0 comments/ 23048 views/ 1 favorites On The Street By: ZacNeuman Dianne looked at herself in the mirror and found a strawberry blonde face staring back at her. She repaired her makeup, accentuating her lips and eyes, to make sure she would look far more alluring then her present demeanor demanded. She felt tired and used up. She couldn’t remember a time when she had slept for eight hours straight and woke up feeling decent. In fact, it had been a long time since she felt decent. In any respect of the word or thought she felt like trash. Her dress reflected that. She had on a ratty pair of fishnet thigh high stockings and a tight red skirt which barley covered her well worn black panties. She had on a halter top which did not completely cover her ample breast. The bottom edge of the halter seemed to just flounder in the air just about at the lowest portion of her bra that tightly strangled her bosoms. The black bra straps seemed independent of her halter and were clearly visible at fifteen feet away. She studied the cumulative result and with a sigh, left the hovel she called home. On the street, it was just the beginning of rush hour and commuters were making their way home through heavily traveled, crowded city streets. She took her position on the street and began to eye the cars as they made their way, looking for someone who was looking back. Mary and Crystal were there working as well. Mary was semi good looking but Crystal was just seventeen and she would be hard to beat. Dianne knew she had a great figure and men liked her a lot, but if they had a choice between her or the seventeen year old, she would loose every time. A car slowed down and all three of the girls went to the passenger side as the man inside leaned over his seat to speak to the girls through the open window. A chorus of “hi baby,” “whatyadoing,” “needs a date”, came out of the girls mouths. “How much,” the man demanded? He was a construction worker and he had just come from the construction site down the street where they were building a twenty story office building. He must be a concrete man for the Portland cement dust seemed to hover in the air all around him. “Which you want, baby,” Mary chirped up quickly? “I wanna get my dick sucked, how much?” He was in a hurry, probably late for dinner with the wife and kids. “Twenty,” Crystal replied before the other girls could say anything. “Great, hop in,” the man pointed at Crystal and she opened his car door and hopped right in, spiting the chewing gum she had into the street. The car disappeared around the corner and into an alley nearby. With Crystal out of the way, things would be a little easier for Dianne. This was her sixth time out of the house today and she needed at least ten more before she was done for the day. Her hovel cost her a hundred and fifty a week to rent from a guy who did not take anything but cash. The plus side is that she could bring her johns there without to much trouble. The last place she had rented, through her ass out after she had been picked up the last time for trying to do an undercover vice cop. Not only did she get busted, but she lost what little possessions she had when she was unduly evicted. She was out of jail and had a court date for next week and she needed money to pay for her place, something to eat and a lawyer. She didn’t trust the PD’s office, the last time she had she wasn’t on the street for six months and the girls in prison are a little different that the girls on the street. She knew she was going to do some time, but she was hoping it would be a bullet, (one year), or less. She smiled at the possibility of asking the judge for community service for a reduced sentence. Mary had the shakes. She needed to get enough money to get her heroin for both her and her boyfriend tonight. They had a healthy habit of approximately a hundred dollars a day for each of them. She turned tricks and he would steal or rob anyone he could, anywhere he could to get what he needed for the day. It was going to be an easy day for Dianne. Mary would have to leave soon and it would be her and Crystal. Crystal never stood around too long before some guy three times her age whipped out his dick for her. A car slowed down and Mary didn’t even bother to make a move, she was hurting and she was about to bail. Dianne leaned into the open window, “Hey baby,” she said with a big smile on her face. “What’s your name.” inquired the driver. He had come from the same construction site and looked like he was a plumber. In the back seat of his car bits and pieces of copper pipe and fittings littered the floor. He had a pock marked face and was about thirty five years old. He had an overweight frame and looked to be about two hundred pounds on a short frame of maybe five foot seven tall. He smelled like solder and dust. “Does it matter,” she answered sweetly still engaging her overly big smile. The smile hardly reflected how she felt. She just wanted to lie down and go to sleep for a couple of days and rest her bones, and her tired pussy. She was sore and she wanted to rest and recoup but she had obligations to meet. “Suppose not,” the man chuckled a bit, “I like to get a knob job and some straight sex.” “Sounds good, baby,” her mind was disappointed at the thought of another dick insider her but she maintained a big smile, “a hundred ought to cover the whole package.” “How about fifty,” the man was in a bargaining mood? “How about seventy five,” she countered? “Well,” he seemed to hem and haw, but she knew he would go for it. He had money in his pocket and nowhere to spend it except in the local bar. “Maybe I’ll through in this,” she cupped her tits and squeezed them a little more compressed than they were, “while I’m sucking you off. Would you like to fuck my tits?” “Would I,” his eyes brightened up at the thought of that and he waved her into the car, “hop in.” She opened the car door and hoped in and out of the corner of her eye she saw Crystal walking up from the alley way shoving a new piece of gum into her mouth. The man pulled away from the curb and started heading down the street. “Take a left here and go down to the William Tell Motel about a half a block down,” she instructed. “Hey listen, I don’t want to pay for a room I just wanna get laid,” he said. “Don’t worry baby, it’s my place and the rent’s paid, OK?” “Sounds good to me,” he glanced at her sitting in the passenger seat. He skirt rode up and revealed her dark panties and the thigh between the stocking and her hip. She noticed him looking and she let him look as she spread her legs just a bit for a better view for him. “You like,” she asked? As she looked him over, she found him to be greatly lacking in anything a women would want out of a man. In fact, he was repugnant and hard to look at for any length of time. His belly hung over his pants and it smelled as though he hadn’t taken a shower this week. There was a coating of grime on his forearms that looked as if it covered his whole torso. She was hopping he would be one of those prone to ejaculating quickly so she could get back out and find another John. The thought of his massive frame and dirty cock inside of her was sickening. She was going to need a lot of lube for this guy and she was thinking about eating a shit load of aspirin, he was giving her a headache. Outwardly, though, she was all smiles and a willing sex partner. “What’s not to like,” he was drooling. Literally drooling, a thin stream of saliva was working it’s way out of the corner of his mouth and she noticed that beneath the mound of flesh that hung over his belt loop, he had a hard on. She began to pray that this guy would pop his rock quick and get this shit over with. They pulled into the motel and parked in front of her room. She hopped out and noticed the watchful eye of the day manager nod his head in her direction. He didn’t mind her taking her work home with her, it meant that he would get paid and that’s all he was concerned about. The John hauled himself out of his car and on short fat legs, followed her into her room. She closed and locked the door behind her and offered him a seat on the only furniture the room offered, the bed. The bed was a sorry affair. For working purposes she had striped the bed of its sheets and covers and had a beach towel in their place. Under the beach towel countless cum and urine stains from former occupants offered their aroma to all those who used it. In fact, the room smelled musty and had a heavy humid smell of human sweat permanently imbedded into the walls of the place. The man sat heavily onto the edge of the mattress and his weight caused a deep depression and put a strain on the spindly legs that held it off the floor. He kicked his work boots off and lay back onto the mattress and unzipped his fly. He pulled out his thick swollen cock and began to masturbate, “Get naked for me baby, I like to watch,” he commanded. “Sure thing, hon,” she said with a smile as she went into the bathroom and fetched a bottle of lube and about five aspirins that she swallowed dry. “But first I want you to put the money on the dresser for me, OK babe?” He grunted a reply and shoved a meaty hand into his pocket and pulled out his wallet and found the necessary bills and tossed them onto the dilapidated dresser at the foot of the bed. Unseen, this movement caused several cockroaches to seek shelter elsewhere. He lay back onto the bed and resumed taking his penis in hand and vigorously engaged in self stimulation. She picked up the bills and rolled them into a small roll and stashed them in drawer in the dresser. She had a small one pound coffee can that she put the days cash in and today it was starting to fill up nicely. She turned to face her trick and stifling a choke reflex; she smiled and began to move rhythmically to some unheard music, while she removed her halter. She jiggled her tits for him while still contained in the bra and he let out an “Oh Yeah, baby”. Next she turned her back to him and like so many striptease artists, skillfully removed her short skirt as she waged her ass for him. She glanced over her shoulder in a coy smile and noticed that he had succeeded in getting himself fully erect. She turned to him and got on her knees and pulled at the edges of his pants. He had to lift his mass up so that she could use most of her strength to pull his pants down and off his thick meaty legs. She placed herself between his legs and inserted his stiff cock underneath her bra, between her breasts, the head of his dick hitting her chin. She angled her head and put her mouth onto his cock and took as much of him in as she could. The bra kept her tits tightly around his cock and the saliva from her mouth lubed its movement between them. She massaged his balls as she was sucking him off and he began to pump his pelvis at her, fucking her mouth. “Oh yeah baby, that’s what I like,” he had his meaty hands on her head and was forcing her down onto him. His dick was plummeting into her throat and fortunately her tits prevented her from choking to death as this guy would apparently like. She tried to look at him but all she could see of his face was blocked by a wall of belie that was better not seen. He sat up and the wall of belie forced her head down onto his penis and she gagged. She put her hands into the soft belie and pried herself loose of him, having to unsnap her bra to do so. “Woa, big fella, let me know when you gonna move like that, would ya,” she asked with a girlish lilt in her voice? She maintained his erection by running her hand along his shaft and with the other hand holding back some of the belie she was able to suck the head of his dick. While she worked this way he removed his dirty t shirt and tossed it to one side. He had almost no hair on his body, just ripples of fat that jiggled as he moved. His pudgy cheeks were flushed red from the heat inside and his breathing sounded like something strained through a thick filter. She was hoping he wouldn’t have a fucking hear attack on her. A guy this big would take hours to move out of here. He reached down and partly pulling her hair and lifting her by her chin raised her to her feet. She put her hands on his shoulders and shoved him back onto the bed falling on top of him. She did this with a girlish giggle reserved for her ugliest clients, it always made them feel special, kind of like she actually liked them. He began to slobber all over her tits, biting and sucking her nipples like a starving man at a banquet. She cradled his head and let him go to town while she reached behind her to find his penis and stroke it. She found him and grabbed him and pulled on his cock a bit. Then she placed a hand on his chest and laid him flat while she used the head of his dick to slide along the outside of her panties and give him an idea of where he was going next. She got off of him and retrieved the bottle of lube and liberally coated his erection with it. “Thank God for lube” she thought. She slid her panties off and tossed them onto the top of the dresser and crawled onto the bed straddling him. She had to still work him inside her sore pussy but thanks to the slickness of the lube it was a lot easier on her. She started to move herself along his shaft as he bucked himself into her with all his might. She could not lay on top of him due to his belie and had to sit on him in a squat and rise and lower herself using her legs. He had a tight grip on her left breast which caused her a little pain and he also had a hold on her right knee cap as she moved on him. He was grunting with his own pleasure making sounds resembling hogs at feeding time. He began to dig himself into her with a vengeance and the slapping sound of her lubed pussy smacking against his abdomen became fast and furious. “Cum for me baby, cum for me,” she encouraged him. His sounds increased in intensity and she could see his face contorted and reddened from his effort. She held herself in mid squat as he pounded himself into her pussy. Every lunge inside of her a spike of pain to her already sore pussy. He reached a fevered pitch and she thought that the aspirin was not working very well. Then he pulled her to one side by her left tit and tossed her onto the mattress. He got to his knees and took hold of each leg and dropped her sore pussy onto his stiff cock and rutted her. “Oh Yeah, cum for me baby, cum for me,” she wished he would blow his shit already. He made a gurgling sound and she felt a stream of cum inside of her. He pulled himself out of her and with the aid of his hand shot the rest of his cum from clit to tit. “You did good, baby,” she said. They always like to hear that. “Oh what a cunt,” came his reply. “Your one nice bitch, you know that.” He asked her. “Why thank you,” she said sweetly, “cum again, anytime.” He got off the bed and retrieved his clothes and dressed in less than two minutes. “I may see ya next pay day, you gonna be around,” he asked her. “Just look for me on the street, If I’m here, I’m there.” She advised him. “Great, see ya then,” and with that he let himself out and she heard the car start up and drive away. She rolled off the bed, cum running down her tits and stomach, and walked into the bathroom. She found the only towel there and it had been used a lot today. It was crusty with dried semen and she wiped herself down with it. She carefully wiped between her legs because she was a lot sorer now then when she had started. She smoked a cigarette and rested for a few minutes. Rush hour did not last for ever and she had to get herself together for another John. She dressed herself and stared in the mirror and repaired her makeup once again and headed for the door. “God I hope the next fucker just wants his cock sucked,” she thought. Zjn 11/02 On the Street Hello ~ How are you!? I've missed you! This is a super fun one, I'm on vacation and miss you terribly, I sneak away just to let you know how much! I hope you like it! Enjoy! XXOO Angel * * * * * Click Here to listen: .mp3 format or .ogg format. (12 min/mp3) * * * * * On The Street Where You Live The summer he turned eighteen, Paul was working two jobs, a part-time gig in a bar and doing gardens, the latter taking him mostly to the suburbs on the eastern outskirts of town. One of his main sources of work was an estate called Ellismore, a nice middle-class enclave where garden quality and maintenance was of critical importance to the residents. For him, however, the attraction in working this particular beat was not simply financial. Ellismore was where Jane lived. Jane was the Guidance Counsellor at the secondary school that he had left for good just a few weeks before. Over the course of the five years he had spent there, via a process akin to the action of a slow poison, she had become his obsession. A fleshy brunette in her early thirties, she was a pleasant looking if unremarkable woman. Her dark, feline eyes were her best feature but her most prominent was an aquiline nose that dominated her face and made her appear sterner than the easy-going person she was in reality. Why her rather than one of the other more conventionally beautiful female faculty members? He couldn't explain it. Those women were better looking but they all lacked a mysterious and fascinating something that Jane, alone out of all of them, possessed in abundance. When he sat opposite her in her office, sitting in one of the two high backed chairs she used for one-on-one sessions with pupils, Paul wondered if she knew what she was doing to him. She was so close. He could smell her almond scent, see the hem of her bra through the sheer blouses she used to wear. She liked red lipstick and nail varnish, tight jeans and thick gold jewellery, patent leather shoes and polo neck sweaters stretched to agonizing tautness about her breasts. He knew that one of her rings was a wedding ring and that she was the mother of a young son but none of that mattered to him. It was her body that preoccupied him, the sweet promise contained in her flesh, her breasts, her cunt... The fantasy Jane he concocted loved to fuck. She fucked with relish and with a lack of guilt that was the defining characteristic of his idea of a modern, independent woman. There was nothing she wouldn't have tried, he reckoned -- other women, double penetration, gang-bangs. He imagined a procession of lovers she had taken in the years before her marriage and which, for all he knew, she was still enjoying. Her husband he had down as a habitual cuckold, a no-man whose only gratification came from watching his wife getting fucked by men who, unlike him, were fully capable of performing the deed. If she was aware of the effect she had upon him, then she made a good job of concealing it. Their relationship remained cordial but professional and it was only in the extravagant world of his fantasies that he could show her how he really felt... Jane and her husband looked after their own garden so they weren't in need of his services. But when he was in Ellismore, it was enough for him to be close to her, to watch her as she came and went in her burgundy Corolla, unloading bags of shopping from the boot or extracting her son and his paraphernalia from the back seat. Once or twice she spotted him and waved but for the most part, she remained oblivious to his presence. Her house fascinated him. He monitored it incessantly as he sweated in her neighbours' gardens. He willed x-ray vision on himself so that he might see through the walls and observe the small details of her daily life. It didn't have to be sexual. He would have been content to watch her sort through the washing or talk on the phone; peel vegetables or sit in silence, an upturned novel in her lap, peering through the window at the boy -- what was his name again? -- working in the garden of the house opposite. She and her son had the house to themselves every day of the summer. The generous break was one of the perks of her career. Her husband, on the other hand, who worked as an actuary, had no such luck. He left the house every morning at half eight and returned between half five and six, greeted at the door every time by his beautiful wife and son. What happened once the door shut? Dinner, junior's bedtime and when she came back down, having settled the child, he was waiting for her on the couch in the front room, his cock already hard inside his pants. Except it was no longer her husband. Lying in bed, achingly erect on the edge of sleep, Paul watched from the sofa in her front room as she walked towards him unbuttoning her blouse, her lips moist and smiling... * Paul was in Ellismore that morning to finish off a job from the previous day. He was glad that there wasn't much to be done. Even though it was only nine o'clock, it was obvious that the day was going to be punishingly hot. Up the street from the garden where he was working, he could see Jane's car parked in the driveway outside her house. The two previous days, she and the child had left at ten and returned in the afternoon. He was curious to see if she was conforming to a routine. Though he had fantasized many times about creeping her house, it was only since the day before that he had felt the new and irresistible need that had arisen within him, one whose prompting was impossible to ignore. He worked out a timeframe: she was gone from ten to three, say. He'd be finished up at half ten. Providing he could find a way in, that gave him four hours. Four hours alone in her house...already he saw himself fingering her clothes, smelling the sheets where she slept. He could take a souvenir, he thought. Something small but intimate, something she wouldn't notice was missing. An old sock or a pair of knickers...it didn't matter as long as it was hers. He wiped the sweat from his face and checked his watch. Nine fifty. His cock was so hard with anticipation that he found it difficult to stand still. Any notion of the sleaziness, or, indeed, the illegality of what he was contemplating was powerless in the face of the violence of his urges. He prayed that she would come out and she did, just after ten, dressed in a pair of cut-off jeans that ended just above her knees and a green short-sleeved blouse, her eyes hidden behind a pair of shades. Her son clutched one of her hands while in the other, she carried a gym bag with a rolled up beach towel on top. An identical MO to the previous two days. They would be going to the lake, he decided. The boy could paddle while Jane deepened the colour of flesh that was already deliciously brown. She waved at him as she drove past and he waved back with a trembling hand. As soon as he was finished, he left the estate via a gap in the ditch that bordered a green space between Jane's house and her left hand neighbour's. On the other side was a field that granted access to the back wall of Jane's garden. He scanned the terrain. Not a sinner in sight. The breezeblock wall he sought was thickly covered with ivy and, after a final wary look around, he buried his hands in the greenery, using it to hoist himself up. He paused at the summit, flattening himself among the cold leaves. Directly below was a small shrubbery and beyond this, a neat, toy-strewn lawn. He dropped down and made his way carefully through the bushes before sprinting towards the white pebble-dashed kitchen extension at the rear of the house. The back door was locked but when he checked the window, he found that it was only loosely secured from the inside by its bottom latch. He popped the latter with the aid of a plastic wall tie he had brought along and heaved his way inside on to the sink, taking care not to upset the washed up breakfast plates on the draining board as he climbed down on to the floor. His breath was shallow and his bowels in turmoil as he stood there, frozen in the clock-ticking stillness. He took in his surroundings...a table and chairs in the centre of the room, a glass-fronted dresser against the right hand wall containing ornaments and ceremonial china, a white painted door in the wall opposite. With each item he noted, he felt a mounting sensation, equal parts panic and euphoria, as he came to terms with the enormity of the fact of where he was and what he was doing. "Jane's house...I'm in Jane's house." He breathed in the same cool air she had breathed earlier that same morning, aroused by the hint of her recent physical presence. And there was more, the white residue of her wiped mouth upon the sleeve of a familiar blue cardigan that was hanging among the aprons on a set of hooks on the back of the door. He probed the stain with his tongue to see what she tasted like, a drop of come leaking from the tip of his cock. Her wet mouth, her wet cunt...He dropped the sleeve before the urge to masturbate into it became overwhelming. It was too soon. There was a whole house to explore... Beyond the kitchen door was a tiled hallway that ran parallel to the staircase. He stopped to examine an airbrushed family portrait hanging on the right-hand wall. Both husband's and wife's smiles looked forced, he thought. The boy looked terrified. Jane, who was sitting, held the child in her lap. She was wearing a red and white striped dress that he had never seen before, reminding him that upstairs, in her bedroom, was the treasure chest of her wardrobe. His hand left a trail of sweat on the bannister on the way up the stairs. Every creaking board sounded like an iceberg shearing off a portion of itself. And an adrenaline-induced need to shit, one that had been building in intensity since he had climbed through the window, had become critical. Unable to hold out any longer, he emptied his bowels in the bathroom upstairs, hoping to God that the poisonous stench would have cleared by the time Jane returned. Even Glade was useless. Wincing at the racket made by the toilet's flush, he examined a laundry basket by the door. It was empty except for a man's white shirt and a pair of pink cotton knickers that he drew forth as if they were a holy relic. His fingers shook as they explored the tired elastic of the waistband, the stiffness of the bleached gusset, the faint brown line at their rear. He put them on his face like a mask...There. There it was, in the midst of the funk of her arse and cunt, the scent of almonds, conjuring up a bombardment of images -- her aroused cunt moistening the fabric that enveloped it, the undulation of her arse cheeks beneath skintight denim, her tongue sliding over his and into his mouth... He groaned her name and unzipped himself, wrapping the knickers around the tip of his cock and, almost immediately, shot the most blissful load of his life up to that point. The cotton became dark and slimy with hot come as his juices finally mingled with hers. His face looked back at him from the mirror above the sink, slack-jawed as an idiot's. He hadn't wanted to come so soon but Jane had made it impossible not to. The joy he had felt on entering the house surged up again. He wiped the last drops of cum from his cock and stuffed the balled up knickers into his pocket. What else did she have to show him? Her bedroom was different to how he had imagined it. The fantasy version, where they had fucked on countless occasions, was always dim. A nostalgic wrinkle in his fantasizing had added window shutters and candlelight but it was a place where past and future were meaningless. Their fucking took place in an intense and eternally frozen present, devoid of all realism. So familiar to him was the imaginary space that, for a few seconds after opening the door, he had difficulty accepting that what confronted him was actually the real thing. Beige carpet, soft aquamarine walls, cream built-in wardrobes, a double bed bearing a navy-blue covered quilt and flanked by two identical lockers...It couldn't be the place. It looked like his parents' room. The air inside was dense with heat, alive with trapped dust. He inhaled the smell of old sweat, the mustiness of sloughed off, sunburned flesh, a candied glut of cosmetics. His cock began to stir again as he touched the items on the dressing table in a space between two wardrobes. He sprayed some Calvin Klein on to the back of his hand before extending the glans of a tube of crimson lipstick and unzipping his fly. Jane... He wrote the name in fat, red letters upon his cock, then untangled a necklace of black beads, one he remembered her wearing many times in school, from its fellows in a small wooden box of costume jewellery and wrapped it around his hand. There was an old black and white passport photo of her in the bottom corner of the mirror behind a decorative spray of feathers arranged in a terracotta vase. Would he have desired the girl who looked back at him as much as he did the woman she had become? Her hair was long and she bore the last traces of adolescent acne upon her chin and around her mouth. In all his years beneath her spell, he had never considered how she might have been as a virgin and the thought excited him. The fist of beads felt good upon his cock, bearing an echo of the harsh initiation that he decided had been hers. She would have discovered early on the brutality of men's appetites. He saw her taken by an older man, a figure of authority -- one of her university lecturers, perhaps, or maybe an untouchable member of her family's caste, one who was permitted to fuck with impunity thanks to his unimpeachable social status. But rather than being repulsed, Jane would have learned immediately how to cater to the beast and how to utilise its cruelty for her own pleasure. Droplets of sweat fell from his forehead on to the dressing table as his delirium intensified. With madness came daring and he toyed with several plans, each one more far-fetched than the last -- how he would leave his next load of come on her pillow; don a mask, dress up in her underwear and wait for her to return before fucking her on the floor of the hall; kidnap her and take her to some undetermined location where he would train her to be his personal whore. Of course, none of that was going to happen but, thanks to the step into the unknown that he had taken by entering her house, he now had a sense that anything was possible. He opened the drawer beneath the dressing table and reached out for a pair of neatly folded tan nylons. And then everything went black... * The pain came first, an intolerable pulsing whose goal appeared to be the sundering of his skull, followed by the dawning of consciousness. Indistinct and vibrating shapes resolved themselves, as did a range of mysterious sensations -- a feeling of constriction, a stickiness at the back of his neck. His lips were thick with congealed saliva but he was unable to raise a hand to wipe them and trying to do so only intensified the sheet metal ache that cut from shoulder to shoulder through his entire upper body. Gradually an unfamiliar room came into focus. He saw that he was laid out lengthwise on a sofa and suddenly, he recalled where he had been before...what? What the fuck had happened? He tried to move but the pain came again, this time incorporating his calves. Looking down, he saw, to the south of his still gaping fly, that his ankles were bound with a length of orange rope. Simultaneously, he realized that his arms were pulled back behind him and bound at the wrists. His bladder gave out and he was helpless to prevent a hot, pleasant trickle of piss issuing forth. It was not so much panic that he felt -- although an uncertainty characteristic of panic was a component of it -- as resignation; that of a sinner confronted with the prospect of a punishment that he had always known he was destined to face one day. He turned his head to the side, a numbness taking hold of him when he saw Jane. 'Miss...' The word escaped him out of habit. She said nothing. She was sitting in an armchair next to an empty-grated fake marble fireplace, beneath a mirror in which a reflection of his restrained body described a parody of a maja. Her face was teacher severe, eyes steady and unblinking, cheeks depressed into a lemon-sucking pout. 'Have you been making those phone calls?' she said. 'Hanging up when I answer?' He shook his head but the denial was half-hearted. Now that she had him where she did, that there was no longer any need for pretense, he felt a perverse urge to tell her every single detail of his obsession with her. He was so deranged with captive's relief that he wanted to let her know everything -- how intensely she had haunted him, how much come he had spilt in her honour -- and similarly, thanks to a thought process exclusive to the outer limits of rationality, figured that she could only be impressed by what he had to convey. 'There were nights I didn't sleep,' she said. 'Nights on end, lying awake, wanting to puke. My skin crawling every time the phone rang. That was you?' He shook his head again. 'Maybe I'll make a phone call,' she said. 'Maybe I've made one already...you're disgusting, you know that?' 'I'm sorry, Miss.' 'Sorry?' Her tone was one of absolute revulsion. 'You...infect my house. My child's house...' She stood up. Enraged as she was, arrayed as he was, he nonetheless discovered that conditioning overcame all other considerations as the sight of her in motion made his cock twitch. He noticed that, in spite of the heat, she had put on the cardigan he had seen earlier in the kitchen. His saliva was on its sleeve, he remembered, mixed with hers...She crossed the room towards him with a predator's agility and slapped him across the face. The fresh explosion of pain blinded him for an instant, reminding him of the unconsciousness he had just emerged from. Then, before he had time to adapt, she grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. 'Who do you think you are?' He was unable to stifle a cry and she slapped him again. 'Shut your mouth. I won't hear a word.' He recognized the phrase from school. In her rage, she was no less a teacher. His vision cleared above a face still burning from her palm's contact. Her body was tense, poised for further violence, her face reduced to a hostile arrangement of bones. He was afraid, but the fear that was making his stomach turn in queasy circles was mingled with admiration. To confront and subdue an intruder, to be able to bind him in such a manner as to cause maximum discomfort while ensuring his total incapacitation (where had she learned how to do that?)...his abilities were child-like in comparison. He felt acutely the weight of their gap in years, all of the experience and knowledge that she possessed in inverse proportion to his lack of the same. 'Why did you do it, Paul?' She threw down his head and wiped her hand on her hip. 'Do you know how much trouble you're in now?' She crouched down, taking from her cardigan pocket the panties he had come into and the beads he had used on his cock. 'I found these.' She dangled the panties from one finger. 'You didn't break in to rob the place, did you? You can tell me. I just want to know.' 'I love you.' It was ludicrous. Jane looked at him incredulously before starting to laugh, amusement seeping into every part of her face except her eyes. 'The police are going to be here soon,' she said. 'They'll take you to the station, fingerprint you, put your name on a list of perverts. Later you'll go to court. Everyone will know. Your family...all your dirt will be out in the open. You're finished, Paul. You might not realise it yet but you are. So tell me again why you did it?' He couldn't speak. He ran his tongue over the foul tasting scum on his lips and tried to shift his body to conceal the erection whose tip was poking from his open fly but only succeeded in exposing it further. She was so close. Even though what she was saying filled him with a nauseous dread, it was enough that it was her, Jane who was speaking. He felt maddened by the depth of his arousal. His imagination, he realized, had failed him all those years, unable as it had been to even begin to visualize the violence of the emotion he was feeling at that moment. If he was to be destroyed, he wanted her to be the agent of his destruction. On The Street Where You Live She sat down on the floor, her lips forming a rosebud of disgust as she contemplated his groin. 'You really can't help yourself, can you?' she said. 'You're like an animal. A dog that needs to be fixed.' Her tone was wonderstruck as if she'd finally arrived at a previously unconsidered yet obvious conclusion. He watched her stand up, heard the door open, and then her footsteps as she returned a moment later. She squatted down next to him again, her thumb upon the nipple of a yellow and black Stanley knife. 'I can fix you,' she said. 'Shush.' His mouth opened but before he could speak, she had stopped it with the panties that she had retrieved from him earlier. 'These were a present.' She picked up the string of black beads and looped them around his cock, fishing him out before extending the knife's sloping blade and holding it over his pisshole. 'And now I can never wear them again. Don't move. You'll only make it worse.' He thought that he would have struggled, thrashed about like they did in films, but instead, he was passive, weak as a fever sufferer. The blade was cold against his glans for an instant before she snatched it away. 'But you'd enjoy that, wouldn't you?' Grasping the knife like a pen, she brought it to his face and held it poised over first one, then the other of his eyeballs. There was no sign of emotion in her face or any hint that she was deriving pleasure from what she was doing, only a serene determination, that of a vivisectionist preparing to slit open the thorax of a pinned down rat. He bit down on his gag, hyperventilating through his nose as the tip of the blade touched his eyelid. 'You're weak,' she said. 'You'll always be weak. I saw it in you from the start. A fantasist. A mama's boy.' She pressed the blade to his cheek and pulled the panties from his mouth. 'Tell me about love,' she said. 'I don't know...' 'You said you loved me.' Her tone had become harsh. As she said "loved", she applied pressure to the blade. His mouth opened to cry out as he felt a sting on his cheek, but only a gasp emerged. Jane leaned back, an painter contemplating an experimental brushstroke. She touched a finger to the dribble of blood she had divined and gilded one of his eyelids with it. 'Needs more.' She moved the blade, selecting a corresponding position to the first nick on his other cheek and cut him again. 'They're like tears,' she said, 'Red tears...' She held her breath while she painted his other eyelid. He looked at the blade, held daintily in her free hand, and felt his cock going into spasm when he imagined the damage it was capable of wreaking on his body. The minor wounds upon his face blossomed in his imagination, became gaping bisections of his flesh that resembled the characters, written in blood, of a profane and forgotten alphabet. 'Put your tongue out.' He did as he was told. 'I could cut you,' she said, as if reading his thoughts. 'Your eyes, your mouth, your balls.' She put the blade on his tongue and traced a crooked line along its centre. 'You wouldn't make a peep. Because you're sick. Did you say something?' She took the blade from his tongue. 'You,' he said. 'You made me sick.' 'Because it's my fault.' She nodded. 'I'm the reason you can't keep your hands of this...' She grabbed his cock, then dropped it gingerly as her touch pushed him over the edge. It was a pathetic orgasm, both volume-wise and as a spectacle. He didn't so much come as meekly arrive, his weakly expelled jism pooling upon his stomach where the head of his cock was lying. Jane shook her head. 'And that's what it's all about. That's all you have. Love.' She laughed. A cramp ripped his foot apart but the pain only complemented the abjection that he felt; a sense that he had been pulverised and reassembled from piles of splinters and dust. His mortification was so total that it bordered on the erotic. He could see clearly but the reality he gazed on was so unbearable that it had him clamouring to return to his habitual state of delusion. A car approached outside and he shut his sticky eyes. This was it. He couldn't let the cops see him this way. 'Will you untie me, Miss?' 'What?' 'I think the cops are here.' 'I didn't call them.' The car passed by, the sound of its engine fading away and dying. 'I thought about it but there's really no need to get them involved,' she said. 'Thanks, Miss.' She took off her cardigan and leaned forward, looking at him blankly. Her blouse was stained to darkness under either of her armpits. 'Are you scared?' she said. He nodded. 'I don't think you are. This is a kick for you, isn't it? The more extreme it gets, the better. Today's the first day in a long time I've had a few hours to myself. Rick is with his aunt. My sister. She said I needed a break. I was going to have a bath, smoke, read magazines. You ruined all that. You owe me.' Her calmness was more menacing than her anger had been. 'It's a game.' she said. 'And whether I like it or not, I'm a part of it. Fair enough. I'll play. What do you say?' 'Miss?' She grabbed his crotch. 'What do you say?' 'Thank you.' 'Thank you what?' 'Thank you, Miss.' He opened his mouth to squeal as she pulled him to the floor by the balls but managed to stifle it, sensing that any noise from him would displease her. His hip-bone took the weight of his fall, filling the hollow of his pelvis with agony, but Jane was oblivious to his discomfort. Her feet were planted apart as she manipulated the bulk of him with skilful hands until he was on his knees, facing into the sofa, his cheek pressed against the cushion, still ripe with sweat and the smell of his shit, that his arse had recently vacated, He half-moaned, half-whimpered. The pose she had arranged him in was agonizing. His arms were still tied, making his shoulders feel as if they were striving to come apart, the pain consuming his back to a point roughly halfway down at which the pain in his hip took over. Jane reached underneath him and unbuttoned his jeans before pulling them and his underpants over his hips. 'Straighten your back. That's better.' Her mouth was close to his ear and he smelled her breath of trapped vinegar and iron. 'Stay like that. Shut up.' The slimy heel of her palm covered his mouth. 'We should improvise,' she said. She stood up and he heard the rattle of brass. 'Good actors make use of the set...If you'd done this during the winter, these could have been red hot.' He felt the coldness of metal teeth pinching shut upon his balls. 'We improvise,' she said, and pushed his face into the cushion to muffle his cries. 'We make use of what we have at hand. We maximize potential.' The teeth relented only to come together again, harder than the first time. Through the pain, he recognized her classroom tone and the platitudes of her discipline. "Maximize potential..." She had used that phrase all the time and he had never fully understood what it meant or how a person went about it. Now he understood. It was something he was incapable of, unlike Jane. His sexual fantasies flashed through his head, revealed in their utter poverty when compared to the monstrous and vivid dreaming of his captor. He revisited his fantasy of her husband's homecoming, watched her approach her husband/lover having put the child to bed and realized that it was violence she had had in mind all along. To bind a man, to cut him, to use a coal tongs as a crude emasculator...The pain he felt was minor compared to the gorgeous anxiety with which he anticipated the torments she had not yet visited upon him. He saw himself racked, bound, his limbs twisted into impossible, inhuman configurations; a living work of art subjected to constant revision under the hands of its creator. She released the claws of the tongs and dropped them to the floor. His abused scrotum squirmed as it attempted to return to its default position, every twitch of every nerve like the hacking of a thousand razorblades. But the blandness of the relief was insufferable. It was her attention he wanted -- the devotion of all her will and her strength to the correction of his flesh. 'You're not a man,' she said. 'You're scarcely a person. I don't know what you are. Tell me.' She pulled up his t-shirt and ran her hands down the length of his exposed back before lashing at it with what he guessed was the string of beads. 'I'm nothing,' he said. 'You're a sewer.' She whipped him again, this time across the buttocks. 'A drain that needs rodding.' She became still behind him. There was a cool presence between his thighs, then the touch of metal upon his asshole. 'You thought about doing this to me,' she said. The poker's insertion was slow, insistent. He felt, with an increasing sense of disassociation, the fine detail of the metal's texture, the grit that coated its surface. The pain was less potent than a feeling of gradual dispossession. The deeper the penetration, the more physical autonomy he felt himself surrendering. Was this what dying was like? "Nothing," he had said. He hadn't understood what the word meant until that moment... 'Don't move,' said Jane. 'I don't want you to hurt yourself.' She removed the poker from his arse with the same care she had shown when inserting it. 'I'd say sitting down might be a problem for a while,' she said. 'But you can always think of me. I know I'll be thinking of you every time I poke the fire from now on.' 'Again.' 'What?' 'Again, Miss. Please. Put it in again.' 'The game's over, Paul.' She cut the rope that bound his hands and feet. 'Get dressed. I want you out of here.' He slumped to the floor and looked up at her. The room was full of sunlight that reduced her to a featureless and monolithic black silhouette. He rolled on to his side -- she had been right about sitting down -- struggling to come to terms with the fact that he was free to go. The world outside the room, the one he had stepped out of on entering Jane's house, now seemed horrifying in its blandness. How was he supposed to go back to that? The real world...it was a joke. In here, with Jane, was real. Everything else was vanity. The tolling of the midday Angelus bell could be heard in the distance. He crawled over to her feet and embraced her ankles. After a moment, he felt her hand upon his head. It was a trifling degree of grace but it was enough.