"So which one are you looking for?" she asked. "Which book, I mean."
"Oh, uh, volume one of The History of Sexuality," I said. "But it doesn't seem to be in stock."
"I have it," she said.
I looked at her, wondering what she was implying.
"If you'd like to come over for some tea, I could lend it to you," she said.
* * *
"Power isn't just about ordering people to do something," she said. "For Foucault, it's a whole system that makes you want to do something. That could be morality, it could be science, it could be marketing. It doesn't have to be a guy with a gun ordering you around."
We were sitting on a big puffy couch, reclining face to face with our tea cups in our hands. She was puffy too, a landscape that rolled and curved over the couch, I felt very bony next to her. "So that's what he means by hegemony? The ideas are so deeply ingrained that it's how you view the entire world--"
"Right. Any other way of acting would be unthinkable."
"And that's why he's so focused on discipline--"
"Well, maybe not the only reason," she said, with a sort of smirk.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, he was also a gay guy who was into S&M and stuff like that," she said. "So I think his interest in discipline was more than academic, if you know what I mean."
"Oh," I said. We were quiet for a moment. "So what about freedom? Is there such a thing?"
"Well, I think that's his point about power," she said. "We create power by rebelling against it and defining it."
"But is that a bad thing? Aren't we at least affecting it by pushing against it?"
"Yeah, I think that's part of how Foucault is different from a lot of other philosophers," she said, kicking her sandals off, exposing her long toes. "Marxists view power as a very rigid game with two teams. Foucault's view of it is much more dynamic-- it's not just religion or the state--"
"It's in all the ways we deal with people," I said. My hand bumped into hers. It stayed there, feeling the warmth coming from her skin.
"Right," she said.
"Like in how members of different social groups act to each other on campus. They assume certain things about each other, when maybe..." I said, trailing off.
"They want the same thing and don't know it," she said. "And they need to break through how society defines them--"
At that moment I was done talking about Foucault. So I leaned forward and kissed her.
Her lips were so soft and yielding, it was unlike any time I'd kissed Trent or any boy. I loved the heat coming from her mouth as our lips mashed together. I wanted to eat her up.
She put her hand to my breast and I grabbed hers, roughly, the big round blob of tit that it was under her cotton T-shirt. I could feel her nipple getting hard under her bra and I knew I had to suck that nipple, now. So I grabbed her shirt and pulled it up. She laughed, someone's in a hurry, she seemed to be saying. She reached behind and popped her bra and then those beautiful fat tits came tumbling out and I dove for one of them, sucking her nipple while mashing the other against my face. God, they were so soft and wonderful, big spongy boobs, I wanted to suck on them forever, to live between their soft pink bounciness.
She pushed me back and began unbuttoning my blouse. I just stared at her, topless, the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, her unruly black curls falling over her face, her big boobs dangling in front of me, her soft tummy swaying from side to side, a mole with a little hair sticking out right under her tits, adorable. She unsnapped my brassiere in the middle and then she grabbed my smaller breasts and began flicking her tongue over my nipples, my toes curled up, it was wonderful. She came back up and kissed me again, and I sucked her tongue in, greedily, while squeezing her dangling tit.
Then I rolled on top of her, her fat breasts lolling to either side as I kissed my way down, past the hairy mole to her stomach. I grabbed her pants and began to pull them down, and as I did, a magnificent forest of curly dark hair sprang up. Her crotch was as untamed and hairy as the rest of her, maybe moreso, and now it was my wild place, to lick and suck into submission. I felt no hesitation about the step I was about to take; I knew that this was what I was, that I felt about her pussy as I never felt about any of the cocks I'd had in my hands or my mouth, spewing their stinky cum onto me. A pussy was a natural and beautiful thing, and this one would be mine to lick to ecstasy.
I spread her legs apart and there it was, in all that black fur, slimy purple lips dripping with anticipation of my tongue. I dove in and spread them apart with my tongue, licking up and down the length of their slippery warm womanliness. They tasted of salt and metal and wet velvet— no, they tasted of themselves, pussy, the thing I knew I needed from now on. What was that about identities being constructed? This was my identity, from birth I now knew, licking her slick wet snatch, feeling her petals undulate under my tongue as I kneaded her big round bottom. Oh, the hours I would spend loving that fat bottom.
I slid a finger into her pussy and then another, slowly fucking her as I lapped her clit. She started moaning, her big ass shaking the world in front of me, and then she clamped her soft thick thighs around my head and I felt her pussy squeeze my fingers, rhythmically. I'd made her cum, me and my fingers and tongue, her pussy was responding to me, it had given herself over to me.
We cuddled for hours, feeling each other all over, playing with the newfound joys of soft fat breasts, squishy tummy, hairy bush, long toes. I was inexhaustible, I wanted to lick at her womanliness for hours, I saw stars when she climbed on top of me, fucking me with her fingers while she sucked my nipples, kissed her own juices off my face. We couldn't have been more different, me blonde and well-groomed and long and lithe, her pale and dark-haired and messy in every direction with her wild hair and monobrow and chubbiness. But she was everything I wanted under me, in my power.
Foucault would have understood, I think.
* * *
Mama took it badly at first— if you can call a pretend suicide attempt taking it badly (four Midol and a glass of champagne is unlikely to be fatal, even if you do leave a three-page note). But over time I saw a change in her attitude toward Liz and me, and finally I realized what it was— she saw that we were in love, and I think that was something she'd never seen before.
Now we go shopping together (she's slightly femme'd Liz up, though there's a long way to go to make her Miss Low-Till Farming) and hang out together during break, drinking chardonnay and talking girl talk. I've even started to wonder about Mama— could she have been so unhappy in her relationships, at least in every way except money, because she...? It's a funny thought, but she's taken good care of herself, and her marriages certainly have left her well fixed. She'd make a nice catch for some gal. Maybe she should go back to school for her Ms.
The End.
Bridge Party
Josh Schmuckler woke up with his balls aching as usual. And for the usual reason. Mistress had them both in her heavily munching mouth, her chin resting against his stiff tool. And when her jaws pounded down on his orbs and squeezed them, the pain was unbearable. And exquisite. Josh's tool swelled with the pain of each crunch. He could tell that Mistress was really going to use him today.
His back hurt from being chained in the same position all night. Mainly sideways, with his head pointing toward the foot of the bed and his balls and prick nuzzling Mistress's face, exposed to her constant torture. She had not let him come in days and his balls and prick throbbed in sweet pain.
His arms were chained straight over his head to the eyehook in the middle of the board at the foot of the bed. Mistress had her legs wrapped tightly around his head, as she had for most of the night. Her mound nudged against Josh's mouth, which he knew was the signal to begin eating Mistress again. If he didn't eat her well, she was not above actually biting those tender cojones she held so precariously in her mouth. So he began to move his overworked aching jaw, nursing on Mistress's cunt, until he felt her writhing with excitement.
She must be getting into a better mood, Josh thought.
She only bit him twice before losing herself in her own ecstasy.
He took the bud of her clitoris in his mouth and let her cunt envelop the rest of his face as her inner walls began to convulse against his nose in orgasm after orgasm. After the twenty-first one, she even took Josh's prick into her mouth and glided her tongue over it to egg him on further. If worked, although Josh had to concentrate hard to make sure that he didn't come in view of the throbbing state of his prick and way too full balls.
He didn't want to be punished for coming without permission.
That would be bad.
He was relieved when he felt Mistress's juice begin to flow over his left cheek and down onto the sheets during her thirty-fourth to fifty-third orgasms.
Mistress was so pleased that when she got up, she chained Josh spread-eagled face down in the bed and placed a saucer of milk beneath Josh's face. Josh was so grateful that he began lapping up the milk at once, like the hungry pet that he was. Mistress had chained him to bed last night without so much as bedtime snack.
She had been rightfully mad about the spot Josh had left on the dinner plate when doing the dishes.
Josh was so hungry that he lapped up every drop of the milk, being careful of course not to get any on Mistress's precious sheets, even though he knew the milk was laced with horny goat weed to keep Josh's organ throbbing and erect for the amusement of Mistress and her friends.
He was that hungry.
When he was done, he looked up at Mistress expectantly, with what he hoped were sad puppy dog eyes.
"No, my pet," Mistress replied, ruffling his hair. "I need you hungry to entertain our guests. You understand, don't you? I will feed you after the party. Do you think Mistress would let her little slavey-wavey starve to death.
Then where would she get her fun? I will feed you tonight, slave, but not before."
With that Mistress left the room, Josh catching a glimpse of her firm ass as it rocked its way out the door. Despite himself, he felt his tool getting hard again.
Probably just the goat weed talking, he thought.
It was a busy morning getting the place ready for the party. Josh vacuumed and scrubbed and picked up, all the time wearing nothing of course but his collar and chains. The same outfit he knew he would be wearing to the party.
No wonder Mistress's house was the "girls'" favorite venue for playing bridge. Josh doubted their husbands would be so approving if they knew about Josh. He suspected that he was a well-kept secret among Mistress's circle.
Mistress decided to use him as a serving tray again, strapping him to the table and smearing pate and dip all over his cock and balls and nipples for the "girls" to scrape off with their crackers or to lick off directly if they so chose.
Each of the "girls" greeted him in a different manner. Mrs. Silverstein ran her pudgy hands all over Josh's torso and thighs, talking off half the dip in the process, which she proceeded to cram down her voracious gullet. Mrs. Thornton, on the other hand, concentrated on licking every last bit of cracker decoration off of Josh's swollen prick, which she then plunged into her mouth. She bobbed her head up and down on it for a good fifteen minutes, trying to see if she could trap Josh into violating his Mistress's commands by coming. When she finally gave up, she patted Josh on the tummy and turned to Mistress and said, "That's a well trained slave you have there, Sophie. My Milton would have come the first time I touched his pathetic little shriveled wiener. Which I haven't for the past seven years for that very reason."
She looked down at him again. "You are good boy, Josh. Mistress is lucky to have you. If she ever mistreats you, just give little old Mistress Wilma here a call, OK?" She cackled, patted Josh on the tummy once more and took her place at the bridge table.
Mrs. Simon was content to grab Josh's balls and squeeze them as hard as she could, while Josh writhed in pain. She smiled at Josh as she licked the dip from her fingers. "We will have time to play, later my pet. I am going to crush the juice right out of those pathetic little balls of yours and straight into my cooze. We will see what Josh's little Mistress does to little Joshie then, won't we, my bad little slave?"
She gave Josh's aching balls one more crushing squeeze before she too took her place at the bridge table.
The "hors d'oeuvres" having been served, the girls began to deal the cards.
It was not long before Mrs. Thornton began to complain of boredom, as she always did. So they got up from the table, unstrapped Josh and brought him over to Mrs. Thornton's chair and made him kneel down before her.
She hiked up her skirt to her waist. She was not wearing panties, which came as no surprise to Josh, as he had cured Mrs. Thornton's "boredom" many times before. This was far from his first "bridge party."
He saw that her pubic hairs were starting to turn gray, as she spread her legs on the bridge chair to give Josh better access to her. The other women forced Josh's head into her and then chained his arms around her chair so that he could not move his head even an inch backward. Obediently, he began to tongue her, even as the three other women pushed Mrs. Thornton's chair back into place underneath the bridge table.
Mrs. Simon took off her shoe and began to assault Josh's balls with her foot while he ate Mrs. Thornton, who was by now slouching far down in her chair to push her mound more tightly against Josh's mouth.
So it went for the next two rubbers, with Mrs. Thornton making bids such as "Two oh my God" and "Double it baby, double it and redouble it, Josh, honey." She moaned and screamed her way through several hands, while Mrs. Simon tortured Josh's aching balls with her foot.
She did not tire of Josh's attentions until Josh caused her to lose count of the cards, attempt a needless finesse, and lose the third rubber. For that, her partner, Mrs. Simon gave Josh a swift kick in the balls.
By this time, Mrs. Silverstein was shifting uncomfortably in her chair.
"What's the matter, Thelma, dear?" Mistress inquired. "Hemorrhoids acting up again?"
"Yeah, got a nasty little bugger this week," Mrs. Silverstein told her hostess. "Can't seem to get comfortable with it."
"You need to keep them clean, Thelma. I've told you that. Ever try a tongue bath?"
"No, do you honestly think that would help?"
"TONGUE BATH! TONGUE BATH!" the other three ladies chanted in unison.
They unchained Josh from Mrs. Thornton's crotch and led him into the bedroom.
They had Mrs. Sliverstein strip off all her clothes, get up on her hands and knees on the bed and spread her huge buttocks with her hands, her pendulous breasts hanging beneath her.
They chained Josh's arms to the eyehooks in the headboard so that his face was forced into Mrs. Silverstein's ass.
By now they had all stripped. The fun and games would begin in earnest now.
"Go ahead, Dr. Josh. Clean her. Relieve that poor creature's suffering," Mistress commanded.
Josh could see the problem in question. It was a rather nasty looking devil. An externalized hemorrhoid that extruded from Mrs. Silverstein's paradoxically tight little anus. Better than a deep internal one from the standpoint of the hygienic procedure about to be applied, he figured.
Tentatively, he stuck out his tongue to make preliminary contact with the offending vein. He sincerely hoped Mrs. Silverstein maintained good bowel habits. It looked clean enough on this end.
He licked the swollen vessel softly until Mistress pulled on violently his chains, wedging his head firmly between Mrs. Silverstein's ample buttocks.
"That is not how you clean my guests, slave. I will show you how to clean an ass. I want your tongue inside her, where it counts. We need to get at the root of this problem. I will show you how to treat her ass, slave. You just do exactly to hers what I do to yours."
With that, Mistress retrieved her favorite vibrator from the case. This was not just any vibrator. American manufacturers didn't make vibrator motors with the horsepower to suit Mistress. She had
been forced to devise her own. She had adapted his particular vibrator to run off a chain saw motor.
Mistress yanked violently on the cord and the chain saw motor sprang to life. It sounded as though she were going to chop down a tree. She looked like a nightmare straight out of Texas Chain Saw Massacre as she held the oversized vibrator aloft.
It was running going back and forth at speeds that must have exceeded one hundred miles an hour.
A malicious anticipatory grin spread over Mrs. Simon's lips. Her dark areolas heaved with each excited breath.
"Lube him up," Mistress said.
Mrs. Thornton applied the KY jelly to Josh's ass, cramming it up his hole with a gloved hand.
"Now spread him for me, girls," Mistress commanded.
Mrs. Simon and Mrs. Thornton obediently spread the cheeks of Josh's ass wide apart.
Mistress lowered the boom on the oversize vibrator and revved up the motor to an even higher pitch before she plunged it deeply into Josh's waiting ass.
Josh felt as though he was going to be split apart. His ass was still sore from when Mistress had used him with the double dildo the prior afternoon.
Nonetheless, he did not want to be punished, so he tried to match the vibrator's motions with the thrusts of his tongue up Mrs. Silverstein's ass. The old bird wiggled her ass on Josh's face and screamed and moaned in delight.
Soon, however, she began to complain once more.
"His tongue is not long enough to reach it all. I will need his prick. I want his long prick inside me, reaming me out."
Exasperated, Mistress pulled the vibrator out of Josh's ass and took his prick, which was still jutting straight upward due to all the horny goat weed he had consumed, and plunged it into Mrs. Silverstein's ass.
The other two women tightened the chains and placed Josh's hands on Mrs. Silverstein's massive breasts.
Obediently, he began to pump into Mrs. Sliverstein as hard as he could.
"You need to be long for this one, Joshie, so we are going to help you. But you must remember, you mustn't come, no matter what we do. We have many uses in store for you before this little soiree is over.
Dirty Forbidden Collection Page 100
