Suzanne Mellows - The sex experiment

"Move it! Don't you like it? You liked those three young studs well enough! Shake it!"

"No, no, no," she cried. "You don't understand. No one will ever understand."

But the machine continued its slow mechanical grinding within her while Adam's fingers dug into her nakedly squirming flesh as he held her firm. This large, inhuman thing inside her made no rising tide of passion occur like she'd felt with the three college boys. No, she was just being fucked as though she were nothing, nothing but a cunt!

She lay there motionless now, no longer trying to get away, feeling the horrid obscenity of the man-made machine entering her tender feminine flesh, raping her with a total lack of feeling, skewering her unwillingly open pussy.

"Cum! Cum!" Adam spat down at his wife.

"Never!" she replied, tears welling up in her hurt blue eyes.

Adam reached down and set the machine for a still faster speed. Helen tightly clenched her teeth together in an effort to withstand the brutal spearing in and out of her raw and tortured vagina. Adam knelt, looking down at her, wanting nothing more than to destroy her feeling, himself destroyed by her as he watched the obscene device entering and exiting the moist pink flesh between her lewdly spread legs.

Helen lay as motionless as she could, hoping to avoid some of the pain this way and finally in disgust over his wife's lack of reaction to his cruel torture, Adam turned the machine off and fled the room.

Helen lay there with her beautiful long legs still spread wide as he had left them, and her naked loins were wet and raw from the multiple fucking she had endured. Anyone could have come in at that moment, she thought dazedly and done with her what they wanted, and she wouldn't have resisted nor would she have cared. For nothing seemed to matter anymore, nothing at all. Her entire world had been thoroughly obliterated, and her attempts at straightening out her life had proved to be ludicrous to say the least. Many years before, it seemed, she had still been a faithful and innocent wife, although an unhappy one. Perhaps it was better to remain unhappy than to have to endure the pains of what freedom would entail?

Helen didn't know the answer, but there was no more searching for it either. She wished… yes, for the first time she truly wished she were dead. She never wanted to have to face the cruelty and confusion that were a part of every day living again.

Slowly the despondent wife got up and found the crumpled mass of her clothing where the boys had thrown them. Trembling with every motion she put on her things as best she could and then made her way out of the apartment. As she went, she looked all around her, knowing that the sight of these dingy walls would remain forever etched in her mind, a searing memory of what she had endured that night.

Adam Randolph roamed the streets of the city, aimlessly walking and flirting with the danger that lurked wherever he went. But he had the look of a madman; and potential robbers and muggers knew well enough to stay away. He moved steadily downtown without even realizing it, and it was almost dawn by the time the depressed scientist reached 42nd Street. The litter-scattered sidewalks of Seventh Avenue were comparatively empty; only a few of the night inhabitants of the city were to be seen. Dr. Randolph fit right in with the others, and he was not surprised when a derelict saluted him, "Hey, brother!"

And a little further on, a prostitute nodded and smiled at him. He looked at her, astounded. "God, I called Helen a prostitute!" he said. When in reality it is I who am the prostitute!

Stunned by this uncomfortable illumination, Dr. Randolph rushed up to the startled hooker and embraced her warmly.

"You're beautiful!" he told her. "Oh, God, you're so beautiful!"

"Yeah?" the woman said suspiciously.

"Yes!" Adam affirmed. "Where do you live? How can I get in touch with you?"

"You got something special going?" Hannah thought that he was either a true crazy or a cop. One way or the other, man, she was going to be ultra careful.

"Something very, very special!" Adam said.

"Well, you call this number, and they'll get in touch with me. It's Harry's Bar over there!" she pointed across the street.

"Fine, fine. You won't regret it!" Adam cried as he ran on. The subway was nearby and he ran down into it. He had to get home fast. He had a lot of work to do!

It was two in the morning, and Helen had not yet come home. Adam had all in readiness for her return, but still she hadn't come back. He even took a taxi uptown to the apartment that he used as a lab to see if she was still there, but there was no trace of her.

In desperation, he called the police, but they were singularly unsympathetic.

"Ya had a fight with your wife, buddy? You know how many calls we get like this a day? She ain't come hack a week from now, you call us again!"

Adam was in a state of utter despair by the next evening. He began to think about his wife's life when he wasn't at home. For the first time he was trying to figure out just what she did all day long. Who were her friends? Had she ever mentioned anyone! He couldn't remember a single name. Oh, God! Why hadn't he listened to one of those interminable conversations of hers? Then a glimmer of a memory came back to the suffering professor. Stan! He'd heard her mention Stan, her analyst, but who was he, and what was his last name? Hurriedly, Adam began to rummage through his wife's dresser drawers, but he found nothing. Then he looked in the night table where the bedroom telephone was. There he found a small address book, and after rifling nervously through it, he found: Dr. Stanley Bederbeck, 60 West 96th Street. 977-0002.

Adam dialed the number quickly, only to find he had mis-dialed and was obliged to try it again. The telephone rang and rang, and finally a secretary answered.

"Get me the doctor! Quick! I'm Helen Randolph's husband. Hurry, I must talk to him!"

The secretary tried to make some sense out of the harassed man's words and finally, giving up, connected him through to Stan.

"My wife… I mean Helen! I've done something awful. I'm afraid she'll do something silly! Please, you've got to help me! We've got to find her!" Adam blurted out.

Stan's voice was as soothing and as stern at the same time as he could possibly make it. A little the way it had been when he'd talked to Helen on the phone a few hours before.

"Dr. Randolph! Your wife is right here. I won't say that she's fine or even all right, but she's here."

"Oh, God! Thank God!" Randolph burst into tears of relief.

Stan put the call onto the speaker attachment which transmitted the conversation into the room. Helen looked up from the sofa on which she'd been lying as her husband's broken voice expanded into the room. Why, she'd never heard him like that, and it was profoundly shocking to hear him crying.

"I've been so wrong, so very wrong!" Adam blubbered. "Tell her she's got to come home so I can make it up to her!"

"Well, that's up to Helen. Do you think that she feels like coming home after what she experienced last night?"

"Everything has changed, everything is different. What a fool I've been!"

"That's what they all say," thought Stan. "That's not for me to say, Dr. Randolph, but as your wife's doctor, I feel it necessary to tell you that you have a very disturbed woman here. Helen needs the proper care and special consideration under the rather extreme circumstances in which she finds herself. I won't hide from you the fact that it is only pure luck that I was able to persuade Helen to come here and see me rather than doing herself in."

"Doing herself in?" Randolph's voice was strident. Was this man going to prevent his seeing his wife ever again? "What do you mean. Is she all right? You said she's there. Let me talk to her. She's my wife!"