Salome and Ishmael

She had never seen an erection, and this was no little-boy toy, standing up black and hard and proud from its nest of coarse, crinkly black hair. She gasped, fascinated despite her growing upset. Her insides shook.

Before she could do or even say anything, he picked her up and turned her around, pushed her onto her bed, kneeling, her shins over the edge. Then he shoved her legs wide apart and stepped up behind her.

She tried to squirm away, but he grabbed her long hair in one hand like a set of horse-reins and held her back. Behind her, she could feel the heat of his body on the backs of her thighs, feel the rough edges of his blue jeans dragging against the inner surfaces of her widespread shins.

She was shaking now, saying over and over again "NO, stop!" but it wasn't having any effect at all on him. Gerald had somehow turned into something very different from the nice friendly flirtatious man he'd been just a few moments ago. She was mystified and terrified all at once.

She felt something probing at her, something like the world's biggest finger, and knew it must be that huge THING of his. She didn't know what he was trying to do, but she didn't want it to happen, so she twisted and squirmed hard, trying to get away.

Gerald stopped her cold with his strength. And his voice, too, had changed – it was no longer smooth and mellow but harsh and rough. "Dammit, stop moving! You know what you want, young lady, you've been teasing me for a whole day now! So hold still and let me get in there. You'll love it once we get started. All the women do!"

She was scared enough to do what he said: she couldn't fight effectively anyhow. She knelt there, suddenly passive, and waited. Her mind was awhirl, mostly with fear, some curiosity, and far down inside her a tiny little flame, doing a funny dance in her bowels. That flame she understood least of all: she didn't even have a name for it... she'd been frightened before, and curious of course, so she understood those emotions, but this was brand new and unfathomable.

There was pressure on her from that THING, and Gerald was shoving it against her hard enough to push her forward along the covers of the bed, but nothing else seemed to be happening.

Gerald muttered under his breath "Damn! We're sure as hell not getting in that way, are we, woman?"

Was he talking to her? What did he mean, "Getting in"?

The pressure released for a moment and Gerald did something with that THING of his, relocated it. She felt him tense and lean forward, putting more and more pressure against her, then abruptly something hard-soft and much, much too large stretched its way through her bottom opening, with a very definite feeling of slow-motion bursting into her insides.

It didn't really HURT so much as surprise her. And that thing's presence and actions insulted her, too! She hadn't ASKED for this, nor had she given him permission! This was HER BODY, not HIS!

Once again she squirmed violently, trying to get away, but Gerald held her by the hips and hair, pulled her back against him. A piece of her brain told her to scream, but another piece was more analytical, studying things. Whatever was happening, it was uncomfortable, yes... and what was pushing into her bottom seemed to be much bigger than other things she had put inside her butt when playing with herself under the covers... hairbrush handles and pencils and zucchinis and fingers such... but it wasn't actually damaging her, and if this was what Gerald wanted then perhaps the best thing was to just kneel there and let him finish whatever it was he was doing?

He impaled her, full-length, on his cock. She remembered now, as she had not remembered even once since the incident, the feel of his pubic brillo-pad against her buttocks as he bottomed out inside her. Then he began an urgent, rapid thrusting, shoving his THING in and out, grunting like an animal at the feeding trough.

The analytical piece of her mind knew that he had somehow managed to get that entire, huge THING of his up inside her, and though it felt seriously weird and uncomfortable, it didn't really HURT even if it should have been impossible.

She was scared, for sure, but she could differentiate fear from pain. More than anything, she discovered, she was ANGRY! What kind of a friend, relative, even mere acquaintance –whatever!?- would do such a thing to her?

Her analysis was short-lived, driven away by the feeling that he was probably going to shove that thing of his all the way up and through the back of her throat and out her mouth. And the weird fullness and stretch of having him sliding in and out, that, too, helped blot out the analysis. Why in the world did he want to be inside her down THERE anyhow? What was this all about? Plus the question of exactly how that huge thing of his could be up her bottom and she not be split completely in two, or ripped wide open?

Gerald finally turned loose of her hair, grabbed her by both hips, and folded her almost double on the edge of the bed as he plunged deeply into her.

The analytical section of her brain listened dispassionately to the tiny squeaks from the bed: it almost sounded as if the bed were extending its sympathy in rhythm with Gerald's movements. Face-down in the sheets, she even counted the squeaks, like counting sheep. Yet another part of her was counting stroked - forty, fifty, sixty. How long was this going to go on, anyhow? And WHY was he doing this to her?

Then Gerald got going really fast, and her bottom was beginning to be hot inside, something was burning down there, and that was scarier still, because now, unexpectedly, it was HER body doing something she didn't understand. It was bad enough that she didn't understand Gerald, but not to understand herself, that was really disturbing!

She tried yet again to pull away, but Gerald would have none of it: he was grunting loudly now, even more animal-like, and breathing fast and hard. He slid his hand down under her belly, sent his middle finger down her midline slit, down where she had regularly played with herself for many years.

Suddenly the almost-hidden little white flame in her belly exploded like a bomb and her whole insides seemed to turn inside out. The sensations were so intense that she almost HURT. It was as if her body had decided, all on its own, to squeeze this intruder to death by clamping down hard on it: the clamping happened with every stroke, over and over again. And each spasm hurt. Sort of. But it was a different sort of hurt.

Dimly, she felt Gerald's final thrusts and his deep-struck spasming far up inside her body: it meant nothing to her, except that it felt rather like the end of whatever he was doing. Like the crescendo in a piece of music.

Then he was pulling out of her butt, dropping her on the bed with a great aching 'used' feeling inside her bottom. She lay there, her whole body throbbing, her deep belly just short of physical pain: her head was spinning, her eyes closed. Waiting.

She heard his pants come up and the snaps click shut, the soft swoosh of leather through buckle, the click of the buckle itself. The purr of his zipper.

Moments later he was picking her up, making noises about caring how she felt, trying to comfort her. It was as if the other, original Gerald had come back to take control of this monstrous stranger. How and why could he change so rapidly, from someone loving and kind and friendly to this out-of-control, unreasonable, horrible being?

She didn't respond, thought about trying to push him away, decided to just stay completely passive, lie silently on the bed, not respond at all.

She was, more than anything, deeply puzzled - what had happened to cause all this? Gerald was a nice man, but this wasn't a nice thing that he'd done to her. But he HAD done it... THEREFORE, she reasoned, all this must be HER fault.

Whatever in the whole blessed world had she done?

Gerald helped her get dressed: he had a silly, boyish, rather embarrassed grin on his face.

Just once, he said "See! I told you you'd like it!"

That had shaken her out of her apathy and she snapped "NO! I did NOT! I didn't want that and you should go away now, just LEAVE! Leave me ALONE!" She was shaking now, and so angrily vehement that Gerald backed away, shook his head, and muttered "Women!" He shut the door behind him, leaving her alone.

She sat on the bed for a minute, shivering uncontrollably, then began to cry to herself. She inventoried her body: there really wasn't any damage done. Her bottom still tingled oddly, but he hadn't hit her or slapped her or anything. She didn't feel as if there were any bruises, even, from where he had held onto her so strongly. Yet she felt as if she'd been beaten up badly. This was all very odd and very hard to deal with.

Eventually, she gave up trying to sort things out in her mind, consciously decided just not to think about it any more, and let the memories begin to fade as she went to the bathroom. She squatted atop the toilet and studied her bottom with a little mirror, but there wasn't any injury she could see. No blood, no hole, no rips or tears. When she tried to poop, everything seemed to work okay, except that the oddest squirt of whitish stuff came out.

She scrubbed her crotch hard with soap and a scalding-hot washcloth, then dried and dressed in all-clean clothes. When she was finishing up, she heard the rest of the family coming home, and it was interesting to see the obvious fear on Gerald's face as she entered the living room to greet everyone.

But she decided to ignore him completely... whatever it was that SHE had done to cause all this uproar, she wasn't going to tell anyone about it for that would be telling on herself... and she wasn't going to speak to Gerald or get close to him, so that she couldn't cause such a thing to happen again. Never, ever.

The whole long memory-string took only milliseconds to scan.

THOSE were what she had suppressed all these years, weren't they? The first thing was her self-analysis, blaming herself for doing some unknown thing that precipitated Gerald's attack... the whole damned incident had always HAD to be her fault, hadn't it? The second was, OhMiGawd, she had come during the rape. She had suppressed every tiny little bit of that, hadn't she? She had come like a banshee just before he did, and that was REALLY unacceptable, for it proved beyond any doubt that she was the guilty party! She had for reasons unknowable to herself actually gotten some little bit of pleasure... through the anguish and fear and discomfort, she had COME! That for sure made the whole incident entirely HER FAULT, case closed.

Just beyond her conscious control, her voice went gravelly, deep, forced, as she spoke to Ishmael. "Shut up and hold still! You'll like this if you give it a chance!" Then, "Dammit, stop moving! You know what you want. So hold still and let me get in there. You'll love it once we get started. All the women do!" Odd, how that sentence tore its way out of her – it was almost exactly what Gerald had said to her: she'd thought she must have forgotten most of the details, but there they were, right on the surface now. Making her shake.

She pressed the dildo forward. Impossibility became possibility. If Gerald had gotten his cock into her virgin bottom, then this shouldn't bother Ishmael, should it? The relative size-difference was much less pronounced tonight than back then!

Ishmael sighed deeply, shoved himself back against the toy, and engulfed it. She watched with detachment as his sphincter wiped the lube into a perfect thin white ring and moved it along the disappearing shaft - six, seven, eight inches of plastic cock, out of sight. She tugged, watched his tissues cling to the extruding shaft. Was this what Gerald had seen from his vantage point?

In and out. Full length. She was fascinated: it was, actually, an arousing view. She would never, ever, in her wildest dreams, have thought of doing this with (or to!) a man, much less dreamt that watching it would churn her insides so violently. Ishmael was groaning now with each thrust. It didn't sound like she was hurting him, either... shades of her newly surfaced memories, she wondered - had SHE made noises and motions like this, responses she couldn't remember?

She moved to kneel close behind him, pulled the dildo clear of his buttocks, pressed the flange of the dildo up against her pubic bone, shoved the whole green shaft deep and hard into Ishmael with a single thrust. Fucking. Fucking Gerald!? Or the nearest thing she would ever manage. An imitation of Gerald didn't have to be black to be successful, did it? No more than a successful dildo had to be "flesh colored". Whatever the hell THAT term meant!

She giggled to herself briefly: little green men with big green cocks... green as 'flesh-color'? Why not? But this cock wasn't attached to her crotch, so she had to hold it to her belly as she pulled back. Another deep thrust. Another.

Then, all of a sudden, she realized the absurdity of the little tableau and cracked up, laughing, almost howling, as she thrust once more, held the dildo fully embedded, reached for his shoulders and cupped his whole body to her in a fierce embrace.

"Gerald!" she sputtered... "You need to get out into the sun more, Uncle Gerald, you are beginning to FADE!"

And deep in her head, a little voice said "And I don't mean just your skin color, Dude... Uncle Gerald, you are going to FADE right away from my memory again... not because I'm afraid any longer, but because I don't need or want the memories. Begone!"

Ishmael wasn't done yet. In a quiet voice, almost pleading, he said "Salome, take it out now. Then use your hand. For me, the fantasy isn't the dildo, it's your HAND. Please? Be careful, but firm and strong, now, while I'm so relaxed. You have beautiful, long, slender hands. It'll work! Go inside me. NOW!"

She gawked at his bottom as he squeezed the long tube from him like a huge lime-colored turd. It fell onto the bed with a gentle plop. She did as he asked. Re-greased her entire hand. An experiment for them both. It occurred to her that it was once again Ishmael on his knees in front of her, no longer Gerald. Gerald seemed to be a fading, retreating image, as she had ordered him to be. That was nice.

She pointed the fingers, went inside, using two. Easy entry now. The dildo had loosened and stretched him seriously. Three. Still a loose fit. Four, tight around the upper knuckles. Add the thumb and set up to address yet another impossibility. Push and twist. Know that he will tell you if there's a problem. Long, hard pressure, nothing gentle here anymore.

Then blooey, the heavy sphincter relaxed even more and her hand slithered fully inside his bottom. Much to her amazement, she climaxed herself, abruptly, violently, as she penetrated him. It almost scared her - she hadn't even been aware of her own intense state of arousal. Ishmael felt her shuddering through his own haze: the situation had turned her on enormously, gotten to her. He had thought it would. Carefully, slowly, he rolled over onto his back with her hand inside him, lay there with his legs spread their widest, completely open to her, his cock full to bursting, bouncing with his pulse.

She watched his eyes: there was nothing but trust in them. THAT was a ferocious turn-on, wasn't it? She could, she supposed, suddenly drive her arm all the way up inside him, grab his heart, squeeze it, kill him. How long would it take? She was as big as he, and as strong. He couldn't possibly get away, could he? Such trust!

Inside in the warmth and tightness, she slowly balled her hand into a fist, rotated her knuckles against the bump of his prostate. And as the aftershocks of her climax faded, Ishmael gasped deeply, arched up, and shot great pulses of semen completely past his head, to splatter silently against the headboard. Salome had never, ever felt anything more intimate than this... being inside her man this way as his whole body convulsed around and before her. Because of her!

It was never clear to her just how she managed to get that hand free of his bottom, but she did, and they found themselves wrapped in one another's arms, giggling loudly through their gasping quest for oxygen. All either could say was "WOW!"

Eventually, they showered together. It took some considerable washing to get satisfactorily clean. And after a long, long cuddling session, they dropped off to sleep, with her spooning him tightly against her belly. Gloriously comfortable.

Three AM, and Salome awoke with a slight start. She'd been dreaming, erotic stuff, unfortunately all details were lost as she surfaced. But her body was ready for something. Her inner belly glowed, and when her fingers slid down across her buttocks to her crack, she found herself drizzling wet. She explored drowsily. Nice. Sensitive.

Then, with a shock, she realized that her fingertip was inside her own bottom. She studied the sensation. Rather nice, it was. She wiggled it, and the white little flame in her belly flared. Then it exploded, almost physically, deep inside. She snuggled hard against Ishmael, woke him, whispered into his ear something she would never have dreamed of even at midnight, three long hours ago.

"Hey, White Boy! Mister Ishmael. ... tell me... IF I can get you hard again, do you suppose you could ..." She paused: she couldn't quite believe what she wanted, what she was trying to say.

He waited, then whispered "Anything at all. At your command. And what do you mean, "IF?"! Check this..." He put her hand on his cock: it was already blood-full and prepared for business again. He waited, gentlemanly. It was her call.

Finally she said "My bottom. I want you to teach me. I think I've been dreaming about it all night now, since we drifted off. And I think I've finally gotten a good grip on my fears and my inhibitions and I want to do the "carpe diem" thing on this topic, I really do."

She gripped his forearm tightly. "Yes! Carpe, carpe carpe! If I'm going to carpe the damned diem, I'd better get about it, hadn't I? This death-grip on your arm, White Boy, is me getting a grip on those inhibitions. So, please? But go slow! And LOTS of clit, please!"

He rolled to face her, cupped her head in his hands and kissed her long and slow, then whispered just once "You're sure?"

She squeezed her assent, loosed herself from him and rolled onto her knees and chest. Waiting, shivering. The flame in her belly flared as he moved into place behind her. She quivered: her nipples were painfully erect, and should have electrocuted her as they dragged over the rumpled linen beneath her chest.

Ishmael turned on the bed-table light, knelt behind her, then thought better of the position and turned her gently over onto her back and instead dropped softly between her widespread thighs. Looking straight into her eyes, he told her "Face to face, lover. I want to see what you're feeling. I want to be locked together as we do this. I trusted you, now you're trusting me. Partnership. Okay?" She nodded.

His mouth got her going, set her soaring. God, but he could get her into high gear with that mouth so easily, hold her up there so long! When she was fully aroused and shaking, he gently slipped one finger inside her bottom. She felt it, tried to study what it was like, but his mouth was keeping her on overload, the finger added something quite special and very different, but she really, truly couldn't sort out the sensations, and suddenly decided she didn't need to.