A Story of Jane Ch. 01

"I was shaking, and the room was spinning, and I was still coming a little, and suddenly he was on top of me. Somehow, he was naked, but I didn't know when he'd taken off his clothes. I only know that his bare chest was against mine and that this was yet another new sensation. I tried to tell him again that I didn't know what to do, since I'd never done this before, but I couldn't seem to make my mouth work. I suddenly realized that he was pushing his cock into me. I tried to focus, tried to preserve this moment in my memory, but when I put my hands back around his neck (I don't remember what I'd done with them in the meantime), he grabbed my wrists again and held them over my head. I was experiencing such a jumbled mix of feelings; my hands trapped; his body pushing down on mine; a vague disappointment that there was no pain; a new and alarmingly good feeling of being totally overpowered and helpless; that amazing slippery, filling feeling in a place that had never been filled before.

"And then he stiffened and groaned, and it was over. We lay like that for I don't know how long. Gradually, our breathing slowed, but he didn't get off of me, and he kept a firm grip on my wrists. The bed seemed to be moving as if we were on a ship at sea. Eventually, he let go of me, rolled off the bed, and padded off into some other room. The bed continued to rock and roll, or so it seemed to me, though I didn't move an inch, my arms still over my head where he'd left them. I felt very awake and very alive and very much in love. I told myself that I'd do anything for him. This was put to the test a moment later, when he sat me up and handed me a glass of clear liquid and told me to drink it. I told him I wasn't thirsty, but he said 'Drink it. Drink it all,' and I did, just like that. When I was finished, he put the empty glass on the bedside table, crawled back into bed, and gathered me into his arms. I nestled into his chest and tried to tell him what I was feeling, but he shushed me, and suddenly I was asleep. I woke up about noon the next day."

I looked around the table at the four dark sisters. "That was it," I said weakly. "That was the first time."

They all looked a bit flushed, but certainly not as red as I felt. Eventually, Jean asked "What happened to the relationship? How long did it last?"

"Only a week," I answered, tears coming to my eyes and one trickling down my left cheek. "It was all a trick, really. He used me."

"Tell us," Jean urged.

"But briefly, dear," Jo said, glancing at her watch. "Abbreviate a bit."

"The next day, he tied my hands to the headboard as soon as I woke up and made love to me again. It hurt a little, this time, but after he'd come inside me, he lay next to me and stroked me with his fingers until I came again, too. He kept telling me that I was a natural submissive, and he said he loved that about me.

"I couldn't believe that the dorm had closed and I hadn't gotten any of my things, but he said I wouldn't need anything. When he untied me and let me get up and use the bathroom, I noticed that only my tee-shirt and shorts were still around. He'd thrown away my bra and panties.

"He fixed me a sandwich and chips and a diet Coke for lunch, but as soon as I'd finished, I started feeling drunk again. That was honestly the first time I'd even thought that he might be giving me some sort of drug. He stripped me and tied my hands behind my back, then he started doing everything for me. He bathed me, gently, soaping me, rinsing, touching, stroking. Then he washed my hair, and dried it, and brushed it for what seemed to be hours. After a salad for dinner, during which he kept me tied, he sat me on a stool while he washed the dishes. He began kissing me again, then touched me and kept me on the verge of an orgasm forever. Then finally he took me brutally, and only then made me come. Again, he gave me a glass of what appeared to be water, and I fell asleep right away.

"The next day, he took me shopping at the mall and bought me a slinky halter-top dress at Frederick's and some high-heeled shoes that made me look like a real slut. But I felt like that way anyway, wearing just a tee-shirt with no bra. I couldn't hide THESE! They shake around a lot when I don't wear any support. Then he took me home and tied me up again. This time, when he brought me one of his "special" drinks, I pleaded with him, telling him I didn't need drugs to love him. He told me that if I really felt that way about him, I wouldn't argue. So I drank it. The world just seemed to spin away, again. I was in some other type of place, a place where I could feel everything, but where every type of self control seemed to allude me. He bathed me again, and this time he took a disposable razor and shaved me. But he didn't stop with my legs and underarms. He shaved me bare between my legs. Then he took me to bed, and tied me spread-eagle, and touched me, and licked me, and I came SO hard! And then he took me rough! He could be so very rough!

"The next day, he kept me tied to a chair while he worked on his manuscripts. He only let me up to use the bathroom. He fed me, and again bathed me and did my hair. Then he dressed me up in the new halter dress and shoes and took me out. It was to a party, and I just sort of hung around while he talked and mingled with some other guys. About an hour after we'd arrived, he told me to get my purse from the room where they'd put all the hats and coats and then meet him upstairs. He was with half a dozen other guys when I got up there, and he took the purse and opened it, taking out one of several little glass vials that he must have put in before we'd left the house. He poured the contents into a glass of cola, handed it to me, and told me to drink it. When I hesitated, he gave me a real stern look, so I did as he asked. I felt the old feeling almost immediately. He told the other men to ask me some questions, and they started asking me some really lewd things.

At first, I refused to even comment, but soon I was giggling uncontrollably. Then he really surprised me by taking my hands and tying them in front of me, then looping the other end of the rope around a hook for a plant hanger in the ceiling. He kissed me hard, and I responded as I always did. He ran his hands over my body, and really shocked me when he untied the halter and peeled the dress down my body. The other men began fondling me. I resisted for a few minutes, but I felt so weak and helpless, and SO out of control! They kissed me and petted me. One guy was rubbing me with constant, repetitive strokes between my legs, and I came all in a rush. I heard a zipper, then felt a cock, a big cock, bigger than the only other one I'd ever had, pushing inside me. I couldn't believe it was happening to me. They took me. All of them. When it was over, my lover led me out of the house, my hands still tied in front of me, and drove me home. My purse was full of money from the drugs he'd sold.

"It went on like that for the rest of the week. I was bound every day. High every day. Every night, a little glass of clear liquid, and oblivion. Another party on the weekend ended with another orgy, and another huge wad of cash in my purse.

"And then one day, it was over. It was just ... over. I woke up, and my hands weren't tied anymore. And he wasn't there anymore. The house held no clue that it had ever happened, except for the dress and shoes, my shorts and tee-shirt (no bra or panties), and a note in his handwriting, unsigned, that simply said 'Be out by noon.' The dorm had opened that day, so I went there and cried and cried, and tried to make sense of it all. But I had stomach cramps so bad by that night, that I had to check myself into the campus hospital. I had them test me for diseases, which blessedly all came back negative, but I tested positive for cocaine, opiates, LSD, and some sort of hypnotic. I was in there for a week; 'drying out,' they said. I never heard from him again. I never even tried looking.

"I haven't made love since; haven't even dated." Tears were streaming down both my cheeks now. "I've never told anyone about this," I finished weakly.

"You haven't made love for two years?" Jan said incredulously.

My voice finally broke. "No!" I sobbed. Jean put an arm around me consolingly and patted my hand as if I were a little girl in need of comfort.

"Can we use any of that?" Jan asked, turning to Jill.

She thought a moment. "Some of it, sure. But we need something current, something like a fantasy." She looked across at me, and I flinched, dreading the coming question.

"You do have fantasies, don't you, Molly? Do you masturbate?"

I seized Jean's hand and turned to her. She seemed much more compassionate, much more understanding than any of her siblings. "Oh God, no!" I protested. "Oh, please! Please don't make me tell about that!"

Jean shushed me with a whisper. She brushed a few strands of red hair away from my forehead and placated me gently. "Don't be silly, now, Molly. I know it doesn't seem like it, but this is for your own good. You know that you don't have a choice, that you have to do as we say. Don't you? Okay, stop crying. That's it. Take a deep breath, now, love. That's it. Now another one. Feel better? Now, tell us what we want to know."

I took a shuddering breath, lowered my eyes back to the table, and began again. "I have a rape fantasy. It's not that uncommon; I've read several articles about it in the psychology section. Most of them say it isn't really harmful, as long as I know the difference between fantasy and reality. I realize it probably stems from my ... my ... experience at college. I can't seem to keep from thinking about it sometimes. I've been trying to limit how much I've been doing it, though. I know this seems really ... strange, but I try to save those thoughts for the weekends. Lately, though, it's gotten a little more serious; a little out of control, I guess.

"Shortly after I started working at the library, I walked into one of the upstairs study rooms and surprised a bunch of Junior High School boys who were talking loudly, and laughing and giggling. They all grabbed their books and fled, as if they were doing something really bad, but I couldn't see any evidence of it. There were a bunch of magazines scattered on the table, Life, Look, Time, and some others, and I started collecting them to take back to the main reading room. But one of them felt too heavy, and sure enough, there was another magazine inside it; a dirty magazine. A really dirty magazine. I didn't even know such things existed. The cover showed ... well, everything! You know, both male and female. And it was evident that the girl on the cover was being raped! The guy was holding a knife. There are always publications in the library that we're throwing away, and we can take them home, if we want. I slipped the nasty magazine inside another one, a throw-away, and I took it home with me that night. Well, since then, I've sort of developed this routine.

"On Fridays, I close up the library by myself at seven o'clock. There's this little grocery store, just a block from here. I stop in there and buy the fixings for a salad for dinner, and something for the rest of the weekend (I don't work again until Monday), and a bottle of chilled white wine. I live a block behind the grocery, but instead of walking around the block, recently I've been cutting through the alley that runs beside it to my street. You see, there was a rape in that alley about six months ago. They never caught the guy, and I ... well, I ... I guess that ... like I said, things are getting a little out of control with my fantasy. And, anyway, when I get to the other end of the alley, I just cross the street and my house is right there. I go in, and put the groceries away, and make my salad. I have this special wine glass; special because I can get exactly six glasses of wine from a bottle. I pour one, and sip it as I have my bath, and all the time, I'm thinking about how I felt while I was walking down that dark alley.

"When I'm through with the bath, I put on this silk bathrobe, with nothing else underneath; then I pour a second glass of wine and eat my salad while I watch the news. Then I take my third glass into the living room and take out the magazine. I have it memorized by now, of course, but I still force myself to look at it slowly, picture by picture, page by page. It doesn't have any words at all; it's just sort of a story in pictures; very, very explicit pictures. In the story, a guy with a knife pushes a woman into her house as she's unlocking the front door. He forces her to strip, then makes her take his clothes off, too. He touches her all over, licks her, suckles her, and then finally, he does it to her. You know ... he ... he fucks her. Eventually, she is overcome by what he's doing to her, and she becomes a willing participant, holding him, helping him. She even sucks on him.

I realize that those are just models in the pictures, that they're just acting out the rape, but there's no denying that they're really fucking. I mean, it shows it, you know? And he really comes inside her, because it shows pictures of it dripping down her thighs after he's through. But I pretend it's real, that he's really raping her ... raping me. As I look at it, I start touching myself, but I won't let myself cum. I wait until I finish the magazine and the glass of wine, and I go to bed. Then I remember it all again; the walk home down the alley, the magazine, the way I feel as I touch myself, and I keep myself right on the edge for a long, long time. And then, finally, I make myself cum. I always go right to sleep after that.

"I clean house on Saturday, but I take out the magazine again that night after dinner, while I have the other three glasses of wine from the bottle. And it always ends the same way, making myself cum so hard that I almost pass out." I was crying again. "And that's all until the next Friday. I try hard not to think about it again until then; but sometimes, at night during the week, I just can't help myself. It's been happening a lot more, recently."

I fell silent. There was nothing else to say. I felt drained. These women knew everything about me now. Everything.

"Now, THAT we can use!" Jill said.

They were silent, flushed and thinking for several long moments, then Jan and Jill started talking at once. They were very excited all of a sudden, not about the sex, really, but about this strange "plan" of theirs.

Jo broke in to restore order at the table. "We only have 15 minutes before she has to be back," she declared. She turned to me. "Molly, you feel sleepy," she told me flatly.

"What?"

"You're tired," she said, making a firm statement of it. "All this emotional testimony has really drained you. You're really quite exhausted. I want you to rest your head against the wall and close your eyes for a few minutes. It will refresh you. You'll take a little nap, and we'll wake you up when it's time to go, so you won't be late."

I didn't want to displease her again, so I did as she asked. How could she have known how drowsy I'd become? She was really very perceptive. As soon as I shut my eyes, I felt sleep engulf me. I could vaguely hear the four sisters talking and arguing, but it didn't really matter to me, since I was asleep. I can remember talking in my sleep, answering questions; but I have no recollection of what they said or of what I said in return. It was all a strange dream.

Jean gently shook me awake. "Molly, I have something really important to tell you," she said seriously. I turned to face her fully, and tried to pay attention. "Just look right into my eyes as I tell you this, so you'll know it's true," she continued. "Everything that's happened here at lunch today, everything you've told us and everything you've heard, it's all unimportant. None of it is important in the least. I know you enjoyed meeting us, but besides that, there's really no reason at all to dwell on any of it. No reason to remember. No reason to give it any thought whatsoever. That way, you can just feel happy about getting to know us, and that's the only feeling you'll have about this lunch. Isn't that nice?"

I had to agree. I really was happy to have met them, and I readily told them so. Sitting on the table before me was a grilled chicken Caesar salad in one of those Styrofoam carry-out things. Jean got up to let me out and really surprised me by giving me a hug and a little kiss on the cheek. I thanked them again for lunch, gave them a genuine smile and, clutching my salad, I left. I had had a remarkably pleasant lunch break.

The truth of the matter was that I absolutely adored them all.