DISCLAIMER: Some of the things the characters do in this story are seen as offensive or frightening (even terrifying) by some if not most people. Please don’t surprise anyone. Always ask first. Have an agreed upon safe word even if you don’t do BDSM. See Cecilia Page for story codes and additional information.

Part 1 — Chapter 1

The man fucking her held her jaw with the fingers of his left hand as he thrust. He squeezed so her teeth cut her cheeks.

The light was too bright.

She felt him thrust, his cock huge in her, hurting. He stared at her, panting with each thrust, grinding himself into her.

His eyes were closed now. Open, they were bloodshot, red rimmed as he cursed her. Now they were closed and if she didn't look any lower he almost seemed as if he were asleep. If she looked lower she saw his mouth in an open-lipped grimace. She was being fucked by a panting, vengeful demon.

He stopped, squeezed her face harder; she could feel his back arch. He was cumming.

He shook her face, opened his eyes and spat on her before climbing off.

She waited for the next one. The spittle on her face was cool and slowly slid down her cheek and nose. She couldn't wipe it off, her hands were tied. She heard the one who fucked her leave.

He looked down at her, dressed in black, black leather hooded mask covering all but his mouth and jaw. "Happy now?" he asked her.

She stared at him. He controlled her in so many ways. She didn't know who he was.

He slapped her thigh.

Earlier, she didn't have any idea how many hours ago or how many men had used her cunt. She didn't know how she came to be here, a motel room with a leaky faucet.

She remembered walking into the room, someone behind her. She took off her clothes and lay on the bed and waited while he set up his rig around the bed.

She remembered being naked and chilled, her skin covered with goosebumps. She remembered being horny, being beyond horny. She couldn't remember his face even though he wasn't wearing the mask then.

She was cold, shivering. Her cunt was hungry. She remembered now. He looked like the copier service man who came in to fix the Xerox at work.

She couldn't remember what she did or where she worked.

He took his time fitting the slender pieces of black metal tubing together and giving the setscrews a twist at each coupling with a silver tool he kept in his fingers.

He erected a cage around and over the bed. He glanced at her and she rolled onto her back and raised her feet so they rested in slings. He tied her ankles to the slings, taking his time, checking every knot twice.

Her legs were spread wide, her feet were in the air a foot off the bed. She held her arms out sideways. He tied them to a bar, wrist and forearm, on each side of the bed.

She remembered watching him slowly undress. He took his time putting on his costume: black pants, black shirt, and masked hood of shiny black leather. His feet were bare; she saw that when he stood onto the bed over her, leaning against a junction of vertical and horizontal bars. He waited.

She begged him to fuck her. When she saw he wouldn't she begged him to let her suck his cock. He didn't move. She begged him to do a thousand things to her, listing them one by one, describing them in detail.

She called herself a thousand names and he stood over her watching.

She thought maybe she could get away. The rods were thin; they might bend. Perhaps there was a loose connection. Maybe she wasn't bound as securely as he seemed to think.

She fought the cage, tugged and twisted her body, growling then yelling then begging in her frustration. When she could do no more she lay quietly and watched him.

He moved across the bed so he stood between her legs. He placed his heel on her cunt and pushed.

She pushed back, felt him press against her aching clit. She twisted and rubbed furiously against his foot begging him to fuck her.

As her body was slowly convulsing he climbed off the bed and walked to the telephone. He dialed a number while she called him a bastard because he wouldn't fuck her. She said she was sorry as he said, "We're ready," and hung up. She begged him to fuck her.

Her clit was on fire; she wanted to rub it against something, against anything. She twisted in her cage while he watched her.

She twisted, tried to rub her legs together. She tried everything, begging him. Then the door opened and they came in. She couldn't count how many, they kept coming in.

She was hysterical, began laughing then stilled her body on the bed and begged them to fuck her. She laid her head back on the pillow and watched the hooded eyes outside of the cage as he looked down at her, next to her right arm. She tried to touch him, couldn't, then relaxed as the first one climbed over her.

She was back in the present. The man in the mask asked again, "Are you happy now?"

She shook her head; the spittle spattered across her face. Her cunt ached for cock. Fucking wasn't what her clit needed. Her clit needed to be mauled. Their bites and scratches did nothing to cool her burning skin. Her whole body was on fire. "Please fuck me," she begged.

He turned and moved away from her. She saw him take off the leather mask, set it carefully on the dresser. His back was to her. He looked angry enough to explode.

"Fuck me, you bastard."

He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, opened it.

"Doesn't it work? God I hate cowards. Fuck me. Your cock, your fist, a chair leg, fuck me you bastard."

He turned slowly and she stopped talking. He stared at her. He took off his shirt, folded it carefully without taking his eyes from her.

"Fuck me, please fuck me."

She saw his bare chest. Unlike most men his chest and arms were well muscled. Unlike muscled men he was slight, not huge. He looked like he could break her in half. "Fuck me, you . . ."

"Mom."

She opened her eyes. "Home already?" She turned from the sink, dishrag in her hand. Ashley stood at the door, beautiful Ashley.

"It's four, Mom." Ashley crossed the room, put her books on the table. "Dave asked me out."

"He did?" She made sure her voice rose. She put the dishrag aside and dried her hands. "I told you you didn't need to worry."

"What if dad doesn't like him?"

"If you do, William will, too. I'm sure of it."

Ashley hugged her then picked up her books. "I better do my homework. He's coming by at seven thirty." She spun on her toes. "I'm so happy."

"I'll bring a snack up in a few minutes."

Ashley left the kitchen. "Thanks, Mom," she said from the other room.

She went back to the sink, tested the water. Ice cold.

She was going crazy. She could taste their cum in her mouth, could feel their cum running down her legs. Her ass was sore and she needed to take a shit. Right now.

She pulled the sink plug and walked slowly toward the downstairs bathroom. Her clit was on fire; each step she made was almost too much to bear.

She knew she was going crazy.

She lay in bed waiting. William came out of the bathroom, turned out the light there. She could hear the toilet running. He climbed into bed next to her, said, "Good night," and turned out the bedroom light.

He was turning away from her as she said, "Good night, William, my love." She stared at the ceiling. Six months of this. If she didn't do something she couldn't tell what would happen. She couldn't tell what would happen if she did something. She was crazy. Her whole world now was centered on a single burning desire. The heat of that desire was burning one by one all the ropes that held her to this world and sanity.

Crazy now, crazy then. Why did she even have to tell him any of it? She thought it would make him feel better, relax. Know she didn't bear a grudge for what he'd done. The result was six months of this. She didn't know what she could do, would do. She was crazy.

Tears began to fill her eyes as she thought of sweet innocent Ashley. She turned onto her side, away from William, letting the tears flow, slowly, dripping down her cheek onto the pillow. She wanted to scream.

It was William's secretary's scream that caused her to stop in her tracks. William was working that Saturday on a design package he had to present to a client Monday. Everything was rush now, William said. People had discovered the importance of good design. William couldn't hire enough people so he did too much of it himself.

She had stopped by to see if Janice and he needed anything. William tended to forget lunch when he was busy. She was downtown anyway; if they needed anything she could pick it up for them. She could do that, at least. Janice made a moan, low, ragged, drawn out, then shouted, "Oh, God."

She walked toward her husband's office without even thinking. She stood in the door and watched them together, both naked on the floor.

Janice rode William, hips bucking in a frenzy as his fingers squeezed her breasts. Both had their eyes closed. William's back was arched; she could see his toes were curled.

Janice screamed, then panted, "Fuck, fuck, oh God, fuck me," jamming her pelvis into William with each word.

She started to turn to leave but it was too late. Janice's eyes flew open, her mouth formed an "O" as her hips still bucked. "Oh God. Mrs. Stephens."

William twisted and turned to look. He was staring at her when he came.

She could see the cum slide out of Janice's cunt down his cock onto to his pubic hair, red like the hair on his head.

Janice stopped moving and stared at her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. I'll come back later. I'm sorry." She fled them.

She wanted to apologize and laugh. People fucking always looked a little funny. She wanted to apologize for disturbing them.

She brought lunch back to the office an hour later, left it at Janice's desk, telling her it was all right. She didn't mind. She was sorry.

Janice was immensely uncomfortable, blushed and stammered and really wasn't listening. William hid in his office.

She left them, feeling bad.

She meant to make things better for William by telling him a little of her past she'd never told him before. She thought if she told him these things then he would know she wasn't upset with him or Janice, that she still loved him. He would know why she felt this way.

She didn't say too much about her being in pornographic films. What she thought was important was telling him about later, 1971, the autumn after making the films. She realized when she told about her boyfriend Tom and what happened that autumn that it was sounding different from what she planned. Somehow it sounded much different. William had a look on his face which made her want to stop, but she needed to tell a little more so it made sense. She told more and now William wouldn't talk to her, much less make love to her. She was going crazy. She already was crazy.

She shouldn't have watched them.

She wiped her face and tried to sleep.

The man with the mask had her stand with her legs spread. She was naked in a room she wasn't sure or not if she'd ever been here before. It was small, no windows, with a single overhead light. Although the door was closed she could hear loud music, dance music with a strong throbbing beat.

She wore five-inch heels that laced up her leg. They made her unsteady; she wasn't used to them. The man in the mask wore black pants and tall black boots that came up his calves. He was shirtless and she could see the well-defined muscles in his back as he knelt by her.

He made her hold a dildo in her ass and another in her cunt, nine inches and thick, as he prepared the rope. She held the center loop over her pussy as he brought the rope ends under her, around her back and through the loop. The ropes then passed over each flank, above her pelvis and around. On the second pass they went through the loop and upwards over the rope around her middle.

The rope rubbed across her clit. She tried not to move; she enjoyed the sensation and wanted to prolong it.

Her hands were tugged behind her and tied at the wrist. Another rope wrapped tightly around her breasts and her chest making her tits bulge. The rope to her wrists was tied to the rope binding her breasts.

She heard the click as the leash was clipped onto her leather collar.

"Kneel," he said.

She knelt with his hands on her shoulders to keep her steady. The rope dug into her clit. She found if she arched her back slightly it dug more. She arched her back.

He slapped her ass and she jumped. She could feel the leash tug as he tied it to a ring on the wall behind her. She wondered how she knew that. She wondered how she knew already what was going to happen next and at her anticipation of it.

She wondered if they would hose her off before taking her home. She wondered if they would take her home. She realized the man in the mask may not be her master. The man in the mask may be preparing her for someone else.

She'd done this before. She knew what he'd do next, wasn't surprised when he left her, turned out the only light and shut the door. She knew she'd have to wait.

She arched her back and pranced slowly from knee to knee.

Her mouth started to water. She opened wide so she'd be ready. The dildos inside her, their bases rubbed by the rope, the sound of her knees on the floor, her shoe toes tapping lightly, excited her. She thrust her pelvis forward, bucked against the rope, felt her breasts, tender from being squeezed by the rope, bounce unnaturally.

She bucked her pelvis, pranced with her mouth wide open. She listened for the click of the latch when the door would open.

She woke up with her clit on fire, drooling, lying on a wet pillow. She smelled piss. She wanted to touch her clit. Just touch it but didn't dare. Nothing helped when she was like this. Touching just made it worse. The bed felt dry, she hadn't wet herself. The smell of piss was almost gone. The taste of cum lingered.

She wiped her face with her hand, covered her eyes so everything was black, no moonlight, nothing.

When she shut her eyes nothing was black, hadn't been since she'd done acid in the sixties. Colors pulsed and shapes formed, unformed, disappeared. Still, with her eyes shut she was home no matter where she was. Even if she was crazy. Crazy and haunted by the same dreams or visions of past or future - whatever - over and over.

She put her hand between her legs, pressed it with her legs. Tighter. Tighter. She moved her hand back and forth, sawed her clit with the edge of her palm. Harder. Faster.

She gritted her teeth so she didn't gasp. Kept rock still so she didn't shake the bed. Her feet tingled as colors exploded across her eyelids. She held dead still as her body tried to shake.

She relaxed.

It didn't help. It never helped anymore. She could masturbate all day, cum a million times and nothing went away. Her fugues, if anything, became more intense. Maybe she should do it. Step entirely into that waiting world.

She pressed her hand onto her cunt and tried to still herself.

She thought about the summer of 1971.

She hated college, hated home, hated all of it. The war. Dickhead boyfriends. Learning stuff that wasn't important at all in any way she could imagine. She finished that year; instead of going home sold everything. Everything. Stereo, clothes, books. Took off without even saying goodbye to Brent who was partly responsible, at least partly, for her troubles.

Dear Brent who couldn't figure out if he was boy or a girl. It didn't matter, he could use her either way. But Brent wanted to suck cock and have his ass plowed at the same time.

If he'd just stay away, or if she could just stay away from him, there wouldn't be a problem. Only, he'd appear at her doorstep, she his which was nicer, he shared a house with cool guys. She lived in a dorm and had a jock-loving sorority type for a roommate.

She left all of that, went north to Atlanta. In a month she was making skin flicks.

She didn't make them, she was in them. Not a star, these weren't that type. Shorter, rougher than Deep Throat or any of the others on the big screen a year or two later. Hers were 16mm quickies filmed in a two car garage in the suburbs.

In her first film she did four guys, fucked and sucked, and then the crew. It went on for too long, her jaw ached and her cunt was sore afterwards.

Just a mattress in the center of the cement floor, lights, camera, and around the edges of the room the usual crap that ended up in a garage.

The next day she did another, something easy this time, just one guy, and the crew of course. The director took her to his place that night. The director, she smiled at that. A guy in his thirties, pretty straight, was one of the "actors" in her first film. He had a decent apartment - it had air conditioning unlike the garage.

He got her high and they fucked and then talked about what she wanted to do. Not with her life, in films, as if they were art or something. He even promised he'd show her the ropes, how to edit, how to do sound, how to operate a camera, but he never did. Not for the two months she made films.

Daniel, the director, had a girlfriend so she only spent a night or two, well spaced apart, with him. She guessed the girlfriend was a better fuck. Usually she went home with one of the guys or one of the crew or, if she was hard up, someone she met in a bar.

She didn't make much, ten dollars a day. Daniel wasn't regular in paying her; he was a couple of weeks behind when she left.

She didn't mind the fucking. She didn't have to work hard at it; not like making love which required effort. She fucked and sucked and did other stuff she didn't always want to think about. She sometimes came for real, could fake it if not. The fake ones were the ones that got the guys excited - they couldn't tell the difference.

They kept her high. Weed, not as good as she was used to in Gainesville, but good enough. Sometimes acid. She didn't really like downers or speed. She liked beer or wine with weed. Never skag or coke.

Her favorite movie, the one she had the most fun doing was al fresco. Daniel found a van somewhere; they loaded up their equipment, just camera and sound. Terry was worried about finding electricity, Daniel told him not to worry.

She and two cast members followed in a car, Mike and Bill. She sat between them which meant she got to toke passing both ways. She was pretty high when they parked behind the van in an alley close to downtown and the university. Daniel walked to the car, waited for her to climb out, and she followed him to the van.

Terry and the cameraman, she couldn't remember his name, which was strange since of the lot he'd been nicest to her, already knew what they were going to be doing so they were setting up.

Daniel explained the action to her. It was pretty simple. She didn't have a problem with it; wonder what would have happened if she had? She waited.

Daniel picked up a large roll of orange extension cord and left. He came back with a coke and a small bag of Fritos and handed them to her. She sat on the mattress in the back of the van while they got things ready.

The movie was pretty simple; filmed in sequence only they ran out of film and didn't tell her until afterwards, the dickheads.

For the first act she was to stroll into a bar, through a door onto the alley. She was naked. The guys there, cast and others were to hoot and holler and then they fucked her - a gangbang.

It was her first real one, not with guys she kind of knew, and there was a lot that happened off camera that was important, to her at least. She walked naked from the bright alley into a dark room. They hadn't brought lights, of course. While they went to get them she sat and talked with the people, all men, in the bar. Most were in their forties or fifties, all were white. They were shy at first. After they realized she liked beer and liked to talk, that's what they did.

She was in a booth with three guys; others were in chairs or hanging over the seat backs from the booths alongside. They wanted to know why she was doing this and when she said because she got paid ten dollars that got them going. The man next to her lightly touched her leg. She said, "That's all right. You can do more if you want."

The men watched as he touched her breast, shyly at first, then he cupped it.

"That's nice," she said.

He was sawing his fingers in and out of her cunt when Daniel and Terry brought the lights. After they were set up he was the first to fuck her.

She'd done the cast and the crew which made seven the first film she made but it wasn't like this, quick, one after the other, in her pussy for their few minutes of fame. The intensity didn't stop when they were done because Bill and Mike took their turns and they were more creative.

When they were done, when everyone was done, she got off the table, leaned against it for a moment. She realized the table had been pushed halfway across the room.

The second act was after a break. Terry brought her and the crew sandwiches and she had a free beer. She sat, still naked, in a booth, her cunt oozing cum onto the red naugahyde seat. Bill and Mike were preparing for what would happen next.

Most of the men followed her to the van. The second act had Daniel take money as people took turns in her on the mattress in the van in the alley.

The back doors were open and a side door, but it was hot and stuffy in the van. She sweated buckets. The men from the bar, cast, and extras the cast had drummed up took their turns. There was always a crowd watching at the back which cut the airflow.

It was different in the van. She was tired. She didn't "know" most of the men who fucked her. She was almost asleep when it was done.

That shit, Daniel. She'd thought it was play money they were giving him, as part of the movie. The camera had run out of film in the bar but of course they didn't tell anyone. Daniel was taking five dollars each to do her, which she didn't find out until several days later, one of her reasons for leaving.

Another reason was, after they were done, they drove her to a cheap motel, got a room and left her there naked and covered with cum. She was already asleep in the van. They couldn't bother to do more for her. That day she'd become something different to them.

She never could figure out why. Was it a matter of degree - the number of men who fucked her? She figured that a number between twenty and a thousand was safe. She couldn't be more precise. Was it a matter of degree or was it because they sold her and somehow that changed her?

She only briefly mentioned making films to William. It was the matter of commerce in her relationship with Tom the next fall that disturbed him. Commerce or degree. It was something she never could understand. She didn't judge people that way. William and Janice were having a good time - more power to them.

She fell asleep just before William's alarm rang. It took her a moment to understand that meant she had to get up, too. She needed to get William off to work and Ashley off to school.

She sat on the bed and waited for William to finish his shower. Her hand and crotch were slippery wet and her clit was beginning to throb. Her head felt like it was a block of wood.

William left the bathroom not even glancing at her, passed her and went to his dresser.

She studied his back. Broad shoulders, beautiful. He had a nice ass, firm. She stood slowly and went into the bathroom.

She wondered when Ashley got in last night.

Go to next chapter
Part 1 — Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3
Part 2 — Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
Cecilia Page

Stories
Bingo’s Home