Bad Man’ was no longer standing over her. He was sitting cross-legged beside her, rummaging around in the large paper bag at his side. A moment later he came up with a partial loaf of sliced bread and packets of lunch meat and sliced cheese. He placed these on her stomach then groped around in the bag again before coming up with small jars of mayonnaise and mustard, which he placed on the tablecloth near her hip, and another bottle of Coke, which he opened with the bottle-opener he’d brought then placed on the floor beside him.
He began to make sandwiches, using her stomach as a table. Jane, although still sated from her orgasm, found it oddly stimulating, on a level that went beyond the physical, to have her body used that way and again wondered about herself that this should be so.
In the back of her mind was the thought that she should be ashamed, but she shook it off. She didn’t care anymore, as long as it was with Peter. She knew he loved her and would love her whether she did these things or not, that he derived almost as much pleasure from her fulfillment as from his own.
Thinking about these things led her into a sudden fantasy of being on her hands and knees on the barn floor, wearing only the sweat-soaked panties she had on now, while ‘Mr. Bad Man’ sat on the hay bale and used her as a foot-stool. She shivered.
"Hold still," growled ‘Mr. Bad Man’.
He had his knife out and was spreading mustard on a slice of bread. When the first sandwich was done he placed it on her chest and began making a second. The smell of it made her salivate. She was so hungry! And so helpless.
She thought that by raising her head as far as she could she might be able to seize the edge of the sandwich in her teeth...but no, her chin would get in the way. There was nothing to do but wait—and suffer. Which, obviously, was what ‘Mr. Bad Man’ intended.
‘Mr. Bad Man’ finished making his sandwich and laid his knife on the tablecloth beside her. He turned and looked at her as he raised the sandwich to his lips and took a huge bite, then chewed and savored it before swallowing, apparently enjoying the look of longing on her face as she watched him.
"Hungry?" he asked. She nodded, and he nodded back, his expression mocking. "Well, yes, you’ve had a busy morning, haven’t you, my dear? All that exercise...you must be starving. You’d probably do almost anything for that sandwich, hmm?"
Jane was a little puzzled. I’ve already said I’d do anything, so why...
Then a thought struck her: he wanted her to talk dirty! So she opened her mouth, and in a pleading tone began to speak. "Please, Mr. Bad Man, I’m so hungry. If you let me eat I’ll let you...I’ll let you...put your...cock in my mouth." She watched him carefully to see if this was the direction he’d wanted her to take. She saw him take a sudden breath through his nose and knew she’d been right.
She went on, "I’ll kiss it...and lick it...and suck it." Now he was breathing through his mouth, and though she couldn’t see his eyes he seemed to be staring at her intently. Good. She writhed slightly, in what she hoped was a sexy manner. I’ll...I’ll suck your cock, Mr. Bad Man," she gasped. "I’ll suck it and lick it until you come. You can come in my mouth...and I’ll swallow it. I’ll swallow every drop, I swear!"
"You are hungry, aren’t you?" replied ‘Mr. Bad Man’, rising to his feet.
Jane watched as he struggled to get his boots off, followed by his socks, then opened his pants and pushed them down to the floor. He stepped free of them and, naked from the waist down, threw his leg over her and stood straddling her again, his erection inches from her face. "Is this what you want?" he demanded.
It looked so huge from where she was. "Yes," she gasped. "I want your cock in my mouth."
And she did. She loved pleasing him that way, loved the feel and taste and smell of him filling her mouth, his instrument so blunt and masculine and at the same time so sensitive to the touch of her tongue and lips. Loved being able to make him come—the stifled cry, the sudden hot spurting onto her tongue—and knowing she had done it.
‘Mr. Bad Man’ appeared to consider, then reached behind him with one hand, saying, "Well, let’s see if you can earn that privilege." He held up the jar of mayonnaise and unscrewed the lid. "But first let me offer you a little appetizer." He dipped the first two fingers of his hand into the jar and came up with a large glob of mayonnaise—which he proceeded to lower between his legs and smear all over his sack. When he was done he extended his gooey fingers toward her.
"Open your mouth," he said.
She did so and, when he inserted his fingers there, licked them off.
The taste of mayonnaise was delicious but there was so little that when he withdrew his hand she found her mouth watering for more. So when he stepped forward and lowered himself carefully until his sack was nearly touching her mouth she wasted no time in extending her tongue.
As she began to lick she encountered an odd variety of tastes and textures. She didn’t find the combination of the mayo and the many wiry hairs on his sack particularly appetizing, especially when combined with deep undertone of sweat-flavor there, but the way his two eggs slithered around inside the delicate skin as she jiggled them with the tip of her tongue was intriguing.
She was still famished, of course, but having only his sack to focus on was a new experience. She tried sucking one, then the other egg into her mouth to tickle with her tongue, then his entire sack.
‘Mr. Bad Man’ certainly seemed to enjoy what she was doing. His head was thrown back and his mouth was open, but the only sounds to come out of it were a short series of near-gasps: "Ah. Ohh. Ahh. Ah!" And so forth. But glancing to one side she noticed that his knees were trembling with the effort of remaining in a crouched position, despite having his hands on them for support, so she thought she had better help him to finish as soon as possible.
She swiftly released his sack from her mouth and extended her tongue as far behind his sack as she could reach, then licked his entire scrotum with one long wiggling stroke of her tongue, continuing over his sack and as far up his shaft as she could reach.
The effect was immediate and electric: ‘Mr. Bad Man’ jumped bolt upright with a loud cry—"Omigod!"—and grabbed his cock with one hand as it began to erupt. Jane watched him pumping it furiously with his fist and moaning out loud as his juice spurted into the air and rained down onto her face.
He left it there while he fed her. Occasionally after giving her a bite of sandwich or a sip of Coke he would scrape a little of his come off her face with the edge of a forefinger, which he would then insert into her mouth for her to lick off.
Oh god, he was so nasty!
When they were both done he put the lunch things back in the bag, then took out a napkin and wiped off her face. He took another napkin to clean his knife, and when he was done held it up so that the blade glistened in a nearby shaft of sunlight, turning it this way and that as if checking for any stains he might have missed.
Then he looked down at her, grinned evilly, and in one continuous motion slipped the blade under the elastic of her panties –a sudden flash of cold down her abdomen—and slit them open from the crotch up, the still-wet fabric tearing apart noisily.
Jane was shocked into crying out. She jerked her head up to see tattered flaps of cloth hanging limply on her hips and her curly thatch of hair plainly visible.
‘Mr. Bad Man’ gave her an amused-looking nod, as if to say, There, that’s better—don’t you think? Then he rose and, slipping the knife back into its holder, moved to the foot of the hay bale and resettled himself on the ground there. He reached up and, grabbing each of her legs just below the knee, yanked her towards him so that she slid across the tablecloth and wound up with her crotch almost in his face, her knees spread wide on either side of his shoulders.
He entertained himself for a while by running his fingers through the hair between her legs, occasionally wrapping a small tuft around his forefinger and tugging it gently. Then he pulled a strand of hay from the bale and began teasing her with it, running the tip up and down the inside of her thighs and over her stomach, occasionally stopping to press the point into her flesh just a little bit.
Jane thought she would have found this stimulating any time, but to have it done while she was tied up and helpless, her panties hanging in shreds, was unbelievably erotic. So when he dropped the straw and began doing the same things to her with the tip of his tongue, moving closer and closer to her center without ever quite touching it, she began to writhe in earnest.
"Oh, please don’t!" she pretended to whine, knowing what his response would be.
"Don’t...what?"
Right on cue, she thought.
"Please don’t...lick my pussy!" she gasped, simultaneously arching her back to bring herself so close that he hardly had any choice.
None at all, really, and he made the most of it, nibbling and teasing her with his lips and tongue and making short, fast lapping attacks on that special spot that made her crazy. He took her slowly towards the brink of orgasm, gradually insinuating his thumb between her legs then sliding it in and out while using his middle finger to stroke between the cheeks of her behind in the same diabolical rhythm.
Jane played the victim, moaning, then demanding, then screaming things like, "No!" "Oh, please don’t!" Oh no, stop that! Oh god—please, please stop!" She continued until he suddenly rose—his cock once more hugely erect—and practically threw himself on top of her, his mouth covering hers as he slid his hands beneath her shoulders and buried his shaft to its full length inside her, touching off an orgasm that reverberated through her the way her screams had reverberated throughout the barn. Then, minutes later, as she felt his thrusts building to a peak, it happened again, making her feel as though she were physically melting into a puddle. Combined with the heat and her exhaustion it was too intense, and she felt herself falling into darkness...
She felt something cool and damp on her forehead, and opened her eyes to find Peter—sunglasses gone—dabbing her there with a moistened corner of the tablecloth. He too was drenched in sweat, his hair plastered to his head, and his eyes were tired, but they sparkled as he smiled and said, "So...what do you want to do tonight?"
After untying her and helping her to her feet he slid her tattered underwear to the ground and helped her step out of it, then pulled off his sweat-soaked t-shirt so that they both were naked. He embraced her for a while, running his hands up and down her back and gently massaging her stiff neck and shoulders. Then, grabbing up the tablecloth and bunching it under his arm, he took her hand and led her outside.
The sunlight was blinding at first, but when Jane was able to see, there before her was a pond, blue and inviting.
They were both too tired to do much more than lie down in the water, submerged up to their faces. The muddy bottom was wonderfully cool and the water felt like warm silk against her skin.
Later when they came out they lay on the tablecloth to dry and rest some more. Neither said a word, but once Peter had turned and looked a question at her: Was it all right? Or maybe it was: Did you really like that? And she had replied by rolling over on top of him and kissing him tenderly before rolling off again and falling almost immediately into a deep sleep.
It was late afternoon when they finally struggled to their feet and made their way back into the barn to find their clothes. Peter had, of course, rescued the red shorts and the shoe Jane had thought she’d lost when he’d picked her up and put her in the trunk. And her t-shirt, though severely wrinkled, was fine. Her bra, though, was ruined, and as for her panties...!
They were soaked with sweat, stained and torn open to the crotch, and at first she was just going to throw them away, leave them there in the barn with her bra. But then when Peter wasn’t looking she suddenly folded them up and tucked them into the pocket of her shorts. She’d suddenly had a vision of wearing them—washed, of course (or maybe just as they were!)--beneath her clothing while she worked at the store, knowing they were there, and how they’d gotten that way. If they’d stay up, and not suddenly fall around her ankles while she was waiting on someone.
Oops! Excuse me, Mrs. Desmond, but you know how it is... My boyfriend slit them open with a knife while he had me tied to a hay bale.
Or maybe she’d surprise Peter with them some time—get all made up and wear something pretty, with those underneath for him to find...and remember.
The ride home was quiet. Jane felt a little odd without any underwear but found she liked not having her breasts constricted by a bra.
As they rode along she noticed Peter taking little sidelong glances at her from time to time, and wondered about them. He seemed uncomfortable about something and for a while Jane couldn’t figure out what it might be. Then she realized he was looking for reassurance and scooted over next to him. She took his right hand off the steering wheel and held it between her own.
She spoke softly, looking down at their entwined hands.
"Yes, Peter, I really liked it—all of it."
When he turned, surprised at having his thoughts read, to look at her she met his gaze, nodded emphatically and finished, "You...and Mr. Bad Man...can kidnap me anytime you want."
At which point Peter stopped the car in the middle of the road, grabbed her into a rough embrace and kissed her. When they broke apart she added, "But not for a couple of days, all right?"
Chapter Forty-One
When she arrived at work on Monday, Jane had already prepared a much toned-down version of how she’d spent her weekend (but considerably less toned-down than the version she’d given her parents—though her mother had actually winked knowingly at her when Jane had told it to them) for the interrogation she had come to expect from Suzy. She thought Suzy would be titillated by the idea of being ‘kidnapped’, though in this version Jane would still be blindfolded but maybe not handcuffed and certainly not stripped, and would be lying on the back seat, not in the trunk. And certainly the rest of what had happened would have to be erased in favor of a slightly sexy picnic by the pond...
But she never got the chance to try out the story because from the moment she arrived it was obvious that Suzy was bursting to tell something of her own. She kept darting glances at Jane, bright-eyed and smiling and seemed to be almost jumping up and down with the desire to share her secret. Jane was naturally curious to learn what the excitement was about but it had to wait, first while she asked Mrs. Jorgenson about getting the following week off—Mrs. Jorgenson looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded and said she’d check her schedule but she thought it would be all right—then while they helped a couple of early customers.
When the store was empty again Suzy said, in a voice Jane thought a little too bright, "C’mon downstairs and help me find that box of barrettes, will you? We’re almost out." And when they were behind the door she took Jane’s hand and practically dragged her down the stairs. Then she took Jane’s other hand and, leaning close, whispered excitedly, "I did it, Janey! It was so much fun!"
Jane blinked. "Did what?"
"Just like you did! I… Oh—well, remember I told you about Joe Haworth?"
"Sure, ’Sloppy Joe’." Jane smiled at her.
"Well, he called me on Saturday! I thought it was all over but he asked me to go for a walk, so Saturday night we just walked around talking, and he told me he’d missed me and wanted to go out with me again!"
"Well, that’s great Suzy..." Jane began.
"No, wait! So I told him okay, but only if he wouldn’t be so rough and grabby, you know?"
"Right..." Jane replied slowly, wondering where this was going.
"And he apologized, Janey! He said he was sorry he’d gotten so excited and I said—oh, I can’t believe I said this—I said I got excited too, that I liked it, I liked, you know, being...sexy with him!"
"Wow!" said Jane.
Suzy nodded enthusiastically. "You should have seen the look on his face!" She looked thoughtful for a moment. "I don’t think boys know girls actually like it too. Anyway, I told him and said he just had to be real gentle and take it slow, and he said okay, and that he was sorry again.
"So when we got back to my house we stood outside the door—my parents always go upstairs early to watch TV—and, you know, kissed and stuff for a long time. And he even let me show him how I like to be kissed, not so wet and sloppy, and he didn’t try anything else, just kept his arms around me. Oh, it was sooo nice, Janey!"
Suzy let go of Jane’s hands and hugged herself gleefully, "So you know what I did? I took him around the side of the house and told him to wait there, then I ran inside, up to my room, and turned on my little desk lamp so he could see me. And I was wearing this nice summer dress, see, and while I was running upstairs I—" Suzy inadvertently glanced at the ceiling and lowered her voice to a whisper before continuing. "I stopped and unzipped it in the back, you know? And when I turned on the light I went and stood in front of the window, and when I could see him there, looking up at me, I—" Suzy leaned close to Jane’s ear. "I pulled my dress off my shoulders and sort of let it...fall down."
Jane’s eyes went round. "No!" she exclaimed. "Did you really?"
Suzy nodded, blushing, and grinned. "And I was so glad I was wearing these really nice blue undies, you know? Not some ratty old things. And then—you’re gonna love this, Janey—I put my arms behind my head, and stood just like you did—like you told me about, you know?" Jane nodded. "And I stood there like that, just letting him look at me. Oh god, that was so much fun! He looked like he’d been hit by a rock!"
"Did he, you know, touch himself or anything?" Jane asked.
"Nuh-uh." Suzy sounded a little disappointed. "We just looked at each other for a while, then I blew him a kiss and pulled down the shade." She smiled again. "Ooo, I want to do that again! Right in front of him next time!"
Jane raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you’re gonna do that you’d really better tie him to a chair."
Suzy laughed and said "Riiiight..." But it seemed to Jane as though Suzy was looking thoughtful again.
All the rest of that day they would occasionally grin at each other for no apparent reason. And Suzy never did ask Jane about her weekend.
At the end of the day, when Mrs. Jorgenson let her out the back door Jane looked in all directions, not wanting to be surprised by Chrissy again, but saw no one and made her way home not knowing whether to be relieved or worried.
Chapter Forty-Two
Naked, naked, naked! Chrissy could sense the way people were deliberately not looking at her as she got out of her car and started towards the store where Jane worked; could feel the sideways glances that were never there if she turned her head to look. It didn’t matter that she could look down and see her clothes there; they could see that she was naked.
She tried hunching over as she walked, one arm covering her breasts, the other across her loins. But it was no use, it only drew attention to her. She stopped, frozen in the middle of the sidewalk, trying to cover herself. Now people were beginning to stare, not even pretending they didn’t notice.
They saw! God was letting them see her nakedness!
"I’m sorry!" she cried out, and turned and ran back to her car.
She was shaking as she drove home. Would everyone now be able to see her as she was?
When she got home she went around to the kitchen door. Her mother was at the sink, peeling vegetables. Chrissy entered, almost on tiptoes. Her mother, hearing the door open, turned to see who it was, greeted Chrissy cheerfully and told her to come help finish with the vegetables. Chrissy did so, standing next to her mother and watching carefully out of the corner of her eye to see if her mother noticed anything.
Nothing. What did that mean? Was God saying that Chrissy was no longer fit to be seen in public until she had been purified? Would she have to stay home? What about work? Would she be naked there? More importantly, how could she become purified again if she couldn’t keep after Jane? Chrissy realized she would have to call her.
As soon as she could Chrissy left the kitchen and went upstairs. Her father wasn’t home yet and she knew her mother was in the kitchen so she thought it would be safe to use the telephone in her parents’ bedroom. She didn’t have much choice since the only other extension was on a table near the front door of the house. She glanced at her watch. It was nearly five-thirty: Jane should be home by now. Chrissy looked up the phone number in the directory. Then she sat on the edge of the bed, took a deep breath and dialed.
When she heard Jane’s voice saying "Hello," she simply said, "It’s Chrissy."
There was a puzzled silence, then: "Oh—are you looking for Jane?"
It was Jane’s mother—and Chrissy had been ready to blurt out a question about Father Brian! Thank goodness she’d waited! "I’m sorry. Yes, is Jane there?"
There was a soft chuckle at the other end of the line. "Yes. I had no idea we were beginning to sound so much alike. Let me get her for you." Then, farther away: "Jane! Telephone...it’s your friend Chrissy."
Then Jane’s voice on the line, saying, "Got it, thanks Mom," and a click as her mother hung up her extension.
Jane was more than a little irritated. She’d thought she might actually have gotten through the day without another confrontation with Chrissy, and now Chrissy was calling her at home. She spoke abruptly. "Have you found a place?"
Chrissy, taken aback, stuttered, "N-no. I thought you..."
Jane cut her off, "Look, I’m trying to help you, but I can’t do everything. You find a place and I’ll get P...Father Brian to meet with you, all right? Stop pestering me!"
Chrissy felt herself losing control of the situation and began to panic. "No, you do it! Or...or I’ll tell your friend about his mother!"
Jane was tired of Chrissy’s attempts to bully her, tired of having Peter threatened. She snapped, "You come anywhere near Peter and I’ll tell your parents about Father Brian!"
She heard a gasp, and a faint, "No!" Jane brightened. Why hadn’t she thought of this before? She had an inspiration and said, "Maybe they’d like to see the pictures I took of you."
Chrissy’s voice was a squeak. "Pictures?"
"Do you think they’d like to see a nice Polaroid of you saying Hail Marys in your underwear? " There was another gasp, and Jane went on, "Or getting your behind whipped with your panties down?"
Stunned silence. Then: B-but I...you said you went outside wh-when..."
"I lied," said Jane. "So stay away from Peter, understand? Now listen—I’m going out of town this weekend. If I find out that you even said hello to Peter I’ll show those pictures to your parents...and everyone you know!" She hung up the phone.
Chrissy dropped the telephone receiver into its cradle as if it had tried to bite her. Sweet Mother of Christ, now what could she do? Her impulse was to call Jane right back, to apologize, to beg and plead...anything that would bring Father Brian back to her. But she didn’t dare, especially after the way Jane had just spoken to her.
Pictures! Jane had taken pictures of her! Even though Chrissy had been blindfolded at the time her mind was suddenly filled with images—the pictures Jane said she’d taken—of all the things that had happened after she’d put on the mask. Had she heard the flash going off, seen a hint of it around the edges of her mask? She couldn’t recall, but there, in her mind, were the pictures, frozen in black and white: (Flash!) taking off her dress-- (Flash!) kneeling in her underwear and stockings—(Flash!) allowing herself to be bent over and tied up—(Flash!) her behind in the air as the first blows fell—(Flash!) her panties being yanked down—(Flash!) Father Brian standing over her wielding his rope as she thrashed and screamed...
Oh! Oh Jesus! Her hand was under her skirt, pressing, pressing there! And she was gasping...Oh! Oh God, NO!
She jerked her hand out, grabbing her wrist with her other hand as if it were something separate from her that she needed to control by force. Oh no, no, no... It was punishment, it was purification! It was for the good of her immortal soul! She needed it. She needed it!
She closed her eyes. Oh God, why did You let Jane give me that note in the first place if You didn’t want...
She stopped in mid-prayer. The note. Something about the note, what was it? Did she still have it? She must! She jumped up and ran back to her room. Closing the door behind her, she thought for a moment. In her purse! She grabbed it off the bedpost and dug into it, searching for the tiny, nearly hidden pocket near the bottom. Yes, there it was!
She pulled it out and unfolded it, smoothing it in her lap—staring at it as if it held the solution to her dilemma. Why had she looked for it? It didn’t seem to be in the words themselves, written in ballpoint in Jane’s somewhat sloppy handwriting.
Handwriting.
She wondered if Jane’s friend even knew what her handwriting looked like...
After Jane hung up the phone she stood looking at it, thinking over the conversation that had just taken place. She had spoken impulsively and had taken a terrible chance in doing so, but she was pretty sure now that she had done the right thing. Chrissy would never dare tell Peter about his mother for fear of reprisals from Jane. Or so Jane hoped.
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