Choice Points Pt 05

The next day Wrack cheerfully informed me I was going to lose my cherry, and love every second of it. Literally.

I didn't consider my virginity to be precious or sacred, but it was telling that I had reached 19 years without a penis in my body. It's not that hard to find a man willing to do the deed, as my roommate Julie had demonstrated week after week. But I had very much wanted to have sex for the first time with a boy my own age, because we both wanted it, and because we were in love. Of course I had fantasized about an older man who used his vast experience to please me endlessly. But Wrack was going to rape me, plain and simple. And I was terrified.

He ordered me up to his master bedroom, I think Kate and Cassie were both at the library that morning, though I'm not sure. After telling me to disrobe and lay on the bed, he shared his plan.

"Sophia, most of our sexual experience is in our heads, and this is especially true for women," said the sexist asshole. "I'm going to make use of that fact so that your first time is absolutely incredible." I found out later that this was part of his 'pleasure conditioning' routine. He'd been perfecting it for years on unwilling girl after unwilling girl.

"Here's how it works. As soon as I slide inside you, you will feel a mild orgasm begin. And you will feel that the entire time I am inside you. When I come inside you, you will have the most powerful and pleasurable orgasm of your life so far."

I, of course, wasted no time in calling him a rapist, and a terrible horrible human, and no end of other curses, until he told me to be quiet. "From now on, you will only say nice things to me, and only things that are true for you. Oh, and lest you get any clever ideas my dear, the only movements you can make are in service of our lovemaking."

And then he kissed me. It was a slow kiss, with soft lips and lots of tongue. He moved to my collarbone and then my throat, and then between my breasts. By the time he reached my nipples they were aching. And when my lips parted in a hiss as he closed his mouth over my nipple, words slipped out in keeping with his command. "That feels amazing."

He pulled his mouth off my breasts and leered, before grabbing my knees and spreading my legs apart. He had already removed his clothes when we first got to the bedroom, and his beautiful cock was clearly ready to go. He rubbed the tip up and down against my opening, and the raw pleasure made me arch my back. And then he slid in, smoothly, in one long stroke.

Popular media makes a big deal of virginity, and all the physical aspects - pain, and blood, and tightness. But none of that happened to me. I don't know if my hymen had been ruptured in athletics or from my one embarrassing sex toy or what, but when Wrack slid inside me, I felt pleasure overwhelm me. It did indeed feel like an orgasm, or at least half of one.

And it didn't stop. Every thrust felt just as good, just as right, just as pleasurable. I could feel him touching so many different spots inside me at once. My lips were clinging to him, but so were 8 other inches of vag. And the sensations were mind-melting.

Wrack clearly was enjoying it as well, as he moved quickly toward his own orgasm. I look back on that experience as one of the worst of my life, for all the possibilities that he stole from me, the other firsts that might have been. But in the moment, the pleasure was almost unbearable. It built and built and built on itself, with each of his quickening thrusts feeling better than the last.

I can't describe the feelings that his strokes brought me, but it fucked with more than my body. In our third year together, Wrack made me do a line of cocaine, and it was absolutely astonishing. The chemical rush in my bloodstream overwhelmed me completely, and I felt invincible and brilliant and powerful. I understood instantly why people get hooked on it. We fucked like banshees for hours that night.

The next morning he gave me a choice, he said I could do a second line of coke, or he could tell my mind to experience our sex as if it was that first time we fucked. I chose the latter. I'd choose the latter tomorrow if that was the choice given to me. Pleasure conditioning is a mindfuck.

Sweat started to break out on my stomach and the back of my knees, and my hips moved without thought up in a steady rhythm to meet him. My brain interpreted his instructions about saying nice things in creative ways as I begged him to fuck me and fuck me harder. "I love your cock" slipped out of my mouth, in-between breathy bouts of "Please". And then he was coming in me, and the warmth spread and an orgasm crashed over me so hard I literally saw stars. I fought to stay conscious mostly just so I could keep feeling the incredible feelings a little longer. It was amazing.

Slowly the orgasm subsided, and my breathing slowed. I had never experienced a warm human lying on top of me after sex, and it felt strangely comfortable. His head was nuzzled in my neck and his beard scratched at my cheek. Everything was fuzzy, and peaceful. I fell asleep.

I woke up when his warmth started to leave me, and I could feel his softened cock sliding free. My urge was to grab him and pull him close, but my brain had decided that gesture wasn't 'in service to our lovemaking', so my hands remained trapped at my sides. A part of me thought fleetingly: Maybe this actually isn't so bad. Maybe I'll grow to enjoy our time together.

As Wrack grabbed a pair of sweatpants off the floor and headed toward the shower he said over his shoulder: "Kate will get you a Plan B pill you can take tonight with dinner, and later we can discuss whether you want to use those regularly or just get on the pill. Or maybe I'll just knock you up. Would you like being pregnant? Oh, you can use the shower when I'm done, but just lay there for now."

And in an instant, with my well-fucked pussy full of his sticky dangerous seed, my sense of comfort was once again exploded, and Wrack reminded me painfully that not only did he have total control over my choices and all my life outcomes, but that he was a sadist through and through. Maybe mindlessness was a better choice...

...

I won't bore you with the graphic details of the rest of that week. Suffice to say that I spent most of one day figuring out which sex toys felt best on and in my body, and most of another day figuring out exactly how Cassie and Kate wanted a woman to go down on them. But I suppose I need to tell you about the fifth day.

To be honest, I was having trouble focusing. Wrack had instilled parasympathetic orgasms in me the day before, and so I had come nine times over the course of the day (Cassie had five orgasms on my tongue and fingers, Kate had four). My nervous system had more crossed wires than a stolen car, and the Plan B pill they'd given me after Wrack raped me had felt like a spatula scraping out my insides. The edge of unreality was creeping across what brain power I had left. I think Wrack knew it, so he let me sleep in, and at ten Cassie brought me a bagel and some cranberry juice.

"Wrack wants you downstairs in twenty minutes, showered, in your towel." I drank the rest of my juice in the shower.

When I walked into the kitchen, with the towel arranged to cover as much as I could manage, Wrack and the girls were sitting at the table finishing their own breakfast. "Lose the towel" Wrack intoned, and again my hands were obeying almost before I registered his words. He really has a sadist's gift of knowing what will cause the most pain of any stripe. As my rear-facing cheeks cooled down and my front-facing ones heated up, Wrack told me about our plans for the day.

"Today we find out where you are on the Meisinger-Franck Spectrum. Meisinger and Franck were a pair of Austrian clinical sociologists who developed a series of measurements to assess how significantly a persons desire for pleasure is linked to their desire for pain. I of course adapted their research slightly to better serve my own needs." And he grinned at me. I thought I saw Kate shudder, but it could have been my own twitch at the cool air hardening my nipples.

After breakfast we descended to Wrack's basement, which I had not yet seen. Years later, I can confirm his dungeon was very modest, though I can also confirm it was highly practical. Everything in its place, everything with a use, he used to say.

"You no doubt remember this," Wrack said, as he held up an eight inch vibrating dildo, that had a slightly rotating head. I did indeed remember it, and my cheeks flushed. Two days ago I had used it to fuck myself to an intense orgasm while they all watched. It had been an intense and pleasurable ten minutes, and I had wondered then if the shame of being observed heightened the pleasure. But because all of my sex acts to date had been observed, it seemed unlikely that I was going to be able to test my hypothesis.

"Lay down on that bench there, on your stomach, and begin to fuck yourself with this dildo. Use roughly the same type of strokes you used on Tuesday." I had a sudden strong memory of the first half of my dildo session, and the slow and measured strokes I had used both hands to deliver, and the sharp and urgent thrusts I had finished with as my orgasm roared through me.

My shame burned even brighter, and I felt the heat spread down my neck and onto the tops of my breasts. But my body wasted zero time in arranging itself facedown on the bench, and my arms were already sliding under my thighs to gain enough traction to slide this monstrous thing inside me. And from the first pleasurable jolt when the head hit my lips to the slick, smooth passage of the dildo moving uninterrupted inside me all the way to the hilt, I realized that I was in fact just as turned on as I had been on Tuesday. As I began my long, smooth strokes, Wrack began talking again.

"The Meisinger-Franck spectrum is really only effective when one has a baseline measurement. Fortunately, we have such a measurement available to us. It took you 9 minutes and 35 seconds to have an orgasm on Tuesday. We'll treat that as your rough baseline. Now we'll see how long it takes you today." And as he finished speaking I suddenly felt a tremendous blow on my bottom, accompanied by a loud crack. I let out an astonished shriek of surprise.

"I'm starting with just my hand, but I will switch to a paddle if it seems necessary." Wrack delivered four more stinging blows, before I felt more than saw him switch sides of the bench. I could barely hear the cracks over my breath, which was coming in jerky gasps. An additional five blows stung my left cheek. After the first one, I surprised myself by not making a sound. Wrack moved again to the other side and repeated the spanking. My skin was torn between tingling and burning, and I felt my attention focus unwaveringly on the point of contact.

Everything else slowed and dimmed, and I felt each blow resonating out from my butt, flowing down my thighs and up into my torso. The heat was a liquid moving through my essence like blood through my veins. My breathing slowed, steadied.

"Kate, please hand me the paddle." That's how Wrack was - even when we were entirely at his command, he still switched between extreme politeness and degrading orders. I remained on my belly, though my attention was so fixed on him, I probably could have breathed in sync if I'd wanted to. I felt the imperceptible shift in energy as he focused, and heard the slight rush of displaced air just moments before the paddle hit my ass. The pain was monumental.

This time he waited between strikes, and the anticipation disoriented me. My brain seemed disconnected from my body, I was almost in a meditative state. I searched my emotions for a sense of dread, but found nothing resembling that. There was pain, and it was intense, but I didn't fear the next blow. As I waited between blows, I could feel the hot blood making patterns under my skin, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.

After the fifth stroke Wrack said: "Are you close?"

Close to what? I wondered. And then it was as if my brain re-started suddenly, and I realized that the whole time, from spanking to paddling, I'd been steadily sliding the vibrating, rotating cock in and out of my swollen pussy. And the pleasure was absolutely overwhelming.

In fact, when his words re-focused my attention from butt to my groin, I started immediately to come, and my hands began to pound the dildo in as fast and deep as I could. My answer to his question was a wordless moan that morphed quickly into a howl, as my clutching insides vibrated just as hard and fast as the toy.

After what seemed like ages, I subsided, and I heard Kate's quiet voice in the background offer "Three minutes and 44 seconds start to finish."

"Excellent!" said Wrack. "That was a quick orgasm indeed! I'm so pleased. One can make a pain slut from scratch of course, but it really is a lot of work, and I was secretly hoping to avoid it in your case. It's so much better when nature does the work for you.

And, just so you understand more clearly what occurred, when we mixed in some pain, your orgasm came in less than half the time it took you to come the other day without pain. All other things being equal, I'd say your pain and pleasure wires are pretty thoroughly crossed. I do so wonder how that came about. Well, we've got ages to figure it out.

Just as we have plenty of time to figure out where your other boundaries lie. I had planned to go through a few other aspects of Meisinger-Franck, but the results on this one are so clear-cut, I think we can move on to what I want from the rest of my day, which is to refine your cocksucking abilities just a touch more. I've been thinking about some improvements. And since our testing regimen is done, the nipple clamps will just be for your enjoyment."

Which, proved to be true, and also not true. Anyway, I won't tell you about the rest of that afternoon, but suffice to say I ended the day tired, confused, sore-throated, and angry.

And Friday evening, after another day of mindless fucking, he woke me up. And told me it was time to decide.

****

"All the things you experienced, I'll do those things and much much more. Whether you're conscious of them or not, they will happen to your body. It's entirely up to you whether your mind is aware of it or not. And so my dear, you have five minutes to make your decision. I give you back your free will for these five minutes, and I'll leave you to your decision-making process."

With that he walked out of the room, and I was left alone, perhaps for the last time.

****

When I was eleven years old, my favorite uncle - my dad's older brother - came to live with us. My parents sat me down and explained that his wife had kicked him out, and that he was having a little trouble. I didn't understand it at the time, but looking back I realize that he had had a schizo-affective break, and my parents had taken him in as a last-ditch effort to stabilize him and stall his decline. It failed, spectacularly, and he was institutionalized for more than a year before his meager savings ran out and he was kicked onto the streets. He's now among the vast homeless population of our country, shuffling between shelters and overpasses, not quite present.

Having seen his precipitous fall first-hand, and experienced the repeated hardship and trauma that accompanied it, it's not surprising that losing control of my own mind was foremost among my nightmares as a teenager. And also not surprising that I made the choice to stay "awake" for my time with Wrack. Even when I thought it would be the rest of my life.

Because of that choice, I can tell you a lot of details about my time with Wrack. My therapist says it's healthy to write it all down. So I guess I'll tell you some of the things that particularly stand out. Though I guess that there is a lot that was just plain painful, and I'd rather not recount too much. Remembering is cathartic, but sometimes going through the pain a second time is just too much.

****

We spent one whole week figuring out which type of fucking brought us the most pleasure. Cassie and Wrack were well-matched, in that her most pleasurable position was what she had shown me on the video that first time. She loved to straddle him and glide up and down, which he also loved. I didn't have the leg muscles for that. I found that I preferred Wrack fucking me from behind, with both hands on my hips gripping me tightly. There was something about not having to see his smirking face and just being able to focus on the pleasure his beautiful cock brought me.

Of course because Wrack was a fucking sadist, he rarely let me sink into my own pleasure. He regularly greased up my asshole when he wanted to fuck me from behind, so that he could periodically switch it up. He knew quite well it was often uncomfortable and that I was ashamed during and after. (The grease was not for my pleasure of course, but to make it easier for him. He was a sadist, but he didn't want his property permanently damaged. At least physically.)

Wrack's favorite position with me was this unusual one from a Kama Sutra book he had, with me on my back, and my left leg folded up to my chest. He claimed it twisted my pussy to a certain angle that gripped his head in a delightful way. I didn't love it or hate it. But then like I said, it wasn't so much about what I wanted.

Surprisingly, Kate never settled on a favorite position for herself. It seemed like however Wrack fucked her she loved it. And he was fond of saying that she had the tightest insides he had ever enjoyed.

One of the things about having a cock so long is that Wrack could actually enjoy some uncommon sex positions. I definitely saw some configurations that I could not recreate even with a map. But mostly we fucked in pretty standard ways, ways you'd see in mainstream porn. Which, for the record, we watched a lot of at first. Wrack thought it would have some positive impact on our sexual performance, but honestly porn is just so derivative and repetitive that I tuned it out pretty quick, and eventually he only made us watch videos of ourselves.

****

But he made a lot of videos of us. It turned out he was part of a network of like-minded pervs who preyed on young girls. In fact, it's where a big chunk of his money came from. I know because eventually I became a math major, and by year three, he'd mostly turned his bookkeeping over to me. Men paid him big money to abuse us, and people online paid regularly to watch our videos.

And no, I will NOT tell you what the website is you pervy asshole. I've tried twice to sue the domain to take them down, and twice I've lost in court, and despite stealing a chunk of money from Wrack when I escaped, I am just about out of cash from lawyers fees and therapy costs. (You better believe I took what I could from that piece of shit).

Perhaps the only redeeming quality Wrack had as a human was that he did genuinely care about us, maybe even love us. I know a lot of pimps tell their whores that they love them, as a way to hook them, but Wrack owned us, body and mind, and he didn't need to pretend any emotions, so I think they were genuine. Pimping us out was just a way to make easy money for a lazy man who had grown accustomed to a rich lifestyle.

We never knew what type of sadist was going to walk in the room with us, but Wrack carefully negotiated all the scenes beforehand. As the bookkeeper I can tell you how much it cost for an hour of anal fucking while caning her behind ($800) or for 60 minutes of a double blow-job while the two girls use a double-dildo on each other ($900 - and that shit was exhausting. I had to spend a month working on my flexibility to be able to bend my torso enough to pull it off. Cassie of course was a natural.)