Ward Fulton - The Violated Virgin

"Yes, yes, I know, dear. Listen, perhaps you'd better come to our place now. You can use our bathroom, and I have a douche can which gets lots of use, let me assure you."

"No, I'll come down later," said Suzanne. "I'll bathe up here."

"Look, dumdum, they might just as easily come back now," Yvonne said.

"Come on, come down right this minute. Lock your door behind you, and turn the lights out."

"All right. Are you sure Carole won't mind?"

Yvonne laughed loudly. "Of course not. Would you believe Carole started living with me after something similar happened to her, about a year ago? We both lived in a building over on Cass, and I figured it was safe enough, but I guess you never can tell. Carole was raped by a guy one night, and came running to me for help. She spent the night, and the next day she moved in. We've been sharing a place ever since. And believe me, there've been no more episodes like that in her life."

Yvonne's face softened from its usual cynical demeanor. "You poor kid.

Come on."

Suzanne looked at her friend, and smiled for the first time since the boys left the apartment.

"Thanks. I do appreciate this."

"Nonsense."

Yvonne put her arm around the girl's waist and they walked to the door.

Suzanne took the key off the nail where she usually hung it and locked the door behind her. In silence they walked to Yvonne's apartment. As they entered, Carole was seated on the couch, reading.

"Hi." Then she saw the expression on their faces. "Oh, wow, what's wrong?"

"You remember one night something that happened to you?" said Yvonne, and Carole nodded, her face becoming grim, "Well, it happened to Suzanne. Not one, but three, all at the same time. One black, two white. Now that's what I call carrying integration too far." She tried to smile, but Carole's face remained impassive.

"Jesus. You going to call the police?"

Suzanne shook her head.

"That will only mean scandal, and it would be their word against mine.

What can you do, really?" She sat down, and stared vaguely around the apartment. Carole whistled softly, and looked up at Yvonne.

"Men," Her voice spat out the word. "Who needs 'em?"

Yvonne nodded. "They're all animals, beasts," she agreed, "Thank God I can live without 'em."

Suzanne frowned, and stared up at Yvonne.

The sincerity and hate in the woman's voice was unmistakable.

"Yvonne, you… you…"

Yvonne grinned, reading her mind. "Oh, don't you believe all you hear, dear," she said lightly, some of her usual flipness returning. "I put on a good front, but believe me, the only cock I admire is the one on my father's farm in Upper Michigan, and all he does is make a lot of noise every morning. Which is what I do about men, just to keep them at arm's length."

Suzanne frowned, and decided not to pursue the matter further. She suddenly felt extremely weary, and the idea of a hot bath appealed to her.

"I'd like that bath now," she said. "Then I think I'd just as soon lie down. I'm worn out."

"Fucked out, you mean, dear," said Yvonne bluntly. "But don't worry.

You'll be all right tomorrow, take it from me."

Suzanne stood up and slowly walked to the bathroom. Yvonne followed her in, and pointed to a towel behind the door. "You can use that towel," she said, "and the douche can's in the cupboard there. Make it nice 'n hot, and put a tablespoon of this in the water. The douche water, I mean." She reached for a box and handed it over. Suzanne looked at it.

"Don't look so confused," said Yvonne, grinning. "It's plain old douche powder, but it'll kill anything that shouldn't be up that little twat of yours. It'll also soothe those tender spots, and they can get very tender, I know. I've had my share. Years ago, you understand." She laughed, and Suzanne smiled at her.

"You're a good friend," she said warmly. "Thanks."

Yvonne left, and Suzanne closed the door and began running the water into the tub. She mixed the douche powder and inserted the nozzle, feeling the hot water gushing into her vagina, reminding her of the penis that had been up there, that enormous, black cock which had given her such pleasure. What was she thinking? Pleasure? Yes, her mind echoed, yes, it did. It made you feel better than any sex you've ever had. You've ever had? You've only had sex since yesterday, and before then it was your finger doing the walking through that cavern of yours.

Well, it was better than Ted, better than Donald, she admitted to herself. And there was such a perversity about it, especially considering her innate feelings about the blacks. Not that she was anti-Negro; she just didn't ever desire to have relations with one. The rest of him she didn't particularly like. But his penis was undoubtedly the best: long, thick, rigid, able to probe her very depths and give her satisfaction like she never dreamed possible. What was his name again? Clayton; that was it, Clayton with the big cock.

She lay back in the tub, letting the hot water lap around her neck, covering her completely and easing the soreness in her limbs, especially her thighs and her neck. Yes, those would be the places that ached the most. Her thighs from all the action with her legs, wrapping them around those sweating, fucking bodies and having those pricks ramming in and out of her. Carefully she put her finger down to her vulva and probed inside. It was tender, but not so bad as she thought it would be. Hell, why should it be? she reasoned. Nothing sharp had been put in there, only a soft tongue or a hard, smooth cock. But even too much of that can cause redness, soreness, swelling… swelling, oh God, she prayed she wasn't pregnant. But she remembered somewhere reading that a good hot bath and a douche will take care of any unwanted pregnancy. She had done that last night, and now again tonight. She was all right; she knew she was. She prayed she was.

Her fingers massaged her neck, the muscles on each side that had been given such a workout with sucking all that cock. She wondered how whores managed, doing it every night. Maybe they got used to it, or maybe there was a knack to sucking a penis without getting sore muscles in the neck.

She lay back, letting her arms float, and closed her eyes. The memory of the three boys was still vivid, and the more she relived those moments of horror, the more she admitted that there had been a satisfaction about it. After all, they weren't doing anything that she wouldn't have been doing with Sam, once they had been married; but then wasn't that being just old fashioned? She heard her mother's voice, telling her not once but many times that nice girls don't let boys have their way, not until after marriage. "Yes, my dear," Mrs. Delacorte had said. "All this talk today of sleeping around may sound very modern and clever, but let me tell you, getting pregnant isn't any fun. I remember when I was carrying you, how often I'd get sick in the mornings, and then when you arrived, let me tell you, having a baby is just about the worst experience any woman can endure. I've often thought the Lord might have thought up an easier way. Maybe one day science will provide the answer with incubators and computers. It certainly will save a lot of inconvenience, don't you think?"

Yes, maybe so, Suzanne had thought; but now she had experienced sex, she wondered if the good Lord didn't have the right idea after all. It was a wonderful feeling, and whether it had been Ted, or Donald, or Clayton, her body had responded, and she trembled again at the thought of their organs penetrating her and sending those exquisite feelings through her, and her orgasm had been something she could scarcely believe. Oh, how wonderful she had felt! Yet why couldn't it have been someone nice, a boy like Sam who loved her, and who treated her with tenderness and was gentle with sex, instead of that violence, with its ugly words, its revolting bestial overtones, like she was an animal there to be fucked and nothing more? Yet she had to admit she enjoyed it. There was something perverse in her nature, she decided, that wanted to be treated roughly, to be physically manhandled and taken bodily without regard to her sensitivities. In some ways, she wouldn't mind having sex again with those boys, but not in the same way, perhaps. Suzanne sat bolt upright in the tub, her eyes wide open at the thoughts; good grief, she thought, I'm sick, thinking things like that.