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 shit; 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,"
"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 running
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.~
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