Message-ID: <5396eli$9711041036@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: William Will Willie Bill Subject: abducted by 4.txt Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.d,alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.swingers Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: LIBERTYES@prodigy.net Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-Id: <345EA6CD.1678@prodigy.net> AbductedBy4 Perhaps it's true that we women don't understand ourselves, but only know what we're told and taught, what we learn by first hand observation and personal experience, and what we glean from the whisperings of that mysterious primordial memory known variously as instinct, intuition or premonition. Female sexual response (action and reaction) ranges from ho- hum to wow, from "Let's get it over with," to "Let's have some more;" from quiet frigidity to insatiable lust. For most of us, the whole thing runs in cycles: Cool today, but warmer tomorrow. Insatiable? Who knows if or when. Ann Edwards, in her book, Vivien Leigh: A Biography, reveals the the ardent star of "Gone With The Wind" was often sexually voracious and unrestrained, that is, at times she just couldn't get enough sex. She was a nymphomaniac. In fact, her personal physician, Dr. Arthur Conach, insisted Ms. Leigh carry a medical report when she traveled which warned: "She develops marked increase in libido and indiscriminate sexual activity. Her symptoms, particularly her overt sexuality, loss of judgement and over-drive, make me feel that her manic phase is much more undesirable than her depressed phase." She was a manic depressive, and a true nymphomaniac. Dr. Conach said that on a regular basis, Ms. Leigh became sexually ravenous and threw caution to the winds while indulging her glutonous sexual appetite, used no judgement or discretion; cared nothing for appearances or what others might think, and fed her raw lust with uninhibited copulation. Edwards relates one of Ms. Leigh's out-of-control episodes at a Hollywood party: She invited almost every man there to meet her in an empty bedroom where many of them had sex with her. By 3 in the morning, the men had gotten all they wanted, but Ms. Leigh was on the bed begging the four or five men still in the room: "Please, please, one of you fuck me just one more time." Most of us realize that rape fantasies are not uncommon, but only with the big IF...it's ONLY a fantasy! We definitely do not hope for real life rape. We're terrified at the thought that we may be the target of a real rapist, and most of us agree that being forced is only attractive in the first place because we think we're guiltless if forced to have sex and therefore blameless, but in reality, fear of actual rape outweighs all of that. Somewhere between Ms. Leigh and rape fantasy there is a mysterious force we seldom recognize. It has to do with our libido, our getting hot, smacking wet, turned-on, or whatever. It can grab the unwary if we dare pass the point of no return. And once this strong sex current starts, our motor spins faster and faster. Dizzily, we lose control. Ravenous lust replaces lady-like caution. It controls us! Any one of us, in the right setting, can be a Cinderella nympho. As Patty Hearst says, psychiatrists do NOT understand what really makes us tick. IN THE BEGINNING For Dr. Josiah: I sincerely hope I'm capable of writing out a moment-by- moment journal as you asked me to. Well, here in excruciating detail is the whole story and every single thought or feeling I can remember. Day One began rather early, as you can see: I reached out sleepily, groping for the jarring clang of the alarm clock. It was still hot in the house, making my gown cling to me like a spent lover. Memories of making love to Bill last night lingered in my mind, he stirred slightly and continued in deep sleep as I felt my way into the bathroom. I didn't want to awaken him on Saturday, the only day of the week he could sleep in. But, hell, why I should be so considerate. Most folks think Bill is a nice man, but living with him is very frustrating. He takes me for granted, and he'd raise holy unmitigated hell if I hung out late with the girls like he does with the boys. I'm crazy for staying with him...an easy lay when he wants it. IF he wants it. The shower teased my warm body with probing needles of pleasure; my nostrils flared like a filly in heat and I shivered at remembered matings with a high school lad as I toweled off. I wanted nothing more than to linger in bed, but alas, I couldn't. It was time for the writing struggle to begin! I slipped into a front-button yellow cotton blouse and a light denim tennis skirt, not bothering with panties or bra because it's more comfortable that way for writing. Chill air spilled out onto my bare feet when I pulled open the fridge door. Darn! No milk. There was nothing for it but to go to the store. I looked critically at my nipples visible under the sheer blouse, decided to wear a light jacket, and headed for the garage. I took Bill's station wagon instead of the neat little yellow Camaro I usually drove. At age 27, it was good to be alive. I sucked fresh air into my lungs, appreciating the sweet smell of the flowers in the quiet darkness. My watch indicated 5:30 a.m. when I pulled to a stop in 7-Eleven's parking lot. Dawn had not yet filled our town with light. I had no way of knowing that Kevin, the man I almost married, was still insanely jealous...still determined to have me at all costs, although I had been married to Bill for three years. I would learn that "insane" jealousy was just that, and that Kevin was orchestrating something worse than murder. =+= The four of them took me as I was leaving the 7-Eleven store with my milk. Their van was parked next to Bill's station wagon. The side door of the van slid open and they pulled me in and drove away, acting so quickly that we were speeding down the street before I realized what was happening. Then, it was too late. I was terrified, but helpless. One of them kept saying I'd be sorry if I screamed or attracted attention. In less than five minutes the van pulled into a garage where they took me through a connecting door into a house. I have never been so frightened. They warned me again about making any noise and I did quit whimpering and crying because I realized I was in the same position as a kid about to be spanked for not shutting up. I had seen one of the boys somewhere before, the youngest one, but I couldn't remember where. He couldn't have been a day over fourteen...possibly fifteen. When I began to calm down a bit I took a closer look. He had those eyes, just like Tom Selleck, brown bombs with mercury lamps behind them. He had a smile that made Tom Cruz look like Peewee McNitt. I heard one of the others call him Mark. He was just a kid. Another boy was tall and slender and looked to be about twenty-two. One of them, the leader, was about my age. He was muscular and nice looking - reddish brown hair, greenish blue eyes...nice looking, indeed. More surprising still, the forth fellow was much older, but he, too, did not look like your everyday rapist. From the conversation the next few minutes I figured that Mark, the young one, had evidently been spying on me, because he knew all about my passion in bed, including my moans, thrashing about, etc. I'm what Bill calls a "frantic screamer." They joked about how easy it was going to be to "get my motor running." Of course, my old boy friend, Kevin, had planned the abduction. I had no way of knowing then that he was in the house watching me from his hiding place in a closet. Taking pictures. Videotape. The house was well carpeted, but was empty. Probably up for sale. A timeless mustiness like ancient knowledge hung in the stuffy air. The morning sun was just beginning to glare on the smudged windows when the gleeful fellows made me stand in the center of the large, bare living room. I braced myself like an uncertain doe at bay before the drooling hounds, my left hand holding my skimpy yellow blouse together above my unfettered breasts. I was shivering. Without a word they all stripped off their clothes and turned their eyes on me. I remember thinking how different each looked down there, each so different from the others. They say that looking at nasty porn pictures or just seeing a nude man does little to excite a woman, but that's not always true. This wasn't the first time my body reacted to visual stimulis. In fact, I had always felt a stirring when seeing a bulging male crotch or nice looking ankles. The 22-year-old boy was a carrot top, his pubic hair was aflame at his crotch. The older one was stocky, with greying hair and a beard to match, deep hazel eyes and a friendly smile. His white teeth flashed in the morning sun when he spoke to me. I remember seeing millions of tiny particles floating in the sunbeams, and I realized they had deliberately placed me to be spotlighted by the rising sun. It began to get warmer very quickly. A rivilet of sweat ran down between my breasts. "Nobody's gonna hurt you. Nobody's gonna do anything you don't want. See?" Soft, but very, very firm. The good looking one's voice was deep. He stepped forward and removed my jacket and began to slowly unbuttoned my blouse, letting the back of his hands brush against my nipples. I swallowed and tried to keep my breathing even and my body still, but it was almost impossible to do. He removed both my skirt and blouse, leaving me completly nude. Triumphantly, he called the boys' attention to my lack of panties and bra. "See," he crowed, "She WANTED somebody to fuck her!" Then he stepped back into his place in the circle of naked boys and men. Crazily, I thought they were going to do a circle-jerk like my husband had told me boys sometimes participate in. Each boy "jerks-off" the boy next to him while being done in kind by the one on the other side, but a that's not what they had in mind. They became very quiet, seeming to relish the air of excitement hanging in the warm room. Nobody said a word, and no matter which way I looked there was a nude, randy male. I felt twitches here and there inside my belly. Obviously, this nudity and total silence was preplanned. I was conscious of licking my lips as though I was about to speak, and my inside thigh muscles knotted and flexed. Minutes passed without a sound. In spite of all I could do my body was beginning to sway in primitive rhythm, reacting to the raw sexual stimulis all around me. Somehow I knew I was in no danger at all other than I was going to get screwed. There was no doubt about that. They weren't rough, just eager, and had obviously planned to tease the situation for a while. I guess this sounds unladylike, but honestly, I don't know how my brain was doing all of this processing, but I remember thinking that my terror had turned into excitement of a strange unknown sort. Finally, the older one spoke to the youngest, "Check 'er out, Mark." The fifteen-year-old glided up to me and let his hand slide down my belly until his fingers were resting on my clitoris. Searing currents shot through my pelvis as he very slowly and deliberately entwined his fingers in my bush. It was impossible to remain perfectly motionless, although the older one kept telling me over and over again not to move a muscle. All of them began to snicker as they observed the involuntary movement of my pelvis and buttocks in response to the touch of the youngster. God, this kid had the touch and poise of a sheik, and spoke like one. He cupped my breast in his hand and talked about it, how beautiful it was. He teased the nipple with the tip of his tongue and sucked it gently. He ran his slender fingers up and down my torso , lingering here and there. But the most shattering thing he did was to kneel and lick the insides of my thighs. My skin is soft and tender there, and his touch left my legs weak. The boy turned, grinning, and reported, "She's about to cream." My face went fiery red as he walked away. Dad always told me that someday I would pay a price if I wasn't careful...pay a price for being shapely and desirable if I didn't handle it right. The good looking one wiped his brow with his tanned forearm, and I couldn't help noticing the beads of sweat glistening on his thick neck and his rippling biceps. His stomach muscles flexed, causing his rigid cock to jerk, and I squirmed and breathed in ragged gasps. I knew my nipples were hard, and my face burning. Damn, what was the matter with me - reacting to not one, but four men all at once? I'm not promiscous. I don't want even one strange man. All of these modern diseases scare the hell out of me. I read in women's magazines about all of us girls getting laid all of the time, secret rendezvous with a handsome one-night stand who is on his way to China and we know he'll never come and mess up our life. Okay for fantasy, but it isn't something I've really wanted. It has occurred to me - in case I ever did it - that the safest sex is with either the young or the old because they're not likely to be infected. Now, the older one began telling me how much they were going to enjoy fucking me. He kept his hand on his swollen cock as he talked. "You'll love it," he said, "you'll love having all you want, but damnit, you're going to beg for it...ask for it!" I shook my head and swallowed. I couldn't scream and I knew for sure now that when I left this place it was going to be only after having had sex with each of these four determined males. "You've had enough of standing alone," the older one said, "and you want us all touching you, don't you?" Something outside of myself made me nod. God, what am I doing! "Please get down on the floor..on your back," he directed. I obeyed. All four of them knelt around me. One was teasing my face and lips with his tongue, two of them were tonguing my nipples, and the forth was gently licking my clitoris. All of the sensations were driving me out of my mind. Never have I ever had so many different fantastic things happening to my body all at once. There was no way I could concentrate on one or refuse to feel another. These fellows were lovingly carressing all of my most secret places. The sensations were incredible. "You're tongue loves to feel my tongue, right?" "Your clit loves my tongue." One of them took my hand and placed it around his steel-hard throbbing cock. "You'd come if that was inside of your cunt, wouldn't you?" I jerked my burning hand away. Ignoring the hundreds of pleasures racing through my body was impossible. I tried to think of something else, anything. I thought of Bill. He'd love to see something like this as long as the woman was NOT me! I couldn't force my mind away from what was going on - I tried to concentrate on how much I wanted to escape from here - but then the young one, Mark, would flick my clit with the tip of his wet tongue. I squirmed and fought a losing battle. In spite of everything I could do I felt a massive orgasm building within me, and as it shook my body like an earthquake, Mark climbed between my legs and slowly slid his stiff cock into me. Once inside, he held perfectly still, getting a good feel of the spasms sweeping through my vagina. I was sweating. My neck felt hot and my hair was damply plastered to my shoulders. When I closed my eyes it seemed my vagina was the largest part of my body, that it was all of me, and still growing by the minute. I remember thinking I was so grateful for the good kind of loving I was getting. Then my legs began to tremble, my pelvis lifted itself off of the floor as if out of control. The last thing I wanted to do was say dirty words to them. But then I said them. I heard a dry, croaking voice say, "Fuck me", at first in a low growl, then a whisper, then loud, "Please fuck me," and I knew it was me speaking. This couldn't be happening to me! The fellow my age began to describe what he was seeing like a play-by-play footbal announcer. "They've got her legs apart, there's a smacking sound as the big cock pumps in and out. Now (excitedly) she's lifting her ass up to meet him and her legs are locked around him. She wants to be fucked!" God, it was doing something to me to hear somebody else talking about what I was doing and feeling. "Stay still," young Mark said, "Don't move. Just feel me fucking you and feel the boys kissing your nipples. Feel their tongues. Feel us loving you deeply, deeply, deeply. Feel my cock in your cunt fucking you." But his cock wasn't moving...HE wasn't moving at all, and he demanded over and over that I not move. "Stay still," he whispered. After a while his cock seemed to grow inside me. It wasn't moving and my pelvis wasn't moving, but cock and cunt seemed to have a life of their own. I breathed deeply of his rich, musky odor and the minty scent of his mouth. The announcer was saying, "She's gasping for breath, her legs are jerking, she wants it bad!" The idea of somebody watching me flat on my back with my legs spred wide in smacking sexual abandon with this kid was terribly exciting. I could feel the beginning of something deep inside...tried again to stop it but couldn't. An intense orgasm left me shuddering and weeping uncontrollably. One after another they each fucked me. No two did it alike, but each time they did I orgasmed. Unheard of. Before, only Bill, a lover and one boy had ever brought me to orgasm by fondling and kissing or fucking me. Now, I had more experience in a few hours than I had in all the rest of my life. When I got back home I found a note from Bill saying he had gone hunting. I drew a hot bath and climbed in. For some reason I thought of all the things I had been taught about sex. Ladies don't crave it, only whores do. Ladies are not excited by nasty things boys do. Lies, I thought, damned lies! I'm neither an angel nor a bitch in heat. I'm a real woman misunderstood by my husband and most other men as well as by ninety-five percent of the women I know. I knew I was very lucky not to have encountered violence, but I also knew that it was the most exciting thing that ever happened to me. I did not call the police or report it. Instead, I think of it often and I seem to remain in a constant state of sexual turn-on. When I'm thinking about that morning, I sometimes wish it would happen all over again. So I've done the next best thing and have a lover who cares for me. Daddy's worst fears have come true. His little girl has certainly ended up shamefully enjoying what no lady should. There, Dr. Josiah, I've said it! Chapter II MARK - A CASANOVA Growing up in another country, especially France, can make a big difference in a young man's life. Even more so if his home was in Paris, as Mark's had been, or my name isn't Jina. Mark Johnson's personality is somewhere between dynamite and nitro. He's a friendly guy, the kids at Federal Way High School like him. Sure, he is Mr. smartass with most of the answers, but he never makes the other kids feel stupid. Tracy Cooper will tell you Mark can be ever so helpful. She was going to fail solid geometry for certain sure, and Mr. George thought she was totally dropped out before Mark began to coach her. And there's was an electric air about him that excites girls very much. And the excitement is all his. You know, no drugs or anything like that. Nobody looks down on him because of his disdain for pot, coke, or other drugs. He just doesn't need that extra kick, he explains, nor alcohol in any form. By the end of the third week of school, Mark made his first mark in America. Tracy was wearing these really cute tight-ass Levis and she kept hinting that she needed super help with English lit. She looked really cute in her jeans and Mark said yes, he would come over that night and help her. He spent the first two hours explaining the real meaning behind the plot in Ivanhoe. He spent an hour talking to Tracy's mom, Elaine Cooper. Elaine was a little better put together than her daughter, even if she was forty. The truth of it was that Jason Cooper, Elaine's husband, was in New York on one of his many, many business trips, and as always, had taken his secretary with him. Mrs. Cooper was wearing Levis, too, and she liked the way Mark admired what was in her jeans. Her husband rarely noticed. Mark left Tracy and Mrs. Elaine Cooper just after 10:30, but he didn't go home. Thirty minuts later he tapped lightly on Mrs. Coopers bedroom window. When Elaine saw who it was she put her finger to her lips - shhh - (for godsakes don't awaken Tracy) and motioned for Mark to come to the back door. Ten minutes later Mrs. Elaine Cooper was in seventh heaven with her young man. Mark never told his friends or anybody but me about the night he spent in Tracy Cooper's mother's bed, and neither did he tell them about Misty Brown's mother, or the night with Ginger, Jackie Edwards' mom. Or Michell Crowley's mom, or Cara Robert's mom. His friends never heard about the wildest night of all with Lena Smucker (mother of Kim Smucker, who was supposed to have the best ass in eleventh grade). There was just no reason to tell. Mark liked women 25 to 35-years-old a lot, and after all, he didn't do us any harm. He just wanted to hug us and kiss us and spend the night with us if at all possible. This didn't mean he couldn't date girls his own age, but older women were special, he said. They never pretended and they never made him do all the work. They helped...a lot. But most of all, they really were grateful for his ability and efforts, like he was doing THEM a favor or something. Imagine that. I guess that includes me. Lena Smucker was another of us who never felt a twinge of guilt about robbing the cradle, not to mention committing adultry. Instead, she felt like she had eaten too much candy, but that's what Toppfast was for. I dig that. By the Fourth of July Mark Johnson had brought a touch of heaven, a little spice, and a lot of joy to more than a dozen Federal Way homes. Young mothers who once had fumed in resentment now purred like sleek cats. The anger at being trapped by kids, and selfish husbands began to fade in these homes "marked" by Mark. No, I didn't like having him seeing other wives, but what could I do? He really is something! Picture this: A fifteen-year-old boy, happy as hell, getting that warm, fully satisfied feeling from the wive's and mothers of Federal Way, but not losing sleep over it. Sure, a few mothers turned him down, but even they didn't blow the whistle on him. He was booked up every night and every afternoon. About every fourth afternoon was with me. He never had any acne. If his parents were curious or concerned about his comings and goings, they never let on. I started keeping a diary after meeting Mark: " Wed. 7/8 - It doesn't matter how often I have sex, I never get enough. I spend most of my time daydreaming and then, Well, you know. I like to do my work nude or nearly nude, maybe just a negligee. I love the sensual feel of it. "Then Mark appeared out of nowhere, a school chum of my friends daughter, but he "raped" me. His cock is magnificent. Thick, a young leviathan. I've held it in my hands - tasted the salty sweetness of it. Never did I imagine he could be built so perfectly for me, that he would be set afire by my touch, so responsive to my need. Here in my hands I've held the proof of his desire for me. I don't know what to do with him. This morning I licked his glistening shaft. My hands cupped his balls, sucked up close and full in his dangling sac. His beautiful hard-on was all for me. Finally, I was able to push him onto his back and straddle him. Oh, god. Slowly I came down onto it, feeling myself accepting him. oh, oh. I was so hot inside and so wet. I took him all in and remained still. The long hours of exercising my vagina muscles paid off now. My pussy clasped him tightly, and presently, without either of us moving, something began to happen. He was so tightly embedded in me, so much a part of me. I remained motionless so I could feel it, and he so completely filled me that there was no way I wouldn't feel it happen. His shaft began jerking violently, literally shaking me. Oh, I can't describe it, but it's so good. He exploded in me. His wetness squished around his hard shaft. Now, I was starting, too, but I really wanted to concentrate on feeling his orgasm, but the sensations of his spurting soon overwhelmed me and I lost control. As orgasm swept me, my muscles tightened around him so strongly that he groaned in agony. But I was beyond hearing him. I was all cunt as never before. I wanted to melt and be a part of this boy-man. My legs began to tremble, and involuntary movements of my pelvis created a vacuum, sucking at our mingled juices. Ooohh! God! That brought me over. "I'm coming," I screamed, "Oh, honey I'm commmming! I may have fainted. For the first time in my life it was too much for me. I must have something potent to protect me from this 15-year-old powerhouse and now!" Tue. - 7/14 -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /