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totality. To exist at all is to be enslaved. The only question of any validity is the comfort of the condition at any given time and place.
    These speculations were interrupted by a voice whispering in her ear.
    “There must be a way to escape. But our only hope of finding it is to keep pretending that we’ve lost all hope of finding it.”
    It was Madge. The words came in between the other woman’s sliding her tongue into Constance’s ear, so that the message was a collage of heat and meaning, wet and syntax, sex and politics. Sally continued in what was beginning to appear to be an epileptic fit between Constance’s thighs while Sheila was sucking the soreness left by the clips from Constance’s nipples.
    “The only chance we have to exchange messages is when we are pretending to have orgies,” Madge went on.
    “It’s a most realistic pretence,” Constance thought, her pelvis twisting and bucking and the first sweet tremblings of orgasm pulsing at the tip of her clit.
    Constance turned her head so her mouth was at Madge’s ear. “Do you have any hard information for me?” she asked. “How many women are in on the idea? Is there any notion of an escape plan? A route?”
    Madge reversed their position. She tapped Sheila on the shoulder indicating that she should make more noise. Sheila obliged by increasing the volume of the slurping she was doing. Sally had already hit a high decibel level in her seeming attempts to lodge her entire head in Constance’s vagina.
    “All the women have been contacted but we can never all be together at one time, so information is passed in overlapping waves. There’s a lot of distortion. We have no plan, only a general readiness. And the only conceivable route is down the face of the cliff. The wall is impossible and even if we got over it, we’d be picked up very quickly in the woods.”
    “The cliff!” Constance repeated.
    “We’ve said enough,” Madge whispered. “You’ll have to be here a while to pick up information before you can be really useful. When you have something, contact any woman not on duty and get into an orgy with her and a few others and pass on what you’ve learned. It will get around to everyone within a few days.”
    “But . . .” Constance began to say.
    Her sentence, however, was cut short by the implantation of Sheila’s cunt on her mouth. The woman had tired of working on Constance’s breasts without receiving any attention on her own, so she took matters into her own thighs and presented her pussy to Constance’s tongue and lips for ministration. Constance was momentarily paralyzed by the sudden presence of a hot, hairy, wet, smelly pie of flesh and membrane pressed over her mouth. She didn’t know quite what to do with it, but instruction was not long in coming.
    “Suck it, you prissy little bitch,” Madge said in a loud voice, reverting to the stage tones with which the orgy had started. “You’ve had enough cock in your life, let’s see how you like one of your own.”
    “How far must I carry this masquerade?” Constance thought.
    “For as long as you live,” a voice answered in her mind. “You are trapped here, in this scene, on this planet, in this life. And you have no choice but to act out what’s given to you.”
    “I suppose you’re right,” she sighed mentally, one part of her personality concluding the dialogue with another. And with that inner surrender, she gave herself up to exploring the common practice of eating cunt, thereby reconnecting herself to her animal nature.
    Sheila was young, firm, hot. Her cunt had all the elasticity of the teenager, all of its sense of naughty pleasure. Although she was a member of the woman’s liberation movement and so ritually indulged in the orgies in order to pass information, her interest was not in leadership or organization. Madge and a few others had concocted the scheme and kept it alive. Were it left to Sheila or to Sally, the hopelessness of the situation would