Posted by Willailla on April 11, 2002 at 06:50:39:
SADIQUE
by Willailla
Amanda Forsyth, Mandy to her friends, stepped out of the
shower and began drying her dark blonde hair . She was a small
girl -- five feet tall in her bare feet -- with nice, jiggly breasts. Her
eyes were blue, set in a pretty, oval face with even white teeth. If
you saw her you would no doubt think of her as the typical
girl-next-door.
Sweet and friendly would be the impression you would get when
talking to her. There was a sexy kind of innocence about her, a
feeling that she was available underneath all the sweetness, an
impression derived in large part by her accommodating nature.
One sensed that it was insecurity or, perhaps, low-self -esteem at
the bottom of her need to be pleasing, and this vulnerability, like a
magnet, attracted a wide variety of hungry males.
She lived on the top floor of an old three-storied brick a few
blocks away from the university where she was a sophomore.
This morning it was raining and she was feeling depressed. But
it wasn’t the rain that bothered her. She was two months behind on
her rent. It wasn’t really that big of a problem. She could get the
money from her parents if she had to, but she didn’t like always
having to ask them for things. She was nineteen. Soon she would
be twenty. She needed to be more independent.
She didn’t have enough credits to substitute teach yet, and
anyway subbing wasn’t steady enough to rely on. She was
supposed to get some kind of gofer job at the college library, but
they wouldn’t notify her for another two weeks. And then there
was her essay for English class due Monday, and she hadn’t even
gotten her thesis statement stated clearly, plus all the other stuff she
had to do for her other classes. And, on top of it all, she’d had
another argument with her boyfriend, Brad. He hadn’t called in
two days.
She was really feeling down.
She brushed her teeth, making faces in the mirror, slipped on
her white, terry cloth robe and blow-dried her hair, teased and
bushed it until it had a healthy sheen.
~
While she sat lotus-legged on the sofa trying to compose her
essay someone knocked at the door. She padded barefoot down the
oak-floored hallway with a sexy little bounce and opened the door.
It was Greg and Larry.
“Hi, guys.”
“What’s up? Come in?” Greg asked.
“Sure, why not?”
Both of the tanned youths were wearing tie-dyed, tank tops,
khaki cargo shorts and joggers. Their eyes were bleary, and she
could smell grass. Larry, slender, dark with blue eyes, was holding
a six-pack, minus one, by the plastic ring.
“Whacha doin’?” Greg asked flopping his muscular, six-two
frame on the sofa and picking up the notepad she had been writing
her essay on.
“Don’t ask. I’ll scream.”
“Bad day, huh?”
“Yes.”
She pinched her lips and raised her shoulders in a helpless
I’m-at-my-wits-end gesture.
Greg smiled.
Leaving a cushion space between them, she resumed her lotus
position on the sofa pushing the hem of her robe down between her
thighs.
Larry scrunched his lanky body into a vinyl recliner that her
brother and father had hauled up from down home in the country
in a pickup truck a couple of semesters ago.
He tugged a beer loose from its plastic ring.
She shook her head.
He handed it to Greg.
“Got some weed.”
Tempted, she shook her head.
He shook out a half-smoked joint from a crumbled cigarette
pack, lit it and inhaled deeply, hanging it off to Greg.
“You still goin’ with what’s-its- name?” Larry asked, his voice
strained with the effort of holding the smoke in his lungs.
“Brad. Yep.”
“That’s a record for you, ain’t it?” Greg smiled.
“It’s been six months,” she answered, without enthusiasm.
“What’s the matter, finally startin’ to cool a bit?” he teased
lightheartedly. He glanced at Larry. I told you.”
“Told him what? she asked.
“I told him it would fizzle out in a few months, is all. Like all the
others.”
“It’s not ‘fizzling’ out,” she replied, a little miffed because she
felt there was some truth to what he said.
“Aw, bet it is, Mandy. Six months is about your limit with any
guy. Before I met you you’d dated some guy named Peter, or
something, for three months. Before that this asshole [he nodded at
Larry] for four months. Then me for about the same. And how
many since me? Five? Six? You’re one of those women who’re in
love with being in love. No man will ever satisfy you. You’re
looking for something that doesn’t exist. After Brad it’ll be
someone else and after that someone else.”
“You make it sound pretty bleak,” she replied.
Greg smiled, raising his eyebrow teasingly.
“Not for us. You’re a man’s woman, that’s all. It’s your destiny.
You’re insatiable.”
There was a pause in the conversation while that sank in.
Then Larry spoke.
“You still behind on your bills?” He asked with a casualness that
seemed forced.
Mandy nodded.
“Rent, utilities, car payment . . . you name it. Why?”
Larry gave Greg a significant look.
“Wanna make five hundred bucks?”
“How?”
“Guy we know,” Greg cut in, “asked us if we knew a girl who’d
be willing to make a porn flick.”
“You. Are. Kidding. Right?”
“No. Amateur stuff. Couple of hours. That’s it.”
“You. Are. Serious.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one, what if my parents saw it, hotshot?
Larry pressed his lips in mock sarcasm.
“Oh, yeah, and your parents watch a lot of porn, do they? Uh,
huh. And even if they did, this isn’t going be in theaters or
Blockbuster, babe. It’ll just be on video advertised in sleazy little,
specialty brochures. There’s no chance in hell anyone you know
will ever see it. And . . . it . . . is . . . eee zzz muun-knee.”
“God, how’d you two ever come up with this?”
“Earl, the gimp that limps around campus with a cane dealing
drugs; he’s into all kinds of shits; knows people who’re into this
kind of shit.”
“Seems kinda crazy, guys.”
“Money’s up front; so you know you’re not gonna get ripped
off.”
Mandy thought about it, eyes wide, unfocused.
“Mmmm, this is crazy; I, uuuh, don’t . . . knooow . . .
Seriously?”
“As a heart attack,” Greg cut in. “Come on, Mandy. You’ve got
the bod for it. And it’s easy money; it’s not like you’d be doing it
with strangers. It’s nothing you haven’t done dozens of times
before with me and Larry. The only difference this time is you’ll
get five hundred bucks to do it. Pay a lot of bills.”
“Sounds too weird,” Mandy muttered, knitting her brow as she
considered it. “If . . . I . . . did, Brad can’t find out.”
“Well, hell, we’re not gonna tell him.” Larry replied with a
short, barking laugh, glancing at Greg for mutual confirmation.
Greg nodded along absently as he sucked on the joint.
“He’ll never know.”
“If you decide,” Larry continued, “we can get the up-front
money tomorrow morning, shoot the damn thing and be done by
two or three in the afternoon.”
“I need some time to think about it. But only if you can get the
money up-front? Otherwise no deal.”
Both youths nodded.
“Cause, guys, I really need the money.”
Suddenly a phone rang, and hopping up, Mandy padded toward
the kitchen door, combing her fingers through her hair, then
shaking it out. Her hips strained provocatively against the terry
cloth.
Greg looked at Larry and grinned.
They could hear the soft, feminine murmuring of her voice as
she talked over the phone but couldn’t tell what she was saying.
Larry leaned toward Greg and whispered tersely:
“We gotta get her off the phone before something changes her
mind.”
Greg nodded, got up and headed toward the kitchen.
She was leaning with her hip cocked against the kitchen counter,
the receiver held against her left ear while the first two fingers of
her right hand rubbed at her throat. The tie-belt of her robe had
loosened letting the neckline droop, revealing a nice glimpse of
cleavage.
She gave him an irritated look, spoke a few more words into the
receiver, then placed it back into the wall cradle.
Greg stepped up against her placing his hands on her hips.
“That was Brad. He’s coming over later,” she said.
She turned her face seeking to avert the kiss he placed softly on
her neck. The skin was soft, warm and tender and smelled of talc
and lilac soap.
“You know what?” Greg said softly, grasping her chin between
his thumb and forefinger and turning her face back to him.
“No, what?” she answered, mild anger and sadness mixing her
tone. Her eyes suddenly held the look of a trusting child that had
been hurt and disappointed one too many times.
“We could get married.”
She gave him a sour look.
“Why now? You never wanted to when we were going
together.”
“That was then, this is now.”
“Too late.” Her eyes were sad.
“Last chance,” he said, adopting a less serious tone. “I won’t
offer again.”
He lifted her so that she was sitting on the edge of the counter
and opened her robe so that only her shoulders were covered.
“Don’t . . .” she murmured softly.
“Just take a second,” he said.
He licked and sucked on her nipples and tits while dropping his
shorts. He spread her legs apart and pushed his tingling cock
through the mat of short hairs into the tight grip of her cunt.
It was over quickly. A few sharp thrust.
When he withdrew she came down off the counter, jerked the
robe around her and marched toward the bathroom.
Drops of cum glistened on the tiled floor.
“Where’s Mandy?” Larry asked, when Greg sauntered back
into the living room.
Greg grinned and nodded toward the bathroom.”
Larry pulled off his top and shorts. Naked he walked toward the
bathroom, his large cock jutting before him like the figurehead on
the prow of an old sailing ship.
~
There was a knock on the door. Brad.
They were lying on her bed.
Larry placed his hand over her mouth. He had his cock in her
ass. Greg had his cock in her cunt.
There wasn’t any need for the hand over her mouth, she
reasoned; she couldn’t have called out and let Brad find her in bed
with two ex-boyfriends.
He called her name several times -- but not too loudly -- and
knocked several more times.
There was silence for awhile.
Was he listening to the sounds Greg and Larry made as they
worked their cocks in and out of her? Of the bed creaking?
The hand smothered her.
Then there was the shuffling sound of Brad’s footsteps going
down the stairs.
Angry? Hesitant? Hurt? She couldn’t tell.
~
Late in the morning, rain-dappled windshield, Greg pulled his
yellow Camaro up in front of a one story frame house in a run
down subdivision. Mandy sat in the back. Larry shotgun.
Greg shut the engine off, got out and went to the front door.
After several knocks a barefoot, skinny geek with thick glasses
wearing a black T-shirt and jeans opened the door.
Mandy had seen him around campus. He was the one everybody
called the ‘Gimp’.
Greg high-fived him and went inside.
In the living room they passed a frumpy, old woman in a dirty
slip lying on a threadbare sofa, a couple of empties lying on a
ringed coffee table piled with junk magazines and an overflowing
ashtray. A small, snot-nosed girl sat cross legged on a dirty carpet
mesmerized by a cartoon flashing on a large TV screen.
The Gimp led him into a rear room filled with all kinds of
expensive computer equipment, printers, scanners, etc. and shut the
door behind them.
The static of a police scanner punctuated the silent spaces
occasionally.
“Ray, my man, I need five queer.”
Ray lit a cigarette and squinted his eyes.
“Cost you a note good.”
“Well, look, man, I’m just gonna need it for a prop . . . few
hours; I can have it back to you before this evening.”
The Gimp pressed his lips together in a grimace that forced his
cheeks up.
“I’m not run’n a fuckin’ pawnshop.”
Greg exhaled between clenched teeth.
“Aw, man, com’on, I’ll have the shit back to you this evening?”
“Yeah, right. Fuck you. I wasn’t born yesterday, asshole. I’m
not in this for my health. You got a hundred or not?”
Greg shrugged and drew out a bill. Normally he would have
played it harder, but he was eager to get going.
The Gimp took the hundred and held it up against the ceiling
light for thread. After he was satisfied, he went to a small kiln
setting on a stainless-steel table, opened the door and took out a
stack of bills.
“Only deal in ones, fives, tens and twenties for local shit,” he
said. “Fifties and hundreds will get your ass caught in no time.”
He counted out a wad of money and shoved it into Greg’s hand.
~
Mandy counted the money piled in her lap as Greg gunned the
Camaro out of town toward the country.
“Why can’t we film it at my place?” Mandy asked, as she shoved
the bills into her patch-work purse. She was wearing an ankle-
length, paisley skirt with a black, long-sleeved, thin sweater and
penny loafers. Her blonde hair was fixed up in a loose bun.
“Ah, we want something different,” Greg said, glancing into the
rearview mirror at her.
Larry had taken out a video camera from a leather case and was
taping her. She squinted against the bright light. Their bodies
swayed from side to side as the car rounded tight curves. The
windshield wipers fought an endless, barely audible battle with the
raindrops. The tires swished over the rainswept country lane.
They occasionally passed small farm houses. Invariably there
would be the yapping bark of a hound, a brief chase; then quiet
woods would engulf them; once in a while they would cross a
rattling, loose-planked bridge over a brown, swollen creek rushing
and foaming headlong over large, smooth rocks and fallen limbs.
“Yeah, just about every porn flick you see is shot in somebody’s
fucking bedroom. It’s boring,” Larry said, still holding the camera
on her.
Greg agreed. “Fucking, in and of itself, is not all that exciting;
there has to be something more to it than just that.”
“Well, where are we going?” Mandy asked, glancing sideways
to keep her eyes averted from the bright camera light.
“There’s an old deserted barn up a ways. It’ll make a great set,”
Greg said.
“Take your clothes off, Mandy,” Larry said, framing her face in
the camera lens.
“What, now?”
“Yeah, it’s all right; we’re almost there; you can scoot down if
we pass somebody.”
She sighed, rolled her eyes, then began unbuttoning the sweater
while Larry continued to tape her.
When she was naked Larry told her to roll everything up into
her skirt and hand it to him.
“The shoes, too,” he added. “Leave the purse.”
When she handed him the bundle he opened the window and
threw it out.
“Larry! What are you doing? That’s my clothes. Stop the car,
Greg!”
Larry taped her reaction, zooming in close to catch the shocked
expression, the anger, the confusion.
“Don’t worry; you won’t be needing them any longer.”
“Whata you mean? I can’t go home naked.”
“You’re not going home, Mandy. We’re gonna kill you,” Greg
said, grinning at her over his shoulder.
Larry caught the look of terror that crossed her pretty face on
tape. Priceless! He moved the camera up and down her naked
body catching every delectable curve, the blonde hairs of her pussy,
the belly button, the full breasts, the pink nipples, the hollow of her
delicate throat and tender cheeks, the terror and fear mixing in her
eyes.
His dick stiffened in his canvas shorts.
They hid the car in some woods.
She didn’t struggle or protest, except for a whining, pleading
sound made deep in her throat as Larry taped her wrists together.
They walked down an overgrown lane. Greg held her upper
arm. He kissed her occasionally, tasting her. Rain misted through
the leaves of the trees settling on hair like tiny crystals. Larry
walked behind, filming them from under an umbrella.
In an open field beyond the woods they came to a sway-backed
barn, its gray, oak planks black in the rain. Far off in the distance
a tractor moved, insect-like, toward the horizon and disappeared
over a hump. Barn swallows fluttered about.
Inside, half the roof rotted open to the pale sky. Bales of stale,
gray hay had been stacked and forgotten in what had once been a
corn crib.
“Fuck her,” Larry said, holding his camera on Mandy.
Greg took off his clothes. He made her lie down on a bale and,
holding her wrists over her head, got between her legs and stuck his
swollen cock in her.
She grimaced, her eyes fixed on the camera, then she turned her
face away. He kissed her; he slapped her until she kissed him back.
She moved her hips up to meet his thrusts. From the exertion her
face and breasts became tinged with a pink blush as blood filled
capillaries near the surface of her skin.
When he was through, Greg stood and milked his dick over her.
She licked a fleck of cum from her lips.
Greg took the camera while Larry fucked her; then they sat the
camera up to film both of them fucking her.
In a corner Greg found a length of greasy, yellow, nylon rope
run through the eyelets of a tattered, blue tarp. He tied one end
around her neck then looped the other over a crossbeam. He
dragged the hay bale to a clear spot and had her stand on it while
he secured the other end of the rope to a vertical support.
He cut the tape binding her wrists, then set fire to the bale with a
lighter.
Frantically Mandy struggled to unloosen the knot Greg had tied,
but it was too tight. As the fire built, the half-rotted baling twine
snapped causing the bale to break up under her weight.
She cried out, skipping about on tiptoes, her eyes wide with
terror. She begged and pleaded while Larry caught it all on tape.
“Aaaaaggghh!” she choked out, then screamed as flames drew
near, licking at the delectable flesh of her feet and thighs.
She could swing or burn; there was no other choice.
Suddenly the bale collapsed leaving her suspended in mid air.
She clawed at her neck where the coarse nylon dug into the
stretching, tender flesh. She gagged; a vomit sound -- urgent,
primordial, unintelligible -- gargled up from her throat. There was
a strangled cry. A squealing whine.
She gripped the rope and eased her weight by pulling up, but
there was no escape from the flames that licked her flesh. Her
pussy hairs burst into flames singeing her belly. Her feet began to
blister. She raised her legs up only to expose her ass to the hot,
burning flames. There was a sizzling sound as fat burst into flames.
She jerked spastically, like someone being electrocuted. Her hands
lost their grip; her legs dropped; her eyes stared lifelessly; her limp
body swung back and forth. Slowly . . . then stopped. She began to
cook . . . .
They dragged her to a hole they had dug several days previously
and dumped her into it and covered her over.
On the drive back each youth was lost in his own private
thoughts. Occasionally they glanced at each other and grinned.
They’d done it; it was on tape, and as long as it was on tape they
could replay Mandy’s torment . . . replay it scores of years from
now, long after they were old men and the world had forgotten that
a pretty, young college girl by the name of Mandy had ever lived.
~Only when you have achieved your heart’s desire can it be said
you lived.~