Theodore Stickles

Prisoner Of Lust

CHAPTER 1

Paula knew she was dreaming. But even this knowledge did nothing to help. It was hot, it was hard, it was male, and, most importantly, it was in her. She lay helpless, caught up in the throes of passion, hating it, loving it, unable even to make a token gesture or croak a hoarse "No!" as he pushed it in her, pulled it out, pushed it back in again, churning her insides into a passionate pudding of pink-frothed lust.

God damn him! She knew who it was-knew just as clearly as if she could see his face. It was the most vivid dream she could remember in years. Damn! She hadn't felt this turned-on since-since something she didn't like to think about.

This goddam job was getting the best of her. She ought to quit-but out and go back to something safe like teaching, preferably in some all-girl school. Lately she'd been turning positively paranoid. It was bad enough having to deal with them all day, to look into their burning eyes and know exactly what they were thinking, feeling, planning for her. How could she have not known what they were thinking-after all, what could they be thinking after months or years in that place, locked up and away from even the sight of a woman?

But could they really see it in her face too? Could they read her mind, read her lush, unused body and know how long since she-how she ached and burned, lusted in the lonely silence of her darkened room?

God damn him! God damn the dream that was racking her empty body! God damn a god who created a full-blown woman's body with full-blown desires-and then dumped her into a place in society where she could not gratify those desires.

Oooooohhhh god damn it all-god damn everything! She could feel that great hot thumping lump of maleness humping her, driving a dick indefatigably in and out, in and out, filling her to bursting, leaving her panting and empty for a brief instant before once more stuffing her-like a sausage-like a Christmas goose! God damn it! She wasn't a sex object-something to be fucked and forgotten. She was a woman-an intelligent, sensitive, needful woman. She had a college education. She had looks. She was still young and had her health. She had everything she needed-job, home, car-everything except a man's hot, hard hammer sliding tirelessly into her, out of her, back into her every night.

Something had to give. She couldn't put up with this insomnia forever. And when she did finally manage to sleep it was worse. All she could dream of were those hungry eyes with their naked need that made her feel naked as they studied her statuesque blondness, mentally peeling off her severely tailored clothes, pulling hairpins from her chignon to send a cascade of blond hair almost to her small taut waist.

In the dream those hungry lusting eyes never looked into hers, looked only at the full firmness of twin peaks that peeped through a cascade of blond hair, pointing outward like twin headlights, their rigid pink nipples betraying her need, her shame, her inability to stop thinking about those hungry men with the hungry eyes, with the hungry insatiable need that raged in their bellies.

God damn it! She was a modern, educated woman. Liberated! Liberated-shit! What did liberation mean if her body, her belly remained in some dark, prelogical era where all it asked for was not intellectualizations or rationalizations-all her belly wanted was that prodigious prod sliding slowly in and out, in and out, pumping her full of pregnancy, pumping her full of male chauvinism, pumping her full of the peace-piece-pumping her full of the joy that passeth all understanding.

God damn that dream! Her whole body was reacting-reacting to a goddam dream-and she wasn't even fully asleep. She knew she was dreaming. After all, hadn't she been having the same goddam dream every night, the same goddam faceless man crawling silently into her bed, not even coming manfully in on top of her like a conquering hero, but sneaking stealthily up under the covers from the foot of her bed, slinking along with his head between her legs, between her thighs, doing his bungling, stiff-pricked best to sneak up on her and get it into her while she slept…