Marilee went home hours later in a dazed mood of bliss. Gill had fucked her long and hard.
She'd have happily done it all over again, but Gill had to leave for work by and he insisted on having some time with his sexy blonde wife before that. Watching him with their lusty neighbor had stirred wild passions in Lanore that he didn't want to miss.
They quickly resolved their differences and made anxious love.
Lanore was grinning confidently by the time she had climaxed twice. "I guess you still love me, despite what I've done."
"Yeah, I do… but no more sneaking around while I'm at work."
"What about with Al and Marilee?" she asked cautiously.
"If they both agree," he said. "If you tell me all about it, and if you don't mind my having fun with her."
"O.K.," she said, grinning happily. "I'm sure they'll work things out when he gets home. And I'm glad tomorrow is Saturday. We can all spend the whole weekend together."
"Yeah, that's a good idea. If Al is ready for that. I don't know."
"I'm sure he will be," Lanore said.
"How do you know?"
"Because before Marilee left, she asked me if she could borrow your spare handcuffs. She's going to have a special treat for him when he gets home from work this afternoon."
After Gill had dressed and gone to work, Lanore sat expectantly by the telephone, hoping it would ring. If Al and Marilee got their new relationship settled on, she thought they might want to start the weekend party early.
Al came home as usual at the same time Lanore was watching the front window, still wearing her filmy black peignoir. Their eyes met briefly and they both smiled. Then Lanore held her beneath. Only she knew what was waiting for him inside the house.
She heard nothing but sighs of pleasure and lusty moans for two hours after that. Any problem of jealousy they might have had was quickly solved. Listening to the two of them made Lanore even more anxious to join in the fun.
By the house next door was quiet and a moment later her phone rang. Lanore's heart leaped, skipping anxiously. "Hello?"
A woman's voice said, "Lanore?" It wasn't Marilee…
"Uh, yes?" Lanore answered questioningly. "This is Marge Bennett from down the street."
"Yes, Mrs. Bennett?" They weren't good friends, hardly knew each other in fact.
"Call me Marge, please. No need to be formal. My husband and I are giving a little party tonight, and we thought that you and Gill might like to attend."
"He works swing shift," Lanore said. "It'll be after midnight before he gets home."
"Well, he can join us then. Why don't you come at eight? Wearing something sexy," Marge said.
"Sexy?" Lanore repeated strangely. The Bennetts had seemed to be such a proper couple, both in their late forties.
"Yes, a slinky dress and your sexiest under-things."
"Why does it matter what I have on underneath?" Lanore asked.
"Because it's that kind of a party. Some of the most important people in town will be here, and I'm sure you'll want to impress them. The men particularly."
"Oooh, wait a minute. You mean it's a swingers party?"
"We never use that word. It sounds so vulgar. But our friends do enjoy varied pleasures with new partners."
"I can't go to a party like that," she said flatly.
"Lanore…" The woman was almost scolding her. "…the whole neighborhood is talking about what's been going on at your house the last couple of days. I think you'll fit right in."
"What do you mean, the neighborhood is talking?"
"Well, you haven't been exactly quiet and discreet. Do join us, I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself."
"Gill won't like it if I go alone."
"Leave him a note. Tell him to hurry down right after, he gets off work. He'll enjoy himself too. There are some really gorgeous women in our group."
Lanore thought about it. Al and Marilee were obviously having a good time all by themselves, and the blonde was starting to feel horny again. "All right," she said. "I'll see you at eight."
She brushed her long golden hair until it shimmered brightly, and put on a clinging low-cut dress that was soft and sheer and fiery bright. Lanore got so excited doing that, she completely forgot about leaving a note for Gill.
The Bennetts lived in a big two-story house at the end of the block, spacious and impressive, much nicer than anything she and Gill could afford. Lanore's heart beat nervously when she rang the doorbell.
"Aaahhh, Lanore!" Blake Bennett greeted her warmly, as though they'd been good friends for years. "You look ravishing! Simply stunning!"
"Thank you," she replied softly. There didn't seem to be anyone else in the house.
"Everyone is downstairs in the basement rumpus room," he explained, ushering her inside. Blake Bennett was some kind of business executive, Lanore recalled. Obviously very successful. The house was elegantly furnished, everything expensive and in the best of taste.
He was tail, trim and impressively distinguished. But instead of the usual business suit she remembered seeing him in, tonight Blake was dressed more like an old-time riverboat gambler.
Marge hadn't said anything about it being a costume party, but half the people in the huge basement room were strangely dressed. Several women wore harem outfits.
There was a dark-haired woman dressed from head to toe in snug-fitting black leather. She was wearing a bandits mask and carrying a coiled whip.
A man on the far side of the room had on only a black leather jock strap and spiked leather wrist bands. There were men in tuxedos, women in diamonds and furs. A strange group, Lanore thought. But exciting. Every man in the room was looking at her.
Blake Bennett left her with his wife Marge who introduced Lanore to a few friends – a city councilman dressed like a Roman soldier and his wife who looked like dancer with nothing but gold chains and spangles to cover her tits.
Blake climbed up on a raised platform that spanned the far end of the long, narrow room. He walked to a microphone at center stage where a little spotlight shined down from the ceiling above.
"Everyone is here now," he said. "It's time for the auction to begin."
The guests cheered and clapped, all but Lanore who whispered to Marge, "What auction?"
"It's our club's annual charity event," she said, "to raise money for the new children's wing at City Hospital."
"Oh, I wish I'd known. I didn't bring any money."
"A check will do if there's someone you want to buy."
"Someone?" Lanore repeated.
"Yes, dear. It's a slave auction."
The masked, leather-clad brunette had climbed up on the platform.
Blake moved aside and put her under the glare of the overhead spotlight. "Our first offering of the evening is this lovely dominatrix, perfect for the person or couple who would like to learn discipline. What am I bid?"
"Fifty dollars," a male voice said, the man with spiked wrist cuffs.
"Sixty!" said a woman in a gorgeous white mink.
The city councilman's wife went to the block next in her chains and spangles. He didn't even bid for her. She was sold to a frat jock for a contribution to the children's hospital wing. Then Blake said, "How about you?"
"Come on," Marge urged quietly. "It's fun for a good cause. The way all the men have been looking at you, you will probably bring in the highest price of the night."
"Do you think so?" There was something strangely exciting about it. "All right!" she decided, stepping forward uncertain.
"Now who need special care!"
"Six!" shouted the city councilman.
"Seven!" Blake said firmly.
"Seven-fifty," said the matron in white mink.
Blake whispered to Lanore, "Take off your dress. Show them what you got."
"No, I can't do that."
"Oh, come on… it's for a good cause." He reached over and pulled down the zipper that closed the back of her dress.
"Stop that!" It was sliding off her shoulders, starting to slip down, showing more of her creamy big tits.
"Aaahhh, we have a timid one tonight," Blake said. "I'll bid eight hundred dollars for this buxom little beauty."
"Nine," challenged the councilman. A hush fell over the crowd. Lanore was flustered, trying to pull her dress back up.
"One thousand dollars!" Blake shouted anxiously. There was silence after that.
The city councilman was heard muttering, "Shit, I could get three harem girls for that."
"Going once," Blake said. "Going twice. Three times. Sold to the auctioneer – one beautiful blonde slave girl for twenty-four hours!"
"Wh-what do I have to do?" She was bending down, trying to pull her dress back up.
"Oh, wait! I'm not a whore you can just pay for and fuck!"
"I'm making a donation to charity on your behalf," he reminded her. "And I'm not going to fuck you, my son is."
"Your son? This is getting crazier by the minute. What do you think I am?"
"We all know what you are, my dear. You're my son's slave for the next twenty-four hours. Don't bother putting your dress back on." He gripped her arm and pulled Lanore upright.
"Let go of me! I'm getting out of here!"
"No, we can't allow that. Not once you've volunteered yourself. My son and all the other guests would be so disappointed."
"God damn you, let go of me!" Lanore whirled and slapped him hard across the face with her free hand. Bennett was stunned briefly and lost his grip. Lanore kicked free from the red test that was down around her knees and bolted for the door.
"Stop her!" he shouted, his cheek ablaze.
Lanore feuded off the first man who trial. Then the councilman grabbed her bra from the back.
The bra broke and she slipped out of it stumbling forward in blind fright.
She clawed viciously at a woman who made a grab for her and kicked the man with spiked wristbands in the balls. He went down in a groaning heap, and she almost made it to the door. Then the dominatrix uncoiled her long braided whip and whirled it toward her feet.
The sinewy braid snaked around her ankles in a binding set of coils. Lanore tripped and sprawled, her hands just short of the door.
The whip cinched tight around her ankles and she was dragged back screaming, clawing desperately at the floor. That brought a cheer from the strangely dressed crowd.
Lanore screamed, terrified by the way they bunched around her, all more frightening in appearance when viewed from her position, helpless on the slick floor.
"Chain and whip her!" said the man she had kicked in the balls. He was just getting up, grunting fiercely and holding the contents of his leather jock.
"Yes, master!" replied the dominatrix with a twisted. Lanore had forgotten until that moment, the man was the one who had purchased her for his pleasure.
The crowd cheered wildly and pulled back to give the leather-clad masked woman plenty of room. Lanore kicked free from the coils of the whip, stumbling to get up, then saw that the whip was hissing in a high arc and heading for the pain seemed to shoot right through Lanore. It made her budding pink nipples heat up and throb. She fell sobbing, on her knees, her luscious panty-clad ass on the carpet.
The bullwhip hissed again with a menacing sound. It cracked her ass with a sting of pain so intense that Lanore felt as though she'd been cut. The echoing crack of the whip increased that illusion.
She yelped and twisted, pitching over on her back with both hands clamped on her burning ass. Her panties were torn where the whip had struck, the check of her ass wetted beneath. The whip flew again, right up the middle of her chest.
The man she'd kicked stood over her and smiled, "There, my pretty little bitch. That's what it feels like to be kicked in the balls!"
He laughed and began to pull his cock out, still leering with rage. Other men began to do the same thing, all of them gathering close, leaving an opening in the circle at her feet for the lash of the whip.
Eyes laming brightly behind the mask, the dominant one lashed out. Lanore shrieked in horror and all the men watching began to pump their cocks. There must have been a dozen of them circling her – pricks of all shapes and sizes.
As the stinging braid lashed her again and again, the men all whipped their cocks faster, obviously enjoying the lewd spectacle of her distress. Repeated snaps ripped her panties so that they fell off when she writhed on the floor. And then all the men bunched around her began to climax.
Jism fell like a pouring rain. "Some creamy cum to soothe your welts," one man said with a hideous laugh.
Lanore sobbed pitifully, stark naked on the floor in a circle of jetting cocks. Jism sprayed her anguished face. Cum spattered on her heaving tits, running down from her nipples. It fell in silver-white globs in her golden tangle of cunt hair.
Lanore could see nothing through her tear-streaked eyes but the men's cocks. She shuddered and opened her mouth to scream. When she did, three men took aim and shot spurts of jism into her mouth.
With the men so close around her, all with their pricks out, there wasn't room for the masked woman to swing her whip. When Lanore realized that, the obscene rain of jism didn't seem quite so bad.
And strangely, it did seem to ease the sting of her burning welts. Lanore began to rub it in all over her body, squirming on the floor.
Slick cum made their hands glide so smoothly.
Lanore's skin sheened when they lifted her. By then, she was hardly aware of what was going on, but someone had wheeled a hospital gurney into the room. Blake Bennett was standing beside it and smiling when they laid her out.
"This is some of the equipment our little group of public-spirited citizens will be donating to the new hospital wing," he said, looking almost saintly.
The narrow bed on wheels was fitted with restraints. Someone cinched a strap across her chest just below bet large tits, also partly flinging her arms. Another went around her waist, a third over her knees.
Lanore felt the helpless terror of being bound. This was worse than handcuffs. She could hardly move a muscle. She pleaded with Blake, "Let me go."
"Not yet, my sweet beauty. You haven't even met my son yet. Take her to the operating room," he told the others.
"The operating room? What are you talking about?"
"My son likes to play doctor," he said.
They wheeled her into a room that was all harsh white, lit by a blinding light fixture overhead.
She wanted to scream, but was too numb with fear. Half a dozen strange spectators gathered around her, all people in pale green surgical gowns, caps and white gauze masks. With all but their leering eyes hidden, she couldn't tell men from women with any certainty.
"Is the patient ready?" the tallest figure asked. That was a young man's voice. He had ceded, stern, dark eyes that never seemed to move.
"Yes, doctor." That was Marge Bennett, Lanore recognized her voice.
"Scalpel," he said.
"Scalpel!" Marge repeated in the detached tone of a real nurse, slapping a gleaming surgical knife into the man's gloved hand.
Lanore screamed. She twisted and strained against the straps binding her. She didn't know the scalpel had been specially ground to a dull, smoothly rounded edge and kept chilling cold. It looked like the real thing to her.
He held it over her, eyes flashing. He pressed the tip of the cold blade into the hollow at the base of her neck and swept his hand down, seeming to make an incision that reached cleat to her pussy mound.
The blade was so bitter cold that Lanore thought surely she had been cut. She screamed hysterically and winced her eyes shut.
"Suction," she heard the doctor say.
Lanore's eyes fluttered, expecting some kind of mechanical device, but two of the robed and capped attendants pulled down their masks and bent over her.
"Suction," they both repeated. One was a man with a bushy mustache, the other a woman with anxiously quivering lips. Each one sucked on a tit and whirled her nipple around. Lanore was gasping fearfully, still thinking she'd been badly cut.
The man playing doctor beamed a reassuring glance to her. "You'll be all right," he said calmly. "You'll receive the best of care. Lather, please, nurse."
"Yes, doctor. Lather." Marge handed him an old-fashioned mug and shaving brush overflowing with white foam. He began to lather her pussy mound. The heated warmth made her squirm, and the two strangers were sucking on her tits, each tongue lashing a nipple with a different stroke.
The young man playing doctor seemed to enjoy lathering her cunt. He took a long time doing it and often tingled her clit with the soft warmth of the shaving brush. Lanore was breathing unevenly, cringing with fear. Finally he handed the brush and mug to Marge Bennett, his mother no doubt.
"Release the lower strap," he said. "Two of you spread her legs and relax for me."
"Yes, doctor," said two voices from the foot of the table. Because of the glaring light directly overhead, Lanore could hardly see them, but both voices were male and both sets of hands were very strong. Lanore felt her soft, shapely legs being wrenched cruelly apart.
"Razor," the would-be doctor said. He paused to wipe his sweating brow with the back of his gloved hand.
"Razor," Marge repeated, handing it to him – an old-fashioned straight razor, the kind her grandfather had used.
"No!" Lanore screamed, trying again to kick her feet loose.
"My dear, don't thrash about. My skilled hands might slip and cut your pretty cunt."
"Don't touch me!" she screamed. "Ooooh, God! You're all crazy!"
"More suction," the doctor ordered.
The two lapping and sucking her tits pulled painfully hard on her soft mounds. Lanore whined, hating that and fearing the razor that flashed over her pussy mound.
She had figured out by now that the scalpel hadn't cut her – there wasn't a trace of blood when she looked down toward her lathered cunt. But the razor was keenly sharp and she could see it shaving off her pussy hair, starting at the top while wide spread.
"Ooohhhooo!" she sobbed, not wanting to watch anymore. The razor slithered and scraped methodically, moving up and down. He pulled her soft flesh tight with the other hand and shaved it bald.
"Irrigation, please. There's so much shorn hair and lather, I can't see the operating field."
"Yes, doctor. Irrigation." A masked man at the middle of the table pulled out his flaccid cock, aimed for Lanore's pussy and started to piss. The heat and stench of it made her feel sick.
"Aaahhh, just a little wisp left here. Lather, please."
Lanore felt the stroke of the brush and then the scrape of the razor's sharp edge. She moaned desperately, knowing that her pussy was completely bald now. The depraved make believe doctor was holding up a mirror so that she could see all of her denuded cunt.
"Another successful operation," he said proudly. "Another lovely cunt restored to the bald, blushing innocence of girlhood. Water, please. Lots of it." Madge Bennett, her son and the others backed away from the table.
Lanore strained to see what they were doing, but outside of the glaring light focused directly on her, she could only make out shadowy forms. She hear buckets rattling, a faucet running hard and the containers splashing full.
They filed by her one by one, each dousing the blonde with a bucket of cold water. Her cunt was hit three times in rapid succession, and chills ran up her spine. Then a girl with flashing green eyes tossed a bucketful into her face.
She was cold and shivering when the doc stepped back beside the gurney, stripping off his mask and cap.
"My name's Dave Bennett," he said with a disarming smile. "Doctor Bennett to you."
"You're no doctor. You should be seeing one – a psychiatrist!" Lanore said, spitting out water that had been splashed all over her face and hair.
"I'm a psychologist," he said. "That's close enough. I listen to my patients' lurid fantasies day in and day out. On the weekends I just have to find some relief."
By the steadiness of his gaze and flat, matter-of-fact tone of voice, Lanore thought he just might be telling the truth. Or he was a convincing liar. Either way, he was a handsome young man in his late twenties.
"Take the patient to her room," he said with a nod. "I'll check on her later."
They wheeled her into another small, windowless room painted harsh white, this one furnished with a hospital bed. Ropes and counterweights were suspended from the four corners of an overhead metal frame – the kind that would be used to support the broken limbs of a patient in traction.
Lanore got a sinking feeling when they lifted her from the gurney onto the bed. Those ropes and heavy counterweights weren't there just for decoration. They bound her hand and foot and adjusted the heavy weights so that all her limbs were slightly upraised.
Then the red-haired girl began taping little wire electrodes to her forehead and wrists. Her hair was long and fiery bright, and the gleam in her green eyes was devilish.
Lanore tried to push her hands away, but found she couldn't pull hard enough against the dangling counterweights to move her arms more than a few inches in any direction. "What are those for?" she asked in weary resignation.
"To monitor your vital signs," the redhead said impishly. "Lie very still, hold your breath and look at the TV screen on the wall."
Lanore did as she was told and saw only a flat green line across the middle of the screen.
"That's the monitor. Now keep watching and breath normally," the redhead told her.
She did that and saw the green line ripple like the surface of a pond when a gentle breeze stirred. The redhead bent over to plant a warm, lip-smacking kiss on Lanore's shaved cunt.
"Aaaggghhh!" Lanore gasped, and the wavering green line spiked up and down violently.
"All your emotional reactions will show clearly on that screen. It's something my brother has been working on for years. Spikes up toward the top of the screen are good things, those you find pleasant. Spikes down indicate dislike or disgust, even loathing. I can see that you have mixed feeling about me."
"The machine is as crazy as your brother. I loathe everyone and everything in this room!"
"Perhaps, but you like having your pussy kissed. You can't keep that from showing up."
"I hate it! I want to go home!" Lanore said. "My husband will home from work at twelve-thirty. He'll expect to find me there. I forgot to leave a note."
Lanore was hoping another woman about her age would understand. The pretty redhead just smiled. "We'll send someone down to get him. It's the little blue house, isn't it? The one where all the wild fucking has been going on recently?"
"Yes," Lanore moaned sadly.
"I notice that when your husband is mentioned the radar goes up and down. Does that mean you both love and hate him?"
"It means I love him but hate to think what he'll do when he finds me here. I wasn't supposed to come, and I certainly wasn't supposed to end up like this – a slave to some medical crazy man!"
Again the green line spiked up and down, but even more violently than before. The tawny redhead flashed a knowing grin. "But something about this or my brother must excite you. Your reactions aren't all negative."
"I hate him for shaving my pussy and enslaving me like this!" she snapped, but again the line spiked up and down.
"He's very sexy, in a strange and sinister way," the redhead mused. "Especially those piercing dark eyes!"
"No!" But the line leaped up to the top of the screen.
She laughed and shook her tawny hair straight. "Ooooh, he's going to have fun with you, I can tell." And with that she walked out the door, closing it quietly behind her.
Lanore looked around and decided this and the make-believe operating room had once been basement storage rooms, cleaned out and converted for this ridiculous and terrifying charade. The green line remained flat while she was thinking about that. It flashed up and down wildly as Bennett walked back into the room.
He noticed the monitor screen and grinned. "I'm glad to see that you don't completely detest me."
"I do for shaving all the hair off my pussy," she snarled. That slammed the line clear to the bottom.
"Hhhmmmmm, yes… I see. But there's a good reason for that," he said with apparent seriousness. "I've been working on a new circuit, one that will make even more accurate measures of human emotions. And for this one to read properly, the pussy must be shaved bare."
"You're going to put the wire in my cunt?"
"No! It's a sensor and I'm going to tape it right above your cunt. It's small and flat, it won't get in our way."
"I don't like being part of a damn video game. Why don't you just fuck me and get it over with?"
"Because you're mine for the next – well, twenty-three hours or so. And there are several important experiments I want to run. You aren't just my sex slave, Lanore. You're also going to be a guinea pig."
"Jesus! You're all crazy!"
"No, we're just enjoying ourselves. Isn't that what life is all about?"
Lanore shuddered. "I don't know."
"Well, let's!" Dave bent down and kissed her nipple with warm and supple lips. The green line spiked up. He sucked one tit and fondled the other. The spikes shot higher. "You are certainly not unreceptive to simple human pleasure."
"I-I guess not." Lanore was thinking about the tender way dill had made love to Marilee and hoped she might experience something like that with another man. Her time with Al had been all too quick and hurried.
He held both tits under his cupped hands and slid his head down to her freshly shaved pussy. Lanore's lush body, bounced at each stroke of his tongue, restrained by the ropes and counterweights.
Dave grinned. He liked having a woman wired their first time together. With a quick sideward glance, he could tell exactly what she was feeling – especially now with a remote sensor stuck just above her tender clit bud.
He kissed that and circled it with his tongue. The green line shot upward and disappeared off the top of the screen.
Dave obviously enjoyed sucking her bald pussy. And she didn't need a machine to know that.