by White, L. E.
“Now pull and twist them.”
“What,” asked an uncomprehending Stacy?
“Pull and twist them. Make them hurt just like your tits hurt,” said Mark
“Like that?” asked Stacy? Mark exhaled to control the pain. She squeezed his gonads as she turned her wrist, pulling his scrotum toward her.
“Yes, like that. They hurt like hell; so does my asshole. They’ve also seen a lot of action today. I did a job for the Posse earlier,” said Mark.
“What kind of a job,” asked Stacy relaxing her grip slightly?
“Can you keep your mouth shut? I could get in trouble with Mike and the others if they found out I told you.”
“I won’t say a word. I promise,” said Stacy tightening her grip. She found herself enjoying the pained expression on his handsome face.
“I arranged a down low party for some of the city hall crowd,” said Mark reaching down to capture her clit between two fingers. He pinched the tip and pulled. Instantly, she realized Zack’s clit snaps had left lasting effects. Her button was swollen and inflamed. Its angry head was poking out between her labia. The pressure of Mark’s fingers was extremely painful.
“Down low party, what’s that,” asked Stacy taking one testicle in her hand and squeezing. For some unexplained reason she was getting the sense they were enjoying causing each other pain.
“It’s when a bunch of married guys get together for sex.”
“With hookers?”
“No, it was guys only,” said Mark. “Men on the down low are married guys who are cheating on their wives having sex with other men.”
“Is that a common thing,” asked Stacy totally amazed at what Mark was telling her.
“More common than you would think,” said Mark continuing to torment Stacy’s breasts and clit.
“If they have wives, why don’t they stay home and screw them?”
“Shit, I don’t know. All I do know is that a half dozen of Cambridge’s city government like to get together every month for man to man sex,” said Mark. “I got invited a few months back.”
“How did you manage that?”
“I hung out in the right chat room until I made contact with one of the group. I did a one on one with him a couple of times. I let him suggest I get together some young guys for a party.”
“How did you know it was him?”
“That’s a secret,” said Mark capturing Stacy’s nipple in his teeth and pulling it
“So were you a pitcher or a catcher,” asked Stacy realizing what Mark meant. Mike had told Mark what to do. “No, don’t answer. I can tell.” Her fingers moved past his balls to his anus. She slipped her forefinger in his butthole and pulled it hard to one side. It felt dry and extremely warm. Mark moaned in pain when she scraped her nail across the wrinkled tissue.
“Ouch, some of both but mainly I was catching. My butt hole has been drilled hard by fat pricks with big dicks,” said Mark squirming in response to Stacy’s finger. “It was a busy afternoon. They were all hopped up on Viagra.”
“Where did this take place?”
“Here,” said Mark closing his eyes giving Stacy the impression he was feasting on the pain she was causing him.
“So your cock and balls are sore from overuse?” asked Stacy as she pressed the pad of her finger against the center of his sphincter.
“As well as my nipples and asshole,” said Mark. “Even my mouth and tongue are sore.”
“From sucking dick?”
“Yes, I’m a cocksucker, a low down pig cocksucker,” said Mark before leaning forward to put his lips against hers. He put his hand on the back of Stacy’s head forcing her lips against his. When he pulled away, she tasted blood.
“My mouth’s raw too,” said Stacy licking her lips.
“From sucking dick?”
“Yes, and licking pussy and eating asshole’s assholes,” said Stacy.
“Was Mike at your down low party, asked Stacy?
“Of course not, none of the Posse was there,” said Mark. “I took care of everything.”
“Just you and city hall?”
“I had some friends there to help out, a couple of twinks I know,” said Mark.
“You’ve lost me again. Twink is also missing from my vocabulary.”
“Slender young boys who appeal to older men, it’s the male version of a blonde bimbo. It’s a gay term.”
“Old men and young boys, I wish I’d been there to watch,” said Stacy as she leaned down to take Mark’s nipple in her mouth. She sucked hard as he hissed in pain.
“It’s all on DVD but I don’t have a copy,” said Mark slipping a finger in Stacy’s vagina. “You’re dry.”
“I’m dehydrated. My glands have been pumping for hours. The well’s empty,” said Stacy once again moving her hand from Mark’s scrotum to his rectum. Mark squirmed when she pushed her finger against his sphincter. “Do you like to perform for the camera?”
“It wasn’t like when we filmed you. The cameras were hidden. It was controlled remotely,” said Mark pushing his fingers deeper into Stacy scraping the dry walls of her vagina.
“Oh fuck that hurts,” said Stacy.
“Want me to stop,” asked Mark?
“Yes, no, its weird but I’m getting off on the pain,” said Stacy.
“What do you like best, girls or boys,” asked Mark?
“Girls are nicer, more sensitive, and more concerned with their partner’s pleasure,” said Stacy forcing her sore hole to contract around Mark’s fingers increasing her pain.
“But,” asked Mark?
“The guys I’ve fucked are brutal, uncaring, and could give a shit less whether I get off. But for reasons that should put me in a psyche ward I like it that way,” said Stacy.
“So, decision time,” asked Mark?
“I need both,” said Stacy working her finger deeper into Mark’s sphincter. “Do you like being fucked in the ass by older men?”
“Yes, do you,” asked Mark?
“You know I do. How about the Twinks? Did they have a good time?”
“They were getting paid, but the money wasn’t that great. Twinks like the attention of older men. That’s all part of being a twink,” said Mark.
“There a bottle of lube in the bedroom. Want me to get it,” asked Stacy?
“If I say no, do you want me to stop,” asked Mark?
“Not really, I just don’t understand exactly what we’re doing here,” said Stacy.
“We’ve both done questionable things today.”
“Such as,” asked Stacy?
“For one, you whipped the shit out of Adriana. You practically peeled the skin off her butt.”
“I was trying to help her out. They might have killed her if she hadn’t gone along.”
“Liar, I could tell from your expression you were enjoying yourself. Each time that cane landed on her ass you loved it.”
“Maybe,” said Stacy thoughtfully.
“So we both deserve to suffer,” said Mark.
“Punishment for bad behavior,” said Stacy. “You’re right we deserve to be punished, especially sexually.”
“Get on top,” said Mark lying down on the couch.
“God I’m dry,” said Stacy as she straddled him attempting to force his cock in her vagina.
“I don’t give a shit. Make it go in,” said Mark reaching up to grab and twist Stacy’s nipples.
Mark hissed in pain as his raw cock scraped along the walls of Stacy’s opening.
Somehow the pain in her nipples and sex was something more than just pain. Instinctively she reached behind her to grab Mark’s scrotum.
“Does that hurt,” asked Stacy pulling hard on his ball sack as she squeezed his testicles?
“Fuck yes, don’t stop,” gasped Mark starting to thrust into Stacy.
“Bite my nipples,” said Stacy leaning forward to offer her breasts to Mark. His teeth sunk into her soft flesh drawing blood. Stacy’s fingers crushed his nipples causing him to w
himper in pain. Each thrust of his cock was like a hot knife ripping into her body.
Mark delivered a hard slap to the side of Stacy’s breast then repeated the act with the other. Stacy grabbed Mark’s nipple and attempted to lift him up by it. He wailed in pain.
They hurt each other as they fucked. There abused flesh magnified the pain. At some point, Mark rolled on top of her. He furiously pounded into her sore pussy grinding his pubic bone against her protesting clitoris. Her nails raked his back drawing blood.
Finally, covered in sweat and almost numb with pain they climaxed. When Stacy looked at her hands, Mark’s blood formed red half moons under her nails. His blood streaked cock rested on her thigh.
“You two are fucking crazy,” said Lou startling them. He was standing in the doorway his arm around a sleepy looking Adriana.
Chapter 16 Partying with Portia
“It was a fucking arsenal,” said Stacy as she and Portia walked into the school library discussing the poker party. It was early evening Saturday and the two hadn’t had an opportunity to talk until then. Stacy had slept till noon then spent her afternoon at the skeet range while Portia worked ten minimum wage hours playing for a dance rehearsal.
“Any hand grenades, RPGs, mortars,” asked Portia?
“No, don’t be silly. Semi-automatic pistols for the most part. But there were several assault rifles and automatic shotguns and a box of stun grenades like swat teams use,” said Stacy as they reached the area in the back of the building. Fortunately it was almost empty. There were several rows of tables equipped with computer workstations intended for research. The girls took a seat as far away as possible from the other students.
“Did you recognize any of the makes,” asked Portia?
“Of course, my dad is a gun collector and for that matter I own several semi-autos of the same make,” said Stacy.
“Oh yeah, the skeet thing,” said Portia. “I keep forgetting you are a gun nut. There aren’t a lot of those at Harvard. Name a brand. I want to look it up.”
“Glock, that’s what most policeman carry,” said Stacy spelling the name as Portia launched a WEB search engine and keyboarded the manufacturer’s name.
“German made, expensive, I had no idea a pistol cost that much,” said Portia looking at her search results.
“They were mostly expensive German or Swiss models, top of the line, Glock, H&K, Walther. There was a Sig Sauer nine millimeter identical to one my Dad gave me for my sixteenth birthday,” said Stacy. “There were also several cases of ammunition. And there was a box of Saturday night specials sitting on the floor.”
“Saturday night specials,” questioned Portia?
“Inexpensive handguns sold in the inner city and used to hold up convenience stores,” said Stacy. “There was even an MP5-N assault rifle. That’s what Navy Seals use.”
“Why would Mike Cabreeze need an arsenal?”
“Paranoia, preparing for Armageddon or he’s like my dad, a collector. Policemen are often gun hobbyists,” said Stacy.
“Value? What was it all worth?”
“Thirty to fifty thousand being conservative, maybe more,” said Stacy after thinking for a minute.
“I suppose you weren’t able to look in the safe,” said Portia.
“I had neither time nor combination.”
“People have a tendency to forget combinations especially if they don’t use them that often. It may be nearby written inconspicuously or an anniversary date,” said Portia. “What else?”
“I’ll remember that if I get another chance to look. There was a file cabinet containing files with people’s names on the tabs including a fat one labeled with my name. It wasn’t alphabetized. I was right in front.”
“Did you recognize any of the other names?”
“A couple sounded familiar but not really. There were photos, video cassettes, and even DVDs. I was too busy looking at my own to take a good look at anyone else’s. The bastard had a copy of my high school transcript, my college grades, and the letters of recommendation my teachers wrote to get me admitted to Harvard. And pictures, lots of pictures, even my parent’s yearbook pictures the year they graduated med school.”
“Pictures of you,” asked Portia?
“Yes, walking to class, at the skeet range, taken with a telephoto lens for the most part. There was even one of me taking a douche in the Ladies Locker Room at Universal Fitness. How he got that I can’t even hazard a guess,” said Stacy.
“Probably bribed someone. Was it covered with pecker tracks,” asked Portia?
“Huh?”
“Had he used it to jerk off? Were there spots of dried semen on the picture?”
“Frankly I didn’t notice. The light wasn’t that good,” said Stacy laughing at the image of Mike Cabreeze jerking off on her picture.
“Blasting your load all over a girl’s picture is considered the in thing among trendy perverts. I wonder what’s in the safe.”
“Money for sure, he gave Zack seventy five hundred dollars. They didn’t act like it was a big deal either.”
“Probably keeps a few thousand handy for emergencies. The real money is either in an off shore bank in the Cayman Islands or a safe deposit box. Next time you in their inner sanctum, write down the manufacturer and model number of the safe.”
“Why? Are we going to rob them?”
“No, but there could be something useful inside although I cannot imagine what. My high school had several students who could not write a simple sentence or multiply single digit numbers but who could open a safe that would defeat Harry Houdini. What was the name of the cocaine supplier?”
“Cardozo Brothers, at least I think that was what Mike said,” said Stacy.
Portia turned to the screen and keyboarded the search criteria. Seconds later the screen reported zero results. Portia tried several different combinations of criteria but each came up empty.
“Nada, if they are Columbian drug lords, they need to hire a PR firm. The Internet has never heard of them,” said Portia when the search engine failed to find a reference. “Any other names?”
“Leslie Cabot, she will distribute the Ecstasy tablets the Israeli flight attendant delivers.”
Stacy watched as the screen filled with a list of WEB pages referencing Leslie Cabot.
“Leslie Cabot, party person, she’s rich. I’m surprised you don’t know her,” said Portia peering at the results of her WEB search.
“It may surprise you to learn we rich don’t all congregate together like penguins on the same ice foe. God, does the woman do anything beside pose for photographers?” said Stacy looking at the computer screen as Portia clicked through photo after photo of Leslie Cabot from the Society Section of the Boston Globe. There were multiple photographs of her with the movers and shakers of Boston society.
“Goes to the right parties, fucks the right people, what’s that old saying? The Cabots speak only to the Lowells and the Lowells only to God,” said Portia.
“The Cabots must have gone down market. I’d say Leslie Cabot speaks to pretty much everyone,” said Stacy. “Of course many of those are charity affairs.”
“Ever been to one?”
“Once or twice with my mother when dad couldn’t make it, boring, very boring.”
“I’ll check the blogs for Leslie Cabot, socialite,” said Portia.
“Think she’s an apt subject for bloggers,” asked Stacy?
“Anything and anybody is subject to the bloggers. Bingo!”
“What?”
“Leslie Cabot of Beverly Farms, Massachusetts has her own WEB page and blog,” said Portia.
“Weird.”
“Not really, there are an estimated eight million bloggers in the US and sixty million worldwide. You should start one. I could design and program www.staciagtodd.com.”
“I could list and rate all the people I’ve screwed since I met Mike. But thank you, no. What’s on Leslie’s blog?”
“Parties, restaurant openings, cl
ub dates, rants and raves, the girl gets around,” said Portia looking at a picture of Leslie dancing at the opening of a new club. There was another of her standing on a bandstand singing with a band.
“She’s pretty and she can sing,” said Stacy. “She doesn’t look much older than us. I’d say late twenties, early thirties.”
“You’re much prettier,” said Portia.
“Thank you, I was not looking for complements but I thank you anyway,” said Stacy.
“You also have a better figure,” said Portia.
“Thank you again, now stop,” said Stacy hugging Portia. “I feel like celebrating my surviving the poker party without getting whipped, slapped, or having pliers attached to my nipples. I give you credit for that. Let’s go get a beer. I’m buying.”
“Before we go, I want to show you something,” said Portia accessing another WEB site.
“Lt. Michael Cabreeze receives award for outstanding service,” read Stacy aloud once the screen filled.
It was the WEB site for the Cambridge Police Department. There was a picture of Mike smiling at the camera as he received a plaque from the Mayor of Cambridge.
***
“Hi Portia,” said Monk greeting Stacy and Portia as they walked by. He and Les were seated outside a coffee shop in Harvard Square. Les was strumming a guitar while Monk was composing.
“Hello Monk, hi Les,” said Stacy making an extra effort to be friendly to Portia’s friends something she’d neglected in the past. The two girls had drunk four beers at the Harvard Brew Shop and were walking back through the square to their dorm room. They were reasonably drunk. It was a warm late spring night and even though it was after ten o’clock the square was still crowded.
“Sit down a minute. Tell me what you think,” said Monk handing the sheets of music to Portia.
“Where you girls been,” asked Les speaking to Stacy?
“Getting wasted,” said Stacy.
“You ever figure out what happened to you that night you passed out,” asked Les?
“It was like you thought. I was at a house party over by MIT. Somebody slipped me some drugs, probably Ecstasy. I passed out cold. My fellow students took advantage of my comatose state. Don’t remember much,” said Stacy.