The Seven Seductions
“Where’s the fire, honey?” Bonnie sat naked on the bed. Her long, steel-gray hair flowed loose and free around her waist, a veil to disguise the rougher edges of her aging body—the sagging flesh, the wrinkles and stretch marks, the ungainly bird-like disproportion of legs and belly. “What’sa matter?”
“Please let go,” Gretchen said. The old woman’s grip was hard and cruel.
“What’s got you all spooked?”
“Let go.” The girl’s voice wavered on the brink of a sob.
“Somethin’ bad go down in there?” Bonnie tossed her head towards the girls’ room. “It was that dumbass Leif weren’t it?”
“I ... I saw him with Maddy ... He wanted me to see what they were doing together ... He wanted me to see...”
“Figures,” Bonnie snorted. “Ass-wipe was only supposed to soften her up some, get her nice and loose ‘fore Tyge and Piggy started workin’ her over. Hell, probably blew his whole stinkin’ wad up ‘er snatch. Talk about sending a boy to do a man’s business. If there’s one thing them boys hate, it’s sloppy seconds—‘specially when they’s tryin’ to collect on a debt.”
Gretchen had only the vaguest idea of what the old woman was talking about.
“I think he was in the bed with me—Leif was—for a while ... before he and Maddy did ... it ... before I saw them together and ... Oh dear God, I am so stupid. I am such a fool—”
“Oh, come on, hon, can’t be as messed-up as that. Why don’t you sit down here and tell your Aunt Bonnie all about it?”
“No, no, I couldn’t, I—”
“Sure you could, sugar.” The old woman pulled Gretchen down to the bed just as the floodgates opened. She drew the weeping girl to her naked bosom, gently petting her head, soothing her the way someone might try to calm a lamb on its way to slaughter.
“It ain’t fair, is it?” Bonnie fished a handkerchief from the bedclothes to dab at Gretchen’s cheeks. “The way your so-called friend uses you like that, just so she can have her fun. Hell! She was probably fixin’ to let that retard have his way with you all along.”
“Uhhhh...” The handkerchief had a foul odor about it, but Gretchen was too polite to criticize a well-meaning gesture.
“‘Cept that redheaded slag ain’t really your friend is she? Just another selfish bitch don’t care ‘bout nobody but herself. Bet the only reason she brung you along was so’s she could have a story to tell the folks, and here you was prob’ly hopin’ to have some fun o’ your own—”
Gretchen choked back a bitter sound. “I thought ... that maybe ... Tommy would—”
“He is one fine hunk of beef, ain’t he? I could even get me an idea or two lookin’ at that sweet young slab o’ ass. Such a waste.”
“It was his eyes—so beautiful! I was sure he—”
“Aw hell, hon, didn’t nobody tell ya?” Bonnie oozed sympathy. “Tommy-boy don’t swing that way.”
“What are you—?”
“Let’s just say I wouldn’t go carrying no torches for him if I was you—‘less you can lose them tities and figure our how to grow yourself a big fat ol’ dick.”
“But the way he looked at me—the way he made me feel—”
“He was messing with your head, hon, that’s all.”
“—the things ...” Gretchen sniffed, “the things he made me think about doing ...”
“Listen, little girl,” Bonnie daubed the handkerchief under Gretchen’s nose. “Maybe you could still do some of them things.”
“I mean, if you was really, say like ... open-minded—”
Bonnie’s voice seemed to recede into the distance, taking on an echo in Gretchen’s head like half-familiar sounds heard from the far end of a long narrow hall.
“Open ... minded?”
“—maybe you and Pig—”
“Oh ... my dear God!”
“—or even Tyge, if you was feelin’ real brave—”
The suggestion had to be another sick joke. Gretchen crossed herself reflexively. “In the name of the Father and of the—”
“Hey now, none of that.” Bonnie snatched the girl’s hand out of the air, denying Son and Holy Spirit their due. “Thing ‘bout them boys? They know how to treat a girl special.”
“How could you even—”
“And they’re gonna like you, cherry.” Bonnie tugged at the neckline of Gretchen’s chemise, starring into her cleavage. “Oh yeah. They’s gonna like you a whole lot.”
“No, please, I could never—”
“And you’ll like them, too, sweet thing. Oh yeah, I guaran-gol-durn-tee.” She let the elastic snap back into place.
“This is so wrong—”
“—‘specially once you see what they got for you.”
“I can’t ... I…” Gretchen tried to wriggle out of Bonnie’s grasp. “Please, let me go—”
“Hold still now, cherry-pie.” Bonnie jammed the handkerchief into Gretchen’s face, forcing her to breathe in. The stale stench was nearly unbearable, like cat urine, it seemed to sting her skin, and bring new tears to her eyes. “No sense fightin’ it, ‘cause one way or another this is gonna happen, see?”
“My God—I feel so—”
“Whichever of ‘em shows up first ...”
“—so ... so—”
“Don’t matter which one. Couple more minutes, you’ll be beggin’ for it from both of ‘em.”
“—funny ... so—”
“And I’m gonna be right here watchin’ you beg—”
“What’s happening to me?”
“—lovin’ every minute. Nothin’ much, hon. Just that tea I made for you kickin’ in on top of a little nose candy. The Mayweed’s got you all nice ‘n’ relaxed, and enough of that All-Heal’d make just about anybody hornier than a hot tamale. Bet your clitty’s hard as a rock right about now—am I right?”
“Oh no ... please—”
“Hush now, cherry-girl, it’s almost time. Why don’t you take off that nightie and lay back here with me, show off them pretty tities for the boys when they get here? Believe you me; it’ll be a lot more fun if you relax—‘specially if it’s Tyge gets to you first. Swear that boy’s gotta be part bull-whale with that thing of his. It can hurt something terrible if you ain’t ready for it. Even then, best he can usually do is fit the tip in just a little ways.”
“Please,” Gretchen drawled.
“That’s why Lief was softening up your friend, getting’ her good and slick for Tyge. Little fucker owes him and Pig a bundle. Said he’d pay up this weekend. Threw the redhead in as part of the deal.
“Then ol’ Piggy-boy had hisself a good look at you. Got a whiff of that sweet cherry pie. Decided he’d like to renegotiate the deal some.”
“Please, you’re hurting me ...”
“Let Tyge have the little redhead all to himself—”
“—long’s he gets the first poke at you.”
“Dear God ...”
“But Pig don’t mind sharin’ after he’s had his fun. Tell you something: that boy can ball like nobody’s business. Ugly as sin, but. there ain’t nothin’ like watching him go to town on some sweet young thing—”
“Let me go.” The girl’s words were oddly modulated, dragged out insouciantly like a voice on a tape machine, slowed down a dozen times or more.
“Never seen nobody who could get a gal to change her mind so fast. Don’t matter how hard they try and fight it at first. Don’t matter how much they beg him to stop. Most times, me ‘n’ Tyge only have to hold ‘em down for a couple minutes at the start. But somehow Pig always gets ‘em around to sayin’ yes. Never has to say a word hisself. Half hour and he’s got ‘em eatin’ out of his hand like baby deer at a kiddies’ pettin’ zoo. That’s one show I never get tired of watching.”
“Can I ... go ... please?”
“Well, if that’s what you want,” Bonnie said. “Ain’t gonna make no difference one way or the other now—just so’s ya know.”
It took a long moment for Gretchen to realize that the old woman’s hand was no longer there. She stood up slowly in an attempt to avoid the dizziness that had nearly doomed her in the bedroom, though in the end the precaution did her no good. She stood stock still, utterly unable to move as every molecule in the air went whizzing past like distant stars leaving long time-lapsed trails. What had the old woman given her? The floor had vanished and Gretchen was falling through a dark void, throwing out her hands as she grasped for purchase. How can this be happening? Something like an electric shock surged through her body, her fall awkwardly broken as she slumped into the arms of a huge, faceless man.
He was naked, an immovable wall of hard muscle and heathen body art. Gretchen stared up at him uncomprehendingly. In her muddled state she imagined that he must be at least eight or nine feet tall, an unassuming giant, pensively shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He stroked her hair, twining the dark, straight strands around his fingers until they unwound of their own accord and fell to her shoulders, the tousled ends curling up on themselves in a silken tangle.
The man did not reply, only drew his hand over her face, ostensibly to brush a stray hair from her cheek. And then his hand was at the neck of her chemise, opening it wide, stretching the elastic to its limits. He traced the curve of her bare shoulders down to where the neckline had settled just above her bosom. Her breasts, so heavy and so very firm, heaved unsteadily inside her gown as he squeezed her nipples through the soft material, coaxing them to stiff attention.
The feeling she’d had earlier in the bedroom returned with a delicious vengeance. In the stillness, she could hear the blood pulsing up through her neck, the insistent pounding in her head like a series of muffled explosions as the stranger took her hand and drew it to his penis.
And suddenly Gretchen had forgotten how to breathe. She was vividly aware of his excitement taking fleshly form as the organ sprang to rigid life between her trembling fingers. There was a thrill in the way he touched her—the way he was uncovering the things she had always worked so hard to keep hidden, so boldly claiming what no man had ever been allowed even to imagine. She would go insane if he didn’t stop—or cease to exist if he took his hands away even for a second.
In no hurry, the stranger admired her without shame or apology. He traced the provocative arc of her shoulder blades, the sweet spot at the base of her neck, the fluid nexus of shoulders and bosom, the charming, subtle asymmetry of her ample, bell-shaped breasts. A sharp tug at the neckline exposed one of them to the air like a blushing orchid, elegantly buoyed up by the tautly ruffled elastic.
Gretchen caught her breath again as the man pressed at the naked areola, his fingers coarse and clumsy against her pristine flesh. He flattened his palm, the disfigured hand spread out to eclipse the full circumference of her breast, squeezing—almost playfully—as if to test its firmness.
She was still holding on to him down below. A tiny drop of moisture migrated sluggishly across the heel of her palm. Gretchen knew what this meant, even without understanding how or why she knew it. A long-untapped vein of intuition had opened up deep within. Primal memories had awakened. Imaginings as old as life itself had begun to stir.
He tugged at her gown again, less gently now, more impatient.
“Please,” she begged. “Please don’t tear it!”
“Go ahead,” Bonnie sneered. “Rip it off her. Strip her bare-assed. Don’t be shy.”
“Please, no, don’t.” Gretchen pleaded. “Please ... Pig?”
“I wanna see,” Bonnie rasped. “C’mon, boy. Tear that sucker right down the front.”
The man—whoever he was—paused for a moment, as if to consider.
“Lucky,” Bonnie said. “Tyge’d’da had you bare-assed by now, tore it right off ya, popped your cherry and had you all lined up for seconds. He’s what I call a real man—”
“Oh ... God!”
“Piggy-boy here’s kinda slow. Takes a while figurin’ stuff out even on a good day. Likes to get to know the gals he’s gonna bunk up with. Guess he’ll be takin’ his time with you—”
“Let you decide how you want it. Slow and easy ... or the other way. The hard, messy way. Whichever, don’t make no difference to him.”
“Me? I’d kinda like to watch you try and fight it a little. Be fun to see you get broke—”
“Broke like a twig an’ fucked like a whore.”
“Help me, Pig—”
“Stop whinin’,” Bonnie snapped. “You take that damn dress off or I’ll start whistlin’ for Tyge. Hear me, girl?”
“I’ll do it,” Gretcehen cried, “I’ll ... take it off. Only, don’t ... just ... don’t ... ”
She raised her arms mechanically, allowing the giant to pull the chemise up and off above her head. He tossed the gown away before spinning her around, his penis pressed into the small of her back as he ran his fingers along the elegant hourglass of her torso, down to her thighs, playing with her there until her body trembled with ecstatic anticipation and dread, springing into wakeful expectation like a flower in the morning sun, gradually opening up, unfolding, becoming wet.
Without warning, he took her hand in his and guided it to her mound.
“Play with yourself,” Bonnie said. “Let him see.”
“Shut up!” the old woman barked. “If you’s smart you’ll get yourself good and slick. Meantime, get down on them knees and open wide like you’s fixin’ to meet your God.”
“No!” Gretchen broke away at last, propelled by a sudden burst of will. “I have to ... I have to go—” She made a sozzled beeline for the bathroom as the old woman’s threats sliced the air behind her.
“Ain’t no place to run to, cherry-girl! Even if Piggy and Tyge have to break down that door. Even if I gotta drag you back here by the hair, kickin’ and bawlin’ like a baby calf. It’s gonna happen no matter what. You hear me?”
There was no latch on the bathroom door. Panting, out of breath, Gretchen slumped against it, suddenly, acutely aware of her vulnerability. She tried, however ineffectually, to cover her shame with clammy, trembling hands, like Eve in the Garden, realizing for the first time that she was naked. Something was happening to her, a thing she had never experienced before, a thing for which she had no words. There was something going on in that place—down there—a sensation, persistent, undeniable, sweet—the hot spring of her arousal overflowing, her womanly wetness pouring forth, glinting dully between her thighs. A shiver of excitement and horror rose and fell within her belly like a flock of startled birds.
It was wrong. So very wrong. She should not be feeling this way ... should not be, and yet ...
Gretchen moved to the sink, anxious to cleanse herself. But in the mirror—who is that?—a creature stared back at her through the myopic fog, unrecognizable, disheveled, frightened, hungry. Was this a vision of her future? Part of the fate The Nameless One had predicted for her? A wave of revulsion and guilt swept over her. Will I burn in Hell for what I was thinking? What I was feeling when— The girl fell to her knees, genuflecting clumsily before the toilet. A sour eruption burst from her throat, the last slimy, green dregs of her tea. There was nothing more to bring up. A paltry thread of saliva dribbled indecisively from her lips. She gathered it up on her tongue and spat into the bowl as if to curse herself for being so weak, so stupid, so predictable, so utterly—human.
Was she truly damned? Surely not. What had she done, really? Oh, she may have been inspired to think a few venial, vaguely impure thoughts, but in terms of her actions? She’d done nothing wrong. Certainly nothing approaching the seriousness of a mortal sin. Nothing—so far—for which she could not easily be forgiven.
What had happened to her had simply happened, her own actions unplanned, unpremeditated, and where was the sin in that? Yet, the feeling—the thrill—she’d had when she let Pig take off her nightie, when Bonnie had uncovered her so brazenly, when Lief had made it clear what was on his mind after he—if it had been him—had done those things to her in the bed, or when he and Pig had touched that secret woman’s place between her legs, and set her body on fire. Sweet Jesus! (Gretchen remembered the pictures of the Sacred Heart, perpetually ablaze.) How could something so wrong feel so amazingly, incredibly good? It wasn’t the notion of Hell that terrified Gretchen anymore. It was the realization that she would gladly risk being damned if only to be caught up in those feelings again.
And in that moment, for the very first time in her life, Gretchen Ausslander understood that she had been given a choice—or, at least, an opportunity—one that was hers and hers alone. It was as if the Holy Spirit had been poured out upon her to lick her naked flesh with euphoric tongues of fire. Her soul burst forth like a super nova of joy, expanding out in all directions, even to infinity. Gretchen stood up, closed her eyes against the blazing radiance, and made a wish.
But she was not alone.
Pig was standing behind her. Gretchen opened her eyes to see his hulking torso, almost completely covered in tattoos, filling the bathroom mirror, though, as yet, she could not see his face. She sensed that he was peering down at her from above, looking over her shoulder, admiring her body in the dim light.
She was not afraid of him, though even a few minutes earlier she might have been scandalized by this blatant intrusion upon her privacy—she had been scandalized and terrified her whole life, it seemed. Yet now, her superficial fears were gone, vaporized in the flash of her epiphany.
“Are you ... are you him?”
There was no reply.
“Please ...” She turned to face him. “Please, I—”
“Shhhh.” Pig touched a finger to her lips. There was no need to explain.
“No, please,” she stammered. “I need to know if it’s true. I need you to understand. It’s just that ... I’ve never done anything like this before—no one’s ever shown me how—and ... and ...”
“... it’s not that I’m scared of ... it.” She felt his hand cradling the side of her face. Somehow the very simplicity of the gesture seemed to reassure her, and help to steady her thoughts. “But I am deathly afraid of getting caught—of what will happen to me if people find out. I’m afraid of what I might turn into if I let this go any further. If I don’t stop myself right this minute I’m not sure I could ever stop. I think I might even go crazy. I’m afraid I might end up losing my ... my ...”
Pig tilted his head questioningly.
She sighed, swallowing the word that still terrified her. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say? I feel like I’m being torn apart inside. I’ve never had to make a choice before. Everyone’s always decided for me and the answer’s always been no. And now you want me to say yes, and I want to say yes, but I’m not sure I even know how to say yes. Right now all I know is what you made me feel when you touched me; it was the most perfect feeling I’ve ever had, and I want ... I want to feel that way again.”
She had surprised herself with this realization. Looking up into that ravaged, blade-scarred face, Gretchen might have been a girl in the throes of her first breathless crush, exuding innocence and longing, wide-eyed worship, the burning impatience of unfulfilled desire. Standing on tip-toe, she threw her arms around his neck, draping herself across his front, her firm breasts crushed aganst his belly. “Please,” she whispered, “show me what to do? Help me say yes?”
Pig stared past her face to the silver crucifix that hung between her breasts. The sight of it seemed to stir his arousal: the holy cross Gretchen had always worn for protection had now become a heathen aphrodisiac, the sacred symbol of her innocence transmogrified into a talisman of carnal delight. He dangled it in his palm like a toy, so fragile and cold against the adamant warmth of her cleavage. He drew it up to his lips and made a spitting noise across the corpus before touching it to her swollen nipples, one by one, as if to annoint her for a sacrifice.
She looked at him more closely. There was a gentleness in Pig’s large brown eyes that Gretchen had not expected; beneath that terrible mask of scars, a face that might even once have been handsome.
“Please,” she begged him again, “I’ll do anything you want ... anything. Only, don’t let Bonnie ...”
“ ... or that other guy, your friend, Tyge ...”
Pig frowned and shook his head.
“Only you,” Gretchen pleaded. “Nobody else but you.”
Her eyes were drawn once again to the tattoos on his massive chest. something like a small mural depicting episodes from the god Odin’s quest for wisdom, revolving around an elaboratly graphic rendering of the All-Father hanged on Yggdrasil, the World Tree, impaled with his own bloody spear—like Jesus on the cross, she thought—a great eagle perched above his head. The smaller pictures, orbiting satellites, portrayed Odin plucking out his eye to gain Foreknowledge, his labors as a farmhand, and his seduction of the maiden Gunnlöo to obtain the Mead of Poetry.
She was intrigued by this last vignette, which seemed to mirror her own desire: Gunnlöo, the beautiful girl writhing naked under Odin, impaled on the god’s enormous member. Gretchen reached out and touched the image, running her fingers curiously over the ink. Pig’s tattooed skin was like soft leather, completely unlike anything she had expected, and Gretchen sighed her ascent: “I’ll be her for you now... if you want me.”
He did. Without warning, the silent man spun her around so that her back was to him again. He held her close, involving her in the sweltering aura of his power, wordlessly conveying his excitement, his hunger and his need. The flesh was weak, and Gretchen gave herself over to the flow of the inevitable as the last of her failing will to resist evaporated into a long, husky sigh of surrender.
He bent her over in front of him. A low growl rumbled from deep within his throat, a ravenous, primal sound such as a wild animal might make over a fresh kill. He entered her slowly, though it took a moment for the sensation to register in Gretchen’s mind, the tip of his penis, tenuously engaged in the sharp crevice of her lips, grew into her like a massive tree root slowly pushing through wet soil, and, after this, the feeling, utterly new, of encircling and of being filled, and the sudden, dizzying realization that she was no longer a virgin.
Pig paused for a moment, as if allowing her a moment to consider this new state of being. She was panting now, the soft catch at the back of her throat betraying her excitement, her mouth half open in a sensuous oval, her inquisitive sighs quickly modulating into throaty gasps of comprehension and a languid murmur of acceptance, and, when he began to move in her, something that might have been music, a breathless expression of greater, ever more pleasant surprise.
He reached under to cup her breasts, her large sharp nipples jouncing painfully against his palms. She was aware of his thickness, his hardness—if it was even possible—increasing deep inside her. His movements, too, seemed more urgent, insistent, communicating the yawning depth of his want, his determination to claim her only for himself, to possess the all of her. Gretchen pushed herself back towards him, impatient to meet each new thrust, grinding hard in silent ascent.
He grabbed her arms, bore down and drove forward until her head was suspended unnervingly near the tiled floor. The blood that rushed to her brain amplified the wanton roar of her pulse. She felt an urge to cry out—to scream—but she was drowning, voiceless, caught in an undertow of ecstasy. A violent tremor rocked her core, its aftershocks careening up her spine, illuminating every nerve, every fractal branch and microscopic tributary along the way with blinding light.
Could this be Heaven, she wondered, the simple act of letting go, of moving beyond fear or shame, or even of caring?
As if across the cosmic gulf of space and time itself, she heard his reply, a shuddering groan of release.
Moments later, their bodies aglow, flushed with exertion, sodden with sweat, he took her again—or, rather, Gretchen gave herself to him once more. Pig carried her back to the four season room, so delicate and precious a thing, so tiny and warm against his broad-muscled chest. She lay on her back, limbs splayed wide, wanting him to see her—all of her—and know without her having to say another word that she was ready—that she was his and his alone.
He toyed with her at first; dragged his penis back and forth across her inner thigh to plow the coarse tangles of her mound. Gretchen whimpered softly as she begged him for release, almost beside herself with lust. But the big, silent man would take his time, and Gretchen, propped up expectantly upon her elbows, could only watch him work. His cock seemed unbelievably heavy to her, a balky iron club wrapped in velvet, as thick as her own upper arm, hard, yet not wholly rigid, its movements imprecise, unwieldy, clumsy in a childish sort of way, still uncannily aware of its own terrible power. The girl wanted only to feel it inside her again.
In the neighboring bed, Bonnie and Tyge were having at it with noisy abandon, slopping, slurping, grunting, snarling, roaring and squealing, rutting like the animals they surely were.
But Gretchen was no longer afraid.
Pig was patient with her—a gentle giant—and Gretchen, too, had been gentled by his steady, silent ways, just as the old woman had predicted, like a fawn eating from the hunter’s hand. They moved together gracefully in spite of their physical disparity, taking their time. Their bodies resonated in near perfect harmony, a silent hymn of praise to Odin and Gunnlöo as they delved deep within each other for the Mead of Poetry, and found it again and again and again...