Chaos In Paradise – ebook

Excerpt

“Tell me about the sex.” Mariel’s playing with herself through a white summery dress. I can see her small breasts barely swell the fabric, though her nipples poke through seductively.  There’s an immeasurable jiggle to her thighs, like a bit of sexual mirth.  As her hand presses her crotch, she rocks on the fingers. She’s so thin, her hip bones poke up leaving an alluring swell, her pubis makes a lush hill with a tuft of brown hair I can see as the light shines through the thin material.  “Tell me about the rough stuff.”

“About it rough with Keven?” I ask.

“No, how it was in the South.  The best/worst lover you ever had.”

“That would be Cabot,” I tell her.  “I slaved for him for nearly a year before I fled. It was wonderful and terrorizing at the same time …

I float into my memory, while sitting in my chair by the window looking at Mariel fool with her pussy, and occasionally stroke her breasts.  I’m getting aroused by her, but perhaps even more by my memory.

“I thought I loved him,” I began.  “He found me working for a printer in one of the larger towns.  I’d proof the copy before the final press was made.  But he didn’t like my boss’s politics.  He was in the printing office one afternoon to complain about the tracts that were circulating, those originating in our office and other places.  He was quite distinctive, wearing a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles, and his hair was black and very short, freshly trimmed.  It isn’t often you see a man so close-clipped and manicured in the South.”

I gaze at Mariel wondering if she’s really listening.  I’d like to climb on her and make love, but she has an aloof feel to her, so I return to my daydreaming.

“It was cold, that arid cold that leaves you breathlessly empty. Cabot was wearing a fine gray woolen coat. I think they’re making these heavy clothes in the East somewhere, but they are very expensive anywhere in our region.  It made Cabot look formal, very official and stern.  But I find that sexy too.”

“That’s not like Keven, is it?” Mariel interjects.

“No. Keven is more earthy and easygoing.  Cabot was an intellectual, though I found him so alluring I let him take me from the printing office, away from my job.  He planned for me to work for him in his small factory.  He had a printing press too.  Life was like that for me in the South.  I seemed to move from place to place, from lover to lover, hardly like I had a will of my own.  I moved the way the winds blew, and depending on whose hand was dragging my cunt to a new adventure.  Being bored with the political tracts and lured by Cabot’s measure of authority, I didn’t give him a fight.

“I expected him to want me for sex too.  That’s how it works there.  Most women give in to men without much fight, and it’s become so normal, no one thinks any different of it.  That is why it seems so strange here.  Anyway, we went to bed as soon as Cabot was horny.  I opened my thighs for him and he had an enormous cock that hurt almost every time he used. Still, I like feeling full.  He didn’t expect anything but my willingness and I was willing every time.  But he did need to control me.  The first time I went off on my own, he was furious when I returned.

“He hauled me by the hair into the bedroom and clamped a handcuff around one wrist and fixed it to the bed.  He did the same with my other wrist, so I was lying face down, my arms stretched out to the two corners of the headboard.  I started to cry, I was so afraid.  When he jerked at my feet and I felt ropes tightened against my ankles, I tried to fight him, screaming, but there wasn’t anyone to rescue me.  He had control of all his friends that lived with us, and the house was wedged in a valley between two hills, no one else around.  There’d be no rescue.

“Tearing at my skirt, my ass was bared.  And looking back, I saw him take his belt from his pants, a shiny, black substantial one.  I whimpered crazed and begged him not to use it on me.  But he didn’t hear me.  He spanked my ass with the thing so it burned.  The hot blistering made me clench my ass cheeks in fright, but then the strangest thing began to happen.  He paused for a time, long enough for the pain to ease off, and when he started again, the sensation was not as severe.  Cabot stopped and started at least a half dozen times and when he was finished, not only was my poor bottom feeling like molten lava, my pussy was sloshy wet, ready to orgasm against the sheets.

“‘You hot cunt!’ he seethed in my ear.  He pulled me by the hair, lifting me off the bed enough so he could stuff a pillow under my hips.  I felt his hand burrow between my ass cheeks and find my anus puckering.  Moistening it with sex juice, I almost screamed until I realized that his massage of my back channel made it as steamy as my horny cunt.  I was opening for him, this crazy shower of pain raining on me like bits of fire. I begged him for more. The first thrust was grueling, sparks flying everywhere.  He’d slap my ass with his palm if I moaned too loudly.  But then I think it was just me groaning with pleasure.  We came within instants of each other.

“That was the day I realized that I liked giving myself this way, that I liked pain and being owned by a man’s lust.  I remained tied to the bed the entire night.  When Cabot wanted me again, he took my ass—so much that I finally had to plead for him to stop fucking me there, and he did.”

“You like taking it up the ass?” Mariel asks.

“I do.”

“I like playing with myself there,” she says.  She’s in a somnambulant frame of mind, just half awake.  But her knees are bent now, and her dress has fallen back so they are naked and she can get to bare flesh.  I think she has both hands engaged, one with a finger at her anus—the left one I can’t really see—the other staying close to her pussy.  I continue with my story, wondering if she’s going to climax listening to me.

“Cabot’s a hard man.  I lived with him doing everything he asked me to do, fucking him whenever he wanted, but still that wasn’t enough.  He always found something to punish me for.  There were times when he wanted me to screw his friends and I would.  But then other times it pissed him off and he’d keep me chained to the bed for days, the room locked.  I read a lot then, because he had dozens of old books.  Most of them were falling apart and if I wasn’t careful he’d punish me for getting the pages all out of order.

“One entire day Cabot kept me locked in a cage to punish me. This was kind of strange. I had been with him for nearly eight months, living with his personal brand of anarchy and not really paying any attention to what it did to me on the inside or out, how I might be withering away.  I think I liked the sex so much, I really didn’t care.  But then something I heard from one of the other women jolted me.  She wasn’t speaking to me, but the words hit home.  Her name was Geneva.  She had blonde hair like yours and big bright red lips.  She’d been with Cabot’s friend for two years, and I’d always see her primping and pampering herself like a doll.  I thought it was silly and so did all the other women.  She’d just smirk.  Then one day this new woman asked her why she cared so much about her appearance and she smiled real broad and pretty.  ‘Because if I lose my appeal, I lose my life here.  And I have no where else to go.  No one else is going to want me.  Don’t think these men don’t cast off the lazy ones and the used-up ones and the ones without a blush on their faces.’

“That made wonder how I looked, how I really looked.  I’d brush by the mirror so hastily I never took time to see myself anymore.  Cabot didn’t approve of make-up and fixing my hair, but there must have been some special appeal that kept me with him.  Did that remain?

“It was a strange day, clouds but no rain, unusually steamy in the valley.  I felt as though things were going to explode.  I took off, just for a walk.  Went into the woods thinking I couldn’t use my brain while I was in Cabot’s lair—all my internal dialogue would just vanish.  When he couldn’t find me in the house, he came after me.  When he found me I was scared to death.  His cold eyes were hot.  His jaw trembled.  And his lip sneered dangerously.  ‘You don’t leave my house without permission,’ he said.

“‘I wasn’t leaving …’ I tried to plead with him, but I was afraid he’d slap my face, so I said no more.  He drug me into the basement of the house where he kept his presses.  And once removing my clothes, he hog-tied me—belly down, arms back and tethered to my legs.  He pushed me into a cage, gagged my mouth, blindfolded my eyes and left me there for hours.”  I pause trying to remember if it was really that long.  “At least until it was dark,” I finally concluded.  “The first thing I felt when he returned for me was my pussy being played with. My arms ached, feeling scorched, burning from awkwardness. But I was so hungry with sexual appetite that I took his hands on me as lovers and let him raise an orgasm.  He massaged my anus and my clit, swathing me in my own juices. They flowed our over his hand. He pulled out the gag and pressed fingers of liquid to my lips so I could smell my fragrant self and taste the sour juice. There was a dildo slithering inside my anus. Sweet bursts of pain wracked me end to end and I thrashed about the cage, groaning with the unhappy torture, while Cabot pinched my labia and clit. With him drawing his fingernail along the path from my anus to my cunt, I wobbled insanely.  I came on the pain, on a dozen pains exploding everywhere.

“‘Don’t leave me, or deny me, or refuse to offer your respect, or disobey any command,’ he said.  I nodded because I couldn’t speak.  ‘I will string you up and beat your ass tomorrow.  But you stay in the cage the rest of the night.’ He unlocked the thing, took away the bindings, even the gag and blindfold, and left me there on my honor to stay there the night.”

 

I look at Mariel lying on the bed, with her legs now splayed wide apart.  Even from where I sit I can see her cunt juice glimmering.  The light of afternoon is dying in the room.  She shivers, and arches her back, raising her breasts toward the ceiling, or to heaven, whichever might be the thought in her mind.

I want to go to her and lie with her, to run my hands along her cum-flushed skin, feel her wet pubic lips, slide my hands inside the petal soft folds and bring her juice to her lips the way Cabot brought mine to me.  I think that’s what she’s thinking, but I don’t act on my desire.  I remain in my chair until her undulating form finally stops the frenzy and relaxes into the crumple of sheets.

“You think I’m a whore?” she asks.

“In whose language?” I ask.

“In any language.”

“You’d fit well in the South,” I say.

“But I don’t here?”

“That depends on what you do with your lust.”

“I don’t think I can be faithful to him.”

“Then you’d better end it now.”

“There will be quite an inquisition,” she says.

“I’ll speak for you, if you like.”

“It’s not that kind of inquisition.”

I’m not sure what she means, though I’m sure I don’t want to know. I’m beginning to believe that life is just as hard here in the North as it is in my Southern homeland.