Jean - The Birth of Venus Ch. 19

Jean and the Birth of Venus

Post 19: Nymphomaniacs Should Not Read Porn

This chapter took so long to complete because I kept working on other projects while figuring out how to write this one. I got overly ambitious. I had the idea of writing a chapter where Jean reads a pornographic paperback while flying home after her adventurous summer. I ended up writing half of a novel I titled "The Devil's Mischief." Even after cutting a lot of that material, this chapter is long. Maybe someday, I'll post the complete version of "The Devil's Mischief." I hated cutting out the section describing the torments suffered by the heroine at the Debutante Ball.

Currently, I am working on the final chapter of "Jean and the Birth of Venus." I have completed about half of the sections in my outline.

This story took place in 1976

No women under eighteen have sex.

There is no bestiality.

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Chapter 53

Somehow, I had managed to make my flight to New York. I slowly stumbled down the gangway, taking my time, hoping to recover from the multiple orgasms I'd endured during my long run. I was breathing hard, and my scantily clad body was sweaty from my frantic sprint through the terminal. While running to the gate, my skimpy summer dress had bunched up between my thighs. The rough fabric rubbing against my permanently exposed clit had overwhelmed my addled brain stewing in a combination of alcohol, amphetamines, and ecstasy. During the mad dash to make my flight, I had endured one all too public orgasm after another.

I failed to see the humor in my aunt plying me with strong mango margaritas laced with drugs before heading to the airport. At the last minute, she regaled me with details of her all too successful plot to obtain revenge on my mother and their parents. Of course, she made sure we arrived at LAX at the last minute.

When it was time to leave for the airport, my loving aunt gave me one of her skimpy summer dresses to cover my otherwise naked body. It was her final degradation and intended more as another insult to my mother when I arrived home than as an attempt to shame me. I was merely a pawn in her cruel game.

Once again, I was wearing her cast off, ill-fitting, bright-orange, floral-print dress without underwear. My jiggling breasts threatened to fall out of the tiny triangles of semitransparent cloth with every breath. Worst of all, the frock was sized to my aunt's shorter and stockier body. On me, the waistband of the short dress tended to rise with every step. If I didn't continually pull the garment down, I would be flashing my private parts.

The horrible garment wasn't my aunt's ultimate revenge. Thanks to my dear demented aunt, I was going home pregnant. If I believed her, I could be carrying multiple babies, each possibly from a different colored father. I was still struggling to accept the fact I was even pregnant. I certainly didn't want to consider my conservative mother's reaction when she learned I was pregnant with a colored man's baby. It was my aunt's marriage to a gorgeous black lawyer that had caused her family to disown her in the first place.

I couldn't begin to comprehend the notoriety I would receive in my small Central New York hometown if I gave birth to quintuplets in a variety of hues.

I paused before entering the big jet to pull my dress down to cover my bare ass cheeks. Just walking a hundred feet down the gangway had caused my ill-fitting dress to ride up. I was all too aware that I was stark naked under the skimpy summer garment. Thanks to the laser treatments, I didn't even have pubic hair to hide my sex.

The only hair left on my body were my eyebrows and the short hair on my head that had grown back a whole inch after being shaved earlier in the summer. Thankfully, my aunt had given me a long, blond wig to hide my shame. Naturally, she gave me one of hers that resembled the one I had worn when I had played Venus. Her wig was styled in a ponytail, and the free-flowing hair reached the middle of my back. Botticelli's Venus had flowing flaxen blond hair that reached down to her knees. The similarity made it harder for me to hide from my fans. Now I realize that was my aunt's intention.

At first, the stewardess glared at the panting slut, handing her a ticket with a shaky hand. Then she gasped when she recognized her last passenger. She checked to make sure I was on the right flight and directed me toward the back of the Boeing 727.

"Welcome aboard, Venus. Thank you for flying with us. We'll try to make sure you have a pleasant flight. Please take your seat quickly. We want an on-time departure."

I smiled at her even as I cringed inside. It was distressing to hear her calling me by the name of the goddess I had portrayed at the Santa Teresa Art Exposition. It seemed everywhere I went, people recognized me. It seemed unbelievable since I wasn't naked, and I certainly wasn't riding a monstrous dildo controlled by a screaming audience. The hundreds or possibly thousands of public orgasms I had experience had turned me into a sex addict. The summer had changed my life forever.

My seat number was 19B. When I saw that the seating was six across, I realized I had a middle seat. I hoped it wasn't the last row by the bathrooms like my previous flight to LA. I shuddered as I remembered how Manu, the Santa Teresa police chief, and his son had molested me while the mayor watched. By the end of that flight, my naked orgasming body had been exposed to the delight of passengers waiting to use the lavatory just behind us.

I looked into the eyes of my fellow passengers as I hurried down the aisle. One after another, I saw people look up and stare at me for a moment before displaying a startled look of recognition. I saw men poke their seatmates and point at me. Oh, dear God, was the shame of playing Venus going to torment me for the rest of my life?

Every seat in the plane appeared filled, mainly by businessmen wrapped in blankets and resting their heads on small white pillows. It looked like everyone on the red-eye flight planned on sleeping. I could have counted the women on the plane on one hand, and besides myself, three of them were stewardesses. Only a handful of passengers were still standing, but one of them blocked access to my seat. There must be a rule that requires at least one moron on a flight to try to stuff an oversized bag into the small overhead bins.

I fidgeted and looked around while I waited. The man in the aisle seat on my right looked up and grinned.

I returned his gaze and said, "Excuse me. Where can I get a blanket and pillow?"

He pointed up at the open storage bin above him. "There was another set there when I took mine."

I had to stand on my tiptoes to see into the bin. I quickly found a pillow and pulled it out. I held the pillow between my knees while I searched deeper. I finally located a blanket wedged under a carry-on bag. I pulled hard on a corner, but it wouldn't budge. When I felt the waistband of my tiny dress rise, I gritted my teeth and pushed up on the suitcase while jerking on the blanket with all my strength. I managed to free a handful of fabric and lost my balance. A strong hand grabbed me high on the inside of my thigh and kept me from falling. I squealed and gave the stuck blanket another jerk. I was rewarded with a blanket and a hand cupping my sex. Once again, I had suffered a serious wardrobe malfunction. My dress had ridden up, giving the passengers around me a free show of my hairless pussy and naked ass cheeks.

The man in the aisle seat chuckled as he stared up the bottom of my flared dress. He said, "Thanks, Venus. I'd recognize that pretty pink pussy anywhere."

I pulled my dress down as I glared at him and said, "Thanks for your help. I couldn't have done it without you."

The aisle was now free, and my heart dropped when I saw my empty seat was situated between a couple of big, heavily tanned men who could have played guard in the NFL if they were considerably younger. The bruiser sitting in the outer seat stepped into the aisle to let me in. That was when I noticed both armrests were up. I wondered if somewhere there was a file on Jean Williams saying I was skinny enough to fit between large sweaty male passengers without complaining. Of course, the man sitting by the window was wrapped up in a blanket and snoring. Just to make the situation more annoying, his bulging thighs were spread wide.

I sat down on what was left of my seat and was quickly sandwiched by my other travel companion. I put my purse in the seatback pocket before struggling to pull my dress down. I had to dig under the ass of my sleeping seatmate to locate my seat belt. My aisle companion was a gentleman, and he handed me the other end of my belt. I quickly covered my long bare legs with the blanket and tucked the edges between my legs and the suit pants of my hefty companions.

I felt a jerk as the plane moved back from the gate. The air vent above my head came on, blowing cold air on my overheated body. I felt my nipples harden and looked down to see them pushing against the thin cotton of my summer dress that was plastered to my sweaty body. I could see a pair of pink buds mixed with the purple flowers scattered around my bright orange dress. I quickly adjusted my blanket to cover my body up to my neck while leaving my arms free.

A couple of minutes later, the plane came to a halt, and despite the fact we hadn't taken off, the captain announced an on-time departure. His next statement was that we were twelfth in line for take-off. He expected we would have an on-time arrival at LaGuardia International if he could take advantage of the jet stream.

I took the opportunity to open my purse and take out a water bottle my aunt had given me and a paperback book my uncle had loaned me for the trip. The book was titled 'The Devil's Mischief.' The cover was illustrated with a white marble statue portraying the kidnapping and rape of Persephone by Hades, the Greek God of the underworld. When I opened the book, I found a twenty-dollar bill marking my uncle's inscription on the title page. It read:

"I hope this pittance is of some help on your trip. I'm sorry I don't have more cash on me.

"I'm sorry I had to coerce you into playing Venus. It was my first year as president of the Exhibition, and I was desperate to make it a success. You were spectacular, and your participation helped increase donations to the Children's Hospital to a record level. Cathy and I will never forget you. Please come visit us again."

A hastily scribbled postscript followed in a different shade of blue ink.

"P.S. I argued with my wife about her desire to get revenge on your mother by getting you pregnant. I gave in when she reminded me of the pain we had both suffered at your family's hands. I am sorry for the anguish this will cause you. All I can do as an apology is to offer financial support in the event you are pregnant with my child."

"P.P.S. I hope this book provides some entertainment on your flight home. Like your ordeal this summer, it deals with the despair of a young woman used by cruel men."

My uncle's confession dispelled any doubts about his complicity in my aunt's plan for vengeance. God, I hated them both. For the hundredth time, I wished I had talked to my mother before visiting my long lost aunt and uncle. They had been banished for a good reason.

I turned the page and found a long, tedious, and rather sophomoric forward. The book was written to examine the cultural motives for the race riots in the late 1960s. Despite my undergraduate degree in Rural Sociology, the book sounded dull. If the foreword was supposed to entice people to buy the book, it was a dismal failure.

I slipped the paperback into the seat pocket when the pilot said, "Prepare for takeoff." I closed my eyes and held my breath as the engines revved up for a moment before the big jet began lumbering down the runway. I blindly grabbed the armrests and dug my fingers into the padding. The plane bumped across the seams in the tarmac for far too long. I had visions of the heavily ladened plane rumbling off the end of the runway and crashing into the Pacific Ocean. I whimpered as I envisioned dying in a fiery crash, and my mother being forced to come out to identify my burnt body. I could only imagine the suffering she would endure if she ran into her hated sister.

My stomach dropped out as I felt the plane lift off. I forced my eyes open for a quick glance out the window. I saw a string of lighted runway posts in the ocean and breathed a sigh of relief as I realized they were rapidly getting farther away. The plane began to bank as we turned toward the East Coast and passed over the lights of the spread-out City of the Angels. The twinkling lights were so pretty that I would have jumped out of the airplane if I were in an exit row. I realized the crazed thought was an effect of the ecstasy that only seemed to get stronger by the minute. I shook my head in a futile attempt to clear it of the drugs and alcohol ravaging my poor brain. I was glad I would be sitting down for the next six or seven hours. What could happen sitting on a plane?

I began to relax as we continued to climb. I mumbled an apology when I realized the 'armrests' I had been squeezing were the tan, muscular arms of my seatmates. The man next to the window was now awake, and he laughed at my obvious embarrassment.

He spoke in a Texas drawl as he gave my blanket-covered thigh a firm squeeze. "Little lady, anytime you need an arm to hold onto, I'll be happy to oblige. Just ask for Little Old Hank. If I'm asleep, you can ask my twin brother Andy for any comfort you need. We're a team."

I laughed and thanked him before pulling the water bottle out of the seat pocket. I was happy when the top gave a reassuring snap as I twisted it off. I wouldn't have put it past my depraved aunt to spike my drink with more drugs. The ecstasy she had slipped to me earlier left me parched. I gulped down half of the bottle before opening the paperback book. The story caught me by surprise after the boring academic forward.

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Prologue

It was a warm, humid night at the height of summer in the small town of Saint-Denis, Illinois. The Milky Way sparkled like a diamond necklace across a dark sky. A gentle breeze stirred the oak trees lining the banks of the lazy Saint-Denis River. The only hint of a disturbance to the idyllic setting was on the far western horizon, where flashes of heat lightning soundlessly illuminated a band of far off cumulus clouds. It was the perfect night for the Devil's mischief.

Electricity in the air stimulated the bawdy socialites celebrating the coming-out party for this year's crop of nubile young women. The annual Debutante Ball's setting was the luxurious Saint-Denis Country Club situated on a bend in the Saint-Denis River. The ancient building's massive stone walls were topped with medieval battlements that looked lonely without Christian archers raining arrows down on an army of rapacious pagans. Unfortunately for the few surviving Christians, the ravaging barbarians were already inside the fortress with them.

Chapter 1

Sweet, innocent Stacy Bergman was a tall, curvaceous girl with golden blond hair. She was one of four eighteen-year-old girls presented at the Debutante Ball that night, but the melancholy girl found little joy at the celebration. Stacy was still grieving for her father, who had unexpectedly died from a heart attack in March. Her recent graduation from high school had left her adrift in a world that was utterly foreign to the strict routine at the exclusive Saint Agnes Christian Academy for Girls.

Stacy's deeply religious father had sent her away to Saint Agnes at age ten after a bully had pulled her pants down in the local public school playground. Her young mother protested vehemently but to no avail.

Stacy had grown to adulthood in a tightly regimented religious environment. She wasn't accustomed to having 'free time.' For the last eight years, she only had a week off for the Christmas holiday and two weeks every summer. This summer was different. Stacy wasn't going back to the warm comfort of her boarding school. She tried with little success to put this depressing thought out of her mind as she tried to adjust to living with her widowed mother. At least, she had her oldest friend, Cheryl, for companionship.

Stacy's mother, Alexandra, known as Alex by her family and close friends, had changed since her husband's death. Stacy's once respectable mother went out 'socializing' most nights and didn't return until late. During her day, which started in the early afternoon, the gregarious widow spent her time managing her daughter's life or running the family business.

Alex frequently discussed the merits of the local eligible bachelors. Stacy's mother fretted about her own need for a strong man to help her run the company. She also insisted Stacy would need a man to manage the family business after she retired. Stacy paid little attention to her mother's frivolous ramblings and buried her head in a book.

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A couple of years after Stacy started school at Saint Agnes, her mother did something terrible. The innocent girl was left scarred for life. Afterwards, any thought of sex disgusted her.

Alex had been so angry when she learned the only sex education the nuns had provided her daughter consisted of an admonishment not to touch her body except with a washcloth while bathing. She took it upon herself to remedy the problem. Perhaps, she also did it as a protest against her controlling husband.

Alex took her daughter to the Chicago zoo. Stacy's best friends Cheryl and Richard joined them for the day. Her mother arranged with the head zookeeper to provide a special exhibition.

When they arrived, an excited female chimpanzee was in a cage by herself. Stacy's Mom calmly pointed out the female's swollen red genitals and stated that the colorful vagina indicated the female was in heat and eager to breed. Stacy's blank stare prompted her mother to explain the female was at the peak of her fertility and only needed semen from a male to produce a baby.

At her Mom's signal, the zookeeper opened a gate separating the female from a cage full of screaming males. Stacy watched in horror as the males appeared to attack the female, who responded with barred teeth and spine-tingling screams. Despite biting several of the males, the female was overwhelmed.

When Stacy tried to look away, her mother yelled at her to open her eyes. Her loving mother twisted her head to watch as one male after another mounted the snarling female and thrust a bright red rod into the female's equally red genitals. Her mother calmly stated the male's colorful instrument was called a penis, which the hairy beast was rapidly thrusting into the female's bright red vagina. After a dozen body jarring lunges, two hairy balls the size of grapefruit began pulsing. A torrent of sticky white fluid flowed from the gap between the male's penis and the female's labia. It was like the male was using a pressure washer to blast his competitors' semen from the female's womb.

Once a male had his turn, he sat nearby and licked semen from his glistening cock until it was his turn again. All the males took the female a second and then a third time. Between mating, the female continued screaming and biting as the last male's semen flowed out of her gaping red hole until she coupled again.

Her mother laughed, "The hairy little whore enjoys sex."

Alex explained the only difference between chimpanzee and human mating rituals was the large size of the ape's teeth. All male mammals had a penis, and all females had a vagina. Stacy was in shock. She had no idea she even had a hole between her legs, and she certainly didn't want some man shoving his bright red penis into it.