The Twat Tormentor

"When autumn touches leaves, I want to hide awhile..."

In my senior year at the Academy in Connecticut, I already was a fallen woman. Not as far as I hoped, by then, but, thanks to Brucey Knickerbocker, I was gathering downward momentum. On fall break—wow, I did not intend that neat pun-I came home to Manhattan for a few days with my parents. I did not realize, then, that my education at a New England boarding school was mom's strategy for getting me away from my stepfather, who yearned for his own personal Lolita—me, with my svelte—flat—gamin figure and cute face with the SBE—smoldering brown eyes—under feathery black bangs. I wonder why dad could not have boarded up the Hudson River in Sing-Sing?

No prospect of a date on fall break in Manhattan. I was only visiting; I lived in Connecticut at the Academy. Brucey had broken my heart for a plump burro lugging two back-breaking wine skins. And so, the weather turning chill, my fantasies warm, I asked Jill, over lunch, what the hell she did on break in Manhattan?

"I have a boyfriend, there."

Oh, can I fuck him? I promise not to steal anything.

I did not say that. I munched my tuna sandwich, staring down at the table, an ingénue trying to blink back tears at life's unfairness.

"Do you have a vibrator, honey? You never mentioned playing with your pussy."

I DIDN'T? How could that HAPPEN? I thought you were on my email master list for regular updates on my clit?

I said: "I guess..."

"You won't believe what a vibrator does, Ellen. You'll be flopping around the bed like a gaffed trout."

Sounds fantastic. Maybe your boyfriend could gaff me and you could use the vibrator.

I did not say that. Academy girls are refined. They keep their manners even when gaffed. I was about to reply, when Jill jumped up. "Class in five minutes at Scaffold Hall. Go to the Pink Pussycat Boutique. West Fourth. They're great. I know them. See you after break?"

There, now. I've said it. This saga of a first-time sex experience is about buying a vibrator. No offense, but go fuck yourself if you are rolling your eyes and snickering that this pathetic little babe is writing about her first experience with a vibrator. I did consider letting you in on my sky diving nude with my boyfriend, connected in free fall only by his dick in mouth. Or my first day at the new topless club when I did a lap dance for Bernie Sanders. You would adore to hear about the African safari when I was snatched away by sex-crazed bonobos...

I will not be diverted into explaining why I had NO hope of picking up a guy during break. I mean, you might be saying, "Hey, New York City, why not just..." Too easy for Ellen Pierce Melville.

I walked up the few steps of the Pink Pussycat Boutique on West 4th Street and stood frowning into the windows. My uniform, then, when not at the nunnery, was a dark mini-skirt to display my beautiful, long, pale legs—trying to raise the temperature in this story above zero—and a black sweater snug over my 32-B breasts, occasionally strategically padded. Flats, not heels.

Windows on both sides of the door. Through my own reflection, I could see the red leather panties and bras strung with silver chains. bikini panties somewhere between orange and pink—see-through, but less than arresting on a manikin with no pussy hair. Actually, no pussy, either. Whips, ropes, blindfolds, hard candy pink nipples, milk chocolate clits, pecker profiteroles, red ball gags, and lots of smoothly uniform dildos. Couldn't put the real dildos in the window, I guess-the dicks.

But not sure if these things are vibrators, unless dildos are vibrators. Hey, you may have gone through all this in fifth grade; you're precocious.

Very cluttered inside. Couldn't see to the back. But the door did emit a kind of mechanical raspberry, maybe a buzz, and a woman's voice called, "Hi," from the back. "Welcome to Pussy."

And then, another voice, a man's, "Hi."

Ellen, time to turn right around and get out that door before it is too late. A cute couple ready to grin and trade winks at this waif with the under-nourished clitoris. Oh, sweetie, did you discover your clitty this weekend? Does it tickle something awful?

Ellen, do you imagine for one deranged millisecond that these two bored, exploited members of the proletariat, dealing all day with middle-aged men nude under their black raincoats, have the slightest concern for your proto-genitalia? You'd better get out that fake ID pronto, or they are going to THROW you out the door-maybe down the steps.

I ambled down an aisle. Handcuffs, ankle cuffs, knives to slit you from your klutz to your gulch when you are tied up... I mean, everyone else in greater New York, no fewer than 16 million souls, probably had been through this store. But to me, it was mesmerizing.

I liked the pecker rings. If Brucey Knickerbocker had been wearing one, I would have snapped his leash onto it and hauled him straight away from that olla milk bar. I wondered what the nipple clips and a chain would do for my geometrically perfect pink nipples, which tend to protrude without provocation. I am hanging by my wrists, my nips clipped, the little silver chain dangling enticingly between my pointy breasts. Someone-I imagine a girl, not sure why—grins and gives it a jerk. My 32-Bs stretch outward, conical, and I purr: Oh my, wait till I get hold of YOUR tits, honey—or more shocking words to the same effect.

I break cover, out of an aisle, to the brightly lighted back of the store where the cash register and Mr. and Mrs. Pussy are waiting, smiling. Motherfucker, he's cute. I'm a high-school girl, remember. "Cute" is all we know. He's tall, lean, such an attractive condescending smile, and longish blond hair. Sorry, that's it, for now. You think I tried to measure his cock beneath his blue jeans?

Bad enough. Attractive young man, early 20's, keeping a perfectly straight face as he studies the 18-year-old gamin. But if I had any ideas about making HIM my fall break sweetie... Did you think my FIRST choice was an electromechanical, penis-shaped, rubberized pussy pulverizer? If I had any ideas, which, of course, I did, there was ravishing Mrs. Pussy, also circa 20, in a shockingly stretched pink sweater, adorable face. She's blond, too, course. Bet her pussy isn't.

"Can we help you?" he asks.

Me? Oh, no, I don't think so. I thought this was Darwin's Pharmacy. I need a prescription for my psoriasis. Am I in the wrong store?

I did not say that. I'm looking for a gift for a friend, Hannibal Lecter. Do you have the new Tummy Slitter?

Not exactly that, either. "Vibrator?" I glance at him, then swiftly away.

"Yes, sure we do," says the Mrs. Pussy. "Right over here. What kind of vibrator did you have in mind?"

Oh, me? An orgasm each day of fall break. Be glad to buzz your friend's dick, too.

"You know, something for women. Actually, I friend sent me. Jill?"

She glances over at him. Are they smirking? Both are shaking their heads. He actually seems to be checking me out.

"Sure, right over here. Did you want it in your vagina or just on your clitoris?"

What? WHAT did you say? Can you shut your filthy mouth? Can't you use some euphemisms? Like: Did you seek a deeper excitation or do you wish to begin with a more superficial experience? She was THINKING about my cunt. I knew it.

Glancing up from under my feathery bangs, I say: "Oh, anything. You know... Not sure what my friend would want."

"Well, some are like penises that penetrate you and vibrate and some are..."

I would not glance up. I muttered: "Not penetrate." Nodding. "Not penetrate. Definitely."

"You can try it out, you know." His deep voice behind me, very cordial, so strong. An arm lightly draped my shoulders, softly brushing my neck. Just a few thousand volts, like a power line wrapping around my neck. I whip around, but the arm is gone already and he is there smiling. I could speed up this whole process by stripping, dropping to my knees, and clawing his dick out of his pants. I am experienced cock sucker. I did it once for Brucey.

"I can show you," says Luscious Lips. "We have a very private dressing room."

If I had ANY idea what you were really saying, pervert, I would run right down that aisle and out of the store.

"Or I could do it, if you are more comfortable with a man," suggests my heart throb. I am holding in my small hand a purple plastic dildo about as big as a cop's night stick. Veins are slithering over it. What does this have to do with my virgin pussy? I have brought it closer to my face, staring. But what more is there to see? At the base, it has a low/high switch, a sort of tilting chaise lounge: rock far forward, it's off, rock far backward, it's on. One of these perverts needs to come into the "private dressing room" to demonstrate high speed-low speed?

Wow. Home on break. No prayer of scoring. Only hope is to buy a Battery Operated Boyfriend—BOB, to you—but now I have Luscious Lips and Packed Pants competing to do me? What can't you BUY, today?

But which? I think Packed Pants, but, then, choosing him spells out that this no longer is a demonstration. What a choice. Maybe Luscious lips will defend my virginity. But I kind of want to see what packed pants is packing. I am hetero. I think.

I am procrastinating. Athena and Apollo await. Their smiles are kind. No sniggering.

"Come with me," says Luscious Lips. "It will be easier to start. Just girls."

"I'll put up the sign on the door," volunteers Packed Pants. He heads for the front of the store. What SERVICE, the whole store closed for my purchase of a vibrator. "Closed for vibrator demo"? "Gone fucking"?

"Through your clothes?" asks Luscious Lips with a grin, when we walk into the "dressing room." Ellen, what kind of woman are you? I shake my head, expression grave, now maturely cooperative. I let the miniskirt drop, sliding. No problem over my slim hips, long legs. And then, with a little shove, my panties are on the way to my ankles. "Oh, Sweetie," breaths Luscious Lips, glancing down right at my black banner. Big grin. Sudden brief kiss right on the lips. Great staff, here.

"Take off your top off, Hon," says Luscious Lips. "Never neglect the nips."

That done, I climb onto the low black-leather table, like for gynecological examinations. No stirrups, but at each corner a shiny stainless-steel stanchion with lots of holes for attachments like handcuffs and chains.

Doing all right, here, readers. Back to NYC for three hours and I'm stark naked on my back with a mature woman, at least 19 years old, standing over me—her boobs out like the prows of two ships racing each other. I can barely see her face up over them. I'm sure she has a lock on Packed Pants. He was just offering me a courtesy session.

"Oh, they're darling," giggles Luscious, bending over my perky tits so I can feel her breath on them. I hear the vibrator go on, sounds like daddy's electric razor. She's flipping my titties back and forth with it—flick, flick, flick...

"Yow," my hands come flying up.

"Ooh, are they sensitive? That's wonderful. Not everyone's are." Brush, brush. My hips are getting into a certain rhythm, humping up—not like a gaffed trout, just yet.

Down through the valley, over the plains, rest stop at Belly Button Basin, then down into the thicket, playing in the crisp hair. I am braced, every muscle taut, toes curled, eyes shut. Luscious is smiling radiantly, gaze fastened on the target, now revealed for the first time to a daughter of Eve. My long white legs are wrenched apart. Can't get enough contact with the buzzer. Shoving myself against it. Panting a little, now, possibly drooling.

If my mouth isn't drooling, my pussy is. I can feel drops running down inside my thighs.

"YOW," I jackknife up, groping for the vibrator, which Luscious has booted-up for orbital launch. "Wait," I yell. "No..."

This thing is a lathe, not a vibrator. But, then, I go shooting over some peak and down the other side. It is all panting, squirming, dirty-mouthed, babbling pleasure. I am flipping around the table like a gaffed trout. Well, who would have thought?

"All right, you got her there. Wow."

What? It's Packed Pants, walking in to catch the climax of my aria. Only his pants are not packed, now, not even on, and his dick is standing right up like a sturdy uncapped peasant—with tears running down the peasant's bright red face.

I barely see. "No, no, no," I am saying, meaning, of course, "Yes, yes, yes." She must know. She's sliding the vibrator all over my slippery parts.

With a great sigh, I let my head flop back. "Okay," I mutter.

And then, "STOP, oh God, please..." I am grabbing at the vibrator, she is giggling, pulling it away. I collapse, again. This is fantastic. I'll never have to have sex, again. Got it all over with. Where is my pillow? "Now I lay me down to sleep..."

Except my eyes are NOT closed. Unpacked Pants is a big boy compared with Brucey, though I don't mean prick-wise, I'm not comparing. He is standing right beside the examination table, his prick at exactly its height, three inches above, and—not sure how many below. VERY grown-up body. Oh, yum, yum, yum.

You know, maybe I actually could have sex again, sometime. Possibly in five minutes. Call it two.

I'm the customer, so why not? I reach out with one small, white, well-manicured hand and close it around the prick. Very hot. Good pulse. Excellent posture. He is grinning down at me. SO cute.

I'm not going back to the Academy. When I've got THIS? Get a job as a waitress in the Village. Don't let go of this prick.

So contented. All grown up, now. No silly, naive teenager. I know the score.

"I came as FAST as a I could." And then: "Wow, you've really got her?" The voice comes from outside the half-closed door." Hard breathing.

Ah well, all things must end. Goodbye mommy, goodbye daddy. Hello God. I'm going to have a nice stroke, now.

It is Jill's cheerful, breathy voice. And now, there is Jill's cute face, red from the chilly air, cheeks jacked up in a smile. Make that a leer. Make that a gleeful grin of triumph.

Shouldn't I be dead, by now? Goodbye, mommy...

"What the FUCK is this? What're you doing here?"

I have started to heave myself up, but something odd has happened. Guess I was distracted by that soul-engulfing big boy's steadily pulsing hard-on. Really distracted. Didn't notice Luscious Lips slipping on the soft ankle cuffs and hooking them to the stanchions. And now, at the head of table, she's holding one of my hands. With the other, of course, I am gripping the dick for dear life.

I whirl my head just as she clips that wrist to a stanchion.

"Oh, she's DELICIOUS. I've been waiting SO LONG, for this." Jill has dropped her coat to the floor. Is ripping open her blouse. Does not stop to remove bra, which has been working three times as hard as mine, holding up those knockers swelling above its rim.

She dives at me, gives a sob: "Oh, they're SO cute," and her lips are on my right tit, sucking like mad. Her other hand has seized my left breast; she is trying to pull it up by the roots. My only free hand is trying to pull back to make a fist to clobber her.

Amazing how a bunker-busting bomb of an orgasm takes the fight out of you. I imagine I am about to strike, but actually Unpacked Pants is holding my hand almost gently. He is nuzzling it. Kissing it.

Suddenly, right over my face is-um, "are"-luscious lips. Very close. What a smile. Her eyes are bright with love. "Oh, sweetie, you trust us, by NOW, don't you?"

What? Not trust you? How you can you say that? When I am so comfortably tied spread-eagled after you entrapped me so that my girlfriend from the Academy could come bursting in and feast on my helpless young body? Not trust you?

I might have spoken, but luscious lips were pressed down on mine, soft, firm, her tongue groping my tonsils.

Ellen Melville, a really strong course of action is needed, NOW-pronto. Are you up to it?

"Oh, fuck it," I sigh, and close my eyes. Where is that dick?

I hear, far away: "I think she's a virgin, so if you're really horny, why don't we string-up Jill and you can nail her asshole?"

And the divinely considerate voice of my man. beside me, saying, "Shit, yes. Hey, maybe Ellen would like to use our famous 'Pussy O Nine Tails' to whip Jill's ass before I bugger her? I love to slam her when her ass is bright red and hot and she's sobbing."

And, Jill: "Oh, no. NO thanks. NO."

Luscious: "Oh, but it's GOING to happen, sweetie. Your fat ass is so gorgeous I think Ellie and I might whip it unison. You know how I could just COME when you're twisting your ass and begging us to stop, honey."

Jill, with a sigh: "Oh, you know I can't resist. Just make sure I'm looking in a mirror so I can see Ellen bare-ass while she's wrecking my butt."

And that is how I purchased a Nordstrom Corp., $23.49, two-speed "Twat Tormenter" on my fall break.