A Knife at Lover's Lane

"Lick it," Spike said. "Like a lollipop. Suck on it."

She gave it a tentative lick, expecting a nasty taste. Instead, she found it salty and warm and not totally unpleasant. Jimmy's reaction as she licked again, more boldly, was one of helpless delight.

"Oh, God, Peggy Jean!" he wailed as she did what Spike said, and sucked on him like a lollipop. His buttocks rose and fell, thrusting into her mouth. "Oh, my God!"

"Go ahead and touch her," Spike invited. "Touch those fine titties."

She felt the knife trace a cool line down her bare back, and didn't dare move as Jimmy groped under her to fondle her breasts. All the times she'd thought about letting him do that, all the times she'd caressed them herself in her darkened bedroom, and now he was doing it, and it felt good despite the shame of her predicament.

Jimmy was moaning in a regular rhythm, one that matched the way he slid in and out of her slurping mouth. His head lolled against the seat back.

"You gonna come already, son?" Spike asked, sounding wryly amused.

"I can't help it, oh, it feels so good! I'm sorry, Peggy Jean, I didn't want it to be like this but … oh! … it's so good!"

He thrust faster, heedless of the way she choked when the tip hit the back of her throat. She could taste something new now, a strange flavor. Again, not unpleasant, but unfamiliar.

"Got no staying power," Spike observed. "Too bad. I guess you don't wanna fuck her."

"What?" Jimmy exclaimed.

Peggy Jean wrenched her head up, and batted his groping hands away from her breasts. "What?"

"Well," chuckled Spike, "that's what's next. After he fingers you some, accourse. And maybe gives you a nice licking, too."

"What?" Jimmy said again, this time sounding shocked and prissy. "Lick her? You mean … you don't mean … down there?"

"Ain't you learned nothing about pleasing a lady? And after she did it for you." Spike shook his head woefully and made a tsk-tsk noise. "It's only fair."

"Wait," Peggy Jean said. "Please. You can't do this to us. Don't make us do this. We're waiting until we get married!"

"Your fella Jimmy here has waited long enough. Go on, Jimmy. Feel her up."

Once again, Jimmy looked at her, mortified. Then he firmed his jaw. "I won't."

Spike poked the point of the knife to his neck, below the ear. "What'd you say, son?"

"Okay! Whatever you say!" squealed Jimmy, flinching away from the knife.

"Jimmy," she pleaded.

"Sorry, Peggy Jean, but you heard him. He'll cut me if I don't."

"You relax, girlie," Spike said. "Get rid of that damn underwear, too. Toss it on up here to me. Help her, Jimmy-boy. Those garter belts are tricky."

Tears flowing freely, Peggy Jean squirmed out of the rest of her clothes before Jimmy could follow Spike's latest order. All she had on now was Jimmy's class ring, still on its yarn cord and hanging between her breasts. She bundled her garments into Spike's waiting hands and huddled on the back seat, her body as far in the corner as she could manage, trying to make herself into a defensive ball.

"Lookee there," Spike said. "How about that, Jimmy? You like what you see?"

Jimmy gulped. "Yeah."

"Go on and have a feel. Make your girlfriend a happy lady."

Slowly, gingerly, as if he was expecting her to slap him, Jimmy extended his hand. Peggy Jean cringed away from it.

"Now, baby-doll," Spike said reprovingly. "Dontcha understand that this is your big chance? Here you got the opportunity to enjoy yourself, to feel real good, and it ain't your fault. You got no control over this at all. Me, and this here knife, we got the control. So you just put your arms down, and sit back, and let your Jimmy do what he's been hungering to do."

Shuddering, eyes tightly shut, Peggy Jean did as she was told. She flinched when Jimmy's fingertips touched her skin. He started with her breasts, unencumbered by sweater or bra, and his breath quickened. He squeezed like he was testing fruit in the supermarket, and Peggy Jean yelped.

"Easy, there, son," chided Spike. "Gentle-like."

Jimmy eased up. Once again, Peggy Jean was mortified to realize that his lighter touch was pleasant, sending little sparkles of warmth through her body. But when Jimmy's hands strayed down, over her waist, and reached her naked loins, she jerked and pressed her knees together.

"Aw, come on, Peggy Jean," Jimmy said. His fingers brushed back and forth over her downy blonde curls. "I don't want to do this any more than you do, but we don't have a choice."

Whether he wanted to or not didn't matter. He was liking it, she could tell by the eager panting of his breath, and in a bright flash of emotion she hated him for it. How come he wasn't fighting Spike? How come he wasn't protecting her? Instead, he was going along with it. Maybe, yes, all right, he was afraid of being cut with that awful knife, but she could tell that he was also relishing this unexpected chance to see her, touch her, do things to her that she hadn't ever let him do before.

And worst of all, his fumbling search was stirring feelings in her. Spike's words haunted her. No control. She wasn't letting Jimmy do this. She wouldn't. Not until they were married. But this wasn't about what she was allowing or not. Spike was right. She couldn't stop it, so it wasn't her fault.

Oddly, that struck her as a sort of blessing. She relaxed a little.

Jimmy's fingers probed around her groin. He was almost panting as he felt her up, again grabbing with that eagerness. As if he was worried that this might all end before he'd gotten what he wanted. His hand was warm, almost fevered.

"Where?" he rasped. "Where is it? Where do I –"

Then he answered his own question when his forefinger slipped between her vaginal lips. Peggy Jean bit back a startled cry at the invasion. He was too rough, and even with the betraying hint of moisture her body had created, it hurt.

"Oh, gosh!" Jimmy said. "Oh, gosh, Peggy Jean!"

She caught his wrist. "Jimmy, stop."

"He won't let me," Jimmy said, before Spike could say a word. "I have to."

"If you have to," she said, "at least don't hurt me!"

"Listen to the lady," Spike said. "She knows what she likes. Go on, girlie, and tell him."

If she had to do this, Peggy Jean thought, she didn't want it to be horrible. She wanted to salvage something out of this disastrous date, this nightmare on Lover's Lane.

"Go slow," she said to Jimmy, hardly able to credit her own words. "Don't just … jab at me like that. There's … there's a spot. A sensitive spot. But you have to be gentle. Here. Right here."

"But that's not the hole," Jimmy complained as she moved his fingers.

"Shit, boy, but you're dumb," Spike said.

"I am not. Here?"

"Yes. But not so hard!" she added quickly.

He sighed with a frustrated undertone, and let her direct his hand. Peggy Jean hazarded a glance at his face. Jimmy was rolling his eyes in annoyance. Clearly, he didn't appreciate being given any sort of instruction. He was the man, dammit. And evidently, the idea that girls could feel good in the same special way that guys could hadn't really crossed his mind.

Spike watched avidly from the front seat. His eyes met those of Peggy Jean, and he winked. She blushed hotly and looked away. Using Jimmy's hand the way she had often used her own, she stroked herself. Her thighs relaxed apart, and she felt herself growing even wetter.

"Now can I feel the real thing?" Jimmy asked. He sounded impatient, almost bored.

"You can do one better," Spike said. "You can put that tongue of yours to good use. Girlie, you go on and turn sideways. Hike one leg over here, and the other one up in the back window. Lie back and make yourself comfy. You, Jimmy-me-boy, get on down there and do your stuff."

Peggy Jean froze, but when Spike held up the knife – as if she might have forgotten it was there – she did as he said. She swiveled and reclined, and spread her legs. The right hooked over the back of the front seat. The left braced against the rear window. She was wide open and vulnerable, as Jimmy gawked down at her.

"But do I have to –" he began.

Spike poked him in the arm, the point drawing a pinprick bead of blood.

"Ow! Hey! Knock it off!"

"Do I have to remind you who's in charge here?" Spike asked. "You're one ungrateful son of a bitch, ain'tcha? When here I am trying to help you out. I oughta walk right on out of here. Trust me, son, if I do, you'll never see your sweetie like this again. If you know what's good for you, you'll get down there and make this worth her while. Lick that pussy. Use your tongue on the spot what she showed you, and in no time she'll be begging for more. Trust me."

Peggy Jean was quivering. She, like Jimmy, had never even thought about the act that Spike was now insisting that they do. Yet the prospect thrilled her in a dark sort of way. It didn't sound at all like the kind of thing any nice, good, decent person would do. Neither did what she had done to Jimmy with her mouth.

Jimmy twisted around on the seat until he was half-sitting, and half-laying on his side. His legs were bent to the floor, his head poised above her blonde curls. He wore a dubious, distasteful expression, and that bright flash of hate returned. What was he being so squeamish about? Spike was right. Fair was fair. She'd licked his thing. He owed her.

"Go on, Jimmy," she said in a spate of meanness. "Like you said. You have to."

He lowered his head. She felt his hot breath, and then the first clumsy touch of his tongue. He licked uncertainly, held his neck wooden. Peggy Jean nudged the side of his head with her thigh, trying to steer him over, but he didn't get the hint. Instead, she hitched her bottom over the opposite way, and his soft, wet tongue made contact where she wanted it.

"Oh!" Peggy Jean gasped.

"Looks like you found the spot," Spike said.

But Jimmy sat up. "Okay, I did it. I did what you said." He wiped his mouth. "That's enough, okay? No more of that. It's just … weird. Wrong."

"You didn't mind when I did it to you," Peggy Jean said.

"That's different. That's normal. Natural."

"You're either a prude or an idjit, boy," Spike said. He gave his head a sad little shake. "Well, can't blame me for trying. Believe you me, the women love a fella who can please them like that."

He flipped a small object over the seat at Jimmy. Jimmy caught it. Peggy Jean saw what it was and the nice slippery warmth that had been kindling in her went cool. It was the item Jimmy had bought in the drugstore, the one he'd so proudly displayed to her as if he thought she ought to be happy.

"I guess you may as well go on and fuck her, then," Spike said. "I did say you could."

"No!" Peggy Jean tried to bring her legs together, but Jimmy was in the way. "I'm saving myself for my wedding night."

"What you're doing, girlie, is what I tell you," Spike said.

Jimmy, meanwhile, hadn't so much as made a peep of protest. He had torn the little square open and was studiously unrolling it to cover his rampant erection.

"Jimmy!" she said.

"I don'twant to," he said.

"You liar! You do, look at you, if you didn't want to, you wouldn't be all sticking up like that. Don't do this, Jimmy. Let me up."

"But he's got a knife," Jimmy said. "Isn't it better to do what he wants? So nobody gets hurt?"

He finished rolling the condom on, and got up on his knees on the seat. He was above her, between her wide-spread legs.

"Please, Jimmy, don't."

"It's okay," he said. "It'll be over in a minute."

"I bet it will," snorted Spike.

Jimmy lowered himself onto her. He prodded around with one hand, found the opening, and steered the tip of his sheathed length to it. "Here we go. Oh, yeah. Here we go."

"If we have to do this," Peggy Jean said, "Please, Jimmy, make it be good. It's my first time. Make it be good."

"Uh-huh. Sure."

He fell on her, the motion driving him deep. Peggy Jean screamed, feeling split open, feeling him tear through her virginity and lodge entirely buried inside her. His face, suspended above hers, took on a look of almost stupidly sublime rapture.

"We're really doing it," he moaned. "I'm really fucking you, Peggy Jean!"

"Jimmy, wait," she pleaded.

But he didn't, maybe couldn't. He started thrusting, fast and forceful thrusts that jolted her entire body. Her head smacked into the door handle with each one, and the seat squeaked as her sweaty back slid against it. Any arousal she'd felt earlier was replaced by a swollen, scraping ache as Jimmy rapidly pumped in and out. He kept babbling as he moved.

"Oh, yeah, oh, baby, it's so good, you're so great, this is great, finally, we're finally really doing it, I'm fucking you, I can't believe it, I can't believe we're really doing it, oh!"

He wailed, his last 'oh' turning into a drawn-out exclamation. His back hunched, his arms crushed the air out of her, he shuddered like he was being electrocuted, and then he collapsed. His weight pressed her into the seat, trapping her beneath his loose-jointed weight.

She felt the thick bar that had been so unceremoniously rammed inside her grow smaller, softer, and limp. Her tender parts throbbed with a dull, abused soreness.

Jimmy heaved himself off her, and slumped on the seat trying to catch his breath. "Oh, wow. Wow. That was … that was incredible."

Spike, who had observed in silence, scoffed. "That was pa-theh-teek, son."

Peggy Jean curled up on her side. It hurt to move, but it was worse to lay there all spread out. She was aware of wetness on her thigh, and a moment of dread consumed her – had the condom broken? Had he made her pregnant? – but when she looked, she saw that it was a reddish smear. Her blood. Her virgin blood.

There was some on the condom, too, and Jimmy's nose wrinkled in disgust as he peeled it off. Underneath, his flaccid member was covered in white goo, but this he didn't seem to mind.

He opened the back door and stepped out, naked and holding the used condom at the end of his arm. He flung it off into the bushes, where visitors to Lover's Lane sometimes saw them mingled with cigarette butts, food wrappers, and other debris.

The front door opened too. Peggy Jean felt the car shift as Spike climbed out, and the rocking slam as he closed it behind him. A draft was sweeping the back seat but she barely cared. She could dimly hear their voices outside the car, but she barely cared about that, either. It sounded like Jimmy was getting dressed.

If he ever touched her again, she was going to scratch his eyes out. The greedy, insensitive bastard! He hadn't even said that he loved her, not while they were doing it, not after. Plenty of times before, he'd said it, but like he was only using the words to try and get her to give in.

And now that he'd gotten what he wanted, even if it took a stranger with a knife, what would happen? He'd be done with her. She knew it, in that part of her soul that had aged twenty years in the last few minutes. He'd say that he cared about her a lot, but that it wasn't working out.

She told herself that she was being harsh. It had been his first time, too. Could she really blame him for being so excited that he couldn't hold back? He did love her. Everything was going to be all right.

His voice intruded. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

The car dipped as someone got into the back seat. The door clunked shut.

A hand touched Peggy Jean's bare hip as she still lay curled on her side.

"Sorry about that, baby-doll," Spike said.

She tried to bolt upright and whirl around, but she'd no sooner gotten started moving than Spike was wrestling her down. He forced her onto her back again, bracing her legs apart with his knees.

Jimmy pounded on the window. "No! Hey! Get out of my car! Who said you could do that?" He yanked at the door handle, but the only response was the abortive noise of the lock.

"Let go of me!" Peggy Jean cried.

Spike snapped the fly of his jeans and pulled down his zipper. She screamed again, ear-ringingly loud in the confines of the car, momentarily blotting out the sound of Jimmy beating on the windows and shouting threats and curses.

"Calm down, girlie," Spike said. "I feel bad about the way he treated you, that's all. Just wanna make it right for you."

"Get off me, leave me alone, get away from me!"

"Don't be like that."

He leaned down and kissed her, claiming her mouth with his while his body held her pinned to the seat. One of his hands caressed her breasts, not Jimmy's greedy groping but skillfully, urging a response.

"You bastard!" Jimmy railed. He slammed the heels of his hands against the window. Looking up, Peggy Jean could see him, upside-down from her vantage point and distorted by the glass, his face a furious plum color in his rage. "Don't you touch her. She's mine! Get off her!"

"Easy, now, baby-doll," Spike murmured into her ear.

"Please don't," she begged. But the way he was touching her, the way Jimmy sure never had …

He put his fingers to her lips like he meant to shush her. When she opened her mouth to protest, he slid them inside. She reflexively sucked at them.

"That's right," he whispered. "Make them nice and wet for me. I ain't got time to do this as well as I should, but I am still gonna be so good to you, just you wait and see."

When his fingers, slick with her saliva, emerged from her mouth, he reached down. Down between their bodies, between her legs. He rubbed her with a slow, persuasive urgency.

Peggy Jean's next pleading outcry was lost in a helpless moan. Spike found that part of her, that spot, the one Jimmy had hardly cared about, and lavished it with attention. The heat she'd thought that the pain had extinguished proved to have a few embers left.

She could not believe she was in the back of Jimmy's car with a stranger, a stranger who had threatened her with a knife and made her do the most awful, demeaning things. And now that stranger was on top of her, murmuring endearments and promising to do for her what Jimmy hadn't been smart enough to do.

"That's right," he said as she moved her hips to meet the gentle coaxing of his fingers. "Let Spike make you feel good."

Jimmy ran around the car, trying each door, swearing wildly when they all proved to be locked. He banged on the windows, ending up back where he was staring down incredulously at Peggy Jean's face. She tried to turn her head so he couldn't see her, but Spike stopped her.

"Let him see how you feel. Let him see it in your eyes. I know you like it, baby-doll. I can feel how much you do."

She couldn't have hidden it anyway. What he was doing to her was stirring her into a surging need. The ache of Jimmy's crude thrusts had mellowed, so that now she was conscious of a wonderful pulsing. As Spike rubbed her, his mouth was busy on her neck, her breasts.

"Oh, oh yes," she breathed. "Yes, that's so nice!"

Spike shifted, removing his hand and positioning himself to enter her. She tensed, drew in a sharp breath, but before she could say anything he was easing into her with a slowness that made her loose that breath in a shuddering sigh. He felt so different than Jimmy had, felt all warm and satiny and …

He felt different, she realized in shock, because he wasn't wearing anything down there. It was him she was feeling, his skin, his nakedness pushing into her. But it was so overwhelming, the sensations coursing through her, that she only put her arms around him and sought his lips in a willing, hungry kiss.

Jimmy, gaping at the scene – the windows were fogged, but he could see enough to know what was happening – let out a bellow of pure rage and attacked the car again. If he hadn't cherished the car so much, or feared how he'd explain to his parents, he might have taken up a rock and busted the window.