Oh no, no, no! I must be crazy, I must be going out of my MIND, I must have been dreaming! It just couldn't be! Nothing like that could be, surely! Not in this country, not in this century! Oh my God, I can't even write about it. No, No. NO!
It happened. I wasn't dreaming. I am sure, now. I was not dreaming, or hallucinating, or anything else other than seeing exactly what I thought I saw.
I will try to record it here, in every detail.
To begin with, it's been five days… or rather five nights, since I watched Aunt Isobel slip from the house and begin that strange and lonely walk through the woods behind the house. She wore a blouse and skirt, both navy blue, and boots. Since I had planned to follow her, I had slipped into one of the snug-sleeved blouses she recently purchased for me, and slacks, and I wore soft-soled house slippers so as not to make noise. I too wore dark colors; the blouse is red and the slacks black. And I followed her, through the woods. I was very careful to move from tree to tree and make no noise, and now and again when a branch rustled at my passage or a twig snapped beneath my foot I froze behind a free or squatted and froze. But to my knowledge my aunt Isobel did not even glance around. She just moved swiftly on through the frees, scrambled easily over the old rock fence at the place where it has fallen nearly to the ground, and approached the old house where Erik Parker lives with the young man and woman who are his servants: Lois and Miles.
The house was dark, but she went right up to knock at the door, anyhow, and I slipped in as closely as I could, behind a huge old oak not thirty feet froth the door. I saw her knock, and then I heard the voice from inside. "Who's there?"
"A wayward woman in need of counsel," she called back. Strange words! I frowned, wondering.
"There is no counsel here for wayward women, whore of the night!" I beard Mr. Parker's voice call back from inside, and I had to press my hand over my mouth as if to physically hold back my gasp. He used that word to my aunt; he called her that awful name! AND he was going on:
"Here there is only chastisement for your sinful body, which you must accept without question."
"I accept it," she replied, and I felt a prickling under my arms. "Strip, then, right where you are."
My eyes flared wide. Even in the darkness I could see that she obeyed, stripping off her clothing and dropping it right there on the little porch of that old stone house with its charming tiled roof. When she had finished, she announced that she was now naked… she said naked, not "nude"… and suddenly the door opened. She went into the dark house.
I stood there and stared and stared, listening without hearing anything at all. I was fearful, horrified, frightened… my emotions were many, and I trembled. I was sure that I had heard and partially witnessed some strange rite, and I felt certain that it was not the first time just such words and actions had taken place here.
I had not known the little stone house had a basement until I saw the light appear, near the ground. At last realizing that it came from within, that there were casement windows, I approached stealthily, fearfully, and with pounding heart. All sorts of shrubs and some mums had been planted there, and I scratched my arm and was just able to avoid crying out when I came into contact with a little thorny tree. Fearing I had made a noise they might have heard, within the house, I was still for perhaps a minute. It seemed, of course, like hours.
At last I moved further in, espying the window now. Staying just outside the square of light emanating from the window, I peered within. And my mind was staggered by a second shock far greater than the first, when I had heard those strange exchanges of words and had watched my aunt stripping off her clothing.
In that basement, or wine-cellar, or whatever it had once been, I saw my aunt and Mr. Parker and both Miles and Lois.
My aunt still wore no clothing, and I really believe my first reaction was one of astonishment at the fact that her loins were as smoothly-shorn as a child's, as a girl's before she reaches that age at which her breasts begin to swell and the soft fur begins to grow to conceal the mound and the nether lips of her sex. Those soft pink lips were very visible, obscenely bared, for my aunt's lower belly was entirely hairless. Furthermore, it was some time before I realized that she wore rouge or dye of some sort; at first I was so naive as to believe that the intensely red color of her puffy little lips was either, natural pigmentation or the fiery result of… what had been done to them.
She stood awkwardly, her bare thighs and legs apart, for one of those roughly X-shaped, spring-closing clothespins had been clamped to each of her nether lips. They drooped low, long red lobes that framed an open cavity into her, body, not, a tight line such as that which pierces my vulva as though incised with a single, swift drawing of a razor blade down the mound. (What a horrid thought! I shudder as I find myself entering here auth a terrible analogy!)
I tried to imagine the pain to those soft, so-tender lips, of having clothespins clamped to each of them and then left there, to squeeze and pinch the flesh and draw it downward as they dangled beneath her, between her thighs.
I do not know in what order to record all this. I shall put it down as each incredible portion rushes redly back into my staggering mind.
Around each of Isobel's ankles was a leather band with a huge buckle; the straps were perhaps three inches high, and thick-looking, like a shortened version of a hippy's belt. The leather was black.
She wore the same leather straps around her wrists, and another circled her neck, and I could see that her waist was fearfully constricted by the belt, also of black leather but surely five inches high, that encircled her. Despite her slimness, her flesh bulged whitely above and below that tightly-drawn and buckled strap. She was blindfolded with a strip of black, cloth, and her wrists were linked together behind her back; each of the straps was equipped with rings and hooks, making them resemble the horse harnesses one sees hanging in small town hardware stores.
Her breasts!
They were rather fuller than I had expected, and I am sure now that she wears no brassiere, not ever, which makes her look less bosomy than she is. Those soft, intensely white hemispheres were set well apart on her chest. They were not huge and perhaps they could not be called large, certainly not by comparison with my own bosom's twin lobes. But the tips, like her sexual lips, were incredibly red, and again I realized that her aureole and thick nipples had been dyed or painted with something; perhaps vegetable dye?
That deep red color was visible to me despite the fact that… that… ah horror!… that to each of her nipples was clamped another of those spring clothespins! They dragged each deep pink nipple downward, making it look long…
At last, with a sinking feeling, I recognized the other adornments to the satiny half-spheres of her breasts. I shuddered violently and closed my eyes, digging my nails into the palms of my hands. But I had to open my eyes and look on; I was totally incapable of not watching them!
Into each of her breasts, including the crimson aureoles circling the clothes pinned tips, had been thrust several of the thorns from the bush or slim tree I had just encountered! They varied from the thickness of a needle to that of ordinary pencil-lead, which is quite thick indeed to be stabbed into human flesh and left there to sting and throb! Most of them were about the length of an ordinary sewing-needle, and they protruded from her flesh at varying lengths; some had been thrust in deeper, perhaps with more force than others.
I could not understand why I had not heard her agonized screams while those terrible thorns were being imbedded in the enchanting swells of her bosom!
Thus have I described my aunt, whose body, I am forced and rather proud to declare, looked more like that of a woman of perhaps thirty than of forty, which I believed her to be.
Now the others. The monsters. Her tormentors. (Yes, I know, and I will say so now: the tormentors of a willing victim!)
Erik Parker wore a long brown robe with a thrown-back cowl. I mean a long robe; past his ankles. Had he been tonsured he'd have resembled a monk. As it was, just that robe, girt with a shiny belt of black leather matching that of his boots, added flavor of the Inquisition to that medieval scene of horror and obscenity; he looked for all the world like a monk with a full head of hair and a beard.
Nearby stood the girl Lois. I do not know how old she is. Perhaps my age? Fifteen or twenty, eighteen or twenty-five? I do not know. She wore a black body stocking that covered her from the tips of her toes to her chin, where it rose in a turtle neck. But… either that sheath of black that fitted her like her own skin had been made extraordinarily, or it had been altered with scissors and new hems. For, with shocking lasciviousness and unbelievable immodesty, it had been left open to reveal her naked and painted breasts, her lower sexual parts.
She too was shorn to reveal the intimate deft between the puffy, hot-pink lips of her sex; She too had had paint or dye applied to the enviable and deep swells of her breasts, which jutted forth from her black sheath in a display that drew the eye like twin, snow-colored magnets with rust-red tips.
Even as I stared at her, she plucked another thorn from the silver tray in her left hand, poised her hand while she took careful aim, and rammed it so hard into Isobel's left breast that the lovely globe bounded and quivered in the air. I saw my aunt's mouth open wide, but heard no sound. She only gasped, I thought, despite what must have been terrible pain; what a strong and brave woman she is!
(What am I thinking? I asked myself. She is here voluntarily. She is naked voluntarily. She submits voluntarily to their lascivious gazes and their torment, and this is not the first time! She is as much monster as they!)
As to young, well-built Miles;… I shudder and blush even at the memory of his display of himself! I stared and stared, shivering and yet trying to tear my gaze from him. Impossible; it was as though my eyes were fastened to his body by invisible chains.
He wore boots, blood-red tights, and a broad black belt, and one glove, on his left hand. And… his tights, like those of Lois, were open at the most obscene of places. From that hole… which I saw had been cut in the shape of a heart; what perversity!… jutted a great and swollen shaft of an angry pink color, with, a mushrooming bead that at once looked bloated and soft, not like the shaft which seemed iron-like to me as I stared at them through that window… and purplish in color. Beneath dangled-no, hung, for they did not appear dangling, which implies a looseness… a very tight-looking sac of flesh containing two large round objects.
I am seeing, I thought with horror and a tingling tightening throughout my body, I am seeing, for the first time, a man's sexual equipment! That… that is his penis, and those are his… his… balls!
I shudder again at the thought of that first shocking sight. The angry throbbing arrogant way that bludgeon of flesh stood out before his hairy loins!
Erik Parker, with his back almost turned to me, waved a hand, and Miles went behind my aunt. Seizing her linked hands, he pulled them roughly behind her. That of course forced the poor woman to bend swiftly forward in order to avoid having her shoulders displaced. Her clothespin-pinched, thorn-pierced and festooned breasts swung below her bowed body like great white pears from a windblown tree.
And then I saw the whip that Erik Parker held, and even as I saw it he was swinging it… up!
It lashed across the already-tormented breasts of my poor aunt! She was utterly helpless to protect the soft dangling flesh from the five angry strips of leather that lashed the twin pear-shapes! She jerked violently, but behind her Miles only planted his feet… I could see the tensing of the excellent muscles in his calves… and held her there, bent helplessly forward as if… as if proffering her sweet bosom in silent invitation to the lash!
The monster lashed them twice again.
Then, while Erik looked on and Miles continued to hold Isobel in her bowed position, the girl stepped forward… she wore a great deal of red hair, have I mentioned that?… and began to seize and jerk forth the thorns piercing her whip-marked, teardrop breasts! Now I counted, shivering and helplessly watching, as she jerked each thorn out and dropped them into Erik's outstretched palm.
There were nine. Five of them emerged to be closely followed by a bright red bubble of blood that soon swelled and over-weighted itself to race down white flesh and drop onto the floor. I saw old stains, there, from past bloody droplets!
And then further horror: Handing Lois his whip, Erik, bent forward to lick and, suck away the blood from those horribly mistreated globes of soft flesh! The blood flow soon ceased, so tiny were the punctures, and soon there were only the dark spots on her breasts to mark where the thorns had sunk into the silken white flesh and had been liked forth again by that vicious red-haired harpy.
Now Miles began to walk slowly toward the far wall, forcing my still forward-bent aunt to follow, backward, and forcing me to change my position slightly in order to see clearly. The poor mistreated ripe melons of her breasts jiggled and bounced and swung wildly.
The far wall was adorned with a number of large metal rings bolted in place in the stone. To one of these rings, about four feet up, Miles clipped the hook on one of Isobel's leather manacles. Thus he no longer had to hold her arms up, but she was still forced to bend forward. The pain must have been considerable to her, with her wrists drawn up behind her like that.
Miles then stepped around in front of her, quite close, and though Erik and Lois moved in on either side to peer down between his body and my aunt's forward-bent head, I was unable to see other than Miles back. His arms were slightly bent. Although I could not see his hands, I felt that they were in my aunt's hair, or on her face. I watched his buttocks tighten beneath the close-fitting leotards he wore.
I could not imagine what was occurring, so stupid was I… and so stupid am I still, really, despite what I have seen.
But when at last be moved away I saw that the ferociously purple-red head of his sexual member was glistening strangely. Then I realized it was wet! And finally, since I am not after all stupid, I knew what I had seen without seeing: that doubtless smelly monstrosity had been implanted in my Aunt Isobel's mouth!
Though I had not really, literally seen it, I knew that I had indeed seen it, even from the back. Just the thought of it was enough nearly to overcome me with horror and disgust. My stomach rumbled and writhed within me. I swallowed again and again to keep my supper down. Shiver after violent shiver passed through my body and it was not for many minutes that I realized I was clutching my own bosom with fingers like talons. They rose and fell heavily and rapidly with my accelerated breathing.
I must now record the rest of it.
Miles stepped aside and Erik replaced him directly before the pitifully naked woman bending forward from the wail. Again I did not actually see it… thank God!… but again I knew: he like Miles before him, was forcing her mouth to round wide to take into its tender warmth the great head of his swollen organ of generation!
After a time he stepped back, staggering a little, I thought. I wondered if she had bitten him. I suppose not; I suppose he was that greatly sensually excited by the lascivious and obnoxious act to which he forced her. Again he gestured and by this time I had decided that they were speaking, that Aunt Isobel had most likely cried out at the unexpected arid visions jerking of the thorns from her aching breasts, but that they had somehow contrived to soundproof that chamber, despite the window through which I watched them. At another gesture… doubtless accompanied by a sentence or two… from Erik, Lois moved quickly to him and knelt beside him. Slowly, he turned.
My head swam. My stomach knotted and my eyes bused. Again, unconsciously, I dug the nails of my left hand into my palm while my right hand pressed hard into my breast.
From his disarranged robe now thrust a great shaft of angry red flesh, veined and curving upward toward the huge dark tip which I could clearly see was wet and glistening from Isobel's ravaged mouth.
But now, even as I stared, that menacing cylinder of steely sexual flesh throbbed and jerked before the face of the kneeling Lois. She tilted back her head, closed her eyes, and opened wide her mouth. Wider. She put her hands behind her back. (I assume now that she was being instructed… commanded, more likely.)
I saw it clearly. He moved forward, bending a little. The huge dark head of his engorged and pulsating member touched her wide-held mouth. Then he plunged it within, and I was astonished to see the entire head of it disappear into her poor, mouth, and another inch or more of the shaft immediately behind that plum-sized crown was soon contained within the kneeling girl's face.
I saw the naked missile-shapes of her dark-tipped breasts quiver and quake as she gasped for breath… through, I assume, her nose. The nostrils flared. Her eyes remained shut. Her body was jerked, her hands still crossed atop her burgeoning rump-globes, as he thrust himself in and out of her helplessly hollowed face, several times.
Then, stepping back, he half-bent to seize the girl by her nudely proffered bubs and raise her thus to her feet. I assume that she helped herself rise and thus relieved a great deal of what would have been agony, surely. But I am sure she still felt pain.
I had watched them, rather than Miles and Isobel, and I now saw that he had taken her loose from the wall and forced the poor nude woman forward, on her soft belly, over a pair of ordinary sawhorses set close together, side by side. Thus was formed a platform for her prone torso, a platform perhaps three inches across her naked breast-swells dangled, one on either side of the sawhorses. Her legs, too bestrode them, and I was sure she felt pain and discomfort from the rough wood against that soft, soft flesh of her inner thighs… and… and against the poor, hairless, lower lips that were still held apart by the pinching clothespins!
Forcing her to bend her legs in such a manner that her unclothed rump was thrust well upward in a helplessly obscene invitation, he bound her ankles and then her wrists. Another piece of cord was laid over her back, just on the leather belt, and then pulled down beneath the sawhorses and back up, where he knotted it tightly on her back. She was thus bound very securely to the sawhorses and prevented from all but the tiniest of movements.
The three monsters of the woods then beat my naked and defenseless aunt.
Lois' breasts leaped high and shuddered down, bouncing, as she raised a three-thonged whip and brought it down with what I could plainly see was considerable force. The thongs lashed vertically down the gleaming white, trembling right hemisphere of my aunt's bottom, and rose again to sweep down once more, this time vertically striping the left half-globe of white flesh. I saw Isobel clench those whipped cheeks tightly together, and I saw the dark lines left by the the whip.
Lois stepped back, handing the whip to Miles. Lois watched, each of her hands cupping her own naked mammary globes and squeezing them, her eyes flashing and her bosom heaving in excitement as she stared at the helplessly upturned target.
In Miles' hand, the three-tailed lash whistled down to sear its way across both striped and quivering cheeks of Isobel's upturned bottom. I saw her twist frantically back and forth, quivering and doubtless screaming… and bound helplessly. Her naked body shook in pain and fear, quivering in hysteria, while he directed another lash down to lay what I knew was a path of excruciating pain across both her soft hemispheres.
Forgetting myself, I sobbed aloud to see the force of the blows, the abject slavish helplessness of their bound victim, my own aunt who fed and clothed me and treated me more kindly than had my own parents. My face, I am sure was as contorted as hers, as tear stained, my throat as choked with horror. I could practically see the pain shoot, my mouth gaping open and working like that of a fish jerked from the water it needed for life, as the lash had its way with her helpless and pinioned body. Her hips jerked and her rump's sweet round halves trembled, exacerbated by the burning, coiling caress of the whip. My scalp crawled as I watched her eyes squeeze shut, leaking tears, and her lips, so recently invaded by the terrible members of both her male tormentors, work and gape wide so that I knew agonized shrieks were pouring from her mouth.
She jerked in renewed pain, looking stricken and utterly defeated as Miles brought down a third vicious lash onto soft, rippling, cringing flesh.
Now Erik Parker, brown-robed and monkish, took the whip. He raised it on high and delivered a fearful lash that made her start and wince as electric pain jolted and sizzled through her trembling bottom. I watched shudders and tremors writhing through her excoriated body, and I felt them ripple my own flesh, as though I were a mirror-image of that poor whipped woman. Blood rushed angrily to the lashed surface of her satiny skin. Her eyes dilated, her nostrils flaring in convulsive breaths. Tears were falling down her cheeks.
Erik whipped on. His arm rose and fell. Her rounded backside became no longer white, but red. He snapped the whip just across the bases of those poor hemispheres, no more than the whips own breath from the silken flesh of her thighs. She jerked herself, pushing at the floor with her toes, plunging her belly and naked breasts against the sawhorses on which she lay bound. I could almost fancy I beard her scream, like a child's, high and shrill and agonized.
He did not care. He was a monster, an iron man, a machine, a thing with no heart, a whipping-machine. Stepping back a pace or two, he swung the lash down once more, so that it descended like a blazing brand onto the upper portion of her right buttock. She screamed her noiseless… to me… scream, and went on, I am sure, groaning. Her head sagged, her eyes pouring tears down her hot cheeks. I knew that her body boiled. Her soft thighs quivered against the rough wood of the twinned sawhorses. Her belly fluttered against it. Her dangling breasts, each still pinched with a clothespin clamped onto the fiery tip, shivered and heaved.
Fondling herself like a common whore in her whore's clothing, Lois turned and walked away, out of my line of vision.
Erik struck on.
Lois returned, and I gasped with horror.
Her thighs and waist were constricted with leather straps, buckled in place. They formed a harness that supported the strange black cylinder, shining like plastic or metal, that jutted from her in an incredibly obscene parody of the two men's sexual parts.
"No, oh-h-h-h n-o-o-o-o-ooo…" I murmured, somehow knowing at once what that bobbing monstrosity was and what she would do with it.
She did. Slapping her hands down, onto Isobel's well-marked hindcheeks, she hunched her pelvis and forced the knobby head of her awful dildo between the helplessly-spread lower lips of their victim. As I watched in absolute honor, the thing slid in, and in, and in, until fully seven of its nine or ten inches had passed within the soft open body of the bound woman.
Clinging to her buttocks and hunching her pelvis against them, Lois then stood there and drove that unyielding obscenity in and out and in and out of my aunt until the black length of it was coated and glistening in the cellar lights with her inner juices.
I watched Miles, his own fleshy shaft still fantastically swollen and angry-looking, step behind, the girl without realizing what he intended. I soon learned. With only a slight bending of his knees and a swift forward jerk, he plunged his own organ into Lois just as she had pierced Isobel with the artificial one.
They achieved a rhythm.
Miles withdrew a little, though clinging to Lois' hips, each time she lunged forward in brutal impalement of the bound woman whose soft sexual lips she ravaged. Then, as Lois withdrew for her next stroke, Miles lunged forward against her back, slapping his lower belly against her naked buttocks that jutted from her black body-stocking. I could tell he was ensconced in her to the very hair that curled about his pelvic area.
My poor eyes bulged and my breath came in ragged gasps as I stared at them as though hypnotized.
"Uh… uh… uh… uh…" I was gasping, in unconscious rhythm with the thrusting participants in that licentious scene out of a medieval dungeon. Unconsciously my thighs drifted apart to alleviate the terrible heat between them. Without my awareness my own hands caught and massaged my bosom's soft round bulges, unconsciously crushing and worrying the swollen tips until I find them still tender as I write this scene here in my diary of… horror, and rampant, licentious sexuality!
Erik now stood close to the other end of the sawhorse, and my aunt had to strain her neck to do as he doubtless ordered. I could clearly see the emergence of her pink tongue, see it lap at the big crown of his throbbing sexual spear, like a kitten lapping cream. I saw her lave it, cover it with her own saliva, and all the while she was being violently jerked and rocked as Lois raped her from behind.
Then Miles was quaking, stiffening, his arms rushing around the girl to hold her hard against him, deeply impaled and forced forward to deeply impale Isobel. I saw Miles' face become red, watched him jerk and quiver and strain, saw, with a little frown, his weakening legs and his sudden sagging.
When at last he stepped back from the shivering girl, his great organ was no longer standing before him, but swinging wetly, ponderously between his thighs. Depleted and empty! I crammed my knuckles into my mouth knowing that he had filled her palpitating belly with the boiling essence of his sexuality.
She, too, withdrew her "organ" from her rape victim. But it was not flagging, still as ramrod stiff and huge as before. She turned to kiss him, but Erik's lips moved and gestured.
The girl went immediately to him, kissed him, and turned to press her lower parts against the face of the bound woman.
My stomach lurched and again I clamped my lips against my rising gorge. I knew that they were now forcing poor Isobel to lick from that obscene girl's thighs and lower lips the sickening ichor that Miles had pumped into her.
Miles, meanwhile, was untying Isobel, and I saw that his sensual member had become only a little worm. I marveled that it could become so tiny, almost pitiful, after having been such a monster of unyielding flesh. Evidently once a man's organ has spent itself within a woman's intimate cleft, it becomes much less imposing. I have learned much from viewing that incredible and agonizingly horrifying scene, though what I have learned is surely not the sort of lesson any virginal daughter of good parents should ever know, much less witness!
I could see that Aunt Isobel was stiff and sore as they aided her to her feet and backed her off the sawhorses. They left her ankles and wrists free, though she still wore the leather manacles.
I watched her go to Erik and caress the blood-suffused shaft that protruded so vengefully from his robe. My eyes widened; she went slowly to her knees. She kissed the great rounded head of his organ, again and again. She licked it. I saw her cheeks sink inward and knew with lurching insides that she was sucking at it.
Then she…took it into her mouth! I nearly fell forward against and perhaps through the window. She was doing all this willingly, to a man who had beaten and monstrously mistreated her!
She slid her face up and down that pole of lust, raised her two hands to push them within his robe and fondle the globes of his scrotum. Her cheeks sagged in and I knew that she was applying deep suction, again and again. His hands dropped to her head, his fingers slipping up into her deeply black hair. I watched him thrust his body back and forth, against and into her face, on and on until he threw his head back and then pulled away.
She looked stricken to have lost her obscene plaything.
But now she received its libation. Suddenly I saw an arcing streak of white leap from the tip of his organ and dash through the air to splash on her face. Like milk, it dribbled down her chin. Another jet, and then another, each shortening its trajectory, until the fifth and sixth struck her naked breasts and the final droplets would have dribbled to the floor had he not moved swiftly forward.
Her own hands were smearing her breasts with his obscene juice while she licked the last of it from his already-dropping saber of flesh.
I now know that I fainted at that moment.
Nor do I know how long I lay unconscious, overcome by what I had seen. She had smeared herself… she had licked him clean…
I awoke to a foul smell, which I found emanated from the little pool of vomit beside my face. Slowly, wearily, shuddering and retching, I forced myself to my knees. Not wanting to look but unable not to do so, I again peered through that casement window. Aunt Isobel and Lois were on their hands and knees on the floor, side by side. Their heads were pillowed on their hands, pressed flat to the stone floor.
Behind them crouched the two men, Miles at Lois' back and Erik immediately; to the rear of my aunt.
I saw what they were doing, but I do not believe it. I must be mistaken! Just a short time ago, starting to rise from the commode, I shakily explored the tight little aperture between my rump-cheeks with a quivering, careful finger. It hurt!
No one could possibly do what they appeared to be doing! It cannot be possible to lodge one of those monstrous shafts into such a tiny channel! Neither woman appeared in pain, and I am sure the agony would be exquisite!
God help me… I have got it all, down. And now what?