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Own This Body by Reece Gabriel

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Copyrighted © 2003, all rights reserved.  

I tossed and turned through the night, the sweat from my super heated body soaking the black silk sheets.  Strange shadows cast themselves on the ornate wallpaper, the light coming in pale ghostly beams through the edges of the brocaded maroon curtains.  Now and then I heard creaks, and I could swear the suit of armor in the corner was watching me with a hard-on.  It was like trying to sleep on the set of some cut-rate horror movie, a knock off Gone With The Wind meets Freddie Kruger.

        I’ve never been able to abide clothes in bed.  Which made it worse because my nude flesh was tingling and burning, with every touch and press of the deliciously wicked coverings.  I wanted to masturbate in the worst way, but I didn’t dare, not now, not under these circumstances.  To do so, after the day I’d had and the things I’d seen would be to admit needs and fantasies better left buried.

       At some point, an hour or two before dawn, my conscious mind gave way and I entered the mysterious twilight between dream and reality.  Images of men hovered round the stately carved bed—every single one who’d ever fucked me or even turned me on.  They were whispering in my ear, all the while stroking themselves.  I moaned into my pillow, reliving it all, blow for blow, from my first encounter, a halfway decent episode with a halfback in a hatchback, all the way up to the last time with Rene, the guy on the plane, and a man named Sergio whose account we’d wanted to keep very, very badly. 

       Eventually, I dreamed I was with Rene, shopping for clothes.  He was forcing me to model lingerie for strangers and when I wouldn’t leave the dressing room, he would smack my pantied ass to push me out the door.  Tears stinging my eyes, my buttocks burning with shame, I sought out man after man, asking them if they found me pleasing in the various skimpy ensembles.

       “Check the tits,” encouraged the grinning Rene, “how do they feel?”

       More than one took him up on the offer, squeezing and molding my obscenely exposed bosom as all the while women walked past, casting evil glances and calling me a slut and a whore.

       “Is the pussy easy enough to access?” Rene referred to a pair of French cut panties in the presence of an enormous, white bearded man with a barrel chest.  “Open, girl,” he growled, yanking back my hair, so I would spread my legs wider.

       I wore high heels, which made me feel even more like a whore.

       “Why, yes,” the man noted, slipping a ham-like hand down under the waistband.  “It’s quite easy…and nice.”

       My cheeks reddened; I was wet and the juices were dripping onto his fingers.

       “Lick them off,” said Rene when the man withdrew his glistening fingers.

       One by one, I removed the offensive liquid.

       “Soon you will be doing this all the time,” said Marie, who had joined in with a small crowd that was watching.  “For the Galentanos.”

       Jeremy was there, too.  “The bitches at Silvio’s club are little more than slaves, you know,” he was busy explaining in his enervating English accent to a pair of gentleman whose pockets he was trying to pick right under their noses.  “They eat scraps from the men’s tables and at night they sleep chained on the floor.  The only time they’re allowed near a bed is when they’re getting fucked.”

       “Some clamps would look good on these,” remarked a frumpy, middle-aged woman who had pulled my bra cups down to bare my helpless mounds. 

       I was trying to call out for Rene, because the people were starting to crowd me, but Marie had gotten his attention in a rather devious way, having slipped to her knees to take his erect cock into her mouth.

       “It’ll be all right,” soothed a new voice, belonging to my friend, Jennifer.  “Just remember our pledge.”

       The pledge, yes.  That was it.  The vow of our sisterhood, our tiny group within a group at the sorority house.  We will back down from no challenge, it went, no matter how kinky and we will pursue every perversion, till death do us cum.

       I wanted to open my mouth to agree, but I couldn’t speak.  The people pressed tighter, hands groping at my flesh, tearing at my pathetic little garments.  Down I went to the floor, to be fucked by them all.

       That’s life, I heard a male voice say, dark and rich, belonging to my father in his prime.  “You’re born, you’re fucked, and then you die.”

       It must have gone on for some time, because the next thing I knew, Jennifer was sitting on my bed, stroking my cheek.

       “Wake up, sleepy head; it’s a new day.”

       At first I imagined we were back in school, when she used to wake me every day for classes.  “Let me sleep, Jenn-Jenn,” I mumbled.  “I’m skipping English Lit today.”

       “We’re a long while past that, honey,” Jennifer laughed.  “Good grief, you really got yourself all twisted up—worked up, too.”

       I looked down at myself, where the sheet had coiled over my thigh and between my legs.  There was a large wet spot where the material had absorbed my pussy juices.  “Uggh,” I groaned.  “What was I drinking last night?”

       “It’s the S and M.  It has that effect.”

       I blinked.  “S and M?”

       She arched a brow.  “The caning—remember?”

       I sat up with a start, the memory flooding back of what a bitch I’d been.  “Oh, Jenn-Jenn, I’m so sorry!  Are you hurt bad?”

       The bikini-clad blonde wriggled her buttocks on the bed for a moment enjoying a delicious rush.  “No, sweetie, I’m hurt good.”

       I seized her shoulders—as if you could actually shake sense into a person that way.  “Jennifer, we have to get you out of here, before it’s too late.”

       “Why?” she giggled exasperatingly, “are you afraid you’ll turn into a sadist?”

       “It’s not funny, Jennifer, you know what I mean!”

       “I agree; it’s not funny.  But what about you?  You call me out of nowhere and tell me your boyfriend cheated you of millions of dollars and now you’re being chased by mobsters who want to make you a white slave and I’m supposed to let you give me relationship advice?”

       I’d had just about enough of her mouth.  Being the larger and stronger of the two, it didn’t take much to pin her underneath me on the bed.

       “Jeremy wasn’t my boyfriend,” I snarled, straddling her slim waist.  “I fucked him a few times, that’s all.  And no one’s going to make me a white slave!”

       “Get off me,” Jenn-Jenn squealed.  “I love Harold and there’s nothing you can do about it.  Slavery is my choice.  You just can’t stand that I’m happy and you’re not!”

       I released one of her hands long enough to smack her.  “Take that back!”

       Jennifer’s eyes taunted me.  “Make me,” she teased.

       “Don’t tempt me, Jenn-Jenn!  I’ll turn you over and give you the spanking of your life—on top of those welts from last night, that ought to feel real good.”