Janice is married to Stephen and is cheating on him with Wayne an unwelcome intruder into her life leads her to a day of mind controlled sex and humiliation.
The phone in Janice's hall rang It showed an unknown number, and she started to ignore it, but then wondered who would call early on a Monday morning, Stephen had left for work and David for university. She picked it up and said, "Hello?"
"Janice" a smooth male voice said. "Good morning."
"Hello" said Janice wondering who it was that knew her first name when she did not recognise the voice.
The voice on the phone said "unlock your front door so that I can come into your house and then go stand in your front room," the voice continued "In five minutes, no matter what you're doing, you'll stop and be unable to move or speak." With out replying Janice hung up a nutter she thought.
As she put the phone down Janice looked at the front door it was locked and bolted.
She felt drawn to the door, moving to it intending to check it was locked. She felt something and rather than checking the lock she found herself sliding the bolt back and unfastening the yale lock.
Absolute rubbish that call she thought to herself and walked into her front room.
She looked in the mirror that hung on the chimney breast and brushed her hair back with her hand.
She stopped in the middle of the room.
It wasn't deliberate. She simply could not get her body to move. She was frozen, paralyzed. Only her eyes seemed unaffected.
She struggled with all her might, but her limbs might as well have been made of concrete. Not a finger trembled or changed position. She began to breathe heavily, and felt her chest tighten with panic. She saw herself in the mirror across the room, looking for all the world like a still photo or portrait.
Her face shone with perspiration even as her expression remained blank. She couldn't even muster the energy to look terrified.
What had happened to her? How had this happened to her? What did that voice on the phone do to her?
Before she could even speculate on why, or what else he might have in mind, Janice heard the front door rattled and open. Janice heard steps in the hallway. She couldn't turn, but the mirror's reflection showed the entrance to the front room. She felt a jolt of genuine terror when a complete stranger entered the room. The man was big, over 6ft tall she thought, broad, built as though he spent many hours in the gym. He had a light complexion and light brown hair. She thought he looked to be about 30 years old.
“My name is Ginger" he said in a low voice.
He strode slowly around the room, looking it over as if he were a potential tenant. "I'll give you the short version of what's been done to you," he said. "Your will has been deadened. Completely. As a result, you are unable to do anything without a direct command from someone else." He moved closer, so he could speak directly in her ear. "And right now, that's me." He whispered, we told your secret lover Wayne Jenkins to implant thoughts and commands in your mind that give us complete control of you. Wayne did not have a choice as we control him."
Ginger heard her breath catch in her throat. In her condition, that was as the same as a scream.
He moved in front so she could see his face. She'd never wanted to punch anyone as badly as she did him at that moment, but she might as well have wished to fly. Nothing broke through the paralysis holding her still.
Could she only move when she was told to? Was that even possible?
It was a warm day Janice was wearing a pale blue round neck T Shirt and jeans. Ginger looked her up and down.
Looking right into her eyes, Ginger touched the hollow of her throat and traced his fingertip over her t shirt down to her breast. The reality that she could not keep him from touching her shot through her, and she began to breathe rapidly, almost gasping.
"Don't freak out," he said teasingly. "We're just getting started, we have all day."
He pulled his hand away, then rested it at the swell of her hip, on the waistband of her jeans.
"Here's how this works, Janice. Not only will you do anything I say, you will feel whatever I tell you to feel. I don't mean emotions: I can't make you fall in love with me, don't worry. But I do mean I can tell you to, oh, think about nothing but the way your breasts feel."
She had only an instant to think, What the heck? before her mind filled with intense sensations and awareness. How her breasts felt in her bra the way they felt now and the material of her bra. She aware her nipples had become incredibly sensitive, her suddenly-erect nipples pushed against the material of her bra. Each breath made them rise and fall, pressing up against the bra and then falling ever so slightly away before the garment settled on them again. She'd never experienced anything about her body in such detail, with such totality, and when she saw her face in the mirror, she was shocked to see her eyes half-closed.
She gasped helplessly as he touched the tip of her nipple through the cloth of her t shirt. The sensation seemed to travel through her body with a feeling of such pleasure beyond her imagination.
Then he put his thumb and finger on either side of her nipple, and lightly pinched.
She cried out. It was totally involuntary, and the most desperate sound she could imagine. She'd never heard herself make a noise like that before.
Ginger chuckled. "Now play with them yourself, Janice. Show me what you like."
There was truly no resisting. Her hands slid beneath her shirt and cupped her breasts within her bra. She squeezed them, pushed them together and pulled at her nipples. She made no sound, but could hear the soft collision of flesh as she manipulated them the sensation was wonderful.
"You can stop now," he said.
No she wanted to scream. Not yet! I But her hands fell to her side and did not move.
As if an afterthought, Ginger added, "And you're no longer thinking about your breasts."
And just like that, the desire to touch her breasts vanished. A red flush burned up her neck and cheeks, a shame that she'd never felt before.
Gingers voice grew throatier. "Now: take off that shirt and your bra."
She fought with every bit of her willpower, but only managed the briefest hesitation, her body was not obeying her mind it was obeying his, she pulled the shirt over her head and let it fall to the floor. She reached behind her back unclipped her bra and let it fall to the floor. She felt shame, embarrassment at standing there topless in front of a strange man and she felt fury at him, and a weird sort of defiance.
He looked her up and down in blatant appreciation. Her body was slightly overweight. Then he stepped back and raised his phone, he is going to take a picture she thought.
Janice struggled with all her might to raise her arms and cover her breasts, or at least turn away, but as before, nothing happened.
"Smile," he said, and to her horror, she did.
He took several pictures, then scrolled through them with a satisfied sigh. When he looked back up at her, he barked out a laugh. "You can stop smiling now."
Her expression fell back to neutral.
He stepped close again, and used his hands to cup and lift her breasts. The touch sent shivers of revulsion through her. His thumbs stroked her nipples, but they did not stiffen. She was scared of this man, what he might do, what he might make her do, she wanted to both cry and to hit him. Her body not obeying her mind was the most scaring thing about her situation.
Without a command to enjoy it, him touching her nipples was the least erotic thing she could imagine. Instead, she envisioned her hands around his neck.
"I can make you like this," he said softly.
She glared at him, but she knew it was true.
He pulled away his hands. "But first, take off those jeans and socks."
She tried to fight it but her hands unfastened her jeans and slid them down her legs. She stepped out of them and discarded them, just as she had her shirt, then she pulled her socks off. Now clad only in white cotton panties, she resumed standing immobile. The sensation of helpless certainty of her situation, filled her with renewed rage and terror.
He slipped one finger under the waistband of her panties and slid it slowly across the skin below her navel. "One little piece of cloth is all that keeps you from being naked," he said. He circled behind her, then stepped so close she could feel his erection through his trousers against her buttocks. He cupped her breasts from behind, his now-ragged breath in her ear. As he kneaded the soft flesh, he said, "You can speak now. Tell me how this feels."
Like a switch had been thrown, she snarled, "bastard, get your fuck hands off me, don't ever touch me again, I swear to God when this wears off, I'm going to kill you so fucking slowly you won't—"
"Shut up," he said, and she did. "Now...answer this question honestly. Which would humiliate you more: me removing your panties, or making you do it yourself?"
"Myself," she said with no inflection.
She felt his breath on her neck when he chuckled. He took away his hands, stepped back in front and again raised his phone. "Smile, and take them off."
It only took a moment. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband, bent over and slid the slight garment down her legs. It joined the pile of discarded clothing. Then she stood again, motionless, smiling with apparent happiness, and now totally naked. Inside she was screaming with the humiliation of her situation, stood completely naked.
The way he looked her up and down felt like the touch of some filthy rag, but her smile didn't waver. "Turn around," he said, and she did. When she again faced him, she realised that he hadn't photographed her, he'd filmed her: to all appearances she'd willingly disrobed and posed for him, delighted to display herself. Another red flush of shame crept up her chest to her face.
He lowered the phone.
"So we are about to have several hours of pleasure, or at least I am. He stepped close, his smooth silk shirt pressed against her bare breasts. He lifted her chin to look into her eyes. "I'm going to put you through your paces, and film every minute of it. You will appear not only willing, but eager. And," he added with a smile, "you can think whatever you like, but any words you try to speak will come out as, 'fuck me.' Now tell me how you feel about that."
"Who ever you are I hate you" she tried to say. But she only said flatly, "Fuck me."
"Good. Now: on your knees."
Obediently she knelt before him. She had a good idea what he was going to make her do, she had never done it before. She knew what was about to happen, what he intended to make her do. Her stomach roiled with revulsion.
"You can speak whenever you'd like," he added as he undid his belt. She tried to beg him not to make her do it but "Fuck me," was all she said.
Not surprisingly, he was already rock hard when he freed himself from his pants. "Don't keep me waiting, Janice." Open your mouth. In her head she was screaming no, no I don't want to. His dick was massive far bigger than Wayne's or Stephen's Go on he said, she took his cock in her mouth.
He was hot and rigid, and tasted of salty dick sweat. She was terrified he would come this way, claiming her with his masculinity in the most disgusting way possible. But she couldn't stop, nor could she deliberately do it badly. She obediently bobbed her head, one hand at the base of his shaft, the other braced against his thigh. She looked up, and saw his phone held over her, filming. It blocked her view of his face, but his little noises of pleasure were loud.
Janice was still laid on her stomach. "Did you enjoy that", he whispered in her ear, "you may answer", he said. Janice swore at him several times, "when I get up from here I am going to murder you" she shouted. "Silent" ordered Ginger. Janice's mouth froze.
He lowered his head closer to her ear, "it does not matter" he said in triumph. "I own you now, and that's all you need to know." She was terrified when he said "Today is just a start, I will be back tomorrow for a day of fun with you". He let her lay there scared almost to death about what was going to happen. "Five minutes after I leave your house you will be able to move again, and you will forget everything that just happened."
"Stop," he said breathlessly, and she did. He stepped away, his cock red and hard, gleaming with her saliva. She sat back on her heels, breathing heavily, waiting. He sighed with satisfaction and asked, "Did you enjoy that?"
"Fuck me," was all she could say. She felt so dirty at what she had just done.
He put his phone aside and removed his clothes. He was even bigger than she had thought tall very broad and extremely muscular. "What do you say" asked Ginger. " fuck me" she said. He smiled at her "yes I will do as you ask and fuck you, how does it feel to be complicit in your own rape" he asked Janice. She wanted to cry and run away "fuck me" she said dully. Her eyes found her own discarded clothes on the floor. The small pile now represented the last of her dignity.
Now he was also naked, still rock-hard, and once again smiling. "On your feet," he said, and of course she obeyed. She put all her hate and fury into her eyes as he stepped close. The end of his cock pressed against the soft flesh below her navel.
He raised her chin again. "Kiss me."
Somehow, it was even more revolting than sucking his cock. That act was all about domination, and even though she hated it, it had no emotional intimacy for her. As she pressed her lips to his and slid her tongue into his mouth, though, the reality of her situation overwhelmed her. Worse, his kiss wasn't rough or clumsy; he was, of all things, gentle. When he finally pulled away, she leaned forward to continue the kiss, having not been commanded to stop.
"That's enough," he said. His voice was low now, and almost seemed . . . regretful?
He took a deep breath, shaking off whatever momentary doubts had come over him. "Now, Janice: take me to your bedroom."
She took his hand and led him upstairs to the bedroom.
"On your bed, and on your back," he ordered, and she crawled onto the bed. She looked up at him as he closed the curtains against the morning sun, dimming the room. Then he stretched out beside her and put his mouth on her breasts. He sucked and licked them for what seemed at eternity, she tried to shut the horror out by imagining it was Wayne sucking them, but it did not work.
"Open your legs wide" Ginger instructed.
She fought with ever bit of willpower but it failed, she spread her legs wide. Ginger took more pictures of her right up between her legs. She could not stop him touching her slit. It was totally dry.
"You are now," he breathed, "so aroused that even my slightest touch can make you almost come."
The idea seemed so utterly ridiculous for about two seconds and then it horrified her, he was going to make her enjoy been raped, and then her body did exactly as he commanded. She was on fire for him, writhing and clutching at him, desperate to take his cock and guide it inside her. "Fuck me!" she cried, no longer thinking different words. "Fuck me!" She spread her legs wantonly, wriggling to get him into position. He slid inside her more easily than Stephen or Wayne ever had she needed Ginger to fuck her, her pussy was soaking wet
At his first thrust she came, a tingling rush from her groin up her spine. It tore away any remaining inhibitions; now all that mattered was coming, and it happened with an ease she never would have believed. She couldn't even say "Fuck me" now, only moan and cry out as the comedown between climaxes grew more and more brief. She was drenched with sweat and her own juices. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, clutching him as if he were a life preserver in a storm, biting into his shoulder, climaxing over and over.
Until he whispered raggedly, "You don't want this anymore."
And like a switch was thrown, her arousal vanished. Her arms and legs fell away. She stared at him above her, his face moving up and down with the rest of his body, disoriented by the sudden change in her feelings. Her mouth worked but no sound came out, not even the vile, "Fuck me." Her shame, helplessness and rage rushed back, even as he pounded into her with unmistakable urgency.
"I wanted to make sure," he said, the cords in his neck straining taut, "you were able to appreciate this." He ejaculated inside her.
The sensation caused something to snap in her mind. She cried out in disgust, and tried to push him off but her arms would not move. But he pressed her down into her own sodden mattress, his cock pulsing into her again. He rolled off her with a cruel, satisfied laugh. She laid on the bed her legs still wide apart unable to close them, she could feel his cum running out of her.
Ginger left the room and returned shortly with an Pakistani looking man. The man was a different build to Ginger, tall but plump and Janice guessed he was about 50 years old.
Ginger looked at Janice and said "This is Manny what do you say".
She tried not to say it but it came out "fuck me".
The Manny looked at her "white bitch you are going to get a real good fucking, stand in front of me. Janice felt even more ashamed of her nakedness. The man stripped off his shirt showing his paunch. "KNEEL" bitch he shouted in her face.
Janice trembled and knelt down. There was no anger left in her only fear and humiliation. Again she knew what he was going to make her do. "Take my trousers down" he said in a remarkably calm voice, "and suck me, I am going to fill your mouth with my cum and then you will swallow it."
She could not stop herself, she unzipped his trousers and undid the button and pulled the mans trousers and boxers down. He was already hard and erect. His dick was nearly black. Janice tried to pull her head away but it was no good she felt her mouth opening, she could not stop it and she took him into her mouth. He pushed forward hard so his dick went right to the back of her throat, she gagged and he drew back a bit. Janice could taste his pre cum. She felt her tongue licking at his dick and her mouth sucking him, her head bobbing up and down.
Janice felt sick at the humiliation and horrified that he was going to carry out the full act in her mouth. The thought of oral sex had always been a turn off for her. There was nothing she could do her mind had lost control of her body and Ginger controlled it now.
After what seemed like an eternity of involuntary sucking Manny groaned, he grabbed her head tight and shot jet after jet of hot cum into her mouth. Janice choked as it hit the back of her throat. Her throat constricted and she started to swallow his cum, it tasted salty and vile.
Lay on the bed said Ginger in his low voice. Her body did as he commanded. She lay on her back, Ginger laid beside her. Manny grabbed Janice’s ankles and spread her legs wide. Manny leaned forward and started to massage her breasts. Janice could feel his hands, the skin felt corse and hard. "Kiss him" said Ginger. Janice's head reached forward, she looked at Manny's lips and she felt revulsion at the thought of kissing him. Her lips found his and he pushed his tongue into her mouth, her tongue touch his, there was no emotion in her kiss. Janice tried to pull her head away from him but she could not.
"Janice you will now feel pleasure every touch of ours will bring close to climax you will enjoy this will be the best sex of your life. You are aroused more than you ever thought possible. Your mind and body need us.
Janice experienced about two seconds of terror knowing what she was about to do.
The feel of Manny's lips on hers started her passion, her body tingled an became hot.
"Fuck me" screamed and Manny did.
As soon as his dick entered her she climaxed. At his first thrust she came, a tingling rush from her groin. It tore away any remaining inhibitions; now all that mattered was coming, and it happened with an ease she never would have believed. As Manny pumped his hips Janice wrapped her arms and legs around him.
Adding to her pleasure Ginger was sucking at her nipple sending more ripples through her body. Manny came in her filling her pussy, his place on top of her was replaced by Ginger.
By now Janice was worked up into a mass of pleasure and energy, she was covered in sweat.
The two men kept working at her body driving her to a level of arousal that seemed impossible.
At one point during the sex she was bent over Ginger and with out prompting she took his dick in her mouth, she had never tasted anything as good she could taste her pussy com on it and his cum. Bent over Ginger gave Manny the opportunity to move behind her. His arm went round her cupping her breasts and his dick slipped into her wet pussy. She bucked and groaned at having both men penetrating her at the same time. When Ginger came in her mouth it tasted like gold.
As the men kept touching her and fucking her she came to a state where she was almost continually climaxing, her juices and the cum from her two assailants mixed and ran out of her body in a steady stream. Her body trembled.
She had no idea how long the session lasted. Suddenly Ginger said "still". Janice froze her passion dissipated. She was laid on her stomach legs apart with Manny's fingers in her pussy and his thumb pressing into her anus. Manny stood up. Janice was aware her body was covered in sweat; juices were running out from between her legs and she was panting. "We did well" commented Ginger, "kept you going for two hours”. Janice laid unable to move her mind recalling what she had just done, she was terrified and angry at this man for what he had made her do.
Manny and Ginger dressed, "bye bitch" said Manny leaving the room.
"Look" said Ginger "I filmed it all" he picked a small camera up and turned it off.I filmed it all." He bent to her ear. She was still face-down, still spread, still dripping."Did you enjoy that? You may answer."She swore at him — filth, promises, murder, dismemberment, her voice cracking — "when I get up from here I am going to KILL you—""Silence." Her mouth froze mid-word.He lowered his head closer. "It doesn't matter," he said, triumphant, quiet. "I own you now. That's all you need to know." And then, and it was the worst thing he said all day: "Today is just a start. I'll be back tomorrow. A whole day of fun." He left her lying there, scared half out of her mind about tomorrow, about tonight, about the next hour, about everything."Five minutes after I leave your house you will be able to move again," he said from the door. "And you will forget everything that just happened." He smacked her bare buttock, hard enough to sting, and went.
Tuesday was forecast warm, a proper June day. Janice dressed in a pale blue t-shirt and white shorts, saw Stephen off to work and David off to the bus, and stood in the hall with her key in the lock. She was about to turn it, as she turned it every morning of her life, when something slid sideways in her hand and the key stayed where it was, the door unlocked behind
A cold finger walked up her spine, because yesterday there had been a phone call and a stranger and a hole in her memory the size of a day, and now her own hand was disobeying her again, gently, like a rehearsal. She walked through to the dining room and stopped, mid-stride, and could not move.
She tried to lift her feet. They would not come. She tried harder threw herself against the paralysis the way you throw your shoulder at a jammed door and nothing shifted, nothing trembled, not even her eyeballs, pinned forward in her head. Frozen. Statued. In her own dining room at nine in the morning. And then the memories came back.
All of them, in a flood, every hour of Monday pouring into her at once: the phone call, the unlocking hand, the mirror, his finger on her throat, her own hands on her breasts, the smile she wore while she stripped, the cock in her mouth, the two of them, the two hours, the cum, the camera, the smack on her arse. It crashed over her while she stood rigid, and she screamed — NO, NO, NO — and not a sound came out, the scream roaring silently around inside her skull with nowhere to go, and she understood, that he was coming back. That the unlocked door was for him. That her body had prepared the house for her own violation and she had helped.
She strained. She raged. Nothing moved, not even her eyes. She stood in the bright dining room losing her mind by degrees, images of yesterday flashing behind her pinned gaze, and heard the front door open and close, unhurried, and footsteps cross the hall, and knew he had entered her house again. There was a moment of silence, and then his low voice behind her: "Take your t-shirt off."
Her hands went to the hem and pulled it up over her head and dropped it. She couldn't stop them, and this time the shame had yesterday's memories attached to it, so it came with interest standing in her own dining room in her bra, in daylight, for him, again, and hating it, and hating him, and fighting, and losing. "I came earlier today," his voice said, toneless. "So we have more time to play." She was still struggling, silently, furiously, her whole mind straining.
"Your bra. Take it off."
Her hands went behind her back, unclasped it, and it slid down her arms to the floor, and her bare breasts swung free in her own dining room and his eyes were on them and there was nothing she could do. She felt him step in behind her, his chest against her bare back, his arms coming round to cup her breasts, kneading them, squeezing harder than she liked, his big hands testing her flesh like fruit at a stall.
"Janice, I'm going to ask you a question. You will answer honestly. You may speak only to answer." He went on playing with her breasts while he asked it, pinching her nipples between finger and thumb. "Have you ever done anal sex?"
She tried not to answer. The word came out. "No."
"Why not?"
"I don't like the idea. It's not the right way."
"Well," said Ginger, and she could hear the smile, "we're going to change that." She felt sick. The images arrived unbidden, planted, she was sure of it his cock, his size, forcing into her arse, splitting her and she screamed inside her head, NO, NO, and no sound came out.
"Take your shorts off." She had never wanted anything as badly as she wanted to stop her own hands. Once the shorts went there would be only a scrap of cotton between her and what he intended, and she knew it, and her hands unfastened the shorts anyway, pushed them down her legs, stepped out, kicked them aside. Inside she was shaking like a leaf in wind; outside, nothing.
His hands settled on her hips. "Now shall I pull them off, or shall you?" he mused in her ear. "Once they're off you'll be naked for me. Think about me fucking your arse." The images came again, vivid, obscene, his cock boring into her, and she was screaming NO, NO behind her locked lips, begging him in her head, please, please not that, please
"You," he whispered. "You take them off. You can have the pleasure of revealing yourself." Her fingers took the sides of her knickers and drew them down her thighs, over her knees, off her feet, and she stood naked in her dining room, and behind her she heard him look at her.
"Very nice. Very nice arse." He squeezed her buttocks, both hands, slowly, lifting and separating the flesh, and she burned with it, the touch crawling over her like flies. A pause. Fabric whispering. He was undressing behind her. Then he was back against her, chest to her back, arms round her, cupping her bare breasts again, and she could feel his erection hard against her buttocks, sliding up and down between them, greasing the cleft with precum.
"Bend over the dining room table." Her body stepped forward and folded over the table, and he pushed her lower, lower, until her breasts were pressed flat against the polished wood and her arse was presented up behind her, bare and open to the room. He stepped back to admire it. She could feel him looking.
"Grasp your buttocks and pull them apart, so I can see your asshole." Her hands went behind her, took handfuls of her own flesh, and pulled, and she felt the cool air of the room on her most private place, exposed, held open by her own fingers, and the shame of it nearly drowned her. His finger pressed against her anus and pushed in, to the knuckle, dry.
Panic detonated in her. Her head spun. She hung there over the table with his finger in her arse and her own hands holding herself open and nothing anywhere in the world that she controlled. She felt the blunt tip of his cock nestle against her entrance, hot and huge, and thought she would be sick. "I am going to enjoy this," his voice said. He pushed.
Her anal muscle stretched, and stretched, and burned, a tight ring of friction dragging over dry skin, and it felt like being torn. She made a sound into the table wood, a low animal moan, and he paused with half his length inside her, the grip of her dry arse so tight around him that she heard his breath stutter then he drew back and rammed forward, hard, burying the full length of his cock in her rectum in one stroke, and the table skidded forward on the floor with the force of it.
He held there, savouring her, and then began to move. Slow, deep strokes, letting the clench of her sphincter milk him, in and out, finding a rhythm, his hips slapping her spread cheeks with a flat report on every thrust, the table legs knocking the floorboards, her breasts dragging back and forth across the polished wood. He fucked her steadily, relentlessly, using the tight muscle of her arse for his pleasure, and she lay over the table and took it, her mind gone somewhere blank and white, aware only of the huge sliding fullness reaming her, the burn, the slap, and then the heat blooming deep in her bowel as his cum pumped into her, spurt after spurt, filling her rectum until she could feel it, hot and foreign, pooling inside her.
When his voice told her to stand and turn around, her body did. She knew now. He controlled her body absolutely. It would do his bidding, whatever it was, forever, and there was nothing she could do, and the knowledge sat in her like a stone. "You are now," he breathed, "so aroused that even my slightest touch can make you almost come."
Yesterday the command had horrified her. Today her broken mind just nodded along inside, grey and resigned, because she knew exactly what was coming and knew she would love it and knew she would hate herself for loving it, all at the same time, and none of the knowing would change one second of it. The heat arrived on schedule, flooding her cunt, her clit swelling fat and hard, her channel clenching and weeping, and she was on fire for him, writhing against him, clutching at his shoulders, desperate to get his cock inside her. "Fuck me!" she cried, and there was nothing else in her mouth, and there wouldn't be, ever again. She spread her legs wantonly and wriggled her hips until his cockhead kissed her soaked lips, and he slid home.
She came on the first thrust, a detonation from her clit up her spine, and after that it was an hour of it, the two of them fucking breathlessly on the dining-room floor, his hips driving, her cries peaking one on top of another, the gaps between her climaxes sometimes no more than seconds, each one clamping her pussy around him and shaking her whole body. She did whatever he bade on her back, on top, her legs over his shoulders, his hands wherever they wanted drenched in sweat and her own juices, wrapped round him, coming and coming.
Then it was over. "Still," Ginger commanded, and her body froze with him still inside her, both of them panting, flushed, wrecked, sprawled on the carpet. He got up and looked down at her heaving body, at her face, at her eyes. Her eyes were dull. He knew he was close to cracking her mind with the sheer tonnage of what he was doing to her, and it was too soon, so he left her lying on the floor for several minutes, recovering, staring at the ceiling.
She could see him standing over her, smiling down into her face. He said nothing. But an instruction appeared in her mind, arriving the way his instructions did, quiet and reasonable and irresistible. She found she could talk, in a low voice. "No. Please. Don't make me go outside naked all the neighbours would see me." Ginger kept smiling.
"Oh no. Please don't. Please don't make me." She was begging as her body stood itself up and walked her to the front door, her mind recovered enough now to be mortified, comprehensively mortified, by the thing he wanted. "No, no, no, no—" she said, all the way to the door, and her hand opened it, and she stepped out into the June sunshine, barefoot, naked, onto her own front path.
She was so aware of her nakedness. Anyone could see her. Anyone. Her breasts, her buttocks, her pussy, all of it, on public display, and she reached the end of the path and stepped out into the street and her body turned left and began to walk.
She wanted to fold her arms across herself she wanted it so badly her shoulders ached with it and her arms simply hung at her sides, swinging gently as she walked, presenting her.
A car came past and swerved, the driver's head turning, staring, and Janice's face flooded scarlet. She walked on, slow, bare feet on the warm pavement, fighting her body for every yard, praying for it to turn around, and the street, thank God, was quiet.
Past two houses. Past the third, where she flushed and groaned, because Shaun's mother was standing at her car door and then worse, infinitely worse, Shaun himself was there. The teenage brat from number twenty four, the boy who had feuded with her David across the fence for years, and who could not stand her, and she could not stand him. Shaun's mother said nothing. She just smiled. Widely. Enjoying it.
Shaun stepped out in front of her and forced her to stop, grinning, and looked her up and down, at his leisure, every inch of her, her tits and her bush and her bare feet, while she cringed inside and wanted to turn and run and her body stood there and let him feast.
Then he stepped aside, still grinning, and she walked on down the street, counting house numbers, willing the turn to come. Eighteen. Sixteen. Fourteen. A man gardening at twelve straightened up and stared, trowel in hand, and did not trouble to be subtle about it. Ten. Ahead, four young men stood talking on the pavement, in shorts and football shirts, kicking a ball between them. Eight. Six. Nearly at the bottom of the street.
They stopped and looked as she approached. Across the road a woman walking up the street took her in and wrinkled her nose. "Get some clothes on," she said, with a look that stripped a second layer off Janice's dignity.
She had a feeling the young men were waiting for her. As she drew closer she realised they were younger than she'd thought. Outside number four, two of them stepped in front of her and she stopped. They were all staring. She recognised one of them, a boy from the street Alex, she thought his name was. "Mrs Goodall," he said, and nothing else. Fifteen, maybe. Fifteen.
Again she tried to cover herself with her hands, and again her arms refused, and she stood there naked before four teenage boys, aware to her bones of how vulnerable she was. One of them reached out and touched her breast, one finger, circling the nipple, then squeezed, and the others watched him do it and something changed in the air. "Take her in the garage," one said.
They took her arms and pulled her down the drive of number four, to the garage its owner had left open, and hustled her inside, and one of them pulled the door down behind them. It was nearly dark in there, a grimy light seeping through one small window, the smell of oil and cut grass.
They asked her why she was naked. She couldn't answer. One of them touched her nipple again, then squeezed her breast properly, and that broke the dam hands everywhere then, on her breasts, her stomach, her buttocks, fingers combing through the coarse hair of her pussy, and then fingers between her legs, sliding along her slit, dipping inside her, and she stood in the dark and took it, four sets of boyish hands roaming every inch of her body while her own hung useless at her sides.
Then her knees bent. She felt them going and could do nothing, and she sank to the concrete, reached out to the boy in front of her, dragged his shorts and boxers down, and took his stiff young cock in her hand and then into her mouth.
The others crowded in around her, so close she could feel their erections brushing her hair, her cheek, and they were undressing as they pressed close, shedding clothes in the dark. She sucked the cock in her mouth, her head bobbing, her tongue working the ridged head, tasting salt and boy-sweat, and it pulsed and spat its cum across her tongue and she swallowed, and it was withdrawn and another was pushed between her lips, and she sucked that one too, and the next, and the next, until all four of them had emptied their balls into her mouth and she had swallowed every load, her belly sloshing with it, slightly sick from the sheer volume of cum.
Alex said, "Lay her on the floor." They laid her out on the cold concrete. Phones came out, screens glowing in the dark, and they photographed her from every angle her face, her tits, her open legs, her cum-smeared lips and then the touching started again, and she lay on the garage floor and let four fifteen-year-olds explore her body with their hands.
"Pull her legs apart," someone said. Her ankles were seized and her legs drawn wide. Someone pulled her arms up above her head, and she lay spread-eagled on the concrete, naked, in the dark, surrounded by boys, and they were kissing her breasts, mouthing her nipples, and three of them were egging Alex on, go on, do it, fuck her, go on.
He knelt between her legs and lowered himself on top of her, and she felt his erection bump against her thighs, searching, fumbling for her opening his first time, obviously, his cock jabbing at the wrong places, her inner thigh, the crease of her arse, while the others sniggered encouragement and then he found her, wedged the head of his cock against her entrance, and pushed in.
"Take a picture," he said to the others, and they all raised their phones, filming his arse rising and falling between the legs of Mrs Goodall from number thirty, filming his cock sliding into her, filming her face. Janice lay under him and felt sick. He was fifteen. He was somebody's son. He was raping her and photographing it and she was lying in a stranger's garage with her legs open and there was nothing in the world she could do about any of it.
Alex was quick. He lasted perhaps a minute, gave a strangled grunt, and came inside her, his cum adding to the day's collection swimming in her pussy. One of the others took his place on top of her before his semen had even finished dripping out. Alex caught her arms and wrapped them round the boy's back, and the others took her ankles and drew her legs up and round his hips. "There," Alex said, snapping photos. "Now it looks like you're joining in."
The boy on top of her lasted longer, pumping away in the cum-slicked mess between her legs, and when he came it was one long continuous spasm that Janice felt drain out of him and into her for what felt like a full minute.
The other two wouldn't fuck her, but they knelt either side of her head wanking, and one sprayed his cum across her breasts, stripe after stripe, and the other let go into her face, spattering her cheek, her eyelid, her lips. Then Alex rolled her onto her stomach and spanked her hard, open-handed, again and again on her bare buttocks until the flesh burned and tears ran sideways off her face onto the concrete and one of them stood over her and urinated, the hot stream splashing her pussy, then her stomach, then her breasts, pooling in the hollow of her throat, running off her into the dust.
They left her there. The garage door went up and four boys strolled out laughing, and Janice picked her soaked, stinking, dripping self off the concrete floor of a stranger's garage and walked back out to the road. She prayed her body would take her home. It turned left instead. She could feel cum running down the inside of her thigh, and her face was tacky with it, and her breasts were striped, and she smelled of sex and urine and cut grass, and she walked.
At the bottom of the street her body turned right, and a new horror opened up: the main road. Busy. Buses. Shops. Three steps and she was walking beside the library, parallel to the main road, naked, in full view, and a bus went by with faces pressed to the windows gawping at her, and behind the bus a queue of cars, drivers slowing, craning, one man's mouth actually open.
Thank God, her body turned. Back the way it had come. Up her own street, past the numbers counting down, past the gardening man again, past number fourteen she did not look two cars passed her, one slowing almost to a halt, the driver taking a long look before pulling away. She walked slowly home. Barefoot. Naked. Used. Indoors, Ginger was waiting. "Lay on your back with your legs wide open."
She did his bidding, on her own living-room floor, and he knelt between her legs and fucked her again, hard, driving into her swollen, well-used pussy with his hips, no finesse now, just taking, and she lay under him and stared at the ceiling while her body did what it was told to do under his commands, gripping him, rippling round him, giving him everything. Afterwards he bent to her ear, his cum still cooling inside her.
"I am part of a large organisation. We control thousands of people, just as we control you. We can use you whenever we want. Do anything we want. For the next few years you will be used for sex, frequently. The things we can do to your mind would scare you out of your skin. I'm going to enjoy fucking your mind up as well as your body. One day in a few years we may release you from our control."
Janice shivered. Lying there, she couldn't even choose not to. "Now I'm going to leave you. Everything that has happened, you will forget. Tomorrow you will be having a different experience."