'That was the general idea.'
'In front of everyone, no less. You always do that-humiliate a person in front of the group. You're sick, did you know that?'
Romo shrugged, his shoulders moving more forcefully than Lisa's had done a moment before.
'Why did you ask me to come here?' Lisa asked.
Romo rubbed his chin, thinking it over. 'I don't remember, to tell you the truth.'
'To humiliate me some more?'
'Perhaps.' He laughed.
'You humiliated me enough last night.'
'I know. You said that,' he pointed out.
'I love Jan, you know.'
'I know.'
'And she loves me.' Lisa said it almost violently, as if challenging him to an argument.
'I'll go along with that,' Romo agreed.
'It cheapens our love when you humiliate us that way.'
Romo laughed, long and hard. When he had finished, he got to his feet and went to the stereo, where he put on a John Philip Souia record. 'Our Director,' he said, holding up the record jacket. 'Written in honor of me.'
'You cheapen us, Romo.'
He shruggзd. 'I know. That's the general idea.'
Lisa pursed her lips in anger but stood up and began to undress.
'What are you doing?' he asked.
'Undressing, of course.'
'For heaven's sake, why?' He affected ignorance.
'You bastard.'
'First you come in here saying we had an appointment of some kind, now you start to take off your clothes… ' He chuckled, an odd tone in his laugh.
'For God's sake, Romo-'
'I don't know what you expect me to do,' he said.
'You're going to humiliate me, of course.'
'Oh?'
'Yes. Just like you did last night'
Hp smiled. 'I see.'
'How are you going to humiliate me?' she asked.
'I'm going to fuck you.' He said it quietly, matter-of-factly.
'The regular way, or…'
He shook his head. 'In the ass, baby. In the ass.' Romo laughed as Lisa finished stripping and reluctantly, fearfully, angrily fell onto all fours.
Chapter 2
This was the sort of thing that had characterized his fantasy life when he had organized the group two years earlier. Those first few months in New York had been hard though-scraping for a living, failing in a succession of pointless and boring job surviving only by paring expenses very, very close to the bone and giving a fag a blow job now and then. Romo winced as he thought back to those whore-mongering days, to the times when he had posed as a pimp and then, when the Johns asked to meet their partner, said 'You're looking at him-hands, asshole and mouth.'
Yes, times had been tough, but only because Romo wasn't about to settle for less than he had laid out for himself before coming to New York. He had come to the big city with a single goal: to make good money having a lot of fun. He would organize a group of would-be swingers who had never managed to satisfy their fancies and fantasies with the sort of people they could pick up in Democratic clubs and singles bars. A fellow would be interested in, say urolagnia but wouldn't know where to turn. Romo, by advertising in the various underground publications and carefully screening the replies, would act as a match-maker and scout leader. Once be had someone who liked to piss, he would locate someone else who enjoyed being pissed an. At that point all he had to do was tell each of the other's existence and invite both to join the Group for Sensual Involvement which-like a corporate bigwig-he often shortened to GSI. Dues were high-fifty to a hundred dollars per month, depending on the individual member's financial status and the oddness of his hangup-but once the group had been established for a while and its existence had become widely known through word-of-mouth advertising, Romo found himself making a great deal of money indeed. He had no overhead to speak of (just a large apartment, a phone bill, and a miniscule advertising budget), and the group now had close to a hundred active members, His current gross receipts were in the neighborhood of seven thousand dollars a month. Yes, Romo was doing all right from a long green point of view.
He was doing all right sexually, too. Few of the new female members-the heterosexuals, anyway were able to resist the chance to get laid by the founder and president of GSI. They no doubt figured that he must have a certain hypnotic appeal, and to a certain extent they were right. Romo was a magnetic sort of fellow; it took guts and drive to create something like the Group for Sexual Involvement, after all. His erotic technique had become a bit rusty thanks to hose eight years in prison, but he had acquired ejaculatory self-control through careful masturbation and made up in energy what he temporarily lacked in technique.
'Well?' Lisa looked up at him crossly. She was still crouched on the floor, her knees parted wide enough so that Romo could see her cunt through the lower cheeks of her ass.
'I was thinking.' And he still was, though his thoughts were now returning to her crotch and to what he intended to do with it. Should he eat her out first; should he simply fuck her in the ass and dispense with trying to bring her sexual pleasure; or should he fuck her in the ass but simultaneously to provide maximum manual stimulation to her cunt?
'Is this part of your humiliation of me?' she asked wearily. 'Making me kneel here like this without knowing when you're going to suddenly drop to your to knees and fuck my guts to kingdom come?'
Romo laughed. 'I'm sorry, my dear.' He leaned over and stroked her ass lightly, marveling at the lovely olive flesh. 'You've got fantastic skin,' be told her.
'Thank you,' she said dryly.
'You'd look great covered with baby oil. Or olive oil.' He beamed, proud of his sudden inspiration. 'Olive oil. Christ, that's perfect. Olive oil for olive skin. I think I've got some in the kitchen. Hang on a minute and-'
'Romo! Please don't do that.' She was begging, but in a calm and almost matter-of-fact tone. Romo wondered if she were purposely avoiding a whimper or a whine; could it be that she knew such a plea would only increase his desire to humiliate her completely?
'Wait a minute,' he told her firmly. 'I'm going to get the olive oil.'
Lisa muttered something obscene, but Romo ignored her. He strode to the kitchen, returning a moment later with a half-gallon can of olive oil dangling from his right hand. 'Great stuff,' he said. 'Imported from Italy. There's all kinds of Italian shit written on the can. You can pretend you're back in Wopland making films.'
Romo removed his bathrobe, not wanting to stain it with the oil. He unscrewed the can's tin cap and knelt beside Lisa. Chuckling softly, he poured a small quantity of the golden oil into the palm of his hand and clenched his fist, working the oil over his fingers. Next he opened the hand and rested it on Lisa's buttocks, letting it glide over the curved buns and leaving a shiny, slimy trail in its path.
Slowly, delightedly, Romo smeared the oil over the girl's calves and thighs. Then he thought of something. 'We're going to soil the rug. Crawl over to that patch of tile.' He pointed to the sun porch. 'There, next to the glass doors.' Lisa reluctantly obeyed, and the oily surfaces of her ass and legs glistened in the sunlight that poured in through the sliding glass doors leading off the sun porch to the balcony outside.
Ah, yes. This was going to be nice. Romo carried the can to Lisa, whose nose was only inches away from the glass.
