Whatever It Takes Pt. 02 - Monday

"Almost time, bitch" he said and pulled his prick from my mouth so I could see that some pre-cum had leaked out on the tip. His strong hand remained on the back of my head, and I could only do what he wanted. "Lick it, bitch. Tell me how big it is and how much you want me to fuck you with it."

I began to lick it again all over. I moved my tongue down to his balls and even licked them.

"Talk to me, bitch. Say it!" To emphasize his control, he used my hair to leverage my head back until I could look into his eyes, which to me looked like those of a madman.

"Yoooouuuuuuurrrrrrrr penis is sooooo bbbbiigggggg," was all I could get out before he continued.

"Dirty white whore," he leered. "Think you are too good for us. Wagging your ass around the pool all day! Think you can do that and not get fucked you stupid American slut. You fuckin blonde bitches always want black cock anyway. Don't ya!"

He then grabbed my head and rammed it into his crotch, his dick going deep into my mouth. With his hand on my head, he set a rapid pace, moving my head up and down. I heard him tell the driver that I gave good head and if we had more time the driver could take a turn. I was humiliated to be sucking off a black almost-stranger in front of a driver who watched the whole thing in a rear view mirror. Michael's prick had been in my cunt less than two hours ago. I imagined that I could taste myself. My stomach churned and I hoped that I would not throw up.

The next thing I saw was a flash. When I looked up, still with most of his prick in my mouth, I saw Michael looking down at me through the viewfinder of the Nikon camera that Camille had brought to the car. He was taking my picture giving him a blow job-just my face and my mouth sucking on his prick would be in the photo. I tried to pull back, but his hand slammed my face so far down on his prick that his pubic hairs were in my nose and his dick hit the back of my throat. After a dozen shots of his prick in various lengths in my mouth, he finally put the camera down and got serious about the blow job.

In my fear and anger, I thought about biting his cock off. But I did not resist as he forced his cock back into my mouth. I could not make myself do it. I was too scared; I was broken and compliant. I only wanted this to end.

"Robert, drive around for a while" he told the driver. "I'm enjoying this so much that I may not blow my wad for 20 minutes and Ms. Banker will need one last fuck so she won't forget me."

I spent another five minutes, licking and sucking, just trying to bring him to climax. My whole world was reduced to just the cock raping my mouth and the hairy loins around it. I could see nothing else, thought of nothing else, just focused on it. I moved my tongue, using it to caress the sensitive underside of his cock. I slowly swallowed him to the root, then backing off until only the tip was in my mouth. I began to squeeze his balls with one hand while working on his prick with my mouth. He actually bruised my lips with his powerful strokes. My strangled grunts and the liquid sound of his cock going in and out of my mouth mixed with his exclamations of pleasure. I felt helpless as I knelt there, between his legs, my body soaked with sweat. I lost all sense of time as the oral rape seemed unending.

He began to moan in anticipation of climaxing. Finally, he grabbed my neck again, pushed my head down hard, forced his prick deep down my throat, and began to cum. I tried not to gag, but most of his semen escaped down my chin. He rammed my face into his crotch, and again his pubic hairs slammed into my nose. I could barely breathe. The taste of his cum was foul. My stomach threatened to regurgitate it.

"Don't swallow!" I heard him say. I kept my lips tightly around his cock, keeping as must cum in my mouth as possible without swallowing it, but there was too much. It eventually began to leak out around the sides of her mouth and down my chin, dripping onto my breasts and running down my body.

"Now open your mouth wide and show the camera what a cock sucker you are."

I opened my mouth. "Wider!" I saw the flash and then another. "Now swallow" Like a trained dog, I swallowed on command. "Lift your tits up. Show off your pearl spunk necklace" Once again, I obeyed. Two quick flashes. "Gorgeous. Gorgeous. Oh, yeah! I am good. I am really good!"

He then threw me across to the seat opposite him where I sat with my back to the driver. By then, we must have drive past the entrance to the Half Moon Club. I thought I saw the lights of the airport off to the right. The driver was just driving randomly, killing time until Michael was finished with me.

"Elaine, that was great. You may be a better whore than you are a banker. Now take off your miniskirt so I can have another Kodak moment. Just relax and think of this as a Hustler magazine audition," he said and then laughed.

When he told me to take off my skirt, I did so in a flash. I now sat naked across from him with my back to the driver. Michael then began to orchestrate the photo set.

"Elaine, you have got to smile. Let's see your teeth. Laugh a little. Must look like you are enjoying this."

I must not have looked right. All of a sudden he reached across the car, grabbed a handful of my hair, and yanked my neck back hard.

"Elaine, this isn't the United States. You are not in control here. Do as you are told or get sold to a rape gang in shanty town. WHAT IS IT YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND?" he shouted in my face, spittle spewing out of his mouth all over my face.

My resistance was gone. He shoved me into position and began the "shoot." He would describe the position and, if I did not move fast enough, he would push/pull me by the hair until satisfied.

The first was a close up of my face with the ribbons of cum still on it. "Smile. That's it. Run your tongue over you lips. Lap up some cum. Got it!" The second had me on the edge of the seat my face resting in my hands and my elbows resting on my knees with my legs spread wide. "Wide. Show that pussy. Blond and gorgeous. Nice!"

Then backwards, kneeling on the floor of the limo with legs spread wide showing ass and cunt with the camera's shutter opening and closing in motor-driven mode, maybe ten photos a second. "Turn more. Got to see your face. That's it! Now sit facing me. Spread your legs. Use your hands to open yourself up. Let's see some pink. Got it! Keep spreading." The shutter continued to capture my degradation at ten frames per second.

I felt like vomiting but followed his every command like the bullied, scared person that I had become. "Sit back on the seat. Crotch spread. Hands under your butt and spread yourself. Got it!" I continued to smile as sincerely as I could. I wanted him very happy. I needed him very happy because he was my only chance to get back to the hotel and escape this sexual abuse. Michael was both my abuser and my ticket home to the hotel.

He motioned me back in the seat. "Hands behind your head. Fluff your hair. Big smile. Get the legs open wider. Baby, you are Hustler material...'Busty Banker Beaver Shots'." He laughed. I think he meant his comments as compliments.

In the next set he had me kneel on the seat, lift my body up, and stick a dildo in me - apparently (!) the driver just happened to have one in the glove box. In another Michael had me put my heels on the edge of the seat, pull my ass to the edge, and spread my cunt open with one hand while using the other to lift up my breast high enough so I could lick the nipple. "Lift a tit. Suck a nipple. Smile! Stick out you tongue. Put some spit into it. Got it." I lost track of the positions after that - but they all had my crotch wide open - the proverbial beaver shot about which teen-aged boys dream.

I did what he asked. All I could think is what these photos could do to my marriage, my career, and my self respect. Here I was, the Wharton Hot Shot, sitting in a car naked posing for a black animal who had just stuck his prick down my throat and made me eat cum. All I heard over and over was "Got it," one more image of my degradation.

Michael then had me stand up in the swaying limo, turn toward the front, and put my head on the seat. This was easier said than done because the limo kept swerving. Finally, by spreading my legs I got my balance.

"Look around so I can see your face," he ordered. "Now use one hand and reach back and spread you cunt. I want to see pink. That's it. Now grab your butt checks and spread 'em so I can see your asshole. That's it! That's great. One more." Then I heard the expected, "Got it!"

I noticed that all this posing was getting him hard again. He had never put his dick back in his pants, and I could see he had regained his erection. The man was like a bull.

"Elaine, one last fuck, and we're done. Just come over here and sit on my lap, facing the front of the car."

"No, please no," I protested weakly. "Please no more. It hurts me down there. I am in awful pain." I kept running my mouth, saying anything that came into my mind. "Put yourself in my place. Have some mercy! I beg you. We have money; I will do whatever you want." All I could see was a loathsome, repellent male creature against whom my words had not effect.

He grabbed me around the waist with both hands. Then he guided me, still facing the driver, onto his lap. Michael forced my legs outside his, which spread me wide open for what came next. He then maneuvered me down onto his prick which was still wet with my saliva and his cum. Michael slid easily into me using as lubrication the fluids his friends and he had deposited into me at the house. I was on his lap, his tongue on the back of my neck, my legs spread wide, and his dick in me to the hilt.

"Why are you doing this? I never even saw you before today. Please stop. You have humiliated me enough already," I said unsteadily with three inches of him already in me. "You have hurt me. I'm ill. I'm worn out to the marrow of my bones. I just want to be left alone. "Please," I begged, "Don't do this to me."

"Elaine, Elaine, just relax and have fun. Don't make a hassle. You don't want 8x10 glossy photographs emailed to every corporate officer at Goldman, do you? So shut up and fuck."

I jerked forward when he mentioned the email threat. His prick came out, and he jerked me back into position on his lap hovering over his lap. He then reached around, placed the nipple of my right breast between his thumb and forefinger, and began to apply increasing pressure.

"Elaine, start fucking, or I am going to pull your teat off. Furthermore, if you do not make me cum by the time we get to your hotel, I am going to tell the driver to skip your hotel and drive to Kingston where I am going to sell you to a rape gang for a good bottle of Scotch...and you will still fuck me anyway!"

The threat did it. Any hopes I had evaporated. Nothing taught me how to handle this man. I did not know what to do. I now knew the real meaning of terror. I began to comply with this command. I willed myself into a zombie-like trance. I reached down, held his prick in position, and then lowered myself onto it.

"Baby, for a whore, you have a nice pussy. Nice tight pussy...but not as tight as it was this morning." Then he laughed.

I had never had sex like this before. I had my back to him facing the front of the car. He still had my right nipple and would give it an occasional squeeze if I did not move fast enough. The driver had flooded the inside compartment with light from some dashboard control so the driver could watch this blonde, Yankee, bimbo get fucked, bouncing boobs and all.

I began to move. I squeezed down on his prick and began to move up and down with the motion of the car. All I could think was that I had to make him cum and get out of here and into the hotel. I had no further plan than that. As I bounced on him, my sweat-slick back would slide up and down his hairy chest. I will never forget the smell - alcohol and old sweat. I kept thinking that this was not happening. I was afraid that I would throw up and piss him off. In a moment of crisis, there is a portion of your brain that takes over and you become unemotional and detached. I felt like I could sit in this limo and watch this man do these things, but it was happening to someone else.

The windows were heavily tinted so I could see my reflection as I rode him - tits flopping, hair going every which way, and mouth open with saliva dripping as I made the effort to bring him off. Michael began to move too. He started slamming his thick meat into me with brutal force and all the speed he could command. He put both hands on my tits and used them to force to move with him. His erection was so thick and covered with juice that I could hear the lewd noise of our fucking. I braced my hands on the roof and kept moving. I felt no arousal; this was all physical, like riding the Stairmaster at the gym before work. He was in me as far as he could go; I looked between my legs and could see he wiry black pubic hair mixed with the blonde fuzz left after my bikini wax. The head of his cock was battering against my cervix as he forced himself into my now sore and abused cunt. I changed my angle, rather than straight up and down I bent forward at a forty-five degree angle which eased the pain as I kept moving on him.

But, there was nothing I could do except bounce up and down on his dick while he used his hands on my tits to increase or decrease the pace like using the reins to guide a horse. He continued to ram his sex organ into me for several long minutes. It was like he was using his rock hard cock as a weapon, trying to break me, to hear me scream and plead. But I kept silent either than an involuntary moan or gasp. I knew that nothing I could say would make a difference so I was determined not to show any more weakness. I imagined the sticky wads of cum about to be emptied into me and cringed inwardly.

Suddenly, I slammed me down onto his lap and held me there while he filled my womb with his sticky semen. I felt his cum trickling out of me and down my legs. He made a couple of more jabs and emptied himself into me. Then it was over! He pushed me off, and I saw that my labia were red and swollen from the pounding he had just given me. I could hardly breathe. My cunt was one solid mass of pain. I began to sob; I could not control myself.

When I turned around and sat on the seat to put on my miniskirt, Arthur took three or four more shots of me pulling it up to cover my cum-dripping pussy. I still had Michael's cum dribbling down my legs and on my face when we reached the hotel two minutes later.

As we approached the hotel, Michael put his dick into his pants and reached into his pocket. When we got to the hotel, Michael pressed some paper into my hand.

"Elaine, you are a great fuck. You are one of the best. You could be a great whore. Think of it as a new career." He laughed.

A half-hearted, "fuck you," was all I could muster. He laughed some more. The driver was laughing also.

We pulled up, I got out, Arthur slammed the door, and the limo pulled away. When I looked in my hand to see what Michael had given me, I saw two new U.S. $100 bills. He had paid me like I was a whore! I felt sick to my stomach and grabbed a hotel pillar for support. Several people looked at me. I knew I had to be alone to regain my composure. The drugs and alcohol had not worn off so I was fighting to hold myself together and felt more tired than I ever had in my life.

Trying to hold the wrap together and my tits covered, I crossed the lobby and went over to the elevator to go to my room. As I moved to the elevator, I could feel Michael's cum trickling down the inside of my thighs. Luckily, a load of tourists arrived, so no one noticed me except a couple of college guys who gawked at the exposed nipple on my right breast. A young couple in the elevator knew something was wrong, made noises to help, but I brushed them off and got out at my floor. I dared not look down because I could feel Michael's cum leaking out and down my leg.

When the door of the elevator was closing, I heard the couple discuss my situation. The woman said, "Maybe we should help her." His response chilled me. "She looks like a whore. Probably just had one too many customers and too much to drink. Did you see the cum in her hair?" Mercifully, the door of the elevator then closed so I would not hear any more of their conversation.

Once I got to my room, I turned on the hot tub feature on the tub in our room. I ran it as hot as I dared, dropped naked into the tub. I had to think it through.

I blamed myself. I thought that it was my fault. In my mind a crazy quilt of thoughts bounced around. "What was I thinking? Drinking in a bar with a stranger no more than six hours after my husband left on a business trip. Going to an off-site party! I should have known better. All of it - beginning to end was my fault. I violated very street smart thing I had learned in high school, college, and on the job. DUMB! DUMB! DUMB!"

I thought, 'Oh, my God - Paul, I was unfaithful! If he finds out, my marriage is over! My life will be finished! What could I say to Paul - I went off, drunk, with a man I just met. I went with him to a party of strangers, had sex with the guy, went down on him in a limo, allowed him to take pornographic pictures of me like I was some teenage bimbo slut, and then rode him until he came in me. In addition, I allowed some half dozen or so strangers to rape me, two and three at a time, becoming "air tight" for the first time ever.'

The scene in the bedroom came to me as a flashback - humiliation and a sense of absolute powerlessness came over me. My mind raced. I told myself that it happened so quickly that I had no time to respond. But I knew that I was lying to myself. I should have stopped it in the bar or before I left the hotel. It was my fault...a tremendous sense of guilt overwhelmed me. I thought of calling Paul - I had a contact number for use in an emergency. But what could I tell him? How could I talk to him with another man's sperm inside me? Another man's sperm - a vulgar, dirty, contemptuous betrayal of my husband, almost like a plot in one of those alien beings growing inside a human host. There was no fixing any of it, no going back in time to undo what had been done to me or rather what I had allowed to be done to me.

In my mind, I could see, hear, and smell Michael on me and in me. I was in total shock. I had to go to the bathroom. I wanted to wash all this away...the shame, the dirt, his smell.

I stayed in the hot tub for a long time, trying to become clean again. I knew I had no recourse. I could not go to the police - all the witnesses at the hotel when I left and at the party would say I was a willing participant. All I could do was grin and bear it. Get it behind me and move on.

After my bath, I wanted something simple for bed, but all I brought with me were lingerie designed to get Paul horny so we could have fun in bed. The last thing I wanted to do was look sexy, so I wore the top to Paul's pajamas to bed. I couldn't button all the buttons, so I did enough to hold it together. Then I took three sleeping pills before I went to bed. My intent was to go so deep asleep that there could be no flashbacks. I needed the rejuvenating power of deep sleep, hopefully without the type of dreams that have plagued me here in Jamaica.

My last conscious thought was that maybe it was all a dream, and I would soon wake up with Paul beside me, hopefully in our own apartment back in New York City. But then I saw the two $100 bills, and I knew it was no dream.