"Oh, it's wonderful! It's making me get it! I'm coming! I'm on fire… Leo!"
She rolled over, twisting and thrashing and locking her thighs to hold the slippery instrument in her cunt for the last delicious throb of her climax. It went on until her hips twitched weakly in its final throes as she lay on her side, too exhausted to remove the phallus.
"Take it out, I can't stand it," she whimpered gesturing weakly.
Leo reached out and turned off the switch. "Better not pull it out just yet," he cautioned. "Let it come out naturally… like a real prick does when it goes plop."
She collapsed on her back, her legs spread. At last it was expelled from her aching cunt. She winced as he eased it between her lips.
She had the look of a totally satisfied woman, a look of mindless and boneless relaxation. Leo thought of the expression putty in his hands. She looked that pliable now as she lay in a crumpled heap pliable and vulnerable.
Power… The word throbbed through his brain. Power!
CHAPTER SIX
The next day was a Saturday. Brenda awoke on the tumbled, twisted sheets that were dappled with dried cum. Her head ached and her body was stiff and heavy with exhaustion. She sat up, savoring the warm sunlight on her bare skin, like an animal arising from hibernation.
She remembered it all with a sinking feeling of despair. Leo had slept for an hour or so, then woke up with a start in the dark room. He had seemed irritated about something, and jumped up to take a shower, not asking her permission. He stayed in the bathroom a long time, the water dashing for a small eternity through the thumping pipes. It made her feel dirty to think that he was washing for such a long time.
Finally he came out and dressed quickly but carefully, smoothing out his tie and inspecting his shirt for wrinkles that were not there. His eyes kept going to the poster and she was suddenly terrified.
She made a sleepy promise to herself. I'll take that thing down. I can't bear it any longer.
When Leo left he pocketed the vibrator and grinned at her.
"I'll see you again. I can't keep away from you. Can you keep away from me?" he asked slowly. His eyes held her glance. He looked like a cat at a mouse hole.
"No," she said rudely.
When he was gone she felt herself falling rapidly into an exhausted sleep. She fought it, fearing some horrible nightmare about the poster, but she was powerless against the leaden fatigue that gripped her.
She did not dream. It was a black sleep, a vast pit of nothingness that frightened her more than any dream could have done. When she awoke, she was not rested at all.
She got up, noticing that she was unsteady on her feet and lightheaded. She had never had a real hangover but she knew what they were. Now, it seemed that she had one, though she had not even finished the one drink that she had had. The feeling that flooded her was worse than a hangover; it was more like being drugged. As she moved into the kitchen she might have been walking under water, so heavy and slow were her legs.
It's because I'm so satisfied, she told herself. Sex did that; it was supposed to make you feel this way. But something told her it was not that simple. It was as if she were actually drugged, coming down from some sort of high that had removed her from her self. Fear gripped her. She leaned heavily against the stove and fought down the trembling. When she reached for the coffee pot her hands were so unsteady that she knocked over a cup. It smashed to the floor and cause her to cry out, a shrill, high-pitched sound like an epileptic makes.
Leo! What had he done to her? She remembered with vivid despair his sharp black eyes boring into hers. His eyes were like obsidian magnets, locking on her glance and refusing to release her.
It was as if… as if he had somehow hypnotized her!
Was it possible? Or was it something only trained doctors could do? She tried to remember what she had read about hypnotism. There was always a prop, some kind of mechanical thing that the hypnotist used to fix the attention of…
The vibrator. She remembered the steady buzz. It was like the ticking of a watch, something that was rhythmic and rote. It went on and on, deep inside of her, until sound and sensation were one.
There was rhythm in sex itself, the steady throbbing of her cunt in climax, the rocking movements of two bodies slamming into one another, the wet slapping sounds of two crotches going at it in bed. Her whole time with Leo had been a time of rhythm. His nuts slapping against her ass, her tits quivering against his chest… and then the insistent buzz of the vibrator.
It was a spell; he had cast a spell on her, but why? No, no, she was being foolish, it was silly. It sounded like something out of a seance meeting. Wacky, unreal, just plain silly and superstitious. She was being an idiot. He was the sexiest man she had ever met – of course he had cast a spell on her! Why shouldn't he? She was a healthy, normal girl and they had a heavy bed session, that's all. As for being so draggy…
She started to smile, stretching lazily as she stood in the path of the morning sun. Naturally she was tired. What girl wouldn't be after taking what she had taken – and given!
She made a pot of coffee and enjoyed its aroma as it began to perk and waft through the tiny kitchen. It was spring! A beautiful day, and a Saturday. Could anything be better than a weekend in spring after a night such as she had had? It was wonderful to be young and free…
Brenda walked to the window and looked down on the alley at the back. Above the rooftops she could see the white scuttling clouds in the blue sky, but when she looked down, the narrow brick-lined passage reminded her of the pictures of purgatory in Dante's poem. No light reached those dank stones.
Was Ginny in California? It was sunny there… Brenda imagined her lying on a beach, turning a coppery brown like the girls in the sun tan lotion ads. She would have a big floppy hat and raccoon sunglasses and…
What was she like?
She had to find out, she had to. Maybe she could turn up some of Ginny's old friends and find someone who had heard from her. Surely she had sent a few postcards. Any girl with all those friends would have written to somebody. She could get Ginny's new address and drop her a line, tell her how much she liked the apartment, start up a kind of pen-pal relationship. There would be nothing wrong with that; it was the most natural thing in the world to do. Ginny obviously collected people, which meant she liked them. She would probably be completely nonchalant about adding another to her long list.
She had worked in… what was it? She turned the coffee off, poured out a cup and stirred it slowly, trying to remember what Harl had said about some place in the Village where Ginny had…
The dog photo studio on Eighth Street. That was it. She could go in there.
She showered and dressed. As she splashed cologne on her bare skin she paused and touched the collection of bottles, taking a strange comfort in the disorder. She remembered her fear that day, that first day in the apartment when she had bathed in the cold-looking empty bathroom. Now it was hers, undeniably hers, with her scents, her make-up, her stockings hanging up to dry.
Ginny doesn't live here anymore. Brenda lives here. I am Brenda, Brenda Taylor.
"I am Brenda…"
She looked in the mirror, studying her reflection. She did not look like the girl in the poster. Her fingers came up and touched her mouth. It was a different mouth full and sensual, not like the pursed; bee-stung lips of the forest girl. Her eyes were blue, startling and vividly blue, not green. They were large and wide, not slanted in cruel lines. There was no resemblance, none whatsoever.