James V. Emanuel lives in Northeast Ohio with his wife, two teenage sons, and three cats. He began writing erotica on a whim. His stories have appeared on the web at Erotica Readers Association, Jane's Guide, Dare Magazine, Adult Story Corner, and his own web site. In addition, Erospectrum, a collection of his stories, is available from Renaissance E-Books.
Been Ayn Randed
Amy slowly closed the thick paperback book in her lap and sat back, sighing. What a strange novel, she thought. She couldn't remember exactly why she'd picked it up in the first place. It had lain around the house for years, one of Bobby's old books, and she'd been desperate for something new to read. She recalled finding it and reading the first few pages. It had quickly sucked her in and kept her reading even though she didn't quite understand all the characters or their motivations.
Now, having just finished the book, she was reminded of an old Simon and Garfunkel song. It had been a long time since she'd heard it. She couldn't remember the title, but she recalled it had a driving rock beat and clever lyrics that consisted mainly of the names of prominent people of the time used as active verbs. The tune played in her head. "I've been Norman Mailered, Maxwell Taylored..." The author of the novel was one of the names used in the song.
She looked over at her husband, intently watching "the game" on TV.
"Bobby?" she said.
"Hmm?" he muttered.
"I feel like I've just been 'Ayn Randed'"
"Uh huh." Obviously he wasn't listening.
"You read this book didn't you?" she persisted.
He glanced around to see what she was talking about. "Um, yeah. Years ago."
She hesitated, knowing that he probably didn't want to discuss literature in the middle of a baseball game. But just then a commercial started, so she plunged ahead anyway. "What did you think about it?"
He wrinkled his brow in thought. "Oh, I don't know. Let me think. The Fountainhead... That's the one with the architect, right? Harry Roark or something?"
"Howard," she corrected.
"And he was, like, perfect and never compromised his principles. Would rather dig ditches, or whatever."
"It was a quarry," she corrected him again.
He shrugged. "I don't know. Seemed kind of weird is all I can remember. I mean, the guy blows up some buildings because they changed his design..." He laughed.
She smiled. "Yeah. Kind of extreme, I guess. But what about Dominique? Do you remember their relationship? That's the part that's got me wondering right now. Especially their first... encounter. If you know what I'm talking about."
His expression became suddenly serious. He looked at her askance, as if seeing her for the first time and not quite sure what to make of her. He seemed just about to say something when the game came back on. Shaking his head, he said, "I don't know, Amy. Maybe later, huh?" He turned and resumed staring at the screen.
She flipped the book open again, quickly finding the page she'd folded down. She found the paragraph she was looking for and began reading:
"It was an act that could be performed in tenderness, as a seal of love, or in contempt, as a symbol of humiliation and conquest. It could be the act of a lover or the act of a soldier violating an enemy woman. He did it as an act of scorn. Not as love, but as defilement. And this made her lie still and submit. One gesture of tenderness from him -- and she would have remained cold, untouched by the thing done to her body. But the act of a master taking shameful, contemptuous possession of her was the kind of rapture she had wanted. Then she felt him shaking with the agony of a pleasure unbearable even to him, she knew that she had given that to him, that it came from her, from her body, and she bit her lips and she knew what he had wanted her to know."
Amy took a deep breath and bit her own lips. "I mean, he raped her, didn't he?" she asked aloud in a soft, almost pleading voice. She knew Bobby wasn't listening to her, but felt the need to vocalize what was on her mind. "He broke into her room and forced himself on her. Sure, she'd deliberately teased him, egged him on, but still..." Her eyes scanned the preceding paragraphs, re-reading the entire scene. "She fought him 'like an animal' it says. She fought him, yet she didn't call for help." Amy's eyes darted across the page as if searching for something she may have missed before, something to help her understand. "No, she definitely wanted him to take her exactly like that, to use her like an object. She didn't want any sign of tenderness from him."
Amy could feel her pulse quicken as she imagined the action. It was such a violent scene, yet it affected her in a way she would never have imagined. She felt her cheeks redden. "What was Rand trying to say?" she asked no one.
Just then a shadow fell across the page. She looked up and gasped, startled to see Bobby standing there, clutching the TV remote in his hand. She hadn't heard him move. It was as if he'd just materialized out of nowhere. There was a hard, steely look in his eyes, as if he were angry, or... or what? She wasn't sure.
"What is it?" she asked. "Was I disturbing your game?" She realized that she'd been thinking out loud.
He said nothing, but pointedly aimed the remote at the TV and hit the power button. The screen went blank and the room fell into silence.
"What are you doing? I thought you were watching that."
Still he said nothing. He tossed the remote onto the coffee table, then he leaned down, grabbed the book and tossed it aside too.
"Bobby! I wasn't done with th-"
Before she could finish, his fingers locked around her arms and he pulled her to her feet. "Hey!" she complained. "That hurts!" She looked into his eyes. He still had that cold stare. It was just like... Yes, it was just like the character in the book. That was it.
"Okay," she said, trying to shift in his unyielding grip. "So you do remember that scene from the book. You've made your point, now let me go."
A grin crept across his lips, as he slowly shook his head. The way he held her, the way he looked at her, made her acutely aware of how much bigger and stronger he was. Those same hands that she counted on to open jars for her now squeezed her arms like a pair of vises. She grimaced and tried to pull away again. "Come on. This isn't funny."
If he'd let her go then, she would have screamed in frustration. She didn't know what had triggered this sudden passion in him. All that mattered was the way it excited her. It felt like his touch reached directly deep inside her body. She could almost trace the sensation as it traveled through her. It was like electricity. A jolt of current straight from her arms to her cunt.
She tried to control the trembling of her lip. Well, she thought, what are you waiting for? I'm ready, and I'm sure you're ready. Roark didn't hesitate like this. He fought with Dominique to take what he wanted.
Wait! That was it, she realized. Bobby was waiting for her to fight with him. To fight like an animal the way Dominique had.
With a grunt, she twisted with renewed vigor, finally pulling free of his grip. She flailed at him with her fists, lashing out with all her strength. He laughed as he fended off her blows. Somehow he managed to grasp her by the hair. Even as she pounded on his chest, he pulled her close, angling her face up toward his. His lips found hers, and he pressed his mouth against her like a hungry beast. His tongue thrust into her, probing, searching, violating. She felt suddenly weak. She heard moans from somewhere, only to realize that they were her own.
The fight had been a short one. Her arms felt like useless twigs in a strong wind. They hung limp at her sides as he kissed her. He was controlling her with just his mouth. He released her hair, but held her close with one hand pressed against her shoulder blades. His other hand groped beneath the flannel pajamas she wore, quickly laying claim to her first one nipple than the other. He rolled each between his thumb and forefinger, gradually increasing the pressure until she could no longer tell where the pleasure ended and the pain began. She whimpered like a puppy.
At last, he pulled away, his nostrils flaring, and flung her onto the couch. He stared at her with eyes wide and wild. The sneer on his lips was exactly how she'd pictured Roark's expression in the scene from the book. "Yes," she whispered.
He reached down and pulled her pajama shorts past her hips, then ripped them off her legs. His touch was rough and unthinking. Commanding. Possessive. It was exactly right. Exactly what she wanted. She knew that any retreat now, any tender gesture from him would spoil everything. In the back of her mind, she realized that she understood the woman in the book. And just like Dominique, she would lay still and submit to the man who would possess her.
She reached her hands over her head and grabbed the arm of the couch as she watched Bobby push his jeans down. His thick cock twitched and throbbed as he slapped her legs apart and climbed between them. Immediately he sank into her with rapid, powerful strokes. He pressed his hands on her chest, as if he were trying to grind her into the couch. She closed her eyes and screamed as he used her body.
Too quickly, she heard him grunting and moaning and knew he was building toward his explosion. "No!" she gasped as he shook violently. She looked at him as he came, his expression an indistinguishable mixture of agony and ecstasy. Then he shuddered, and withdrew.
He stood and pushed his flaccid cock back into his pants. His eyes seemed to look through her. "Bobby," she pleaded. "More, please." But he made no move toward her.
In desperation, she reached her hand down and found her engorged nub. It was so sensitive, she squealed at her own touch. Slowly, she began stroking herself, as her other hand caressed her breasts, playing with the nipples, pinching them as he had just done. Finally, she felt the surge she craved as it waxed within her. She arched her back in welcome to it. Her hand soon became a blur of motion. Yet even as the spasms of pleasure overtook her, she kept her gaze fixed on Bobby as he watched her masturbate. He knew what she had wanted him to know.
Copyright © 2000, James V. Emanuel. All rights reserved. Do not copy or post.
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