Jackie studied the woman’s face. She was smiling widely at the camera, obviously conscious of being photographed. Jackie felt a jolt of sudden recognition. It was Monica, the woman who stopped her in the parking lot at the Goethner-Varner Mental Rehabilitation Centre so that her daughter, Kira, could talk to her at her car window.
Jackie flung the photo on the coffee table. Now she knew. These photos were genuine. Their subjects were not actresses in pose. These were real women under Jones’ spell, allowing and enjoying the mistreatment. It was disconcerting. It was repugnant.
She wondered if Kira was also displayed in one of the photos, but she didn’t want to look. She didn’t need to see that.
She needed a break from the photos, unable to deal with this revelation now, all turned on and wet. She was in the wrong state of mind. She needed to be 100% horrified, then set her emotions aside and return with an analytical and clinical mindset to examine the sorts of abuse Jones chose for his “girlfriends” and to derive conclusions about what the pictures indicated about his mentality. Right now her arousal prevented her from being 100% horrified. Right now she was at 80%, maybe only 60%.
She thought about heading to bed, but it was still early and she had more work to do. She turned to a porn magazine to distract herself. Again the material treated women as objects to be used for pleasure. Again the women pretended to enjoy the abuse. But these photos differed from Jones’ private collection. Since they featured paid models Jackie didn’t have to feel guilty for being turned on while looking at them.
One series of photos showed a man in a suit, perhaps the erstwhile owner of the mansion in the setting, admonishing two auburn-haired maids. Were they supposed to be sisters? The stern man held a riding crop. As the picture story progressed the maids shyly removed their clothes at his demand until they wore only high heels and fishnet black stockings. Then he lashed one’s upturned ass as she bent over and licked the other’s pussy. As the pictures progressed many more welts appeared on the rears and flanks of both models. The damage appeared to be genuine, but Jackie figured the magazine had good makeup artists. After five photos the women switched places, the licked one becoming the licker. For the finale the women, now sporting blazing red asses, kneeled hip to hip while the man towered over them, sticking his rigid cock in their faces. While he scowled the women teamed up to tongue-bathe his cock. A close up photo caught the moment a thick stream of come shot from his cock, and more photos showed come splashing on both women’s faces, then them licking it off each other. The women appeared quite happy with how it all worked out. How realistic was that!
As Jackie scrutinized the pictures, her hand scurried up and then plunged beneath the waistband of her pyjamas and panties. Pushing the soaked material of her panties aside, two fingers made rapid fire shallow plunges into her pussy. Her left hand pressed on her right through the materials helping it exert more pressure, more contact. She was desperate for release. She pulled her oily slick fingers out of her pussy. Her clothes. She needed them off. Now.
She stood, pushed down her bottoms and panties, and nearly fell as she kicked them free. Wearing only a tight white T-shirt and athletic socks, her face reddened with sudden shame, but shame wouldn’t stop her. Right or wrong no longer mattered. She needed a release. She needed an orgasm and she sensed a huge one literally within reach.
Jackie flopped cross-legged onto the sofa, her right hand thrusting three fingers up her pussy and her left hand stroking her hard clit. She ground her bare ass and the base of her slit into the material of the sofa. Her pussy juice would leave a stain. That thought spiked her passion further and propelled her fingers deeper and harder. Her potential orgasm kept cresting higher without breaking into surf. She wondered at it, at herself, and in that moment of detached, self-analysis the watched feeling returned.
Her cheeks and forehead burnt with shame but her fingers did not stop their action. What if she really was being watched? What if Jones had some clairvoyant power and even now stared at her hot worked up pussy? The idea of Jones watching her orgasm gave her a massive charge of arousal, and fluid gushed from her pussy onto her active fingers. The idea of someone, anyone, coldly or angrily watching her, taking no action, while she performed a graphic and humiliating masturbation was suddenly a huge turn on. Her newly discovered exhibitionism frightened her. Maybe she didn’t really know herself.
Jackie felt out of control. Would watching her out of control actions give her watcher some twisted power over her? In her mind, she pictured Jones watching her at this moment. The flash of his impassive face and crazed eyes filled her with a sick wave of self-disgust, loathing for Jones, and heightened arousal all swirled together. Desperate to forget Jones, she replaced his face with the image of the stern man from the porn pictorial. The one who severely and pleasingly punished the two maids, bending them to his sexual will. What if he were here, punishing her?
He’d have that riding crop in hand. He wouldn’t be satisfied just watching, he’d give orders. But what would he order her to do? Bend over to take an ass beating? Kneel on the floor and suck his cock? As she imagined tongue laving the man’s hard but soft dick, Jackie’s pleasure crested higher and higher, but an orgasm remained elusive. He was imaginary, and her imagination alone couldn’t get her off. She needed something more, something real.
A man like that, similar in nature to Jones, would order her fetch the strange giant dildo and shove it up her crack.
She couldn’t. No way. But the more she pictured the dildo, the more her fingers plunged into her hot wet personal swamp and the more restless she got. She imagined the stern man observing her, ordering her to fuck herself with the dildo, and whipping her for noncompliance. She craved to submit to the stern man’s will. She needed that dildo in her pussy. It would be wildly hot.
As she imagined the man whipping her tender ass flesh, Jackie sensed she could make herself come if she gave herself permission. Her fingers unconsciously slowed their work, keeping her on edge without satisfaction. She didn’t just want a great orgasm. She was greedy for the best orgasm of her life. She got up from the couch and paced over to the desk, pussy juice dripping from her pubic mound and disappearing into the carpet.
She hoisted the bizarre dildo by the handle, forced her passion down for a few moments, and washed it in the kitchen sink. There was no way that thing would touch her pussy until she knew it was clean and germ free. She washed it twice, feeling scared at its immense size and trying to talk herself out of it, but the stern man in her head ordered her to fuck herself with it.
She returned to the sofa, blushing at the dark wet patch on the cushion. She had blushed more today than she had in the entire last year. She hated that feeling, flustered, helpless, and vulnerable to events outside her control. She thought she hated it. Pretty sure. She wondered if someone watching her would have noticed her blushes. No, they were probably watching her bare ass.
Jackie laid on the sofa, the wet splotch centred under her tailbone. She spread her legs wide, one small foot on the back of the sofa, the other on the floor. She bit her lip and examined the bizarre dildo held in her trembling hand. It looked immense in the grip of her slim fingers. She trembled, from fear, from anticipation, from sexual intensity. Just looking at the dildo turned her on. How turned on could she get without actually coming?
She burned with need, burned with shame, burned under the imaginary watchful eyes. She held the wicked dildo a foot above her belly, hesitating, intimidated to take the next step. Maybe she should set it down and go to bed. The thought of going to bed without satisfying her need was nearly unbearable. She doubted her fingers could do the trick. She’d orgasm but now she needed more than a simple orgasm. She needed to cross a border into new territory. She would lose respect for herself if she backed away from the challenge now. She would also lose respect for herself if she proceeded. Jones probably used this dildo on hundreds of women and now, for h
er to use it on herself on the same day she met him was crazy.
She was in a Catch-22. Either way she’d feel shame and think less of herself. But, at least one of those ways she’d come so hard…
The thought was a green light to the hand holding the dildo. It lowered the giant mushroomed head to the lips of her pussy and nudged gently to split them open. The hilt was in her right hand, the shaft stretching from just above her belly button down to the head splitting her swollen lips. Swirls of copper glinted as the wide translucent shaft rolled and agitated her painfully hard clitoris. She wouldn’t penetrate herself with this behemoth. The wickedness of using it at all would be enough to satisfy her new need. It obviously wouldn’t fit, at least, not without damage. The last thing she wanted was to walk into Jones’ room and have him notice she was walking stiffly from a sore vagina!
As she continued to roll the shaft and jog the ballooned head against her slippery pussy, her legs sought to stretch even wider and her ass thrust her pussy up against the monster’s head, effectively jiggling her pussy lips against the wicked toy.
She couldn’t help but imagine walking stiffly into Jones’ room, his mad eyes observing and drawing all the correct conclusions. He would stand over her, rattling off every embarrassing act she performed on herself. She would lower her eyes and reluctantly nod her agreement, unable to lie, knowing he could recognize a lie anyway. She moaned and bucked her hips, her ass rising off the sofa, her hand shoving the shaft of the dildo hard against her lower abdomen.
She imagined what Jones would say when she confessed her naughty personal acts. He would coldly examine her as if she was a thing, a creature inferior to him, but would tell her, “Good Girl. “
She rammed her pussy up hard against slippery shaft. Seeking as much sensation as possible, her left hand pressed the mushroomed head against her clitoris, crushing it, brutalizing it. Her gapped pussy released a burst of pussy juices with nothing but sofa to soak it up.
Jackie made a long piercing siren wail and felt distantly amazed that she produced such a sound. She was coming, coming, still coming. Her ass slapped up and down off the sofa like it was having an epileptic fit. She heard the siren wail drop down in octaves to become a deep throaty groaning thing.
Her pulse thundered, her pale legs were gleamed with sweat, pussy juice slicked her upper thighs, pubic mound, and belly. Her pussy continued to twitch and flinch with mini orgasms, but she no longer had the strength to feed her ravenous arousal with more sensation. Her legs stilled and her hands nearly dropped the powerfully built dildo.
Coming to her senses, especially her sense of propriety, she gasped, mortified at all the noise she made. Had her neighbuors heard? Instinctively, her hands covered her mouth as if she could retroactively stifle her wails. A pungent smell notified her that the pussy juice dripping from her fingers now coated her lips, chin, and cheeks.
She sat up and let her hands drop back to her lap. “Oh, God! “
What was that sound? She heard a thump, and then a scraping from outside the blinds covering her big living room window. The glass of the window vibrated with another small contact. Jackie covered her wet pubic mound with one hand and threw the other arm across her tee-shirt covered breasts as she backed out of the living room and into her bedroom. Was someone out there? Could they have seen her through the slits in the blinds?
Oh God, had someone been watching her perform?
In her bedroom Jackie pulled on sweatpants and shoes. She had to find out the truth. If someone watched her masturbate with part of Jones’ official medical portfolio she would be screwed professionally!
Chapter 8
Just before stepping out of her apartment, Jackie worried she’d find neighbours gathered in the apartment complex hallway, trying to determine the source of the orgasmic wailing. She also worried someone might smell her aroused scent, since she hadn’t taken any time to wash off the smeared pussy juice on her face.
She peeked through her keyhole, relieved not to see any of them. She grabbed the flashlight she kept in case of power outages, opened her apartment door, raced down the empty hallway, and exited the apartment into the bitter night air. Why did she have to rent an apartment on the ground floor? Answer: On moving day, she hadn’t wanted to carry boxes up flights of stairs. Another good question was why she hadn’t masturbated in the darkness of her own bedroom. Answer: She enjoyed the watched feeling, although she believed at the time it was a delusion.
As she started towards the outside of her apartment, she considered the image she would have presented to a peeper. No clothing below the waist other than athletic socks, slim legs stretched wide, her hands pushing the shafted length of the oversize dildo against her swollen pussy. What if he also heard her? Wailing and grunting and grinding. It was awful that even now, out in the night facing the stark possibility of a compromised professional career, her mental image of herself behaving like a mindless sex creature re-ignited her inner pilot light. The orgasm had failed to satisfy her lust.
She went round the corner and flicked on the flashlight. No one was outside her living room window. She was momentarily relieved, and then realized they probably left after she concluded her act and retreated out of the room.
She turned the flashlight’s beam down on the snow below her window. Footprints! There was a large trampled area in the snow, like someone stood at her window for a long time. This was terrible. But what had the peeper really seen? Jackie turned off the flashlight and peered through the gaps in the blinds at her brightly lit living room. She saw the entire room. In detail. With a gasp of horror she even spotted the tremendous wet patch on her sofa.
Who had watched? Was it one of the apartment complex residents? Had it been some homeless person, maybe? Jackie turned the flashlight back on and examined the footprints in the compacted snow. They were quite small. Whoever it was wore tennis shoes. In the cold weather they must have had a powerful reason to stand out here so long. Jackie well knew the reason.
Comparing the size of the footprints to her own shoes, Jackie figured there was no way the peeper was an adult man. A small adult female like herself fit the print perfectly. Although still outraged, she felt relieved her watcher was female. A man might make a pass at her, thinking she was a creature of passion. A woman wouldn’t do that. She supposed her ideas were sexist and antiquated. Couldn’t a lesbian behave similar to a heterosexual man? Wouldn’t a sexually perverted woman be equally capable of wrongdoing as a perverted man?
What kind of woman peeped through blinds to watch another woman masturbate? The answer was pretty obvious. It was one of Jones’ female followers. Jackie immediately thought of the sick mother-daughter pair Monica and Kira. Had they followed her home from Goethner-Varner?
It made sense. Jones’ followers were just the creepy sort who had no regard for the privacy of others. She recalled how Monica and Kira knew she was at Goethner-Varner to visit Jones. How long had they known about her before her arrival? Did they research her background, learn her middle name to pass on to Jones, and also discover her home address?
Though relieved the peeper was a woman, the idea her peeper was also a Jones’ fan deeply concerned her, because this could impact on her professional life. A Jones’ fan watching her masturbate with equipment from Jones’ portfolio was really the worst-case scenario. Would Jones be told? Would he regard her with even less respect and cooperation? Would he tell Wendy Carter, the Director of Operations, at Goethner-Varner?
She reassured herself. Pulling a Peeping Tom was a criminal act so whoever it was had good reason to keep quiet. Besides, no one outside Jones’ group would believe anything this whack-job peeper claimed. But, oh God, what if it was Monica or Kira and they told the other fans in the parking lot? She imagined all the female fans staring at her next time she pulled in to visit Jones. What an awful prospect! She felt violated. Invaded. Startled, she realized with unexpected empa
thy this may be how Jones felt when the police executed the search warrant on his home and took possession of his porn, his photos, his “tools”, and his journals.
The tennis shoe impressions led away to the parking lot. Discouraged, Jackie trudged back to her apartment. Infuriatingly, she was still turned on, feeling humming warmth deep in her womb and her still swollen pussy lips slid against each other with every step.
Morosely, she realized she better get that wacky dildo washed, get some sleep, and try to regroup for tomorrow.
The following day, Jackie spent time running errands. Morning at the Goethner-Varner Center involved many structured activities to socialize, draw out, and counsel the residents. Visiting time, even for semi-official visitors like Jackie, was any time after two o’clock. She tried to imagine Jones participating in structured group activities. Difficult.
Jackie still felt dismayed over the events of the prievious evening. As she imagined the peeper reporting her actions back to Jones, anger replaced dismay. What upset her most and made her really angry was the violation of her privacy. Some Peeping Tom, or, more likely, Peeping Tomasina, had taken away her feeling of security and privacy. People like that should pay! There was good reason peeping was absolutely illegal.
Sure she’d masturbated, but she shouldn’t feel bad, it was natural. Everyone did it. If it wasn’t for the watcher she’d be free to feel proud of herself for stepping out of her comfort zone and achieving the most powerful orgasms in her life. Perhaps ‘stepping out of her comfort zone’ was inaccurate. She had stumbled into her sexual abandon zone! She wasn’t quite sure how to characterize her experience. Amazing, at the very least.
Subduing Jacqueline Page 11
