Plain Jane

The author would like to state that this is a work of fiction, and that all people places and events depicted herein are conjurations of my own imagination.

I understand that whereas some readers might find this story dark, distasteful or even shocking in parts I hope that by persevering to the end that you will find yourself rewarded.

"Poor Jane, she doesn't seem ever to have had a boyfriend."

"Yes, poor Plain Jane, she's such a shy little mouse. How old is she thirty something? I wouldn't even be surprised if she was still a virgin."

"Well Mary down in HR said..."

This was the snippet of conversation that Jane overheard when she went to enter the coffee room at her office one morning. Stopping at the partly open door, she turned then walked back to her workstation, hurt by the overheard gossiping of the women she thought were her friends.

What she had heard had stung her, of course it had, as such comments, which one is not intended to have heard, often do. Yet still, she managed to smile to herself. Not a public smile for all to see, those were strictly rationed, her outer demeanour remained unchanged, but a private, secret inner smile, a smile of secret knowledge and self-satisfaction.

I wonder what they would say if they knew the real truth about me? She thought settling back at her desk and keeping half an eye on the door or the coffee room. She waited for the office gossips to go back to their places so that she would be able to have a cup of coffee in peace with out having to endure what she now realised where their pitying looks.

So what of this Jane, the quiet office mouse, efficient, ever punctual Jane. Jane who would never look you in the eye when she spoke to you. Jane, whom you could walk past in the street without even noticing she was there.

This was Jane's perfect disguise, her cloak of invisibility. The impenetrable armour that she wore to protect herself from being hurt again as she had been so brutally hurt so many years before. After that she had worn this cloak of invisibility out of shameful necessity. Now it was a barrier of separation worn to keep her public persona far divided from her very private, deeply secret other life.

Of course Jane had not always been this shy mouse-like creature that was her public face today. She had been a lively, bright, scholarly and carefree teenager right up to the very day of what should have been one of the most important birthdays of her life. On that very day, on the threshold of the new life, where she would no longer be regarded as a girl but would become a young woman. That was the day her living soul was so callously ripped out of her by a man whom up until then she had loved, trusted and respected almost as much as the dear father who she had so recently lost, her own favourite uncle, her very own mother's beloved brother.

The day had started joyously, as any teenager's birthday should. Despite the dark pall of sadness that still hung over their home, Jane's father having suddenly died just three months before, her mother was determined that this day should be special; a celebration of Jane's impending womanhood. For this special day sadness should be cast aside, the house should be filled with joy and laughter as it had been so many times in the past.

The events that caused Jane to now think of this as the blackest day of her life started with a phone call,

"Hello?"

"Hello Jane, happy birthday darling!"

"Oh, hello Uncle Bill, thank you"

"Ah, now Jane. Now that you're a woman I think we can drop the 'uncle' don't you? You can just call me Bill from now on"

"Err... Ok.... thanks... err... Bill"

"That's better. Now, can you come over to mine this afternoon? I have something special for you that I can only give you here. About four o'clock? Is that ok?"

"Ok err... Bill, you know I always love to see you. About four o'clock then"

"That's right, see you later then sweetheart. Bye for now"

"Bye"

Bill greeted Jane with an avuncular hug and a kiss as he always did. Once inside the house he produced a bottle of Champagne as a 'Special treat for the Birthday Girl'.

"But keep it our secret ok" he told her "others might not approve."

Jane had never had Champagne before and the strong wine soon made her feel tipsy. After they both had drunk a couple of glasses, Bill told Jane that he would like to take some special birthday photos of her. Jane had no objections to his suggestion, Bill was always taking photos of her, nothing unusual there, and Jane, in those days, was quite a show off.

As the photo session progressed more wine was consumed, and at Bill's gentle prompting Jane's poses became progressively more risqué and revealing. It wasn't very long before she was posing almost nude for Bill's rapidly clicking shutter.

Jane had no qualms about nudity. Her uncle had seen her plenty of times playing naked as a child and the skimpy bikinis she now wore to sunbathe in the garden at home left little to the imagination. She had been brought up to believe that the human body was a thing of beauty and that she should have no shame in being naked. Her family were not naturists per se, simply regarding nudity to be a normal and natural state. Not something to be flaunted but being quite unabashed to see one another going naked, say, to or from the bathroom. Or occasionally enjoying the freedom of swimming and sunbathing 'au natural' at naturist beaches on holiday.

The effects of the alcohol quickly stripped away the few inhibitions that Jane had had. As she posed, innocently, yet quite openly displaying her burgeoning womanhood she had no idea that the 'something special' that her uncle had planed for her was to take her virginity.

Jane's head was now swimming with drunkenness so when Bill suggested that they should.

"Go and lie down for a bit"

She unresistingly allowed her uncle to lead her upstairs to his bedroom. Neither did it register with her drink-befuddled brain the state of Bill's now near undress and obvious signs of his arousal clearly on display. Nor did she give him any hindrance when he began to fondle her intimately.

His initial penetration of her virgin body came as a painful shock. But once the pain had passed she began enjoy the new sensations she was receiving and, with no thought of what they were doing might be wrong, joined in enthusiastically with their coupling.

Although, until just moments ago, Jane was a virgin, the act of sex held no mysteries for her. Once, and only once, several years ago, she had quite accidentally observed her parents making love.

She had been woken by a nightmare and went to her parents' room seeking comfort. On entering their room she found it dimly lit, and her parents naked, locked in a loving embrace, moving in harmony towards mutual pleasure. Unlike most children of that age Jane did not rush from the room in shocked horror at what she had seen, but stood rooted to the spot, enraptured by the beauty of the scene of tender mature physical love that was being played out before her.

And her parents, did they push her away, shouting at her in their embarrassment when, their passion spent, they became aware that they were being watched? No, still glowing from their lovemaking, they called Jane to sit beside them and explained calmly with candour and in intimate detail exactly what she had just witnessed. Apart from giving Jane strict instructions that she should never again enter their bedroom without invitation if the door was closed; in fairness the same rule was applied to themselves with Jane's room, which gave her a feeling of security when soon afterwards she discovered for herself the joys of self-pleasuring. Trusting openness became the hallmark of their family and no subject was taboo in their discussions. Better this way, her parents thought, so there would be no shocking surprises for Jane when she became of an age to take a lover of her own.

Quite suddenly, as if a switch and been flicked inside his head, Bill turned from loving, albeit a blatantly incestuous, uncle into a ravening lust crazed beast. He ploughed into Jane's young body with a violence that showed no regard for her comfort or pleasure. Then, his selfish lust spent, he pushed her away from him in disgust, and started shouting and screaming at her. Calling her "a wanton slut" "a filthy whore" and other such lewd and demeaning names. Pulling her roughly off the bed he bundled her down the stairs then threw her still naked, almost rigid with shock, out onto his front path, slamming the front door behind her. A few moments later the door opened again, the small bundle of her clothes was thrown at her, and she was told in a voice loud enough for the whole street to hear,

"Ok you got what you came for, so now just FUCK OFF you dirty little WHORE!"

Tears pouring from her eyes, her tender bruised and abused body wracked with painful sobs, Jane scrabbled on the ground gathering her clothes to her, trying to cover as quickly as possible her now shameful nakedness. Her bra and panties where nowhere to be found only the short skirt, t-shirt and shoes remained of the clothes she had been wearing when she had arrived. Her skirt and t-shirt hurriedly pulled on and in disarray, her shoes forgotten and discarded, Jane ran from that hateful place as fast as she could.

Arriving home Jane immediately sought the comfort and security of her mothers loving arms. She tried to explain to her mother what had happened, but she, her mother, vehemently refused to believe that her beloved brother could have possibly behaved in such a callous and dishonourable way. The argument, the first that they had ever had, became a fight mother and daughter screaming at each other like fishwives. Hurling abuse and insults at one another in a way that only two shamed and angry women could.

In that moment, what had once been a joyful and loving home, turned into a dark pit of despair and hatred. That same night Jane, gathering a few belongings and the little money she had, turned her back on the remnant of her once loving family and sought a new life in a new place a long way away from the town she once called home. The only glimmer of light in her now dark mind was the memory of her so recently lost, most beloved, father.

Weeks past and then another stark reminder of the rape, for now she knew that is what it surely was, she had endured. Jane discovered that she was pregnant. The new life growing inside her became a constant reminder of the shame and humiliation she had suffered at the hands of her own once beloved and trusted uncle. Spawn of the beast she came to think of the poor bastard foetus that was planted inside her.

Her life went from bad to worse when her pregnancy miscarried. Although the child that she had carried for those few short months had been a most unwelcome guest in her body, she was assailed by a deep sense of loss for the life that had first fluttered into being then failed inside her. Another great heap of sadness piled upon the heavy burden of misery that she carried.

Eventually Jane found the help, protection and counselling she needed in a refuge for abused women. So started the slow road to her recovery. Some time later when her counsellor asked if Jane wanted to press charges against her uncle for rape. Jane declined, saying she couldn't face to re-live those events through the process of police interviews and court appearances that would surely follow. And another reason, that she didn't tell her counsellor about, was; although she had not communicated with her mother, except via the proxy of her paternal grandparents, since leaving home, the dark hatred that she had felt for her had now softened and she had no wish to bring further shame upon her or her family.

Little did Jane understand at the time that by not confronting the pain and humiliation of her rape head-on she was denying herself closure. For the moment her fearful memories of that event were just being pushed into the dark, hidden closed rooms of her mind. This was an action that would profound effects on her later life.

In time Jane completed her education and began to build a new life for herself. Then finding a job and through hard work, diligence and efficiency gained the trust and respect of her employers, steadily gaining promotion and the salary enhancements that went with it. She thought of herself at work as a small but important cog in a much bigger wheel. Her cloak of invisibility that she had woven for herself during the time of her misery she kept tightly wrapped around her, never again would she freely give of the blind trust that had been so mortally abused in the past.

That was then, what of now?

Five o'clock, Jane saved the files she had been working on and shut down her computer. Saying her polite goodbyes to her colleagues she headed home to the modest but comfortable city-centre flat that her wages had allowed her to buy and maintain.

Having eaten a small but healthy meal, bathed and fresh, the dowdy outer coverings, 'sensible' sports bra, big pants and tan tights of her daytime self, long since discarded; Jane admired herself clad in the sheer, expensive, red silk teddy, matching, almost invisible thong, 'naked legs' black hold-up stockings and red dangerously high-heeled shoes, in the full length mirror of what she called her work room. This was the outfit she had chosen tonight for her 'evening job'. Now in her late twenty's she still retained the figure of what she thought of as a 'rather forward teenager'. Her belly only slightly distended by her teenage, unfulfilled, pregnancy had soon regained its flatness. Fuller now in maturity her breasts retained their youthful pertness. She habitually went braless for her 'evening job'. She only wore a bra during the day to reduce her womanly curves and so to help to deflect the unwonted admiring attention of 'untrustworthy' men. Her nipples, her second favourite feature of her body, thick and long they were and when fully aroused would stand out almost the size of her thumbs upon her rounded breasts. Her legs, still as long and shapely as they had ever been, and her pubic region meticulously maintained smooth and hairless as this was the way her clients seemed to prefer it. Yes this, she thought, was the real Jane, this was the woman the girl should have grown into if her development had not been so abruptly halted by the events of years ago. Now she could play the innocent virgin or the vamp to satisfy her clients desires, tonight it was the vamp, cleverly teasing these sad men to clock up the expensive minutes on their pay-site connection and to gain pounds (/dollars /euros) for her agency and herself. This was the way of Jane's revenge on all men in remembrance of her dirty rapist uncle.

Yet still this was not the real true Jane as more layers of alter egos she wrapped about herself. Tonight she would be 'Dirty Amanda' another night 'Sweet Baby Jane' her real name only retained because the pseudonym scanned so well. On other nights, and most expensive of all, 'Mistress Isabella' black leather and PVC was her outfit. Inducing grovelling and unworthy men to torture themselves through insults and humiliation was Her game. And when she wasn't doing her 'shows'; just one or two 'shows' a night and strictly by appointment only for these divas of internet depravity. As 'Madame Charlotte' she presided over the very best and most exclusive virtual brothel staffed only by the hottest, dirtiest and most skilful cyber-whores to be found in 'New-World'. Even then still chatting and playing on the side elsewhere, and by yet another name, for her own sexual amusement while she kept half an eye on her troop of 'girls' and their 'Johns'.

But I have leapt on too fast. How did abused teenage Jane transform the well-paid queen of virtual-sex that we now see?

Set firmly, or so Jane believed, on the road to recovery by her counsellor, she rediscovered her sexuality. At first her fingers satisfied her carnal needs but she craved more. The occasional nights spent in the beds of other residents of the Women's Refuge brought brief relief to her sexual frustration. But however satisfying lesbian sex might have been she still craved, the only once before experienced, and then only very briefly enjoyed, penetration of male flesh into the tight sheath of her own. Here was her dilemma; she wanted to be loved by a man but could not trust any of them enough to let them get that close. In the long dark nights of her loneliness she vividly remembered the vision of her parents' joyous loving coupling that she had observed so long ago in her tender years. But, her trust in men had been so totally destroyed, she could not see herself giving herself in total loving trust to any man as her mother had with her father.

Later on, now living in a flat of her own, she discovered, or should I say rediscovered the broad spectrum of life that is the Internet, in particular now the hedonism of certain 'adult' chat sites. Here, over time, hidden behind a series of pseudonyms, through fantasy, cyber-sex and extravagant masturbation she could at last begin to satisfy her wanton and demanding sexuality. She acquired a range of toys and prosthetics to sate her need for penetration, and with painstaking research and practice, driven on by the urgings of her virtual fuck-buddies she became a mistress of female masturbation even to the point of simulating with herself anal sex and double penetration using a selection of specially chosen toys.

Cam-sex?

Jane stumbled across this almost by accident. She was searching one night for new and different chat sites; her carnal needs always requiring new, different, more adventurous virtual lovers. She randomly selected a site that featured live, free webcam chat. Almost immediately she was transfixed by the sight of men openly even proudly masturbating and ejaculating to public view, encouraged on by the comments of other chatters. Women too, freely on display fondling their breasts, spreading their legs wide and publicly showing off while they stimulated their most intimate parts. For Jane this was a whole new level of internet-hedonism.

Jane bought a webcam and was soon joining in this newly discovered brand of internet-fun. Always careful though to obscure her true identity, the camera always carefully focused from beasts to nether regions, or her face hidden by a mask for full body displays. Jane's alluring body, virtuosity in masturbation and erotic display soon made her a star of several free access camera-chat sites.

She had never thought about making money from her depraved hobby until the e-mails from scouts for pay-sites started arriving; extolling the virtues of her webcam 'shows' and offering her financial inducements to be signed up to their sites.

These un-solicited offers gave Jane pause. She knew the power over men that she had on the websites that she regularly frequented. Her vivid dirty imagination and her public cam-shows had men queuing up to go one-on-one with her. Perhaps in some twisted and bizarre way this was a way in which she could regain some her dignity, making men pay to enjoy vicariously the delights of her body. Perhaps, just perhaps, she could get some feeling of payback and regain a semblance of the joy of her, long since shattered, youth.

Her business training proved to be a great asset. She scrutinised offered contracts in fine-tooth-comb detail, rejecting innocuous seeming sub-clauses which in any way restricted her statutory rights or any other rights or bonuses to which she felt that she should be properly entitled. Jane demonstrated herself to be a powerful negotiator and finally secured a contract that would reward her equally if not better than the chat-agency to which she allowed her self to be engaged.