Of course she’s deserving everything that’s happening to her tonight … every time the hollow voice of conscience gives a burp I remember the teasing this bitch gave me; it helps a great deal to keep me from feeling sorry for her. The really remarkable thing, when you turn the case of Miss Cavendish over in your mind, is that she hasn’t been raped before this. A cunt who acts the way she does might as well wear a tag: “Forceful Persuasion Solicited.” After a few experiences with Miss Cavendish you begin to feel violent. That she’s managed to escape for so long is simply another indication of the general helplessness of the male sex.
Take Sid, for example … he’s been hanging around for a long time and as many things have happened to him as happen to most people, but if the three of us hadn’t happened to get together tonight he would probably never have done anything about this bitch the way she was treating him. For that matter, I let her have pretty much her own way with me until tonight. Well, I don’t suppose that there will be much tapping on my door from now on … I suspect that her solitary household here will run more smoothly, with fewer calls for assistance… .
Arthur is almost in tears because he believes that Sid is going to have his dick bitten off before his very eyes. It’s an actual phobia with him … a couple of experiences of his own have given him a bad case of the shits on the subject. He pleads with Sid to leave well enough alone. Throw her another screw, he says, and to Jesus with being sucked off … . . at least for tonight. Some other time, next time we lay Miss Cavendish, when she’s not so overwrought and liable to excesses in one direction or another, it would be a fine thing, he suggests.
“How about that?” Sid says to Miss Cavendish. “Do you think you’d feel more like sucking us off some other night? Say … night after next?”
Asking Miss Cavendish how she’s going to feel two nights from now is like asking a drowning man if he’s considered where he’ll spend his next summer vacation … she hasn’t the time to think about it, but she hopes that there will be another night to put an end to this one. It occurs to me that the reason she hangs onto Sid’s and my cocks may be because as long as she has them in her hands we can’t fuck her. She stares at the ceiling, looking very long and very naked stretched across the bed, and Sid plays with her cunt. When he pinches it, jism bubbles out.
Arthur thinks we ought to screw her again and at once. “Full measure,” he says. He gives a little lecture on the subject of our obligation both to those who came before us and those who are to come after. The first lay, he declares, was for pleasure only … the second is a responsibility we have taken onto our shoulders. The second round, it seems, is the one that really counts, the one that takes the nonsense out of her.
“Shit, don’t you see how it is?” he says, sounding the slightest bit drunk. “Now we’ve got her so she won’t tease us again… . but that isn’t enough. We have to fix her so she won’t tease anybody, and that means we have to give her another …
shit, anybody can see that.”
Just how this conclusion is arrived at is not as clear as it might be, but no one disputes Arthur’s logic. Sid tells him to go on and fuck her.
“I’d do it myself,” Sid says, “but I can’t bear to take my dong away from her.
Doesn’t she hold it nice? Just like it was a flower or something.” He chucks Miss Cavendish under the chin.
Arthur swats his dong a couple of times. It’s limp as a rag, and it’s apparently going to stay that way.
“It isn’t that I don’t feel like screwing her,” he explains. “But Jesus, I just climbed off her. You can’t expect it to bounce right up again. How about you, Alf?”
When Arthur says that, I can feel the cunt’s fingers twitch and tighten on my prick. She’s still scared, and it seems that she’s finding out if I am in condition to take her over. John Thursday’s in fine shape… .
“Don’t do it anymore …” Miss Cavendish without her glasses is remarkably good-looking, and she almost succeeds in making me feel that we’re playing her a dirty trick. “I won’t inform on you, I promise, if you don’t do anymore to me… … .”
She won’t inform on us! Female logic is enough to make a man slit his throat.
She’s been criminally … actually criminally teasing Sid and me for days … before that … God knows how many men or how many years. She’s thrown that cunt in our faces and then snatched it away at the last minute often enough to make gibbering idiots of us, and chronic masturbators as well. But now … SHE’s going to refrain from informing on US! I almost throw my cock up under her tail … if John Thursday had feet only his toes would be sticking out.
“This one’s for the time you needed me to set the mousetrap,” I tell her, and in goes my cock again. “And this one’s for the time you wanted me to hang your pictures while you skittered around in a bathrobe that kept falling almost off.
And this one’s for the window that got stuck … the closet that wouldn’t open …
the wallpaper that came loose… .”
I have a list that could go on for several minutes, but I never could talk as fast as I could fuck. I hammer my dick into that bitch’s fig until it’s ready to split completely. But she’s too unresisting now … I give her ass a pinch to put some salt under her tail …
“She’s a hell of a cunt,” Arthur says disgustedly. “Either she wiggles too much or you can’t get a move out of her. Maybe we ought to teach her how to fuck as long as we are here. Fuck, damn it, or I’ll piss in your ear …”
Miss Cavendish comes back to life sufficiently to inform Arthur that she isn’t going to be intimidated. We may be able to rape her, but she won’t be coerced …
we can subdue her body, but not her will, etc. etc…
“Maybe we’ll have to put the screws on, Sid,” Arthur says.
“Yeah, it looks like we’ll have to make things a lot clearer … look, bitch, did anyone ever lay a fat turd over your pretty nose and then wipe their ass on your hair? Then give you a bowl of piss to wash in? Or take pictures to peddle on the Boulevard des Capucines and maybe send to some of your friends back in England? No, I didn’t think so …”
Miss Cavendish quiets down at once. Arthur chimes in … he has always wanted to make some photographs to end all photographs. He has some ideas …
Miss Cavendish with a Roman candle firing out of her ass and a black turd held in her toes, patriotically waving the tricolor… Miss Cavendish standing on her head or hung by her toes in a corner while a mangy street dog … or perhaps a fat little boy … tries his aim on her …
“Or would you rather be a nice girl and fuck?” he asks.
It is very difficult for Miss Cavendish to make herself bump bottoms with me.
But Sid and Arthur have scared the piss out of her … she believes us capable of doing anything. Sid calls for more enthusiasm …
“Allegro con moto,” he shouts at her. “Jesus, what a lousy motion you’ve got!
Hey, is that the way you think people fuck? No wonder you don’t lay… .”
“That’s strictly a play-with-yourself motion,” Arthur advises Sid. “It gets to be a habit, sort of … but if you put your prick up their ass a few times that goes away.”
“Will you shut up?” I yell at them. “She’d be all right if you’d leave her alone …
shit, I’ve paid good money for worse fucking than this …”
Miss Cavendish doesn’t care for the compliment. She tries to look reproachful but succeeds only in looking slightly dazed. My cock slips out of her fig and she holds her ass up so I can get it back in …
Arthur swears that she’s beginning to like it … Sid says that he’s merely imagining things.
“She isn’t supposed to like it,” Sid says. “If she likes it then we aren’t doing it right. How about that, Alf … do you think she likes it?”
I can’t think about anything but my cock … it’s lost up in her tail, and I’m coming… .
Sid’s ready to take her next. The bitch doesn’t even close her legs after I’m through with her … she keeps them spread and waits for Sid to climb on … We’ve stopped pretending to hold her, so I sit on a chair and watch from across the room.
Sid fucks her for a long time. When things begin
