Extremes Read online

  I never complain about a gangbang. You get what you get when you dance in front of such hungry eyes. This one was better than the last, maybe not as good as the next will be. It’s a crazy way to love myself, but it works. Like a mellow pup, I’ll sleep well tonight, and take fond memories into tomorrow.

  Will I be back tomorrow? Hell no. But I will return, just like I did today, when I’m insanely foolish, and absurdly horny, and in need of lots of cock to scour out my cunt.

  Heat

  Heat,

  burning passionate heat

  consuming all that’s not real,

  scouring clean the dust filled echoes

  of my hidden desires,

  burning the purity of my true self

  deeply into the tainted remnants of my soul

  Heat

  burning passionate heat

  calling me to its pristine beauty,

  leaving only that

  which has withstood the cleansing fire

  of its white hot kiln—

  the master sculptor purifying the clay

  before refiring the mold

  that was me before time began

  Heat

  burning passionate heat

  dry, pagan, sensual, alive,

  makes me crawl in the sun’s wild orgy

  of continuous replenishing orgasm,

  blinds me with the natural desires

  of life bursting forth in plumes of living flame,

  with heat

  burning passionate heat.

  KH

  The Gambling Debt

  “You are Jessica Paltrow?”

  She cracked the door and peeked out at the men on the other side.

  “Yes?”

  “Nick Paltrow’s wife?

  “I am,” she said, hesitating. “Is something the matter?”

  “In a manner of speaking, Mrs. Paltrow. You need to come with us.”

  Her green eyes moved from the stout balding man to the taller one with the dark complexion and the trimmed mustache. Neither one looked friendly.

  “Your husband’s in some trouble and needs your help.”

  “Trouble? About what?”

  “A debt, Mrs. Paltrow. A gambling debt. If you want to see him again, you’d better come with us.” The silver gun tucked into his pants flashed in the pale yellow light from the outside lamp.

  “I’ll get dressed,” she said. She started to close the door, but the stocky man’s shoulder butted against it and the two men walked in.

  She was wearing just a peach silk wrapper, her round breasts and ass cheeks swaying against the fabric. Her startling auburn hair fell to her bare neck. She hadn’t combed it, or put it up in a bun.

  “Something sexy, Mrs. Paltrow. The boss wants to see what he’s getting.”

  She turned and stared at the swarthy little man—the one that did the talking. His eyes, like two small beads peered out at her from his puffed up face. She was afraid to ask the question on the tip of her tongue, so she disappeared into the bedroom.

  “Make it quick,” she heard the bald man call.

  The back room at the Brickyard Tavern was as filled with smoke as the rest of the seedy joint. Sluts moved against the guys at the informal bar, rubbing breasts and asses against the drinking men’s thighs. Hands combed bare skin and pulled up skirts already so short they were just one swish of an ass away from showing off pussy.

  Jess wore her black mini and a skin-tight tank top she knew would be appropriate for any joint where Nick gambled. She fit right in. It wasn’t her idea to match the other clientele, but then, it wasn’t often that men came to her door brandishing guns and ordering her to come with them.

  At the back of the room, the bald man pushed her beyond a faded velvet curtain; she almost stumbled in her heels. She caught herself, hanging on to the door jamb, and then found her eyes on Nick, sitting nervously at the far side of the room. There were several other men with faces as grim as the two men who brought her to this place. Flustered, she wasn’t sure which dour-faced man to turn to, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to look at Nick.

  “Ah, Mrs. Paltrow.” The voice came from behind her and she turned around. “Nick was right. You are a hot item.”

  “Who are you?” Jess had hardly found her voice, but this much she could ask.

  In the smoky darkness it was hard to make out the man’s face, but it took only an instant to know that he was the power in the room. He gave the orders, made the demands and no one would cross him. In his right hand he twirled a gun; the sight of it made Jess feel weak.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you, at least not in the way that you think.” His smile was generous. Such a handsome face. On any other day, she might have found him attractive. His tan stood out against his bright white shirt. His curly dark hair was clipped close. She might have even made a move on him in a legitimate bar. But not here, certainly not here. No good would come of this, except perhaps escaping with her life. “The gun scare you?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “I’m sorry, that’s the last thing that I want to do. In fact, you just need to relax, Mrs. Paltrow. Jack,” he called to one of the guys. “Get the lady some scotch.” A body scurried around behind her and quickly deposited a glass in Jess’s right hand. “Drink it down.”

  She was afraid to turn down the liquor so she took it in two quick gulps. The glass disappeared, but nothing else changed; she was still staring at the handsome brutal face in front of her. And from the side of her eye, she could still see the quivering form of her husband looking as if he had a gun to his head. Then again, maybe he did.

  “He put you on the table, Mrs. Paltrow. No money left, I guess all he had was you to pay his debt.”

  Her eyes were instantly wide in wonder.

  “Said all kinds of nice things about you too,” he went on. “Like how you like to screw all kinds of ways. A real hot piece of ass, I think that was what he said.”

  She looked towards her husband and saw the expression on his face turn from fear to regret.

  “No, no way,” she shook her head.

  “Oh, yes,” the man countered. “You’re mine, Mrs. Paltrow. For forty-eight hours, no less, no more.”

  “No!” She found her real voice this time. Shouted from her gut, her eyes flashed and her fists clenched as if she might just pummel the man.

  “Oh, yes,” he smiled again nodding, self assured. “It’s a simple deal, Mrs. Paltrow, or perhaps I should call you Jess?” She didn’t respond. “He had no money, but he did have you. Said you purred like a kitten when you got hot.”

  “He had no right, and I’m not his!” she declared.

  “Perhaps, but that really doesn’t matter now, does it? After seeing you, I know what I want. Let me lay it on the line for you, Jess. There’s no way out, unless of course you’d like a cockless husband. Think about it.”

  Her eyes glimpsed the terror in Nick’s eyes and then turned back to the tanned-faced man. “You are vile,” she seethed.

  “And clever too. I also know when a woman’s going to love what I have to give.”

  “I will not!”

  “Don’t be so sure,” he advised her. He turned towards another man. “We’ll start with her upstairs. If she screams we won’t alarm anyone.”

  “What are going to do?” she asked.

  He snickered.

  “Let’s just say I like my female flesh well used before I get to them. And aren’t I lucky. A whole room full of dick who would like your cunt.”

  “No!” Her eyes flashed again and she lunged at him, only to feel two strong arms behind her, restraining her movement.

  “Don’t resist, Jessica. Part of the debt already includes a good flogging of your pretty flesh; don’t make me have to really punish you. That could be painful.”

  “You can’t,” she murmured. She was out of breath, almost choked with fear.

  “It’s sex, yes. But make no mistake, this is a big debt
your husband owes me. And you’re going to pay it off exactly as I want. Keep in mind, I’ve left marks, permanent ones on the asses of women who’ve resisted me.” He turned towards the bald man. “Take her upstairs.”

  “Nooooo,” she cried, her face screwed up so all her pretty features were contorted.

  Two men behind her grabbed her limp arms and dragged her to the staircase where they practically had to carry her up the creaky steps.

  Six men entered with her: the two holding her arms, her husband, the two goons that held him at gunpoint, and the handsome man with the curly dark hair and the sparkling eyes that did all the talking.

  “You know this doesn’t have to be painful,” he spoke again. The two men behind Jess took her to the center of the room, and pulled her arms up tight to meet a pair of wrist cuffs dangling there. Both wrists fastened, they backed away. “If you’ve never felt a lash on your body, I’m sure you’ll find it quite a rush. That’s if you give in to it.”

  “No, no, I can’t, I won’t,” she cried.

  “Well, that’s okay too,” he said smugly. “Feel it any way you like. Just know we’re not going to stop until we’ve made every inch of your body burn. Jack here does it like a pro. And me? Well, you’ll get a good taste of how I wield a lash.” He turned to Nick. “And you, my friend, you get to watch and then you get to wait. You get to watch your wife whipped for you; you get to watch her raped. And as if that’s not enough, when I finally get her, when she’s that limp, seductive tigress of a submissive woman, you’ll get to sit here and wait, thinking about how I’m having her. You’ll get to think about the things that she’s doing to my dick, and how I’m taking her ass. You’ll get to wonder if you’ll have a wife left after I’m finished with my forty-eight hours. You never know.” All ears in the room listened, Jess’s especially tuned to the wrath in the man’s speech. And to her dismay, there were more than just anger and fear crawling through her limbs and loins: something sexual was happening, and she hated that. “Take down her skirt and cut off the top,” he ordered.

  Seconds later Jessica was nude, a dangling centerpiece in a room of eyes feasting happily on her bare breasts, her ass, and smooth shaved cunt. (How they could have come for her just when she’d finished her weekly ritual shaving in the bath seemed uncanny, as if she was actually anticipating this very moment long before it ever happened.) To make matters worse, her nipples were tightening as though she was excited. And there was the stickiness between her legs, suggesting arousal. Would her assailant notice?

  The lash struck like lightening. The man with the handsome face and curly dark hair began, working his way around her body, flogging her with a many tailed whip. The talons, soft and vicious, stung, caressed her skin and then made her jerk when he let the thing fly without restraint. All his muscles into the blow, she screamed in agony, and wrenched to get away from another strike. It was a foolish exercise, being cuffed as she was.

  The blows rained down on her without regard to location, her large breasts bobbed covered with a rash of red she could see when she looked down. Her thighs burned, her ass was on fire, and her shoulders took the brunt of the beating for a while, as though he was pounding her into submission. And so he did. Worst of all, the whip struck her pussy and when she tried to get away, turning her hips aside, the handsome man only let loose more viciously, landing strikes against her sides where it was so tender she thought he was cutting her skin.

  She bowed her head, and he didn’t like that. “Look up at me, bitch!” he scowled.

  She heard his threatening voice and responded with a proud gaze into his eyes. He was on fire again, drawing inspiration from her spitefulness. He liked the beauty in her haughty bearing, even if he was making her submit.

  “Ram a dildo in her cunt and see if she comes on it while you’re whipping her,” he said to the men in the room. He threw the whip to Jack and stopped at the door. “Then rape her until she’s exhausted. She’ll be ready for me then.”

  He disappeared behind the door and there was a sudden scuffle of men taking up their places about the dangling Jess. From behind, someone shoved a thick fake prick into her pussy, and secured it with a rope around her waist and then between her legs. When the dildo hit bottom she cried as if something had ripped right through her. The blows began again, this time from Jack. His was an uninspired, but thorough thrashing of her flesh. What was not already red, became so. What was burning felt like flames. What she suffered before only amplified. She screamed, but was too far gone to hear the sound of her voice.

  And then suddenly, it stopped.

  Jess went limp. Her mind, once numb, began to drift back into consciousness. The fake prick removed, it was pressed to her lips, her own musty smelling crotch having deposited its thick dew.

  “I’d say you came,” one man sneered. “Lick it!”

  She hesitated, but his scowl was ghastly, so she opened her mouth to taste it. After all, it wasn’t like she hadn’t done it before.

  There was some relief when her arms came down, that ever present aching was slowly diminished as the blood returned to her limbs. Pushed to the floor however, the rape began at her mouth, one prick after another pressed to her lips until she relented and let them inside where they dove deep. She lapped their juice, sucked hard and prayed with each one that it would be the last; though it was endless—at least it seemed so. It seemed like hours she was fed their flesh until for some reason they tired of her mouth. Then, dragged to a bench, they had her cunt while each man worked her ass with probing fingers.

  Another oblivion attained, she lost sense of time and self and the men that raped her. At one point, in some unexpected moment of clarity, she looked up to see Nick’s eyes staring down at her, the little man. The broken defeated slut of a man sat motionless in his chair, his hands tied behind his back, a gun bobbing through the air about his head, to remind him not to look away. She felt sorry for him for an instant, and then went on mindlessly getting fucked.

  Jess thought she wasn’t connected to the act, but she was. She knew it when the constant pounding turned into something beyond violation and her muscles tightened and a pulse of electricity shot through her. The pulse of satisfaction was brief, but undeniable.

  Lying on her back as her assailants got their second wind, the rape commenced until it was the men that were exhausted, not her. She drifted in and out of wakefulness waiting for the end, until she found herself lifted from the scratchy bench and taken down the stairs and into the night.

  ***

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked her.

  “Yes, I was exhausted,” she answered. She hardly remembered the hours she was passed out in the cool smelling bed with the clean white sheets. She didn’t discover until the morning that she was in the dark man’s bed. “You know I don’t even know your name,” Jess said

  “My, how forgetful of me,” he said smiling. “Ben Kite.”

  Jess looked up at the gilded ceiling of the restaurant. Strange, the only sounds around them were chamber music, tinkling glassware and muffled voices. Did everyone speak in a whisper?

  “You look as if you survived your punishment?”

  “It’s not hard to survive,” she replied. She felt silly dressed in silk, knowing there were marks all over her flesh where she’d been whipped. And still, the silk feeling like whipped cream against her sore skin, there was some pleasure in that.

  “Humm. I detect that in you,” Ben remarked.

  “So why am I here?” she asked.

  “For my pleasure of course.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s not yours to understand, dear one. This is my fantasy. You have what?” He looked at his watch. “Maybe six, seven hours to go. Just let it fly by like all the rest. Some wine?”

  She accepted a glass since he was in charge, and the cool liquid soothed a throat that was parched from screaming, crying and being entered by a half dozen pricks.

  She stared down at her dress again. Pink silk n
o less, like she was a piece of candy. She always thought pink clashed with her hair. Apparently Ben did not. Sexy, the dress was slit halfway up the side, the neck line low in front. When Ben told her to put it on, she balked. There were marks visible from the night before—little lines where the lash struck and injured the skin at the top of her breasts. When she’d pointed them out to Ben, his only comment was, “so what?”

  “And you find this fantasy a pleasure?” she said as if to mock him.

  “Of course, and so do you.”

  “Never.”

  “They said you came.”

  “But they really didn’t know, did they?”

  “But you do,” he answered back with a sly grin, as if he knew too and it would be their little secret. “You’re wearing nothing under the dress?” he asked.

  “You dressed me.”

  “Ah, yes. I did.”

  “Then cross your legs and pull your skirt above your thighs.”

  “So you can see my cunt?”

  He smiled and waited.

  “You know, you’re very good. I imagine under the right circumstances you’d really enjoy this,” he observed. “But then of course, you have dear Nick to think about, poor man, suffering there in the Brickyard wondering what reprehensible things are happening to his wife.”

  Jess didn’t reply.

  “Perhaps he doesn’t even care. I bet that’s what you’re thinking,” he surmised. “Gamble his wife. A fool’s game indeed.”

  “I’d rather not talk about him,” she said, biting her lip.

  “No, I suppose not. I suppose you’d rather get on with things. Then again so would I.”

  They’d eaten a four course meal, with a half dozen glasses of wine. Jess felt woozy. While Bed Kite maintained his unwavering control. Then of course he was not the one who’d been kidnapped at gun point.

  “You see that man at the bar?” he said, pointing just over her left shoulder.

  She turned towards the handsome mirrored bar where the glassware glistened so it almost hurt her eyes. “The gray-haired one?”