Lynda Schor
The Orgy at Group Therapy
Lou entered the room at a run, skidding to the
chrome and leatherette seat he'd occupied for the past three years. He had a
fear of his seat being already occupied, but at the same time he sort of looked
forward to it because he might then be forced to make a change. So far he had
nothing to fear. All of the members of Miss Corporal's afternoon therapy group
always took the same seats.
Lou slouched into the familiar
chair in the usual way, his backside at the edge of the seat, his head
resting on the thin edge of leatherette backrest spanning the top between two
even bars of chrome. He could feel, despite the air-conditioning and its
comforting hum, a trickle of sweat on each side of his head dripping down from
under his bangs and a small heavy mustache of dew. He pushed up his eyeglasses.
Wendy was seated demurely on the
chrome and off-white upholstered couch opposite him, knitting. Her cool
demeanor and false indifference aggravated him until suddenly he found himself
propelled out of his chair into the larger, real leather and chrome swivel
high-backed seat of the therapist, Miss Corporal. Wendy was shocked out of her
usual catatonia for one eighth of a second, but not enough to say
anything or even drop a stitch. Bobby, splotched with eczema, sat on the couch
at the opposite end from Wendy. One leg crossed, over the other, went up
and down rapidly, like a water pump, thought Lou. Then the door
opened and framed in the doorway, her head nearly touching the lintel,
stood the statuesque Miss Corporal. Throwing her long black hair back over
her shoulder with an exotic movement of her head, she strode through the
deep carpet like a panther, her high black patent-leather boots making not the
least sound. Still, everyone's eyes were on her six-foot frame. Her long bare
arms swung loosely from broad shoulders, the wide shiny metal bracelet on each
wrist glinting.
Lou's
eyes went to her breasts. He often tried to see whether or not she wore a bra.
If she did, it was one of those soft natural kinds, because her breasts drooped
slightly, although they were a beautiful size, neither too small nor too large.
Lou willed himself to consider the droop an imperfection, but it remained,
instead, intriguing, as were her two wide, austere silver or steel bracelets,
which emphasized the sinewy tendons of her forearms, yet were so
feminine. Lou pictured them as handcuffs or slave bracelets. He could almost
see chains depending from them and could imagine her manacled to the wall by
those wrists, hands flopping helplessly, long fingers describing powerless
arcs, incomprehensible psychoanalytic sign language, white wrists facing
outward emphasizing vulnerable elbows on a body which can only writhe like a
snake.
This fantasy was in contrast to
the real Miss Corporal, who, although incredibly beautiful and apparently
powerful and self-sufficient, was cold and distant. Never once in all the years
that Lou had to be vulnerable and exposed in the group had she reciprocated.
Never once had she transgressed the barrier of therapist/patient, never once
revealed a human Miss Corporal. Lou didn't even know her first name. This
enraged him. He felt there was something wrong with this onesided
relationship, and the fact that she was a woman made it all the more
difficult. What's worse, she reminded him of Wonder Woman.
The only time the group showed
any communal spirit was when Marty was there and did some detective work on Miss
Corporal, but such was her unapproachable mystery that the information didn't
serve the purpose of humanizing her. She might have come from a different
planet. Did she fuck? One had to doubt it. While Lou was a steady victim of
sexual fantasies about Miss Corporal, picturing her with a real man was
impossible. No one could fit the image,
"Lou," said Miss
Corporal, stopping midway, "you've taken my seat." Her tone seemed
pleasantly surprised, thought Lou, at the diversion from the usual
routine of the group.
Miss Corporal, rested her
shapely bottom on Lou's smaller chair, completely unthreatened. "Do
you want to play therapist today?"
"No,"
said Lou, breathlessly. "I just feel like taking a
different chair."
"Oh,"
said Miss Corporal, smiling maddeningly. "Why are you panting like that,
Lou? Is something making you anxious?"
"No, Miss Corporal,"
said Lou, panting. "It's because I had to rush so to get here. I realize
that it's demeaning of me to put myself in a position where I have seven and
one half minutes to rush here to the Village from my job on the Upper East
Side, while all these other crazy, incompetent, welfare recipients sit here
coolly. Would you, Miss Corporal, allow yourself to be in such a
position?" he continued, studying her neat knees, nylon gleaming gently in
the perfect indirect lighting. The spike heels of her boots were
sunk incisively into the white carpet. He'd hoped that, sitting in his
seat, she'd be transformed into him, slouching, sweating in his suit and tie.
He'd also hoped that her swivel chair might transform him, which it
did only for a moment. How different from himself in his office, he
thought.
"How
do you feel about that, Lou?" asked Miss Corporal.
"I
wonder why," he shouted, "I come here to this group of sickies. The
reason all of you can come here in the middle of the afternoon is because
all of you freeload on welfare."
Bobby's eczema stood out as his
face flushed. "You're just jealous," he said.
"That's
not fair," said Darby. "I'm not on welfare. I'm back to school. And
Bobby is a writer."
"You're
going back to school because you hate working," said Lou. I
don't like my job either, but I realize that I have to work. And how come
you're so protective of Bobby?" Lou said.
"Let's
get off this nonsense. It's all avoidance. I want to tell happened to me this
weekend," said Bobby softly.
"He
appears weak," said Lou, "but no one notices that he talks away every
session. And he's boring, too."
"You're
more boring than Bobby, with your hostility and narrow-mindedness,"
said Darby.
"Why
not let Bobbie defend himself?" asked Lou.
"Let me
tell you what John Hawkes said about my work at the CCNY writer's
conference this weekend," said Bobby.
For
the first time Lou felt angry at Wendy, "What do you think this
is, art therapy? If Wendy is catatonic maybe she should be committed to a
hospital." Wendy never said anything. She continued knitting
imperturbably, week after week. No one had had the courage to force her
to speak. Her lovely straight long hair entwined with the needles, which seemed
to move automatically, eating up the brown wool hidden in a soft bag on the
floor. It was impossible to imagine Wendy outside Miss Corporal's room
leading a normal life.
"What's that crap she's
knitting anyway?" asked Lou, looking at Miss Corporal.
"Speak to Wendy, Lou,"
said Miss Corporal.
"What's that crap you're
knitting anyway, Wendy?" asked Lou.
Nervous
laughter from Bobby.
Wendy
packed up her knitting bag as the group watched silently. Her short skirt
bobbing around her heavy knees, she exited with determination, slamming the
door, the sound echoing in the subsequent silence of the room.
"How
do you feel about that?" asked Miss Corporal after five more minutes of
embarrassed silence.
"I
feel—" said Bobby.
"Good,"
said Lou. "Good for her. She never contributed anyway."
"Lou, don't interrupt
Bobby," said Darby and Miss Corporal in unison.
Miss Corporal looked at Bobby, who continued softly: "I feel embarrassed
for Wendy because she made a spectacle of herself. I feel that she
herself must have been . . . embarrassed. But I don't really want to
discuss Wendy. I want talk about—"
Miss
Corporal nodded, and looked at Lou. "Lou," she said, "do
you think the anger you felt toward Wendy was really meant for me?"
Lou
had to think about that, so far out did it seem. "No," he said,
as Miss Corporal persisted in staring at him. "I felt it for
Wendy. What could it have to do with you, Miss Corporal?"
asked Lou. "Actually," he said, before she could answer, "I
envied the way Wendy was able to walk out on everyone and just slam the
door, I wish I could do that. It could be avoidance on her part,
but I'd love to be able, to do that instead of being so polite."
"You're
polite?" asked Darby.
"Lou,"
insisted Miss Corporal, "aren't you angry with me for the very thing you
shouted at Wendy?"
"What
did I shout at Wendy? I don't remember."
"Something
about hearing us week after week and never contributing anything,"
said Bobby.
"I
don't recall saying that." Lou blushed. How about going out with
me some night. Miss Corporal?" he asked.
"Why
did you ask me out?" asked Miss Corporal.
"Why
do you ask why to everything?" asked Lou. "I was simply overcome by
an uncontrollable desire to ask you out. I like you. I think you're
attractive."
"I'm
sorry, Lou, I never go out with my patients."
"Because
you think I'm crazy, but I'm not. I only feel crazy when I'm in this room
with all these other loonies and with you, Miss Corporal."
"I
think Lou is trying to take you out of the role of therapist so he doesn't have
to continue therapy," said Darby.
"I agree. Now I want to talk about what John Irving and John
Barth said to me at the CCNY writers' conference," Bobby said.
"I don't want to hear it," said Lou. "I agree with your
wife that you should get a job.”
"Bobby's
a writer," said Darby. "Why should he destroy his chance to write by
succumbing to his bourgeois wife's cheap work ethic?" She put her arm
around the shrinking Bobby.
"Why did you put your
arm around Bobby?" asked Miss Corporal.
"For the same reason I asked
you out. Miss Corporal," said Lou. "She wants to fuck him. I
want you to go out with me. Miss Corporal, and I want to fuck you."
"Can you tell me what your
fantasy is?" asked Miss Corporal. Lou looked at Miss Corporal and licked
his lips. He was silent for a moment, beginning a movie in his
mind.
"I see your fantasies in your
eyeglasses," said Miss Corporal.
Then Lou noticed
behind her, through the sliding glass doors to the terrace, someone
rising, then deftly swinging over the terrace wall.
They all watched silently as if it were a dream, a
feeling accentuated by the glass, until the terrace door was slid open with a
bang. Framed in the doorway, larger even than Miss Corporal, was an enormous
man, his outfit of tights and boots accentuating his muscularity, wearing a
black ski mask over his face. The group was speechless.
"That door
is made of glass," Miss Corporal said to the intruder. Drawing
herself up to her full height, she took a few steps toward him.
"How did you get up here?" she coolly demanded. "This is
the thirty-third floor of a modern high-security building."
Triumphantly
arrogant, the intruder proceeded to remove his ski mask as if disguise
were superfluous when his superior physique was apparent. He threw it
casually onto the chair Miss Corporal had vacated.
"Pick
that up," she said. "I don't like my apartment cluttered. You didn't
answer me." Miss Corporal was adamant but cool.
"I'm not obliged to," said the man, who, Lou could see now, was a
Batman impostor.
Boy is he together, thought Lou.
He is the perfect partner for Miss Corporal.
Miss
Corporal didn't seem to think so. The bogus Batman glanced out onto the
terrace, and following his gaze, the group noticed a heavy rope stuck into the
flagstone with a pick, and another head beginning to emerge over the
ledge.
"About
time," said "Batman."
"You
climbed up so fast," complained his companion wearing a Robin costume,
"it was difficult to follow you. I just learned how to climb, and it's
hard to get a foothold on these goddamn clean-line Bauhaus bricks."
"You and 'Robin' have a very
sick relationship," said Miss Corporal. "I did a paper in graduate
school called 'Batman and Robin: A Psychotic, Symbiotic, Suppressed Homosexual
Relationship,' based on Karen Horney's ideas of masochisrically dependent relationships,
using you and Robin as examples of the sickness inherent in the following
relationships: master and slave, professor and student, and sadist and
masochist."
Lou was jealous. Never once before had Miss Corporal ever revealed that
she had attended college, and here she was telling this "Batman" one
moment after they met.
Batman
looked at Robin, who shrugged. "Robin, would you please go over
there and cut the telephone wires?" His voice was deep and
pleasantly resonant.
"Can't
I just tell what John Updike and John Fowles said to me at the CCNY writers
conference very quickly?" asked Bobby.
"How
come all those writers are named John?" asked Darby.
"I
want everyone to undress," ordered Batman.
"What?"
shouted Miss Corporal. "Are you going to rape us?"
"No,"
said Batman, "we're going to have an orgy. We're going to have a good
time."
"When
healthy people do something against their will, it's not called a good time,
it's called rape."
"Well
I don't want to quibble over semantics," said the would-be Batman.
Miss
Corporal was beginning to fume. Lou was so interested in watching her that he
was almost enjoying this strange, possibly dangerous, intrusion.
"I
refuse," she said. "You get out of here. We're not going to be your
victims. There are more of us than you, so if you don't want to hurt,
leave right now!" Miss Corporal was angry but still fairly calm.
Batman stood there, arms folded
and smiling smugly.
"Please,
both of you leave immediately. Robin, please," she pleaded, turning
to the much smaller person outfitted as Robin, trying to see whether he was
less impervious.
"I'm
sorry," he said in an effeminate voice, "I'm
Batman's partner."
"Are
you sure you're not his slave?" asked Miss Corporal. "Why are you so
passive?"
"What
about this group?" asked "Robin." "How come they just sit
there? You said you won't be victims, but they all look like victims to
me."
"I
hope they don't mind my answering for them, but they are essentially
passive," said Miss Corporal. "Why do you think they're all in
therapy?"
"I
don't know about an orgy with a majority of passive partners," mused
"Batman," curling his lip in distaste.
"I
think we could do this orgy another time," said Miss Corporal,
"when all the group members are present. Right now men outnumber women
four to two."
"Everyone
get undressed," Batman ordered again. Bobby and Lou looked at Miss
Corporal to see what they should do.
Darby,
they noticed, was already undressed, her hands under her large breasts,
presenting them. "You know my problem resisting sexual
advances," she explained.
"I said, get
undressed," reiterated Batman calmly. Miss Corporal, noticing that
Robin was pointing a gun at her, told the rest of the group to undress.
Lou undressed, eyes on the gun.
He felt as if he was watching a movie.
Bobby attempted to pull off his
shirt but began to shake and weep, dandruff flying out of his wispy hair.
"I can't get undressed in front of everyone. I never could. Only my
wife, and that took six years."
"Well,
it's never too late to change," said Batman.
Darby, naked, voluptuous, went to
Bobby to help him undress.
"Darby, why do you always
protect Bobby?" asked Lou.
"Lou, said Miss
Corporal, "do you want Darby to help you get undressed?"
"Of course not," said
Lou. "I am perfectly capable of undressing myself."
"Then don't get upset when
Darby helps Bobby."
Bobby held up his arms like a
baby as Darby pulled his shirt up over his head.
"Yes, I do want Darby to
help me," said Lou. "I want you to help me too."
"Good," said Miss
Corporal. "Isn't it better to ask for what you want instead of always
putting people down?"
Miss Corporal, half undressed,
went over to help Lou, then smiled. He was already undressed.
"You do very well by yourself," she said.
"What
about my shoes and socks, Miss Corporal."
Miss
Corporal smiled wryly and bent down to help him. "Sit down," she
said. Lou felt like an infant. He was embarrassed to see his prick harden
and furrow on its own into Miss Corporal's black hair.
Batman
was holding the gun so that Robin could undress.
"MAZASH,"
said Robin, holding up his arms. Undressed, it was apparent that Robin was
really a woman, petite,
and lovely.
"Now
it must be apparent that we are three and three," said Batman.
"Who is that anyway?" asked
Miss Corporal.
"Mary
Marvel," said Batman. "Maybe now you won't think our
relationship is so sick."
Miss Corporal seemed uneasy.
"Is there really a Robin or is Robin always Mary
Marvel in disguise?
"Truth,
truth, what is the truth?" chanted Batman.
"There's
still a level of reality we can all communicate upon," said Miss Corporal.
Bobby
was lying on the carpet trying to hold his pants on by keeping his legs
crossed, but Darby, strong, was winning.
"Come
on, Bobby, please," she pleaded. Bobby's whole body was blushing. Miss
Corporal was getting undressed as everyone watched, including Bobby, with his
thin arms and the triangle of hair on his chest like a goat's beard.
"Put
the gun down," she said to Batman as she undressed, coolly dignified, just
as Lou would expect. She looked even larger naked—monumental. Her legs were
long and shapely, her buttocks round. Her skin glowed florescent in contrast
with her black hair. Lou felt that her nipples were very motherly.
"Very nice." said
Batman.
"Aren't you going to get
undressed?" asked Darby.
"Of course," said
Batman, "I just wanted to be last so I could watch everyone else.
"A power trip,"
murmured Miss Corporal.
"For that you'll be
punished," smiled the bogus Batman, pulling off his boots. "But
truthfully, power is the greatest."
Now everyone watched Batman undress.
Lou unconsciously covered his own genitals as he watched Batman's muscular body
emerge easily from his tight-fitting clothing. His penis, though not hard, was
quite long and his scrotum hung well down between his legs.
"Tie them up," Batman
ordered Mary.
"You
don't have to tie me up," said Darby. "I'll be good."
"Me
too," said Lou.
"Tie
me up first, please," pleaded Bobby. "I want to be tied up."
"She's
right," said Mary Marvel to Batman. "You pretend I'm your partner but
you treat me like a slave."
"I'll discuss that with you
later," hissed Barman. "Let's have some music. What kinds of music do
you have here?"
"I have all the Baroque
composers, Vivaldi, Bach—"
"That tinkle, tinkle,
tinkle?" said Batman, "Have you got any Rolling Stones?"
"If you don't like my taste
bring your own records next time," said Miss Corporal. "Besides,
I thought Batman was really the cultured Bruce Wayne?"
"Boy,
how hostile. Now, Mary, I want you to suck these two men off, while the shrink
and I and the other woman watch," said Batman, pointing to Lou and Bobby,
both tied to their seats.
"I can do one while she does
the other. It will be quicker," offered Darby.
"Who do you want to
do?" asked Darby of Mary Marvel, who was looking indecisively from Bobby
to Lou.
"I'll
take this one," she said, pointing to Bobby. "I think he'll come
faster."
"Let
me take him. I know him better. With you he may never get a hard-on."
"Boy,
even now you're fighting over Bobby, when anyone can see how much more virile I
am," said Lou,
"Okay,"
said Batman, "kneel down and—begin!" He shot off his gun toward the
terrace.
The bullet smashed through the
glass leaving a huge web of cracks with a tiny hole in the center.
Bobby
was startled and started trembling. Darby's hands roved around his body
comfortingly as her tongue flicked over his penis, which flopped to and fro,
looking to Lou like a giant maggot. Lou looked up and saw Batman's and Miss
Corporal's eyes riveted on him and Bobby. He wanted desperately to perform
well. Every once in a while, at Mary's skillful manipulations, he felt a
flicker of pleasure, which disappeared the moment he became aware of it. He
tried to concentrate on Darby, who was kneeling, her long pale hair
flowing over her shoulders, full, moist lips surrounding Bobby, and directly
below, in perspective, her full, womanly breasts, triangle of light brown pubic
hair, and thighs full and tight from the pressure of leaning against them. But
he couldn't forget the piercing glances of Batman and Miss Corporal.
"I
came!" shouted Bobby proudly.
"You
lie down." Batman pointed to Miss Corporal, who needed another
reminder about bullets.
Stretched
out on the white rug, Miss Corporal's pale, colossal body seemed as
monumental as a landscape. There was complete silence as everyone admired
her. Lou thought of Monument Valley. When Batman told her to raise her
arms over her head. Lou felt his prick go hard. Feeling an urge to touch it,
but aware of being tied up, he was turned on more.
"It's hard, it's hard,"
he shouted.
"Bend down," Batman
ordered Darby, "and spit out that guy's cum on her belly." He indicated
Miss Corporal.
"Bobby's the name,"
said Bobby. "Maybe she'd better not. I don't want my sperm on
display. It could be misjudged. Let me just tell you what John
Fowles said at the CCNY writers' conference.
Lou's
prick went soft. "I'm sorry I couldn't get hard before,
Mary," shouted Lou. "I think you're attractive. I wanted to
please you, but I can't do anything I'm required to. It's a sort of
unconscious spite--"
"Jesus. I warned you about a
therapist's office," said Mary Marvel.
Darby, kneeling, relinquished a
mouthful of sperm all over Miss Corporal's abdomen, then trailed it into her
navel.
"Wait, I've never heard Lou
apologize before," said Miss Corporal, rising, "I want to make a note
of it."
Batman
shot off his gun again into the glass. This time some of it rained onto the
terrace.
Miss
Corporal lay down again, arms raised above her head. Darby didn't need orders;
she showed a terrific amount of initiative. Batman's penis was so
hard that despite its great length and girth it defied gravity, pulling up
his balls.
"I
realize now that I've always wanted to do this,"
said Darby, licking Miss Corporal's armpits, her palms, making Miss
Corporal's fingers curl, then sucking her breasts, her nipples, until
they stuck out like fire hydrants. Miss Corporal, following Batman's
orders, kept her hands above her head, her face absolutely expressionless, as
Darby slobbered around her, moaning and touching herself. Darby
spread herself wide. She was a peachy color and shone with moisture like a
half-eaten persimmon. Her tongue foraged below Miss Corporal's perfect dark
equilateral triangle until droplets of dew were visible all over it, like
spiderwebs after rain.
"Spread
her legs," ordered "Batman," rubbing his own cock with one hand,
gently manipulating his balls with his other. "Mary, set that one
free." He pointed to Bobby with his chin.
"Thank
God," said Bobby. "I just want to watch so I can write a story
about this for my next writers' conference."
Batman,
breathing hard, caressed himself. He drew Mary Marvel to him with one hand and
tongue-kissed her as she stood on the arch of his bare foot in order to be able
to reach his lips.
"I'm sorry," said
Bobby. "I feel like a failure. But I can prove to you I'm not if you let
me tell you about the CCNY writers conference. In fact, I may
win a $3,000 prize."
"Wonderful," praised
Miss Corporal from the floor. Darby removed her mouth from Miss Corporal in
order to praise Bobby.
Lou, still tied to his chair,
said, "At least you could praise me."
"I like. I like it,"
moaned Darby. "It's so good, let me do it more, that's it, yes, oh yes,
oh, it's so sweet, more, more, move like that--"
"Not
so fast. I'm trying to remember this dialogue," said Bobby.
"UHH,
huhhhhh," could be heard from deep within Batman's cavernous chest as
he rubbed himself harder and faster, and with another coarse groan he shot his
jism across half the room, the first jet landing on Miss Corporal's pubic hair,
the next on her abdomen, string-like, the next across her breasts and the last
drops across her blood-red, sharply etched, bowed Wonderwoman-like lips. She
licked it calmly with her tongue.
"Can
we get up now?" she asked, her torso propped on her elbows.
"We're
nowhere near finished," said Batman.
"But
you came," said Miss Corporal.
"I
see you have no experience with Superheroes," said Batman.
"I
want Lou to fuck Miss Corporal," said Batman.
"I'm
not sure whether I can." Lou did not move.
"Come
on, Lou," urged Batman. "Isn't that what you've always wished
for?" Batman turned to Miss Corporal. "Can you try to be more
responsive?"
"Responsive
to being raped?" asked Miss Corporal.
Batman answered by shooting off his revolver into
the couch. The foam rubber sizzled slightly around the brown-edged hole.
"C'mon—uhh—"
"Lou,"
said Lou.
"Oh, not my Walter Gropius
chair," cried Miss Corporal, showing emotion for the first time.
"Spread your legs,"
Batman ordered Miss Corporal. She reluctantly spread apart her long white
thighs. Her legs were so long that her toes were foraging among the chairs and
hassocks set up for the group. Lou, holding his genitals, climbed between her
thighs and sat there as if in a boat. He wished he had his blanket with him.
"Get hard," ordered
Batman.
Lou
looked incredulous. "I can't get hard when you tell me."
Batman shot his gun again.
"Pretend you're not asking
me for a few moments," said Lou, "then I think I can do it.”
"Miss Corporal here will
help you," said Batman. "Miss Corporal, if he doesn't get a hard-on
I'm going to shoot him."
Miss Corporal sat up. She looked
at Lou and lifted his chin until he looked at her. She held out one breast to
him, and began to caress his prick, guiding his hand along her thigh and
into the hair of her pussy. Lou could actually feel Miss Corporal's clitoris!
She caressed his prick rhythmically now, and his lips wrapped themselves around
one breast. It felt like a dream, but he could tell without looking that his
prick wasn't hard yet. He hoped he wouldn't have an anxiety attack. Lou lay
down on the floor. Miss Corporal tied his wrists together and ordered him not
to move. She began to rub something greasy all over him. Every time he moved
uncontrollably, she gently and firmly held his hips. He was ecstatic, able
to forget everyone in the room. Soon, soon, lushly, her fingers would be
wrapped around his prick. He trembled in anticipation as her practiced fingers
rubbed his buttocks until he could feel shivers in his chest. His prick felt
like a flagpole, as if it were enormous, hot, and spreading out all over the
room. He began to feel as if his whole body were a prick.
"I'm
a prick, I'm a prick," he panted as Miss Corporal's oily finger edged
into his anus. He moaned. It felt as if her finger went straight up his
ass and into his now enormous prick.
"Oh,
Miss Corporal," he gasped, "this is like all my fantasies." He
felt so close to her.
"Never
mind," Batman said. He pointed his black pompadour at Miss Corporal deftly
working around Lou, who, though ecstatic, was mistaken about his erection.
His prick still flopped around between Miss Corporal's long red-nailed fingers.
Looking, he couldn't believe it. He'd had the sensation of hardness as surely
as an amputee feels a missing limb.
"If
he doesn't get an erection soon. Miss Corporal, I'm going to shoot
him," said Batman.
"I'm
sorry," said Lou, "I could have told you, my prick has a mind of its
own. No matter what you do, if it doesn't want to, it won't get hard. It has
nothing to do with what I want. And I might as well tell you now, it's a
spiteful prick!"
Batman
was disgusted. "Move away," he said, pushing Lou and Darby over.
"Here." He handed the gun to Mary.
Batman,
flushed and priapic, his muscles glowing with perspiration, pushed Miss
Corporal to the white carpet. He needed no gun now to overpower her. Her
flailing hands and beating arms were soon wrapped around him, his long hard
body extended over hers, his prick quivering at the mouth of her vagina.
"I
want you to beg."
"No, no!" said Miss
Corporal, then, "please, please, oh please."
He
inserted himself slowly while Miss Corporal moaned, moving her head to and fro,
black hair sweeping back and forth along the carpet. Everyone was watching. Her
hips rose up to gather more of his prick into her.
"Tell
me you're my cunt."
"I'm
your cunt," said Miss Corporal, kneading his ass.
"Uhhhhgggghhh," he groaned,
pushing himself into her. "That's it, cunt, move it," groaned
"Batman," as she swiveled her hips faster and wilder.
Darby,
Bobby and Lou and Mary were watching, passing back and forth a dish of
smoked oysters she'd found in the kitchen.
"You
really show initiative," said Bobby to Darby. "But now I'm thirsty.
Miss
Corporal moved faster, moaning loudly. Batman 's muscles tensed. He
gasped.
Miss
Corporal trembled and screamed, "Oh NO,No, no. NO. NO nono----She finally
relaxed under him.
"Did
you come?" she asked.
"No,
I held off," he said. "I'm going to make you come again and
again."
Lou
looked in the refrigerator. Uncertain whether he should, but infected with the
spirit of the group, took out a six-pack of beer and brought it into the living
room. Now Batman was lying on his back and Miss Corporal was sucking him. She
moved over so that her vagina was over his face.
"Do
you want to feel my tongue?" he whispered.
Miss
Corporal edged down and sat on his prick, moving up and down on it slowly, then
round and round. Batman placed his large hands on her waist and pressed
her up and down on himself. They were both moaning incredibly as the group
finished up the refreshments. Finally Batman came with the sound of a
motorcycle gang invasion. Miss Corporal screamed, nearly fainting over
him. They lay limp and intertwined, their bodies covered with perspiration. Lou
watched as three drops ran slowly down Miss Corporal's torso,
dripped along Batman's chest, paused, then spilled onto the rug.
"We must go now," said Batman. "Mary,
get dressed."
Mary
said "Shazam," and was suddenly dressed like Robin again, except for
his boots, which lay limp at his bare feet. "Oh, shit," he
said, passing Bobby the bag of potato chips he was holding so he could put on
his boots.
Miss
Corporal gazed at Batman as if she wanted very badly to say something and
couldn't. He looked at her with a wry smile. Then he grinned, winked, and
followed Robin out onto the terrace.
The
group watched the two disappear over the ledge.
"Everyone get dressed," said Miss Corporal
to her group, who sat in mesmerized silence. "I hope none of you was too
upset. We'll talk about it next week,"
"Miss Corporal," said
Lou, walking over to her, half dressed. Miss Corporal just lay there naked, her
hands under her head, the silver of her bracelets glinting between strands of
black disheveled hair, her ankles crossed.
"Lou," she said,
looking at her clock, "time was up a long time ago. We'll continue next
week."
Darby
and Bobby were already at the door, waving goodbye. Lou purposely took a long
time tying his shoes and locating his tie. He felt a strong connection to Miss
Corporal and didn't want to leave without expressing it.
"Lou," said Miss Corporal
again, pointing to her clock.
Waiting for the elevator, Lou had the strange
feeling that perhaps nothing had happened, a detachment made stronger by the
elevator, once he was in it, causing his ears to clog. Passing the desk, he
noticed the doorman and security guard, relaxed, feet up on the desk. A weird
sound emanated from the intercom. He soon realized that it was the sound of
someone weeping. Strange as it sounded, he realized that it had to be Miss
Corporal. She'd probably stuck something in the intercom button long ago to
keep it open and alert the guard.
"Why didn't you come
upstairs and save us from being raped?" Lou asked them angrily.
"Rape,"
said the doorman, "that wasn't rape. You guys were having the time of your
lives."
"Some therapy group,"
said the guard.
Lou
listened, embarrassed, to Miss Corporal's long, dry, animal-like sobs, then
left quickly, so he wouldn't have to hear them.
