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 2

She had been in the basement for a week now. There was one high window, caked with dirt, that barely let her know the difference between night and day outside. A single electric bulb hung from the ceiling and burned all the time. She thought it was seven days but realized she may be wrong. She had spells and during one she'd knocked her day pebbles across the dirt floor.

Sometimes they kept her shackled for long periods; now was one of the times when she was free. She sat and waited since there was nothing else to do except smell the stench of the cesspool in the corner.

She was dirty, dirty with dust and grime from the floor and the things that had been done to her. The filth didn't seem to bother them.

She'd hear a car pull up, sometimes several. She'd hear doors slam, voices, footsteps on the gravel outside. Sometimes they came down immediately, other times they tarried upstairs. She would hear then their voices and footsteps overhead, hear furniture scrape.

She could hear voices overhead now, footsteps. They had been here for hours. She was thirsty and hungry, was impatient. They fed and watered her afterwards if she had been good.

She got up and went to the hole in the floor in the corner. She squatted and peed. There was nothing to wipe herself, she gave her ass a shake and rose to her feet.

She moved to the center of the large room and knelt on the dirt floor. She pushed her matted hair from her eyes and tried to make herself presentable. She waited.

She heard them overhead, then she heard them on the wood stairway outside of the room. Sometimes they talked and laughed; not now, they were silent.

She heard the key in the door and lowered her head, eyes to the ground. She heard the door open; one hinge gave its shrill whine. She heard footsteps in the grit; they stopped. The door shut and was locked from inside.

She hoped they wouldn't make her beg them this time. She put her hands on her knees and waited to hear their voices. She'd learned to be able to tell immediately from the sound of their voices what she'd be expected to do. She didn't need commands to know. Just the sounds of their voices.

Her cunt ached to be filled. She prayed her ass wasn't too dirty for them to use. She'd had diarrhea last night, had squatted for ages over the hole in the floor.

Her mouth was dry. She was thirsty. She could hear a single person's steps approach her.

The telephone rang and she jumped. She opened her eyes, moved her fingers away from her clit, moved her hand to her bare leg and waited.

The telephone rang four times then stopped.

She took a breath, closed her legs. She was on fire. Her vision was crazy, shaky. Her tongue felt swollen in her mouth. She pulled her robe around her nakedness and opened her eyes after a quick blink. She touched her coffee cup, cold. She took a drink anyway.

Her hand shook as she brought the cup to her mouth. She rubbed her thighs together as she drank. She could tell by the way her fingers smelled she hadn't started to touch herself yet.

She leaned back into the chair, a wood windsor at the table in her bright kitchen. She shut her eyes and she was in the dingy basement being trained. She saw the boots and black pants of the person standing next to her.

She shifted her eyes to the floor as she felt him tip her head forward and felt the first stroke of the whip on her back.

She opened her eyes and took a breath. Her kitchen clock said nine thirty. It was a beautiful morning outside. She shut her eyes and heard her scream as another stroke hit her back. His hand was heavy on her head.

She opened her eyes and spread her legs, stopped rubbing them together. There was no end for her.

She finished her cold coffee, put the cup on the table but missed so it fell on the floor and broke. She needed to go shopping today and she dreaded it. She remembered the last time when she went out.

She remembered hearing the voice say a second time, "Are you all right, lady?"

She nodded. Stared up at him. She was sprawled on the wet pavement in the alley beside the supermarket, skirt hiked up to her waist. "I'm okay. I must have fallen." She sat up. "Thank you. I'm okay." She rose to her feet, fingers touching the brick wall as she stood. "Thanks. I must have fallen."

She pushed down her skirt and straightened her clothes as the man watched her for a moment then left. He walked a few steps, turned and stared at her.

"I slipped. I'm okay. Thank you." She smiled tentatively at him. When he was gone she opened her other hand and glanced at the torn and empty foil condom package. She had no idea what had happened.

One moment she's walking from her car to the supermarket. The next moment she's handcuffed to a pole, naked, on her hands and knees. Someone held her hair, tugged it as he fucked her from behind. She was screaming because it felt so good. She was screaming as his monstrous cock tore her open.

She was dressed and ready to go shopping and she was terrified. She sat on the bed upstairs in their bedroom and remembered one of the first times with William.

She was working for a caterer. It was Chicago, 1973, and she was beginning to think it was time to move on. She lived in a mixed house and it was great, everyone loved to fuck. In the beginning, it was her dream come true.

After a year and a half and she'd had to deal with a number of jealousies, people falling in love with her who she cared for but didn't feel the same back, petty bickering. In the end the men couldn't provide what she needed. She needed more, so it was maybe time to move on.

She was working for the caterer at this party and this guy there started talking and she was enjoying it even though he was pretty straight. She looked straight in her uniform; he was straight. It wasn't just the jacket and tie.

But he was fun to talk to and she liked the way he looked. She tried to let him know she liked the way he looked but he didn't seem to notice so they just talked which was okay.

He spent hours talking to her as she served food. She enjoyed it. He listened when she spoke. He actually listened and they had a conversation. It wasn't like it usually was when she met someone in a bar. They'd talk, they'd fuck, and in the end they'd know nothing about her and could care less. They'd gotten what they wanted. She'd gotten a little of what she wanted.

William was a talker and a listener but not overbearing and he had his shy side. He wrote his number on a scrap of paper for her; she said it was better if she called him.

The party ended, William left sometime; she didn't notice. Didn't notice if he was with anyone or not. If he was, she was sure they were pissed. She was too busy cleaning up to notice. It didn't matter. Anyway, he was straight and she wasn't hard up at the moment.

Six months later they ran into each other in St. Paul, at a party. That was their first night together and it was incredible.

She remembered how her body felt after hours of fucking with him. Her skin felt like it glowed. She felt stoned but they hadn't smoked or done anything. She felt dizzy; she wasn't sure if she could take any more.

William licked her nipples as he moved down her to spend more time with her clit. He was unbelievable. He was one of the few who actually knew what he was doing. And it was funny. He was shy in bed, always asked first, looked surprised when she said, "Sure," or when she begged him for more.

She groaned and lay back on their bed. Whatever had made her tell him about Tom? What had possessed her? She knew his limits.

He was great in bed. He was straight, awfully straight.

She decided a month into their relationship she'd be straight too. He was liberal, more than liberal; she couldn't have spent a moment with him if he'd thought certain things. Like the war could be won. Nixon was innocent. Dear old Spiro had been framed. Guys with long hair should be castrated. She couldn't have dealt with that no matter how good he fucked.

She started to dress differently. Stopped smoking dope, several years before she'd already decided acid wasn't her thing. She wanted to live with William. He wanted to marry her; she said yes.

She shut her eyes. Eighteen years later and he refused to talk to her because she told him about dickhead Tom and what he'd done to her.

She hitchhiked back to Gainesville after deciding she didn't want to have anything more to do with Daniel and making films. She ended up being shunted from friend to friend the first day. She probably shouldn't have said anything about the movies. Brent was busy with his current love of his life, too busy to even say hi, the bastard.

Somehow she ended up at Tom's after camping out in a dorm lounge overnight. She wasn't sure how they got together. He appeared, asked her if she needed a place to stay. She said yes. He already knew about her porn film experience, nothing specific, and that should have told her something.

They rode out in his VW to a small house in the country, five rooms counting everything, about thirty minutes from campus. It was cheap, he said, cheaper by a long shot than in town.

They fucked of course. She realized after a day or two she was supposed to cook which was okay. He was paying for everything.

Sometimes she hung out on campus while he was in class, sometimes she stayed home and read. She got books out from the library; he had books of his own.

One of his, The Story of O, kept her enthralled all day. She read, masturbated, read, and masturbated. She couldn't wait for him to come home.

She never said anything to him about the book. Never said anything to him about how his Penthouses made her feel. She figured if she left them out he'd notice but guys were dense.

He was an okay fuck, nothing special. Being high helped and he liked her when she was high. He joked about her being willing to do anything. She did anything he asked; she kept her mouth shut. She had learned already that guys didn't like girls to beg them to fuck their ass. Guys were pretty nervous about most things she could do or had done.

One day she showed Tom a letter in Penthouse about a woman who used a cucumber in her cunt. The woman was on a city bus.

She dropped her jeans and watched his face when the cucumber fell out of her. "Damn, Sissy," he said.

"Want to put it back in me?"

He was shy doing it. It gave her a strange sense of power over him, watching him so shy as he shoved a cucumber up her twat. It gave her a feeling of power when she saw how when she told him how good it felt his body jumped as if she'd slapped him. He was afraid to look her in the face.

She felt that power again when she had him fuck her in the ass. She felt power when she told him she liked him to do it hard and fast. She felt in control when he asked her and she said sure.

She told him about the films she'd been in, about being a whore on a mattress in a van in an alley to a hundred guys. She told him she didn't care; they could have done anything they wanted.

Tom liked getting her high and drunk and seeing what she'd do for him. She liked shocking him. Each night they tried to top each other. Finally, in October, she threw The Story of O at him and told him this was what she wanted to do. He tied her up for the first time that night and it was incredible the things he did to her and how they felt. Being tied up made sex different, stronger, somehow.

They did that for a week then Tom stopped taking her to campus with him. He came back home late at night, just wanted to fuck. He wanted to fuck her face, fuck her ass, never her cunt.

She used a variety of things in her cunt during the day. Read. Fucked herself. Smoked dope. Fucked herself.

She began going on walks. She left her shirt unbuttoned, unsnapped and unzipped her jeans and walked on the sandy edges of country roads wanting to see what people in passing cars would do. She wanted to see if she could walk so her jeans fell down. It was too easy to walk so her jeans stayed up; they were tight, they did that naturally.

She never wore a bra, never wore underwear, had stopped in the summer when she was making films.

Only one vehicle ever stopped. A truck, two rednecks, she said sure, so they did it. Cocks in her cunt again felt wonderful. She told them so.

Friday night Tom came home early, his face flushed. He said he was horny, could he tie her up?

"Sure," she said. She was ready.

"Then strip."

"You'll fuck me?" She took off her shirt. She liked the way men stared at her breasts.

"Strip then get on the bed, Sissy." He went to the icebox for a beer while she slipped out of her jeans.

She sat on the bed.

He came back into the room drinking his beer. "On the bed, Sissy," he said. He pointed with the hand holding the bottle.

She lay on her back on the bed. "You'll fuck me?"

"Beg for it and you'll be fucked, Sissy."

"Please fuck me, Tom."

He held her wrist. "That's not begging, Sissy."

Tom has a new game, she thought. It made her hot, thinking about her being tied and begging to be fucked. "I'm O, Tom. Fuck O."

He jerked her wrist. "Over your head."

She held her arms over her head.

He finished his beer, left the room, and came back with lengths of clothesline. He tied her wrists together, tied her wrists to the metal bedstead. "You're not O, Sissy, because you're not a slut like O was."

"I'm your slut, Tom. Fuck O. Please fuck O."

He wrapped line around her ankles, loosely tied each to a corner of the bed frame. She could bend her knees.

"Please fuck O, Tom. You can do anything if you'll fuck me."

He slapped her thigh, near her cunt.

She ached to be fucked. "God, Tom. Fuck me. Please. Fuck O. Fuck O. Fuck O's cunt."

He slapped her thigh then gave her pussy a quick stroke with his fingers.

She jumped when he touched her. "There. Fuck me there."

"Turn over."

She glanced at him.

"Turn over."

She brought her legs together then turned over onto her stomach. She felt his hands help her.

He slapped her ass then rubbed the cheek he'd hit.

"Fuck me there, Tom."

"Shut up." He slapped her ass hard, rubbed it, slapped her harder again and again, stopping each time to rub her stinging skin.

She tried to be quiet as he hit her. He'd never done this before. This was different.

He slapped her. "Are you a whore, Sissy?"

She shook her head.

"Are you?" He slapped her ass, rubbed her ass check, and then slipped his fingers into her soppy cunt.

She tried to roll around his fingers. She rose to her elbows and knees and pushed her ass into his fingers. He took his fingers out. "Don't leave me," she wailed.

He slapped her. "Are you a whore, Sissy?"

She briskly nodded her head. "Fuck your whore, Tom."

He slapped her, rubbed her ass cheek then slipped his fingers inside her.

They weren't big enough. She bucked into his hand.

"Whose whore, Sissy?"

"Your whore, Tom. Please fuck me, Tom. I'm begging you." She rubbed her ass into his hand.

He took his fingers away from her, slapped her hard, let it sting. "You'll fuck who I want you to fuck." He slapped her, let it sting. "Whose whore are you?"

"Tom, I'm your whore. Please fuck my cunt."

"Roll over, Sissy whore."

I'm O, she thought. She rolled over onto her back. Her ass stung and her clit was on fire. Lick it, she thought.

"Spread your legs, cunt."

She looked at him.

He squeezed her nose.

"That hurts, Tom. Don't."

"Slut." He left her and came back with a large green cucumber. "Beg me to fuck your whore cunt, Sissy."

She shook her head. "Tom, what are you doing?"

He grabbed a fist full of hair and growled into her face. "O doesn't talk back. She does what she's told."

She stared at him.

He shook her head. "Beg me."

She didn't like this. She wanted to leave.

He shook her head. "Beg me."

"O wants you to fuck her, Tom."

"With the cucumber, Sissy. Say it."

She closed her eyes. "Fuck me with that huge cucumber, Tom."

"Fuck who?"

"Fuck O, Tom. Please fuck O with the cucumber."

He slapped her thigh. "You are not fucking O, Sissy. What are you?"

She shook her head. He raised his hand to slap her face. She stared at him; his face was red and he was panting. "A whore?"

"You don't know?" He shook his hand.

"I'm a whore, Tom. Fuck me with the cucumber. Please, Tom. Don't hit me any more."

Tom kissed her as he slowly shoved the large green cucumber into her cunt. She came after the second thrust, lay there crying and shaking on the bed as he held the cucumber in her.

He let go of the cucumber; it slipped from her cunt. Tremors were still passing through her body when he left the room. She heard him dial the telephone in the living room, heard him say, "She's ready," then hang up.

He came into the bedroom with a fresh beer and sat on the bed next to her. "You'll get fucked by plenty of cock tonight, Sissy whore. You'll beg for it, you'll love it. You'll let them know you love it."

She shook her head. "Tom?"

He finished his beer, stood and took off his pants. "We're entertaining the varsity baseball team tonight, Sissy whore. You'll put on a good performance so you can be their team slut full time."

He climbed onto the bed, knelt above her face. "Open your mouth, Sissy whore, and love it."

She opened her mouth to his cock. He was the first to fuck her that night.

She stared at the ceiling. She wasn't going out today. She couldn't. She sat up slowly, rose to her feet and stripped, letting the clothes fall to the carpet.

Naked, she stood in front of the full-length mirror and studied her body. Her breasts weren't as firm as they were when she was in her twenties. She looked good, though. Pretty, black hair, brown eyes, full lips, her best facial feature.

She stood on her toes. She was amazingly slender in the waist, maybe an inch bigger, not bad. She had hips and long slender legs. Hips, a great ass, nice breasts. Too much of a figure for the sixties, she still looked good.

She touched her pubic hair, watched in the mirror as her fingers ruffled it. She dropped off her toes back onto her feet as her other hand cupped a breast. Her forefinger and thumb rolled her nipple as her fingers on her right hand slipped into her pussy and slid across her clit.

She was still good looking, beautiful even. She was going to talk to William tonight. She couldn't stay any longer if he didn't want her any more.

If he didn't want her any more she didn't know what she'd do. She missed his touch, his kisses, his glorious cock that filled her so much better than any other.

Ashley, she thought as she stroked her clit. Dear sweet innocent Ashley. I'm so sorry. She rubbed harder.

She tried not to think of the four weeks, four weeks and some days, she was team whore for them and their friends. Tom let them use his house; he had an apartment near the campus.

She sat on the floor and used her fingers to fuck her cunt as the other hand rubbed her clit.

When she had the chance, she escaped them, ran away, just a shirt, jeans and Keds, hitchhiked north. Filthy until someone let her wash up in their motel room. North to Chicago.

She shut her eyes and felt the whip on her back, the hand on her head. She heard steps, saw a second person approaching, black shoes, black pants, long black cape. That's all she could see. That and his cock, erect and angry red.

She came and opened her eyes. When the lights stopped flashing she watched in the mirror as her fingers stroked her pubic hair. She'd shave this off today, she thought. She touched her clit and shut her eyes.

The whip landed on her ass, just once. The hand held her head as the man with the cock moved away from her mouth. She felt him in her cunt. He thrust once, held her hips, then left her.

The whip landed on her ass repeatedly as cum dripped down her leg.

She opened her eyes, watched her fingers work her cunt. She left because it scared her how much she was beginning to like what they were doing to her. She was crazy if she liked it and she was frightened of being crazy like that, wanting to be fucked all the time, not caring who or how or how many. It frightened her to want it all the time like that.

As she closed her eyes she thought about how much it frightened her to want to be fucked all the time. She was crazy. She was alone in the basement, lying on the floor on her side. She heard several cars park and began to rub her soggy cunt in anticipation. She was hungry and thirsty.

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Part 1 — Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3
Part 2 — Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
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