Future of Porn

“Good morning, my, little, ray of sunshine!” The chubby, Italian restaurant owner, said, as he entered the newsagent shop, that I work in. “How are you this morning?”

“Fine,” I replied, smiling, as I folded his newspaper and took a packet of his usual cigarettes from the shelf. I looked forward to Tullio”s visits, each day, he was a happy man, mid forties, with long black, wavy hair, and a big moustache. He always took the time to flatter me, which I appreciated.

As, he handed over a £10 note; he took a card from his jacket pocket, “How much will it cost to place an advert in your window?” He asked, as he passed it over the counter.

Local Camera Club

MODELS WANTED

Portrait & Glamour

Over 18″s only.

Generous hourly rate.

“That will be fifty pence, per week,” I replied. Tullio smiled, “I”ll go for the whole month, thanks.” He said in perfect English, but with a sexy Italian accent.

“I didn”t know that you were a photographer,” I told him, as I took his change from the till. “I am sure that there are many things that we don”t know about each other!” He laughed. “Yes, I love to take pictures of beautiful things, you know? A sunrise, a bright red Ferrari, a beautiful girl, it is all the same to me. My friend and I have a small studio, above one of my shops, where we have a darkroom, and some of our friends can take pictures, in private.”

As there were no other customers around, I continued the conversation, “What sort of photos need to be taken in private?” I joked. Tullio raised his eyebrows, and grinned, “Wouldn”t you like to know! A woman like yourself, would always be welcome.” I laughed, as a young boy entered the shop. As he was closing the door, he turned and looked at me, “We will talk about this tomorrow,” and left the shop.

I spent the rest of the day fantasising about being a model, or a girl in a “top shelf” magazine. It was fun, but even though I had always been considered “pretty”, I felt that I would be too tall (5 ft. 9ins.) and my boobs (34DD) would be too big, but my fantasy was fun while it lasted.

At exactly the same time, the following day, Tullio came into the shop, “Good morning, my ray of sunshine, can I say that you look even more beautiful, today.” I had his paper and cigarettes prepared, and handed them over. As he passed me the £5 note, he smiled, and said, ” I have told my friend that you are interested in modelling for us, I have arranged for him to meet you in my restaurant. We will meet you at 1.30, don”t be late.”

My head was in a spin; he couldn”t possibly be serious, could he.

At 1.30, I was outside the restaurant, debating whether to go in, or not, my heart beating like a drum, and butterflies in my stomach.

“Julie, you are on time. I like that, in a person,” Greeting me with two kisses, Tullio held the door open for me. He then guided me, past a couple of customers, to a secluded table at the back, where a younger, English man, with glasses, was sitting. “This is Ian, who owns the camera shop, next door, and this is, the beautiful, Julie.” I blushed, as I shook hands.

As I sat down, he ordered some pasta and a bottle of wine, for the three of us, in Italian, from a gorgeous, muscle-bound, waiter.

Ian turned to me, “Tullio, tells me that you would like to pose for our club.”

I snapped, “This is all happening too quickly, I didn”t say that I would,” “You didn”t say that you wouldn”t!” Tullio responded.

“Why do you want me, surely there are plenty of younger girls who would love to model, for you” I asked them as the food arrived.

Ian looked at Tullio, who nodded, “Yes, we do get quite a few girls from the college, who like the money, and enjoy “showing off”, but some of our members would like to photograph a more………voluptuous, older woman. Not that you fall into the category of “older”!”

I should hope not! I am only 26, married, for the second time, and have a daughter, who is 6 years old.

“If I was interested, what would I have to do, nothing rude, I hope?”

They looked at each other, and smiled, they knew that I was interested, but how would they get me to commit?

When I had finished eating, Tullio suggested visiting the studio.

We went outside, and Ian unlocked the door next to the restaurant. He led the way, up the stairs; Tullio followed, muttering something in Italian, “What did you say?” I asked, “I am sorry, I was just telling myself that you have a fantastic arse!” I was wearing my favourite jeans, which are very tight, and do emphasis the shape. “The wine was taking effect, “Thank you,” I giggled.

There was an office, the studio, which was actually, quite large, and a couple of more rooms, which were locked, leading off. The studio had a small stage and was surrounded by some very professional, looking, lights and tripods and an assortment of chairs. There were also two large cupboards, that, when opened were full of, theatrical props, hats and some women”s clothing.

“My God, I thought that this was just for a few of your friends.” I turned to Tullio. “It is, but if a job is worth doing, it”s worth doing properly” he chuckled, “the members who use this, all shop with Ian, so the expense is worth it”.

There were also, three small bedrooms, with showers and toilets; there was even a pool table, “What are they for?” I asked, “Sometimes my new waiters have nowhere to stay, and sometimes, I like a bit of privacy.” They laughed at the “in joke”.

“So, what do you think?” Ian asked me, “You haven”t told me what sort of pictures you want me to pose for,” I replied.

“Well, there”s a meeting on Friday, you could do some portraits, and, if you want, some glamour shots, with your jeans and top on.” He looked at Tullio, who smiled “You don”t have to do topless………..unless you want to.”

The butterflies were back in my stomach.

“Okay!” I stuttered.

Friday would be good for me, as my daughter would be with her father, for the weekend, and my husband, Mick, would be working, setting up a stand, for an exhibition, somewhere, and not be home, until Tuesday, as usual.

I arrived, at the restaurant, at the agreed time, wearing my western boots, tight jeans, and a Lycra t-shirt, with a sports bag, full of t-shirts, blouses, and bra”s.

Tullio met me, and greeted me with a kiss, on the lips.

We went upstairs, where there were 6 guys and Ian, standing around, drinking coffee, chatting and fiddling with their cameras. As I was introduced, I heard two guys talking about my breasts, “Fucking Hell! Have you seen the size of them? I hope she gets them out,” the shorter one said, his friend replied, “Tullio hasn”t let us down, yet!” They both laughed.

As Tullio returned downstairs, Ian took me to a small changing room, which had a table, chair and large mirror. “This should give you some privacy, when you want to change outfits,” he told me, as he produced a bottle of wine and a glass.

“What should I wear?” I asked him, “You look fine, so why not start like that. Just come out, when you”re ready.” He replied.

I gulped two mouthfuls of wine, and made my way, onto the stage.

Ian placed a gold coloured chair, next to me, and announced, “As you know, this is Julie”s, first time, and she”s nervous, so what ever poses you want, ask me, instead of shouting at her.”

Over the next half-hour, I went through a number of poses, straddling the chair and bending over it. It was easier than I had expected, and I quickly relaxed, even suggesting some poses, myself.

Ian handed me my glass, and asked if I would mind changing my top, I nodded agreement, as I again, gulped at the wine.

In the changing room, I had just taken off my t-shirt, when I heard the clicking of a camera, startled, I turned around, the door was still open, continuing to take shots, of me, in my bra, the guy said, “OOPS! Sorry, I should have asked, but I couldn”t resist a couple of “voyeur” shots,” the others were watching, smiling. I smiled back, “It”s okay, but you should have asked.”

I wore a white, silk shirt for the next session. A, larger, “throne” type had replaced the original, chair. The poses were similar, until someone asked me to unbutton my shirt, I looked at Ian, who grinned and shrugged his shoulders. Slowly, I did as they had asked, leaving one, fastened at my bust. I could tell from their faces, that this was what they wanted, my cleavage look huge, and I felt my nipples poking through the lace of my bra.

My poses all consisted of me bending over, which I found quite stimulating. On impulse, I opened the last button, giving them a better view.

As I left the stage, to change, Ian again, approached me, “How do you feel about going topless? The guys would really appreciate it,” I smiled and raised my eyebrows, he gave a “thumbs up”, to his friends.

In my room, I removed my shirt and bra, and looked at myself in the mirror, my breasts were swollen, it was now or never, I teased my brown, nipples, took another long gulp of wine, and the bottle was empty, now. I slipped on a chiffon blouse, which was see through, again, only fastening, one button, and left my bra, on the table.

When I took my place on the stage, the guys were nudging each other, and looked very excited. I moved around, bending over, and squatting; my tits never actually coming into view. With my back, to them, I undid the button and took off my top. I was shaking with excitement, but the wine had made me very relaxed, and I was now losing all of my inhibitions. I turned round, with my arms in the air, the camera clicks sounded like machine-gun fire!

I posed for about 20 minutes, getting more excited, by the second, ” Drop your jeans, and show us your knickers,” someone shouted. Immediately, I undid the top button and pulled the zip down, exposing my red G-string, I couldn”t stop grinning, as I turned around, and slid the jeans down over my bum, flashing my cheeks, then pulling them up, just as quickly. I felt so naughty, my breasts wobbling, as I ran from the stage.

Ian joined me in my room, “thanks for a great night, the guys want to know if you”ll come back next week?” I didn”t need asking twice, frantically, nodding my head. When I had dressed, only Ian was left, “Tullio, would like you to join us for supper,” he said as we walked downstairs.

The restaurant was busy, but we were led to the same secluded table, where I sat between the two men. Tullio, called the same waiter, as before, and ordered food and wine for us.

“Tell me, did you enjoy yourself?” he asked, as he put his arm around my shoulder, he felt warm and was wearing very expensive cologne.

“Yes, it was wonderful, so exciting, Ian has asked me back, next week.”

“I”m sure he has, but, you didn”t show anything that you didn”t want to, did you?” Tullio looked at Ian, for confirmation.

With a big smile, Ian replied, “Well, you won the bet! We did see her tits! With a flash of arse, too!” Both men laughed out loud.

The, young waiter arrived with our wine, “Good health!” Tullio toasted me, “Bet, what bet?” I asked.

Hugging me firmly, and kissing my forehead, Tullio whispered, “We always have a small wager, on how long it takes a new model, to go topless, and, my dear, I will look forward to seeing the evidence!” His big hand squeezing my breast.

When we had finished our meal, Tullio called the young waiter over to our table, and handed him, his car keys, muttering something in Italian, the boy smiled and nodded, “His name is Sandro, and I”ve told him, no Hanky-Panky! We are busy, so he must come straight back!” As I squeezed past him, Tullio grabbed my arse, and laughed as I drunkenly sat on his knee, wriggling on his groin. As his English was very poor, conversation was at a minimum, as Sandro drove me home in the large Mercedes. When we arrived at my home, I was now feeling very, very horny, and invited him in “for a coffee”, which, he politely refused, and drove off. I needed sex, as soon as possible. Frustrated, I got into bed, my pussy was on fire, so I had to take out my dildo, and fuck myself to sleep

The next three Fridays followed the same pattern, with more men turning up each week, as they where, now, guaranteed to see my enormous breasts. I used the wages, to buy new underwear and stockings, which I wore in the scenarios that they would create for me. The skimpier the underwear, or costume, the more photos they would take. Their favourite positions were, me leaning forward, over a chair, drooping my breasts, licking my own breasts or with my legs open, trying to get a flash of my pussy. I would, also, wear some of the outfits, from the wardrobes; “wench”, “police woman” (with truncheon!), and everybody”s favourite – “naughty schoolgirl”!

Tullio started to attend, with his camcorder, getting up very close to my tits and between my legs, I didn”t like to ask what he did with the tape, but it was fun thinking about it!

When we finished, Ian and I would join Tullio for supper, as I would have no one to go home to, and look at the pictures from the previous week. Seeing the pictures of myself showing my body, especially my tits, to a bunch of strangers was becoming more of a turn on each week.

Each week Sandro would take me home, and always refuse my offer of “coffee”, and my trusty dildo would be used to great effect.

My husband, Pete was also, feeling the benefit, as I would jump on him the moment he returned from working away! He thought that I had been missing him! Bless!

Although, I was still refusing to take my pants off, I knew that it would only be a matter of time, before I would give in.

As we were having supper, on the fourth Friday, Tullio said, “I am sorry, but we wont be needing you next Friday,” my heart sank, “we have decided to use some of the girls from the college, for a few weeks.” Then he looked at Ian, who took up the conversation, “Now that you are enjoying yourself, Tullio and I would like to ask a favour, of you.”

Their eyes met, “If you would be willing, we would like to use you for some………..private pictures, without the others. Of course it would mean more money, but the pictures would be,” again, he looked at Tullio, “fully nude, and………well, personal, “top shelf”, you know what we mean?”.” He whispered the last few words.

Because I was drunk, and still horny from my last session, I asked, “How personal?” The butterflies had returned to my stomach, and I felt my nipples expanding, as the words came out.

“How personnel would you let us go?” Tullio asked.

I looked up and grinned.

They struck, while the iron was hot, and the following lunchtime, I met both men, outside of the camera shop, with my bag of goodies in my hand.

“Are you sure about this?” Ian asked, “Of course she is, look at her titties,” Tullio told him, as he stared at my nipples, which were poking out of my shirt, again. I blushed, he was right; I was up for anything, this afternoon.

The studio was empty, as Tullio opened a bottle of wine and Ian turned on the lights.

I looked at them; “I”ll get ready, then. What do you want me to wear?” For the first time, I felt in charge of the situation. “Anything black, would be nice,” Ian replied.

I went into the changing room and took out an array of underwear, and my collection of dildos, in a small bag.

Guessing what they wanted, I undressed, only leaving my knickers on. When I entered the studio, they whistled their approval, as I walked towards them, my tits swinging, from side to side. “Is this what you want?” I asked. Tullio, smiled, “Let”s use one of the bedrooms,” and guided me to one of the small rooms.

Ian quickly set up a camera, and lights. I began rolling around, on the bed, posing in any amount of provocative positions. Then, as I was on all fours, facing away, from them, I removed my knickers, showing my neatly trimmed, pussy, for the first time. “My God! That is beautiful, can I touch it?” Tullio asked. I shook my head, “No!” I told him. Rolling onto my back, I pulled my legs up to my shoulders, my hole gaping open, for them. Tullio, nearly put his camcorder inside, he was so close.

When Ian”s film ran out, I decided to put on, one of my new outfits, a black basque, tiny knickers, seamed stockings and high heals.

After applying an extra coat of lipstick, I made my entrance, “Wow!” Tullio gasped. “Where do you want me, on the stage?”

I placed my small, bag at the front, and started parading around the large, gold, chair.

Ian had three cameras set up, and Tullio was using his camcorder. I bent over, in a number of seductive ways, pulling my top down, letting my tits swing free. Holding onto the chair, with my arse facing them, I stroked my pussy, it was as wet as I”d hoped, moving my fingers across, I pulled the tiny strip, to one side, exposing my fanny, again.

Tullio was kneeling beside me, getting a “close up” shot. He moved away, allowing me the room to sit down, to remove my pants. I opened my legs as far as possible letting them feast their eyes, on my huge tits and soaking wet cunt. I began rubbing myself, slipping one, then three fingers into the sopping hole. Biting my lip, I whispered, “Open the bag,” Ian did as I”d asked, “Fucking hell, have you seen this lot!” he shouted, as he poured the contents onto the floor, “Give me the black one!” I whispered huskily. It was in my hand in a second! Opening my hole with my fingers, I moved the tip along the slit, two or three times, then slowly slid it inside. I don”t use this very much, because at 13 inches long, I have to be very wet to accept it. It went in very easily. With one leg over the chair arm, I fucked myself with my “black monster”, purring and groaning with pleasure. I was hoping that they were still taking pictures, I needn”t have worried, Tullio was back, between my legs with his camera. After a couple of minutes, of this exquisite fucking, I rubbed my clit, and came with a breathtaking climax.

I pulled the dildo out, and dropped it onto the floor, landing, with a thump.

“Was that “personal, enough, for you?” I asked, as I stood up, and walked back to my dressing room. “Too fucking true!” Tullio said, as he placed a new film in his camcorder, adjusting his hard-on, at the same time.

Ian spoke up, ” Let”s use the pool table next.”

I changed into my white Wonderbra, stockings, suspenders and no knickers. When I walked out they had moved some lights around the table, and set the balls up, as if we were going to start a game.

“I”ll help you,” Tullio said, as he put one hand on my hip and the other inside my thigh, as I attempted to climb up, onto the table. I cocked my left leg up, onto the edge, giving him the opportunity to slide his hand between my legs, and touch my throbbing pussy. As he tried to get a finger inside, I scrambled away, “Cheeky bugger! You can stop that, that”s for later!” The words were out of my mouth, before I could stop myself.

They looked at each other, and then at me. “I”ll keep my hands to myself……until later” he emphasised the last words. I stuck my tongue out, at him.

Ian positioned me in the corner of the table, as if my hole was the pocket that the balls would go into. Ian unclipped my bra, and slyly felt my tits. I did some poses kneeling, pretending to “suck” the cue, and then I rubbed the “fat” end against my pussy, spreading my legs, eventually sliding it inside. This was too much for Tullio, who, had already stripped off, climbed up, to join me. I lay on my back, sliding the cue in and out, as he proudly showed me his cock; it was about six inches long, and quite thick. He placed it in my mouth; it tasted sweaty, which was wonderful. Lying on my side I started to suck him like crazy, continuing to fuck myself with the cue. After a couple of minutes, of my blow-job, and him fondling my enormous tits, his body tensed up, and hot come splashed into my mouth and down my throat. As he pulled out, some seed dripped down my chin, onto my tits. As I scooped it up, with my finger, to put in my mouth, I was aware of Ian pulling the cue out of my cunt, then replacing it, with his face. When his tongue lapped against my clit, I went into spasms, as my orgasm tore through my body.

~~~~~~~~~~

In six months the horror that had gone on in Cynthia Knowles’s house had passed into dim Hollywood infamy. Tourists found the house on their star maps just as they had found the site of O.J. Simpson’s infamous home in Brentwood. But in the exclusive restaurants, bars, hotels and other places where the prominent and powerful of Los Angeles met and socialized Cynthia Knowles’ name was not mentioned.

There had been too many Angelino elite who had attended Cynthia’s parties and had used the young women that Cynthia always attracted to her house. Some of those women, they realized, had died in ways that even the most jaded of them could not bear to think about.

Christina had been made the scapegoat. She was the one who had actually set up Stacy Masters’ “lesbian tryst” and after Stacy had passed out from drugs Christina had slipped her it was Christina who killed the woman on the tape. Then, with some creative film making, Christina was set up as the one who killed Knowles’ “husband” and then Knowles’ herself. Finally, a tape sent to the news media showed Christina being beheaded by a group of hooded people, a la the terrorists in Iraq, and thrown into the ocean in the middle of a group of sharks that had been attracted by large buckets of chum.

In reality, Christina was alive, if not well. Yvette and Roxanne had cut the girl’s long hair as short as Yvette’s boyish cut and colored it black. The shock of watching Maggie at work in the pump room and then actually having to do Cynthia Knowles under Maggie’s supervision had left Christina mentally traumatized. Like Claire/Maggie, Christina couldn’t remember her own name or her life before taking up residence in Cynthia Knowles’ house.

Roxanne and Stacy Masters became a couple. One night in bed with Roxanne and Herbie, Roxanne whispered to Yvette that she thought she loved Stacy and she was going to ask her to move in. Herbie was Roxanne’s best man and Yvette was Stacy’s maid of honor at the wedding in San Francisco. The two women and Christina - carrying the couple’s first child - moved into a beach house three houses down from Yvette and Herbie’s on the Pacific Coast Highway.

Yvette thought a lot about the women who had partied at Cynthia’s. She thought about their decadent lives. Most, she’d decided, were simply playing; giving reign to their bodies’ desire for pleasure in excess. To them it was probably relatively innocent fun to get drunk and/or stoned on the weekend and to fuck and be fucked and bisexuality seemed to come easy for both the men and the women. Yvette thought none of them had likely ever given a single thought about the grotesque way some of them would die; the ones who had fallen victim to Robert’s depravations.

Yvette had come to L.A. looking for what amounted to a fairy tale life of consensual sexual debauchery where anything went but no one got hurt. She dreamed of nights spent being fucked and sucked and sucking men and women in lush places of near darkness where the sounds of the orgy were muted. Now she realized she “had” that fairy tale back in Milwaukee with the “study group.” No fear of pregnancy or sexual diseases or doing something she didn’t want to do. She had no idea of the depravity she had gotten herself into in sunny Southern California.

Slowly, to Herbie’s concern, Yvette became increasingly introverted and obsessed with the raw power of the depraved sexuality she had brushed up against, briefly had been a part of on the edge and ultimately had become its victim.

Yvette began waking up in the middle of the night. She’d be covered in sweat, breathing hard. The last image in her mind before she awoke was always so vivid. She would always be naked, standing before a naked young woman hanging upside down; Yvette was ready to make the cut in the woman’s throat to bleed her. And when the cut was made Yvette would orgasm as the young woman’s blood pumped against Yvette’s naked skin. After awaking from the dream Yvette would always need to masturbate before she could get back to sleep.

One morning when Yvette did not have early procedures and they were getting ready to leave for their offices at the same time, Yvette provoked Herbie into an argument. Provoking Herbie, at his age and with his experiences, was not an easy thing to do but Yvette managed to do it.

A few hours later Herbie called Yvette at her office to see what was up and apologize; he was concerned. But Yvette was still fighting; she pushed his buttons and he found himself on the defensive and madder than after their first fight. When Herbie got home that evening Yvette was waiting for him, this time she appeared drunk. She laid it on thickly, goading him to do something physical.

“What do you want to do to me, big man?” She asked with venom. Before Herbie could answer she turned her back to him dismissively: “Whatever it is, you probably aren’t up to it - no, check that - you probably “couldn’t” do it, you fucking “old” bastard.”

Herbie had had enough; something snapped. Herbie, who got his nickname in prison at age 18 doing five to 15 years for voluntary manslaughter when he let his anger get the best of him in a bar fight, first knocked Yvette unconscious with one punch. Herbie was stunned as he looked at Yvette sprawled on the floor but as Yvette stirred she prodded even more: “You “impotent” bastard…”

Even in the shock of Herbie’s punch Yvette was vaguely conscious of Herbie pushing her skirt and slip up around her waist and then her panties tearing. She half mumbled, half moaned some obscenities at him and felt her blouse rip open, his hands under her camisole and her bra pushing roughly over her breasts. And then…she smiled inside…she felt her thighs roughly pushed apart and moments later she felt him enter her.

Yvette’s consciousness came back to her painfully; an eye was swollen shut and the cheek under that eye ached painfully. She tasted blood in her mouth; her lower lip felt fat and she touched the corner of her mouth and felt wetness running down her chin. Blood too? She dragged herself into a sitting position and slumped against a wall. Herbie was a blur sitting against the opposite wall, his pants around his ankles and a vacant expression on his face; his cock was still partially erect. Yvette wondered for just an instant if she could provoke him to rage again and get him to rape her again. For a moment she wanted it.

“Herb? Baby? I’m sorry…”

Slowly Herbie looked at Yvette, “Why? Why did you do this?”

“Herbie, I love you. This was just an experiment…”

“”JESUS H. CHRIST”, VETTE! Why?! I could have killed you; hell maybe I almost did!” And then Herbie started to weep.

Yvette painfully crawled to her husband, laid her head on his chest and slowly caressed his head. “Shh, baby, I’m so sorry…Shh, please.” They sat like this in silence for minutes.

“Herbie?”

“Yeah baby?”

“Herbie, I want you to tell me how it felt when you came inside me,” Yvette half slurred and half whispered.

“What? Have you lost your fucking mind, woman?!”

“No, tell me. Then take me over to Rox’s place so she can fix me up…you brute. “My stud brute”.”

“Flattery will get you no where you whacked bitch. You’re seeing Golda next week - professionally.”

“Bullshit. Tell me how it felt.”

Herbie thought Yvette’s question for a minute. He didn’t like the answer came up with. Resolutely he said, “I can’t tell you. Now let’s go to Roxanne’s.”

“Herbie…” Yvette slowly drawled and she took his now flaccid cock in her hand and pumped slowly.

Herbie swatted her hand away. “Don’t. All right; I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone since prison. You can’t repeat it and you can “never” bring it up to me “ever”.”

“Um, okay.”

“When I came in you this time it felt like no orgasm I’ve ever had except for “one”. They popped me for killing a guy in a bar fight. They could have gotten me for a lot worse. Me and the guy I killed, we hung together. The night before we got in the fight we found this blond, rich, stuck up bitch that we knew in high school; she was a varsity cheerleader. It was the summer after graduation. We stopped on the street and chatted. She’d always wanted “to do” a black guy; we told her two would be really fun. She got in my car. We went to an abandoned warehouse on the West Side and we partied.

“I’ll never forget it as long as I live. My guy had her first. But watching them was doing nothing for me. Then she got pissed off when she realized he was doing her bareback. Party was over she said. Bullshit I said. When I came in her the first time…I’ve never felt like that until,” Herbie started to cry, “until I “raped” you. “It was fucking mind blowing”.”

Yvette held Herbie tighter though it hurt her face. “You got off on the power, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I suppose. It’s kind of like letting the evil out; letting the demons run.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Several weeks after Yvette’s rape, when her vivid dreams of cannibalizing a young woman came back, she would go to Maggie’s room. She left the lights off. She would silently take off her sweat-soaked tee shirt and panties and sit on the side of Maggie’s bed and start caressing Maggie’s body. Maggie always woke during these rendezvous. Sometimes the only indication Maggie was awake was Maggie’s hushed panting and moaning; the sensuous writhing of her body under Yvette’s fingertips, pulling a nipple especially hard or probing Maggie’s sex and ass especially vigorously.

Sometimes they would talk, in short, hushed, urgent whispers, as Yvette petted Maggie’s body.

Then over time Yvette began to make love to Maggie. Herbie used Maggie for sex too and sometimes after those couplings Yvette would take Maggie slowly and gently, taking a long time to suck Herbie’s cum from Maggie’s sex. Other times when Herbie had not used her, Yvette, imagining her rape at Cynthia’s, imagining Herbie raping her, would brutalize Maggie. She felt wild and out of control. Her orgasms were blindingly intense.

But Yvette wanted more; taking and being taken, the insatiable lusts. She was addicted.

On a spring weekend when Herbie went back east for a conference, Yvette took Maggie out, cruising Santa Monica, looking for men or women. It was late and the number of people on the street was thinning. Yvette suddenly became tired and annoyed; she wondered why they were out and what the hell she was doing. She felt like taking Maggie to the beach and brutalizing her.

Yvette had decided that it was time to call it a night when Maggie pointed out an older looking tan, lean and attractive woman standing on a corner in Santa Monica.

Maggie looked at Yvette and lightly touched Yvette’s face. “She’s alone,” Maggie said in her spooky, ethereal voice. “You’ll like to use her though she’s too old to really harvest and we shouldn’t be wasteful. We shouldn’t.”

Yvette starred at Maggie for a moment. “I never told Maggie why I we were going out” Yvette thought, “How’d Maggie know she wanted to kill”?

Maggie tenderly kissed Yvette on the cheek where her fingertips had been just moments earlier. She pulled her fleece pullover over her head (it was all she wore), shook out her hair and crawled into the back seat. Yvette’s hands would have been shaking if she had not had a white knuckle grip on the steering wheel. Yvette looked in the rearview mirror and met Maggie’s calm gaze. “It’s all right,” Maggie said so softly that Yvette could barely hear her.

Yvette started the car and as she pulled away from the curb she felt a thrill run through her body. The woman readily accepted Yvette’s offer of a ride; the woman lived in a beach house down in Venice.

Yvette didn’t really have a plan but Maggie did. Maggie put her arm around the woman’s neck and gripped the woman’s chin, twisting the woman’s head to the side. The woman was so surprised that she only struggled briefly; Maggie’s arm lock on the woman limited the woman’s ability to move much anyway. Quickly Maggie injected a drug into the base of the woman’s neck and then the woman sagged in the seat.

While Robert had done some of his work in Cynthia’s pump room, he had actually purchased a small farm in the Santa Monica Mountains where he had a barn, a slaughter house and a large commercial freezer for beef and pork. After the police finished going over the farm with a fine tooth comb, the county sold the property at auction for the cost of the tax lien. Yvette bought it. Yvette took her first prospective kill there this night.

Yvette helped Maggie get the woman’s unconscious body on the prep table then Yvette stripped naked and sat against the wall of the killing room. She was sweating profusely, her stomach full of butterflies and her sex was pulsating. Yvette was masturbating slowly as she watched Maggie prepare the woman; stripping her and gently, almost lovingly, washing the woman’s body.

Yvette knew the next step in the process would be to hang the woman upside down to be bled. But Maggie stopped. Maggie took one of the woman’s hands in hers and pressed it to her lips. Yvette saw Maggie’s body tremble and it looked like she was crying.

“Maggie? Maggie, what’s the matter?”

“I - I made a mistake. This woman is way too old. I can’t. We need to find someone younger. We need to take her back.”

Yvette got up, annoyed, and stood on the opposite side of the table from Maggie. “What’s the problem?”

“This is my big sister, Lisa. Recognize that tattoo on her hip?” Maggie’s voice was trembling.

Yvette looked. “Uh, you have one on your hip like that too.”

“We lost our virginity together. After the first time we made love with each other we went and got the tattoos. She was so gentle with me after the boy who took my cherry was so rough and clumsy. She gave me my first orgasm.” Maggie laughed a short, quiet laugh and looked at Yvette, “We made vows that these tattoos would bind us together forever; we would love each other forever.”

Maggie openly sobbed now as she laid her head on Lisa’s breast.

“I remember now. Oh, God, I remember it all. My name is Claire, Claire Benton. I have two beautiful children. My husband sold me like a slave to someone he thought would kill me because he wanted to be with Lisa.”

Claire/Maggie fell to her knees, sobbing. Yvette rushed to her side and took her in her arms. “Will your sister talk - about this?”

“No. She won’t, I promise. I drugged her. I prepped her. It was me, not you. She won’t say a thing.”

Yvette lovingly stroked Claire/Maggie’s hair and whispered in her ear. “Then why don’t we go find your husband and do him? Would you like that…Claire?”

Claire slowly looked at Yvette and smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~

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