A Bestiary of Unnatural Women (13 page)

But she looked so perfect, he had to show her
off to her friends and colleagues.

“Want to party, you devil, you?” she
asked.

He was thrilled that she was getting into the
spirit of the event. “You’re going to blow some minds tonight,
dear.”

“I’m going to blow your cock tonight,
mister,” she answered and led him out the door.

The party was in full bloom by the time Cindy
and Trevor arrived. Music was playing, but not too loudly –
academics prefer to hear themselves talk – and the acrid odor of
grass wafted from some back room.

He let Cindy walk through the door before
him, not to be a gentleman but because he wanted to watch the
reaction that she caused when she entered the room. To sharpen the
effect, he hung back a few paces waiting until she was entirely
inside the house before he appeared at the door.

He was satisfied to see that most of the men
and women in the room had turned to stare at Cindy. The first
expression to flash on the faces of the men was lust, the women,
disdain. This was immediately replaced by shock as people realized
that the tastelessly-dressed whore in their midst was Cindy Crouse,
the self-assured feminist graduate student who had written research
papers decrying the exploitation of women in assorted ways. Only
after she had traversed the room and begun nodding and greeting
people, did they start intellectualizing and complimenting her on
the ironic statement that she was making to emphasize the tragic
circumstances of workers in the sex trade.

But Trevor could see that the initial
reaction of lust and disdain still lurked beneath the intellectual
veneer that the academics were erecting as quickly as they could
speak. No matter how educated, people were creatures of their
biology. Men remained men and women remained women and sex was
biological dynamite.

As he followed her around, he could hear the
lust that men were expressing through endless blunt innuendo,
simple-minded double entendres, and false irony.

“Well, Cindy, I see you’ve finally figured
out what graduate studies are all about.” Fake snicker.

“I always knew that you know more about how
to give a guy a good time than you let on.” False giggle.

“Maybe we can have our own party some time,
just you and me.” Forced bray. That was the department chairman –
what an ass.

“What will twenty bucks buy on the street?”
Guffaw.

Trevor could hear a slight ring of hope
underpinning each casually-phrased proposition and proposal. No man
in the room could successfully hide the truth: that he wished that
she would actually act the hooker in full rather than merely
dressing the part. He had to give Cindy full credit. She could have
used her position to cut these guys to ribbons, rejecting their
crude advances by belittling their manhood, criticizing their
appearance, or sneering at their clumsy phrasings, but she did not
once insult anyone. For the most part, she parried their thrusts
with comments about their own costumes and characters. “Gee,
Mickey, what would Walt say about that?” or “I couldn’t take money
from a hobo; I’m sure that you need every penny for your next
meal.”

Trevor admired her self-restraint.

She did not stint on fulfilling her promise
to attend the party. She could have dragged him into the bathroom
within the first ten minutes, blew him, and then fled directly back
to the safety of her own apartment. But, she did not. In large part
this was because, once here and forced to face the ill-concealed
base emotions of the men and women in attendance, she could not
leave quickly. That would be interpreted as an admission that her
choice of costume was a mistake. When beset by a pack of academic
wolves, the only safe response is to be bold and brave. They will
fall upon any sign of weakness like the ravening beasts they
are.

If she failed to stay and prove that she was
as tough as her costume implied, she would spend the next three
years fending off one snide, underhanded attack after another.

It was a full two hours before she took her
devil by the hand, leaned close to his pointed ear and whispered,
“Follow me, John. We’ve got a business deal to conclude.”

He followed her upstairs, hoping that no one
noticed the bulge that was threatening to burst open the zipper on
his trousers.

She walked past the door to the main bathroom
and into the master bedroom. She locked the door to secure their
privacy. Trevor realized that, when she had excused herself to go
to the loo earlier, she had taken the opportunity to scout the
upstairs facilities. And that she had chosen this particular moment
to drag him up here because she had been watching and seen that no
one had gone up the stairs in the last few minutes.

As soon as the door was locked, she said, “I
hope you brought money. This is going to cost you forty dollars and
I get paid up front. Only a fool would give a john credit.”

She waited until he drew his wallet from his
jacket pocket and handed her two twenties. It annoyed him that she
had referred to him as a ‘john’ and that she was making him pay
her, but he had to admit that he had put her in the role of
prostitute and could not now blame her for acting her role too
well. Besides, judging from the size of his erection, his cock
wanted this degree of realism more than his mind would admit.

She tucked the bills into her bra, sank to
her knees, unzipped him, wrapped her hands with their blood-red
nail polish around his shaft, and began sucking for all she was
worth. God, she had become a great cocksucker during the past
couple of months. He almost fainted from pleasure as he gushed into
her mouth. She was worth every penny of the forty bucks. He would
have paid a hundred bucks for this service. Or more.

As soon as she stood up, she started chewing
her gum aggressively and said, with deliberately fake sincerity,
“That was great, mister. Look me up again next time you’re in the
neighborhood. Just look for the red light and ask for Roxanne.” And
she left the room.

Had she taken the gum out of her mouth when
she had been blowing him? He thought not. She must have tucked it
into her cheek, out of the way for the brief time that she needed
to use her mouth for business. What a girl!

He had to wait in the bedroom for a few more
minutes until his tumescence subsided to a decent level, then went
back downstairs.

He was shocked when he saw Cindy again. When
she had tucked his money – now her money – into her bra, she had
left the tips of the two bills peeking out of her cleavage.
Everyone knew that the money had not been there before and would
infer that she had been paid for sex. People could not know if it
had really happened or was just part of her act, but it was a
brilliant touch. The other male graduate students and professors
were practically drooling; the females in the room were unable to
hide their feral snarls any longer and had to turn away from
her.

Trevor could tell that Cindy was on the edge
of laughing openly in their faces. These were the same people who
had been tut-tutting about the exploitation of women by
contemporary society for years. Now, coming face-to-face with the
mere pretence of a sex worker, they were almost overwhelmed by
their desire to exploit her and rabid in their eagerness to place
themselves above her.

“Well, it’s time for me to get back on the
street,” she announced to everyone nearby. “My night’s just
beginning. Hope you all have a ball without me.” And she sauntered
out the front door, her ass twitching and swaying beneath the tight
faux-leather like two piglets in a bag.

Every eye in the place tracked every
twitch.

Trevor rushed to catch up with her.

Someone called out, “Gotta run like the devil
to keep up with that woman!” A couple of others brayed at the
quip.

Outside, Cindy was laughing with a mixture of
glee, bitterness, and relief. “What a pack of hypocrites. It’s so
easy for them to theorize endlessly about the plight of sex
workers, but put a hooker in the room and they’re about as
compassionate as a Taliban vice squad.”

They did not make love that night. The next
morning, when Trevor got out of bed, he found Cindy in the living
room, sitting on the couch, staring at the horse. When she saw him,
she said, “It’s the Devil’s horse,” then rose, grabbed his hand,
and pulled him back into the bedroom for a half hour of some of the
most satisfying sex that he had ever experienced.

From then on, they always referred to the
wooden horse as “The Devil’s Horse.”

The next month fell into a pattern of torture
on the horse once or twice a week on the excuse of forcing her to
perform some sexual act for his benefit – usually oral sex or
sometimes doggy-style. The rest of the time, she initiated
love-making.

The torture on the horse tended to be brief –
a few minutes most times, never more that ten minutes – because she
began begging for release and offering to do anything he wanted as
soon as she felt the pressure of the saddle against her crotch.

His requests for sex tended to be
unimaginative. Even though he was certain that he could have forced
Cindy to accommodate any request – had, in fact, been explicitly
invited to do so – he was not interested in trying the more
outrageous sexual variations that were described in sex manuals. He
only added the doggy-style sex because he needed to do something to
her besides demanding blowjob after blowjob and she mentioned that
she found bending over to offer her backside to him particularly
humiliating. Also, she never came in that position, so it satisfied
her requirement that he torture her only to obtain satisfaction for
himself.

The love-making that she initiated was more
interesting. Before she introduced torture into their relationship,
she made love to him about twice a week on average, mostly at his
request. Now, though, she was asking him for sex daily; and more
than once on some days. And, she was much more enthusiastic and
less inhibited in bed now. She frequently added oral sex to her
foreplay, not just kissing and sucking his dick, but also his
nipples and balls. She insisted on trying different positions,
often putting herself on top. And she was as likely to want sex in
the kitchen, bathroom, or even in his car as in the bedroom. As
well, she was vocalizing noticeably more loudly during sex now, not
just moaning, but screaming and shouting words and phrases – often
earthy, blunt language that had seldom passed her lips before.

And, whereas before she had only been
orgasmic about half the time, now she had an orgasm almost every
time they made love.

There was fallout from the Halloween
party.

Around the end of November, she explained
that the personal dynamic between her and the members of the
faculty had changed. “I’ve read claims by some strippers and
prostitutes that they enjoy a position of power over their clients.
Like almost everyone else in academia, I was quick to dismiss those
statements. We would shake our heads and say ‘tsk-tsk’ and agree
with each other that the poor women were so badly subjugated by the
male power structure that they were incapable of seeing how
powerless they were. How arrogant is that? To decide that we are so
smart and the sex trade workers so stupid that we know what they
are experiencing better than they do? I’m ashamed to admit that I
was ever such a patronizing asshole. Well, after just one evening
of role-playing, I see the world in a rather different light. Now,
if I want something, a meeting, signing off on a travel
authorization, co-authorship on a research paper, whatever, every
man in the department, from my thesis supervisor to the chairman is
falling over himself to accommodate me. And the women? They can
barely look at me. They’ll give me whatever I want just to get me
out of their offices. It’s like everyone thinks of me as cultural
nitroglycerine that could explode into unrestrained sexuality if I
get bumped the wrong way. I’ve been sexed-up in their minds and
they can’t unsex me again.” She grabbed her crotch. “There’s power
in this pussy. More power than I ever dreamed. I’ve grabbed men by
their fantasies and I can shake them senseless any time I
want.”

He looked at her crotch and was inspired to
mount her on her horse for a few minutes until she agreed to bend
over the kitchen table and let herself get fucked from behind. He
loved her powerful pussy. Just loved it.

The second Wednesday in December, Cindy asked
Trevor a critical question, “Do you like torturing me?”

Trevor pushed his spaghetti aside and looked
at the wooden horse standing in the middle of the living room.
“That’s a difficult question. I like making love to you. We make
love a lot more now, so I like that. And I like the idea that
sometimes I can have selfish sex, get myself off without worrying
about getting you off, too. So, to the extent that torturing you
gives me that, I guess I like it. Also, I like doing things for you
and you’ve made it clear that you want me to torture you, so I
don’t mind doing it. But, if it comes down to watching you suffer,
no, I don’t like that. You remember when I made you tell me about
how you mistreated your first boyfriend, Brent, and then made you
call him and confess. Well, that wasn’t any fun for me at all. I
only came up with that because I figured that you needed some kind
of experience that wasn’t so erotic. Hurting you just to see you
suffer and make you do stuff isn’t that exciting for me. Getting
unlimited sex from you has been my real payoff.”

“So you won’t mind if I don’t want to be
tortured any more?”

“No. I don’t mind,” he said, but he looked a
little forlorn as he gazed at the wooden horse.

She smiled. “I’ll make you another promise
instead. I promise that I’ll let you have selfish sex whenever you
want it. All the blowjobs and doggy style that you want, within
reason. ‘Within reason’ means that I still get regular sex with
nice orgasms for me, too, more often than not.”