The Female Price of Male Pleasure

The horror, the crying, the laughter... the sudden flood of emotions were simply too much for her to bear. She placed her head on his lap, feeling drowsy and wanting to fall asleep with him close by. "Okay, maybe it's like that just a little bit," she whispered softly before dozing off.

For once she was the one who fell fast asleep, and when the bell finally rang he carefully lifted her head off his lap and put a pillow in its place, before finding a blanket and placing it over her. And just like that he was gone.

Chapter 7

She was sitting on the couch with Marshal, finally feeling just comfortable enough to enjoy the view with him.

"Marshal?" she asked.

"Yes?"

She didn't know how to word what she wanted to say.

"I... I..."

"Yes, what is it?"

"Look, there's a good chance that I'll be leaving the industry soon, so if ever there was anything in particular you wanted to do with me... well, now would be the time."

"Hmm?" he asked. "I'm doing what I want to be doing with you. I've got you by my side while I get to enjoy the view."

And then just like dozens of times before, she became immensely irritated with him.

"Marshal, that's not what I mean. Look, I'm not stupid. I see the way you look at me, and to be honest it's really not all that different from how other guys look at me."

"Indeed, you are not wrong. Like other men I too can appreciate ideal anatomical proportions as well as other objective indicators of aesthetic appeal."

"Oh my god, Marshal. Stop. Just stop. Don't say 'ideal anatomical proportions.' Just be normal for a change and say 'tits.' Have you ever stopped to think that maybe this is why women feel so uneasy around you?"

"Yes, well regardless of their unnerved emotional states, the fact still remains that 'tits' is far less encompassing, not to mention vulgar. After all, 'ideal anatomical proportions' can also include facial symmetry, height, BMI, fat distribution and a wide host of other anthropological criteria that can all play a significant factor when assessing aesthetic appeal, meaning that 'ideal anatomical proportions' would extend well beyond your top heavy features alone."

"My goodness, you're such an idiot. Look, I just wanted to give you a heads up, that was all."

"A heads up for what, exactly? Whether this is our last session or not, I still hope that you wouldn't feel like you owed me anything or that you had any sort of obligation to do something solely for my sake."

She let out a deep sigh... he was by far the stupidest man she had ever met, hands down no contest. Then after realizing that their time together was about to come to an end, she took the moment to look back and reflect upon their previous meetings. How she had hated him at first, how he had asked about her first time, how she told him that she hadn't charged for it and how she even started sharing some of the other details. Then, suddenly realizing that she hadn't finished telling him the story, her previous flashback continued...

"And don't you worry one bit," he told her as he slapped her butt. You play your cards right and this video will always stay between the two of us.

She was so beside herself with grief that she wanted to cry; she couldn't understand why anyone would want to do this to her. She just wanted to run off into a corner somewhere and fade away from existence, if only so that her terrible nightmare could just come to an end.

"Hey don't look so sad," he told her.

He really didn't like how she looked sad; he felt that she should be thrilled that her short skirt had caught his attention, and used his opportunity to circle around her as he sighed with appreciation.

Feeling like a horse that was being inspected, she bit back. "So this is it, then? I'm just some peace of meat, and raping me is what's going to make you feel like a real man?"

Her feisty attitude made him want her even more. "Huh?" he asked. "No, no, no. There's not going to be any rape. I'm just appreciating what you've decided to display for me, that's all. And by all means, you've always been free to leave anytime you wanted."

She tried moving away from him, testing his claim.

"See? You're free to leave anytime, just like I'm free to show this lovely video to anyone I want. And who knows? Maybe it could even help motivate the performance of some of the football players at our school."

"Stop it!" she screamed. She couldn't bear the thought of those guys seeing her like that. "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" he sneered. He wanted her to take off her shirt and reveal those oversized tits of hers. He wanted her out of that skirt and on her knees. He wanted her to tell him whether or not she was soaking wet. So many things and yet... sometimes it paid to be patient.

"Well, let's see. Considering that you dress like that, open your legs for me and led me on all day only for you to get cold feet at the last second..."

She started to cry... how could this be happening to her? That wasn't at all how she would have described the events, and she hated how he made her sound like some cheap whore.

"Please don't cry," he told her at last. "What I want is quite simple. I promise to delete the video and not show it to anyone. But in exchange, I want you to wear exactly what you're wearing now at school tomorrow."

"Really?" she asked in disbelief. "That's it?" As uncomfortable as she felt while wearing the skirt, she still thought she could pull it off for just one more day.

"Yep, that's it. Wear exactly what you're wearing now, but with one very minor exception. Don't wear any panties."

She groaned as her face turned a very bright shade of red.

He merely shrugged. "Suit yourself," he told her. "Either don't wear any panties tomorrow or everyone's going to see those gorgeous tits you have there. It's your choice."

"Oh, and one more thing," he added as an afterthought. Although her skirt was already short to begin with, he still reached out and began folding the top end of it, reducing its length by another few inches.

"There. Much better. And remember, it's 100% your choice regarding what you want to do."

What I want to do? She thought bitterly as she left. I want to be able to sit down with something covering my ass! Still, she tried telling herself that she just had to put up with the humiliation for one day only, and after that it would all be over.

And unbeknownst to Tracey, later that evening he sent a group text to a few of the football players; in it contained the video where she was getting fingered, followed by a caption which read: 'She loved it so much that now I'll bet you anything she won't be wearing panties tomorrow :)'

The next day at school she did her best to not draw attention to herself, and opted to hide in the library.

"There you are," he said when he finally found her. "I've been looking for you."

Stomaching a grimace, her abuser sat down beside her and placed his hand on her knee.

"So did you do what I asked?"

"Yes," she whispered, daring to hope that her face wasn't as red as it felt.

"Excellent. Of course, I'll have to check to make sure."

"Check to make sure?" she hissed. "Keep your hands off of me, you pig."

He tried moving his hand on upward from her knee, testing her resolve.

"Stop!" she shrieked, desperately looking around to make sure no one was watching. "Not here," she begged.

"Fair enough, but how will I know if you fulfilled your end of the bargain?"

"I... I..." she didn't know what to say.

"Look, if you're so worried then just meet me after school by the locker rooms. It'll just be the two of us, so you won't have to worry about prying eyes."

He didn't wait for her to confirm the meeting, because what choice did she have? Later that day after most of the school had went home, she approached him. He used the back of his fingers to gently stroke the side of her face.

"You're beautiful," he murmured. Noticing a few stragglers still in the hallway, he beckoned to a nearby door. "After you," he told her as he placed his hand on her lower back. She entered the room, and it wasn't long before she noticed a few of the football players, standing as if they were waiting for her.

It was as if she had just been splashed with ice water; terror coursed through her as she immediately tried to escape. She felt strong hands pull her away from the door, which was promptly locked behind her, before they covered her mouth and stifled her fanatic screams.

It all happened rather abruptly; they held her upright with one of them holding her right leg to the side, while another held her left leg to the side. A third person held her from behind, covering her mouth and restricting any movement with her arms. Any one of them would have been significantly stronger than her, and so fighting against the restraints of all three was like fighting a wall.

Because she wore a short skirt with no panties, the effect was as immediate as it was breathtaking; she was fully exposed and on ready display before them.

"Mmm. You could tell that she desperately wanted this to happen," one of them observed.

"Did she? Let's double check to make sure."

Although she was crying and still struggling to get away, at the same time she also happened to be so wet that she was practically dripping. So when one of them put his finger inside of her, her body betrayed her with an extreme reaction, with her hips pushing forward to meet the finger. Her lower torso returned to its previous position when he withdrew the finger and then it immediately thrust back to meet his finger again when he put it back inside. Although he was very careful to just touch her moisture's surface and not go in deep at all, she still felt her hips helplessly thrusting in response to the rhythmic motions of his fingers, her legs visibly shaking as the thrusts gradually increased in depth and frequency.

They liked how they were only just getting started and already she seemed to be enjoying herself. And wanting to make sure that she would be 100% ready, they also took turns going down on her, licking every bit of the flowing moisture and even high fiving each other whenever her back would arch or her legs would shake uncontrollably. They got off to making her cum again and again, and every possible measure was taken to ensure that that happened. After a while she gave up trying to struggle, and soon found herself on her knees with her face down and her butt propped upwards.

Then from what seemed to be a far away place, she thought she could hear someone calling her name.

"Tracey? Are you okay? Tracey?"

As if waking up from a dream, she was suddenly back in the room with Marshal again. She put her arms around him, relieved to have escaped the horrific flashback of her past.

"It was so awful," she cried. "Please don't make me go back there again."

He didn't need her to tell him what happened because he already knew. The entire school knew. And it reminded him of how, in a certain way, they were polar opposites. Her core complaint stemmed from receiving unwanted attention from men, and his core complaint stemmed from not receiving any attention at all from women.

Incidentally, if either of them tried expressing their grievances then they would both receive vicious backlash. After all, their unfortunate circumstances were entirely their own fault. That Tracey had decided to wear a short skirt with no panties, and that Marshal was... well... ugly, annoying, creepy and had no social skills, amongst a very wide range of other faults.

"I hope you know that it wasn't your fault," he told her at last. "You were robbed of your autonomy -- of your right as an independent human being to decide for yourself what you wanted -- and as a result you missed out on the most arousing foreplay there is: getting to know someone first."

She wasn't sure if she understood what he was saying, and was only now just starting to suspect that she was very much conditioned with how she thought. Don't worry about being smart or clever, they told her. Your compliance is far more important than anything you could ever hope to tell them.

She looked up at Marshal. Perhaps it was merely the dim lighting or the precise angle that she gazed upon him, but all of a sudden he didn't seem as unattractive as she initially thought. She became intrigued by him... why was it that he never made any physical advance upon her despite having the opportunity to do so and openly admitting that he found her attractive?

Trying to put all the pieces together after reliving her trauma was too much for her, and it wasn't long before a distant ringing could be heard. And without another word Marshal bowed and helped himself out for the final time.

Chapter 8

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, and to her surprise, whenever she found herself confronted with the monotony of her retired existence, she thought of Marshal. Getting to know someone is the most arousing form of foreplay there is. What did he mean by that? She tried replaying their conversations in her head. Initially she thought he was being rude and hostile, and it only now suddenly occurred to her that every time he came across as hostile when was when she had lied to him. In a very sick and twisted way, he had somehow perceived 'hostility' from her when sensing a lie, and in his eyes he had merely responded in kind.

Getting to know someone first is the most arousing form of foreplay there is. Could it really be? That he'd rather not have sex with her at all than have sex with her when his feelings for her weren't reciprocated? You were robbed of your autonomy -- of your independent right as a human being. They first met in high school and then met again later through her work, and still she knew very little about him. What did he do for a living? What were his interests? Looking back she had to admit that they never spoke about him... for as long as I wasn't genuinely interested in him then he'd never feel the need to tell me anything.

Oh my god, she thought as an epiphany struck her. Could it really be true? She started to cry. A person whom she ignored and ridiculed as a teenager, only to hold in contempt when she later met him as an adult. How? Why? There were suddenly so many questions she wanted to ask. Despite herself, she suddenly missed him and wanted to see him again, and the worst part was that she hadn't the faintest idea of where to start.

He had never given her any contact information, and the company she used to work for didn't give out client information to anyone for any reason. Desperate and assuming that he had to live in the area, she posted a few local advertisements which stated as follows:

Seeking information about the whereabouts of a specific, middle aged male who goes by the name of Marshal. While I previously might have describe him as irksome, contemptuous, unenviable and repulsive, I still feel like there's unfinished business left between us. Physical traits can be described as follows: medium height, scrawny build, pale skin, long hair, oddly shaped eyes and super annoying.

And to her surprise it wasn't all that long before she received a rather lengthy reply to one of her ads:

Greetings,

I believe that I know of the person you seek, and to this end I must implore you to not associate with Marshal under any circumstance. Vile, malicious, manipulative, conniving and narcissistic, he cares only about himself and doesn't care how his uses for you will negatively affect you. If he feigns any interest into any aspect of your life it is merely so that he can use that information for his later benefit.

Any fleeting moment of wit, humor or affection that he might possess is merely thinly veiled vanity, and if you so much as pity him then he will relentlessly exploit this feeling you have for him. He's incapable of accepting personal fault of any kind and for any reason, and if he so much as tries to 'admit that he was wrong' then rest assured, it was merely a calculated ploy designed specifically because he's afraid of intimidating you by always being right all the time.

He perceives even the slightest bit of criticism as a very grave personal attack upon his character, and his number one defense to any accusation you could ever level against him is to claim that he has no idea what you're talking about, and if ever you try providing a specific example to illustrate your point (very bad idea), then he'll twists words, meanings and intentions in such a way that makes you question your own sanity.

And just so you know, I don't send you this message to scare you or because I make a habit of intruding upon the private affairs of others; I send it merely because I believe that it is my moral prerogative as a human being to do so, and so if you want to ignore my warnings and continue on your search anyway, then may God have mercy on your soul.

Best regards,

~Enigma15

After reading the message over a few times, Tracey replied.

Dear Enigma15,

I must admit that I was intrigued by your caricature of Marshal, and to such an extent that I can't help but openly question your motives; are you genuinely trying to warn me and look out for the welfare of a stranger or are you merely acting out of spite by doing everything you can to deprive Marshal of an interaction that he'd likely enjoy? For there's a world of difference between malice and altruism, and something's very wrong with your approach when this difference is not clear-cut.

More striking still is how, in response to an ad that openly solicits for the whereabouts of Marshal, you instead reply with a character analysis before trying to pass it off as some type of 'moral prerogative.' If you've had negative experiences with Marshal then perhaps it had more to do with the fact that you rate your counsel so highly that you want to throw it in people's faces as opposed to any legitimate character flaw that he might possess.

Warm wishes,

~Tracey

Very much alarmed that her message might have been misinterpreted, she tried again.

Hello again Tracey,

It pains me to think that I might have came across as sadistic in my first message. Perhaps if we met face to face then you'd be in a better position to discern my intentions? As a show of good faith, if you still want to meet him afterward then I'll tell you how to find him.

~Enigma15

And with that a meeting at a public venue was set.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tracey was lost in thought while she waited at a coffee table. While she didn't like to rely on other people's conclusions, at the same time she was still baffled as to how exactly Marshal could have elicited such an alarming response from another woman.

"Tracey?" she heard a voice ask.

A woman sat down in front of her after she acknowledged the name. "Hi there, I'm Lori. It's nice to meet you." Then after a bit of an awkward silence, she continued.

"So how do you know Marshal?"

The question reminded Tracey of how she used to earn her living, and while she wasn't necessarily ashamed per se, she still wasn't thrilled about advertising that part of her life wherever she went.

"How do I know Marshal? How do you know him?"

"Right, I guess I deserved that. Please forgive me for being so forward; I just never thought that I'd live to see the day where a woman was interested in meeting him and so I was curious."

"And the moment you learn of my unlikely existence you immediately try to change my mind? Tell me, why do you hate him so much?" she asked.

This time it was Lori's turn to get defensive.

"I... I..."

"You say that he's malicious, so if you really don't want me to see him then here's your chance to elaborate; what did he ever say or do to you that was so malicious?"