Spoils

© 2003 Jazz E.

This is part 2 of a 3 part story.

Maggie had worried the whole afternoon and evening, and would have come home much, much earlier, had the rest of the ladies only let her. So she and the girls had only just arrived, just in time to witness the massive quadruple climax erupt to the astonishment and delight of the whole libertine team. It was, she had to admit, impressive by anyone’s standards, and she stood, astounded by the vitality of the whole tableau, until it slowly collapsed in front of her. Men and women alike, everyone present seemed awed by the spectacle. No one said a word. Once again, as Maggie stared at the limp figure, sticky with sweat and cum, looking impossibly delicate and petite, entangled there amongst the three hulking brutes, she wondered what she had done. Guilt and fear, and perhaps, some feeling of unfulfilled responsibility, rose to finally move Maggie to action. With nary a word to anyone – including Torin, who still lay, unmoving, half under the insensate sylph – Maggie scooped Lucy’s limp body into her arms and carried her to the bathroom, where she set about running a tub, replete with bath oil and bubbles.

Lucy could feel herself being placed gently in the bath. The hot water felt good on her tired body, and the caresses of soapy cloth were soothing. Through slitted eyes she watched as Maggie clucked and cooed concern over her, but the descent from her final climax had drained her of emotion. Her rollercoaster seemed, once again, grounded. “Where were you, when the whole frigging team was pawing me? Where were you when the rape began?” she thought to herself. No, at that moment, anyway, she wasn’t going to let herself like this woman.

“Thanks, Luv, for being such a sport,” Maggie, whispered. Finally, sitting on the floor next to the tub, she stopped her scrubbing, and let her hands dangle over the edge. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“You knew what was going to happen,” Lucy accused, the extent of Maggie’s complicity suddenly obvious. “You set me up, didn’t you?”

“That we did,” Maggie admitted, ruefully. Then in a rush she added, plaintively, “and I’m so sorry!” Her hand moved to Lucy’s shoulder and stroked tenderly, “So very sorry!”

“But it was a conspiracy.” Lucy observed, flabbergasted, “How could you?” She paused, looking at Maggie, distress flushing her sweet face. “You presented me to them! A sacrifice! Spoils to the victor!” Lucy could feel her blood beginning to boil. Her shoulders stiffened and she sat upright in the tub, her eyes piercing the figure beside her. She had put herself at the mercy of strangers and was torn with rage at her violation – rage and disgust – and disgust with herself for her own strange collusion. Maggie cowered visibly, fixed beneath Lucy’s cold stare, but, as quickly as it rose, vehemence colouring scarlet Lucy’s face and chest, the anger dissipated. Maggie watched in wonder as Lucy’s shoulders relaxed again, and her bright red blush faded back to the pink of content. Slowly Lucy settled back into the tub, her eyes going distant for the moment. “Collusion…” she let the last word of her inner tirade echo in the air. “Complicity. Consent.” Lucy began to ponder her own participation, for hadn’t she, in effect – no, actually – allowed it. Sure they had coerced her to start; pressured her to let them have their way, but in the end it was she who had acquiesced. She had become an active party to her own ravishment, her own degradation. Not only that, but with incredible speed and aplomb.

Maggie watched in wonder at the marvelous and frightening changes washing over the pretty visage, lying there, considering. And she was very much relieved once the awesome, silent anger had past. Under Maggie’s troubled gaze Lucy’s eyes fell closed, and her breathing calmed, her heaving chest almost stilled. Then, more amazing yet, Maggie observed a smile, not a mean smile, or a vengeful smile, but a genuinely contented smile settle on Lucy’s innocent face, igniting some hitherto unknown maternal feelings in Maggie. She gazed affectionately at the peacefully sleeping figure, and wondered if she had not just blown a chance at a great friendship, perhaps even a sister-ship.

But Lucy wasn’t sleeping; she was just reliving her ‘active participation.’ Surely if collusion led to pleasure, why should there be disgust? Surprise, maybe, but disgust? And what superb pleasures they had been. If, indeed, she had been caught in an unsavoury contrivance, weren’t the results worth it? Yes, yes they were, dammit. The smile on her face grew. “So,” she whispered to the air, forgetting for the moment, that Maggie sat silently beside her, “perhaps the ends do sometimes justify the means.”

“Appropo what?” Maggie wondered, puzzled at the sleepily whispered remark. She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, staring at the peaceful girl before her, then began. “Please, let me explain,” Maggie whispered, her hands fluttering uselessly over Lucy. At first she thought there was no response at all, but then Lucy’s eyelids fluttered, and her hand gently reached up and took Maggie’s in its wet grip, holding it gently, and reassuringly.

“Okay,” Lucy whispered, “go on.”

“Well,” Maggie began, clearing her throat, her voice small and unsure, “I guess it all started a few years ago when the lads, quite unexpectedly, won the championship.” She laughed at the memory. “They were deliriously happy and, afterwards, congregating at the pub, as was their habit, they hatched this absurd idea. You know how it goes, ‘To the victor, the spoils’ they shouted to one another; ‘All for one and one for all,’ and all that kind of nonsense. But they were all wound up and excited. They were high on victory and getting higher on beer. So, I guess,” Lucy could feel Maggie shrug, “like men everywhere, somewhere in all that, their fantasies turned to sex.

“In any case, they all came tumbling back to us waiting girls and wives – we’d skipped the pub to prepare a wee victory party, as it were – and announced that they had decided, ‘In honour of our win…’ that they were going to share a woman for the afternoon. ‘Geroff it!’ we all said. ‘Don’t be daft! And who’d you think that woman might be?’ We laughed and tried to change the subject, but they, each of them, insisted they were serious. ‘Dead serious!’ one of them said. ‘Fucking serious,’ said another, and nobody laughed.” Maggie allowed herself a little chuckle then, recalling their reaction.

“Well, we were shocked, of course; but there was no changing their minds. They were adamant. ‘This act of sacrifice’ they proclaimed, ‘is absolutely necessary – for the good of the team.’ We stood, mouths agape as they went on and on. ‘One of the team-members, one of us’ Jimmy announced, indicating the assembled players, ‘will give up his exclusivity,’ and he gestured to the bunch of us girls, standing in disbelief, ‘for the afternoon – for the good of the team.’ The men loudly cheered their assent, as we girls just looked at one another incredulously.

Maggie smiled affectionately down at Lucy, who, now interested in this remarkable history, had opened her eyes. She returned the smile, and squeezed Maggie’s hand encouragingly. Maggie, licked her lips to go on. She had never told this story to anyone before. Out loud it sounded rather far-fetched, still, she continued. “This is Scotland, of course, so, in their usual chauvinistic way, they didn’t even consider what we would want. They just set about deciding how to ‘fairly choose’ their odalisque. In the end, they drew a name from a hat; ‘Monica,’ they announced, quite pleased with themselves. Monica was Stewart’s girlfriend at the time; they’ve since gotten married and moved away. At the sound of her name, she just looked at us, smiled, shrugged and, to our utter shock and surprise, turned to join the lads. I think, deep down, they were all just as surprised, but they covered it well with their loud bravado.

“’Go down to the pub, you lot,’ Aiden commanded, ‘and give us a few hours.’ So we did. Sometimes I wonder what would have become of their hair-brained scheme if we’d just refused to go – or if they hadn’t drawn Monica first; but, being young and adventurous, she was a player, so we just all left. When we all got back, almost two hours later, Monica was lying there on the couch, under a sheet, with a shit-eating look of complete contentment on her face. Stewart was sitting at her head, stroking her hair and cooing like a proud father. And it was such a success in their eyes that they decided next season they’d celebrate every win that way, not just championships. ‘Share the abundance!’ they declared. ‘Pshaw!’ we retorted, ‘Not bloody likely!’”

“What about Torin?” Lucy asked.

“Oh. He loved it, of course!”

Puzzled, Lucy pushed further. “Weren’t you jealous?”

“Well,” Maggie paused to recollect, “I felt a bit awkward, at first, but he was so happy and loving and grateful, like we had given them this wonderful gift.” She laughed at the thought of it, then, serious again, went on.

“But you know, when they handily won the first game of the next season, they simply drew a name, like there was nothing for it. Marianne, I think it was; and she followed them willingly. After that, well, I guess it was our female pride that kept the ball rolling. None of us wanted to be the first to balk. So we just went along, until, eventually we were all drawn. We’ve all had our turns, some more than others – it’s just part of the game, now.”

“And you?” now quite alert, Lucy watched Maggie’s face carefully, “What did you think of it?”

“Oh, it was strange the first time, let me tell you. I didn’t know what to expect. I hadn’t been with another man in years, and here I was about to gang-banged. Yes, it was exceedingly strange.” She looked up and smiled. “Strange, yes, but really not too bad, once we got going. Good, in fact, really good.” She laughed, ruefully. “I don’t know if I’d want it as a steady diet, but I’ve very much enjoyed my turns ‘under the prick’, as we say.” Maggie could see Lucy formulating another question so she answered it before it was spoken. “Ah, then, Torin is really just like the other lads. They are so proud when it’s their girl’s turn. And afterwards, he fusses about like an expectant father. It’s really quite odd, but quite cute.” She stopped for a moment, in thought. “No, he’s never jealous – none of them are – just very proud.”

“What about…?”

“Oh, other than this, what would you say, anomaly, we’re all pretty much monogamous. I mean, there’s risks in everything, don’t you think?”

Lucy nodded, then waited silently to see if there was more. “The new guys on the team,” Maggie continued, “they’re just bowled over. ‘I’d heard rumours of a tradition,’ they would say, ‘but, I never….’ Only one person ever objected. He was a bit of a poofter, I suspect. But that was all. He just left us alone – left the team.”

“You know,” Maggie remarked, after a long pause, “up until three weeks ago, they’d only lost one game since then. Sexual incentives do wonders for tournaments of testosterone. But then they lost two games in a row, and just about that time, we heard that you were coming.” Maggie stopped, her eyes filled with guilt and embarrassment. She stumbled a bit before proceeding. “We figured maybe they needed ‘fresh meat’. Oh, that’s awful, isn’t it? What with you lying here and all. I’m so sorry.”

Lucy watched Maggie’s eyes damp up, and squeezed her hand consolingly. “S’okay,” she whispered compassionately. “All’s well that end’s well.”

“This had been planned for over a week,” Maggie continued with a wry smile, “before ever I laid eyes on you.” Maggie clasped her other hand over Lucy’s and gave a heartfelt squeeze, “you sweet thing.”

Gazing into Maggie’s eyes, Lucy became confused, yet again. She couldn’t understand the love and warmth she felt for this woman – this woman – this procurer. After all, she had arranged and delivered Lucy into a perverse, ritualistic ravaging. Still, Lucy couldn’t help but like her. It was baffling.

Running a finger lightly across Lucy’s cheek, Maggie continued, “When we knew you were coming, we – the girls – decided to offer you, as a surprise, to the lads.” She stopped and bit her lip, then went on, “I know it was a bit unfair of us.” An sort of bitter laugh caught in her throat. She paused, regaining her composure. “A

bit

unfair? Totally unfair – but when the idea came up, on our ladies’ night, last week, over a few pints, it just seemed like harmless fun. I guess we’re all so used to it – somehow, we didn’t stop to think about you – a real person.” She shrugged helplessly. “Unforgivable! How could we – how could I have taken such scandalous advantage of you, arriving here all bright and trusting and eager for adventure. Hmmph!” she snorted, “You certainly couldn’t have expected this!” Lucy shook her head slowly, her stunned gaze still fixed on Maggie’s teary eyes. Then Maggie smiled a sad little smile and added hopefully, “But you

did

enjoy it in the end, didn’t you?” Lucy stared wide-eyed at her hostess; surprised at the question, then, giving a slight, self-conscious nod, she whispered, barely audibly, “Yes, I suppose I did.”

Suddenly all business, Maggie declared, “We’d better get you out of there, before you turn into a prune.” While the bath had been rejuvenating, the conversation had been draining, and what with her physical exertions, Lucy remained almost inert as Maggie fussed about, lifting her nearly limp body from the tub, drying her off and powdering her, cooing and chattering the whole time. Finally, wrapping her in a big towel, Maggie helped Lucy, half-carrying her into the guest room. “You’ll sleep well tonight, anyway.”

“I doubt it,” Lucy thought to herself, her feelings still in a tumult. Notwithstanding, she fell asleep the instant her head hit the pillow. Waking in the morning, in the soft, cosy bed, Lucy felt rested and strong, if still awfully confused. Her mind was reeling at the recollection of the previous day’s activities. Still the jagged shock was blunted somewhat by remembered feelings of bliss. She didn’t know whether to be appalled, outraged, or self-satisfied. Such an unbelievable encounter. “No one back home,” she thought, “would ever believe it.” Awful or wonderful, it had definitely been an incredible experience. So, perhaps she should be appreciative, and let it go at that. She still didn’t know how to properly react, and the confusion left her muddled.

She could hear the rumble of earnest conversation in the kitchen, though it was mostly Maggie. She wondered what they were saying. “Although,” she pointed out to herself, “I can pretty well guess. Maggie feels guilty, and she’s trying to explain that to Torin.”

Slipping on a robe, Lucy padded into the kitchen, making sure they heard her approach. Torin looked a little subdued, and Maggie, standing over the stove, looked a little more flushed than the heat warranted, still they tried to behave normally – however that was. ‘G’morning,” Lucy mumbled, her part, at least, was easy.

“Good morning, my dear,” Maggie effused. “Did you sleep well?”

Lucy nodded, as Torin greeted her, “Morning, my lovely.” Lucy caught Maggie’s glare, even if Torin didn’t. There was an awkward silence as Lucy sat down and Maggie served her breakfast, then Torin jumped right in. “Well, Cuz,” he said, “I must say, you were a real hit.” He smiled a sort of goofy, what-can-I-say sort of smile. “Everyone was very impressed with my Canadian Cousin. Not just a few of them would like to have a go with you before you leave. I mean if you wanted.”

“Torin!” Maggie scolded, “Stop that!”

Lucy stared intently at her plate. Strangely, the lewd suggestion, while completely inappropriate to common etiquette, was not half as offensive as she would have thought. She found herself thinking it was almost tempting – but the very consideration scared her for some reason. “How long are you staying?” Torin asked; but Lucy felt there was a sort of false innocence in the question.

She was visibly perturbed. While her stay there had initially been open-ended, she replied, “I was only planning on staying one night.” Her mind was whirling. “How can they act so normal? They act as though they hadn’t just raped me – hadn’t just subjected me to a huge gang-bang. Then again, who would believe that it was rape? Was it really rape?” Lucy recalled being so bewildered that she’d wanted to go on autopilot, but she hadn’t, had she? “I suppose it wasn’t really obvious that my participation was secured under duress.” Then she realized that even that was only partially true. And, in the end, she had actually been more than willing, even if somewhat overwhelmed. A smile unconsciously settled on her lips, as she recalled the towering pinnacles of pleasure she had ascended “I did,” she reminded herself, “have more than a few fantastic orgasms.” How could she hold against these people what she had really, in the final analysis, enjoyed so much? She couldn’t find an answer, as she picked away at her food. Surely there was something horribly wrong with this picture but she wasn’t sure what it was.

Maggie sat down next to Lucy, and placed a warm hand over hers. Patting it she said, “I understand, dearie. We went ‘way too far. I don’t know what we were thinking. I just hope one day you can forgive us.” Lucy looked into Maggie’s eyes and saw nothing but sincerity and affection. How could she not forgive this woman – eventually.

Trying to lighten things up, as men are wont to do, Torin added brightly, “Mind you, you’ve certainly got all the single lads in your thrall.” He chuckled at the thought that she had not half of the married blokes enthralled, too, if she wanted them. “They’d do anything for you.”

“Shush!” Maggie scolded again.

“For another piece of me, you mean,” Lucy added under her breath. But it wasn’t bitterness, more puzzling aloud. She looked around, the faces of her cousin and his wife watching her, the memories of the previous evening and all its players, apparitions gliding across her mind. “What’s happening here?” she wondered. “Has there been some kind of a shift? Am I really in control here – now?” Time enough to think about that. She stood to excuse herself from the table and went back to her little room to dress and pack and consider.

Lucy heard a noise at the outside door, heralding the arrival of someone. She hesitated, steeling herself, then waltzed back into the kitchen with a confidence she didn’t feel. As she entered, Duncan, the youngest of the team-members from the night before popped out of his seat like a Jack-in-the-box, and sputtered his greetings. “Uh, hallo, er – Lucy. Nice to see you again!”

His stumbling discomfiture brought a smile to Lucy’s face as she replied, “Hello…”

“Duncan,” he quickly supplied, giving an almost half bow. “Duncan McKay. We met last night. I was…”

Lucy laughed inside, but rescued him by extending her hand and saying, “Nice to see you, Duncan. How are you?” just as if he hadn’t been part of the previous night’s orgy.

“Oh,” he said, shaking his head, while pumping her hand, “Ooh, couldna be better.” He looked into her eyes with such longing, Lucy almost had to turn away, but she held, suddenly realizing where the power of this meeting currently rested. Dropping her hand, Duncan lowered his eyes and mumbled, “You were fantastic, last night.” Then lifting his head to look into her face again, he said with palpable disappointment, “Torin says you’ll be leaving today. There’s a pity. I was hopin’ we might…, I mean I thought we could….” He couldn’t bring himself to say what he meant.

“Funny,” Lucy thought, “given all that they said and did last night.” She flashed him another warm smile, thinking, “Poor guy is completely tongue-tied.” Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy saw Maggie take Torin by the hand and lead him out of the room. She could just imagine her clucking, leave the young ones alone. Lucy could feel the power Duncan was conferring on her, and, she realized, she quite liked it. “I’m sorry,” she said, reaching a hand out to touch his shoulder, “but I’m trying to get to Aberdeen today.”