Creature Experience: Extreme Taboo BDSM Erotica - Sydney Granger - ebook
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Excerpt: Suddenly the tearing agony was mellowed by squirting liquid and the terrible, burning friction lessened. That horrible, iron-hard roll vomited its seething load high in my ravished passage and was reluctantly withdrawn, leaving a trail of sticky sperm across the backs of my thighs. But still the stinking black animal was not finished with me. He moved quickly around the table and flaunted his reeking penis before my misted eyes, then forced my mouth open. Diane gleefully assisted in keeping my head still. Brick forced my rigid jaws apart. Unable to prevent his semiflaccid organ from sliding between my lips, compelled to hold its vile, reeking extremity in my mouth, I spluttered and retched. Brick, grinning evilly, asked: "How you like the taste of your own shit, sweetheart? Man, if your asshole is as sore as my prick I feel real sorry for you."He laughed. Before I was eventually released Diane replaced the leather collar. I was thrown on the bed and Eddie promptly attempted to duplicate Brick's profane act, but allowed Celia to lure him away to the davenport where, lying on her back with knees drawn up, she clasped him fiercely, mouthing crude provocation, and had his penis inserted in the wet, slimy gash of her eager cunt the instant he mounted her.

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Creature Experience

Sydney Granger

Copyright © 2017

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

My knowledge of boys was slight. I was never allowed to mix freely, until, when I was eighteen, my mother died in an automobile accident and, soon after, my father married again. My stepmother, Camelia, was much younger than my father. She was a fleshy, voluptuous woman with jet-black hair and a condescending manner that infuriated me from the onset. She was mean and spiteful, and could never take my real mother's place. I resented and detested Camelia, but respected her for my father's sake.

Father was extremely wealthy, the owner of two newspapers, a racing stable, a yacht, a luxury apartment in London and a large country estate in Surrey. I wanted for nothing, except affection. After my mother died nobody seemed particularly concerned about my welfare. Camelia made my life miserable, and I loathed her although in father's estimation she could do no wrong. He idolized her, and she made a sexual slave of him. I often saw and heard more than I was intended to, but I was young and very innocent, in fact I had not yet grown accustomed to the (to me) revolting monthly ordeal of menstruation. I had no sexual experience whatever. I had inherited my mother's passionate nature but could not understand the powerful emotions that frequently tugged at me.

On the few occasions when I turned to Camelia for advice and explanation she derided my feelings and made me feel coarse and ashamed. Perhaps I was prejudiced against her and she was merely trying, in her own boisterous, uncouth way, to instruct me and to explain love and sex from her viewpoint. She was a torridly passionate woman, part Italian, a wanton creature. Her loose habits and speech and the careless way she exposed her body in front of the servants caused me acute embarrassment.

My mother had told me the facts of life, but Camelia's way of explaining offended my demure disposition. Mother had always avoided the topic and had multiplied my inner fears and inhibitions by her secrecy. To me, sex was something unclean to be hidden away, a subject no respectable girl ever discussed.

Consequently after I attained the age of eighteen I was continually fighting the impulses of my rapidly maturing and physically overdeveloped body, smothering the natural urges and desires I thought to be evil and immoral.

At eighteen I was tall and well proportioned, with large, firm breasts and robust, well-rounded limbs. I often appraised my figure and, in private, studied my sex organs, wondering at their form, their peculiarity and purpose, and why the soft, moist slit between my thighs, with its glossy covering of reddish-gold hair, was so different from the male genital organs reproduced, in color, in a medical book I had found among my mother's effects. I remember being surprised that she should have such a book, and I read it with a sense of real guilt, but it taught me very little, except visually, for I could not understand most of the medical terms.

Life generally was a bore. My friends were an insipid crowd who never did anything exciting. I suppose Tony Bennett recognized something in me that I was not aware existed-sex appeal. He followed me. Wherever I went he was there, grinning impudently, often rubbing and fingering the front of his pants, but even the significance of these obscene gestures eluded me then. Oh, I was really naive. I suspected that what Tony was doing was wrong, that in some way he was insulting me, mocking and taunting me, yet there seemed no positive evidence of misconduct; in fact I was such a little fool that often when he spoke to me in a certain way I merely smiled and nodded without even knowing what he meant.

Then, gradually, his demeanor coarsened until even I realized his lecherous motives and was shocked by the gross indecency of suggestions he made. One afternoon he confronted me near the orchard. I was carrying a basket filled with peaches. Tony leaned on the gate, obstructing the opening. We were quite alone.

"Hello there," he greeted, smirking. "Those for me?"

"No," I said, frowning. "Let me pass. What are you doing here? I thought this was your day off?"

"It is, but I'm broke. Nowhere to go. Besides, I hoped I'd see you."

"Why? I wish you'd stop pestering me, Tony. If Father-" He smiled, revealing white, even teeth. He really was very good-looking, tall and big, extremely muscular, with long, curly black hair and dark, flashing eyes. His skin was swarthy, his mouth cruel, the lips thin and sensual. Yet there was something about him that instilled distrust, or perhaps it was fear.

"I've got something for you," he answered. "I've been saving it just for you, darling."

"You have?" I asked with foolish curiosity. "What is it?"

"This," he said hoarsely, and ripped open the front of his pants. I saw his penis flop out, a huge, fleshy roll, hideous and disgusting, thickening and throbbing as he held it tightly and thrust out his loins.

"Like it?" he demanded. "Ever see anything like it, kid? Wouldn't you like ten inches of stiff prick up your gorgeous little twat, darling? A good grind. You're a sweet fuck, young Pamela. Put your hand on this. Feel it, all hard and fat. Go on. Toss me off, kid. I-" I uttered a cry of mingled dismay and terror, dropped the basket of peaches and ran. Tony did not follow. When I looked back he was rubbing his immense sex organ rapidly, chafing his hand up and down the rigidly swollen shaft, eyes staring and teeth gritted. I ran on.

I did not tell my father. I wanted to but could not face the ordeal. Nor did I say anything to Camelia. She would probably have laughed. That was her way. But that same night I was lying awake, troubled by brooding thoughts and the humidity, shifting restlessly, quite nude, on top of the bed covers, when somebody tried the door of my room. Thinking it was Camelia, I drew the sheets over me and feigned sleep, and received a severe shock when I heard a man chuckle!

The key turned in the lock. As I sat up and twisted around a dark figure lunged, grabbed me and bore me down, pressing my body into the mattress and sprawling on top of me. Shafting moonrays identified Tony Bennett. He was stark naked! His facial expression was demonical, his lank hair disheveled, eyes glaring. I tried to scream but powerful fingers compressed my throat. The covers were torn aside and thrown to the floor.

Tony knelt astride me, bony knees gripping my ribs, his hot, hairy buttocks hard and sweaty against my stomach. I felt the beat of his monstrously erect penis, the vigorous touch of it on my breasts, then the smell of his genitals was strong in my nostrils and he was leaning forward with big hands gripping my wrists and deliberately attempting to push his loathsome organ into my mouth!

Oh, God! I thought I should die! I was sick with fear and loathing. That great, throbbing rill of pulsing flesh kept whacking against my cheeks and trailing the swollen glans across my lips and nostrils, was butted repeatedly against my tightly closed mouth. I felt faint, limp with terror, but I resisted with savage desperation. Revulsion gave me strength, but I was no match for Tony's sinewy power. He heaved his lean body forward until he was kneeling on my upper arms, then squeezed and mauled my tender breasts, ravaging the soft, white globes that no man, until that hideous night, had ever seen, let alone touched. His fingers crushed and bruised my flesh brutally, pulled and rolled the dark nipples.

Then both his hands gripped my head and held it firmly. His thumbs gouged agonizingly into the corners of my mouth, forcing my lips apart, then that nauseating penis was stabbing at the opening again, his testicles slapping and dragging against my chin each time his organ slid past my clamped lips.

But gradually he was forcing my mouth open, and all my thrashing efforts were futile. I kicked and writhed, felt his bloated penis prod my lips again and begin to intrude, and in that moment I went berserk, managed to free one arm and punched my assailant in the face.

Surprised and hurt, he relaxed his cruel grip, and I twisted free, writhed from under him and almost got off the bed before he grabbed me again. Strong fingers closed like a vise around my ankle, and I cried out when his other hand delved brutally between my buttocks into the soft folds of my vagina. He was laughing, clutching my tender slit. He fell with me on the bed with his right arm around my neck, positioned so that my face was thrust into the bed covers and my bottom was grossly elevated. In that grotesque posture I suffered the rough groping of his left hand between my protruding buttocks and quivering thighs, and felt the urgent jabbing of his turgid penis as he tried to insert it from behind.

The gross, throbbing mass rammed relentlessly into my virgin aperture, and in that moment of intense pain and terror I screamed. Tony's right hand reached down somehow and grasped my left breast, squeezed painfully, tugging at my tender flesh while at the same time his other hand kept the cheeks of my bottom wide apart and facilitated the enormous intrusion of his brutally gouging penis.

I screamed repeatedly, thrashed and writhed, sobbing and pleading. Tony was like a wild animal, cursing, growling, heaving and surging, panting obscenities. We fell off the bed onto the floor, and the impact broke the loathsome contact briefly, but Tony sprawled across me when I attempted to squirm away, and a frantic clutch on my throat choked off my outcry.

Then he was astride my waist again, squatting, and that twitching, shuddering, hideous thing, that nauseating, monstrous penis, was rubbing and prodding against my face, smearing horrible slime on my skin and trailing its foulness across my lips, and the rank smell of it was in my nostrils, sickening me to my very soul and creating a confusion of conflicting emotions and mental upheaval that threatened to unhinge my mind.

Tony gripped my hair and jerked my head forward, brought that loathsome organ still closer to my mouth. I fought. God! How I fought. Then the strength seemed to drain from me and I lay gasping, sick with fear and horror and disgust, sobbing and moaning while Tony, smirking, breathing heavily, cupped one hand behind my head and held his tremendous penis in the other, inexorably forcing the broad, pulsing glans against my tightly compressed lips.

Suddenly a gush of thick, whitish fluid spurted, pumped furiously and spattered all over my face, got in my nostrils and covered my mouth, and ran down into the hollow of my neck. Its strong, pungent odor provoked immediate vomiting. I hung over Tony's muscular thigh and puked repeatedly, flopped when he pulled his leg away.

He stood up, furiously rubbing the wrinkled foreskin of his penis, performing what I later learned was masturbation, and extracting a further flow of ropey sperm. (At least I had learned from reading mother's medical book what semen was.) His face was red, and he was sweating profusely.

"All right, you useless cunt," he mouthed angrily. "You dodged it that time but I'll get you. I'll fuck you if it's the last thing I ever do, you red-haired little twat, and next time I'll make damn sure you stay put. Now go ahead and scream your stupid head off. There's nobody about, nobody here but you and me. I'll be back, kid."

He shook his drooping, relaxing penis. Even in its semiflaccid state it was huge, I was too shocked to reply or to abuse him. He left me lying there, retching violently. After he had gone, reaction brought hysteria and tears. I was absolutely terrified of the consequences, remembering all the awful warnings Mother had given me, and what I had read in that frightening book. I was trembling as I stumbled to the bathroom and frantically washed away every trace of that revolting, reeking male organ, bathed my parts and my sore, reddened breasts.

I had never actually seen a man's sexual organs before. The ordeal made a lasting impression on my untutored mind, I could not erase the memory of it, or disperse the mental images. The shock lingered, yet amid the confusion and misery was a flutter of subconscious curiosity, a fixation in my mind of the hugeness of the male penis in a state of gross erection. I could not rid myself of the obscene phallic picture. Nothing I had seen illustrated in the medical book gave any indication of the appalling size of the male organ. In my simplicity I assumed that because Tony Bennett possessed so enormous a penis all men were the same. The conviction heightened my revulsion, and in my blind, illogical fear I imagined myself already pregnant, contaminated. My shame was so acute I writhed with the inner torment of it.

Even then I would have kept my guilty secret. But my father caught me in a weak moment, crying, and demanded to know the reason. Impulsively I blurted out the whole story, told him everything exactly as it happened.

I was there when he sent for Tony Bennett. The youth slouched in, smirking, chewing gum, but the sneer vanished when my father, a big, powerful man (at one time an instructor in the Marine Corps) punched him in the stomach, then in the face, gave him a sound thrashing and finally fired him, threw him out, and threatened to report the matter to the police if Tony Bennett ever molested me again.

Tony departed. He made no threats of retribution, but gave me a look fraught with meaning. Dabbing his cut mouth, he turned in the gateway.

"I'll remember you," was all he said.

CHAPTER TWO

All that happened a year ago. I never forgot my ordeal, but the incident was less vivid in my mind. During that year I developed considerably, mentally and physically. I had always been voluptuous, but now the maturity of my figure aroused comment wherever I went.

I remained shy and aloof. My outlook did not change. It was just as narrow as it had been on my eighteenth birthday when my father's junior gardener-handyman tried to rape me. For weeks after that incident I had stayed in my room, refusing to meet anybody, especially my stepmother. I imagined her to be secretly laughing at me, mocking my innocence. Father spent so much time away from home on business I seldom saw him.

But eventually the natural resilience of youth overruled depression and self-consciousness, and I emerged, like a moth from a cocoon, and resumed normal activities. I had not told any of my friends about Tony Bennett's conduct, but somehow they learned, or suspected, the reason for his dismissal, and I was subjected to constant leg-pulling and ridicule.

I tried to ignore it, and was helped by one special friend, a boy named Keith Mannering. Keith was nice, very tall, with long blond hair. He was nineteen, lean and exceptionally good-looking.

His parents were wealthy. Keith always behaved correctly toward me. He pandered to my slightest whim. Apart from an occasional kiss his interest seemed purely platonic. We had a lot of fun together, at least I thought then that it was fun. Keith was a quiet, reserved type. I never knew what he was really thinking or plumbed the true depth of his character, until one sultry summer night when-But I will come to that.

Camelia had arranged a party to celebrate my birthday. I had not wanted it, and I did not appreciate it, but Keith looked forward to it. Recently, he had become rather morose and sullen, preoccupied. Often, I caught him staring at "me in much the same way as Tony Bennett had done. My grasp of life had been extended during the past year but I was still naive and trusting and there was so much I did not understand.

It was a warm, close evening. In my bedroom overlooking spacious lawns and gardens I was preparing for the party. Fresh from the shower, I stood before the long closet mirror and inspected my pink and white flesh, the body that was still largely a mystery to me. I handled my large, firm breasts, lifted the full, heavy globes, squeezed them together, wondering at the thrill of indefinable pleasure I experienced when my fingers caressed and stroked the rich red nipples. I pulled the nipples, elongated them, and was surprised when they began to harden and swell. Camelia, who seemed to make a point of intruding into the bathroom or my bedroom and often caught me unclothed, said I had gorgeous breasts and a beautiful figure, that she wished her bottom was as smooth as mine and as rounded. I had always considered her buttocks to be extremely plump and mature. Appraising mine, twisting this way and that, I was not greatly impressed. To me, the twin half-moons of my bottom seemed indecent, the dusky division anything but attractive.

Similarly, the bush of reddish-gold hair covering the gently swelling mound above my vagina intrigued but puzzled me. I fingered it, pulled at the silky strands and let them curl back. Parting the growth, standing with legs astride, I examined the pouting lips of my genital parts, and felt acute distaste. But when I gently rubbed my finger in the moist slit a peculiar sensation was produced, and I experimented further until, remembering what Tony Bennett had attempted to do, I tentatively inserted my index finger into my vagina. Through other books, since acquired, my sex education had increased although my experience remained negative. I knew the function of clitoris and ovaries, vulva and womb, but rarely allowed my mind to dwell on these matters. The bogey of menstruation had ceased to frighten me.

Opening my legs wider, I studied the exposure of my genitals in the mirror, poked my finger higher and felt the clitoris respond. The sensation was mildly exciting. Turning, I bent over and thrust my bottom out so that I could see my organs and my anus reflected. The sight of my anal aperture, smooth and purple-brown like the petals of a pansy, always offended me, yet somehow I found the exposure fascinating, and the gaping vaginal fissure with its surrounding of glinting hair resembled some furry animal, all mouth and- I straightened, frowning, startled by the trend of my thoughts. I was at an age, Camelia said, when men found me most attractive. She would have guided me, I think, but I would not listen. My dislike of her had deepened. I thought of her as a conniving intruder. Certainly she interfered with my life considerably, especially in my father's absence, dictating to me, and I hated the way she was always pawing me, usually in the privacy of my bedroom, kissing me and touching me intimately, and forever talking about men. There was something coarse and pagan about Camelia. Perhaps these were the very qualities my father admired most.

I sighed. I missed my mother terribly. The fleshy cheeks of my bottom quivered as I crossed the room and picked up the party dress laid out on my bed. I put on shell-pink bra and brief panties, and shrugged into the frock. When I looked for my can of new hair spray it was missing. Remembering having loaned it to Camelia, I frowned in annoyance, called to her through the door separating my bedroom from hers. Camelia could never understand why I kept that door locked.

Receiving no response, knowing she should be in her room, I knocked, called again, then, when she did not answer, I went out into the hall and strode impatiently to the main entry of her bedroom. I was about to knock loudly when I heard a series of prolonged gasps and moaning sighs, and the creaking of protesting bed springs. Thinking that my stepmother was ill, I tried the door, found it open, and thrust it wide.

I entered. The lights were on. Mouth suddenly very dry, I stopped. I did not speak. Camelia lay on the large, rumpled bed, stark naked, her superb legs wide apart, knees raised. Her arms were clasped around the chest of a naked man sprawled between her plump, white thighs. His dark head rested in the deep valley dividing her heaving breasts, and I could see every detail of the man's hairy genitals and the rapid movements of his muscular buttocks, his huge testicles dangling and convulsing as he thrashed his great, rigid stalk of a penis into the wet, clutching gash of my stepmother's vagina.

I was profoundly shocked, but could not look away. I heard Camelia mutter the man's name, and realized she was fornicating with our chauffeur, Clive Merton, a husky male aged twenty-five who had only been with us for a month.

Camelia's limbs were taut, quivering with strain, her fingers digging deeply into Clive's bare back. Every time he raised his bottom I could see his thick, glistening penis withdraw to the extreme lip of my stepmother's wet, frothy split, and saw the dark, grayish folds of flesh drag and pull with the distended organ, clinging to its bulging, throbbing mass and sucking right out, then in again when he lowered himself and drove his great cudgel deep, plunging it in until I heard the soggy smack of his stomach contacting Camelia's writhing belly.

Every lurid, shattering detail was impressed starkly on my mind, the way Camelia's anus puckered tightly then opened each time she thrust up to meet Clive's vigorous lunges, the wet sounds of her flapping vagina following every rampant stroke, her moaning outbursts of impassioned obscenity, the man's animal grunting, his powerful straining, the ridge of gristle where his stiff penis was rooted amid the curling hairs round his crinkly anus and the folds of his scrotum joined with the dark flesh approaching the elongated anal cavity-I saw all this, and much, much more. Little bubbles of moisture gathered at the opening of Camelia's gaping vent and burst as that formidable penis intruded crudely again, impaling her brutally, incredibly, with a smooth, easy rhythm and powerful, pistoning motion I could not help gaping at despite waves of sickening disgust, battering right up into her shuddering belly and causing her limbs to jerk and tremor.

Each violent surge forced Camelia's knees higher and widened the spread of her sumptuous thighs. Clive's whole weight was supported on his knees and elbows. When he raised up there was hardly any pressure on Camelia at all, but each time he rammed in, his rib cage forced her legs apart until the backs of her thighs pressed against his stomach and his pelvis was hard up against her black, hairy mound.

They were completely engrossed, unaware of my entry. I withdrew, white-faced and shaken, and indignant. Father and I had never been really close, but I hated to see that creature making a fool of him.

Outside, in the hall, I leaned against the closed door and closed my eyes, trying to shut out the sight of that great cow ass heaving and splaying, huge breasts flopping, and that immensely bloated male organ all wet and stiff and steaming, plunging in and out, squelching and sucking, those huge, wrinkled testicles hanging down below the tightly compressed cleft of the man's pale buttocks-God! How could Camelia let him? How could she enjoy it? And with Clive Merton, a hired man, a stranger. Would I ever understand?

Walking back to my room I felt positively sick. The incident brought back my ordeal with Tony Bennett, and I never felt less like going to a party.