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.
