GSP Fantasies 7 - 10

[Cedar]

These little vignettes grew out of an idea I had: what if there were such a thing as a license -- somewhat like a hunting license -- that entitled a man to demand any sexual service he chose from any woman? I called this concept GSP (General Sexual Privilege). If you were so lucky as to possess a GSP license, you could approach any woman and demand that she submit to any sexual desire you cared to specify, and she would have no legal right to refuse. I further assumed that the courts had interpreted “sexual” very broadly, to accommodate the fact that different people find a very broad range of things erotic. The only limitation was that the woman could not be physically harmed.

(For more on this concept, see my earlier posting "GSP Fantasies 1 - 6".)

[Cedar]

GSP FANTASY #7: THE RADFEM

I go to a large bookstore to attend a talk and book-signing by Kathryn Mason, the radical-feminist author and agitator whose anti-porn crusades have made her a household name. I’m carrying a large satchel. I arrive early to get a good seat up front.

After listening to as much of her drivel as I can take, I decide to bring the farce to an end and do my own thing. I stand up, approach her, and present my license.

She starts bleating about her rights and dignity and male oppression and so on, but I’m not having any of that. I order her to take all her clothes off. While she’s stripping, I take a video camera and collapsible tripod out of my satchel. I set them up, aiming the camera to cover a particular section of floor. By the time I’m done with that, Ms. Mason is nude. I switch on the camera, and approach her.

I order her to squat down and spread her legs, presenting her vagina to the camera (and bookstore audience). I take out my tube of KY and lubricate her entrance, then unzip my pants and order her to suck me for a couple of minutes, to get me good and ready. While she’s doing that, I make sure that her face is well within the field of view of the camera.

The attentions of this articulate woman’s agile tongue feel so good that I almost consider coming in her mouth, but I maintain my resolve to go for the real thing. When I’m nicely hardened I pull out and push her down on her back on the floor, lying so that she’ll be in the camera’s view from head to toe. I order her to keep her head partly turned so that her face will be visible and identifiable in the video. I glance at the audience; some of them have their faces turned away in horror, some (including some of the women) are staring in a sort of reluctant fascination.

The sex act is the same as with any woman, though I don’t think any other of the countless women I’ve used has ever had quite so much pure rage in her expression while I’m doing her as Ms. Mason does. Her body is rigid, her teeth clenched, her face flushed. I’m especially glad of the lube; certainly this one’s not going to get naturally wet for me. Soon I feel my climax imminent. Despite the conventions of porn movies, I disdain to spoil the pleasure of my orgasm by pulling out so that the camera can see me ejaculate. I stay inside Ms. Mason and give it to her properly. She deserves no less. Her growl of utter disgust and fury as she feels my seed spurt inside her is music to my ears.

After a moment’s relaxation on top of her, I arise; unable to resist a theatrical gesture, I put one foot on her chest like a big-game hunter and bow to the camera. After that I stop the camera, pack it back in my satchel, and leave. As I exit the bookstore, Ms. Mason is still lying on the bare floor, presumably in a state of shock.

I go somewhere quiet and open my cell phone to call the porn-movie distributor with whom I struck a deal last week. “You did it?” she gasps as she recognizes my voice.

“That’s right. The video’s all ready. I’ll bring it to your office this afternoon.”

“Great!” she exclaims. “This will be our all-time top seller – a video starring the great Kathryn Mason! Soon it’ll be in every adult-video store and website in the country! In the world! She’ll bring the industry millions – ten times what all her lawsuits and protest campaigns cost us!”

And so a porn star is born.

[Cedar]

GSP FANTASY #8: THE NUN

It’s late afternoon as I enter the grounds of the local Catholic school, heading for one particular classroom. The students have left for the day, but I know she will still be there, straightening up the room and putting things away.

I’ve noticed her around and found out that she teaches here. She looks about thirty, with a nice face and figure despite the severe cut of her nun’s habit and the fact that, on the couple of occasions when I’ve seen her without the distinctive headpiece of her costume, her black hair was in a tight and rather unattractive bun.

I enter her classroom. Yes, she is still there, alone, though it looks like she was about to leave. She looks up quizzically at me. “Can I help you?”

“You certainly can,” I reply, walking up to her. I show her my license.

Her jaw drops and she gasps. “Me? Me? You can’t –- You can’t -–“ She spreads her arms, as if to emphasize her nun’s habit and the sacred inviolability it supposedly confers.

“You’re not above the law,” I remind her. “Are you wearing panties?”

“Why, you –-“

“Are you?”

She swallows. “Of course,” she quavers at last.

“Take them off,” I order. “Shoes too.” Slowly, she turns away and hikes up the hem of her habit so that she can slide her underwear down. Her legs are well-formed – no stockings, of course. Her panties are plain white cotton and not particularly sexy. She sets them on her desk, then steps out of her flat black shoes.

“Good,” I comment. “Now get on the desk.”

“Please,” she begs. “Please don’t do this to me, I’ve never done anything to you.....I.....My vows.....”

I have enough experience with this that it really annoys me when almost every woman insists on going through this same tired old begging routine. “Save it. Just do what I tell you. Get on the desk.” Turning her face away, she obeys. I make her position herself on her back, with her rear at the edge of the desk and her legs hanging over. I grab her legs and lift them up, causing the skirt of her habit to fall to her middle, and rest her ankles on my shoulders, her bare feet on either side of my head. The desk is just the right height. I push her habit up a little further to reveal her groin, and her pussy entrance is right in front of the zipper of my jeans.

I undo my zipper –- I’m already hard –- and apply some lubricant to her slit. She whimpers as she feels the slickness of it. I place the head of my penis at the entrance and push, but her long-unused vagina is so tight that it simply won’t go in. I apply more lubricant, driving a finger well inside to slicken her deep within. Then I try again, and by lunging hard I finally manage to penetrate. She wails in despair.

I start thrusting. The sheer tightness of her is like nothing I’ve ever had before. I look down upon her from my standing position -– her head and upper body are still those of a prim and properly-dressed nun, though the effect is slightly spoiled by her constant wincing and moaning. She is trembling; I feel her bare ankles shaking against my shoulders.

She starts mumbling something in Latin, then murmuring “Sin.....sin.....” I thrust harder. The tightness makes it hard work and the lubricant is starting to lose its slipperiness, but I’m really enjoying this. “You’re not on the pill, are you?” I demand huskily. “You can’t be, nuns aren't allowed.....” She just whimpers. “Answer me!” I bark.

“No.....” she moans miserably. “No, I’m not.....” That finally sets me off. I drive into her to the hilt and start coming. Her legs spasm as she feels my semen spurting. I stay all the way inside until I’m completely finished, then I pull out and back away, letting her legs slip down.

She rolls over on her side and draws her legs up, curling herself into a tight fetal position on the desk. Her eyes are squeezed shut and she’s muttering something to herself; I think I catch the word “Satan”, but that’s all. I pick up her panties to take with me as a memento of the encounter. As I leave, I can’t help thinking: if her pussy is so tight that I could barely force my dick into it, she’s going to have a hell of a time, nine months from now, trying to force the baby out!

[Cedar]

GSP FANTASY #9: THE LESBIAN LICENSEE

One day I’m wandering through the housewares section of a department store, when I hear what sound like female moans of sexual pleasure coming from an area a short distance away, where full-sized beds are on display. Curious, I walk over and join a small knot of people staring at one particular bed. There are two women on the bed. One is tall, with rather short brown hair, dressed in a denim jacket and skirt, apparently in her mid-thirties. She is lying on her back with her skirt hiked up and her legs arched and spread. The other woman looks about twenty, wearing a T-shirt and jeans, with long blond hair. She is very beautiful. Right now her head is between the older brunette’s thighs, mouth pressed to her vagina, vigorously performing oral sex. It is the brunette’s moans of enjoyment that I heard.

Two things are especially striking about the scene: the fact that such an act is being performed in a public place, and the fact that the young blonde’s face bears a look of intense revulsion as she pleasures her partner.

The brunette’s moans grow louder and more intense as she reaches climax. “Don’t stop!” she groans, obviously addressing the blonde. The latter makes a small, muffled noise of disgust, but keeps working through her partner’s prolonged orgasm. Not until the older woman has subsided completely does she disengage. Her lips and cheeks are wet with vaginal juices; her expression suggests that she’s struggling against nausea. The brunette is utterly limp, her eyes closed, blissfully satisfied. I can’t help finding the whole scene rather arousing.

The small group of onlookers starts to disperse, but I’m curious. I approach the pair. “What’s going on here?”

The young blonde glances at me without curiosity, but the brunette’s eyes snap open and she stares at me rather aggressively. “Who’re you?”

I show her my GSP license. “I have the legal right to order any woman to do anything sexual that I choose, so long as it is not physically harmful. Right now I’m ordering you to answer a sexual question.”

She reaches into her jacket pocket and, to my astonishment, withdraws a GSP license just like mine.

“Is that yours?” I demand. The blonde is now glaring at the licence in the brunette’s hand, her face set in unabashed hatred.

“The GSP law gives a licensee almost unlimited sexual rights over women,” the brunette declares, “but it doesn’t specifically say that the licensee has to be a man. I applied for one. They were pretty surprised, but in the end they gave me one. All those hot straight women who used to turn me down and treated me like a freak -– I can have them now! I can have any woman I want! In public, if I choose!” Perhaps unconsciously, she gestures at the young blonde.

My outrage at this vile travesty knows no bounds. “That’s disgusting!" I roar. "How can a law so good and right be abused and twisted into something so evil and perverted? Women should be violated the way nature intended, not subjected to some sick parody of healthy rape!”

“So write to your Congressman,” the brunette shrugs, closing her eyes again and relaxing as if in anticipation of a pleasant post-orgasmic nap.

I am aroused with fury –- and with more. Unnatural woman though she is, still the brunette has very nice legs, and she has neglected to push down the hem of her skirt to cover her thighs. I jump onto the bed and am on top of her in a single motion. Startled, she opens her eyes. “What are you doing?!”

“That license may give you GSP rights,” I growl, “but it does not exempt you from mine!” I reach down between our bodies and unzip my jeans. Her eyes widen in horror. I ram into her with no preliminaries. I don’t even need to lube her; she’s still wet from her arousal and orgasm with the blonde. As she feels me penetrate, she squeezes her eyes shut and her mouth twists in disgust. “Open your eyes!” I bark. “Look at me!” She does. I don’t think I’ve ever before been fixed with such a look of pure, undiluted hatred. I pound her brutally, jerking her whole body back and forth on the bed. Glancing around, I notice that the young blonde is sitting on an adjacent bed. She has cleaned up her face and is watching me and the brunette intensely, her eyes shining with an almost inhumanly sadistic joy as she watches her violator suffer.

It doesn’t take me long to reach climax. I drive hard into the brunette, dumping my load into her reproductive system in several copious, ecstatic spurts. As I do, she gives forth a prolonged shriek of utter anguish that must be audible across half the floor. Very often, when a woman I’m using feels me come inside her, she responds with a cry of mingled despair and misery and sometimes rage –- I call it the “sperm wail” –- but this is easily the loudest and most profoundly agonized one I’ve ever evoked. It also gives me the greatest satisfaction.

When I’m finished I rest on her for a minute. Then, very deliberately, I spit on her face. I pull out of her, stand up, and zip up my jeans. She just lies there, utterly violated, utterly defeated.

As I turn to go, the beautiful young blonde steps into my path for a moment. She reaches forth and shakes my hand while murmuring “Thank you”, quietly but fervently. I smile at her and go on my way.

[Cedar]

GSP FANTASY #10: THE CHURCH LADY

I see her every Sunday, dressed in her best outfit, coming out of the small church across the street from the coffeehouse I often favor on weekends. She’s of medium height, with black hair, a reasonably attractive face, and a slim figure. I also see her from time to time in one other place -– outside the abortion clinic downtown. She’s a regular among the anti-abortion protesters there. She’s especially notable for yelling hateful, judgmental things at the clients as they go in and out of the place.

People like that annoy me.

One Sunday, I skip the coffeehouse and wait outside the church. When she comes out, I walk up to her and show her my license.

“Come with me,” I order as she stares at it in goggle-eyed alarm. She is clearly afraid, but also clearly knows the law, for she accompanies me with a reluctant stumbling walk. I lead her to my car and order her into the passenger side, then get in and set off for my house. This one doesn’t plead. She seems paralyzed with dread, staring fixedly at the glove compartment in front of her with a classic deer-in-the-headlights look. It barely even registers when I pull into my driveway and turn off the engine, until I order her out.

I put an arm around her shoulders –- she recoils but does not dare try to twist away –- and walk her to the front door, then down the hall to the bedroom. I sit on the bed and order her to stand, facing me.

“Take your jacket off,” I say. After a moment’s hesitation she does, staring fixedly straight ahead, at the wall behind me. She carefully puts her jacket, which looks quite expensive, over a nearby chair.

“Now your blouse,” I say. She bites her lip and takes a breath as if to speak, but in the end she just removes it and puts it on the chair.

“And your bra,” I order. She is visibly trembling now, as she reaches behind her back, unhooks it, and removes it. Her breasts are well-shaped, medium-sized and firm-looking. I gaze at them for a short time, while she keeps her eyes elsewhere.

Then I order her to continue her strip-tease. Her shoes, her stockings, her panties, and finally her skirt, which matches her jacket. Stark naked, and shivering even though the room is warm, she no longer looks much like the fiery protester I’ve seen shouting abuse and waving a sign covered with Scripture references.

“Come here," I pat the bed beside me. "Lie down.”

She blinks as if she’s struggling not to cry, but she does as she’s told. I apply the lubricant as usual, then quickly strip off my own clothes and mount her. She winces and turns her face away as I penetrate. I wrap my arms tightly around her; her shuddering body is warm and soft. In the comforting familiarity of my own home, I take her slowly, making it last, savoring her. She gasps frequently, but makes no other sound.

At length I can hold back no longer. As I thrust faster and more energetically, striving toward the finish, she speaks at last, in a plaintive voice. “Not inside me.....Please.....Not inside me!!” But I drive in, hard, and hold it there, groaning with the joy of release, feeling her thrash uselessly in my arms. As I subside, she gazes up at me with a kind of stunned disbelief. I smile down at her, feeling deeply satisfied, utterly at peace. The drowsy lassitude overcomes me and I let my head fall beside hers, my chin resting on her smooth shoulder.

“You.....selfish.....bastard.....” I hear her murmur, almost in a whisper. Then I sink into sleep.

When I wake up, I glance at the clock. I have napped for only about twenty minutes, but feel delightfully refreshed. My penis, now soft, is still inside her vagina. I raise my head and see that her cheeks are wet with tears; I smile again and lick them off, savoring the saltiness.

“Where do you work?” I ask. Startled, she rattles off the name of the place. It’s not far. “OK, from now on, when you get off work, I’ll be waiting for you in my car out front. You’re to get in and come with me. You’ll be spending your nights here from now on, until I tell you otherwise.”

She starts crying again. I start licking again.

She shares my bed every weeknight for the next two weeks. I enjoy her every evening and every morning, and often in between, when I happen to awaken in the night with her sleeping (or more often sleepless and fretful) in my arms. By the end of the second week, she has become almost like a zombie, obeying without protest or visible reaction, no tears left. Deciding I’ve gotten all I want from the situation, I release her.

I still see her every Sunday, dressed in her best outfit, coming out of the small church across the street from the coffeehouse I often favor on weekends. As I said, she’s of medium height, with black hair, a reasonably attractive face, but no longer such a slim figure –- not that she’s getting fat, but her belly now burgeons with new life. How I have relished watching her swell month by month! She no longer participates in the protests, but still unwillingly conveys a message wherever she is seen; her fertile body is now a living tribute to my virility.