb. Excited, I dropped to my knees and gave the position a try. It worked perfectly, except my head hit the doorway on the other side when I mimed drawing myself off the dildo, making me laugh. It felt good to laugh.

I trembled, opening the blister pack. I reminded myself—unnecessarily—that I had been given this by party unknown, for the express purpose of humiliating myself further, a purpose I seemed bent on fulfilling. And didn't care. Freeing it, I took it to the kitchen sink and scrubbed the dildo thoroughly with dishwashing detergent, a task I would have performed regardless. Then I dried and weighed it in my hand.

The guy in the video had put this whole thing us his ass, all 12" of it. It seemed impossible to me. For me, at least. The 9" dildo would be a sufficient test of my capabilities, but I didn't really even consider it. I wanted this dildo up my ass.

I had never stuck a dildo on a wall before. I repeated my earlier test and placed my thumb where the dildo should go, then ground my thumb against the paint to leave a mark. Barely distinguishable, but there. I centered the suction cup over the mark and pressed it on. It hung there, drooping naturally, looking horribly real. I giggled and covered my mouth. I shouldn't do this, I thought. I shed the robe, dropped to my knees and hiked up my nightie. Of course, I had forgotten the KY jelly. Sighing, I stood up an retrieved the jar from the dining room table. Glancing at the waiting dildo, I decided I would need it.

* * *

It was after 4 A.M. I was sore as a bride on her wedding night. The virgin bride of Lexington Steele, the porn star. I could barely move. I'd be so sore in the morning.

I was in bed, having finally given in to the need to rest. I was on my tummy with my new 9" fella up my behind, and the vibrator purring happily inside my vagina. My arms were limp at my sides and my face turned to the window. It was still covered by the thermal blanket, so I felt relatively safe. Relatively. Safe enough to be laying there, anyway.

I was in my panties, as well as the nightie. It was a pair Ken had never seen before. They were pushed halfway down my behind, just below the shaft of the dildo. The base overlaid them, tight to the soft material. I had my legs spread, wide enough to allow my fingertips to gently rotate the vibrator when needed. I was laying atop one on my pillows, elevating me slightly. As big as it was, I could barely feel the dildo up my rear end. It was more an emotional presence inside me than a physical one. I was a very happy girl.

I had fucked myself silly with both larger dildos. I had promised my rear end I wouldn't subject it to the 18" monster, but I had broke my promise. I did it only once, but once was enough. That's not why I hurt so badly though; that was the 12" dildo's doing. More precisely, my doings with it.

In the kitchen doorway I had opened the jar of KY and personally lubed the entire shaft with my fingertips. Then I personally lubed myself, using my fingertips again. I lubed myself inside and out. My vagina, I mean. I had committed myself to the thing anally, but I wanted vaginal intercourse with it first. Dropping to one hand, I flipped the nightie up to my waist and backed to the dildo. I touched it along the top of the shaft and repositioned it with my fingertips. I eased back, holding my breath, relocating it in my opening. It was alarmingly big, larger than anything I'd ever put in me before. I should have begun with the 9" dildo, I thought. Regardless, I pushed back until the head forced its way in, making me wince and gasp softly. Wow, that was big!

I waited a moment. "OK," I whispered, "you can do this." I kept imagining someone across the parking lot watching me do this. If not watching, then imagining. The same way I was imagining him, watching me. I pushed back a little more, and the dildo inched in a corresponding distance. I could not imagine anyone slamming himself or herself up and down this shaft. That was insane. I eased forward and then back, forward and back, accustomizing myself to the girth, or trying to. It was a lot to be accustomed to. I breathed through my mouth, found myself staring blankly at the jamb ahead, alternately approaching and retreating from my face.

I had never cheated on Ken. I didn't consider what I did to myself in his absence as cheating. It was simply pleasuring myself, as I'd done all my life. I knew he masturbated in private--all guys do--so he must suspect I did the same. This gifted dildo though--specifically what I was doing with it—may have crossed the line. I felt I was cheating on him now, in some form or another. I was fucking someone else in essence, if not in fact. It might as well be his cock. This should have bothered me more than it did.

The KY did its job and within minutes I was sliding to my limit up and down the shaft. Each push backward drove the tip in a little deeper; each thrust against my cervix stretched me and made me longer. In five short minutes I was screwing the dildo as hard as I'd screwed anything in my life. I panted, my hair swinging back and forth. I repositioned myself to get the best position, looking back over my shoulder to watch the glistening shaft appear and disappear, looking between my legs so that my hair brushed the floor. I lowered myself until my nipples brushed floor also, my left nipple on linoleum, my right against the dining room carpet. I was enjoying myself way too much.

How much am I taking, I wondered? I reached back and felt 4 of the 12 inches protruding from my vagina. I wanted it all, but knew I'd rupture something achieving that. A vagina could stretch only so far. So I concentrated on getting as much enjoyment from the shaft as I could.

Minutes went by. I grew more aggressive, more aroused, more agitated. Holy God, I thought. I was so glad no one could see me. I was practically wanton in my fucking and I did things to the dildo that I'd never done to a real cock, like talking to it, asking it to fuck me harder, telling it what an ideal lover it was, promising it could take me up the ass as soon as it wanted, and assuring it that I'd never had black up my ass before. It was my first. I couldn't wait any longer. I had to have it.

The key, I knew, was not looking back until it was in me. Never look down, they say. Getting my nightie clear, I used two fingers to lubricate my anus and the surrounding area, pushing some inside me--pushing a lot inside me--and then guiding the tip between my cheeks and holding my breath. Then I partially chickened out, turned around and lubricate the head and long shaft with gobs of KY. I was trembling when I turned around again. I remembered the first time I'd put something up my rear end, how scary that was, and this was ten times as bad.

"Don't hurt me," I pleaded softly.

I needed my head examined. I kept thinking of the monster inside the box and how I wouldn't use it on myself. I promised myself that, promised it to my rectum and to my asshole. (I hate the word asshole, but I hate the word anus even more.) Easing back, I guided the tip into place with my fingertips and pushed back gently against it. The KY worked again and slowly the head spread me open and then filled me, making me gasp in pain. I held myself motionless until my tortured sphincter relaxed enough to let out my breath.

This really hurt! This was almost the size of a Coke can. Ken joked about me taking a Coke can sometimes, a tease that simultaneously aroused and humiliated me. I had once tried it with another boyfriend when really drunk and high, and had failed. Ken had shown me on You Porn that it was possible, and had gently cajoled me ever since, sometimes seriously, sometimes not. I was doing it tonight without him.

"I bet you wish you could see me doing this," I said to my admirer. "I bet this would really turn you on, wouldn't it? What it is about a girl's asshole that turns you guys on so much?"

I eased back, letting the head travel an inch farther up my ass. It occurred to me this would completely fill my rectum, leaving room for nothing else. Maybe I should have given myself an enema. Enemas always turned me on and I had a kit on the top shelf of my closet. Ken administered them to me sometimes, and sometimes I did them myself, when he wasn't home. He loved how it brought out my submissive side, how they made me squirm and moan with pleasure. He always laughed when I dashed frantically into the bathroom. He always appreciated a clean rectum to fuck.

But I rejected the idea, refusing for any reason to get off my hands and knees and possibly ruin my fun. Besides, the dildo said no. I was to remain right here.

I fucked myself on it, very slowly, inching back more each time until finally the tip bottomed out. I felt with my fingertips and discovered the same length of dildo sticking out of me that I had taken vaginally. Maybe closer to 5", meaning that I had 7" of cock up my rear. The length of the 9" dildo in the box.

I wondered how much more I'd try to force in, how much pain I was willing to inflict on myself. I knew from experience that I'd suffer for this in the morning. The pain would be high up, like at the top of my uterus, a discomfort that embarrassed me all day long, knowing its cause, and that I did it to myself. Having this thing up me would be so much worse.

I started to fuck it again, experiencing the feel of my rectum filling and emptying, filling and emptying, alternately stopping with the head clutched by my asshole, or pulling myself completely off, and then pushing myself back on again. I couldn't decide which method I enjoyed most. My asshole got more of a workout opening and closing, and somehow I liked that idea.

I became wanton again. I was more careful, of course, not thrusting myself back against the tip as I had done in my vagina. That orifice is designed for extended, rough-house workouts, where I knew my rectum wasn't. This was the reason so many gays got AIDS: the rectum was thinner and more vulnerable to damage.

I wondered distractedly what time it was. Craning my neck, and lifting up on my left fingertips, I saw by the microwave clock that it was 1:07 A.M. It struck me that two hours had passed since the doorbell rang. I looked around at the box. I thought hungrily about the monster inside it, waiting for me. I licked my lips, knowing my promise might be broken. I apologized contritely to my rectum and asshole, begging their forgiveness. My rectum reminded me what I already had inside us. I was becoming really sore.

"I don't care," I discounted breezily. "I'm having fun."

Finally, at almost 1:30 A.M, I forced myself to stop. I was sweaty and panting and verging on shamelessness. I had forced myself to take 9" of Lexington's length, doing it time after time after time, and I was now almost too sore to move. I moaned, placing my left hand against my poor belly. It felt bloated and rigid. It complained fiercely, decrying my stupidity. The worse of it was I was completely sober, completely straight; I had nothing to blame this on except my own self. At least Ken plied me with liquor and got me high when he wanted my ass. I had no excuse.

For the last time, I leaned forward and let Lex slip free of my ass. I crawled away, circling on my hands and knees to the other side of the table before helping myself to a standing position and then sitting down.

"Wow," I said aloud. "What am I doing to myself?" I looked at Lex, obscenely drooping from the kitchen doorway. It called to me like a Siren. I could hear its song in my head, luring me back, wanting to wreck me on its shoal. I wanted it to. But I wanted John more. I looked inside the box. "You won't be gentle with me, will you?"

John was too big. I remembered from the video the guy on his knees holding the dildo mid-shaft as he fucked himself. I had no intention of doing that. I wanted to fuck John, not the other way around. Just as I had done to Lex. But I also wanted to leave Lex up, knowing I'd switch back and forth between the two, vagina to asshole. (Yes, I planned to wash Lex before I put him back into my vagina—or my mouth.)

Out of his box, John was unwieldy and much too heavy; gripping him by the base, his head almost drooped to the floor. I discovered he bent in the middle as well, meaning I'd have a hard time getting him in and out of my vagina, much less my ass. And unlike Lex, I doubted I could hold him in place just be leaning against his head. I'd constantly have to be picking him up and repositioning him against my vagina or asshole. There had to be a solution. And, of course, there was.

* * *

Ken would kill me. I laughed, just thinking about it. Not actually kill me, but scratch his head in aggravation over the hole I'd put in the doorjamb with a screw.

"You are nuts," I told myself, giggling. I held Ken's battery driven screwdriver in my hand.

Ken disliked me doing anything to the apartment without his knowledge. The first time I'd hung a picture without his knowledge (two months after I'd moved in with him), he made me take it down again, plaster over the holes myself, and then repaint that section of wall. He had then spanked me for my presumptiveness.

"This is my apartment. Until your name is on the lease, and until you pay half the rent, young lady, you don't poke holes in the walls without asking me first." I had thought he was kidding, but I had found out otherwise. Now, since this apartment was half-mine, both legally and spiritually, I could poke holes in the walls all I liked. He would just find this particular hole unexplainable, that's all. Unless I plastered it up and painted over it, which seemed like a good idea. I still giggled, looking at it.

Actually, what I was looking at was the screw head. The hole was invisible beneath the width of an out of fashion red leather belt, screwed into the middle of the jamb through the middle hole in the tongue. The buckle end was wrapped tightly around John's middle, supporting him against the infallible pull of gravity. Ingenious, I if I did say so myself. Ludicrous looking, but ingenious.

"If it works for bridges, why not dildos?" I asked confidently.

"I'm waiting," John said in a gruff voice. "I don't like being kept waiting. Especially by no white bitch"

I demurely sat the screw-gun down on the table. "You don't have to be so mean about it," I mumbled defensively. I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Get over here, bitch."

I obediently circled to the doorway, stood there with my shoulders hunched, shivering slightly.

"Get off that nightie, bitch."

I began to raise it over my head but he tore it violently across the bodice, exposing me. "No!" I protested. "This cost a hundred dollars!" A lie; it cost me $33.50 on Amazon.

He ripped it completely apart, rending the gauzy red material and leaving me completely nude. "Noooo," I mewled again, covering up. He roughly put my arms at my sides.

"You call those boobs? I've seen better racks on a 13 year old. You sure you ain't 13, bitch?"

I shook my head no. He laughed.

"This is how it go. I fuck you cunt, then I fuck you ass. Lex over there, you gonna suck him, while I fuck you. We gonna have a good time with you mouth and you ass too. Here me bitch?"

"My name is not bitch," I complained. I yelped and skipped forward, holding my right butt-cheek. "OK. Ok. You don't have to hit me."

John laughed gruffly again, Lex joining him. I rubbed my sore butt.

"On you knees, bitch," he ordered. I got on my knees.

"Get you ass over here," he ordered. I got my ass over there.

"Lube me up good and thick. I gonna need plenty lube to fit that tight ass of yours." I lubed his front half thoroughly with KY.

Tremulously, I asked: "Can I wash John first? He was up my—"

"No!" he barked, cutting me off.

"Please?" I whined. "He was up my butt."

He grinned salaciously.

"Please?" I repeated.

"I like you sucking John's dirty cock. You afraid of sometin', bitch?"

"Dysentery," I mumbled.

"Disin-what? You dissin' me, bitch?"

"No, sir," I denied meekly. "Dysentery. It's a sickness you get from ingesting feces."

He laughed at me. I blushed bright red.

"Feces?"

"From my behind," I mumbled, mortified.

"I know where feces comes from, bitch. You never tasted you own feces before?"

I couldn't answer the question. He continued to laugh. "Go ahead and clean him then."

I hurriedly snatched Lex off the doorjamb and rushed him to the sink before John changed his mind. I snuck glances at him peripherally. He just continued to hang there and grin, enjoying my discomfort. I wanted to run and hide in the bedroom. When I had Lex spick and span again, I returned him to his place on the jamb. John told me to hurry my ass up. I did.

"Over here, bitch."

"Yes, sir," I muttered compliantly.

"Put you cunt right against my cock."