Hellcat at the Party
I don’t go to parties often. The crowds are usually too big and the music too loud. I decided to go to this one because it sounded more low-key. The homeowner, Jennifer, had recently gotten divorced, and her friend Rita convinced her to turn the event into a celebration. No more than fifteen guests were expected. I knew some of their names and had casually met a few of them. It was an acquaintance named Greg who told me about the party and encouraged me to go. Since he was a friend of Jennifer’s, I thought I would be welcome.
Greg drove us there. There wasn’t time to find a date, and I wasn’t sure I would have brought one anyway. Greg said that Jennifer had some very attractive single friends who would probably be there, so from the beginning, I guess I was on the lookout.
I had barely arrived at the party when I passed a petite blond girl in the hallway wearing a short torquoise dress and high heels. She was far beyond pretty and wore just enough makeup to highlight her features. I couldn’t help but stop and stare. Women with her kind of looks usually are accustomed to constant attention from men and learn to outwardly ignore it. This girl didn’t.
Once aware of my staring, she abruptly stopped walking and turned toward me. My first thought was that she might introduce herself, but instead she stepped forward and drove her knee deep into my groin. I was on the floor in an instant. Others must have heard me cry out and fall, because soon the room was full of guests who saw me curled up and writhing in pain.
“What happened?” a woman asked.
“He grabbed my ass,” the girl said.
Everyone seemed to accept her explanation, and I couldn’t catch my breath to contest the lie. Content that medical attention wasn’t needed, the guests began drifting back into the living room, though a few stayed with me, including Greg.
“Are you ok?” A woman said.
It was a well-meaning but foolish question. I continued to groan and squirm but recovered enough muscle control to pull my torso up against a wall.
“What did you do to her?” Greg asked.
“Nothing,” I gasped, finally able to verbalize a word.
I shook my head. “She just kneed me.”
I saw two women exchange a skeptical glance, and Greg said, “He’ll be alright.”
They joined the rest of the crowd in getting the party underway, and left me alone to cope as best I could. Most women aren’t comfortable discussing a man’s groin injury with him, and most men know that words are unwelcome when you have one.
Throbbing pain extended from my groin to my stomach, and it took a long time for it to subside. Twenty minutes must have passed while I turned my body left and right, drawing in deep breaths that helped level the pain and then gradually diminish it.
I was still sitting against the wall in that shadowy room when I noticed a form standing above me. I suddenly realized that the blond girl had returned. Alarmed, I sat up with a lurch.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“To offer my sympathies,” she answered in a soft but husky voice.
“Why did you do it?”
“I can’t let a strange guy grab my ass,” she said.
“I never touched you,” I said.
She laughed. “No, I guess you didn’t. You just looked like a man that needed a hard knee in the balls.”
With the party guests out of earshot, she had no qualms about admitting that she’d hurt me badly on a whim. I didn’t know how to respond.
The girl left the room and returned a minute later with a drink in each hand. She sipped one while squatting down to hand me the other.
“Maybe this will help,” she said.
I took the glass and drank what tasted like rum punch while she watched me. The alcohol felt good. Looking up at her, I wondered if taking the drink was wise, but I’d already finished half of it.
She smiled. “Don’t worry, I didn’t piss in it or anything.”
I sighed and drank more.
“Want another?” she asked.
I nodded, and soon she returned with one more for each of us. This time she kicked her shoes off and sat down beside me against the wall. Crazy or not, she was truly gorgeous. With a stack of light-blond hair, large green eyes, and a tight little body, she reminded me of a young Brigette Bardot.
She slid over closer, leaning her shoulder into mine. “I’ll make it up to you,” she said softly.
I looked at her, startled by the implication.
She raised her eyebrows and nodded to affirm the meaning, then pressed against me even closer. Now I could smell the perfume of her hair and feel her breath on my cheek. We both took another large sip of rum punch.
“I’m Charlene. What’s your name?”
“Patrick,” I said.
Charlene flicked her tongue up the side of my neck. I couldn’t believe that the same girl who had smashed my manhood was now stirring it back to life.
“There’s an empty bedroom around the corner, Patrick. Do you think you have the strength to make it in there?”
Charlene’s tongue came out again and curled along my ear. Then, taking each of my hands in hers, she rose to her feet.
“Up,” she said.
I felt I could stand now, but feared facing her knee at close range.
“Don’t worry. I promise I’ll be gentle.” She laughed at the inverted cliché.
I wasn’t convinced. Any woman who would do it once without provocation…
She let go of my hands. “Okay, tell you what,” she said. “I’m going to the bedroom right now. If you want to join me, do it soon or I’ll leave. It’s up to you.”
Charlene smiled and turned away, bending over further than necessary to get her shoes. She knew I had a good look up her dress before she stood back up and sauntered out of the room.
I slowly stood and felt a new wave of pain through my groin and stomach. I had to follow her. If I didn’t, I knew I’d always wish I had. Limping along, I followed her path and turned the corner. Some party guests saw me, but I didn’t linger. I saw a door that was slightly ajar, and nudged it tentatively.
“You’d better hurry,” Charlene said.
I hobbled through the door and quickly closed it behind me.
Charlene was lying of the bed with a sheet over her, but her bare breasts were visible. They were as firm and well-shaped as I expected, with red nipples that protruded like bullets.
“Do you think you can give me what I need, Patrick?” Charlene asked.
I said nothing. I didn’t know what I could or couldn’t do anymore.
“I’ll make it easy,” she said. “I don’t need anything below your waist. I need oral attention, and a lot of it. “Are you ready to go down on me and stay there till I’m happy?”
I walked around to her bedside and settled to the floor on my knees.
“I’ll do whatever I can to make you happy,” I said.
“Then stop talking and get out of those clothes,” said Charlene.
I quickly unbuttoned my shirt and slipped it off. I took my pants off more slowly because even mild pressure made my balls start hurting again. I gingerly pulled my briefs off last.
“Whoa, they are swollen!” said Charlene. “Must have been some bitch that did that to you.”
“She was,” I said.
Charlene pulled away the sheet that covered her body, and I now saw that she was completely naked. She rolled over to face me and met my eyes.
“I hope you’re a very thirsty boy, cause I’m a very wet girl. Get busy.”
She spread her legs wide, and I climbed between them. Like an opiate, her strong scent swept away my pain and drove me wild with desire. I slipped my hands under her hips and started licking her inner thighs with broad strokes of my tongue. Charlene grabbed the back of my head to pull me in closer, and just as she’d said, she was soaking wet. I licked and sucked at her outer labia, gradually moving inward until I was directly tonguing her inner lips and lapping up her juices. I started to moan and grunt as I swallowed them, crazy with hunger for her, and her own moans aroused me even more.
As her pleasure mounted, Charlene started giving explicit commands that I hastened to follow.
“Lick up and down….now suck my clit….roll your tongue over it…put your tongue inside me…in and out…suck hard…yeah…drink me up.”
When Charlene came, she came hard, pulling my head in tight with both her hands and legs. The way that she gushed, I feared I might drown or suffocate before she was through. As the peak of her orgasm passed, I started to pull back, but she grabbed my neck to stop me.
“We’re just getting started,” she said. “Turn over on your back.”
I did as she said, and she rolled over to straddle my face. Charlene’s stamina amazed me. She started riding my face like a rodeo queen, making no effort to ease the burden of her weight from me, so I struggled to please her, hoping for a quick orgasm.
It didn’t happen. She sat and rode away, grinding forward and backward, side to side, and up and down. Each time she came, I was rewarded by a delicious, gushing discharge that I gulped down greedily.
Both of us had long forgotten about the party, and the party certainly didn’t care about us. Music, drink, and conversation continued in the rooms outside, but neither Charlene nor I were concerned with it. But eventually my tongue and jaw began to tire, and my face was sore from her hard grinding and bucking. She must have had eleven orgasms by the time she rolled off of my face and lay back down on the bed.
“Thank you,” I said.
It felt odd to say this, since I’d spent the whole session pleasuring her, but I meant it, and needed to express my gratitude.
“You love my juice…all men do.” said Charlene, still breathing hard. Suddenly she stretched and and sat up.
“I’m going to take a shower,” she said. You stay right here, cause when I get back, I have a special dessert to top off your meal.”
She smiled and extended her little foot to my face. I kissed it without hesitation and she hopped off the bed to go to the bathroom. I heard the shower start and run for a while. When Charlene came back out, she had dressed again, fixed her hair and makeup, and now looked much as she did when I first saw her.
“Ok, remember what I told you about ‘dessert’?” she said. “Get out of bed and I’ll show you what I mean.”
I got out of bed and stood up. Despite what we’d been doing for the last hour, I felt awkward now that she was fully dressed and I was still naked. She reached out toward my crotch and I drew back.
“Don’t be a baby,” said Charlene. “Don’t you trust me by now?”
“I guess so,” I said. After an hour in bed with her, I felt that I owed her some token of trust.
Slowly and gently, Charlene reached to my crotch again. She ran her finger along my penis and over my swollen testicles. Then she slipped her palm around behind them and slowly began closing her hand. Before I could act or object, she had a grip on my balls. It started as a very gentle grip, but eventually her hand tightened until the grip was firm.
Charlene looked into my eyes with a new expression that made me start to worry again.
“There is a very effective technique that they teach in women’s rape defense classes. Maybe you’ve heard of it,” she said. “It’s called ‘Grab, Twist, and Pull.’ It starts with the woman’s hand where mine is right now. Once she has a grip there, she can do those three things really fast, and the technique is so effective that often the man is damaged permanently. What do you think about that?”
I didn’t answer. I hoped that Charlene was playing a new joke to scare me, but the truth was that beyond the sex we’d had, I knew very little about her.
Charlene tightened her grip just a little more and lowered her voice to an intimate whisper.
“I’ll ask you again, Patrick…do you trust me?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“Then you are a very foolish man.”
In one rapid, continuous motion, Charlene did the “Grab, Twist, and Pull,” resulting in the excruciating, disabling effect that it was designed for. All of my fragile male parts felt like they were buckling, tangling and snapping. I screamed, and Charlene let go just as quickly, knowing that the damage was done.
As I crumpled to the floor, Charlene grabbed the front of her blouse and tore it while letting out a scream that drowned mine out. In the living room, the music and conversation stopped, and a group of guests burst into the bedroom moments later. Leading the pack were two women I recognized-- the hostess Jennifer, a tall woman with long dark hair, and her friend Rita, a shorter redhead.
“What’s going on?” a visibly agitated Jennifer asked.
“He tried to rape me,” Charlene sobbed. I came in here to take a shower and he was waiting when I came out.”
Jennifer rushed over to Charlene. “Are you alright?”
Charlene wiped some tears away and nodded.
“I think so. He took me by surprise, but I managed to fight him off.”
Jennifer looked over at my naked form on the floor.
“Jesus! Isn’t that the same guy that bothered you before?” she said.
“Yeah, he grabbed me earlier and I stopped him,” she said, trying to steady her quavering voice. “This time he was really trying to rape me, though. He was right there all of the sudden and naked…I just didn’t know what to do.”
“Well, what did you do?” asked Rita. “He’s sure not doing much now.”
“I-I got hold of him between the legs and twisted,” sniffed Charlene.
The men present seemed to simultaneously draw in a breath, and some of the women giggled, including Rita.
“Sorry, it’s terrible to laugh,” Rita said to Charlene. “It’s just that it looks like his raping days are through. I think you fixed him for good.”
Jennifer shook her head. “Well, I’m going to call the police, and they can take him to the hospital. We can’t let him get away with this.”
“No!” Charlene protested. “I don’t want to go through all that. Besides, I fought him off. I just want….”
“Want what” prompted Rita.
Charlene turned to glare at me. “I want him to admit what he did—in front of everyone.”
I was still sweating and trembling on the floor with both hands locked tightly to my crotch. I knew that unlike last time, I needed medical help. Charlene had done damage that might not kill me, but without surgery, I’d probably be sterile at the very least. Even in the throes of this pain, though, I couldn’t accept the injustice.
“Not…true,” I gasped.
Jennifer walked over and loomed above my prone form. I could tell that she already considered me a rapist whose word meant nothing.
“What were you doing in here, then….naked?” she asked.
“I—We…were in here together. We were in bed--”
Jennifer leaned down and slapped my face hard.
“Fucking liar. Charlene, let me just call the cops,” Jennifer said
“I’ll give him another chance to admit it,” Charlene said. “If he won’t, you can call them and I’ll press charges.”
It had not been a very large party, but I noticed that there were twice as many women as men. I sensed no strong feelings from the men, who probably figured I drank too much and went a little too far.
The women were quite another story. As a group, their eyes blazed at me accusingly, as if I were now the epitome of every rapist they had ever read about, heard about, or faced personally. Jennifer’s slap had shown me that denials would not be believed or well-received. But if I made the false admission that Charlene demanded, I might then be liable if they decided to call the police anyway. A roomful of people would witness my confession.
Jennifer sighed. “Ok, it’s up to you, Charlene. If the asshole wants to get out of this, he’d better start talking.”
She looked back to me and then down where my hands were still tightly grasping my crotch. Her expression dripped with contempt.
I knew that either way, it was a losing situation. My supposed “victim” may have ridden my face for a solid hour, but the police wouldn’t believe it any more than the party guests did. I couldn’t imagine why Charlene would devise such a game, but I now had little choice but to play along.
“I saw her go into the bedroom, and I went after her,” I said. “I took off my clothes and when she came out of the shower, I…”
“You what?” snarled Jennifer.
“I tried to have sex with her,” I said.
“No—we ‘have sex’ with a partner. She wasn’t your partner, so you tried to do something else. Tell us what it was unless you’d rather tell the police.”
Jennifer was glowering at me as she spoke. So was Rita, but Charlene simply watched with an expression I couldn’t read. The internal agony was worse for me than than the damage between my legs. It was horrible to be falsely accused as a predator and forced to confess to it.
“I tried to rape her,” I said.”
“To rape who? Say it again,” said Jennifer.
“I tried to rape Charlene.”
Jennifer audibly exhaled and sat back in her chair now that the “moment of truth” had passed. Still, her eyes remained on me, filled with disgust.
“I don’t care how you do it, but get the fuck out of my house and do it soon,” she said. “Otherwise, you’ll leave with worse than a broken little weenie.”
She stood and put a consoling hand on Charlene’s shoulder.
“You’re a kind soul,” said Jennifer. Charlene looked up at her gratefully, dabbing at her teary eyes with a tissue.
The party crowd began dispersing from the bedroom. I still hoped that I might avoid going to the emergency room, where they were likely to ask questions that I didn’t want to answer. Maybe I could make an appointment with a urologist the following day. Getting through the night was the tough part.
It was Greg who ended up taking me to the hospital. Like everyone else at the party, I assumed that he believed me to be a rapist too, but as a man he at least had physical sympathy for what I was going through. He brought the car around and got me out of the house before any of the women called the police of their own accord. When we arrived at the hospital, I assured Greg that he didn’t need to wait around. Whenever they were through with me, I would take a taxi.
“Too bad about that whole scene, man,” Greg said. “Jen won’t be happy that I brought you there, but I’ll deal with it. Hey, have you ever been to jail or prison before…I mean, I don’t even know that much about you myself.”
“No record, Greg. I’ve never even been arrested before.”
“Well you should watch how much you drink then. I know that girl kicked you, but you can’t do that kind of shit. Listen, I hope you’re alright, no matter what happened.”
“Thanks Greg,” I said, and hobbled to the doors of the emergency room.
The doctors did ask questions, but I just told them that an angry ex-girlfriend had attacked me. As I expected, they found physical damage, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. They gave me some injections for pain and to decrease the swelling. There was no rupture, so I didn’t need immediate surgery, but in the weeks ahead, some “procedures” would probably be necessary to repair testicular torsion. The damage might render me sterile, the doctors warned, but that part worried me the least. I never wanted kids anyway.
I was relieved that an overnight stay wasn’t needed either. They told me that I could take a taxi home and return for outpatient visits. Now able to walk better with painkillers in me, I slowly made my way back through the hospital doors and waited on the sidewalk for a taxi to show. It usually didn’t take long, even at 3:00 am.
An aquamarine sportscar purred along the curb so quietly that I didn’t notice until it stopped right in front of me. I heard a voice from the driver’s seat.
“Hey Patrick…need a ride?”
It was her. Wicked little Charlene sat at the wheel, gorgeous and dangerous as ever. Hers was one beautiful face that I had hoped to never see again.
“Get out of here. Leave me alone,” I said.
“Awwww… aren’t we friends anymore?” she asked.
“You’re sick,” I said.
“Am I?” she said with a mock little-girl pout. “But you drank a belly full of my honey, so I guess that means you’re sick too.”
I didn’t respond.
Charlene turned forward, shifted gears, revved the engine, and turned back again to face me.
“Oh and by the way, Patrick….” She paused and smiled. “I did piss in your drink!”
With a parting wink at me, Charlene hit the gas hard and roared away, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust and burnt rubber.
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