The Violated Virgin

Chapter 3


Slowly Suzanne opened her eyes and gazed around her bedroom. She
stretched her arms above her head and yawned. The early morning light
filtered through the blinds, casting a soft glow around her. For a
split second she began to smile, looking forward to another day; then
the memory of the experiences with Donald and Ted came flooding back,
swamping out the happy anticipation and replacing it with a tide of
renewed horror.

With great care, she lowered her hands to her crotch and felt her
mound, probing inside with her fingers where the still-tender folds of
flesh told her it had not been a dream. Her finger touched her
clitoris, and a hot sea of sensuality swept over her, reminding her of
Ted’s penis as it penetrated her. She touched her clitoris again, and
once more the feeling gushed through her loins. She really wasn’t hurt,
she told herself.

With a sigh, she relaxed, letting her fingers coax her sexuality into a
rising wave of ecstasy. Slowly she gripped the shaft of her clitoris,
massaging the end with her fingers while her passions rose, and she
began moving her hips slowly, her mind filled with the memory of Ted’s
swollen organ plunging in and out of her vagina.

With her other hand she caressed her stomach, sliding up to her breasts
and tweaking the nipples gently, bringing them to a state of erection,
their hard little nubs so sensitive as her fingers brushed over them.
She drew saliva from her mouth and rubbed around her nipples, making
them slick and reminding her of the hungry mouth that had enclosed them
and the ravenous tongue that flicked back and forth, exciting her
beyond words.

In her mind she recalled the heavy breathing, the excited hiss of his
words as he muttered obscene comments on their union, and with each
“Fuck me, fuck me,” she found her loins quivering with additional
eroticism as her finger rubbed quicker and quicker around her clitoris.
Her hips were moving faster now up and down, just the way they had when
she finally began getting with it and knew that Ted’s massive phallus
was the first thing that had really brought her knowledge of true
satisfaction, a mind-blasting experience that shattered all her
previous ideas of ultimate ecstasy. Yes, she thought, it is good, this
is what I’ve always wanted; I’ve wanted to be taken, to be ravished, to
feel a man on top of me, doing whatever he wanted with my body, giving
himself all the sensations he could get from her hot, snapping cunt
that clung greedily around that magnificent shaft as it slid into her,
fitting so perfectly all the way into her vagina, its flat, wide head
titillating the opening of her womb.

Her fingers pinched harder at her nipples, and her fingers pushed
deeper into her canal, and in her mind it was Ted’s organ there,
propelling her faster and faster towards her own climax. She felt her
insides begin to convulse, and her body was no longer heaving but
trembling, shaking from head to toe, and she stifled the urge to scream
out at the top of her voice, “Fuck me, you big-cocked stud, give it all
to me, every goddamn inch of that big thick wonderful thing, jam it
right up my cunt as far as you can and shoot your jism into me!”

She saw Ted’s face above hers, and heard once more the giggling of his
brother, his face glued between her legs, watching every movement while
his hand manipulated his own throbbing cock. She could almost swear she
could smell his earthy, male odor around her, filling her nostrils with
extra stimulation. Then she felt her vagina quiver with its final
orgasm, and her finger seized her clitoris as her other hand squeezed
her breast and she felt her juices flowing and she cried out softly,
moaning and twisting on the bed as she felt herself being lifted high
up on a cloud of heavenly ecstasy. Then, just as she felt she had
reached the peak of her climax, she heard a voice, “Suzanne … please
… please …” and in her mind she saw the outline of a penis in the
dim moonlight, and it was Sam’s voice ringing in her brain. Her mouth
opened and she screamed out, “Sam … Sam.” Then all images disappeared
from her imagination, and she opened her eyes to see the sun streaming
through the venetian blinds, striping the carpet with a bright glare.
She withdrew her hand from beneath the sheet and stared at her fingers,
still slick with the juices from her vagina. With a shudder she threw
back the covers and walked quickly to the bathroom, turning on the
shower and stepping into the stinging spray even before it had warmed
up. She closed her eyes and stood, her skin flinching beneath the
chilly stream, and only opened her eyes again as the warm water began.
In the distance she heard the clatter of heels on the stairs, and from
below on the street the scream of tires mingled with the blast from a
car horn. As she stepped out of the shower and began toweling herself,
she bit her lip and once again pictured Sam’s face before her. “Oh,
Sam,” she whispered, “Where are you, where are you?”

* * *

Suzanne found it difficult to concentrate on her classes that day.
Mechanically she went through the motions of greeting her friends, of
taking notes, of listening to her instructors, and eating a steerburger
and a Coke at Verne’s for lunch. Yvonne was in the bar, playing pool
with Jeff, a young medical student whose youth and virile appeal had
given him quite a reputation around town as being a ladies’ man.
Suzanne watched them both as they pranced around the pool table, Jeff
exhibiting a boyish enthusiasm for his prowess and Yvonne doing her
best Bette Davis impersonation as she studied each shot before lowering
her practiced eye to the pool cue and sent the ball lazily across the
green felt. Suzanne watched, thinking how their way of playing matched
their personalities. Jeff took a few seconds to decide, then shot fast
and hard, and usually made the pocket he aimed for; he probably picked
his sleeping partners the same way, Suzanne thought. Yvonne took her
time, considered all the angles, and then played slow and safe, her
ball usually trickling across the table and dropping in the pocket
almost as its momentum ran out. But then Yvonne was probably quite a
bit older than Jeff; or would it be better to say Jeff was quite a bit
younger than Yvonne? What difference did it make? It’s not the age of
your men, Yvonne had said once, but how well they can age you. Suzanne
wondered how many years Jeff had put on Yvonne since they had met. She
knew they had been going together, at least that’s what the campus
gossip had said. But then Jeff went with just about anyone; rumor had
it he had donated his penis to the Smithsonian Institute upon his death
to be enshrined as a national monument. After all, there were still
quite a number who hadn’t seen it, let alone had the pleasure of its
company. Penis … cock … Suzanne shook her head and tried to finish
her steerburger, but found herself chewing without enjoyment; tasting
without taste. She pushed the plate away in disgust, staring at the
meat between the bun and again remembering another piece of meat she
had chewed on, a hard, throbbing member with a broad flat head, and
again Ted’s obscene words rang in her ears.

Yvonne’s husky guffaw echoed through the bar, and Jeff threw the pool
cue on the floor. His explosive “Shit!” caused several customers to
turn, look and grin. The regulars at Verne’s were well used to Yvonne’s
prowess at the pool table; her feigned concentration and naive approach
concealed a pool shark from way back. She picked up her glass of beer
and sashayed up to Suzanne.

“Well, darling, did you see, did you see?” she gloated, and then as
Jeff walked up behind her, his handsome face frowning, she added,
“You’re really not mad at me, are you, baby?”

Jeff grinned at Suzanne, and slumped into a chair, sucking his teeth.
“Mad? At you?” He grunted, and winked at Suzanne. “It’ll take more than
a pool game to get me mad.”

Yvonne laughed loudly again, drained her glass, and rummaged in her
oversized purse for a cigarette.

“Well, you two be good,” she said. “I have to run. See you later.”

Suzanne sat, toying with her glass of Coke, conscious that Jeff’s eyes
were fastened on her. Finally she looked at him almost defiantly.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” he countered.

“I know you’ve been staring at me.”

“Sure. I always stare at groovy chicks.”

Suzanne flushed.

“I am not a groovy chick,” she snapped, sorry for her words the moment
she uttered them; she knew she sounded pompous and puritanical.

Jeff laughed and stood up.

“You said it,” he murmured, and wandered off back into the pool table
area of the bar.

Suzanne bit her lip and wanted to burst into tears. She knew how
idiotic she must have sounded; but she couldn’t help it. She was
conscious of his sexuality across the table; she was aware of his
reputation, and something in her responded. She knew that she wanted
him, she wanted to find out if those rumors about his penis size were
true, she wanted him to fuck her. Fuck … Fuck … yes, she wanted
that. She wanted him to …

With a toss of her head, she rose and made her way quickly out of the
bar, knowing that if she stayed she might either burst into tears or
spend the afternoon, get drunk and go home with Jeff and …

Her mind was a mixture of frustration and self-loathing as she walked
up Woodward Avenue and turned down Forest Avenue to the campus,
suddenly realizing that unless she hurried she would be late for her
sociology class. Damn. What was wrong with her today? She knew what was
wrong, and the slight tenderness in her crotch reminded her with every
step she took. Oh, God, what if those little bastards came back?

* * *

She sat through class hardly hearing a word, her mind filled with the
memory of the night before. Ted’s words again rang in her ears: “You’re
a good lay. Good enough for a second helping.” Did he mean that, or was
he just trying to scare her? She finally decided he was only trying to
frighten her enough to keep her mouth shut; obviously they wouldn’t be
back. It had been one of those rare opportunities, and even they would
realize that she wouldn’t even open the door to them again. So it was
just an experience; and even though her ravenous mounting sexuality
kept hinting that it had been wonderful, that she had felt it was
something she would want again and again, she deeply regretted that it
hadn’t been Sam who bad been the first. She had always wanted to go to
her marriage bed a virgin; now it was impossible. She’d have to make up
some story for Sam; maybe she could tell him she’d done a lot of
horseback riding and broken her hymen that way. Or maybe at gym class,
or riding a bicycle. No, he’d never believe that. Or would he? She knew
Sam loved her; at least, she felt he did. Oh, please, let him love me.
I need him so much. Sam … Sam …

“Suzanne, is something wrong?”

She looked up to see her instructor standing next to her, a look of
concern on his kindly face. She started, and then realized the class
was empty, and she had been sitting there, tears streaming down her
face, unaware that the others had left.