A Lesson

It was a normal night for Michael and Susan. Home from work, small talk and dinner, some TV, then a drink each to send them off to bed. No exciting life for them, they lived in the numbness of suburban existence, calmly going through the rituals of life without ever really feeling them.

It wasn't always so, once they were young and alive, full of zest and feeling. Full of passion.

Sighing heavily, Susan looked over at her beloved husband as he sat slipping off into sleep on the sofa, a glass of scotch balanced on his belly. She tried hard to, but no matter what she thought about, she couldn't seem to feel much of anything for him. She thought back to their marriage, to their wedding night, trying to remember the excitement that had filled her then. Gone, all of it. Like ashes in her mouth, all the passion had burned away, leaving her curiously empty and uncaring. He might as well have been a stranger lying there, snoring on the couch, for all the connection she felt to him. She couldn't even feel sad.

"What is the matter with me? Of course I love my husband," she said to herself, but her mind quickly spoke up before she could silence it:

"Do you?"

That was a question she'd rather not answer.

She stared at Michael, watching the rise and fall of his chest and stomach as he took each breath. She stared at him desperate to feel something. With a touch of excitement, she felt a stirring within herself, then she averted her eyes and blushed slightly. Revulsion, that’s what she felt...utter contempt. She was slowly learning to hate him. "But he's a good man!" she argued with herself. "Who cares...?” she answered back.

"Does he look at me and see me? Does he think of me? Desire me? When's the last time he touched me?"

Susan's eyes narrowed and anger flashed up in her. When indeed. He never looked at her with desire these days; he rarely reached for her in bed. A small kiss each morning before leaving, and another each night before bed was about the extent of their physical contact. She wondered briefly if perhaps he had a lover, but another glance at him made her see the absurdity of this. She giggled to herself at the thought of him trying to be suave and debonair enough to seduce some young secretary.

It was then that the thought first wiggled into her mind, snaking through her thoughts almost unknown until it was wound tightly round and round them. She'd find herself a lover...someone to bring the fire back into her life.

She sat there most of that night, frozen in place by the enormity of her thoughts. What she would do could destroy her life, could shatter her happy home. A bitter grin lit her face as she realized all she stood to lose was this huge emptiness inside her, and she had the world to gain. More than that, she had her entire life to gain. For she knew, that to stay here in this unfeeling existence was to allow herself to die a slow, if painless, death. Death by non-living. Suicide of the mind.

Susan rose and went to bed without the usual cursory kiss on Michael's cheek for the first time in ten years.

In bed, her hands flew across her skin; she caressed herself, the caresses becoming in her mind the touches of an imagined lover. Feverishly she pushed herself to the edge, her fingers running madly across her clit, her hands squeezing at her own nipples as her eyes stayed tightly closed to keep her mind inside her fantasy.

Susan buried her face into her pillow as she came so the noises would not reach her sleeping husband.

As she floated back to earth, she became aware of the tears that ran down her face. With a sob, she curled herself into a ball, wrapping her arms tightly around her knees and pulling them to her chest. She tried to hold herself as she cried, but the effort only made the loneliness she felt all the more apparent. Susan cried to herself and dreamed: dreamed of a strong set of arms wrapped around her, dreamed of being touched, in any way, touched, oh please god....


The day dawned bright and early for Susan, but she found herself ready, even eager for it. She took extra care with her toilet that morning, washing her hair until it squeaked, applying her make-up with care. Even her clothes had a different attitude, for while she still wore the smart sedate little business suits she always had, she spruced it up with heels and a scarf.

She felt as though after years of sleep she had just woken up. The sky seemed brighter as she walked down the sidewalk towards her car; her hips swayed in a way they hadn't yesterday. Susan could hardly contain herself, she felt renewed, alive. A grin lit up her face.

She went through her day with a new attitude. Each man she passed was a potential lover, each glance a man gave her warmed her inside, reminded her of her body's needs. Her looks at each man were lingering and full of meaning...lucky indeed would be the man who correctly read that gaze and acted upon it. Susan felt like ripe fruit, ready to be plucked.

So it was just perfect that night when the other girls suggested she join them for a quick drink after work, and it was just perfect that the popular happy hour bar was full of men, all still in suits from their day at work.

She smiled to herself as she waded through the crowd, conscious of every touch against her, of every body that brushed hers as she passed. Her skin felt electric. Gazing around at the patrons, her eyes lingered over each man, as if weighing his potential as her lover. It became a very fun game that had her panties quite damp for most of the evening. A couple men she let buy her drinks, one she even gave her cell phone number to, but at the end of it all she went home alone, to once more watch her husband fall asleep on the sofa.

Her mind reeling with the faces of the men who'd excited her that day, she left him there to seek out her own pleasures in bed. Again, her hands became those of an all knowing, all seeing lover, one whose very eyes could melt her, one whose heat would burn her. Again she fell asleep holding herself, the pillow beneath her head wet with tears.

The rest of the week seemed to follow suit: Susan looking about her, filled with excitement, searching for her lover all day; then home to masturbate and cry herself asleep in the fetal position each night. By the weekend, the thrill was starting to wear off, but the hunger and need was growing all the stronger. She wasn't just looking for excitement.

On Saturday, Michael took off with his pals for a mind-numbing day of beer and baseball, leaving Susan with some time alone. At first she wandered aimlessly about the house, not knowing what to do with herself, but finally she realized she'd go nuts with nothing but this house and her own thoughts, so she headed out.

She went to the mall, and wandered aimlessly about there, a living ghost, her eyes seeing none of the flashy merchandise in the store fronts, not even seeing the appreciative glances of the men she passed. Growing more and more numb, and more and more frightened by her lack of feeling, her lack of caring, Susan gave up and headed back home, more depressed than ever.

Her head was deep in thought as she walked into the house, so she failed to notice the unlocked door. Susan stepped inside her house then gasped; her eyes flew wide open. Standing before her was a man, a black mask pulled tight over his face and an enormous knife in his hand. He waved the knife in the air, and Susan took a step back, her mouth opening to scream as her body turned to run. She looked behind her, her eyes fixed on the shiny blade, and ran forward. With a grunt she stopped suddenly, her body slammed against another man, this one had been behind the door, and slid down to the carpet, her scream dying on her lips.

They allowed her a moment for the reality of the moment to fully sink in. As she opened her mouth once more to scream, the man standing behind her grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet, his hand pressed tightly against her mouth. His thumb and forefinger stretched over and clamped down on her nostrils, plugging her nose shut. The hand pressed all the harder against her mouth, cutting off her air. Susan panicked as she struggled to breathe, Her body twisted and fought against her attacker. The man holding the knife approached Susan slowly.

"If you behave," he began, his voice even and low, but full of power, "you will not be hurt. If you do not, well..." he smiled.

Susan felt the world spinning under her feet as she struggled to breathe; little black spots were starting to dance before her vision. "They're going to kill me," she thought to herself as she felt her body grow weaker and weaker.

Her eyelids began to flutter and her vision grew cloudy; Susan was passing out. As she realized this with a feeling of gratitude, the man holding her mouth and nose shut let go. Susan gasped, breathing deeply as air filled her lungs once more.

The man stepped forward and held the knife in front of her face. Before her wide eyes the blade danced, almost hypnotizing her with its menace. He pressed the cold steel against her cheek. "Don't make me mark up that pretty face of yours."

Susan shuddered then sobbed, her eyes filling with tears. Strange how the thought of him cutting up her face was far more terrifying than the thought of him killing her. "You understand?" he asked. She nodded slightly, to show her assent, but just slightly, afraid the slightest movement from her may push the blade into her skin. She thought she saw a smile on his face under the mask.

They pulled her into the living room, each taking an arm and lifting her off her feet. There was the chair she'd sat in night after lifeless night. They pressed her down into the chair. One of them held her down while the other bound her to it, wrapping layer after layer of duct tape around her wrists, securing them to the arms of the chair.

They stepped back a moment to watch her as she pulled at the arms of the chair, feeling her fingers grow numb from the tape wrapped so tightly around her. One of them stepped forward and reached between her legs. She squeezed them tightly, trying to deny his hand entry. "No... Please..." she pleaded with them.

His hand pinched at the inside of her thigh, taking the tender skin and twisting it cruelly. Susan winced, then cried out from the pain, her thighs opening to his hand. He roughly grabbed at her underwear, hiking her skirt even higher up her thighs, and then pulled on them. The fragile fabric stretched away from her body, the elastic cutting viciously into her, and then tore, coming free of her to hang in his hand. She looked at them for a second before they were shoved into her mouth. The man's fingers clamped down on her nose to force her to open her mouth again, then the fingers followed her panties in, making sure she didn't spit them out before he had the duct tape wrapped around her head. Susan sobbed into the gag, partially glad it was there: at least she wouldn't have to try not to scream.

Both men reached for her. Susan's eyes went wide and she felt totally overwhelmed as two sets of hands explored her body. She squirmed in the chair, twisting this way and that, trying to keep her legs shut, trying to curl her body up to protect her from these horrid grasping fingers, but it was useless. It seemed like they were everywhere at once.

A hand ran over her face, pinching again at her nostrils, creating the panic in her again, then slid lower, holding her neck firmly. Another hand had opened her blouse and was squeezing one breast, tormenting it, pulling it away from her body, tug after tug, twisting her nipple until she cried into the gag. Between her thighs she felt two hands snaking, slithering, worming their way relentlessly towards her pussy. She screamed into the gag as the first finger found it's way inside of her. More panic welled up in her from this attack; she couldn't escape these hands tormenting her.

His fingers slid into her, and she heard one man say, "She's so wet!" Another set of fingers from the other hand started to squeeze in next to the first, working their way inside of Susan. She felt herself being stretched wide as the second hand pushed its fingers into her heat. Susan moaned into the gag at this invasion.

Their fingers clawed deeper and deeper inside of her, opening her. Tears rolled down her cheeks and across the duct tape. She heard one of the men chuckle, then gasped as the fingers inside her started pulling her open, stretching her wider. She struggled futilely against the tape as the two men pulled their fingers away from one another inside of her, each pulling her apart further.

The men dug their fingers into her slick walls, and finally Susan screamed, a loud shrill scream, which came out as only a muffled moan. The gag seemed to take her scream and shove it back inside of her, forcing her to hear it echo in her head. Laughing, one of the men slid his fingers out of her and rose, walking across the living room to stand before the television. The other started to finger her slowly; two fingers obscenely slid in and out of her.

"You see, we know what you need, it seems obvious to us," he said from across the room. Then he pushed on a videotape which was sitting in the VCR. Immediately the screen in front of Susan was filled with the image of herself. There she was, on her bed, nude and thrashing about, her own hands running all over her body. Susan closed her eyes in shame and a dark red blush crept over her face. She heard the men laugh as if from a distance and shuddered. How? How did they film her? How did they know?

Susan moaned in humiliation. "See," the man whose fingers were relentlessly sliding in and out of her said, "looks to me like you could use some cock, honey." He laughed at his own wit and Susan cried harder.

Leaving the video playing, the other man approached her again: sliding his zipper down slowly, undoing the button, loosening his pants and pulling out his fully hard cock as he walked towards her.

Susan squirmed more as he advanced on her, then shuddered as the fingers already against her found her clit and started rubbing on it. She gasped in response, and tried to deny the pleasure, but it was no use.

At last he pulled his fingers from her. He held them in front of her eyes and she saw her own wetness on them. That was when Susan began hating these men.

She could hear her own moans playing on the tape in the background.

The one whose fingers had been so recently filling her cunt stepped back behind her. He leaned forward, his hands running up her arms softly, and whispered into her ear, "Look at it, look at his cock. You know how that's going to feel inside of you, you know how much you want that filling your cunt." Susan sobbed again, but at the same time, she felt a small spasm deep inside of her, something coiled inside, as if readying.

Susan watched the masked man drop down to his knees in front of her, watched as his head slowly lowered to her mound. It seemed like slow motion as he rolled up the mask then licked out against her. Panic filled her entirely as she realized he wasn't going to simply fuck her. The bastard wanted her to respond to him.


Susan tried to keep her eyes shut tight, she tried to block out every sensation, but it was impossible. His tongue was relentless as it devoured her. He lapped at her lips, sucked on her clit, really ate her out like no one had in years. Susan cried as she gave in to the most pleasure she had felt in a very long time. Not like this, please not like this! This wasn't what she'd wanted. She fought with herself futilely right up to the moment she climaxed.

Her eyes flew open in amazement at her orgasm, her body locked tight. At that moment the man lifted his head, then shoved his cock deep inside of Susan. He held it still inside of her, pressed firmly against her cervix. Susan's juices wet him and her body flushed. A long muffled moan came from beneath the duct tape and she moved against him, her hips rocking. She stared unseeing into his eyes, her breath ragged and strained.

"Look at me," the man said to her, his hand tightly pinched her cheeks, his fingers digging in as he forced her to keep her eyes open and locked with his. Susan closed her eyes and he tightened his grip, twisting her face in his hand.

"Oh my," the voice at her ear whispered, "Would you look at that...I'd listen if I were you." Susan's eyes opened then grew wide.

Before her eyes the knife danced once more. Susan felt fear overtake her sense, and froze as the man began to fuck her in slow gentle strokes. She stared paralyzed with terror at the knife--her entire life opened up before her like some horrible void. "But she hadn't lived!" her mind screamed as her body went limp, giving up.

Feeling the girl give in, the man smiled behind his mask. Groaning, he started thrusting into her harder, in quick strokes, his hand digging into her thigh to keep her in place.

From behind her came more whispers and a set of hands. "See, Susan, see how much we want you?" Susan sobbed, her eyes still transfixed by the blade. His hands slid down her arms, across her breasts, pausing for a moment to toy with her hard nipples.

Suddenly the cock that had been filling her was removed. Susan blinked as if confused, then screamed as she felt the head of his cock pressing against her anus. She moved in the chair frantically, desperately wiggling her hips to try to dislodge him. He pushed hard, forcing the head of his cock inside of her ass. Once it penetrated her, he kept pushing, not stopping until he had buried himself completely in her ass.

Susan screamed and struggled more, her sobs muffled into her panties. Her fat tears rolled past the duct tape that held her screams trapped. Each movement she made to free herself only increased the incredible pain she was feeling as his cock tore her open. It felt as if something had given inside of her, like her skin had been ripped apart. She howled into the gag as the man plunged his cock into her, his jarring thrusts forcing an answering scream from her.

She felt the man behind her lean forward, his body pressing her head to the side as his weight rested against her shoulder. His hands slid once more over her, only this time they weren't so gentle. He pinched at her nipples, twisting cruelly until her back was as arched as she could make it.

The knife was tossed aside and the man now concentrated all of his effort on fucking her ass good and proper. He twisted his body, sliding in from side to side, stretching her ass around his thickness, forcing himself into her from every angle he could manage. He could see her body shake each time she screamed. Delighted, he moved his fingers down, feeling his cock slide into her ass. He ran his finger around her stretched anus, and watched as his cock sunk in again and again. He glanced up for a moment to enjoy the sight of her tits being stretched far away from her body.

Smiling wickedly to himself, he concentrated on her face, on her eyes, then shoved his finger roughly into her ass, right along side of his cock.

Susan screamed and thrashed, the chair and tape giving not at all against her struggles. She'd never in her life felt pain like this. It felt like she was being torn in two. Relentlessly he forced himself into her, shoving a second finger in next to the first.

The man behind her let her nipples loose and walked around for a good view of the woman. Her hair was stuck to her face from all her tears, and her breasts were red and splotchy from his abuse.

Grinning, he moved next to his friend, looking between Susan's thighs to watch the man's cock pound into her, watch his fingers force their way in as well. He reached for her pussy, his fingers easily slid inside of her. Susan's eyes went wide once more, and then closed tight. Smiling to himself, he pressed another finger into her wet cunt and slid the three in and out of her, his thrusts matching those of his friend's into her. He could feel the cock in her ass as it plunged into her, could feel it pressing against his fingers as he dug them ever deeper inside of her.

Susan felt stuffed full, she couldn't believe how stretched and full she felt. Those fingers and the savage thrusts of the man’s cock spread her ass wide; the other man’s fingers were violating her pussy. She screamed into the gag, knowing she couldn't take much more, something had to give.

The man fucking her ass started to thrust even harder, more viciously than before. He removed his fingers, to her relief, so he could thrust into her harder, his balls slapping against her with each of his thrusts. He held one of her legs up in the air, his grip tight on her ankle. The other man slid under it so it rested on his back. From this angle he could slide his fingers into her pussy much deeper.

He watched the woman's face carefully as he pulled out his fingers. He ran his thumb across her clit, felt it swell under his fingers despite what she wanted. Slowly, carefully, so she would know exactly what he was doing, he flattened his thumb against his palm, straightened his four fingers and pushed them into her. He moved slowly, wanting to watch her face as she took in his fist, wanting to see her eyes as she tasted this newest torment.

Susan couldn't take it. The fingers pushed deeper and deeper into her, it felt though he was grabbing her insides. She felt her lips smash between her pubic bones and the bones of his hand. He was ripping her open. Susan screamed helplessly into her panties, her body shook with sobs.

The man pushed harder and harder, until finally, he felt his hand slide inside of her. The walls of her cunt squeezed firmly against his hand as he curled it into a fist; he could feel his friend's cock driving into her ass on the other side of the thin membrane of flesh. With his fist balled up against her womb, he started pushing it into her, pushing at her uterus, forcing it to move back to make room for his fist. Finally he could push it no deeper. With hard punches into her, he fucked her with his fist.

The cock buried in her ass thrust hard, and then throbbed, the pulsing felt deep inside of Susan. With a groan he came; his hot seed burned as it shot into her abused ass. He withdrew from her only to be replaced by the man whose fist was still shoved inside of her.

He knelt between her thighs, his head lowered. A moment later Susan's eyes opened wide as his mouth latched onto her engorged clit. With slow steady thrusts of his arm, he forced his fist in and out of her cunt.

Susan's mind was in turmoil. The pain in her pussy was incredible; her ass still throbbed in agony, yet somehow, incredibly, the familiar stirrings of her body's pleasure were coursing through her. She felt a finger slide into her sore ass and yelped, but somehow, it increased her pleasure. Susan's eyes filled now with horror. He was going to force to her cum. As the realization struck her, so did her orgasm.

She worked feverishly against his fist, her hips rising to meet each forward thrust into her. Her eyes closed tightly and she moaned; her body shook from her orgasm, shuddering with each wave.

As the last wave washed over her in a haze of sensation and faded, he pulled his fist out of her--its surface was slick with her juices. He rose and pulled his cock out of his pants. Holding it before her face, he jerked on it, in long rough strokes, until his sperm shot out into Susan's face, coating her cheeks, dripping down her duct-taped mouth.

They gathered their things together to leave, but Susan hardly noticed. She kept her eyes closed tightly, sobbing to herself. They popped the video out of the VCR before they left, and popped in another one, then they left her to face her degradation alone.

Hearing a voice, she opened her eyes, only to be faced with another image of herself. This time, it was her own rape, not her masturbating on her bed. It was her rape, in her own living room, in her favorite chair. The tears rolled over the tape as she sat there, still tingling from her pleasure. Viewing her own rape.

She was there, still trapped in her chair when her husband came home. She knew as soon as she saw him that she hated him. Hated him for his inability to move her feel anything toward him: even if it was shame, or relief. She hated him all the more as he cut her free, his eyes averted from her body; hated him as he threw the videocassette into the trash, pulling the long spools of tape out and ripping them apart.

Did he think it was that simple? She knew what they had done to her was far deeper than that: no shower was going to wash them off her skin.

Susan gathered her things together while her soon to be ex-husband went about trying to erase the events that had just happened to her. She stopped on the way out, and took one long last look at the man she had married. God she hated him, she despised him for the simple and ignorant and ineffectual man he was. All she'd wanted was for him to touch her, desire her, feel passion about her. Two strangers instead had more to give to her than her own husband. She pulled the ruined videotape out of the trash and walked out the door.