The Rape Machine

After that, I made a beeline for the kitchen. Without bothering to even turn on the light, I got to the fridge and pulled out a gallon jug of orange juice. It felt like liquid life creeping back into me as I guzzled the magic stuff.

With the juice still in my hand, I let my back slide down the front of the refrigerator door. In the darkness, I lay there like a puddle.

I snapped awake -- I had dozed off for a few minutes -- and heard Philippa moaning hard. It took me a minute to clear the fog from my head.

"Shit," I said to myself. I didn't want to have to deal with my rogue automaton; but I had to. I couldn't leave my roomie to deal with him herself.

When I walked in, Burly going stronger than ever. He was now fucking Philippa doggy-style, grabbing her hard by the upper arms and performing the rat-a-tat rhythm on her. Her t-shirt dress was curled up over her ass, and its scoop neck revealing her flopping breasts. Her hair was pushed over and obscuring much of her face, and she was making a high-pitched birdlike sound that went, "Ah-ha-haaaah!"

I slid myself in under her swinging torso, much as she had done with me earlier. Her nipples grazed my thighs through the cotton of her dress with every stroke. As she glanced at me, I said, "Are you done?"

Philippa put up the index finger of her right hand. "Give me a minute," she said before he rat-a-tatted and she responded with an ah-ha-haaaah! "Or maybe two."

I kissed her lips and pinched her nipples through the cotton fabric. "I love your spirit," I whispered in her ear, making her shiver.

Philippa climaxed, hard. I looked around the room. There was a door to a storage closet nearby. On the shelves were boxes of spare electronic parts, along with the vacuum cleaner and other odds and ends.

I opened the door and looked around. If I could work Burly around to the floor space in front of the closet and get my feet planted on his chest, I thought, maybe I could get kick him in there. Philippa would have to be ready to shut the door on him, though, so I started talking to her and miming the plan as she climaxed yet again -- or maybe it had been one long orgasm, I couldn't really tell.

"In here," I said loudly, pointing into the closet. She lolled her head toward me, possibly paying attention, but with her panting and a scrim of hair draped over her eyes, it was kind of hard to tell.

"I kick him in," I went on, hoping she was registering some of it. "You close it."

I looked at her as she moaned and shuddered deeply. "You get that?"

She nodded at me -- there could be no doubt that time -- and said, "Get this amazing, insane, beautiful machine of yours off me."

I came up behind Burly as to ram Philippa's pussy. I began rubbing myself against his back, touching my cunt and sighing into his auditory receptors. Sight, smell, sound, if it didn't involve those, Burly didn't care.

He began to hesitate, after a moment letting go of Philippa's biceps. Her upper torso thumped on the floor. Burly began to turn, and I started to back into my desired position.

"The door!" I yelled to Philippa, who was still breathing hard on the floor, ass up and not moving. I barely had enough time to lie back flat on the floor before Burly was on me, pinioning me missionary-style. The nerves of my pussy screamed at his reentry, but there was also something good-feeling under the discomfort that made me think that maybe I wanted to let him keep going.

I saw Philippa struggle to her feet, the hem of her t-shirt dress clinging to the slope of her freckled ass before it dropped down into a more modest position. She stumbled to the closet door and used the doorknob to support herself.

Getting the soles of my feet onto Burly's chest was harder than I had imagined -- thank God I take yoga. I waited for him to thrust into me, then I did my best mule-kick as he was already pulling back.

My hips groaned with the effort. That bucket of bolts was heavier than any weight I had ever pushed, pulled or lifted before.

But it had the desired effect: Burly staggered backward onto his feet, and his momentum carried him through the doorway. Philippa slammed it shut, and for a moment we looked at each other with dazed smiles.

Bam!

Burly had flung himself against the door, sending Philippa sprawling to the ground, but the latch somehow held. I got up and watched as the doorknob began, extremely slowly, to spin toward open.

"You gotta be shitting me," Philippa said, and we exchanged a glance that said something along the lines of, "He's like a horror movie villain."

The knob slipped back as, I guessed, Burly struggled to control the newfound dexterity of his pseudo-fingers. "Fuck this," I said. There was an old wooden dining chair against the opposite wall. I darted to get it. The top had a semi-circular notch in it that I had never really focused on before: It was perfect for tipping under a doorknob.

I wedged the legs of the chair against the edge of the area rug as the knob began to turn in earnest. The door started opening as I jammed the back of the chair in under the knob, slamming it shut again.

Burly hit hard against the door again. Once, twice, three times, but the chair held. At last, I allowed myself to relax, collapsing into the couch next to Philippa.

"How long till he runs out of juice?" she asked.

The closet door rattled.

"I guess we'll find out," I answered and lay my head onto her lap for a well-deserved nap.