Justice Served

The leggy DA couldn't put Kendrick behind bars. But he would see that justice was served....

(MF, nc)

By: Seasick

 

New York City, 1984

“That’s just fucking great,” Amy yelled out as a passing truck hit the puddle of water that lay at the base of the curb and drenched her with a curtain of water. The vile words were usual for the woman, and her co-worker was already feeling pity for her.

“Oh Amy, I’m so sorry. This just hasn’t been your day has it?”

“First they let Kendrick off on a technicality, and now this,” she exclaimed, trying in vain to press the water from out of the front of her dress with her hands. “Look at me, I’m a mess.”

Amy’s assistant would have tried to minimize the declaration, but Amy could see her own reflection in the store front window. Though both knew the water could never take away her tall, lanky frame, her big brown eyes or dyed strawberry blond hair, the water did however damage her pristine look. Matted and greasing looking, her hair no longer held any style or shape, but fell flat around her heart-shaped face and had to be constantly pulled from in front of her eyes. Her make-up was smudged as well with eye liner and mascara running down the bottoms of her eyelids in a streak. Worse yet was her white blouse. It was ruined from the soil and oil residing in the mud puddle, but she was more concerned with her ten minute walk home in what amounted to a see-through top then she was with the cost of replacing the one hundred and sixty dollar blouse.

“You looked so nice today too, Amy.”

“I spent three hours getting ready this morning. I wanted my legs to be the last image burned into that bastard’s feeble head when they carted him away to prison. I should have known something like this would happen.”

“Well don’t dwell on it. You did your job, sometimes we have to let criminals go. It’s how the system works.”

“Well I’m going home. I’ll see you in a couple of days I guess.”

“You’re taking tomorrow off?”

“And Friday too,” Amy called over her shoulder as she started down the street. It was only a few blocks to her house, but Amy knew it was going to miserable walk in soggy high heels and wet hose. A brisk breeze was blowing off the harbor and chilled her to her core as she made her way along Lexington Street. Glancing in the hallway mirror as she stepped through the foyer, Amy felt more like a flirt than she did a an district attorney. Both of her nipples were strained against the wet, white fabric of her blouse, while her legs were numbed from wind and the soaking as well. Knowing only a hot bubble bath would cure her inward distress, Amy drew the water as she grabbed her favorite novel and poured herself a glass of wine.

 

Amy had just turned the page on her novel when she heard the latch of the bathroom door squeak as someone turned it. Her heart stopped in fright, and she could not help but drop her book into the soapy water as she watched the door slowly swing open. There was absolutely no sound as it did so, just the lapping of the bathtub’s waves against the porcelain sides and the eerie, drawn-out creak of the door as it made its slow-motion arc. As the book slid ominously below the frothy waterline, Kendrick stepped into the doorway, taking up much of it as he smiled upon his arch nemesis.

If it was not for the features of his face, Amy would not have recognized him from the way he was dressed. The man was even more immaculately dressed than he had been in court. With his black, chalk-striped wool suit, purple cotton button-up shirt emerging out from his unbuttoned jacket, long matching trousers, and loafers shined to a bright sheen, Amy would have guessed he was a lawyer and not the rapist she had portrayed him as in court.

“How did you get in?” she demanded. “I have security. I live in a gated community...”

“A career criminal, isn’t that what you said in court this afternoon?”

Amy nodded knowing he was using her own words against as she looked around for a towel. Kendrick had planned for this moment and used his foot to slide a folded up bath towel across the linoleum towards her. It was a calculated push and only slid halfway across the floor towards her, and well out of her reach.

“A little closer please?”

“That’s far enough,” he said with a little smirk on his face. Amy regarded him for a moment, noting how he crossed his legs and folded his arms. When he leaned against the frame of the doorway, Amy knew his resolve was steadfast.

“I’ll scream.”

“Go ahead, no one will hear you,” he said shrugging his shoulders with unconcern. Amy bit her lower lip realizing the bath water was getting colder by the minute.

“You’re going to prune.”

Amy just shot him a dirty look, knowing she was out of options. Gathering all of her courage, Amy rose from the soapy water and slid her leg over the rim of the tub. Water splashed with its familiar sound and she could see a smile form on his face as he realized the powerful attorney was giving in to his wishes. She realized there was no way to keep her modesty as she went for the towel and let him have his look. First at her breasts as they broke the surface of the water, and then at her vagina as she stood for a second and let his gaze wash over her.

Soapy tendrils slid down her wet skin and would occasionally land on the floor with a splat. A light peach smell filled the room from the stirred up water as she held the pose for a second. She could have covered herself up with her hands, but he would only demand that she uncover herself for him. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of watching her cave into to another one of his demands, so she allowed the man a view of her body that few men ever got to see. She even made a quick turn, pivoting on her right foot so he could see her backside, a preemptive strike that took away another potential demand. It was short lived however as she made the two steps to the towel, swooped it up and began to dry herself off, being careful now to keep herself covered.

“I see you’re not afraid of a razor?”

“My boyfriend likes it that way. He’ll be over soon by the way.”

“Apparently you didn’t check your messages. He’s been in court all day too and said he won’t make it tonight. We have plenty of time to chit chat my dear.”

“You mean take me to the basement, tie me up, and rape me like you did that other woman? You forget that I know your M. O. better than you know it yourself.”

“Maybe, but I make exceptions for prosecutors,” he said winking at her.

Realizing the convict was no longer going by his carefully crafted script, Amy’s mind began to reel at the possibilities. She had read the other women’s testimonies and knew what they had endured. As tumultuous as they were, their assaults had been against merely random, beautiful women at the wrong place at the wrong time. Her attack however, was planned and going to be very personal. She shuddered at the thought that awaited her.

“I figured since you know so much about me, I could get to know you a little better. Maybe over dinner? That’s only fair isn’t it?”

“A restaurant?”

“I brought Chinese food,” he said gesturing towards the dining room. Through the living room Amy could see that the man had taken his time laying out the meal on dining room table complete with two glasses of wine, a center piece flower arrangement, and two tall thin candles flickering brightly. She could not believe his audacity, or the fact that she had not heard any of this preparation while she was enjoying her bath. “I was disappointed though. I figured that outfit you wore in court today was going to be your best one. I found this in your closet. I bet red looks better on you,” he said, pulling a folded stack of clothes out from around the edge of the doorway with his toe, and sliding it towards Amy. She sucked in her breath when she saw what he wanted her to wear.

“How dare you go through my closets!”

“Please, I’m a danger to society remember? Now please just put the outfit on, I bet you look good in it.”

“I wouldn’t give you the pleasure of seeing me in that!”

“Yes, yes you will,” he said in a way that demanded Amy’s attention. It was more than his words though, it was his menacing look that made Amy reconsider her foolish denial.

“I’m putting it on in private.”

Kendrick nodded at her request. He had already noted that the bathroom window was made out of glass block and that there was no better cell for his prisoner. He shut the door behind him, but this too was a moot point. It had no lock on the door and he gave her a time limit as he stepped out of the large bathroom.

“Five minutes.”

Amy began to cry as she flipped the lights on beside her vanity mirror. Through tears she could feel the heat of the lights, but tried to keep from looking at her reflection as she slipped her legs into the black seemed stockings that came with the outfit. She took up nearly all of her allotted time just putting the stockings and garter belt on. Dress codes demanded that she wear a lot of hosiery, but tugging reinforced heels into place and making sure the seems up the back of her legs were aligned took time. She was just clipping the wide, darker bands of her stocking tops to her garter belt when there was a knock on the door.

“Are you ready yet?” Amy took a deep breath and tried to sound confident as she spoke.

“I hate seamed stockings. They take so long,” she hollered truthfully through the door. She was surprised when he did not open it to check on her, but heard his foot falls leaving the doorway as he left her alone to get dressed.

The outfit came as a Valentine’s Day gift from her boyfriend as well as complete ensemble. It was a dress and could be worn in public if a woman was brave enough to wear it. For Amy, it was too short, too risqué for a prosecutor to wear in public. She wore it for her boyfriend, but as a negligee, and never outside of the bedroom. Now she could not fathom that she was putting it on for a man she detested. A man she had spent the last three months trying to put in prison for various sex crimes. Now she was putting on an outfit in which every stitch, every seem, every inch of cloth was designed to seduce.

The black bra and thong that was included in the stack of clothing was not the red lace bra and panty set that came with the dress though. Fear gripped her when she realized he had rummaged through her panty drawer. It also held her toys, conveniently located within arms reach of her bed when she needed to feel the pleasure of release.

She tried to maintain her composure as put on the thong and bra. They were token items really, semi-transparent and made of thin black nylon that did little to hide what they contained. The dress was no better. It was a fire engine red number that slipped over her shoulders and stayed there with two thin straps. It was scalloped out in back, leaving her back bare several inches below her shoulder blades, and nearly as scalloped in front. It covered her breasts there at least, but just barely, with the Lycra material squeezing her body like a suede glove. The stretchy fabric she cursed, for every time she tugged down the hemline to a respectable level, it would snap back, not even reaching the midway point between her waist and her knees.

“Here, you can wear these,” he said giving the door a token knock before he stepped through and handed her a pair of black high heels. Like the dress, they were flawless from never having touched anything harder than the soft carpeting of her bedroom. They hurt her feet when she wore them, but their three inch stiletto heels kept her from wearing them to work and ever breaking them in. He made the offer to place them on her feet, but Amy refused. She knew it was just a ruse for him to look up her short skirt.

“I guess I’m dressed for dinner,” she said toeing the shoes to a standing position and then slid her feet into them. Her captor shook his head at her even though both of them knew that with the dark red color of her dress, the black seemed stockings, and high heeled pumps, Amy looked more like she was ready for sex.

“What, no make-up? You don’t need much, but some.”

“It takes time.”

“We have all night,” he added with an ominous tone. Amy did not enjoy hearing his candid time-frame, but put on lipstick. Bright red at his request of course and then some rough on her cheeks, eyeliner and then mascara. She topped off her outfit with some vanilla smelling perfume and a string of pearls around her neck and right wrist. A pair of matching pearl earrings slipped into the tiny holes in her ears and were deliberately big. It would keep him from nibbling on her earlobes, she decided, if he indeed did try to force himself on her. She shuddered at the thought, and then at her slutty image reflecting back into her eyes.

“Dinner’s getting cold,” he said, taking her mind temporarily off her plight as he escorted her into the dining room. Amy was surprised at his chivalry as she walked the short distance into the dining room. Even though she was accustomed to wearing high heels, the extra inch made a big difference and she found herself walking clumsily along her own dining room floor. He grabbed her hand and ushered her along for support and even held the chair for her as she sat down.

Amy noted that it was the first time he had touched her since he had illegally entered her home. This was in spite of being naked in front of him and then provocatively dressed. He even grabbed her plate and dealt out portions of each dish for her. She knew she should have thanked him for his politeness, but she ignored him as she scooped meager amounts of the food with her fork. She was too nervous to eat.

“You got to be hungry. I noticed you missed lunch today, and the food at this Chinese takeout place is pretty good.”

“It’s not the food. It’s the company,” she chided.

“Then try being in prison. It’s got both strikes against it there.”

“And you think prison should be fun and exciting?”

“No, but it should be reserved for the guilty.”

“Like you didn’t rape those five women, Kendrick?”

“Please, it’s Alan. May I call you Amy?”

“No.”

“Please, I’m trying to be nice, after all we are friends now, Amy.”

“Never.”

“Well bitter enemies don’t dress like this for each other,” he said with a grin.

“You forced me to wear this dress.”

“You see Amy, that’s where you go wrong. You assume I forced you because I handed you that outfit. You put it on. The only thing I am guilty of is trespassing.”

“Breaking and entering, you mean?”

“Damn, you might have me there, but you see my point.”

Amy mixed a forkful of brown rice into a small puddle of duck sauce and contemplated his words. She could see his point. From a legal point of view she did put the outfit on of her own free will. He had not brandished any weapons and his words had been non-threatening. Still, she was not about to concede the point.

“You’re distorting the facts, but I’m glad you came here. They’ll put you away in a federal prison for breaking into an district attorney’s house. You know that don’t you?”

“I’ve been to court remember. Your court Amy. I’m not too worried.”

“You should be,” she said in defiance. “If you touch me. If you hurt one hair on my head, they’ll give you lethal injection.”

“Like this,” he said reaching under the table to run his hand up along her upper right thigh? Amy could feel her skin raise into goose bumps from the displeasure of his hand running between the wide band of her garter stockings and the hemline of her skirt. She knew the outfit was an open invitation and she cursed herself silently for wading into his trap.

“Don’t ever touch me again,” she demanded, pushing his hand off her leg roughly. He simply laughed at her absurd remark.

He picked up a long silver knife that lay nestled along with a complete array of spoon and forks. Because he had laid out the full fiver dish cutlery arrangement, Amy had not noticed the razor sharp filet knife tucked into his place setting. She searched for hers, but noticed hers was conveniently missing.

“You don’t have one of these?” he mocked.

“You bastard. You wouldn’t? You don’t know how close you came to losing your freedom today? Didn’t your lawyer explain what a technicality was? How close you came to spending a very long time in jail? Don’t test your luck. Not with me. Not with an DA for Christ’s sakes.”

He paused only long enough for Amy to think her words were working. A second later he lunged from his seat. Pushing the hair back roughly, it overturned with a thud as he went sailing over the top of the table, his hand around her throat. Amy screamed, but no sound came out. She could look down and see his knuckles were white from the pressure he was exerting on her throat. She kicked, clawed and pelted his forearms with her fists, but they fell without punishment onto his muscular body.

Lifting her up off the floor entirely by the grip on her throat, Amy felt her shoes tumble off her feet to the floor in a clatter. He easily had her subdued now, her one hundred and twenty pound frame being no match for his two hundred pound body mass. Reeling backwards over the table, her flailing arms sent the small cardboard boxes of food cascading onto the floor. As the duck sauce soaked its stain into the beige carpet, all Amy could think about was the hand around her throat.

As time ceased, she felt bloated and pale, the built up carbon dioxide inside her unable to escape, that being as bad as her inability to get oxygen back into her lungs. It clouded her ability to think, and she was beginning to lose strength, her desperate snow angels on top of the kitchen table began to ebb, and her tightly clamped legs began to involuntarily relax as life began to ebb out of her.

So this is what its like to be strangled to death, she thought as the five pictures of the man’s rape victims began to gather in her mind. Six, she morbidly corrected herself, as she thought all life was going to be taken from her at that moment. Take me. Take me, you bastard, she yelled in her mind. I didn’t do my job. I didn’t put you in jail. I deserve this. You deserve this. They won’t let my homicide go. They find you, and I’ll be the last person you rape, she declared in her twisted world of near-death.

And then suddenly, he let her go. The constriction around her throat released, and her headache instantly began to ease as her sight began to clear. She could still see stars, tiny droplets of light that sparkled and shined as her brain got a sudden influx of oxygen it so desperately needed. She sucked in lungfuls of air, fearing she would have her throat strangled again at any moment and wanted to fight for every second of her life.

Amy looked down at her attacker, still gripping the knife, as she felt the pointy edge touch her skin just above her right thigh. It made her jump from the cold steel blade and the prick of its tip as he prepared to cut the silky material of her red dress.

“Wait! My dress has a zipper,” she called out, not to save her dress from being needlessly cut, but to get the edge of the knife away from her body. “Up the back. It’s up the back on this one.”

Her words stopped him in surprise. It was the first concession he had heard her make and sounded as if she had relinquished herself to the inevitable. She even rolled on her side, crying from what was happening to her, but gave the man easier access to her zipper.

Tears streamed down her face as she heard the familiar zipping sound of notched plastic teeth being disengaged from one another as the constricting material began to ease around her body. A second later, her arms were being pulled through the loops, and she closed her eyes as the bright red dress parachuted onto the living room couch.

“We can do this in the bedroom,” she offered, trying with desperation to gain some sort of control over the situation. “It’s a huge bed. King-sized and a lot more comfortable than this table....”

“You’re too tasty to do this anywhere else, Amy,” he said, now using the sharp fillet knife to cut the small strap that held on her black bra. Shit, she thought, knowing there was a concealed pistol in the shelving of her headboard that she might have been able to reach. Being an DA, she kept it there for just such an intrusion. Now she feared the edge of the knife more than she feared being bare breasted for him, and began to tremble when he dipped lower and began to cut the thin band of material of her thong that went between her ass cheeks.

Amy knew what sort of image she presented him as he lay sprawled out across the table, a tendril of strawberry blond hair resting in a puddle of red wine her flailing arms had knocked over. Wearing only her black seemed stockings, she gave Kendrick the urge to cover her many erogenous zones with brown rice and duck sauce, and lick it back off with his very erotic tongue. Instead he stood back and began to pull down his pants.

Amy could see this as she looked down the length of her all-but-naked body and began to form a plan. As he undid his belt, top button and zipper, Amy waited for the moment he was most vulnerable. When his pants were lowered to his knees, Amy bolted from on top of the kitchen table.

She thought she had just enough room to squeeze by him, to run to the lockable bedroom, her pistol, and ultimately safety. But Amy was wrong. As she darted past him, Alan swung around, catching his hands in the only article of clothing she wore. In any other moment in her life, the fragile nylon stocking material would have ripped to shreds. This time it held, or at least long enough for him to hold her down with one hand. With the other, he freed himself from his pants, pulling them off his legs and the grabbing her roughly around the waist and carried her back to the table. Amy knew it was not a time to be impressed with his brute strength, but the ease in which he carried her made her realize she was no match for his brutality.

“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” he asked as he gripped her stockings and began to tug them down her legs. “I liked you in those too.” Amy did not reply. She had one more ploy to make and feigned an excuse to get into the bedroom again.

“If I have to be forced to go through with this, can you at least wear a condom? I’m just concerned about getting pregnant,” she claimed. “There’s a couple of them in my panty drawer in my bedroom.”

“That would be ironic wouldn’t it? The father of the district attorney’s child being a convicted felon?”

“I just thought since I’m consenting to this...” she said again, trying to appeal to the man’s last shred of morals for an excuse to get into the bedroom again. Legally, she knew there was a precedence where women who demanded the use of condoms were viewed as a defensive mechanism and not necessarily consensual sex.

“But then I couldn’t use my favorite trick of the trade,” he said, reaching into his pants pocket to pull out a small glass bottle. Amy was not sure what it was, but she had a pretty good idea that it was some sort of lubricant. They had found trace elements of petroleum jelly on some of the women’s rape kits, though they never determined if the rapist had put it there or had been used previously.

When he crawled up on top of the table and kneeled over her, Amy closed her eyes. She could still feel his presence, still feel his erection touching her, tickling her belly as it bobbed from his movements. She could also smell him, a scent of musky cologne that she was sure she would always despise, and never forget.

“Spread your legs, Amy,” he demanded, for Amy still had them pressed tightly together in a defensive posture.

“Please don’t do this. Not here. Not in my home. Not on my kitchen table,” she pleaded, knowing it would forever violate her sense of safety.

“Well so much for being consensual then, Amy.”

“No it would be. But at a cheap motel, or at an expensive one. I don’t care, but not in my own home. Please? I’ve put on the dress willingly for you.” The man answered her with violence and grabbed her again by the throat. As soon as his hand gripped her neck, Amy splayed her legs in fear.

“Okay, okay, okay, here. Please, take me. Enjoy me in my own house. This is consensual,” she said as soon as his hand was off her throat enough so she could speak. He laughed again as he trapped her arms against her bare breasts. In a moment, he was kneeling between her legs, pinning her arms down onto the kitchen table. the spilled wine soaked into her skin and flakes of cabbage from an egg roll pressed into her back. Out of instinct, she struggled, thrashing wildly on the table underneath his grip. She suspected he enjoyed the struggle, knowing that at any moment he could stop it by gripping her by the throat again, but his hands stayed over her head, his fingers disgustingly interwoven with hers as he pinned them down above her head. Her legs he pinned in a different manner.

“Relax,” he said, and picked them over his shoulders so that she was in a very exposed, vulnerable position. She felt the tip of his slickened cock move into the hollow of her thighs, a steady pressure holding it there as he tried to reassure her.

“Relax and this won’t hurt as much.”

Amy nodded and took a deep breath, expected to be pounded with brutality. Instead he let his weight move his cock within her. It still hurt, terribly so, but his heavy weight, nearly double that of her own, sandwiched her between him and the kitchen table, and she coddled the head of his cock in an instant.

With his tip inside her, Amy already felt violated. There was no getting out of her plight and she knew with his weight on top of her, she could only minimize what was being done to her. In her mind she willed herself to open for the man, thinking dirty thoughts, anything to allow the man inside of her and ease the pain she was feeling.

“God, you’re tight, Amy.”

“I’m not trying to be,” she said in truthful exasperation. “I want it to be in me. I want you to enjoy this,” she lied. It was not the truth, was not anywhere near the truth, but she realized sarcasm might not get her through this ordeal alive. There would be time for retribution. She had tools most woman were not allowed and she would use them, but only if she survived.

Then he kissed her; square to the lips and inserted his tongue. It was the last thing Amy wanted, or at least she thought, until the connection was made between her brain and her body, and she opened up for him. With his weight hovering directly over her, he began to ease inside her with every vaginal muscle that relaxed. Indeed, the experienced felon began to run his tongue inside her mouth, gnashing at her teeth and tongue with abandon. Having it so deeply seated in her own mouth was worse than having his cock inside her. It felt too personal like this, too emotional, too intimate, and not like the careless actions a rape was supposed to be. Yet Amy had no recourse but to open her mouth wider and insert her own tongue. She had to kiss him, to love him, if she was to survive to see tomorrow.

“I bet when I was released this afternoon, you never thought we would be making love three hours later, Amy.”

“Making love?” Amy asked in shock. She wanted to mock him, to chastise his definition of making love, but she knew she had to flatter him, even more so now that he was inside her. Remaining quiet was not a strong personality trait, but she just nodded as she felt a bit more of him slide into her.

“We’re holding hands, having unprotected sex, even kissing. That’s making love isn’t it?”

“Yes, making love,” she quietly confirmed, feeling him begin to fill her, then withdrew only to ease more weight onto her body so that more of him could be inserted into her. Slowly the rhythm continued, in then out, again and again with force and slowness, until Amy’s body fully accepted the full manhood of the intruder.

“This feels nice doesn’t it Amy?”

“Yeah, it feel very nice,” she said, adding a supplemental adjective for his benefit. It was not that hard of an adjective to conjure up however. Except for a slight burning sensation, the man felt good sliding in and out of her. This included his tongue, which was back in her mouth now, flicking across her own rough tongue and lapping at her gums with vigor.

At kissing and sex, Amy could tell the man had skills. His tongue was not sloppy, forceful or even insincere. His hands were no different, she concluded as his fingers flicked her nipples, rather than pinching or tugging on them. Thrusting was his forte however. His speed and intensity seemed to mirror Amy’s emotional needs, and he changed pace with her, within her, without her even knowing she needed a change. Why he resorted to forcing himself on woman, Amy was not sure. She had read the psychologist’s report, but had never put much faith in the root cause analysis. A lot of women would have endured his temper for good sex. He had a temper, granted—the marks around her throat depicted that—but mostly he had been courteous to her. Too polite.

Amy wished he had forced her to put on her red dress at gun point. She even wished she had been tied up, her arms and legs stretched and bound to each table leg in a wide, vulnerable X. Her feelings would have been easier to explain. She knew the intruder no longer had to pin her wrists to the wooden butcher block top of the kitchen table so could plunge within her. His grip was too light, and she knew she could have escaped it without much effort if she wanted too. The words resounded in her head as she realized the experience was not completely deplorable.

Yes, he was still a sadist. Having his tongue in her mouth was a form of control over her. Cupping her breasts and screwing her was a form of self gratification too. But Amy could feel something else as he worked himself vigorously into her. He wanted to satisfy her, to give her as much pleasure as he took for himself. In many ways, some of the men she dated was far more vile than this man. None had forced her into having sex, granted, but yet they had taken a prized gift and gave her nothing in return. No stimulation, no pleasure, and worse yet, no orgasm. The latter was what Amy was beginning to work up too.

She could tell because she ached all over. Some of it formed in her legs and the way her legs were shoved over his shoulders. She could look up past him, past his face to her long smooth legs sliding along his shoulders, pistoning like a steam locomotive as her brightly painted toes hammered towards the ceiling. Her wrists throbbed as well from where he pinned them down to the hard surface of the kitchen table top. Mostly though she ached from within. There had been a pang of guilt at first, and then a lust that consumed drowned out any guilt for what she was feeling. When he slid in exceptionally strong, she felt his balls slap along her pelvis. More importantly he touched her G-spot, for instantly he mind cleared.

There was no doubt this was wrong, all wrong, and yet it was also all right. In fact, perfect she thought as her mind and body swooned. She realized had always dated the perfect men. Lawyers, college professors, doctors. Men with noble, but dull professions and equally dreary experiences in bed. She needed more experimentation, more zest, more men like Alan Kendrick. At this realization, Amy relaxed completely and let her body absorb all the wonderful pleasures of being ravished by this dredge of society.

“Oh, God, fuck me. Fuck me harder,” Amy begged, wanton with lust and completely out of character.

Alan knew from her tone and message that the dynamics between them had changed. His pace quickened to please the woman he had so violently taken and plowed into her liquid vagina without the least bit of resistance. A voluntary moan escaped past her lips and into his for they were now lip locked and passionately kissing. It was an audible indication of her pleasure with the sense of touch following it as she locked her ankles together behind his head and pressed her body as deeply onto his shaft as she could.

Amy’s actions were counterproductive. She wanted a release, to orgasm with a man still inside her, a feat most of her dates could seldom accomplish. Feeling the grip of her legs behind his head however was too much. She could see the anguish on his face as he tried to hold back for her, his face contorted and strange looking as he tried to deny himself the pleasure of a willing participant. Just having him so valiantly trying to hold back for her was enough. Realizing this was the kind of sex she needed all along was even more invigorating. She closed her eyes and felt a powerful orgasm sweep through her.

His thrusts were hard, but still holding back. “Honey,” she gasped. “Just let it go. This is your night. Enjoy me.”

It was as much a request as it was a demand and her words spurred him on to release. He tensed up one final time, then thrust until he was deeply seated with his balls against her buttocks and pumped a copious amount of sperm into her. His cock unchecked by a condom, Amy felt the warm, sticky fluid be jettisoned into her in spurt after spurt. He even held it inside her for a minute, letting his prick ooze out every last drop before it had shriveled to a less impressive size and he withdrew it. Amy heard and felt it pull out of her with a distinctive sounding plop. A mixture of their lovemaking seeped out behind it and settled to the top of the kitchen table in a thick droplet.

Amy crawled away, exhausted, confused by her own animal behavior. “Damn. I guess that was worth going to prison for,” Kendrick mused.