Macho Sluts (25 page)

“Oh, these Yankee metaphors,” Anne-Marie sighed. “Such a jarring anachronism.”

This stroke landed so hard across the middle of Roxanne's cheeks that Alex could have sworn it shoved the girl and table forward by a good six inches. Of course, they hadn't moved at all. Only Roxanne's flesh had been displaced, and when it returned to its original contours, it bore a lovely purple welt that did not quite bleed, except for a few drops at the very end, where the tip of the cane (going faster than the body of the rod) had bitten in.

“Well caned!” Anne-Marie applauded. “Weren't you, dear?”

“Yes, ma'am. I was, was well caned. For my fault. Jesus. Thank you, Tyre. Ma'am.

Anne-Marie led her victim to the tiny bathroom, unchained her hands, and closed the door. “If we do not respect their privacy,” she said to all assembled, “how can we hope that they will ever respect ours?”

EZ snorted, and Kay elbowed her in the gut.

When Roxanne came out of the bathroom, she had refilled the enema bag and timidly offered it to Anne-Marie. “Please,” she said, “I'm not certain I'm clean yet.”

“Certainly, dear girl. Bend over. This time we'll use a dilating nozzle.”

The dilating nozzle was the size of Michael's cock. Anne-Marie inserted it into Roxanne's cunt. “What—” Roxanne said, then fell silent. Anne-Marie manipulated the object to little or no purpose. She gave the assembled dominatrices a significant look over her shoulder, then removed the nozzle and threaded the enema tube into it. As soon as the tip of it touched Roxanne's asshole, she sighed. It sank in without a snag, without need for a pause or a retreat, and the girl immediately began to wiggle as if it had pinned her to the table.

EZ nudged Kay. “See that?”

“Oh, yeah. Mmm. I got a tingle in my elbow.”

“I got a tingle in both hands.”

Tyre took charge of the valve and dispensed the water slowly, while Anne-Marie plunged the large nozzle repeatedly into Roxanne's eager bottom. The girl's hands (still manacled, but no longer trapped behind her back) clawed at the table, and even closed into fists and pounded on it, as she yielded to the hot, fat nozzle and the even hotter water that flowed continuously from it, filling her completely. She came again, and again.

Alex looked around and saw that Joy had been right, just about everybody was beating off. She undid the top three snaps of her codpiece and slid her hand down, cupped her fingers over her clit, and rubbed it from side to side. As the nozzle came out of Roxanne's ass, it drew a little bit of the thin tissue back with it, the pink, almost transparent lip of the asshole clinging to its invader. Then it would dive and tuck everything back in, making Roxanne groan, and Alex groaned, too. She grabbed one of her own nipples and pulled on it, remembering the wrestling match in Tyre's office. Then Michael was behind her, supporting her, taking over the job of twisting her tits, and she could lean back against those muscular thighs and use both her hands to make herself come at the spectacle of Roxanne being spread open and drilled. Michael's strap-on was a hard rod against her left buttock.

They separated as soon as she came. Anne-Marie was helping Roxanne up, taking off her collar, and opening the bathroom door. “You shouldn't pass anything but water now, dear,” she said before she closed the door.

The four of them who had toted her in, Alex, Michael, EZ, and Joy, waited outside. They heard the toilet flush and then water running as Roxanne cleaned herself off. “I must be thinking she won'be able to wipe herself dry,” Joy said. As soon as the door opened, they pounced on her and carried her to the platform where Kay and EZ were cooling their heels.

The two bikers seized Roxanne by the shoulders and hips and helped hoist her roughly into the sling. Alex went to is head and used padlocks to fasten her manacles to the chains that supported the sling. She threw EZ her keys, and EZ took off Roxanne's ankle restraints. Kay cupped her left foot, pointed her toe and slipped it through the stirrup. Joy had done the same thing to her right foot as soon as EZ took the fetter off that ankle.

EZ got up in Roxanne's face, under Alex's nose. “On your back and spread your legs,” she sneered. “That's the seven words you like to hear the most, right? Gets you drippin' in nothing flat. Well, it better. Only it's your asshole that better start juicin' up now, girlchild, gonna show you a new way to be a pussy. We want your ass, bitch, and we're gonna come and get it with both hands. You can either get some sugar or get hurt. If I was you I'd rather be sweet. Understand? Understand!”

Kay was pulling off each of her rings and stashing them in the pockets of her jacket. “EZ, hang this up someplace,” she said, shrugging out of it. The arms that emerged from the leather sleeves had rounded biceps and long, bulging forearms. “Takes more than fucking to put on muscle like this,” she laughed to Tyre, “but a lot of fucking don't hurt.” She hauled on the chained-up, giant can of Crisco and plunged one hand into it, then started greasing up her left hand. Her face went expressionless.

“She looks like some kind of goddess,” Chris breathed in Tyre's ear. “A goddess of gates and furrows and wounds and the yoni, plowing and sowing, fucking and fertility, everything human but more than human.”

Tyre wasn't sure how long she could listen to this stuff about doorways and seeds and double-headed axes, and she was infinitely relieved when Michael sleazed over, squeezing her dick, and began to lick Chris's tattoos and grope her crotch.

Kay stuck a finger up Roxanne's ass and probed. “Clean to here,” she pronounced. “Anne-Marie, you must have had her blowing her guts out.”

Anne-Marie chuckled. “No, but a lot of other extraneous matter came out.”

EZ had Roxanne's face between her hands and was spitting invectives at her, alternating between threats and flattery. Roxanne was fascinated by her scowling face. It looked like a choirboy on speed, and sounded as if her mind was as spiky and messed-up as her hair. “Wiggle your ass down here,” Kay growled. Roxanne slid toward her. She dug into the grease again, came up with a good-sized handful, and plastered it into the crack of Roxanne's butt.

Chris was entwined in Michael's arms, and they were trying to suck each other's tongues out. Joy nudged Alex when she caught her watching them. “Your woman got us all so hot mos' anything could happen,” she said. “It's hard to wait my turn.”

“Shit,” Alex said, and took her by the waist, “why wait when you could take a turn with me?” The throat under her mouth was smooth as glass, but soft and warm, so full of life that the very pulse within it seemed to kiss her back. Joy's hands went around her, inside her jacket, and the nails left trails of pain even through Alex's T-shirt.

“Shall I claw it off your back?” Joy teased her, putting a finger in her ear and tickling the tiny opening. “Get me started an' not finish, what else you suppose I should do?”

“Don't believe in starting what I don't finish,” Alex said, twisting her hipbone into the fur bikini.

“Ooh-la-la, a mighty woman of principle and purpose,” Joy said, evading her. “You bettah watch that smoke and smolder, or I lose my sense of direction, mebbe follow you into the cornfields an' we rub ourselves 'til we catch on fire, burn the whole damn thing to the ground.”

On her back, Roxanne could not keep track of the pack unless they wandered right up to the sling. Nevertheless, she felt surrounded by her captors, could sense their dark and predatory presence. She imagined them moving arrogantly, examining her with amused objectivity, sure of their power and her compliance. Occasionally they commented on the scene or uttered delighted words of encouragement to Kay and EZ. But these conversations were among themselves, intended only for each other's ears, and Roxanne could not always catch what they were saying.

Kay began to pop grease up her ass with her thumb. When she was entered, there was friction and heat. When Kay pulled out, there was a sensation of relief and cold from the gobs of grease. It was humiliating, swinging in mid-air with her limbs strapped down, getting her ass stuffed with Crisco like a turkey getting stuffed with dressing. She struggled, but she could not free her hands. It was easier (and wiser) to let the sling bear her up, and subside into passivity. Kay's face was a mask—cold, withdrawn, unimpressed, maybe even bored. All her passion was in her hands, the fingers switching places in her ass.

Roxanne thought Kay would probably proceed exactly the same way with anybody she threw into a sling, and every molecule of her rebelled against being treated like a category of people to whom something was done, rather than being noticed and pursued as a unique treasure. She felt a willful desire to crack that mask, to warm that face and bring it to life, to make Kay respond and react to her. Instead, she found herself responding, moving frantically, shamelessly, crying out. “Stop it,” EZ scolded her. “Quit showing off.” Stunned, she complied. Her shame was intensified by the fact that Kay never noted the rebuke or her response.

What looked like indifference was actually concentration. Every bit of Kay's attention was in her fingertips, which combed the sides, the floor and ceiling of Roxanne's ass, looking for the nerves, the joyspots, the loose thread she could pull to unravel Roxanne down to her core. Little messages ran constantly up those busy, delicately searching fingers, through forearm and bicep, to the shoulder, jogging it, keeping up a minute series of rhythmic movements designed to coax the asshole, the mouth of the great snake, to unlock its jaws and swallow its meal, Kay's folded-over, pointed, pared-down and slicked up hand.

Two fingers, then three, sank into Roxanne's ass. She barely noticed. She was humming along a smooth road. This was so easy, there was so little friction that it barley qualified as fucking. Nevertheless, there was pleasure, enough to turn her into a squirmy little girl, so bad and dirty that she wanted people to bend her over, pull down her panties, put things up her ass, move them in and out, make her tell them how much she liked it and squeal for more.

Then EZ made the mistake of interrupting all the stories she was telling herself about what a naughty, provocative, kinky slut she was and told her how many fingers Kay had in her. She jerked involuntarily. The squirmy feeling went away. Immediately, she tried to correct it—took slow, deep breaths; gathered her resources; willed herself to accept, open, opening, getting back on that seamless streamlined highway to lust.

“She's tightening up,” Kay said dispassionately. It might have been a weather report.

EZ's hand—gloved in thin black kid—gripped Roxanne's face, covered her mouth and nose. She drew in a startled breath, and realized from the potent smell that EZ held an inhaler of poppers in her palm.

The amyl came on slowly, then exploded. She was flying, falling, rushing—rushing! Her mouth fell open, her limbs went slack, and she felt four of Kay's fingers spread and claim her. Penetration was exquisite pleasure. Under the magical assault of the poppers, she felt no need to lift her littlest finger. Since she could not act, she could yield herself totally, pinned to the sling by her internal sensations. She need not cooperate with or assist the implacable beings manipulating her flesh.

EZ was laughing at her. “Wild, isn't it?” she said. “What d'you think we could do if we were all too fucking stoned to worry?”

The idea seemed to be a profound insight, and she let the anxious part of her mind play with it like a difficult knot. She wanted desperately not to think, not to fight. She was frantic to succeed.

“Damn!” Kay swore softly. “Just when I was about to get my thumb in.”

Roxanne began to realize that her own sense of what her body was doing … down there … was not reliable. “Tell me what to do,” she begged Kay. “I want to help you.”

“Don't worry, I'm keepin' track of you. You don't have to
do
anything, just let me do
you
. Listen to EZ. Let her play with your head, and I'll take care of your hiney. Gonna take ourselves a long ride together, pretty girl. It takes a while to get where we're goin', but I've never gotten lost yet.”

EZ's face loomed over her. The gloved hands—leather so thin and soft it clung to her skin—were a vise around her head. She tried to turn her face and kiss the leather. EZ restrained her, laughing. “Ready to fly again?” she said. Roxanne could tell she was excited, painfully, by the way she laughed and the tight grip on her hair. This burst of gaiety frightened her.

“Come on! Shove a popper up her nose!” Kay insisted.

EZ's gaze mesmerized Roxanne. The mad little-boy eyes were compelling, sinister in their power, ringed with kohl. “Come with me,” EZ said, and put the silver bullet between their lips. She closed her gloved hand over Roxanne's nose.

This sultry invitation was almost more than Roxanne could bear. Her body ached, then melted under the drug. EZ breathed the amyl into her lungs, held her down and pumped more of it into her when she wanted to refuse. It was rape and communion. Her lips became incredibly soft and tender. Her mouth melted into EZ's harder, more demanding one. She felt as if EZ were inhaling and exhaling her soul. The awful drug invaded her through the mouth while something that grew relentlessly larger and larger pounded at her ass.

The pressure was a sensation she experienced in her cunt and belly as well as her behind. Kay's hand was in up to the last set of knuckles, and Roxanne felt as if that hand were right up against her cervix and bladder.

“I've got to pee,” she whispered to EZ.

No sympathy came from that gleeful face. “Good,” EZ said. “That's very good. It means you're on the brink of losing every ounce of self-control. Go ahead. Piss. Piss right now.”

Roxanne bit her lip and shook her head. Was Alex watching? Alex was the only person she had ever done watersports with. After being formally introduced to them by Anne-Marie, of course. Well, there had been that wild and crazy bartender in Atlanta … but they were so drunk, it wasn't like it was on purpose! “Daddy wouldn't like it,” she whispered.