Ilene The Final StoryInstallment 4 He was the happiest person she'd ever met. Jokes spilled from his mouth like champagne at New Year's eve, and always at the appropriate time; never as insults or put-downs, never in poor taste. Steve Haley was the most popular student in his class at Northeastern University and Ilene truly enjoyed his company. In fact, for the past month (ever since the mysterious disappearance of Dr. D'Angelo and the subsequent arrival of Dr. Dexter Dojkasawyer who'd taken over his classes) Ilene had spent a lot of time with her new boyfriend; her "big bag of jolly" as she liked to call him. And tonight, finally, as they cuddled together on the couch in Ilene's Beacon Hill flat, she was just about finished jacking him off. This was the first time they'd been intimate and Steve had hoped for more than a hand job, but deferring to Ilene's wishes he didn't press for anything else. She cooed and snuggled her little head into his smooth, thin neck while whispering encouragements that he let himself go. . . quickly. As with his predecessors, he tried to hold off, but despite his slight sexual experience with several girls he was completely overwhelmed. This little freshman who was now stroking his short cock so skillfully and with so much endearment quickly made him realize how hopeless it would be to resist her: He must come. With a final spasm of submission, a few drops of pale white fluid spurted from his little prick onto Ilene's small but gorgeous breasts. She squealed with delight as her happy little friend lost it, and nearly swooned from her own orgasm while watching him cum. "I'm sorry that I couldn't give you more to play with," he finally said. "I'm sure that you've whacked-off men with bigger cocks than mine." Ilene resisted the temptation to tell him, "You've got that right," because she was very kind and being hurtful wasn't part of her make up. "I loved beating you off Steve, especially when you tried to hold back. It was great!" she reassured him with a grin. As Steve drifted off to sleep he smiled not really believing her, but at least he'd finally had some sort of encounter with this sexy little Amerasian girl who'd been turning him on since they first met. Oh, Steve, I wanted to let you make love to me. I wanted to enjoy real sex with you but I couldn't do it this time either. Not with you, not with my professor, not with anybody. I've always thought that I was perfectly sane but. . . what's that flash? Was that mommy and Aunt Bea? Why are they with those two men? Oh, well, it's gone. Maybe I should get some counseling. Maybe that's the only thing left. I want to be normal! I do! Ilene couldn't stop thinking about the strange circumstances under which her previous lover and history professor, Dr. Vern D'Angelo, had so abruptly left the university. And just as strange was the creepy man who'd replaced him, Dr. Dojkasawyer. The way he looked at her as she sat taking notes during his colorful, sexually oriented, Haitian-accented lectures was downright eerie. She shuddered just thinking about him. Ilene had been Dr. D'Angelo's graduate assistant, but now she was just another student. When the new teacher arrived he replaced her with a Jamaican girl named Jenny. Always sitting by his side at the podium while he lectured, Jenny Bunting spent most of her time taking notes and staring at Ilene. Was she simply jealous of the girl whose place she'd taken? A lesbian? Pissed that her patron didn't take his eyes off Ilene while he lectured? Whatever the reason, Ilene was uncomfortable with the present situation but helpless to do anything about it. Or so she thought. Ilene Butrynelle was soaking in a hot, sudsy tub when the wooden knocker rattled the old oak door to her apartment. Robed and dripping, she peered through the brass eyeball at the distorted face of Jenny Bunting. Cautiously, Ilene opened the door, and without invitation her visitor breezed in. Clutching a brown paper bag, Jenny sat on the sofa facing both a huge bay window and a small, wet, irritated Ilene. "I know my visit has disturbed you, Ms. Butrynelle, and I apologize for that," she said. "But, please bear with me. I have a message for you from Vern." Ilene was on her in a flash. "What the hell do you know about Professor D'Angelo? Where is he? What's going on?" "Ms. Butrynelle, please calm down and give me a chance to explain. Everything will become clear." She paused, and then held out the bag. "Dexter Dojkasawyer asked me to deliver this. Please, take it." Ilene sat in shock staring at the bag's contents now spread across the coffee table. Several sheets of tissue paper glued into a wad by some unknown substance, and a large glossy photo of Dr. D'Angelo. He lay naked and handcuffed to a bed, with Jenny sitting between his legs. Her hand was on his massive erection and an ocean of cum was frozen in mid-air. Ilene was speechless. Extreme mental anguish can change one's character just as effectively as a frontal lobe lobotomy. Entranced by what she was viewing, yet drifting away at the same time, Ilene relived for fractions of seconds past events that took hours to transpire. She grinned at her middle school track coach laying helpless in the weeds next to the stadium as his stiff shaft shot its load onto her thin, graceful fingers. She saw her high school's star quarterback gasping for both breath and pride in the back of an old Chevy, completely under her control while she jacked his little prick into a frenzy of spits that didn't amount to a dropper-full of semen. And she reminisced about Lieutenant Carol, the army officer who'd picked her up outside a Seven-Eleven one spring afternoon. She was fifteen, and had just ridden her bike to the convenience store when Army Lieutenant Robby Carol rushed out in a hurry to get to his car. Tripping over the bike's front wheel, the two of them landed together in a dirty gutter, both suffering more from embarrassment than damage. Bike in trunk, he was driving her home as a form of apology when she suggested a hidden little pond where they could take a swim and clean up. Hesitating at first because of her obvious age, a second glance at the open, torn blouse revealing perky little breasts with incredibly beautiful nipples was all it took to allay his concerns. In a heartbeat, Lt. Carol's car was negotiating a dirt path through the woods toward Bass Lake. Unashamed, Ilene stripped off her clothes and jumped in with Robby close behind. They frolicked in the clear, cool water, laughed about the way they were introduced, and headed to an old, crusty, army blanket laid out on a small patch of sandy beach. While the young officer told Ilene about the history of his blanket how it bore witness to escapades with women in Bangkok, Singapore, and Manila she began rubbing the backs of her nails along his well-muscled thighs. When his long, thick probe began to rise, she deftly encircled it with two thin, white fingers and casually started stroking. "You should know that grown men don't play kid games, Ilene. You'd better stop right now unless you really want me to teach you about making love." Ilene didn't stop. He'd be my first fuck if I could only let him. That big, fat cock would probably feel great, too. Mommy? Auntie? What are you doing with those men? Mommy, why are you crying? Doesn't daddy get on top of you like that, too? Aunt Bea, why are you pulling on his. . . thing? Is it fun? Is that why you're laughing? Oh, Aunt Bea, please stop and help mommy. He's pushing it inside her and she's still crying. Robby gently shifted his position, wrapped both arms around his little partner, and began to mount her. His hand slid to her bush, and as he began spreading her warm, moist lips she twisted away while pulling his mouth to her breast. With a slight change in her grip, she began stroking faster, bringing his manhood to a blue-steel erection. "I told you that I don't play. . . ," but his words came too late. Ilene's ability to totally control an intimate encounter was unknown to Lt. Carol who now faced a serious dilemma: How could he maintain his macho-military image if he blew his rocks in this kid's game with a little girl? Desperate, he again pushed his hand to her crotch and began rubbing furiously, but Ilene simply leaned over to his ear and whispered, "Cum, big guy, cum." Drawing his mouth to her other breast, she increased the speed of her stroke and pushed her nipple to his tongue. He gasped, began to quiver, and as torrents of ecstasy throbbed through his giant cock he lost it, sending stream upon stream of warm, thick jism crashing against Ilene's modest bosom. She wailed with pleasure as her own orgasm took hold, warming and tingling her little body with waves of rapture. Spent, dispirited, and ashamed of his performance, Lt. Carol fell to the blanket. Never before had a girl or woman so completely drained him; never had he been so totally overwhelmed. Suddenly, a flash of anger tensed his vanquished body and with clenched fists he half rose with thoughts of violence. But seeing this delightful little girl eyes closed, a happy look of contentment on her pretty face he fell back to the ground, silently suffering his defeat. "Ms. Butrynelle, Ms. Butrynelle, are you awake?" asked Jenny, shaking Ilene's shoulder. Ilene surged back to the present. "Okay, I've seen what you wanted to show me, now what the fuck is going on?" "Get dressed, please. We're going to take a little ride. And yes, Ms. Butrynelle, Vern will be there when we arrive." Without protest, Ilene dressed and followed her adversary to a waiting Mercedes which sped off to an old converted warehouse by the docks. This section of Boston, once a bustle of commercial activity, was now prime real estate property for the yuppie crowd who paid exorbitant prices for huge apartments which had formerly been storage warehouses. Inside, they rode a freight elevator to the larger of the two apartments occupying the entire sixth floor. It was here, at the door to 6B, that Ilene began to tremble. Then they entered. Ilene found herself surrounded by opulent luxury. Heavy Philippine furniture, hand carved Indonesian screens and wall hangings, Thai silk tapestries and drapes, Persian carpets, and Tang jade figurines gave the cavernous rooms an ethereal quality in vivid contrast to the seedy neighborhood. In an alcove at the far end of the drawing room was a Louis XIV davenport occupied by none other than Dexter Dojkasawyer, clad in white batik, sipping cognac from a crystal snifter. "Miss Ilene, do-oo sit down," and he beckoned her to his side. Ilene looked for Jenny while moving slowly to her teacher, but they were alone. Trying to regain her wits she blurted, "Look here, professor, I'm getting sick and tired of. . . ." "Be silent! You will only speak when spoken to," he commanded. "I don't intend to waste your time or mine. It's really quite simple, Miss Ilene. You are here for one reason only and you will do exactly as you are told, precisely when you are told to do it. If you object, you will never see Dr. D'Angelo again. Is that clear?" Intimidated to silence, having lost all hope of controlling her future, Ilene nodded and sat down. "Good. Now take a sip of cognac, my dear. It's Napoleon, you know." Swallowing a great drought without tasting the fine brandy, she simply sat and glared at the little man until she became dizzy. And then there was nothing. Ilene awoke slowly from her drug-induced slumber. As the cobwebs cleared, a dim bedside lamp helped to make some sense of her surroundings. She was naked, centered on a huge canopied bed, with both hands and feet shackled to the posts. Ilene pulled against her bonds, but the effort was futile. Then, turning her attention to the shadows close to the foot of the bed, she saw Jenny sitting in silence, staring. Before she could speak the door opened and Dr. Dojkasawyer entered. He quickly disrobed, climbed onto the bed, and began rubbing Ilene's body. "Oh my, you do look exquisite, Miss Ilene. Now listen please, because this is what will happen, my dear." he whispered, while his smooth fingers caressed her soft, white thighs. "I am going to fuck you. The restraints are to prevent you from touching me, and I will not permit you to speak. I trust that this will not be necessary?" he cautioned, holding up a cotton gag. Again, Ilene nodded assent. "Good. And by the way, your lover, Professor D'Angelo himself was on this very bed not long ago with Miss Jenny. I believe that you saw the picture?" So, it's come to this. So often I tried to act like a normal woman with men and couldn't. . . but it was my choice. And now I'm going to be raped as a virgin instead of giving it to someone I really care for. If I'd only been able to do it. . . oh my god! Is that why? Was it that night when I stood up in my crib watching mommy getting raped while Auntie Bea jacked-off her attacker? She knew how to handle a man and mommy didn't? Oh, God, that's it! That's the reason I'm the way I am. Why do I feel so cold? It's freezing in here. There were no bells, no whistles, no "I love you's." There was just a cold, passionless act being performed as a chef might carve a loin of pork; any hopes Ilene may have had about her first act of intercourse being a loving experience were likewise carved to pieces. But slowly, a strange feeling began to overcome her. As the Jamaican doctor heaved and pumped his swollen little prick in and out of her wet pussy, she started to feel a stirring of excitement. Looking down at her tormentor's slight shaft, she saw what might be a tiny red garter around its hilt. "So, my dear, you see what's getting you so hot, eh? In case you didn't know about French ticklers before, you do now." Ilene was flabbergasted. How could she possibly enjoy being raped? But she was. She was getting hotter and hotter with every thrust of Dr. Dojkasawyer's glistening little rod, and now her body was moving in harmony with his. The soft rubber spur of the tickler was doing its job; rubbing ever so slightly against her pulsating clit with every thrust. And then he gasped, increased his tempo to a furious cadence and cried out, "Feel me come, bitch!" A dollop of warm juice spurted from his tiny cock into Ilene's wet gully at the same moment that her own arousal peaked. Aided by a sexual device, he'd brought Ilene to true climax for the very first time. She sunk into the soft mattress, heaving and shuddering as beads of sweat sparkled on her small, creamy white breasts, and passed out. The Jamaican rose, grinned, and walked out of the room with Jenny close behind. Later, as Ilene's vertigo cleared, she instinctively reached for the covers and to her surprise found that she was no longer cuffed. They must have unlocked them while I was swooning, she thought. Still exhausted, she wrapped herself in a thick, puffy quilt and slept. When she awoke again sunlight was streaming through the window. A breakfast tray sat on the nightstand, and the aroma of coffee drew her to the food. She ate ravenously, performed her morning rites in the adjoining bathroom, and dressed. The bedroom door was unlocked, Ilene explored. The apartment was empty, but on the kitchen table was an envelope addressed to her. Pouring another coffee, she walked to the drawing room and read the letter. Dearest Ilene. . . Ilene folded the letter, slowly walked out to the dirty Boston street, and wandered along the waterfront into the noisy city. Steven Haley beamed with anticipation as he and Ilene stood in front of the gilded marble registration desk in Hawaii's posh Ala Wai Terrace hotel. Events had sped by in the four months since the old warehouse debacle, and after having spent a few weeks with Steven in Boston, she'd agreed to marry him. But only after telling him a little story about her life. Everything about her life. He stood silent, dumbfounded at first, but slowly came to accept his girlfriend's jaded past. "This is day one," he'd said, "and I'm ready and willing to start fresh." Ilene was truly overwhelmed. His traditional values had prevented him from insisting on sex during their brief engagement, but now that they were man and wife it would be different. Ilene shot him a demure, perky little glance of innocence as they rode the mahogany elevator to the hotel's bridal suite. A small bulge in his trousers bore witness to his plans, and Ilene gripped his arm tightly. After fumbling with the key, Steven carried his bride into their nest to the huge, satin-covered canopy bed, and with a quick kiss he raced to the bathroom while Ilene changed into her most seductive attire. Embracing, kissing, petting, they fell to the pillows, and while her husband tore off his pajamas with visions of marathon fucking close at hand, Ilene just grinned, as she flexed the long, soft, white fingers of her right hand. |