Subduing Jacqueline

by Jordan Church

  Suddenly she felt watched, and the blood drained from her face as she imagined his smug, knowing eyes dissecting her blushing smile. Weren’t some psychics also clairvoyant? As a scientist she found the idea of psychic powers highly suspect, but as a woman, alone and vulnerable in her home, she just felt nervous. Jones’ professed belief in his powers showed disconnection with reality. A disconnection that went a long ways toward sealing his fate. She still wondered how he knew her middle name. Someone must have told. That had disturbing implications, as disturbing as the idea of Jones clairvoyantly viewing her.

  She took a break from the unsettling portfolio and checked her e-mail. There was a message from Robert. She read it quickly:

  “Jacqueline, I hope your task is proceeding smoothly. Wendy Carter may be a good resource. She is likely to have useful insight into Wayne Jones. Whatever the finding of your appraisal, there is an excellent opportunity for you to write a journal article on Jones. Once you make a diagnosis, the case is quite compelling and a good sell. I’d be happy to help you write the article, which could lead to a book deal and talk show appearances. One thing, I think it crucial you develop a complete understanding of Jones’ perspective and that of his followers. Take your time, be thorough. If you need an assistance let me know, and I’ll do my best to help. “

  So many of her ambitions could come true so quickly! To think she had second-guessed herself for leaving Thurgood Joiner. Obviously, sticking with her principles paid off big time. Although discouraged by Jones’ initial lack of cooperation, Jackie vowed to arm herself with knowledge, giving herself the upper hand for her next visit.

  Her first step was to learn more about Jones’ philosophy and thought process. Consulting his handwritten journals could provide compelling and undeniable information. No one could accuse her of fabricating the information or of biased judgment.

  She sifted through the stack of dated journals, grabbing the most recent. His recent state of mind would be the most applicable, the most damning. Jackie still wanted to conduct a fair appraisal, but had to admit Jones hadn’t been a sympathetic figure in their meeting. She possessed no mixed feelings or qualms about ultimately finding in favour of his continued incarceration.

  She liked to be comfortable and focused while working at home, so she changed into a T-shirt and plaid pyjama bottoms, then took the journal to the living room. She lay lengthwise on the sofa, flipped the television off, and cracked open the journal.

  Recorded in small, neat handwriting, the brown leather journal captured Jones’ laundry list of sexual conquests and sexual acts. Jones wrote in a matter-of-fact tone showing utter disregard for the women. A typical entry:

  “Next one, black hair, white, medium build, 28 years old. Newly divorced, no children, just moved in to neighbourhood. Helped her move in. This one turned down offer of help but gave in to insistence. Later, she claimed not interested, too tired for sexual activity. Again, gave in to insistence. Very responsive, adapted quickly to pain. This one’s knowledge of true self close to surface. Easy acquisition. Made do with bungee cords from boxes. Required her to sleep in one of largest cardboard boxes that night. Perfectly obedient so soon. As instructed, still in box noon following day even though I was three hours late. Fed her after she earned privilege. Will be useful for certain tasks. Have named this one Bungee Bitch. “

  Jones’ perspective appalled but fascinated Jackie. His crazy journal musings suggested he was an alien separate from the human race. Or he considered himself a herder and his women like cattle. However, she now understood why prosecutors found his journal worthless. Jones failed to date or record real names in any of the entries. The journal contained no descriptions of illegal acts. If true, the journal suggested Jones had no need to falsely imprison or rape women to get them to submit. If false, the journal held no relevance. Jackie realized after reading a few entries the journal was pure fiction, just Jones transcribing fantasies. That many women willing to be mistreated simply didn’t exist in reality!

  Still, considering the journal was pure fantasy, she expected to find more detail, more flamboyance, and more delusions of grandeur. Jones wrote the entries in a matter of fact manner, as if ticking off actual events. Although to him they probably felt like actual events. Perhaps she could use the journal to support a diagnosis of psychosis, the inability to distinguish between reality and fantasy.

  As she continued paging through the journal, a folded piece of parchment covered in Jones’ handwriting fell to the floor. She opened it and read it:

  “A hierarchy, a system of superior to inferior, dominant to submissive, appears in all groups, all organizations, and all systems. This is true in civilization and in nature. Some systems are obvious, such as in the workplace world of bosses and underlings, while others are nearly imperceptible. One practical example of a stealth system, arguably the most important of all, is the world of sexual preferences and practices. Sexual behaviour is the doorway to evolutionary success, passing on one’s genes. Myself, while unsuccessful in business and unassuming in appearance, in the sexual realm I wear the crown of King. The sexual realm of each person is secret to most but obvious as a sunrise to me. My realm is all around me. I immediately know who is a sexual serf, how much and what kind of sex they have had. I can see it in their eyes. I read it in their aura. I lack respect for and may not even speak to someone who has had no sex, not even masturbation, for more than a week. This is because they have spurned my sexual realm. The women who achieve the most orgasms, the most powerful orgasms, and the deepest levels of submission, masochism, and humiliation successively rank higher in my realm. It is the only realm that counts. Of course, no matter how high they rank they can never be more than slaves. “

  Heart racing, Jackie clutched the paper. This “document” provided a window into Jones’ deranged thought process. Its bizarrely titillating nature made it perfect for inclusion in a paper or book on the Jones case. She pictured a photo of the parchment filling an entire medical journal page. This letter was a big gold nugget!

  However, a complete, professional appraisal required far more than journals or a piece of parchment. Jones’ cooperation was absolutely crucial to her future success. During her next meeting with Jones, she planned to use his words and the king/serf analogy to draw him into conversation, to encourage him to reveal more of his dysfunctional philosophy.

  As Jackie reread the parchment, her face flushed with embarrassment. If Jones actually saw the nature and degree of Jackie’s sexual experiences in her eyes or “aura”, he wouldn’t think much of her! She hadn’t had sex for a couple months. After the sexual harassment she’d suffered at Thurgood Joiner, she grew too pissed off at all men to even consider having sex with any of them. Plus there was the added stress of trying to find a new job.

  Jackie emitted an uncontrolled, harsh laugh, startling herself. Good thing she’d masturbated six days ago or Wayne Jones may have refused to talk to her. She didn’t masturbate often. It made her feel guilty, and her self-induced orgasms lacked power, leaving her unsatisfied. She thought none of her orgasms – with or without a partner – were very strong as she had no idea what women who were “screamers” felt.

  When she masturbated, she used her fingers to rub her clitoris, never to penetrate her vagina. It still felt good though. She wondered why she masturbated at all since it made her feel shame. On the other hand, since it did feel good, she also wondered why she didn’t masturbate more often.

  If she really wanted to gain “psychic” Wayne Jones’ respect she ought to use his monster dildo to bring herself to multiple orgasms. Then Jones would respect the hell out of her! She chuckled and shook her head. Like that ridiculous sword could even fit up her vagina!

  Feeling strangely energized, Jackie set the journal on her coffee table and closed her eyes. As she let her mind wander, the image of the strange dildo penetrated her thoughts, again and again. She pictured the di
ldo’s bulbous head nudging against the tight entrance of her vagina, first urging it to dilate, then forcing its way inside until the big rubber cock speared her from head to hilt. Jackie imagined the stretching, the pain, the feeling of being completely filled. How could any woman’s vagina survive such an assault? The thing was nearly a foot long! Impossible!

  She supposed the dildo could be used to stimulate the outside of a… pussy. Although inappropriate in clinical language, “pussy” seemed the appropriate term in this situation. Jacqueline Thorpe pictured the monster dick parting her pussy lips in search of her clitoris. She imagined her artful fingers flicking the power switch to the first setting on the handle. Gentle vibrations would resonate against her female core, making her pussy walls water and hardening her clit. As she imagined the dildo fucking against the outside of her pussy, her clit swelled and her pussy longed for stimulation. Suddenly her pussy felt sadly empty.

  She had to stop this line of thought! It felt like her panties were wet all of a sudden. She reached down and felt the crotch of them with her fingertips. The contact gave her a flash of heightened arousal. The panties were wet. The finding turned her on more.

  Perhaps she should finger herself to a little orgasm. Why not? Masturbation was perfectly natural and healthy. She found the idea of orgasming after reading Jones’ twisted journal distasteful, especially with the journal lying on coffee table two feet from her right elbow. She imagined the journal, a thing alive with dark thoughts, observing her pleasurable spasms and reporting back to Jones.

  So she wouldn’t masturbate to orgasm. But she did want to see how wet she really was. It was good to understand. Just check and see.

  Her fingers made a few more circles around her clit before slipping between the skin of her lower abdomen and the elastic of her panties. Her fingers trickled through her thick blond bush and lightly traced her pussy lips. At first, she carefully avoided the erect clitoris, but her arousal grew higher and hotter. Feeling inflamed, she brushed a single finger against the clit, thigh muscles jumping, pussy clenching and begging for penetration.

  She remembered her purpose. Just check. Just to know. She parted her blond curls and hooked her index finger through her outer and inner pussy lips. She was so soaked that the slight parting of her pussy lips released a small gush of juices that ran down into her ass crack. Her legs reactively stiffened and pushed her pussy onto the finger, her stray thumb brushing against her clitoris. The flood of sharp breathtaking pleasure made her arch her hips, further impaling her pussy on the finger. Her hand independently thrust two more fingers inside the hot wetness and went to work jabbing in and out, her thumb pad pressing ever harder on her savagely erect clitoris.

  Oh, she should stop! The lights were on, and she never masturbated with the lights on. Jackie glanced at the actively working mound her right hand made inside her pyjamas and watched her hips struggle repeatedly to lift up onto the hand. As she watched, her left hand joined in, pushing at her right through the pyjamas and wet stretched panty material. For some reason watching the desperate hands inflict pleasure turned Jackie on even more.

  The lights in the den seemed way too bright. Part of Jackie still wanted to stop, but the majority favoured continuing. Hell, of masturbating all night long!

  Suddenly Jackie felt watched again. She felt sick from the thought though she also felt an unexpectedly severe stab of arousal. What if someone was watching?

  This thought turned the tables and she was able to pull her hands away from her swampy crotch. Now that she pulled them away, she would make damn sure they didn’t return.

  Jackie sat up and smelled the thick scent of arousal emanating up from her pussy. Her juices had soaked her pyjamas all around the bottom of her ass. She vowed to wash her ass and pussy twice in the shower tomorrow. She glanced around the room and felt a little silly for over-reacting. No one was watching her, especially since she was in the privacy of her own apartment and the blinds were down.

  Although disconcerting, she was glad for the watched feeling since it enabled her to stop masturbating. She still felt extremely horny, but she was back in control of her actions. For Jackie, passion equated to a loss of control. Losing control scared her.

  Back to work. Jackie returned to the desk and grabbed the stack of photos and a couple of the porn magazines. She returned to the sofa wearing a rueful little smile. She was about to browse Jones’ porn with a wet, masturbated pussy. She pictured Jones imagining her getting wet because of him, from looking at his nasty photos and porn, not independently from her own two hands. The man’s over-inflated perceptions about his importance in kindling a woman’s desires were demeaning and misguided.

  The full size 8 x 10 photos were graphic. They showed an assortment of women in bondage, in positions of vulnerability, or showing signs of mistreatment. In one a slim brunette bent forwards and pointed her ass to the camera. Her hands spread her ass cheeks to reveal her pink little anus. Beneath her fingers blazing red abrasions decorated both ass cheeks, perhaps a half dozen on each. She looked back at the camera with an open-mouthed, ready-for-the-next-command expression.

  Another photo showed a bound ash blond woman lying on her stomach on a cement floor, her hands and feet tied together behind her back. Her full breasts bulged out from her body. Jackie couldn’t see the woman’s face, but her tongue was extended, the tip in contact with the floor.

  There were at least fifty photos. She studied the first dozen with awful fascination, then flicked through the rest before tossing them on the coffee table. All of the photos were equally twisted but all of them possessed a unique twist. Each woman was physically distinct, there were no repeats, although all had well-shaped bodies and all of the faces she could see were quite pretty. How did Jones find and attract so many sexually prime women and induce them to put up with such humiliating treatment?

  Ah ha! With a flash of realization, Jackie knew the answer. The women were models and Jones paid some Internet site to mail them out. There were probably thousands of copies of each print. She grinned as she thought of the dozens of men across the nation who at this instant were gripping these photos in one hand and masturbating with the other.

  Jackie grabbed the stack of photos again to study them with greater care. Pussy juice still soaked her crotch and pyjama bottoms, and every time she shifted on the couch her pussy lips rubbed against her clit, distracting her repeatedly.

  She scrutinized a picture of a lovely, large-breasted brunette sitting on the corner of a carved wood dining table. Jackie noted the woman’s hair had hairspray sculpted curves like a 50’s housewife. Obviously, from the date stamped on the back, it was a modern day photo, though. The woman’s mouth formed a luscious O of intense pleasure, despite the metal nipple clamps dangling from each plump nipple and the orange wax dried all over both breasts and sprinkled across her athletic belly. Jackie spotted a lit orange candle on the table behind the woman.

  Jackie stared at the woman’s pussy, which the photographer perfectly centred in the middle of the photo, ensuring the viewer would immediately spot the dildo penetrating the woman’s slit. At the moment of the photo, the woman’s right hand pulled her right pussy lip to the side and her left hand drove the huge dildo halfway up her pussy.

  Jackie gasped, her shocked gaze focused on the dildo. She felt a tremendous wave of the ‘roller coaster going downhill’ sensation. Although half the dildo was in the woman, Jackie clearly saw copper coils winding around the shaft and disappearing up into the woman’s pussy. Jackie even spotted the strange hilt with the upward twisting anal penetrator since it was not in the woman’s anus. It was the exact same dildo that currently rested on her coffee table.

  It couldn’t be true! She emitted a weak, relieved laugh. She was being silly. Of course it was the same model, but not the same dildo. The dildo factory made thousands of them. Jones must have seen it in this photo, did an Internet search, and bought
it.

  Although twisted and shocking, at least the dildo photo did satisfy Jackie’s curiosity. Apparently, a woman could cram the monster into her vagina, at least half way up. Jackie wondered if the model was very tall. Perhaps the enormous dildo fit because the model had an especially wide pussy. It was hard to tell from a photo.

  She flipped through more photos. She felt tremendous arousal, and each photo viewed threw another log on her bonfire. She felt crummy for letting these twisted photos turn her on. Why should they? She wasn’t a lesbian. She tried to reassure herself that it wasn’t looking at other women in distress that turned her on, it was imagining herself in each of those poses, each of those situations. Of course, that wasn’t very reassuring at all. She wasn’t any kind of sadist or masochist.

  Her previous masturbation, ending short of satisfaction, must have left her vulnerable to sexual input of any sort. Maybe an orgasm would free her from her fascination with the photos. Maybe she should not have stopped. As if the thought gave it license one of her hands drifted down to her wet sex. She pulled it away with a shake of her head. She needed to work.

  In the next photo, a red-headed model’s pale-skinned body glowed against a dark brick wall. Cobwebs covered the bricks and the room seemed dark and cavernous, like an unfinished basement. The woman’s arms stretched straight up from her shoulders to big iron manacles set into the bricks. Iron manacles also restrained the woman’s pale sculpted legs, stretching them as wide as she could possibly manage

  Bright red stripes, raised welts, covered the model’s inner thighs. A clothes-pin stuck out from the top of her red furred slit, probably pinching her clitoris. Despite the pain, juices darkened and matted her red pubic hair.

  Thick rings impaled the pale pink nipples of the woman’s full breasts. Jackie found piercings other than ear piercings to be ridiculous, embarrassing, a sign of insecurity, and an obvious appeal to please viewers at one’s own expense. The silver rings in this set of nipples were an exact match for the dozen rings currently lying on Jackie’s desk.